“What is?” I asked, peering into the wardrobe.
“Miss Clarke had given Pryor a “D” on his last piece of homework,” he said, thumbing through a workbook. “He really is thick as shit.”
I smiled to myself as I closed the wardrobe door and looked back at the room. Elizabeth had said that Emily had woken to find McCain standing at the foot of her bed. So where would have been the best place to hide a camera? I wondered. Where would I have hidden it? I looked around the room and if it had been me waking to find McCain watching me as I slept, my first instinct would have been to rip his balls off, but Emily didn’t do that — she wasn’t me. But if I were her…then, I guessed where she would have hidden a camera. The bookshelf!
I crossed the room towards it and started to pull aside the books. Then, I came across a small green light shining from amongst the row of books, which lit up my face like a Halloween mask. The green light seeped from behind a thick leather-bound book. I pulled the book from the shelf, and there was the camera.
“Wassa-matta?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing me staring at the bookshelf.
The camera was very small and was one of those that could have easily been hidden in the palm of my hand. It was the type of camera that didn’t take a disc or memory card, but one which you downloaded straight to your laptop. If I could take it without Sam noticing then that would be great. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, but the fewer people that knew about it, the better.
“Wassa-matta?” he asked again.
“I’m listening, just in case someone comes down the corridor,” I told him.
“Chill out, will ya? You’re making me nervous,” Sam said.
“I’m making you nervous?” I half-smiled back at him. “How do you think McCain’s gonna make you feel if he catches us in here?”
“He ain’t gonna catch us. You don’t think he lives here, do ya?” Sam scoffed. “He’s probably got some right nice drum somewhere. It’s just us mugs that have to put up with living here. He won’t be back ‘till the morning.”
Sam turned back to the desk. I slipped my hand between the books and tried to free the tiny camera. I could feel wires leading from the back of it. I tried to loosen them with my fingertips, when I heard someone in the corridor outside. Sam must have heard the footsteps too, as he hissed, “Hey! Someone’s coming!”
I drew breath and it made a shallow wheezing sound in the back of my throat. I had been so close to taking that camera. I turned to look at Sam. His eyes were wide.
“What are we gonna do?” Sam panicked.
I scanned the room, searching for a hiding place for the both of us. From the corridor, the sound of approaching footfalls grew louder.
“Under the bed!” I whispered.
“You’re kidding me?” Sam groaned.
“Get under the bed!” I spat and I could see terror in Sam’s eyes, and seeing it only heightened my own sense of fear.
Sam seemed to freeze, unable to do anything. Knowing that my friend had become cemented to the spot, I rushed forward and pushed Sam hard in the chest.
“How you ever talked me into this, I do not know!” Sam groaned.
“Get under the bed!” I hissed.
Sam dropped to the floor and rolled underneath, and I followed. Wrapping his arms about himself, Sam curled up, his knees were against his chest and he was taking small, shallow breaths.
“Budge over!” I whispered. “I need some room.”
“Perhaps you’d like to sit on my lap?” Sam said.
“Yeah, very funny. Now move!”
I forced my way into the space and made myself as small as possible. I screwed my eyes shut and prayed that whoever it was coming down the corridor would walk straight past.
Please go right past! Please don’t come in here and find me and Sam hiding under the bed curled up like a couple of babies!
The sound of approaching feet stopped outside the door.
Please!
I peeked through my fingers and watched as the bottom of the door swung open. A pair of gleaming black shoes entered the room. I knew who was wearing them. I could hear him sniffing as if his nose was blocked. McCain closed the door and came inside. He stood in the middle of the room and sniffed the air. Then, crossing over to the wall on the opposite side of the room, he did what I had fought the urge to do. He rolled his tongue from his mouth and licked the congealed blood that covered the wall. He licked it like you would a lollypop, in long, drawn-out movements as if he was savouring every moment. I watched as he pressed his nose into the dried blood and sniffed. He sniffed again, and he seemed to become agitated as if he couldn’t smell the blood in some way, like his nose was stuffed with snot.
McCain crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.
How did I get into this? I cursed at myself.Should’ve listened to Kiera.
I heard McCain sniff again and then rummage through his trouser pockets. Empty. He sniffed again. I guessed he was looking for his nasal spray. McCain squirmed on the edge of the bed as he bent forward. Sam flinched beside me and rammed his fist into his mouth as one of McCain’s shoes brushed against him.
He’s gonna find us! I screamed inside.
Sam lay on his side, eyes closed. If he had popped his thumb into his mouth, the image of a baby in its cot would have been complete. McCain shifted above us again, and the springs in the bed groaned.
“Where is it?” I heard McCain curse under his breath.
I can’t breathe! McCain’s feet were now so close to us, I could smell the leather that they had been cut from and see the stitching that was holding them together. Then, something landed on the floor just inches from where we were hiding. Sam jumped and looked at me. Seeing what it was that had fallen beneath the bed, Sam’s eyes bulged in their sockets like hardboiled eggs and he pointed at it with one trembling finger. I looked in the direction that Sam was pointing, and could see McCain’s bottle of nasal spray lying between us beneath the bed.
Suddenly, McCain’s hand appeared. It scurried about like a bony spider, as it felt for the medicine beneath the bed. To my horror, his hand began to scuttle towards me. And with no room to manoeuvre beneath the bed, I might well end up in Sam’s lap. McCain’s hand inched nearer and nearer, in search of the bottle. Sensing that I was only seconds from being caught, I leant forward and pushed the medicine towards McCain’s hand with my fingertips. McCain’s spidery-like hand curled around it and snatched the bottle away.
I looked sideways at Sam. He closed his eyes, then tilting his head as if looking up at the ceiling, he mouthed the words, “Thank you.”
I felt McCain stand up, and from our hiding place we watched him head over towards the bookcase to where the camera was hidden. I watched McCain unscrew the cap, like a desperate drunk opening a bottle of beer, then ram the bottle into his right nostril. Throwing his head back, he squeezed the bottle between thumb and forefinger and breathed in deeply. He then thrust the bottle into his left nostril and did the same. Shaking his head from side to side, tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes, and his nose began to dribble snot onto his top lip. He replaced the cap and put the nasal spray back into his pocket. There was a small mirror attached to the wall next to the bookshelf. From our hiding place, we watched as he pushed up the end of his nose and tilted his head from side to side as he glared up his own nostrils. Then with his right forefinger, he pulled a bloody length of snot from his nose. After inspecting it, I gagged as McCain rolled it between his fingers then popped it into his mouth.
Forget being discovered under the bed with Sam, if he ever found out we saw him do that, we’d get more than a few zaps with a sizzle-stick — we’ll be doing twenty years hard labour in the Rat-House, I thought and rammed my knuckles into my mouth to stop myself from puking.