Tunnels 06 - Terminal

other down like that. Never .’
    ‘I’d never let you down either, Chester,’ Stephanie said, but Chester didn’t seem to register this as he began to work himself up into a lather.
    ‘I mean, why couldn’t bloody Danforth have just pretended to the Styx that he’d done the dirty on us? He didn’t have to go all the way.’ Chester had jumped to his feet and was pacing furiously around the room. ‘I wonder if he really enjoyed killing my parents! The sick bastard!’ he spat.
    Chester was as big as a fully grown man and his aggression made him very intimidating. Stephanie began to think it hadn’t been such a good idea to try to talk to him.
    He abruptly stopped his pacing and said, ‘The murdering bloody bastard.’ With a curse, he aimed a kick at one of the chairs around the table. An alarming smile spread across his face as a leg broke off and clattered onto the tiled floor. Then he really went for the chair, kicking and punching it again and again, until there was nothing more than splintered wood where it had been standing. Panting from the exertion, he shouted, ‘And what the hell am I still doing here? In this bloody armpit of a place?’
    Martha had walked in and was looking at the wrecked chair. Chester didn’t acknowledge her as he pushed by andwent into the hallway. There he snatched up a pair of gloves and a hat from beside the front door and stormed outside.
    ‘What was that about?’ Martha demanded, narrowing her eyes at Stephanie. ‘I hope you haven’t been botherin’ him.’
    ‘I really don’t know what set him off. I didn’t say a word. All of a sudden he started to go on about his parents and Danforth, and …’ Stephanie didn’t finish as Martha moved quickly over to the window.
    ‘But why doesn’t he talk to me about it?’ she complained.
    He came back later that evening after many hours’ absence, arriving just in time for supper. His face was blank and nobody dared to speak to him as he took his place at the table. It was easy to tell what they were eating from the smell – it was what they always had – lamb stew. Martha elbowed open the door as she brought it in, plonking it clumsily down on the table in front of them.
    As she took her usual seat, Chester was simply staring down at his food. ‘Um, Martha,’ he said.
    ‘Yes, my sweet?’ she replied.
    Using both hands he held up his plastic bowl, as if inviting comment from her. Along the side of the bowl was DOG in large, unmistakeable letters, and while it must have once been a rather striking red colour, it was so worn and the plastic so abraded by years of cleaning that its colour had dulled and the edges begun to flake off. In comparison, Stephanie hadn’t come off too badly with the chipped melamine bowl she’d been given.
    ‘Running low on plates. Nothing much left in the cupboards,’ Martha said by way of explanation, dipping her spoon into her bowl, which was a battered enamel dishprobably also used by the owners’ pets.
    Chester had put his dog bowl carefully back on the table. ‘I can’t take any more,’ he said hoarsely.
    ‘What – of my stew?’ Martha asked.
    ‘No, no, of feeling like this,’ he mumbled. His head was bowed and Stephanie couldn’t be certain if he was crying or not, but she thought that she spotted a tear dropping into his bowl.
    ‘Oh, my poor sweet boy!’ Martha rushed over to him, and hugged him tight. ‘What is it? What can I do to make things better for you?’
    Of course Stephanie knew how severe his depression had been during the weeks in the cottage, but this display of vulnerability shocked her. He was more fragile and more disturbed than she’d ever imagined.
    ‘Tell me what to do?’ Martha asked, almost pleading. Her eyes too were brimming over.
    Chester sniffed. ‘You said that your Brights can find anyone for you?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Martha replied. ‘They can. Just as they could always lead me to you, wherever you went. If you have something with a trace of scent on it, my fairies will keep on looking, even over hundreds of miles, and they won’t stop until they’re successful.’
    ‘Purger,’ Chester mumbled. It was barely audible.
    ‘What did you say, my sweet?’ Martha asked.
    Chester’s shoulders heaved with a sob. ‘I’ve got one of his Purgers in my Bergen. It will smell of him.’
    ‘Whatever that is, I’m sure my fairies can use it,’ Martha said. ‘I’ll send them out.’
    It was obvious to Stephanie that Martha