Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📕

demeanour. Had he managed to get rid of the guns? ‘You look happy today,’ I said.

‘And why shouldn’t I be?’ he said as he inspected an old desk. ‘The sun is shining; the birds are singing. It’s a good day to be alive,’ he said.

‘Well, I think it looks like rain…’ I told him. I was certain it would rain at some point today; the sky resembled Grandad’s stash of wire wool.

‘We’ll be quiet today, then. Perhaps we can have a treat at dinner. You can fetch some of them lemon curds from the bakery. You like them, don’t you?’ he said.

‘No.’ I laughed. ‘I like jam tarts. You like the lemon curds.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s right.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, twelve o’clock on the dot, you take yourself off to the bakery, okay, JC?’

‘Yes, Mr Phillips, I will.’ Was he trying to get rid of me? I hesitated before heading to my workstation. ‘Mr Phillips, why are you so happy today?’ I asked, chewing on my lip. I was never normally this forward.

‘Let’s just say I think I’ve struck a deal for the rare antiques I told you about.’ He tapped the side of his nose.

I sighed. ‘Great!’ I hoped that included the guns.

At twelve o’clock I went to the bakery. They were busy with the dinner time rush, and by the time I was served, the heavens had opened, as I’d predicted. I tucked the brown paper bag containing our treats under my jacket and ran back to the shop.

The open sign had been turned to closed.

I shook the rain from my hair as I entered and found Mr Phillips wasn’t at the counter. I guessed he’d gone to make the sandwiches and put the kettle on, so I walked into the kitchen, expecting to find him standing there. The kettle had boiled and was still steaming. The bread had been sliced, ready to butter.

But Mr Phillips was missing.

I frowned. It was like Thursday morning was repeating itself. I returned to where I’d located him the last time he vanished, but paused just outside the backroom as I heard a voice I didn’t recognise.

I edged closer to listen better, but they’d stopped talking. Taking a breath, I moved forward again to see who was in there with Mr Phillips. He hardly ever let customers into this area.

I stood at the entrance and clamped my hand to my mouth to silence my gasp, almost dropping our tarts on the floor. A man in a blue suit with chestnut hair was crouched on the floor in front of my workbench. He appeared to be searching for something, the way his arms were moving, and I could just see a pair of brown trousers and brown shoes poking out from behind him. I recognised the shoes; they belonged to Mr Phillips. He always tied his laces in a single bow. I also recognised the man bent over him. It was The Suit, and I shivered as my mind pieced everything together.

I froze as I watched him plunge an object into Mr Phillips’s side. The action made me plunge forward too. Mr Phillips groaned out in agony. ‘Stop! Please!’

Then I saw the shiny blood running towards The Suit’s shoes.

I took a small step back, then another, until my foot tapped the edge of a box. Before I had time to react, The Suit whipped around, sprang up, and knocked me into the wall. The bag I’d been holding slipped from my grasp, scattering the floor with pastries. He pinned me in place and grabbed at my face as I tried to turn it the other way. He roughly pulled at my cheeks to turn my head in line with his. I tried to avert my gaze, but he only dug his fingers into my cheeks harder, so I shut my eyes tight.

‘Look at me,’ he said. His breath was hot on my face.

‘No!’ I shouted.

I searched for a record to play on my internal record player to escape from the horrid scene in front of me.

‘Look at me, or I’ll kill the old man,’ he whispered in my ear.

My eyes sprung open at those words, and I met his gaze. His eyes were nearly black, like two lumps of coal, just like in my dreams. I wanted to yell and get away. I didn’t like the look in his stare. If I could have found it in me, I would have removed them from their sockets so I wouldn’t have to look into them ever again. The more I looked, the more I felt as though I would disappear into their blackness.

‘Tell me where they are!’ he said, spraying spittle all over my face. I tried to move my hand up to wipe it off, but he saw me shift and gripped my wrist, holding it tight against my side. ‘Don’t try anything stupid, boy. I can snap your neck in a second.’ As he said this, he slid his hand down from my face to my neck.

‘I… I…’

‘Answer me!’ he shouted.

‘Are… W-what… where?’ I stammered.

‘The eggs, the eggs,’ he said quickly, his head moving from left to right.

‘I… I… don’t know!’

The Suit hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you do…’

I couldn’t tell him. He’d hurt Mr Phillips, and they didn’t belong to him. Plus, Mr Phillips didn’t want anyone to get their hands on them. I could only presume he meant The Suit. It was down to me now to keep them safe; Mr Phillips was my friend. I had to honour his wish.

Mr Phillips groaned again.

‘Is he going to be alright?’ I asked.

‘That depends on you,’ The Suit snarled, looking over his shoulder. ‘Now, tell me where they are,’ he said. At that moment, he released my face and dragged me by the shoulder to the seat at my workbench. He shoved me down so roughly I almost toppled off.

‘Stay there.’

I wiped my face with my sleeve and massaged my cheeks where he’d dug his fingers in. Thankfully, he hadn’t drawn blood. I watched