Darkside by Tom Becker Page B

panicky racket of yesterday was gone, and an atmosphere of subdued agitation hung heavy in the air. Patients huddled in their beds, mewling softly with fear. He could even hear the occasional choked sob. A host of orderlies prowled watchfully around the room. Jonathan kept moving, following the nurse’s instruction. Something was terribly wrong in this place.
    Inside Room Seven, Mrs Elwood was sitting next to the prostrate body of his dad, reading a glossy celebrity magazine. She whirled round at Jonathan’s entrance, but Alain didn’t move a muscle.
    â€œJonathan! What are you doing here? If you wanted to come you should have phoned me, dear. I would have picked you up.”
    He ignored her and strode up to Alain’s bed. “What’s Darkside, Dad?”
    Behind him Mrs Elwood whispered a quick prayer. He might have been imagining it, but Jonathan thought that one of his dad’s eyes had twitched in recognition at the name.
    â€œI’ve been in your study, Dad. Can you hear me? I’ve been in your precious study.” He said it forcefully, like a challenge. Alain’s lips trembled. He could hear what Jonathan was saying, all right. “I’ve been reading your stupid books.”
    Mrs Elwood laid a restraining hand on his arm, but he shook her off. He was filled with a sudden anger that was clawing at his insides. A low moan escaped from Alain’s lips, like the sound of some ancient Egyptian tomb opening.
    â€œI saw the photograph, Dad. I saw the photograph of you and Mum.”
    Another moan, louder this time.
    â€œAll these years, and you never showed me. You told me there weren’t any pictures!”
    Nearly weeping with frustration, Jonathan turned away and sat on the end of his dad’s bed. He wanted to hurt him, to pay him back for all those years of silence, to make him angry, to make him get up off his bed and fight back, anything. He needed Alain to be alive here with him. Shaking with rage, Jonathan felt like screaming at the top of his lungs to block everything else out, but then suddenly the anger was melting away and his dad was hugging him for the first time in years.
    â€œI’m . . . so . . . sorry,” he breathed in Jonathan’s ear.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Jonathan managed to say back, his eyes tightly closed. “It’s all right, Dad.”
    Â 
    It was incredibly frustrating. Thinking that he might get some real answers this time, Jonathan asked his dad question after question. But Alain drifted in and out of consciousness, only catching snatches of what his son was saying. Sometimes he tried to reply, but his mouth struggled to form the words. Jonathan hung his head disconsolately.
    â€œDon’t worry, dear.” Mrs Elwood smiled sympathetically. “He’s woken up. That’s the main thing. When he’s better you can ask him all the questions you want.”
    â€œIt’s just that there’s so much I don’t know. So much he hasn’t told me.” A thought occurred to him. “What do you know about Darkside?”
    Mrs Elwood sighed. As she turned her head away slightly, the lamplight cast a shadow on her cheek. “Enough to know it’s an evil place and that both you and your father would do well to stay away from it.”
    From the corridor outside there came the sound of measured footsteps. For a second Jonathan thought it was a nurse coming to tell them that they had to leave, but the footsteps passed by the door and went into Room Eight instead.
    â€œBut I know how to get there! I went to the British Library and read this book and it told me everything I need to know! I can go to Darkside!”
    Roused, she pointed at Alain. “Do you really think it’s that simple? Going to Darkside isn’t like walking down a street, Jonathan. You can’t just hop on a bus. It tears pieces of your soul away. Look at your dad! He hasn’t been back there for twelve