Shell Shocked (7 page)

Being alone also left me with more time to think, which meant more time to imagine the kinds of things that could go wrong, all the people who could be Nazi agents or gangsters. Too much time combined with too much imagination was a bad thing.

Jack was snoring away. It was so loud it was like he was a cartoon character. The lights had been out in the living room for at least twenty minutes and I didn't hear Mom moving around now. She was probably in bed. I'd wait ten minutes more and then climb out of bed to check. I was actually feeling pretty tired, so I thought I might get to sleep pretty easily. A couple of times already I'd drifted off for a few seconds. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up with me.

Then I heard a noise. It was unmistakable—the front door opening. I rolled out of bed. I was already dressed, with my dark green canvas shoes on my feet. I wore a pyjama top in case I had to pretend to be asleep, and my dress pants because they were the only pants I had that were black. I heard the front door close again as I peeked around my bedroom door. It was being closed from the
outside
.

On all fours I crawled across the floor, getting to the window in time to see my mother walking away. Her head
swivelled around. She was looking behind her and then all around, to see if anybody had seen her. I had, but she didn't know it. She headed off down the street.

I was determined to follow her, but should I wake up Jack and get him to come with me? No, there was no time for that. By the time Jack was awake and out of bed she'd be gone. Already she was disappearing into the darkness.

Quickly I ran through the house and out the back door. I closed it quietly so the sound didn't escape into the house or out into the night. I didn't want anybody to hear me. I circled around the house in time to see my mother moving down the street. She was walking on the sidewalk. There were little puddles of light cast by the scattered streetlights, and she'd appear in one of the little haloes only to disappear again into the darkness, moving toward the next one. I stayed close to the silent and sleeping houses, where there was more darkness, and where the grass and ground would muffle my footfalls. I moved quickly but not too quickly. I wanted to make sure that I didn't lose her, but I couldn't get too close or she might see me.

Almost on cue she turned her head to look and I froze in place, hidden in the shadows. She kept moving, so obviously she hadn't seen me.

For somebody who was just out for a walk she certainly seemed very nervous. Maybe that wasn't the word.
Cautious, watchful, careful. All three of those fit. I guessed walking late at night along deserted streets might explain that. Maybe not.

She turned the corner and vanished from view. I took that opportunity to cross the street and take shelter in the shadows on the other side—the side she was on. I stayed in the shadows, able to move much quicker now that she couldn't see me. Carefully I came to the last house, hugging the wall and peering around the corner. She was well down the street already, moving very quickly. This was no leisurely stroll. It was as though she was late for an appointment. But where would she be going at this time of night?

A car came rolling down the street—I hadn't noticed it at first because its lights were off. I froze, hoping the shadows would hide me. It passed and suddenly it pulled over to the curb, right in front of my mother, and I saw somebody get out! The dark figure approached my mother, and I could tell, whoever it was, he was big. Why was she still walking toward the man? Why hadn't she turned around? How could she not see him? He guided her toward the car and opened the passenger-side door and … was he forcing her into the car?

I froze in place. What was I supposed to do? Should I run to one of the houses and pound on the door and have them call the police? Why hadn't she tried to run away?
Why hadn't she screamed out or struggled? Did she know this person? And if she did, why was she out here meeting some man in the middle of the night? None of this made any sense, and from the distance I was at I couldn't really tell what was happening. I had to get closer, and fast, in case the car drove off.

I stayed close to the houses, still sure that the deep shadows would conceal me as long as I didn't move too fast. From house to house I darted, ducking behind bushes, hidden by parked cars and trees, keeping one eye on the ground in front of me and the other on the car. I could see the two dark shadows now through the back window. They were facing away from me, looking forward.

I was now close enough that if it hadn't been so dark I would have been able to read the licence plate … was it covered with mud? I needed to get closer yet. I crawled on my belly along the grass, keeping a large bush between me and the car. I was slightly behind and to one side. To get any closer, I'd have to cross the open sidewalk, and that would put me right behind the car. On my knees I crawled across the pavement, staying so low that there was no way I could be seen in the rear-view mirror. I closed the gap and slumped down right behind the car, hidden by the trunk. I'd made it.

I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my heart, which was practically pounding through my chest.
Okay … I was here, and I could hear my mother and the big guy talking … although I couldn't hear what they were saying. My mother's voice was louder. Did that mean that her window was open? I shifted a little bit to the side. If it was open and I got a little bit closer, then I could—there was something pressed against the back of my head.

“If you move, you're dead,” a foreign-sounding voice said.

THE BLOOD FROZE
in my veins.

“No sudden movements, and raise your hands slowly above your head!” a man hissed.

As I did what I was told, my legs were kicked out from under me and I slammed, face first, into the road! A knee was pushed into the side of my head, pressing my face down so that the pavement bit painfully into my cheek.

“Don't even think about moving!”

“I … I won't,” I stammered.

A second set of feet appeared and a bright light was shone into my face.

“He's just a kid!” the second voice exclaimed.

I heard the car door open and the sound of more shoes on the pavement.

“George?”

Without being able to move my head I looked up as best I could. It was Bill!

“Let my son up!”

There was my mother, standing right beside Bill! Instantly I was pulled to my feet, and my mother wrapped her arms around me.

“Everybody, into the car,” Bill barked, and I was swept off my feet and practically tossed into the back seat. Bill climbed in behind the wheel and the engine roared to life. We swerved away from the curb and raced away. Headlights flashed as a second car peeled away and fell in right behind us.

“Both of you, put your heads down!” Bill ordered.

“George, your face … you're hurt!” my mother exclaimed.

I put a hand up to my face and it came away with blood on it. The side of my face had been scraped when I was thrown to the ground.

