Кевин Брукс - iBoy

"It's OK, Gram," I said.

"Are you sure?"

I nodded.

Johnson said to me, "Did you see what happened?"

"No."

He tutted and sighed. "Come on, Tom ... you were there. I know you were there

"Yeah, I was at the playground," I said. "But I wasn't there for long, and I didn't see anything happening at Fitzroy House. I didn't go anywhere near there."

"You didn't see anything?" he said incredulously. "How could you not see anything? There were about a dozen FGH boys, and six of them got knocked out, so there must have been a hell of a fight... and even if you didn't see that, a van was set on fire, for God's sake. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you didn't see anything?"

"I didn't," I said simply.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Can I see your hands, please?"

"What?"

"Your hands ... please. I'd like to see the palms of your hands."

"What for?" asked Gram.

Johnson sighed. "Please, Ms Harvey. We can either do this here, with no fuss, no bother, or I can take Tom down to the station with me. It won't take a minute. All I'm trying to do is eliminate Tom from our enquiries. Believe me — if he's innocent, he's got nothing to worry about."

Gram looked at me. "It's up to you, Tommy."

I shrugged and said, "I don't mind," and I held out my hands, palms up, for Johnson to study. He didn't touch them, he just leaned down and looked very closely at them. I think he even sniffed them too.

"Turn them over, please," he said.

I turned them over.

"What happened there," he said, pointing to a patch of singed hair on the back of my forearm.

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I got too close to the fire, that's all."

"What fire?" Johnson said, glancing over at the radia­tor against the wall.

"At Lucy's," I told him. "She's got an electric heater. I sat too close to it."

He stared at me for a few moments, disbelief showing in his eyes, and then eventually he said, "Thank you ... now, just a few more questions, and I promise that's it. All right?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Right..." he said, hesitating slightly. "I need to know ... and I realize that this might sound a bit strange ... but I need to know if you own a mask."

"A mask?" I said. "What do you mean?"

"A mask ... you know, a toy mask. Superman, Spider- Man, anything like that."

Gram laughed. "Is that who you're looking for — Super­man?" She laughed again. "You really think Superman's going to move from Gotham City to Crow Town?"

"That's Batman, Gram," I said.

"What?"

"It's Batman who lives in Gotham City, not Superman."

"Really? Where does Superman live then?"

"I don't know."

"Metropolis," Webster said.

We all turned and looked at him.

Blushing slightly, he said, "Superman lives in Metropolis."

"For Christ's sake," Johnson sighed. "Can we please stay in the real world?" He looked at me. if you could just answer the question, Tom."

"Sorry," I said, grinning. "What was it again?"

"Do you own any masks?"

"No," I said, still grinning. "I don't own any masks."

"Would you mind if DC Webster took a quick look in your room?"

"No, no problem." I turned to point out which way my bedroom was, but Webster was already leaving the kitchen. Gram started to follow him, but Webster said, "It's all right, Mrs H. I'll be fine, thanks," and he shut the kitchen door behind him.

As I turned back to Johnson, he said to me, "Do you know what a Taser is, Tom?"

In an instant, an article from a website flashed into my head:

A Taser is an electroshock weapon that uses electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of muscles. Its manu­facturer, Taser International, calls the effects "neuro­muscular incapacitation" and the device's mechanism "Electro-Muscular Disruption (EMD) technology". Some­one struck by a Taser experiences stimulation of his or her sensory nerves and motor nerves resulting in strong involuntary muscle contractions ...

"Yeah," I said. "I know what a Taser is."

"Have you ever seen one?"

"No."

"Do you know anyone who owns one or has seen one?"

"No."

"Aren't you curious as to why I'm asking you about Tasers?"

"Not really, no."

He didn't say anything for a while then, he just sat back in the chair, crossed his arms, and looked at me. I could almost hear his mind ticking over — trying to work out if I was telling him the truth or not ... and if not, why not? Did I know anything? Was I too scared to tell him anything? What could I be hiding? Who could I be hiding?

I emptied my head, emptied my eyes, and stared back at him.

After a minute or two, DC Webster came back in. Johnson glanced at him, his eyebrows raised expectantly, but Webster shook his head — letting him know that he hadn't found any superhero masks or Tasers in my room.

Johnson sighed and got to his feet. "All right, Tom. That'll be all for now, thank you. We'll be in touch."

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," Gram said to me after she'd shown Johnson and Webster out. "Are you OK? You look really tired."

"Yeah ... I am a bit. I've got a really bad headache coming on too. Maybe I'll go back to bed for a while."

"I think you should. Have you still got enough of those painkillers that Mr Kirby gave you?"

I nodded.

She said, "OK, well, take two of those and get yourself off to bed. Do you want me to get you anything else before you go?"

"No, thanks," I said, getting up.

She gave me a hug and a kiss on top of my head, and I went down the hall to my room.

I really was tired. All those questions, trying to work out how to answer them ... and all that lying to Gram too. It had really drained all the energy out of me.

That and the last ten days.

As I lay down on the bed, there were so many things I had to think about, so many unknowns — what did Johnson know? what did he suspect? what did he think? what was I going to do about the money in Gram's bank account? what was I going to do about everything? — and I knew that I ought to start looking for answers right now. I ought to start scanning and hacking and searching and listening ...

But as soon as I closed my eyes, that was it.

I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

I must have been even more tired than I thought, because when I finally woke up — and when my brain finally started working properly — I realized that it was 11:26:54 on the following day.

I'd slept for almost twenty-four hours.

And I still felt tired.

But at least the dreaminess/non-dreaminess seemed to have gone.

In fact, I almost felt quite normal.

Almost...

In the kitchen there was a note from Gram telling me that she'd gone shopping, and that she'd be back in a couple of hours.

I made myself some toast.

Ate it.

Made some more (I was really hungry).

Ate it.

Drank some orange juice.

Put the TV on ...

Turned it off.

Then, not quite ready to do anything else yet, I went over to the window and gazed down at the estate below. It was a really nice day — clear and bright, birds singing, the sun shining — and even the estate itself seemed a lot less depressing than usual.

There wasn't much going on down there. A bunch of little kids were messing around on bikes, an old man in a battered old hat was walking his dog, and across Crow Lane a group of young girls were dancing and singing along to their iPods.

There was something about the estate that felt kind of strange — but strange in a good way. It's hard to describe, but it felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, as if, somehow, everything about it was the same as ever — the same buildings, the same roads, the same colours, the same shapes — but something else, something that was above and beyond the physical reality of the estate, had changed.