Broken Toys Read online

  Broken Toys

  Jackson Lear

  Contents

  Broken Toys

  1. Eight Years Old

  2. Ten Years Old

  3. Fourteen Years Old

  4. Josh

  5. Luxford

  6. Ian

  7. Anthony

  8. Gemma

  9. Amanda

  10. Daniel

  11. Claire

  12. Amanda

  13. Warrick

  14. Josh

  15. Anthony

  16. McIntyre

  17. Daniel

  18. Josh

  19. Josh

  20. Amanda

  21. Daniel

  22. Josh

  23. Ian

  24. Amanda

  25. Josh

  26. Daniel

  27. Josh

  28. Daniel

  29. Josh

  30. Amanda

  31. Brooke

  32. Amanda

  33. Josh

  34. Anthony

  35. McIntyre

  36. Ian

  37. Anthony

  38. Josh

  39. Daniel

  40. Josh

  41. Anthony

  42. Zofia

  43. Daniel

  44. Warrick

  45. Claire

  46. Daniel

  47. Ian

  48. Claire

  49. Warrick

  50. Warrick

  51. Josh

  52. Claire

  53. Josh

  54. Anthony

  55. Josh

  56. Daniel

  57. Claire

  58. Josh

  59. Anthony

  60. Gemma

  61. Anthony

  62. Josh

  63. Ian

  64. Warrick

  65. McIntyre

  66. Claire

  67. Emily

  68. Daniel

  69. Claire

  70. Josh

  71. Josh

  72. Amanda

  73. Josh

  74. Josh

  75. Josh

  76. Claire

  77. Anthony

  78. Josh

  79. Anthony

  80. Josh

  81. Luxford

  82. Josh

  83. Josh

  84. Thirty Nine

  Thank You For Reading!

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jackson Lear

  About the Author

  Broken Toys

  Just because she disappeared twenty years ago does not mean she's been forgotten.

  Three friends – their lives crumbling around them – set out to solve the mystery of a girl they barely knew from school, unaware that another gruesome murder is in the works.

  Soon enough, Josh, Anthony, and Amanda are faced with protecting the ones they love at the cost of everything they believe in, and they must succeed before another body destroys the lives of everyone closest to them.

  1

  Eight Years Old

  Every town has devils at play. An unfortunate few have demons. Once in a while Josh and Anthony were the embodiment of cherub-faced angels. Then, when they thought no one was looking, they turned back into eight year old boys.

  They were on their way home from school, laughing hysterically as they created the greatest cartoon series the world would ever see. It would follow the adventures of a globe-trotting private detective as he unmasked aliens who disguised themselves as teachers. Best of all, the detective was an obscenely large ogre. The only problem was giving him a name.

  “It should be ‘Fuck You,’” whispered Josh, quiet enough so no one else could hear him swear. “That way, when he meets the alien teacher at the end, he can say: ‘My name is Fuck You,’ and the aliens won’t ever know if he’s just messing with them or if that’s actually his name. And! And, when they say his name back to him he can punch them across the room because they keep saying Fuck You to him.”

  Anthony howled with laughter, so much so that even his own volume surprised him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of the ten year olds, Zoe and Claire, scowling at the boys. “But he’ll need a secret name or we’ll get in trouble. Something his friends can call him without them getting thumped around.”

  “Leroy?” suggested the tall, dark-haired Josh.

  “Maybe that’s his last name. Fuck You Leroy?” The boys fell into hysterics once again.

  Behind them, Zoe dug her fingernails so deep into the palms of her hands that she almost drew blood. “I swear to God I will slap them both if they come near Charlie again.”

  Claire watched Anthony swing his hands wildly into the air, missing the chain-link fence to his side by an inch. His other wrist was wrapped in a brace after tumbling off his bike. Claire could only imagine what their mother would say if simply walking home from school required another trip to the doctor.

  “I mean it.”

  “It’s not like they go out to find him,” said Claire. “They just play by themselves and Charlie comes to them.”

  “He comes home crying,” growled Zoe. She cast her eyes over the back of the boys’ heads and willed them to drop to their knees right there on the pavement so they would beg for her mercy.

  Usually Josh and Anthony paid Zoe’s brother no attention. Literally, no attention, as though he was a non-entity screaming to be acknowledged. Josh and Anthony were well versed in maintaining their conversation despite whatever chaos brewed around them. They had recently added the ability to never break eye contact to their arsenal of skills. Charlie’s mum still had to explain that sometimes the older boys were just too busy to play with six year olds. But Charlie always returned, looking for more.

  Josh and Anthony lived next door to each other on Fielding Street. Two houses away was Dapper Crescent, home to Zoe and Charlie. It was a fifteen minute walk to and from Banyew Primary School at an eight year olds’ pace.

