Street lights flickered on as Ryker walked along. Darkness fell quickly. By the time he approached the factories, no daylight remained, making every step that little bit more tense. At least the hour was still early, and the factories and warehouses still busy. Rather than threat, Ryker felt a certain comfort in the knowledge that so many people remained around him, going about their ‘normal’ days.
He soon made it back to the gap in the fence. He looked up and down the street, was about to pull back the metal slats when a van approached somewhere behind him, lights blaring.
Too late now, with Ryker there, hunched down, fence in hand. As the headlight beams swept over him, Ryker pulled himself through the gap. He spun on his heel to watch the van idle past. Too dark to make out anyone up front, or to spot whether they were looking at him.
Regardless, Ryker moved more quickly down the lane. The lane that was now black – the trees and overgrowth around him enough to drown out any illumination from the street and the buildings around. As Ryker’s eyes adjusted to the renewed darkness, he caught sight of the form of the shed in the thin light from the cloud-shrouded moon. No sign of any glow of fire through the gaps in the walls of the structure.
Ryker slowed. Steps more cautious than before. He listened. Looked. Too dark to really see anything.
‘Henrik?’ Ryker called, his voice low.
He reached the shed. Pushed open the door. The fire in the center of the space was all but out, just a few glowing embers remained, smoke twisting up into the air. Plenty of warmth still, but the fire was dying. And he saw no sign of Henrik.
‘You took a long time.’
Henrik. Ryker spun around. Could barely see him in the dark outside. Had heard nothing of him.
The boy moved forward, his movement giving away his position, though he remained cloaked in darkness and Ryker’s wariness peaked. Something about his voice.
‘I got what we needed,’ Ryker said, slipping the bag from his shoulders. He unzipped the main compartment to take out the coat.
‘What we needed?’ Henrik said. ‘We needed some books from the library?’
Ryker paused. Henrik laughed. A short, sharp laugh.
‘Why were you speaking to her?’
‘You were watching me?’ Ryker said, a little disturbed by the thought.
‘Obviously.’
‘You weren’t following me, though.’
Not directly, anyway. There’d been no one on his tail, street by street. Ryker would have known.
‘I know this town better than you. It wasn’t that hard to think where you were going. I got there before you. Waited. To see what you were doing.’
So he’d been hiding out somewhere by the shops? Ryker wondered where exactly. The café? No, surely he wouldn’t have made himself that vulnerable.
Either way, the kid was sneaky. Clever, though a little snide of him to do that.
‘Why?’ Ryker asked.
‘You were talking to that policewoman.’
‘Yes.’
‘About me?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Do you see her here now? Or any of her colleagues?’
Silence from Henrik. Silence, except for the sound of him shivering.
Why had he put himself through that?
Ryker pulled the coat out of the bag and outstretched his hand. Henrik didn’t take it.
‘You don’t trust me?’ Ryker asked.
No response still. Though after a few moments, Henrik yanked the coat from Ryker’s grasp.
‘The fire’s nearly out,’ Ryker said. ‘We could make another—’
‘I’m not staying here.’
‘Probably a good choice. So… What now?’
Even though he could see little of Henrik’s face, he could sense a stark change in the boy’s mood and demeanor. Was this where they parted ways? Though if Henrik didn’t trust Ryker, and wanted to go it alone from here, then why had he come back to this place at all? He’d had the chance to run. He hadn’t taken it.
Ryker knew why. This boy had more to him than Ryker had realized, but Henrik was also lost. In life. Fourteen years old. No real family, no one in this place who he truly believed he could trust to help him. Ryker was the closest person to breaking that, but they’d known each other for only a few hours. Of course, Henrik was hesitant and wary. But the fact he was standing in front of Ryker now proved a dead giveaway that he wanted help, and that he saw Ryker as his best bet for getting that.
‘You said you knew where we could get a car?’ Ryker said.
A short pause, before, ‘Yeah. Follow me.’
* * *
Stealing a car wasn’t as easy as shown in the movies, Ryker knew. Gone were the days when a wire hook down the window, into the door, could be used to pop a door lock. Gone were the days when a plastic panel could be ripped out from under the steering column and two wires criss-crossed to hot-wire and get the engine rocking. Unless they could find a much older car, modern computer electronics – and security – meant they needed a key – or at least a key clone. Ryker knew how to clone key fobs, but he didn’t have any of the equipment to do so. So getting hold of an actual key was the only way. And the only way of getting a key was to steal one directly off a person, or to break into a house, an office, and steal one.
Henrik seemed to know all this without explanation from Ryker, which only made Ryker all the more curious about the boy’s life and experiences. Fourteen years old? Ryker certainly hadn’t been an angel at that age, or at any age really. Had he stolen cars at fourteen? The answer wasn’t the point. His was hardly a model path to take through life, and certainly not a path he’d wish for any other child.
