Dollman

 

 

DOLLMAN IS early. It’s midnight, and I’m leaning over the embankment wall, staring at the London Eye and all the lights reflected on the river, when I glimpse him striding purposefully through the darkness.

Tonight the streets don’t glitter too brightly. It’s windy and cold and hardly anyone is around, but at least it’s not raining.

I follow Dollman up past the bus shelter where I first saw Micky. Tonight the bus shelter is empty. It’s stupid, but I start to feel a little sick if I think about Micky being out here. I don’t feel so good anyway. I’m tired and I’ve been thinking too much about Dashiel. I didn’t want to get out of my nest to hunt sharks tonight. I wanted to stay wrapped up in my memories. But while I lay there all safe, I kept thinking about the sharks swimming these streets. I kept thinking about Dytryk and others like him who don’t have the choice to curl up and try to shut out the darkness.

“Loki!”

My heart sinks and I screw my face up, but I keep walking. Laughter echoes from behind me, down near the railway arches, along with a few shaky, wolflike howls.

“LokiLokiLokiLoki!”

Louder this time.

And even though I’ve been careful and Dollman must be a hundred meters in front of me, he pauses in his steps.

Shit.

I stop and press myself into the shadows of some bargain-booze store, wishing Dieter would keep his bloody mouth shut.

Behind me I hear the clatter of footsteps. I don’t turn. I know it’s Dieter in his plasticky high heels. I can see his gangly reflection in a window across the street. Another boy is with him. It’s not Micky. Dieter is never on his own, though—he always has someone. Even if it’s not the someone he wants.

“Are you lost, Loki? A little lost puppy. Are you following someone home?” Dieter asks in a singsong voice, stepping closer than I’d like him to. He sounds high or drunk. The boy with him giggles.

Dollman moves on again, getting farther and farther away, but I can still just about make out his tall shadow. I push off from the wall and start walking, wondering how many times Dieter can stop me following this guy.

“Are you missing your dead friend, Loki? Are you trying to find another friend, Loki?”

More laugher, wilder this time.

I shove my hands in my pockets and walk faster, wishing I were far, far away.

Dieter’s words don’t cut through me so much as completely drain me of energy. They make me want to sit down, curl up, and breathe. Just breathe.

I don’t know how Dieter can say it like that—“your dead friend”—as if he didn’t know Dashiel at all. As if Dashiel meant nothing to him. When everything in my head makes sense, I sometimes think I can see why Dieter hates me so much. I’ve become a focus for how much he’s hurting. But mostly nothing makes sense. And being the focus of someone else’s pain fucking sucks.

I break into a run before I reach the park, scared I’m going to lose my shark. I want to know where he lives. I want to follow him home. I want to tether him to something so he can’t fade in and out of view like he does, like all the sharks do, so I need to try harder, do better. This is important.

This is all that’s important… or all that should be.

Of the five sharks Dashiel told me about, I’ve only seen two, and one of my own. But there are more, far more out there.

A few girls huddle beneath the ancient trees, just in sight of the road that curves around the park and just out of sight of the streetlights. I only know they’re there because I know where to look. It’s cold and the pavements are unsheltered, and that is where they stand to take a break.

I’m not trying to search Donna out—I’d really rather not see anyone who knows me right now—but I do glance around to see if she’s there as I hurry past.

Thankfully, she’s not.

Dollman turns his head a few times, as if he’s checking whether anyone is following. This is new. Perhaps he’s feeling paranoid tonight. Maybe Dieter’s shouting spooked him. He hasn’t stopped to speak to anyone since I’ve been following him, but then, I’ve not seen any boys on the streets tonight—apart from Dieter and his friend.

I keep on the grass at the edge of the park, in the shadow of the trees. The moon bathes the middle of the park in silver light, but I don’t let it touch me.

I follow Dollman all the way to Edgware Road. It’s nearly a mile. As he turns down windy little street after windy little street, with expensive mews houses on either side, I get this excited feeling in my chest that’s not quite terror, not quite anticipation. Finally I feel like a hunter.

But as soon as I think that, questions begin to fill my head, making it hard for me to think straight. Where is he going? Home? If he’s the killer—is this where he brings his victims? My stomach tightens and twists inside me. I touch my pad, feeling its heaviness in my pocket and wishing I could write all this down. Make sense of it. But I can’t. Instead I need to focus on why I’m doing this. Why I have to be strong enough.

We come to a dead-end cul-de-sac. I need to hang back or figure out a way of making myself invisible.

After picking up his pace for a few meters, Dollman stops outside a small square building that looks like a converted warehouse. He does it so suddenly that, in an effort to keep out of sight, I collide with a small tree in a pot outside someone’s front door. I grip the tree in my arms to stop it from falling over and watch as Dollman silently ascends a short metal staircase to the front door. A few seconds later, the door swings inward and he steps inside.

He’s gone.

A muffled thunk sounds as the door closes.

For almost a full minute, I keep my arms around the tree and don’t move. I don’t want to mess this up, don’t want there to be any chance Dollman will see me. I can imagine him being paranoid enough to be looking out of the windows to make sure he’s not been followed. I know I would if I had something to hide. Also, I kind of like the smell of the tree and the feel of its thick waxy leaves on my skin. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine cool hands touching me.

Holding me. It’s like a dream.

I hope no one else can see.

By the time I step around the tree and inch along the wall to take a look at the warehouse building a little more closely, I think the adrenaline that got me here is starting to wear off—my hands are shaking, my legs feel like jelly, and I’m as cold as fuck.

Moving quietly, I creep in the shadows until I am crouched beneath the metal staircase, looking up. I can see the stars scattered through the metal slats, but that’s not what I’m looking for.

No lights are on in the warehouse, unless all the windows are blacked out so anyone outside can’t tell. That’s unlikely, I guess.

I wait, but the place remains dark. From the separate letter boxes next to the door, it looks to be divided up into quite a few flats.

I get a little jolt of excitement when I notice there is an electronic keypad entry instead of a lock. Can I figure out the code to get in? I don’t know. Maybe. But if I did, what would I do? Break in? I have no idea which flat he has gone into or even if it’s his. What if he caught me? Would it be worth it?

Too many questions again.

I rub my hands up and down my arms to warm my fingers up. It’s enough for tonight that I’ve found this place. Whether or not it’s where Dollman lives, he’s here, and it’s still a tether. Now I need to write everything down in my notepad—every detail, before I forget.

When I get back to the swimming pool, I can curl up in my nest and decide what to do.

I try and tell myself I’ve done well tonight. This is good. This is something. But the satisfaction lasts for less than ten seconds. Dashiel’s face is there when I close my eyes. I won’t let myself forget.

After I’ve filled a page and a half with notes, I crawl out from beneath the stairwell and start walking back the way I came. I hunch over, protecting myself against the onslaught of wind that whips around me as I reach the park, and push my hands deep in my pockets to stop my fingers freezing.

It’s strange, but even though I’m only walking, some small part of me is yelling and running through the dark.