  They lived in Luxford, north east of London. Every street snaked against all common sense of city planning. The houses were a mix of contemporary and conservative façades. Rows of cottages looked over acres of green fields and hedges. Double storey homes ran from street to street, mostly with a red brick ground floor under an overgrown Tudor white-wash finish that was perched on top. To complete the style the upper floor was criss-crossed with black wooden beams. Nestled between the throwback to Shakespeare was a smattering of shops and restaurants, staffed mostly by nineteen year olds who had fallen between the cracks, going to university or developing a trade.

  In September Claire and Zoe would start at St. Bart’s, a twenty minute walk in the other direction from the primary school. One delight was leaving behind the dull grey uniform of Banyew and moving on to the white blouses and kilts for girls. That joy would last until the first drops of rain, which would turn their blouses into chest-hugging exhibitions for all the boys could gawk at.

  Moving to a new school also meant leaving Charlie in the hands of Josh and Anthony. In September he would be allowed to walk on his own with Josh and Anthony in the lead. Zoe had just one summer holiday to smack some sense into them.

  “Fuck You Leroy!” Anthony bellowed, causing the boys to cripple over with laughter.

  Zoe turned her glare from the short, mousy-haired boy and focussed it on Claire. “See?”

  Claire almost breathed in relief as a distraction came from behind. A young boy, sickly thin and out of school uniform, scuffed along the pavement just two metres away from the girls. His shoes were held together with duct tape, his clothes were frayed hand-me-downs, and his raven hair was covered in clumps of dandruff. He carried with him a battered white shoe box, held as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the contents inside. His arrival was so sudden that Claire all but forgot about
the danger Zoe’s right hand posed to her brother. Something about the kid was unsettling, alien even, like his sole purpose was to draw her attention so someone else could run a wet finger down her shoulder blades. She turned to get away from him as quickly as she could, only to find that luck was against her.

  They all stopped at the only set of traffic lights on their way home. Everyone’s conversation dropped off until they could regain some sense of privacy while walking. Zoe gave a fleeting glance to the dishevelled boy behind them, before focussing instead on the back of Josh and Anthony’s heads, daring them to make eye contact with her.

  Something tugged on the back of Claire’s skirt.

  “Hey!” Claire spun around and slapped the scruffy kid’s hand away. He had lifted her skirt up past her waist and was still leaning over from studying her patterned underwear. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

  “What?” The boy leaned back like a chastised stray who couldn’t understand why he was being scolded for doing something perfectly reasonable.

  “Don’t give me ‘what’! What the hell do you think you were you doing back there?”

  The boy stared at Claire blankly as she kept her hands pressed against the back of her skirt. Josh and Anthony watched the spectacle unfold, completely forgetting about the adventures of their alien-thumping ogre. The dumbfounded look on the kid’s face forced Claire to pad herself down again.

  “Fucking little creep.”

  “Go away or we’ll tell you on,” said Zoe, hoping to see the boy retreat. Really though, it would be best if no-one found out that her best friend just swore in public. Again.

  Josh and Anthony took note of the air-holes punched into the boy’s shoebox. They were also sure that he should’ve stepped back towards safety, especially from Claire’s height and Zoe’s well-practiced glare, but the boy didn’t. Instead, it seemed like he was desperately trying to figure out why everyone’s eyes were fixed upon him.

  “I’m serious,” said Zoe. “We’ll tell on you.”

  “What for?” the kid asked.

  “You were staring up my skirt!” said Claire. She ran her fingers against her skirt to double check that she wasn’t flashing Josh and her brother.

  “The light’s green,” said Anthony. He and Josh waited to see what Claire and Zoe would do next.

  Zoe pulled on Claire’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Little snot,” said Claire. The girls started across the road.

  Josh and Anthony took one last look at the scruffy kid before darting past the girls to regain their lead.

  “What do you think was in the box?” Josh asked.

  “I dunno,” said Anthony. “You think it was alive?”

  “Maybe it was a rat.”

  “You’re not allowed real rats.”

  “Maybe he found it,” said Josh.

  Claire kept checking her skirt. Every wisp of a breeze felt like someone else was trying to take a peek at her thighs. The boy waited half a minute before following.

  “Do you know who he is?” Claire asked.

  Zoe shook her head. “Maybe he just moved here.”

  “Why wasn’t he at school?”

  “Maybe he’s too young.”

  “Oi, you two,” Claire called, summoning Josh and Anthony’s attention. “Do you know who he is?”

  “No,” the boys said.

  “How about where he lives?”

  “No.”

  Anthony puffed on his inhaler. He and Josh increased their lead so the girls couldn’t overhear them. Their backpacks, almost as large as them, nearly somersaulted over their heads as they hustled forward. They turned onto Fielding Street and ran past the low numbered houses at the end. Claire glanced back to keep track of their follower. She stopped and stared as the boy waited on the corner, watching the foursome walk away from him.

  “What the hell is he staring at?” Claire asked.

  Zoe looked over. “Us.”

  He held his shoebox carefully against his side and never shifted his attention from Claire.

  Zoe did her best to leave the kid behind. “Do you want to come over for a bit?” As soon as she said it she grimaced, given that Claire was already on thin ice with her Catholic parents for an outburst of, ‘Jesus Christ!’

