Raven's Gate Read Free

his arms. The palms of his hands were caught in the light from the cars and now he saw that they were glistening red, covered in blood.
    “He did it! He did it! He did it!” Kelvin screamed.
    The two police officers reached Matt and fell on him. His hands were twisted behind his back and cuffed. He heard the click of the metal and knew there was nothing he could do. Then he was jerked off his feet and dragged, silent and unresisting, out into the night.

BROKEN GLASS
    They took Matt to a building that wasn’t a prison and wasn’t a hospital but was something in between. The car drove into a rectangular, tarmac-covered area with high walls all around. As they drew to a halt, a steel door slid across, blocking the way out. The door closed with a loud, electric buzz. Matt heard the locks engage. They seemed to echo inside his head. He wondered if he would ever see the world on the other side of the door again.
    “Out!” The voice didn’t seem to belong to anyone. It told him what to do and he obeyed. It was drizzling and for a few moments he felt the cold water against his face and was almost grateful for it. He wanted to wash. He could still feel the blood on his hands, behind his back. It had dried and gone sticky.
    They passed through a set of double doors into a corridor with harsh lighting, tiles, the smell of urine and disinfectant. People in uniforms passed him by. Two policemen, then a nurse. Matt was still handcuffed. He had seen people being arrested on television but he had never realized what it really felt like, to have his freedom taken away like this. He could feel his arms, pinned behind his back. He was utterly defenceless.
    The two policemen stopped in front of a desk, where a third man in a blue jersey made some entries in a book. He asked a few questions but Matt didn’t understand what he was saying. He could see the man’s mouth moving. He heard the words. But they seemed far away and made no sense.
    Then he was on the move again, escorted into a lift that needed a key to be operated. He was taken up to the second floor and down another corridor. Matt kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on his feet. He didn’t want to look around him. He didn’t want to know where he was.
    They stopped again in an open-plan area, a meeting place of several corridors, painted green, with police information posters on the walls. There was an office with a window that had been wired off and in front of it a table with a computer and two chairs. They went in. The handcuffs were unlocked and he brought his arms forward with a sense of relief. His shoulders were aching.
    “Sit down,” one of the policemen said.
    Matt did as he was told.
    About five minutes passed. Then a door opened and a man in a suit and a brightly coloured open-neck shirt appeared. He was black, with a slim figure and kind, intelligent eyes. He looked a bit more friendly than the others and he was also younger. Matt didn’t think he could be out of his twenties.
    “My name is Detective Superintendent Mallory,” he said. He had a pleasant, cultivated voice. Like a newsreader on TV. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m all right.” Matt was surprised by the question.
    Mallory had sat down opposite him at the table. He pressed a few keys on the computer. “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Matt.”
    Mallory’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me your full name. I need it for the report.”
    Matt hesitated. But he knew he had to co-operate. “Matthew Freeman,” he said.
    The detective tapped in the letters and pressed ENTER, then watched as a dozen lines of information scrolled up on the screen. “You seem to have made quite a name for yourself,” Mallory said. “You live at 27 Eastfield Terrace?”
    “Yes.” Matt nodded.
    “With a guardian. A Ms Davis?”
    “She’s my aunt.”
    “You’re fourteen.”
    “Yes.”
    Mallory looked up from the computer screen. “You’re in a lot of