Harv'

Wings

-Chapter Three-

Wings

There was no point in knocking the door. Harvey knew his mother would not answer, and so he fumbled his house keys from his pocket. With hands red and numb, he turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. It was pitch-black inside; all the lights were switched off and all the curtains had been drawn. This was the norm in number Thirty-One, Cobs Crescent. It was his mother's way of saving electricity and keeping costs down. While Harvey knew that this was probably sensible, he resented having to navigate his way around the house in the dark all the same.

         Stepping cautiously into the narrow hallway, anxious not to wet the wooden flooring, Harvey pulled off his trainers and placed them inside the cramped broom cupboard on his left. He then proceeded to strip off his sodden clothes, holding them all in a bundle in his arms until he stood in nothing but his boxers. Squeezing through the cupboard door, he came upon a washing basket where he deposited the dirty laundry.

         'Harv', is that you?' A small nervous voice floated out from the far end of the hallway.

         'Yes mom.'

         'Ok,' said the absent voice, trailing away into silence. It issued from within the living room at the foot of the stairs, the closed door all that separated them. Harvey had a sudden urge to speak with his mother about what had happened, but knew better than to trouble her. A closed door in this household, he had discovered many long years before, was a door whose occupant was not to be disturbed. Tiptoeing through the hallway and past the kitchen, still wary of leaving wet footprints behind him, Harvey reached the bottom of the stairs and paused. From inside the living room he heard not a peep, not the crackle of a warm fire or the low whir of a television set. He debated whether to wish his mother 'goodnight,' but decided against it and continued up the stairs.

         By the time he had reached the bathroom, he was shivering again; apparently his mother had neglected to turn on the heating as well. After several seconds of blindly patting the wall, he found the light switch and flicked it on. The bathroom, much like the rest of the house, was modest in size, only just about accommodating a toilet, a sink and a shower. Going by the shine left on the taps and the toilet seat, his mother had recently cleaned in here, an activity she performed every day without exception. Harvey made for the shower first, and welcomed the hot spray of water which cascaded down on him.

         'You are in danger, child,' the woman had warned him. 'There are those out there who would have you killed, and not for what you've done, but what you may become.' These words had followed him all the way home, like a plague of buzzing bees repeatedly gnawing at his mind. What could the woman have meant by this? Who could be after him, and why? Harvey racked his brain, ticking off any likely suspects. Could she have been referring to one of his University lecturers? A fellow student? A work colleague? His father, perhaps...

         Harvey shook his head; these people were harmless. The exception was his father, but Adam Locket had been banged up in prison for the past eight years, and Harvey doubted he could cause him any more harm than already done.

She had known.

         How could she have known about his parents? Harvey dabbled with the idea that the woman was a long lost relative, who had returned out of the wilderness to straighten out family affairs. It was a notion often used in soap-operas and films, why not in reality? But then again, surely someone would have mentioned her before. A woman of her appearance would not be one easily forgotten or overlooked.

         If not a relative, could she have been a family acquaintance, who had travelled to a foreign country long before Harvey could think for himself, and simply remained there until now? This too seemed unlikely. He could not picture his parents in the same room as the bizarre woman whose eyes had penetrated deep into his soul, where all his pain and all his secrets were kept stored and bound in chains. Nor could he envision the woman with his grandfather, a man so ordinary and laidback that he would look out of place beside someone so fashionably absurd.