Turner. Jonathan De Montfort

recoiled, aghast. James had somehow changed positions with Jack.

      Jack staggered a few steps. Then his eyeballs rolled up to the back of his head, and he dropped to his knees and onto his face.

      Ryan and Warren looked on, as amazed as Hero. Warren pivoted deliberately towards James. His advance was cut short by a wrenching, tearing sound. He stumbled and let out a burbling scream that seemed to pierce its way out of the side of his throat. His leg was no longer straight; there was a strange, V-shaped angle at the knee. Blood began to spread outwards from the joint, and Hero realised that the leg was broken. He imagined what it must look like under Warren’s jeans, cartilage and bone crawling through the broken skin like blood-soaked maggots.

      The knot in Hero’s stomach exploded, and he fell to all fours. With one hand on the wall to steady himself, he vomited a pool of carrot-and-blueberry porridge onto the pavement. The intense sour cheese aftertaste caused him to retch a second time. Somehow, he choked it back, leaving only the emission of a foul burp. He panted as a bead of sweat ran down the length of his nose and dripped off the end.

      He heard another dull thud and then, after a long silence, a voice above him. ‘I thought I told you to run home.’

      He looked up at James, who held out his hand to help. ‘Come on, bruv, let’s go.’

      James pulled him up and set off briskly towards home. Hero craned his neck to see the scene they’d left behind.

      ‘Don’t look back,’ James ordered. ‘Just keep going.’

      He snuck a look at his brother, whose grim face remained focused on the pavement ahead.

      Oh, James. What have you done?

      Hero pondered the afternoon’s events as he, Dad, and James ate dinner at the kitchen table. In the corner, the TV was blaring out the news.

      What happened back there with James and those men? How did he stop them?

      With the sickening thud and deathly silence of the fight echoing in his mind, Hero gradually became aware that the reporter was talking about what’d happened today.

      ‘. . . significant gang violence in Westminster earlier today as police and ambulances were called to a scene of absolute carnage. Three men brutally bludgeoned each other to death using a variety of blunt weapons, including a baseball bat and a crowbar. Police are looking for a fourth man who they think might be a primary witness and are appealing for him or anyone else who may have seen the incident to come forward with any information at this time . . .’

      Hero glanced anxiously around the table. Dad was glaring at James, nostrils flared. James refused to meet his eyes.

      James couldn’t’ve done it. He’s a good person. I’m sure he’ll tell the police what really happened.

      James methodically folded his napkin, set it next to his plate, and left the table.

      Won’t he?

      Chapter 7

      Hero

      Images of the day buzzed over and over in Hero’s mind like shocks controlled by torturers who wouldn’t let up until he told them what they wanted to hear.

      It’s no use. He sat up in bed, staring at the shard of moonlight coming in through the crack between the curtains. I’ll just read for a bit. That usually sends me to sleep.

      He reached to his right, fumbling like a blind man looking for his cane. He nearly knocked his alarm clock to the floor, catching it at the last second. There. He switched on the lamp and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting them firmly on the plush white carpet. His bare skin prickled in the cool air as he levered himself out of bed, reached into his schoolbag, and pulled out Nineteen Eighty-Four.

      Now, where was I? Ah yes, Room 101.

      A light knock at the door echoed in the silence of the night. He crept towards the door like a saboteur on a mission.

      ‘You okay, bruv?’ James whispered.

      ‘Yeah, fine, just can’t sleep.’

      ‘Wanna talk?’

      ‘I prefer to whisper,’ he said with a grin. ‘Come in.’

      James wore the melancholy smile of a victorious soldier coming off the battlefield. He patted Hero on the shoulder and sat down at the computer desk. ‘It’s good to see you happy again, bruv.’

      Hero closed the door and perched on the edge of the bed.

      ‘So what’s keeping you up?’ asked James.

      ‘Just restless, I guess. Can’t stop thinking about earlier.’ He glanced down at his hands. ‘What happened back there today? To those guys, I mean.’

      ‘Listen, bruv, there’re some very bad people in this world. They never stop, until they’re stopped.’

      Hero smirked. ‘Like the Terminator?’

      ‘Worse, mate, because these people really exist—and they’re everywhere. You’ll understand one day.’

      Hero’s head snapped up, and he regarded James. He was serious.

      I have to ask.

      ‘But was it you? Did you hurt them?’

      James blinked silently.

      Please don’t be angry. ‘D-did you kill them?’

      ‘They killed each other.’

      Hero let out a gust of breath. I knew it. He is a good person. He could never have killed anybody.

      James picked at a cuticle. ‘Maybe I helped them get to where they needed to be, but I didn’t lay a finger on them.’

      Or could he? Why’s he always so cryptic? ‘But still, they died. I can’t get it out of my head. I feel really bad about that.’

      ‘Bruv, being bullied is not your fault. Don’t keep blaming yourself. Those dickheads got what was coming to them.’

      Hero reflexively smoothed his Luke Skywalker duvet cover with one hand. ‘What does Dad think of all this?’

      ‘He thinks the whole situation could’ve been avoided. He doesn’t understand—and he should.’

      Whatever. Dads never really remember what it’s like, do they? ‘Do you think they’ll leave me alone now?’

      James raised his eyebrow.

      Hero rolled his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean the ones today, James, obviously. I mean Martin and his friends.’

      ‘They will.’

      He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe it was all under control, just like James said. Just like James always made it so. ‘You know, you really were amazing today. And the other day. I never really said thank you, but thank you.’

      ‘Cheers, bruv. But as I said, I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’

      ‘But would I, mate?’

      ‘I’m sure you would, if you could.’

      Was Fi right? Could I follow in his footsteps? Could I make people leave me alone like James could? ‘How come you’re so calm all the time?’

      ‘I’ve told you before—because I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes.’

      More word games. Always playing at something. ‘Yeah, yeah, you always say that. What does it even mean?’

      ‘Sometimes I wish you knew. But maybe that’s not your path.’

      Hero snorted. ‘Ooh, Master Yoda, your path it is.’

      They stifled their laughter so as not to wake Dad. Hero jiggled his leg, full of nervous energy. I’m gonna ask him.

      ‘James? You know how you train