Doctor Who_ The Taint - Michael Collier [55]
and he'd been right, in the end. Even the hiding game began to vary now, although the location became more predictable - the cupboard in his room or the big suitcase under the bed; he'd got too big for the smaller places, no matter how hard they squeezed.
His dad had said he would knock an hour off the time Russell spent in the dark for every bottle of pale ale he could steal from the Ox and Asses. He'd done it; done it well, too - he was never caught. But his dad was a liar. He'd stolen four bottles one summer night and his dad, after locking him up in the cupboard, had forgotten all about him. He'd stayed there till noon the next day, almost retching on the thin, musty air, until his dad finally fetched him out and told him it was time for the stealing game again.
Things were clearly only getting worse for Russell, and for the baby too.
He'd seen his mum slap it and his dad pinch it when it bravely cried for help, which never did any good. It seemed a gift from heaven when Russell was packed off to stay with his aunt in Redcar for six weeks. She didn't treat him that well, and her other children bullied him and made fun of his looks and his clothes, but the air was fresh and clear, and there were lots of open spaces. You could see them through the big windows, all the way along the wall in the lounge. Russell loved looking at the view in the daytime, and was always allowed to draw the thick curtains across when it was night.
During those weeks, Russell was made to learn more about God. His aunt seemed very close to God, and would include Him in practically every conversation she had. Russell realised that God wouldn't approve of his stealing, not even for his father. Perhaps being sent to steal was a test - he had been tempted by the promise of fewer hours in the dark, tempted to be bad. He realised now he had been weak, and that the baby, always crying for help and upsetting his parents, was weak too. If he prayed hard enough, perhaps God would give him strength.
For a few days after his return, things seemed better. But it didn't last. His mum and dad would shout, but the baby would shout still louder, and Russell was ignored again.
Early one morning, while the house slept, Russell decided to show his dad, his mum and God that he was sorry for stealing and that he was a good son. He lifted the baby, peaceful for once, and took it to his bedroom. Then he crammed both himself and the baby into the cupboard, holding the wriggling bundle tight and covering its mouth to stop it screaming. It needed to learn that shouting for help, making a fuss, was wrong. God could hear you even if you were silent.
He couldn't have been there longer than a couple of hours before his mum found them both, quiet, still and beatific in the cupboard.
For a moment he thought she'd thrown her hands over her mouth in delight and surprise that he could be so good, so understanding. But then she'd grabbed the baby from him and gone screaming, crying round the room, pumping its little body, kissing it on the bed. But it wouldn't wake up. He'd been right. God had heard it, like he'd heard the humble Jew instead of the Pharisee.
His dad had yanked him by the hair, slapped him, hit him so hard he'd been senseless. The next thing he knew he was in the back room of Arnold Morris's, Dad's friend, the one who'd done all Dad's tattoos.
The numbers had both scratched and tickled as they'd eaten the skin on his forehead. He didn't understand his father's anger, didn't understand God and knew now that God would never understand him either.
He'd been kicked out, then, abandoned. Put in care and dumped in twenty homes round the country. He didn't really mind the moving on. With the Beast's own numbers on his forehead, it could only be a matter of time before Evil entered him. The numbers would invite it to him, haul it to him.
He realised now why the darkness had been so quick to befriend him. It had known, all along, the way things would be.
It had finally happened at the seaside, on the northeast coast when he