‘People like you keep nice cars in garages,’ I say, thinking
of my poor, mangled Triumph Spitfire. ‘And you keep books on shelves and never
read them.’
Teague
doesn’t seem to care. He turns around and marches up the hill again. We reach
the peak and enter the shade of the tree.
He reaches
into his bag and pulls out his device. The remote control that I saw him use to
travel through a bus.
‘How did
you do it?’ I ask. ‘How do you travel like a ghost?’
He laughs
with a bitter tone. ‘Ghosts,’ he laughs. ‘Like a child’s story around a
bonfire.’
‘Well what
are we then?’
‘That’s a
mystery that is mine to find out,’ says Teague. ‘Once I’ve got rid of you.’
He flicks a
switch on the remote. I jerk to the right, away from him. I feel myself lift off
the ground. I cry out, completely unable to control my own movements. I stop in
the air, the deadened face of the starbright man beneath me.
No comments:
Post a Comment