Читать книгу Wrath - Anne Davies - Страница 5

I’ve never been in a courtroom before. There’s something creepy about it. I don’t know if it’s all that old wood everywhere with panelling on the walls, doors, benches, and rails—a bit like a coffin, really. It’s how I imagine it might be after you die, sitting and waiting to see if you’re going to be sent to Heaven or Hell. Not that I believe in any of that crap. When you’re dead, you’re dead. Kaputzki! That’s all, folks.

Look at that old codger behind the bench up there. He’s the one who’s going to finally say what happens to me. What makes him God? He will decide whether I’m guilty or not. That shouldn’t be too hard. I rang the cops and said I’d killed him—them. Hardly rocket science.

The panel comes in and sits down. I don’t get a real jury because of my age. I look at them one by one with my toughest face on, the one where I make my eyes go kind of dead.

First there’s a man of about 50, I guess, and he doesn’t really want to be here. I can tell. He’s sneaking a look at the clock on the wall behind the judge’s head. His shirt and tie look cheap and tacky, like he’s dressed for a funeral. Maybe he is.

My heart thumps, and I make it calm down. Don’t think. Just look. I can’t really see the rest of him from where I’m sitting. He sees me looking at him and looks away fast.

There’s a woman next to him. She looks like someone’s kind grandmother, with hair like white fairy floss in a bun on top of her head and a powdery, lined face. She catches me looking at her too and swivels her head down quickly.

One by one, I scan them, feeling like a robot or maybe one of those clown things at the Royal Show—the ones that turn their heads while you drop balls down their gaping mouths. I wish I were a machine too—no feelings—but as I think that, it happens: that horrible, deep, dark…what can I call it? Tingle? No, that’s not strong enough. It’s like a deep electrical shock running through my body—up my legs, down my arms. It’s bad, really bad. I feel like I’m going to fall.

I’m not a machine! I want to shout. I’m a boy! I’m real, and I want to go home now! Make all this stop! But I have no home—no mother, no father, no sister…and no stepfather either. Can he really be gone forever? Thank God! Not that God wants to be thanked by me. Not after what I did. When I die, I’ll go to Hell… Oh, bullshit. Don’t fall for all that bullshit. But what if…? Just shut up! Shut up!

I hear a voice. It’s Mr Bloom. “Are you all right, Luca? You’re twitching and mumbling. Keep calm!” he whispers. I nod and concentrate on breathing slower than slow so that everything fades and there’s nothing but the drone of voices…