Chapter One

She left the car unlocked. Ricky watched from the bench outside the corner shop as the woman scrambled out of the red Fiesta, looped a bag over her shoulder, slammed the door and ran into the supermarket without a backward glance.

He was up in an instant, casually strolling past the glass door and glancing inside. The woman was down the far aisle, by the cold store with a packet of bacon in her hand. She seemed to be examining it closely.

Silly cow.Why didn't she lock the car? It was like hanging a great sign over it saying steal me . He looked up and down the street. Same old houses, same old curtains twitching, occupants thinking if he'd skipped college yet again, he'd be headed for a life of crime. He could almost hear them telling his mum, casually mentioning how they'd seen young Richard hanging around in that scruffy leather jacket-had the tech college really taken the summer break so soon? But what did you expect when he'd lost his father so recently, poor boy.

Once he'd made up his mind, Ricky had the car door open and was inside before he had the chance to lose his nerve. The keys were dangling from the ignition, calling out to him. This was easy. Too tall for the driving position, he reached under the seat with one hand, jerking it back as he turned the key. The door of the shop didn't even open as he put the car into gear and let the clutch up.

Three driving lessons and already he was a pro-down through the village and out onto the by-pass with barely a hiccup. He wondered how long it would be before the woman noticed her car was missing and called the police-time enough for him to run out to town and then abandon the thing in a car park. It wasn't as if he was going to crash or anything, so all she'd lose would be maybe a gallon of petrol at the most. It served her right for not locking the doors. He smiled; it beat the hell out of another afternoon listening to old Peterson rambling on about the intricacies of capacitors and transistors.

Ricky took the next exit off the by-pass and headed toward the town centre. It was a wide road-one of those annoying dual carriageways that should be de-restricted but had a forty mile per hour limit, seemingly just to ensure the traffic police hit their targets for speeding offences. He slowed a little; there was no sense in getting points on his licence before he actually had one.

Almost as he took his foot off the brake pedal, he caught sight of the blue flashing light in the rear view mirror. He scowled; if he got caught for joyriding now, it would blow his chances of an army career. Not that he liked the idea of the army much anyway-it was more his mother's dream of him following in his father's footsteps. Yeah, and getting killed on the job, too. Bitter memories came flooding back and for a second, he lost concentration, the scrape of metal against metal jolting him back to the present. That was it-he had no choice now-and he put his foot down, hearing the whine of the engine trying to keep pace with his demands. The police car was behind him, flashing messages to him to stop, probably thinking he was drunk. Drunk would be good right now, but unfortunately, he'd never been more sober.

The blue light filled his whole rear field of view. In the outside lane, he couldn't have pulled in if he'd wanted to, not with another car on his left. He stuck his foot down, trying to get past so he could pull in, but the other car matched his speed. Then the sirens started behind him and he lost what little concentration he had left. Up ahead, there were traffic lights, maybe half a dozen cars queuing and he knew he should be slowing, braking, but he couldn't. His foot seemed glued to the accelerator and the world was flashing blue at him, screaming in his ears. Even with his limited knowledge of braking distances, there was no way he was going to avoid a collision now.

Instinct took over and he jammed his right foot down hard on the brake, wincing as the screech of tyres harmonised with the wail of the sirens. The car was skidding and he had no idea how to control it as it rebounded from the central reservation into the car next to him, the impact throwing him sideways. Then he hit the car in front and for a second, the world froze-

And stayed frozen. Although his breath was coming in deep shuddering gasps, it was all he could hear, apart from his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. The rest was complete and utter silence.

He lifted his head from the steering wheel. So this was death, was it? Looking through the windscreen, he could see the other cars were immobile, the traffic lights stuck on orange and pedestrians like waxworks on the pavement.

Why wasn't anything moving? He swallowed hard. He didn't feel dead. On the contrary, he had the beginnings of what promised to be a stinker of a headache. So if he wasn't dead, he had to be unconscious and dreaming again. And anything was possible in dreamspace.

Ricky opened the car door carefully, grateful for the squeak of the hinges. He could still hear his heartbeat as he swung his legs out and sat there for a few seconds, trainers scuffing the tarmac while he waited for the dream to change or end. It didn't, so he stood up, looking for signs of life and a feather caught his eye, suspended in midair. He reached out and closed his fist over it, feeling it soft against his palm; when he let go, it fluttered silently to the ground.

Ricky fought down blind panic. This was a freaky dream.

It isn't a dream, idiot.

Voices? Ricky spun round, but there was no sign of anyone and it took another moment before he spotted a figure dressed in black and moving cautiously between the cars at the far end of the High Street. Was this the voice's owner? Too far away, surely?

No! The voice sounded frustrated and distant, but he recognised it now. It was the voice from his dreams-the boy with the wild hair and temper to match. What was his name? And where was he, anyway?

I'm Calith. Now can we save the rest of the introductions until later? Believe me, you do not want to meet these guys.

Ricky saw there were now two figures moving toward him and, too late, he realised what a target he made in the open road. Too late because even as he moved toward the back of the car, something whizzed past his ear, bouncing off the car with a metallic ping. They'd tried to shoot him-

Ricky, don't panic. Do what I tell you-

Copyright © 2005 Debbie Bennett