“He's hurt!” my mother yelled.

“How badly?” Bill demanded. “Do I need to get him medical help?”

“I'm okay,” I said, trying to sound calm. “It's just my cheek. I'm okay … it's just a scrape!” I hoped that was all it was.

“Here,” Bill said, and he passed something over the seat to my mother. It was a flashlight. She turned it on and
shone it in my face. I tried to turn away but she held my head firmly and I was forced to shield my closed eyes with a hand as she examined the wound. I waited for her verdict.

“It needs to be cleaned and dressed, but it's not too bad,” she finally said. “Nothing worse than you sometimes get playing road hockey.”

That was a relief!

“Then that's the cover story,” Bill said. “You fell while playing road hockey with your brother. That will explain it.”

But that didn't explain anything else to me.

“We're clear. You can both sit up now,” Bill said.

We climbed off the floor and sat on the seat.

“So, George, are you truly okay?” Bill asked.

“Oh, I'm just
great
. I'm bleeding, I was knocked to the ground, a gun was pushed into the back of my head, and I'm driving around in the back of a car in the middle of the night wondering why I'm here.”

“Yes, I was wondering that myself,” Bill said. “So, why are you here?”

I turned to my mother. “The better question is, why are
you
here?”

My mother didn't answer.

“Is somebody going to explain this to me? Mom?”

She looked away.

“Mom?”

She shook her head. “I can't. I'm not allowed to.”

“What do you mean you're not allowed …?”

Suddenly everything made sense. The middle of the night. Bill. Her not being “allowed” to tell me.

“That must mean that Bill is allowed,” I said.

“How much do you know?” Bill asked.

Now he was asking me questions instead of answering them. Did he think I had valuable information?

“I know enough,” I said.

“I'd like to hear what you know.”

“Maybe
I'm
not allowed to tell
you
. Have you thought of that?” I demanded.

Bill exhaled loudly. “And how much does Jack know?”

“I guess you'd have to ask him that yourself.”

“An excellent idea,” he said. “Betty, I'll send a car to get Jack. Is the front door of the house open?”

“Front and back,” I said. “Are you going to tell me what's happening now?”

“Sorry, George, at this point I'm not allowed to talk about it either. But I'm afraid, before the night is through, we'll have to have a discussion.”

A clock ticked noisily on the shelf. I sat alone in the office—the Commander's office at Camp X. When this night started I'd had no idea where it was going to end up,
other than possibly in my bed. This was the last place … actually, it wasn't the last place. This all made sense. As much sense as anything else. In a few minutes I'd have an answer, although it might not be an answer I'd like.

I heard the door open and I spun around in time to see Jack come in. He was wearing his housecoat and pyjamas, slippers on his feet, his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions. I stifled a laugh. If Daphne could see him now, that would be the end of their little romance.

“You gonna explain this to me?” he said as he staggered over and took a seat beside me.

“I wish I could, but I don't know enough.”

“You must know more than me. I'm sound asleep and I get shoved in the side, and I wake up to three men standing over me. I practically wet myself.”

This time I couldn't hold back the laughter.

“Then they tell me Bill sent them to get me,” Jack said. “I was relieved … and then scared.”

“What do you mean?”

“I noticed that you weren't in your bed. Then I found out that you and Mom weren't in the house. I started thinking, how do I really know that Bill sent them? How do I know who they are?”

“Yeah, it's not like they were wearing uniforms,” I agreed, thinking back to what I'd thought when that gun was pressed against my head.

“So I started thinking that I should make a break for it, but they were watching me like hawks, and I saw that one of them was carrying a piece under his jacket—”

“They probably all had guns,” I added.

“And that made me more nervous. I wouldn't be able to run, and I was worried about where I was going and where you and Mom were.”

“They didn't tell you?”

“They wouldn't tell me anything. They wouldn't say a word. That was one long car ride. I was so relieved when we drove through the front gates of the camp.”

“I hope ‘relieved' turns out to be the right word. I'm not sure what's going to happen. I just hope we don't have to wait too long to find out.”

On cue the door opened. Mom walked in, followed by Bill and … Little Bill! Little Bill being part of this meeting meant that we were going to get to the bottom of everything. But it also meant that this was very serious, and we'd probably stumbled into something dangerous. Again.

Mom rushed over, wrapped her arms around Jack and me. Bill brought over another chair and placed it between us, gesturing to our mother to sit down.

Little Bill stood over top of us and offered his hand. I started to get to my feet.

“Please, stay seated,” he said, and I shook his hand. He did the same with Jack.

At that moment a man came into the room pushing a small serving cart. On the cart were cups and saucers, a little jug of milk, a sugar dish and a large, steaming pot of tea. I could smell it.

“Let me do the honours,” Little Bill said.

He started pouring tea and then began adding milk and sugar to the cups. He handed me a cup. “Milk and three sugars,” he said. “Correct?”

“Yeah.”

He did the same with Bill, Jack and my mother. He didn't need to ask anybody. He had remembered from months ago how we liked our tea. Here was this man who was in charge of thousands of spies and dozens and dozens of secret operations, a man who was licensed to kill, one of the most dangerous men in the world, and he remembered how we liked our tea! Unbelievable.

“That looks like a nasty scrape,” Little Bill said, pointing at my face.

“It looks worse than it is,” I said, although it was still stinging. It was now partially covered by a big bandage. The medic for the camp had cleaned it out. When he'd poured the antiseptic on it, it had hurt so badly that I'd had to fight hard not to scream or cry.

“I don't believe it will leave a lasting mark, but if it does, they do say that women love a scar.”

Bill and my mother laughed. I didn't think it was that funny.

“Jack, I must apologize. I'm assuming that they did not allow you sufficient time to change.”