Chapter 4 004

His mother and Malcolm were arguing again. They argued every night. The shouting only stopped when his step-father hit his mother and Jeanette ran away to her bedroom and cried. Kit felt powerless to help her, though he'd tried many times and got himself a beating from Malc. His mother asked him not to get involved, told him he should hide and let mommy sort it out.

So he'd hid. He sat in the darkness beneath the stairs, watching, waiting. His step-father lashed out, striking his mother across the face and sending her flying into the corner of the sideboard. She hit her head and cried out in pain. Kit wanted to run and help her, but fear froze him to the spot.

What happened next was all a blur in his head. To begin with, the memory had been so clear, but after years of suppression, the edges of his memory had softened and Kit could only remember flashes of that night.

He remembered his mother reaching out for the knife she'd been carving meat with just minutes before; he remembered his step-father grabbing the back of her head, slamming her cheek down onto the sideboard, telling her not to do anything stupid; his mother had yelped, closed her fingers around the hilt of the knife and swung it at him in desperation. Malc had laughed, pulled back on her hair, and whispered something in her ear.

His mother had darted a glance towards the stairs, where she knew Kit was hiding. She began to beg, her subtle French tones becoming more pronounced as she began to whimper. "Leave him alone, he hasn't done anything wrong...please Malc, just leave him out of it..." she'd begged.

He whispered once more into her ear and Jeanette began to cry. Her grip on the knife became slack and Malcolm seized it from her hand. Yanking back on her hair he told her she was his good little slut and threw her across the kitchen. Jeanette landed heavily on the tiled floor and sobbed.

Turning his wild, drunken gaze to the hallway, Malcolm twirled the knife in his hand, making the blade glitter menacingly. His face was red and hungry, his eyes dark and wide, searching.

"Kristopher...Kristopher? Where are you?" he beckoned. "Come out and play son...I know you're hiding here somewhere..." Malcolm stepped out into the hallway as his mother screamed and ran at him.

"You bastard! You said you wouldn't hurt him!" she yelled. Jeanette was only a slender, small-framed woman and Malcolm was six-foot-two, weighing nearly twenty stone, but the force of her attack sent him lurching into the wall. Kit heard the heavy thud as his weight hit the plaster and the pictures rattled against the wall. Malcolm roared.

Kit knew that this was his moment to run...that's why his mother had attacked, to divert Malc's attention. Without knowing how, Kit was at the front door, reaching up to the latch and yanking it open before he could even think about his actions. With a last terrified look behind him, he saw Malcolm shrug his mother off and charge up the hallway in pursuit of Kit's disappearing figure.

The next thing he remembered was hearing the front door slam shut, then Malcolm's outraged yells and his mother's screams; and then silence; terrible, ear-shattering silence. Freezing in terror, Kit stared back at his house, his face white, his ears straining for another noise; a yell, a scream, anything to let him know his mother was alive. Nothing came.

He wasn't sure how many minutes passed before he heard the front door being opened. He saw Malcolm's huge figure blocking the light from the hallway and even from his positioning, Kit could see he was deathly pale. Kit lurched behind a neighbor's hedge and watched as his step-father scanned about in the darkness.

"KRISTOPHER!" he yelled. "I will find you, Kristopher, I swear it! There's no use in hiding!"

Kit stayed as still as he could, watching, not daring to breathe. After what seemed like hours, Malc climbed into his car and sped away. To his horror, Kit saw blood staining his step-fathers' hands and clothes and knew then that his mother was dead.

Screaming in pain, Kit had run...he never stopped running...he kept on and on until finally, he collapsed in some tall grass at a roadside. For two weeks he hid. He didn't want anyone to find him. He was so scared that if people found him, then Malc would find him too.

It was a week later, months for all Kit knew, that he came across a small farm on a hill, with a run-down barn full of straw. He had no idea where he was, but he knew it was very late. The stars had been twinkling away at him for several hours now. He had to be very careful.

Delirious from lack of food, having only had a slightly melted chocolate bar he had in his pocket and the remainders of a burger that he saw someone throw away, Kit crept up to the fence bordering their house and tapped lightly on the wood. He'd found somewhere like this before, but the owners kept dogs in the yard and Kit hadn't thought to check before he'd gone climbing over their fence. He wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Luckily, no sounds came from within, and more importantly, no dogs came to chase him away this time. Carefully, Kit climbed over the fence and tiptoed across the yard, being sure to keep to the shadows, in case the farm owners should happen to glance out their windows and see him. He snuck around the side of the barn, to where a pick-up was parked beside a row of stables. He wasn't as easily seen here.

Slowly, he began to climb the stacks of straw, higher and higher until he was near the rafters of the barn. Exhaustion ripped him apart, but he knew, if he could just get up there, he'd be safe, at least for tonight. Gasping with exertion, Kit pulled himself up over the last bale of straw and collapsed on top of it, his legs still hanging over the edge.

He wanted to give up there, but he knew he couldn't. Pulling himself onto his hands and knees, Kit crawled to the middle of the straw pile and groaned as he fell down, giving in to his exhaustion. He coughed, then wretched several times and curled up in a ball, clenching his empty stomach.

Numb from cold and aching with pain and hunger, Kit closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the gods, asking them to take him. He hoped he wouldn't wake up again, hoped he wouldn't have to face another day, reliving his memories; the shouting; the glitter of the knife in his step-father's hand; his mother screams; and always, Malcolm's leering face in the darkness, always waiting, always searching for him.

And that's when it first happened.

He heard soft breaths behind his head; his mother's soft voice as she sang. Lifting his head, Kit held his breath, unsure whether he was imagining things. He must be imagining things.

But there, looking perfect and serene, sat Jeanette Alden, her rich dark hair tied neatly with dark blue ribbon, wearing her favorite pastel blue summer dress. She smiled as Kit stared, white-faced at her, then continued with her lullaby.

"M-mama?" he croaked, tears burning his eyes. "Oh mama, I thought Malc had hurt you...I thought you were dead."

"He did, my darling, and yes, I am...but Malcolm...he's gone now...the policemen caught him days ago...he cannot hurt you anymore. Hey, hush, no tears." Jeanette said softly, running her delicate fingers through her son's messy, dirt-caked hair.

Kit wiped his face with the back of his hand, feeling all his hunger and pain ebb away as his mother stroked his hair. Her fingers were so warm and soothing. There was no way she could be dead if she was here with him now and he told her so. "But mama...you can't be...you can't be dead...you're here...you can't go...I need you..." he rambled, reaching out to hug his mother, to make sure she wasn't just a figment of his starved mind.

Jeanette kissed his head and held him close, trying not to get upset. "Kristopher." She whispered softly, wiping the tears from his face. "Listen my darling. Mama can't stay long."

"But..." he began.

Jeanette held her finger to his lips. "Hush. No questions. Ok?"

Kit nodded sadly. Jeanette smiled and dropped her finger from his mouth. She spoke soft and slow like she always did, her voice calming in itself. "I've been asked to give you a message Kit...a very important message. There are lots of people where I am, lots of people who are lost, who need you to help them Kristopher...they need you to show them how to get home."