Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 90

               The light flashes from across the river and I know Graham’s ready. We had to take another trip back to his basement, cleaning up first so that his parents would be none the wiser. A large rug now sits over Teague’s ominous scorch mark.

                Soundless, as though he’s been next to us all along, Yates appears. He walks without a hunch for the first time since I’ve known him.

                ‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.

                ‘Alive for once,’ he replies, rubbing his hands together. ‘He’s home. He has a new girlfriend, she’s asking him for money right now.’

                ‘Well, Mr Yates just keeps getting better,’ Elle says. ‘You ready?’

                Yates nods. ‘Take my hands,’ he says.

                We do so. I was never one for pranks. At school I hated them, as I was the butt of jokes so often I had no option but to develop a hatred for practical jokery. This is somehow above practical jokes. A practical joke at school includes selecting an easy target and embarrassing them in front of all their peers. This is a gift that only death allows. This is ghostly retribution so deserved it feels divine.

                We disappear in an instant. And for a second I see inside Yates’s Edge. A world built of paper. The very air, if you can call it that, feels rough like the page of a book, and his memories are quotes flying past us as we make our short trip up the building.

                We step back into the world and my stomach turns. Never, in all my seventeen years of living, have I wanted to see a seventy year old man receiving a lap dance.

                ‘Holy Mary, Buddha and the many arms of Vishnu,’ exclaims Elle. ‘That’s my life ruined.’

                ‘I think you’ll find it’s his life that’ll be ruined,’ says Yates, with a Machiavellian glint in his eye.

                ‘We’ve created a monster,’ says Elle. ‘I told you we shouldn’t take the kids on revenge missions.’

                ‘We need to work on his one-liners,’ I whisper. ‘That one hurt.’

                ‘Shall I get started?’ Yates says.

                The woman, who I can only assume is some form of lady of the early hours begins gyrating in a very unnatural fashion.

                ‘Yes please.’ Elle gags on her words. ‘I think I’m going to be sick. Hasn’t this woman heard of bra fitting?’

                We scatter ourselves around the room. Across the river, I know that Graham is watching with binoculars, waiting for our signal for the fun to begin.