The Chaos Code Read Free

told himself not to be so stupid. Whoever had been there was gone now. Probably. The only sound was Matt’s own anxious breathing.
    Clearing a space on the sofa, Matt flopped down. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and began to feel a bit better. Someone had been here, he was sure of it. OK, the place was always a mess. But it seemed worse than ever – the stuff strewn across the study floor; the broken crockery in the kitchen. A rough hand across Matt’s mouth … Looking up he saw the telly and DVD player were still sitting in the corner of the room. In fact, there didn’t seem to be anything missing – it was just untidy. So maybe not a burglary. But why break in and take nothing?
    In the kitchen there was an old, brown teapot on a shelf above the worktop. The spout was chipped on the side facing away, so you couldn’t see. Inside, Dad kept spare cash – odd notes to pay the milkman and provide funds when he’d forgotten to go to the bank. If the teapot was empty …
    Well, actually that wouldn’t prove anything, Matt realised as he went back to the kitchen. Except maybe Dad had not been to the bank for a while and the milk and papers needed paying for.
    But the teapot was lying broken on the counter top. The spout had been knocked off, and the handle cracked. The lid was lying close by, and several ten pound notes were sticking out of the debris. So, not a robbery. Not for money at any rate. Had he really been attacked – grabbed and thrown to the floor? Or had he fallen somehow? The more he thought about it now, the less certain he was of what he really remembered. It had all happened so quickly. Could he have fallen, or fainted? It had been a long day. Long, and stressful, and he was hot and bothered and probably dehydrated after the journey. But he had been so sure. He could almost feel the sandpaper texture of the rough hand on his face. He could remember the pressure, the blackness closing in, and he shuddered at the memory.
    Matt got himself a drink of water, rinsing the mug well first. His hand was shaking, and the more he tried to control it, the more it shook. He had been putting itoff, he realised, but he should really check the rest of the house. Maybe Dad was asleep in bed. Maybe he’d taken a sleeping pill or been up all the previous night working, or… Matt wanted to believe it, wanted to open the bedroom door and see his father staring blearily back at him and asking what time it was. What
day
it was, even. But he was terribly afraid that if he found Dad at all, it would be lying on the floor – attacked by the same person who had grabbed Matt.
    The house was empty. Every room was a mess, almost every floor covered with papers and books and journals. Even the bathroom. But there was no one – no Dad, and no intruder. Matt was sure of that. He was alone in the house now.
    Without really thinking about it, he went back to Dad’s study. He rubbed at his face, where it was sore – from the rough hand that had grabbed him? Or from where he had hit the floor?
    He checked his watch and was astonished to see that several hours had passed since he arrived at the house. It must have been some bump on the head. He should check the answerphone, he decided. Look to see if there was a scrawled note by the phone, telling him Dad was out and not to worry and he’d be back soon. And if not … What? Should he call the police? It seemed sensible, except – what would they say? What would
he
say?
    He mentally went through the conversation he might have. Was there any sign of a break-in? Well, no, notreally. Had Matt’s father ever just gone off before without leaving any message or any indication of where he might be? Actually yes, all the time. Did Matt see who attacked him? No. Was he sure he had actually been attacked? Any signs of the intruder? No, Matt thought. They’d say it was all in his imagination. He was sure it