Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [4]
‘We was coming for you next, but now you’ve saved us the bother.’
Eddy was transfixed by the approaching blade. This man was going to slit his throat. They were going to kill him. This wasn’t just a beating or the antics of bullies, they had meant to cut the boy. They had meant to kill little Dennis.
And him too.
Something cold touched his neck and at that moment Eddy Stone realized that the ginger-haired man must know who he was – must know what he and little Dennis were. That realization filled him with as much terror as the knife at his throat.
He had to get away. Get to Mother. Warn the others. Eddy brought his knee up into his attacker’s groin.
The ginger-haired man grunted loudly and fell heavily against Eddy, howling in pain as the petrol lighter slipped in his grip, burning his fingers before falling extinguished to the ground. Darkness.
Reaching for the ginger-haired man’s face, Eddy dug his fingernails into the fresh wound on the man’s cheek. The knife-man shrieked in agony and let him go.
Eddy sprinted further down the alley, trying desperately to remember which street it led out on to in the maze of Soho. He hurtled around a corner, hearing the men behind him start to give chase. And then he ran straight into something solid.
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A police telephone box was blocking the alley. For a second Eddy just stared at it blankly. It was impossible. Why would the police put one of their boxes in an alley? There was a slim gap at one side, through which Dennis must have escaped, but it was far too small to allow Eddy passage.
He started to hammer on the door. Let there be an officer inside. A red-faced constable who’ll come out with a frown on his face to see what all the noise is about. Please let there be someone there. Anyone at all. Please.
The doors of the police box seemed to absorb the power of his blows. It was as if the box were a solid concrete block. Eddy barely managed to produce a sound on the sturdy frame.
6
Somebody please hear me. Please.
Footsteps heralded the arrival of the ginger-haired man and his thugs. Eddy turned to face them, pressing his back against the doors of the police box, unable to think of anything else to do.
The ginger-haired man walked straight up to him, smiled brightly, and then plunged his knife into Eddy’s throat.
‘That’s the trouble with the law,’ he giggled, as Eddy started to scream.
‘They’re never around when you need them.’
Christopher Cwej set his knife and fork down, and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. When his companion enquired as to whether he had enjoyed his meal, Chris looked down at the traces of sauce on his plate and realized that he had no idea what he had just eaten at all.
He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth searching for a clue to the meal, but only found a dull blur of flavours. It was as if his taste buds had all been deadened. But then all his senses felt numb. Everything had since Roslyn Forrester had died. He felt a few inches away from reality, unconnected to the world around him. Even speaking was an effort – he’d try to talk and then flounder, abandoning his sentences half made.
And then he’d remember that Roz often used to finish his sentences for him. They’d been a team, him and Roz. Roslyn Forrester and Chris Cwej against the Universe. Forrester and Cwej – he’d always liked the sound of their partnership. He’d been so proud just to be associated with her. He would always be proud of that.
Chris had been assigned to Roslyn Forrester soon after leaving college, playing wide-eyed rookie to her cynical street cop. He could see her now, one hand resting wearily on her hip, squinting at him, eyebrow raised as she made a wise crack – usually about his inexperience and naiveté, and always at his expense.
Their professional partnership hadn’t lasted long. Police officers who blow the