“I’ll wait until he’s asleep.”
Ose shakes his head. “When he said this place makes you strong, he meant it.”
“Strong how?”
Ose glances at Levi. He’s saying too much, but a part of him needs to get it out. “Like I say, sometimes we run into other people. Sometimes we fight. But with Jonah, it’s not really a fight. He’s ready for them, always. He smells them coming. They hit him and it’s like they’re nowhere near him. Like he chooses not to be hit. Then he hits them and they fall apart. What he does here, the killing, it makes him powerful. It attracts attention.”
“Attention? From who?” I say.
Ose shakes his head slightly. I’m half relieved he won’t answer.
“What are we supposed to do then?” Farah says.
“Don’t cross him,” Ose says. “You’re important to him, Kyle. That’s the only thing keeping the three of you alive.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Wake. Up.
TWENTY-SIX
My eyes snap open into undarkness. My pulse throbs in my ears; cold sweat prickles my face. I expect to find Farah shaking me awake, but, when I turn, I see that she’s sound asleep.
Her lips are slightly parted as she inhales and exhales, she looks calm, younger than she looks when she’s awake. Her eyelids flicker like she’s having a dream and I feel a rush of unexpected tenderness.
I imagine waking her. We would be alone, I think. I imagine her sharp intake of breath, her watchful look. I imagine that she might start to sit up, but if I put my arm around her and slide on to the sofa next to her, would she understand? I imagine her resting her head on my shoulder so that I can hold her. Half-formed feelings churn inside me, feelings that are exquisitely peaceful and feelings that are not so peaceful as well.
I wish for a moment that we were back in the ordinary world, that we could hang out like normal people. Perhaps I could tell her how I feel then. But it’s a futile dream, because we were never friends in the ordinary world and we never would be, let alone anything else.
I stand up, every creak of the leather sofa sounding like a tiny detonation that must surely wake the whole world. My heart races, my shoulders tremble.
He’ll find you and he’ll punish you.
I don’t know to what extent Ose, Tongue and Levi are prisoners like us. But they are culpable, they allow Jonah to keep on murdering people in order to save their own skin.
I don’t want to turn into them.
I don’t want to stand by and let Jonah murder anyone else in front of me.
You wouldn’t stand a chance.
We’ll see about that, I think.
What he does here, the killing, it makes him powerful. It attracts attention…
Whose attention? God’s? I think of the ancient Greeks riding into battle with their gods in tow. I think of the crusaders, with their cruciform swords and their symbols. Maybe God is drawn to bloodshed and horror in both worlds.
Fine, I think. Maybe if I bring the bloodshed he’ll side with me.
I smile in the darkness, amused by my own rushing thoughts.
The voice in my dream still rings in my ears. Wake. Up. Was it a sign? I snort bitterly under my breath. A lifetime of being an atheist and suddenly I think God is talking to me.
I approach the roll mats where Jonah, Ose, Tongue and Levi sleep. A neat row huddled together, side by side, like a Scout camp.
Jonah’s asleep. His lips are pressed tightly shut. His face is marked by age and anger, pockmarked and fleshy, a Martian landscape. The sense that his eyes might flick open at any moment.
Levi lies next to him, then Ose, then Tongue. Tongue’s T-shirt is still covered in uneven stains from the surgery Jonah administered two nights ago.
Enough thinking.
I hold the knife tightly against my chest, clutching it like some kind of amulet.
He’s ready, always.
I practise my attack with the tiny fruit knife, thinking through the angle I need, the way I’m going to spread my weight.
I need to not mess this up.
I imagine Jonah’s hand flashing up with impossible speed, twisting, snapping my arm…
I take a step.
Others must have tried and failed, I think. Why should I be any different?
