Chapter 92: NO NEED FOR DRAMATICS

A moment later

The Room

Roch dragged Thomas across the room by his hair, muttering in French. Thomas' eyes watered, but he was helpless to wipe the tears as they dripped. Roch halted at the WC where Guy was sprawled on the floor. He extracted his fingers from Thomas' hair and turned the chair so that he and Thomas were face-to-face. He saw Thomas' wet face, and it struck him as hilarious. He kicked Guy's feet, but Guy refused to rouse. He kicked again and pretended to be Thomas, sobbing and begging for mercy with great theatricality. Now Guy was interested.

Guy pushed himself to his feet and wiped a tear from Thomas' face with a dirty finger. He studied the tear. He studied Thomas. He punched Thomas in the face ... in the eye, to be exact. Guy did not punch with all his strength ... Thomas suspected that Guy rarely gave maximum effort to anything ... but the wallop was enough for Thomas to see stars. The two men watched Thomas expectantly, but Thomas remained silent.

The two men separated. Guy strolled by Thomas, turned, and gave him a kick in the ribs. The kick took away Thomas' breath for a few moments, but he tried not to panic. At least he wasn't wearing his boots. Unconcerned with Thomas' condition, Roch again took a fistful of hair and dragged Thomas after Guy. The pair's boozy recklessness filled Thomas with dread. He could no longer manage his fear, so he did something he had not done in years. He began to recite.

The Old Sea-dog at the "Admiral Benbow". Squire Trelawney, Dr Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island ...

Thomas was not surprised that he remembered the words. By the time he was 16, he could have recited any piece of the book. Guy and Roch quieted for a moment to listen. Then they howled, falling over each other as they mocked Thomas. The fools think I'm praying.

Guy opened the window and looked down. Thomas hoped Guy would see a policeman, perhaps even a police car, and escape the room while he had the chance, taking Roch with him. Instead he turned to Thomas and sneered. He said something to Roch, and the two men hoisted Thomas and his chair into the air and tilted him out the window. Thomas could feel the toes of his shoes hooked over the sill. He looked down at the street, but it was deserted. He guessed they were three stories up, certainly far enough for his head to be smashed when it hit the pavement. He felt the twine digging into him. Up to now, the twine had been his enemy. Now he prayed for it to hold.

So this is how it will end for me. Thomas closed his eyes and tried to picture something comforting. Bates. Bates with that half-smile of his; that inscrutable smile. Must I die without ever telling my Bonnie John how much I love him? He thought of Anna and Timothy and Emilia. He would never see Anna sell her first dress ... never see Timothy play American baseball ... never see Emilia graduate from university. "She will go to university," he declared defiantly to The Fates who had brought him so low.

The chair began to shake. Thomas did not know if Guy and Roch were trying to torment him further or losing their grip on the chair. I'm coming, Mum. Will you know me with a bashed in head? He tried to block out Guy and Roch's riotous taunts. Then another voice found its way to Thomas. A woman's voice. A cheerful voice. "No need for dramatics, Mr Frog," the voice scolded lightly. "Open your eyes, Tadpole." Thomas opened his eyes. Below stood two policeman looking at house numbers. Thomas took as deep a breath as his bruised ribs would allow and shouted, "Here I am! Thomas Barrow! Help me!"

Immediately, Roch and Guy jerked Thomas and his chair inside, bouncing his mouth off the edge of the telephone table. Thomas felt his mouth fill with blood, but what did he care. His kidnappers were about to beat a hasty retreat, and that was all that mattered. Thomas looked at his two wardens, but they seemed perfectly calm ... irritated but calm. Did these fools not have the sense to understand why Thomas had shouted?

Thomas would set them straight. "The police are coming! La police! La police!" Thomas tried to enunciate, but he spat blood when he spoke.

Guy and Roch were beside themselves now. "La police! La police!" they shouted in feminine voices as they pranced about the room.

"Imbeciles!" grumbled Thomas. The two men froze.

"Imbéciles?" snarled Roch. He took hold of the pistol and pointed it at Thomas. "Suis-je un imbécile maintenant?"

Guy was not too drunk to realise that shooting a gun in a hotel room was a bad idea. "Roch! Arrête!"

Roch swung the gun towards Guy. Guy picked up his large stockinged foot and kicked Roch's hand away, but the gun fired. For a single blessed second, Thomas thought Guy had been hit. But there Guy stood gaping at him. He followed Guy's gaze to the tear in his own sleeve and the blood that was beginning to seep through. Then came the pain. The searing pain.

Roch stood in a stupor. Guy approached Thomas to inspect the damage. That was the moment the police chose to pound at the door. Guy threw Thomas, chair and all, out of his way, landing Thomas on his left side. Thomas felt a sharp pain in his hand and heard his head hit the floor. Blackness swallowed him.