The Switch Read Free Page A

night before, lay waiting on a shelf over the toilet while the oven door hung open to reveal two washcloths, a sponge shaped like a duck and a hairbrush that was matted with curling black hair. All the walls and the ceiling were coated with grease and there were pools of water and more hair on the floor. Tad was amazed that anyone could live like this. But it wasn’t his problem. He just wanted to get out.
    And there was the front door! He was amazed that it was as easy as this. All he had to do was get out the door and run. He would make it to the nearest telephone and call the police. Tad took one step forward. And that was when he saw the other boy.
    The boy was thin and pale and about a year younger than Tad. He had long fair hair that hung in greasy strands over a rather sickly-looking face dotted with acne. His right ear was pierced twice with a silver ring and a stud shaped like a crescent moon. The boy could have been handsome. He had bright blue eyes, full lips and a long, slender neck. But he looked hungry and dirty and there was something about his expression that was pinched and mean. Right now he was standing outside the caravan, staring at Tad through a small window.
    Tad opened his mouth to cry out. The boy did the same.
    And that was when Tad knew, with a sense of terror, that he wasn’t looking at a window. He was looking at a mirror. And it wasn’t a boy standing outside the caravan. It was his reflection!
    It was him!
    Tad stared at himself in the mirror, watched his mouth open to scream. And he did scream—a scream that wasn’t even his voice. His hands grabbed hold of his T-shirt and pulled it away from him as if he could somehow separate himself from the body that was beneath it.
    His body.
    Him.
    Impossible!
    “Whass all this racket, then? Whass going on?”
    Tad spun around and saw that the curtain had been pulled back. Before him stood a man, wearing a pair of stained pajama bottoms but no top. His naked stomach was dangling over the waistband, a nasty rash showing around the belly button. The man’s face was pale and bony and covered with a gingery stubble that matched what was left of his hair. His eyes were half closed. One of them had a sty bulging red and swollen under the lid. There was a cigarette dangling from his lips and Tad realized with a shiver of disgust that he must have slept with it there all night.
    “Who are you?” Tad gasped.
    “Whaddya mean who am I? What the devil are you talking about?”
    “Please. I want to go home . . .”
    The man stared at Tad as if he was trying to work him out. Then suddenly he seemed to understand. A slow, nasty smile spread across his face, making the cigarette twitch. “You been at the glue again,” he muttered.
    “What?” Tad’s legs were giving way beneath him. He had to lean against the wall.
    Then a voice called out from the other side of the curtain. “Eric? What is it?” It was a woman’s voice, loud and shrill.
    “It’s Bob. ’E’s been sniffing the glue again. I reckon ’e’s ’ad an ’ole tube full. And now ’e doesn’t know ’oo ’e is or where ’e is.”
    “Well, slap some sense into ’im and throw ’im in the shower,” the voice cried out. “I want my breakfast.”
    “I’m not Bob,” Tad whimpered. “There’s been a mistake.”
    But before he could go on, the man had grabbed hold of him, one hand closing around his throat. “There was a mistake all right!” the man snarled. “And what was it? Model airplane glue? Well, you’d better get your head in order, you little worm. ’Cause it’s your turn to wash up and make breakfast!” And with that, the man threw Tad roughly into the corner, spat out the cigarette and went back into the bedroom, drawing the curtain behind him.
    Tad stayed where he was for a long time. His heart was racing so fast that he could hardly breathe. He looked at his hands again, his stomach, his legs. With trembling fingers, he touched his cheeks, his eyebrows, his hair,