The house they arrived at was a small, detached, wood-clad affair on a short street of similar-sized though not identical properties. In the dark Ryker struggled to tell exactly what state they were in, but the street seemed nice enough, and the houses’ modest sizes suggested the occupants were working class. An assumption further cemented by the cars on the drives, and the few on the road, with a mixture of makes, ranging in age from brand new to ten years old, though none were high-end.
A single car – a nearly new VW Golf – lay parked on the driveway outside the house Ryker and Henrik spied on, Ryker hadn’t seen the car before on his adventures around the town. Given who Henrik said lived here, Ryker had half-expected to see one of the more ubiquitous pickup trucks.
‘How do you know this is the place?’ Ryker asked.
‘I just do,’ Henrik said, without looking.
‘Which one is he?’ Ryker asked.
Henrik did now glance at him. ‘He was at the house earlier. The smaller one. His name’s Martin.’
‘Martin what?’
‘Martin Lindstrom.’
‘And you know where he lives?’
‘I told you. I sneaked a look at his wallet one day. When he was snoring on the sofa after too much beer. I found his driving license.’
‘Your one guard was drunk and asleep? Why didn’t you make a run for it?’
‘I tried. More than once. But not that day.’
Without further explanation, Henrik moved away from the car they were hunched by, into the road. Ryker followed. Lights were on somewhere in the house in front of them, the glow visible through the glazed window of the front door. Given the relatively early hour, whoever was home was likely still up.
‘Do you have a plan?’ Henrik asked as he looked around him. Somewhat nervously, Ryker felt.
‘Back door. Smash and grab. It’s the quickest and easiest way.’
‘I could go to the front. Ring the bell. Add confusion.’
Ryker hesitated. Not least because he was unsure of putting Henrik directly in harm’s way.
But before he could say anything, Henrik raced forward, up to the front door, and pressed on the bell then knocked. Ryker darted past him, around the car, and toward the back, just as the front door opened and he heard an inquisitive female voice.
No time to waste. Ryker jogged toward the garage, where a wall and a gate blocked him from the garden and the back of the house. He jumped up, grasped the top of the wall, and swung himself up and over.
A dark garden. Small. Lights all around him from the nearby properties to the side and rear of this one. All was quiet, though. He moved quickly across the paving slabs to a back door – the top half was glazed with several small, square panes. Lights on beyond. A kitchen and dining room. No one in sight, though the stove was lit. A pan steamed away on top of it.
Ryker tried the door. Locked. But he could see, through the glass panes, the key in the lock.
He half turned, pulled back his elbow, and smashed it into the pane closest to the handle. The single-glazed glass caved on the first try. Ryker reached in, turned the lock, and pushed open the door.
He stepped in. A man’s voice. Not Henrik. Questioning. A woman too. More panicked now. Henrik was also talking. Quickly. Trying to calm the woman?
Ryker looked around. Spotted the bowl on the side table. He moved over, grabbed for the VW-emblazoned key fob.
A figure appeared in the doorway. A man. A man Ryker didn’t recognize. Short. Slight. Fifties, Ryker guessed. His shirt was disheveled, like he’d had a rough day. He held a phone in his hand. He said something to Ryker. It sounded like a command – get out, or something similar – though his voice quavered. He was petrified.
Ryker rushed forward, the man caught in two minds. Attack or defend. He chose the latter and backtracked into the hall, nearly tripping over his own feet as Ryker closed in. But Ryker had no intention of attacking him. At least, not if he didn’t have to.
He didn’t have to.
Ryker turned and raced for the back door. He jumped up over the wall. His ankle twisted as he fell and he grimaced in pain. Not enough to stop him. He rushed for the car. Unlocked it. Jumped it. Engine on. Reverse. Henrik appeared in the mirror. He dove into the passenger seat. Neither said a word. Ryker hit the accelerator and the car jerked back. Ryker twisted the wheel and the tires screeched as the Golf swung around in the road. First gear, Ryker floored it. He checked the mirrors as he sped away.
The man came out onto his front step, phone to his ear. No sign of the woman.
Ryker, teeth gritted in anger, returned his gaze to the road.
Silence in the cabin. After a while and a few more turns as they approached the edge of the town, Henrik finally spoke.
‘What?’ he asked, himself sounding aggrieved.
‘You know what,’ Ryker said.
‘Do I?’
‘He wasn’t one of them.’
No response from Henrik now. Ryker wouldn’t even look at him, he was too annoyed.
‘So who was he?’ Ryker asked.
A short pause. ‘You really want to know?’
‘That’s why I asked.’
‘He’s a teacher. At the school. He’s a real bastard. Believe me.’
Believe him? Ryker didn’t know what to believe anymore.
‘Don’t ever lie to me again,’ he said.
Henrik gave no response to that.