Chapter Four – A Bad Day for Jack

Jack was extremely cheesed off.

Today, for the first time in what must have been months, the post office had marked the envelope over the stamp. This meant that she couldn't craftily cut out the stamp from the envelope and re-use it on a birthday card or other personal letter, as she normally did. And so, it was with an irritated flick she sent the letter crashing into the bin.

It was then she realised she hadn't read it.

Cursing and swearing, she reached into the bin, cringing as her fingers brushed something slimy. Finally, after wading through several Nasty Things, her fingers closed around the corner of the envelope. After delicately fishing it out of the bin, she wiped a bean off the corner and opened it.

It was written in 'Times New Roman' font and the paper smelled posh. Jack would know; she sniffed it.

Dear Ms. Starbright ,It read.

We are of the understanding that your ward, Alexander John Rider has an attendance record of 45 full school days out of 256. We feel that during this time, Alexander may not have been receiving the sort of education necessary to help him get through his GCSE studies. For this reason, we would like to recommend a personal tutor for Alex, from a popular board of tutors named 'U-Doing-Crap?' This company have been used before and can be reached by email at . For enquiries, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours sincerely,

Mr H. Pullman,

Headteacher

Jack sighed. This was not good. Alex would probably throw an almighty paddy when he found out his school thought he was a bit of an idiot. Mind you, he was really. Only the other day, Jack had come downstairs to find him trying to watch the 'X-factor' on the microwave.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and popped the letter on the notice board, where it dripped bean goo all down the wall. After cleaning up the goo, Jack returned to cutting out stamps that hadn't been marked, glad of her one sense of power in an unstable world.

*

Riding home on his bike turned out to be more of a chore than anticipated and Alex found himself displaying a certain two-fingered salute more times than strictly necessary. He dumped his bike up against the garage door, where it clanged and clattered to the floor before lying in a crumpled heap on the crazy paving. This was the final straw and Alex spent the next two minutes screaming blue murder at the pieces of obnoxious metal that just happened to be his bike. After all, it was the bike's fault.

Not bothering to pick it up again, Alex stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Jack!" He bawled. "JACK!" There was no reply.

That was weird.

"JACK!" Alex was never one for subtlety. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" He stormed into the kitchen to find Jack dressed up in a ridiculous sushi outfit.

"Why didn't you answer when I called you?" He asked, irritably.

"Because it made more pointless drama," said, Jack after licking the fish she was supposed to be cutting up. Nice.

"Jack..." Alex began, staring at her. "...did you just lick that fish?"

"Why yes now you mention it..." She said, looking down at the fish she had just licked. "That was a bit weird wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Sorry." Alex slumped down at the breakfast bar. Jack looked from him to the fish, before nonchalantly throwing it in the bin.

"Pizza?"

"Yeah."

They ate in silence. Partly because they were both miserable and also because neither of them could find a way to discuss the strange growth on the pizza delivery boy's top lip without seeming discriminative.

After all of the pizza had been polished up, they watched TV for an hour and then went to bed, neither of them feeling any better.

*

Gavin's feet kept going dead.

He shifted them slightly against the trunk of the tree and swore as a branch cut into him. It was dark and he was starting to get brain-numbingly cold. Ah, an assassin's life.

He was crouching in the topmost branches of a large tree that was positioned right outside the Rider boy's bedroom. Gavin liked to make sure he was thorough with his killings and starting with the target's night-time rituals seemed a good place to start.

Peeping through the gaps in the venetian blind, Gavin discovered that Rider folded his pyjamas in a disturbingly neat pattern at the end of his bed. A pair of Primark slippers were positioned exactly parallel to the skirting board on the opposite side of the room and a portrait of Robbie Williams had been taped to a dartboard and now had a dart sticking out of his nose, perpendicular to the paper. Gavin was actually a little unnerved.

A teenage boy had absolutely no right to be so completely and utterly neat. It was as if a slightly mentally ill person had taken over the room. Shaking his head slightly, Gavin continued to spy through the blind.

Not a lot happened really. Rider took his pyjamas into the bathroom to change and came out again clutching the dirty laundry in his left hand. He wandered down the landing, deposited it in the washing basket and re-entered the bedroom. He then, to Gavin's disgust, combed his hair before climbing into bed.

Gavin withdrew from the window. He had seen all he needed and now felt faintly ill. This Rider boy was even more of a psychopath than previously anticipated. He needed to be taken out....and fast.