Hideout, Jack Heath [top reads TXT] 📗

My name doesn’t appear in any of the news coverage. Maybe Thistle suppressed it somehow. Or perhaps Zara did. There’s no mention of her, either.

I’m determined to stay on the sofa until someone arrests me, but pretty soon my hunger gets the better of me, as always.

I thaw out the cash from the freezer and take it to the mall, where I buy a whole roast chicken and some new clothes. By the time I’m halfway back to the house, I’ve eaten most of the chicken. I’m starving. It’s like my body is trying to grow a new arm. I assume it can’t do that, but I wonder why not. What’s the medical reason that I can regrow skin, hair, flesh, bone and blood, but not a limb? A lizard can regrow its tail, after all.

When I get home, I have to put the bag of chicken on the ground so I can open the door one-handed. Then I have to pick up the chicken, take it inside and put it down again so I can close the door. I can’t use a knife and fork at the same time, so I have to pick the bones clean using only my fingers and teeth.

By the time I’ve finished the chicken, I’m wondering other things. Like, what am I going to do if the police never come for me? What is the rest of my life supposed to look like? I have no friends, no family. No job, and no prospects of getting one.

Over the next few days I practise some things. Tying my shoes one-handed is too hard without a thumb, so I buy Velcro-fastening shoes from a thrift store. I buy a backpack so I can carry more than one thing at a time. I get rid of my shirt with the buttons, which are fiddly. I learn to pin objects down with my stump so I can manipulate them with my other hand. Mostly I just get used to life being a pain in the ass.

At night, I wake up screaming. The nightmares are about the grinder, but it’s usually Thistle being fed into it, not me.

I’m too scared to call her. She knows my secret now. But I also saved her life. What does she think of me?

The throbbing from my stump fades as the antibiotics kill the infection. Every day I have a little more energy. I spend my time pacing around the house, asking myself the same questions over and over.

Eventually I do call Thistle. But her number has been disconnected. I can’t even leave a message.

Kyle’s hat is on the floor next to my mattress. One night I see that some of his hairs are still stuck to the rim. I close my eyes and sniff them. They don’t smell of anything.

CHAPTER 44

What is good at the start but sad at the end?

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ says the woman behind the counter. ‘You need written permission.’

‘I got a call to say the results were back,’ I say.

‘They are, but I can’t give them to you.’

She’s wearing a polyester polo shirt with her name embroidered on the lapel, too small for me to read. Thick glass separates me and her, as though someone might try to rob this place. There’s a sign on the counter: CAUTION. SHUTTER RISES UPWARD.

‘You need the legal guardian’s permission when the subject of the test is underage,’ she says.

‘I can’t get that. He’s dead.’

‘The legal guardian is dead?’

That’s not what I meant, but I decide to roll with it. ‘Right.’

‘Then you’ll need permission from the next-of-kin.’

‘I don’t know who the next-of-kin is,’ I say. ‘That’s why I need the test.’

She looks at my empty sleeve, wet from the rain outside. Most people glance away quickly, act like they haven’t noticed my missing arm, but her gaze lingers long enough for me to see some sympathy.

‘IED,’ I say. ‘In Afghanistan.’

She nods sadly. ‘I’ll see what I can do for you, okay? But no promises. Wait over there.’ She gestures to a plastic bench bolted to the wall of the corridor.

‘Thank you,’ I say, and sit down. The woman emerges from a door marked Staff Only and hurries away down the corridor, her black sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.

I look down at my own shoes, with the Velcro. Kyle’s shoes had the same straps. Did no one ever teach him to tie his laces? I’m not good for much, but I could at least have done that for him.

After a minute, someone approaches, but not from the direction the woman went in. Maybe she called security on me. I keep my head bowed, hoping they’ll walk right past.

‘Blake.’

I look up. It’s Thistle. Beautiful, strong, unbending. She’s alone, in plain clothes, hair tied back, make-up on. I’m on my feet so quickly that she takes a step back.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘I went to your house,’ Thistle says, ‘but I didn’t want to go in. And then you left, so I followed you.’

I don’t ask why she didn’t come in. There’s no good answer to that question.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘No permanent damage,’ she says. ‘You?’

‘Yeah, me too.’ My lie is more obvious than hers. I clear my throat. ‘You look good.’

‘You too.’ She glances at my missing arm. ‘Have you lost weight?’

‘Ha.’ I can’t resist a smile.

‘Listen,’ she says. ‘I—’

‘Can you wait five minutes?’ I don’t want to get arrested before I get the results about Kyle.

‘Sure.’ She sits next to me. ‘I can stick around.’

‘Your roommate must be glad to have you back.’

‘I’m not staying with her.’

‘Oh?’

Thistle looks away.

‘Oh,’ I say.

‘We’re not getting back together or anything.’ She sounds like she’s trying to