Derek had another dream. Different this time but he was still Her. There was no Balthazar. No desperate search for him. But Derek was still running. Running, it felt, for his life. He clasped a hand to his chest. Pressed his palm to a little silver cross around his throat. Her throat. Squeezed it with all his might.
There was shouting, too. Shouting that he couldn’t make out. The voice of a man. Gruff. Drunk. He was lunging for Derek…Her… across the room. Mad angry. Furniture smashed all around. Wood cracked and splintered loudly as She dodged and ducked.
Kill him before he kills you.
That was it! He truly was going to kill Her. Her, the unloved. Her, the nuisance. Her, the unwanted offspring now that her mother had died.
We are the same, you and I.
In one swift movement, the man had Her by the wrist.
“Bad as the bloody cat,” he spat. “Always under the bloody feet.” Derek could smell the stench of stale ale on his breath.
The man pulled at Her and she fell to the floor with a cry. But it didn’t matter to him. He was dragging the girl now. Yanking her painfully through the door and down the corridor. She wasn’t strong enough to resist. Derek’s vision of the dream was suddenly blurred by tears and one eye that seemed to be closing. Derek put hand to face. There was blood on his fingers and he realised that, at some point prior to the dream sequence, the man, Her father, must have struck her. Derek felt the panic increase and he felt himself gasping for air, hysterical now.
Kill him.
Her voice seemed to penetrate his dream.
Kill him.
Suddenly, the man stopped pulling. Spun round. Struck out hard again.
Then there was nothing.
Derek swam up from the darkness of his dream, sweating again. Out of breath. His pulse raced. Pain and rage from the dream were still close to the surface.
Calm. Be calm.
Derek looked at the time. 11:45pm. He switched off the alarm. The others would be here soon. He swung out of bed and put on a fresh t-shirt. Grabbed the torch. Checked the silence. Nothing.
And then there it was.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Distant but there. This was going to be some night. Derek could feel it. He opened his bedside drawer and took out the knife. More for protection this time. That’s what he tried to tell himself. It was for protection.
Quickly, quietly, he made his way to his parents’ room. The door was shut. Derek clenched the handle in his fist and slowly pushed it down. Slowly. Quietly. He cracked open the door and pushed, centimetre by centimetre, his breath held.
He peered in. His mother was sleeping. On her own again. His father had gone. On the one hand, this was good. This was what the Ghost Club was here for tonight, to help Derek find his father. On the other hand, it meant that he was up. They were at risk again. Derek checked his watch again. 11:54pm.
Next, he headed for the front door to check the alley across the street. Three figures huddled together in the night and then broke from cover and jogged towards him.
“All okay?” Rob was, as ever, excited to be out and on the hunt.
Derek nodded, feeling increasingly nervous. “Quick. Come on. He’s out of bed again.”
They hesitated in the hallway. They didn’t have a plan, as such. They were just making it up as they went along. Derek shuddered at the unpredictability of it. This was worse than just hunting ghosts. This was a manhunt. They were hunting his own father. He ushered the others in and took them, as fast as he could, along the hall to a small, unused room.
Once there, the group just stood and looked at each other in edgy silence. Joe was the first one to speak, doing his pastoral care bit again.
“Are we all okay?” He looked searchingly into each of his friends’ faces. “Are we all feeling okay about doing this?”
He got shrugs and reluctant nods in return.
“Because – sorry Derek – we all know what we might expect, yeah?”
The image of Derek’s father with Rob’s camera flashed into his mind and he felt his face flush. Joe gave Derek a gentle slap on the back. He turned to Rob.
“What about you? You okay?”
“Yeah!” Rob was buzzing. Never mind broken cameras and close calls with pieces of furniture.
“Okay, so now what?” Charlotte shifted about on the spot. “I’d quite like to get this over with.”
“The loft?” Derek heard the words but couldn’t believe he’d actually just said them. It was like he’d just signed his own death warrant.
“All of us together or do we split up?” Charlotte’s shifting had almost turned into a nervous on-the spot dance. “And, can I ask, what happens if we find him?”
They hadn’t thought of that.
Silence.
Kill him.
Her voice swam up from somewhere inside.
Kill him before he kills you.
Derek’s heart missed a beat. Maybe she was right. His hand moved down to his pocket. He felt for the knife through his trousers. Wrapped his fingers around its shape.
Yes, she breathed. Yes.
“Well?” Charlotte cut through. Brought him back round.
Nobody said a word. They just stood in the silence. Then events overtook them. Starting quietly. Starting gently. With just the smallest tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap…
“Where’s that coming from?” Joe’s face was one of alarm. “Is that your noise?”
Tap.
“Yes. That’s it.”
Tap, tap….knock, knock, knock…
“Oh God!” Charlotte looked positively wild.
Don’t shriek, Derek willed her. Please do not shriek.
She cast him a look. The energy was back.
The thumping continued and he moved to the door. Opened it. Listened. Where was it coming from? Rob came up behind him and confirmed his fears.
“That’s the loft space,” he said. “Or should I say, our bit of loft space. Your bit of loft space. Sorry. How many do you have exactly?”
Derek shrugged. Not even he knew that.
And so they left the safety of the empty room, moving in a huddle into the darkened hall. Moving, as one, to the loft.