The Darkest Corners by Barry Hutchison Page A

open at the back. Despite the situation, I was relieved to note that I was still wearing underwear. If I was going to have to run away from something, I didn’t fancy doing it with no pants on.
    I lay back on the pillow and the pain in my head subsided to a level I could cope with. There were wires attached with sticky pads to my chest, but the other end of each wire hung loosely over the sides of the bed. It was a hospital bed, with raised metal guards at either side to stop me rolling out. A proper modern hospital bed, not the rusted old contraptions in Doc Mortis’s hospital.
    There was a click as a door was opened somewhere behind me. I twisted my head round and saw two men stepping into the room behind me. It was my dad and Doc Mortis. They approached in a rush, side by side, until they reached my bedside.
    â€˜Where am I? What have you done to me?’ I demanded.
    â€˜Relax, Kyle,’ my dad said. He was wearing a long white coat with a badge fixed to the left-hand breast pocket. The badge displayed the little logo of the National Health Service and a name: Dr Feder. ‘You will be very disorientated. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.’
    He shone a small torch in my eyes, but I batted it quickly away.
    â€˜Oh, you think?’ I snapped. ‘And whose fault is that?’
    He raised his eyebrows towards Doc Mortis, who made a hasty scribble on a clipboard he carried. Now that I looked at him, there was something very different about Doc. He was the same short, squat shape, but his scars were gone and his broken round glasses had been replaced by black-framed rectangular ones. His hair was still thin and wispy, but the strip of exposed flesh across his scalp had disappeared.
    His clothes were different too. Or rather, his clothes were the same, but they were now clean. His white coat was exactly that – white, without a single bloodstain to be seen. He had an NHS badge pinned to his chest too. It read: Dr Morris.
    â€˜Kyle,’ said my dad, and his voice was more gentle than I’d ever heard it. ‘Do you know where you are?’
    â€˜Not really,’ I admitted. ‘The Darkest Corners? Although probably not. I’m no use to you over there, am I?’
    Both men shared a confused look. Doc quickly wrote something else on his clipboard.
    â€˜You are in hospital,’ my dad said. ‘Do you remember why?’
    â€˜Because you threw me down the stairs and he stabbed a needle in my neck,’ I retorted. ‘At a guess.’
    There was that look of confusion again, with a dose of concern mixed in. ‘You were assaulted,’ he continued. ‘On Christmas Day. Do you remember?’
    â€˜Of course I remember! Mr Mumbles. How could I forget that?’
    Doc’s pen scratched furiously against his paper. My dad looked down at the notes and gave a faint nod.
    â€˜I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,’ he told me. ‘I don’t know who Mr Mumbles is.’
    â€˜Yes, you do,’ I growled. ‘You sent him.’
    â€˜You were alone in your house,’ my dad continued, a little flustered. ‘And became aware of an intruder trying to gain entry. He tried to come through your bedroom window at first. Then he tried to come in through the doors.’
    He spoke slowly and deliberately, pausing at the end of each sentence to give me an encouraging nod.
    â€˜Finally he gained entry through the window in your living room. You tried to escape, but he caught you.’
    â€˜I know all this,’ I said. ‘Why are you telling me? What are you doing? What’s all this about?’
    â€˜He caught you and... he hurt you, didn’t he? He was strong, and he was violent, and he wasn’t holding back. He beat you badly. He was the one who threw you down the stairs.’
    â€˜No! It was you!’
    â€˜That’s not true, Kyle. I would never hurt you. I’m your