Part 10 (2/2)

It placed its entire great weight on top of his grandma's office. Conor could hear the wood groan and saw the roof sag. His heart leapt in his throat. If he destroyed her office, too, there's no telling what she'd do to him. Probably s.h.i.+p him off to prison. Or worse, boarding school.

You still do not know why you called me, do you? the monster asked. You still do not know why I have come walking. It is not as if I do this every day, Conor O'Malley.

”I didn't call you,” Conor said. ”Unless it was in a dream or something. And even if I did, it was obviously for my mum.”

Was it?

”Well, why else?” Conor said, his voice rising. ”It wasn't just to hear terrible stories that make no sense.”

Are you forgetting your grandmother's sitting room?

Conor couldn't quite suppress a small smile.

As I thought, said the monster.

”I'm being serious,” Conor said.

So am I. But we are not yet ready for the third and final story. That will be soon. And after that you will tell me your story, Conor O'Malley. You will tell me your truth. The monster leaned forward. And you know of what I speak.

The mist surrounded them again suddenly and his grandma's garden faded away. The world changed to grey and emptiness, and Conor knew exactly where he was, exactly what the world had changed into.

He was inside the nightmare.

This is what it felt like, this is what it looked like, the edges of the world crumbling away and Conor holding on to her hands, feeling them slip from his grasp, feeling her falla”

”No!” he cried out. ”No! Not this!”

The mist retreated and he was back in his grandma's garden again, the monster still sitting on her office roof.

”That's not my truth,” Conor said, his voice shaking. ”That's just a nightmare.”

Nevertheless, the monster said, standing, the roof beams of his grandma's office seeming to sigh with relief, that is what will happen after the third tale.

”Great,” Conor said, ”another story when there are more important things going on.”

Stories are important, the monster said. They can be more important than anything. If they carry the truth.

”Life writing,” Conor said, sourly, under his breath.

The monster looked surprised. Indeed, it said. It turned to go, but glanced back at Conor. Look for me soon.

”I want to know what's going to happen with my mum,” Conor said.

The monster paused. Do you not know already?

”You said you were a tree of healing,” Conor said. ”Well, I need you to heal!”

And so I shall, the monster said.

And with a gust of wind, it was gone.

I NO LONGER SEE YOU.

”I want to go to the hospital, too,” Conor said the next morning in the car with his grandma. ”I don't want to go to school today.”

His grandma just drove. It was quite possible she was never going to speak to him again.

”How was she last night?” he asked. He'd waited up for a long time after the monster left, but had still fallen asleep before his grandma came back.

”Much the same,” she said, tersely, keeping her eyes firmly on the road.

”Is the new medicine helping?”

She didn't answer this one for so long, he thought she wasn't going to and was on the verge of asking again when she said, ”It's too soon to tell.”

Conor let a few streets go by, then he asked, ”When is she going to come home?”

This one his grandma didn't answer, even though it was another half hour before they got to school.

There was no hope of paying attention in lessons. Which, once again, didn't matter because none of the teachers asked him a question anyway. Neither did his cla.s.smates. By the time lunch break came around, he'd pa.s.sed another morning not having said a word to anyone.

He sat alone at the far edge of the dining hall, his food uneaten in front of him. The room was unbelievably loud, roaring with the sounds of his cla.s.smates and all their screaming and yelling and fighting and laughing. Conor did his best to ignore it.

The monster would heal her. Of course it would. Why else would it have come? There was no other explanation. It had come walking as a tree of healing, the same tree that made the medicine for his mother, so why else?

Please, Conor thought as he stared at his still full lunch tray. Please.

Two hands slapped down hard on either side of the tray from across the table, knocking Conor's orange juice into his lap.

Conor stood up, though not quickly enough. His trousers were soaked in liquid, dripping down his legs.

”O'Malley's wet himself!” Sully was already shouting, with Anton cracking up beside him.

”Here!” Anton said, flicking some of the puddle from the table at Conor. ”You missed some!”

Harry stood between Anton and Sully, as ever, his arms crossed, staring.

Conor stared back.

Neither of them moved for so long that Sully and Anton quieted down. They started to look uncomfortable as the staring contest continued, wondering what Harry was going to do next.

Conor wondered, too.

”I think I've worked you out, O'Malley,” Harry finally said. ”I think I know what it is you're asking for.”

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