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In a silent rage, he yanked the books and magazines from the shelves, tore down the model aeroplanes that hung above the desk, ashamed at how proud he had once been when his father had allowed him to paint one with red varnish. Jacob kicked at the drawers he had searched in vain for so many nights. He was twelve and no longer had a father. But the room remained silent – and empty. Come back! Jacob wrote it with his finger on the fogged-up window, on the dusty desk, and on the glass panels of the cabinet that still held the old pistols his father had collected. The sweater he had worn so often hung over the chair, and a used tea bag was desiccating on a plate next to his calendar, which still showed the weeks of a previous year. It still looked as if John Reckless had last sat in his desk chair less than an hour ago, instead of more than a year. Their mother had not entered there since his disappearance,īut for Jacob this was not the first time he had sneaked into the empty room to search for the answers she did not want to give. There was still a light burning in his brother’s room – Will was afraid of the dark – and Jacob made sure he was fast asleep before unlocking the door to their father’s study. Its cool metal nestled in his hand as he stepped back out into the dark corridor.

The key lay right next to the pills that let her sleep. She did not wake as Jacob stole into her room, even when he carefully opened the drawer of her bedside table.

Outside the stars were paled by the glaring lights of the city, and the large apartment was stale with his mother’s sorrow. Like a cloak woven from freedom and danger.

The groan of a ?oorboard as he slipped out of his room. The night breathed through the apartment like a dark animal.