Anthony Horowitz - Nightrise

A shaft of light flashed in the sky, far away. A storm. Jamie got to his feet. He was shivering. It wasn’t cold – like everything else here, the temperature seemed to be fixed in some sort of neutral – but there was something about the lightning that set his teeth on edge. There it was again. He watched it flicker twice more – white forks of electricity so brilliant that they seemed to tear into the world as if determined to smash it. Somehow he knew that this was no ordinary storm. It was an announcement. Something was happening. It was still far away but soon it would be closer. There was a very slight breeze now. He could feel it, clammy and dead, batting against his face.

“Scott!” he called out again. At the same time he wished, miserably, that he could wake up right away.

He heard something on the shingle, over to one side.

He glanced round, expecting to see his brother, but instead there was a man kneeling beside the edge of the sea, holding a large, flat bowl which he seemed to be filling with water. Jamie had no idea where he had come from. He certainly hadn’t been there the moment before. The man was huge – and he was completely grey. His face, his hands, his clothes, even his eyes were the colour of stone, and if he hadn’t been moving, Jamie would have assumed he was a statue. He was wearing old-fashioned shapeless trousers tied with a leather belt and an open-necked shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He also had a hat – not a cowboy hat but something similar – and boots that came up to his calves. He was completely focused on what he was doing.

Jamie stood up and went over to him. He was about to speak but his feet, crunching on the shingle, gave him away. The man twisted around and straightened up. At that moment Jamie saw that he really was huge – at least seven feet tall with hair curling down to his neck and a face that was hard and craggy and full of anger. He had dropped his bowl. Now there was a large knife in his hand.

“I’m sorry…” Jamie didn’t know why he was apologizing.

The man looked down at him but said nothing.

“Can you help me?” Jamie asked.

“He’s gonna kill him,” the man said. He had a peculiar accent. It was American yet strangely old-fashioned, like something in a black and white film.

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know that. You know who I’m talking about.”

“You mean… Scott?”

The man nodded. “He’s gonna kill him. And it’s your job to stop him.”

“But who’s going to kill him? You have to help me find him-”

That was all Jamie had time to say. The man suddenly lashed out with the knife. Jamie heard it as it came sweeping through the damp air. Something slammed into the side of his head and he thought he’d been stabbed. But the man had struck with the hilt, not the blade. With a single cry of pain, Jamie was thrown off his feet and went crashing down onto his back. He could feel blood oozing out of his hair and wondered if his skull had been broken. The man stepped forward and loomed over him. He was holding the knife in both hands, as if about to make a sacrifice. Lightning shimmered one last time.

“Stop him!” the man commanded.

His hands came plummeting down.

Jamie woke up.

His head was throbbing and for a moment he thought he really had been attacked. He raised a hand and touched it to the side of his skull. There was nothing. No blood. No sign of a wound. He was lying, fully dressed, on a bed. For a moment he lay completely still, allowing his thoughts to swirl around him, separating what was real from what he had dreamed, trying to work out what had happened to him, where he was now and how he had got here. The attack at the theatre. That was real. He remembered the blare of the traffic, the neon lights, the car cutting across the street to pick him up.

Scott. They had taken him. Jamie sat bolt upright, instantly searching for his brother even though there was little chance that he was anywhere near. But it didn’t matter. It was instinctive. He sent out his thoughts, first into this room, then into whatever room might be next door, then further. He was shouting his brother’s name but without uttering a word.

There was nothing. Jamie felt a sense of blankness that told him exactly what he feared. He was on his own.

He slumped against the pillow, feeling the stiffness in his shoulder where the dart had hit him, and knew that he had been drugged. How long had he been asleep? The sun was shining. A blind had been drawn across the window but he could see the light streaming in along the sides.

His mouth was dry and he felt sick. He looked around him and saw that he was in some sort of hotel room. He could tell from the emptiness of the place, the cheap furniture, the prints on the walls – black and white photographs of Reno as it had been fifty years ago. There was a glass of water beside the bed. He picked it up and drank. It was still cool. A few lumps of half-melted ice floated on the top. He was thirsty. He emptied the glass, then swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand up.

The door of the room opened and someone came in, morning sunlight streaming over her shoulders. At first he couldn’t make out who it was. Then the person closed the door and Jamie saw a young black woman, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with a brightly coloured cotton shirt hanging loose on the outside. She was carrying two supermarket shopping bags.

“When did you wake up?” she asked.

Jamie didn’t answer her question. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How long have I been here?”

“It’s after ten. I was getting worried about you. I thought I was going to have to call a doctor.” The woman paused. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Are you Scott or Jamie? The two of you are so alike.”

Jamie tried to stand up but he still didn’t have the strength. He felt as if he had been lying down for a week. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a motel,” the woman replied. “We’re still in Reno, right next door to the airport. The Bluebird Inn. Do you know it?” She put the shopping bags down on a table. They were full of food. A couple of apples spilled out and she scooped them up. “I thought you might be hungry so I went out shopping. I’m glad I timed it right. I didn’t want you to wake up on your own.”

“You were in the theatre.” Jamie recognized her. She had been the woman with the photograph at the last performance. She had volunteered to come up onto the stage.

“Yeah.” The woman nodded. “Actually, I saw you three times. I was there at the seven-thirty show. And the night before.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see how you did it. Your act…”

Jamie forced himself to his feet. He was weak and his head was still throbbing, but he didn’t want to stay here, on his own, in the room with this strange woman. Scott had gone. Someone had taken him. That was all that mattered.

“Where are you going?” the woman asked. She placed herself between Jamie and the door.

“I have to find Scott.”

“I know how you’re feeling.” She shook her head. “But you can’t just walk out of here. It’s too late.”

“What do you mean?” Without knowing it, Jamie had clenched his fists. His eyes were fierce and bloodshot. “You were there. Why? Did you know what was going to happen? Were you part of it?”

Now it was the woman’s turn to become angry. “I think you’re forgetting what happened,” she replied. Her voice was still soft but Jamie could see that she was having to control herself. “I saved you. If it wasn’t for me, they’d have taken you too.”

Of course. She had been in the car. Jamie hadn’t seen her he’d only heard her voice before he’d passed out. But there could be no doubt. He recognized it again now. “Do you know where he is?” he asked. “Do you know who they were?”