Jimmy Coates: Killer. Joe Craig
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into chaos and hullabaloo. Jimmy felt himself moving, but couldn’t influence his actions. Once again the animal instinct that had helped him survive that night had taken control of his limbs. He knocked over the table with his shin, but didn’t feel any pain. Leaflets flew everywhere. Jimmy grabbed a notice board, shoving it in the way of a huge policeman as he dived. The policeman hit the floor and Jimmy stepped on his back to springboard off it and slam his feet into Sergeant Atkinson’s chest. Jimmy rolled under the desperate lunges of the other police, then bounded to his feet and rushed to the door. It was a big, heavy wooden door, but Jimmy crashed through it into the street. And ran.
The lobby of the police station was devastated. The policeman with the bloody nose reappeared through the swing doors and laughed, glad he wasn’t the only one to have suffered that night.
Sergeant Atkinson picked himself up and dusted off his uniform. His huge jaw cracked as he ground his teeth. There was an impressed smile behind his eyes as he looked out through the door, broken off its hinges, into the early morning.
“Let him go, it’s OK. We’ll pick him up at his cousins,” he said. “Where do they live?”
The policewoman next to him looked down at her boots. Then she spat out the words: “He doesn’t have any cousins.”
Jimmy ran just like he had already that night, but this time he couldn’t hear anybody following him. He ran longer than he needed to, just in case, until finally he started to feel weakness seeping into his knees. It was the strain that would normally have come ages ago. He slipped into a doorway and looked behind him. The street was empty. If anybody had been following him, they hadn’t kept up.
Jimmy’s legs twitched with fatigue. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees, feeling the strength in him fade away. It didn’t get any easier to understand. What was this strange urge in him to fight or to run? And how did he suddenly have the ability to do both? Jimmy wasn’t sure he liked it. However wonderful this power was, the very fact of its presence was terrifying. Before tonight he’d been like every other normal boy.
What’s more, he didn’t like having a violent side. It wasn’t just self-defence. Jimmy had been too keen to fight Mitchell, when he could have just handed over his bag and avoided anybody getting hurt. He imagined himself really injuring someone, or worse…but it made him wince and he shook his head hard.
Jimmy had to get off the streets. Everyone was after him. Everywhere was dangerous.
Jimmy caught sight of his fingers. They were purple with cold. He wished he had brought gloves. Even after he had been running so hard, sweating and red-faced, his fingers were bitten by the wind. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be stranded out on his own when the sun came up. The police would pick him up in no time. He hitched his bag higher on his back and started walking. This time he wasn’t lost; from the High Street he knew his way. Jimmy was heading to the place he considered his second home–the house of his best friend, Felix Muzbeke.
Jimmy trudged past the neatly trimmed hedges of the suburbs, consumed by his thoughts. He told himself over and over that he wasn’t a criminal, but it did no good–he still felt like one. It was worse than that, though–this feeling was coupled with the indignation of innocence. He imagined himself back at the police station shouting into Sergeant Atkinson’s leathery face: “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Only one realisation brought a smile to his face: he had busted out of the police station when at least six enormous officers had wanted to keep him there. First he had seen through their lies, then he had slipped through their fingers.
He shuffled towards Felix’s road munching on the last of his food: a chocolate bar and an apple. At the corner, he was shocked out of his reverie by a twitching curtain. And was that a green stripe on the gatepost? No–just a tired illusion. He kept his head down and walked on.
The Muzbekes’ house was bigger than his, and a little smarter. Jimmy had no hesitation in ringing the bell, despite it being so early in the morning. When Felix’s parents heard what had happened they would have to understand.
He rang twice before he heard movement inside. There were faint voices, the clunk of two bolts, and then a look of utter bewilderment when Felix’s father pulled open the door. His eyes were red and only open a tiny crack. He pulled his wife’s flowery dressing gown round him with one hand to guard against the freezing cold.
Jimmy looked himself up and down as Neil Muzbeke did the same. He was a wreck: covered in grime, his shoes filthy from the park. He had torn his jacket too, probably going over a fence, or maybe in the fight at the police station, or…It could have happened any time that night. No wonder it took the man a couple of seconds to recognise him. Felix’s father shook his head and blinked.
“Jimmy?” he spluttered.
The house was warm, and washing the dirt off his face felt wonderful–not to mention the chance to sit down. Felix’s parents were both up now, and his mother was fixing cups of tea. Felix himself hadn’t stirred. Outside, the birds had started singing and a gentle light was pushing through the windows. Jimmy sat at the kitchen table, unsure of what else to say. He had explained everything as calmly as he could, trying to be sensible and detached. At first, of course, they hadn’t believed anything he said, but when they phoned Jimmy’s house and there was no answer, they listened more closely.
“I’m going to call the police,” fussed Olivia Muzbeke for about the tenth time.
“I told you, you can’t. If you call the police, they’ll come and take me away.”
Felix’s father cleared his throat and brushed his wild hair back from his face. “If you’ve done something wrong, Jimmy,” he said, “it’s OK to tell us, whatever it is. We won’t be angry.” His bulbous cheeks wobbled as he shook his head rapidly.
“I told you, I swear. I haven’t done anything. They must be after me because of what I can do. I think maybe they want to experiment on me.” Jimmy meant this sincerely, but when he heard the words come out of his mouth, he knew they wouldn’t be taken seriously.
“Jimmy, dear,” said Felix’s mother, “if you have superpowers, you should show us.”
“I can’t show you. It just happened. I told you. It was this thing inside me that took over when I was in danger.”
Mr and Mrs Muzbeke looked at each other. The ping of the kettle broke the silence.
“You can sleep in the spare room,” sighed Felix’s mother. “I’ll fetch you some of Felix’s pyjamas. We’ll get this whole thing sorted out in the morning.”
Jimmy stood up from the table. He was exhausted. In the morning, when they found out his parents really were missing, they would have to believe him.
Then Jimmy remembered his sister.
“What about Georgie?” he said. “Call her school at nine o’clock and I bet you she won’t be there. I don’t think they’re after her too, but she ran off, and she’s going to try and help me.”
“Jimmy, go to bed,” said Felix’s mother. “Now.”
Felix’s father glanced up at the clock and groaned.
“I may as well get ready for work,” he said. “What a start to the day.”
Jimmy was upset. He knew he wasn’t exaggerating, or imagining it all. He just had to prove it. He stopped at the door and turned around. Suddenly he started opening all the kitchen drawers.
“What are you doing?” shrieked Felix’s mother. “Stop that. What are you looking for?”
It was too late. Jimmy had found a knife.
FELIX MUZBEKE HATED