How to Make Monsters Read Online Free Page B

Prentiss. Even now, he was able to
ruin small parts of her life, and she resented the power he had over her.
    “I’ll miss you,” said Nicci, holding
her tight on the doorstep. “Come back soon, big sis.”
    Emma returned the hug, and wished
that she felt more like staying; it would cost her nothing to extend her trip,
to spend more quality time with her family, but right now the thought of
leaving Prentiss’s ever-widening circle of influence seemed like a very good
idea. “I’ll be back at Christmas,” she said. “In three weeks time. I promise.”
    Olly and Jared followed her outside,
trailing her along the street as she headed for the Metro. They were good boys,
full of life and energy, and she brushed away a tear as they ran off towards
the park, waving and calling her name. Even Jared had seemed sad to see her go.
    The next train was delayed by ten
minutes, and Emma felt herself drawn to her mobile phone. She took it out of
her pocket, dialled Prentiss’s number, but didn’t press the button to connect
the call. She repeated this procedure three more times before finally giving in
to temptation.
    The phone rang out at the other end;
no one was home.
    Feeling deeply uneasy, Emma checked
her watch. The London train wasn’t scheduled to leave Newcastle until three
o’clock. It was just after one. If she was quick, she could call in on him,
just to check that he hadn’t done anything foolish.
    The train arrived. She got on,
knowing exactly at which station she’d disembark.
    She made it to the house in plenty
of time, telling herself that all she was planning to do was check on Prentiss’
wellbeing. If he’d had an accident, or even tried to kill himself, she would
never be able to look at herself in the mirror again. Despising her own
weakness, and his passive strength, she rang the doorbell.
    The door opened and a stranger
stepped outside. “Oh, hi,” he said, pulling a woollen hat down over his shaven
head. “You here to visit someone?”
    “Yes, Prentiss O’Neil.” She realised
this must be one of the people he shared the house with.
    “Ah. I think the queer bugger’s
still in his room. I haven’t seen him for days. If he is in, tell him he owes
me fifty quid for the gas bill, would you.” Then he was gone, jogging along the
street towards the bus stop that was located outside a tiny video rental shop
that seemed only to stock titles from the 1980s.
    Emma pushed open the door and went
inside, wiping her feet on the threadbare doormat. The house was silent; a
stale heaviness hung in the air. She climbed the stairs to Prentiss’ first
floor room and knocked on his door, her touch lighter than intended. When no
answer came, she knocked again, louder this time. The door swung open under the
increased pressure from her knuckles.
    Emma took a step inside, smelling
that same dry yet moist odour and sensing that something was very wrong. The
room was dark, the blinds pulled over the single window, and looked in even
worse disarray than during her last visit.
    “Prent. You here?” She expected no
reply, and none came.
    There was a naked figure kneeling on
the bed, turned to face the wall. It was male – she could at least make out
that pertinent detail in the gloom – and his hands were flattened against the
peeling wallpaper. Drawing closer, she noticed that the floor was covered in a
layer of crumbled plaster; the cracks Prentiss had crudely attempted to repair
had opened up, shedding their DIY skin.
    “Prent?” She could tell it was him
from the familiar curvature of his spine, and the small tattoo of a Rose on his
left shoulder.
    “What the hell –”
    She stopped in the centre of the
room, poised to take another step but not quite managing it.
    From this angle it looked as if he
had tried to force his head into the long diagonal crack in the wall that ran
in a jagged line from the corner of the window frame. She could see the soles
of his feet on the bed, his legs, taut and skinny, his