  “Yeah, okay,” Claire said.

  Zoe slowed her pace as she led her friend to Dapper Crescent. Josh and Anthony ran across the road to Anthony’s house. Claire took one last look at the unkempt boy as a warning from her parents flashed at her; that she must always be careful of strangers following her home. When she first heard it she had the sense it was meant for anyone older than her. And if she did see anyone then she should tell her parents straight away.

  The battered shoebox jostled to the side as its prisoner tried to break free. The boy cooed at it gently. He kept his eyes locked onto Josh and Anthony as they headed into the third house from the end. Then he watched as Claire locked eyes with him before Zoe pulled her to relative safety.

  Amanda peered over the rear wall and found Josh and Anthony playing with glass jars in the back of Anthony’s garden. She hoisted herself up onto the wall, swung one leg over, and joined them.

  “What are we doing?” Amanda asked, as she crouched onto the ground between the boys.

  “Playing with jars,” said Josh.

  Amanda pulled an elastic band off her wrist and wrapped her chestnut hair into a ponytail. “Duhhh. Why?”

  “Because they are secret jars,” said Josh, as he tapped one enigmatically with his finger.

  “Oh yeah?” Amanda said. “Can I have one?”

  Anthony cast his attention over the mismatched collection his mum had acquired over the years, from tall Kilner jars to the comically small ones served in hotels. He picked out the largest, one that used to hold spaghetti. It was almost half the size of Amanda.

  “Be careful with that one,” Anthony said.

  “Why?”

  “Because each jar has a secret and a wish.” Anthony winked at her in an all-knowing manner. “The bigger the jar, the bigger the wish.” He and Josh held onto theirs as though they had just discovered their purpose in life.

  Amanda stared through the glass and was tempted to see what the inside smelled like. “What’s in yours?”

  “The future,” said Anthony.

  Amanda glanced at his fat marmalade jar. “The whole future?”

  “No, just whatever you’re looking for.”

  “How does that work?”

  Anthony raised his jar up and whispered to it. “What will Amanda do when she grows up?” He pulled the jar in against his ear and listened. “Uh huh. Really? What kind of truck?”

  Amanda sat up straight and shot Anthony with some well-honed attitude. “What do you mean, ‘what kind of truck?’”

  Anthony closed his eyes and serenely answered back. “It says you’re going to drive a truck when you grow up. And if you’re quiet for a bit maybe I can find out what kind it will be.”

  “You better not say pink,” Amanda said.

  “I’ve never seen a pink monster truck before,” said Josh, as a jolt of laughter got the better of him.

  “Do you mind?” said Anthony. “Listening to the future is serious. People pay good money for that and you’re getting it for free.”

  “You’re talking to a jar,” said Amanda.

  “And it speaks the truth,” said Anthony, giving them all a solemn nod. “It told me I’m going to be a private eye.”

  “What’s that?” asked Amanda.

  “A detective, like Sherlock Holmes,” said Anthony.

  “Who’s that?” Amanda asked.

  “A detective!” said Anthony. “With the hat and the magnifying glass.”

  “Dusting for prints,” said Josh.

  Amanda shook her head. “What prints?”

  Josh and Anthony pushed their thumbs at her. “These kind of prints,” Josh said.

  “Ohhhh. We did that in school ages ago,” said Amanda.

&nbs
p; “You did?” Anthony asked, now looking a little disappointed.

  “How?” asked Josh, as a plan started to take shape for the rest of the afternoon.

  “They put black ink on our hands and feet,” Amanda said. “And then squish them onto paper. They put your name on it.”

  “For the police?” Anthony asked.

  “Maybe. Didn’t you do it?”

  “Not at our school,” said Josh.

  Amanda looked back over her heavy jar as she considered its potential for wish making. She was a slim girl with freckles who had been told on more than one occasion that if she knew the answer in class then it wouldn’t hurt to speak up instead of sitting there quietly. On the other hand, if Josh and Anthony were ever quiet it was only in that split second before looking up like a deer in headlights at having been caught red-handed. Josh was always the first to shift back into a cherub-faced angel.

  While he would always remain tall for his age, the trade off came a few years later with a stampeding race towards early grey hairs. The first would be pointed out to him by girls when he was sixteen. By twenty two he would need to dye his hair every month to avoid hearing the word ‘distinguished’ being thrown around with undue regularity.

  Anthony would keep his light brown hair for decades. His faux pas in his early twenties would be a soul patch just under his bottom lip. For now, though, his claim to fame was the frequent mileage to the doctor’s office. The brace around his wrist came about when his bike skidded out from under him. Josh skidded out as well but the worst that happened to him was a punctured tyre.

  Last weekend Josh’s mother was at the kitchen window when six words nearly made her heart stop:

  “Bet you can’t.”

  “Bet I can.”

  They had built a ramp pointing at Anthony’s family car. His mum got there just in time.

  Amanda raised the spaghetti jar to her lips and whispered.

  “What’d you wish for?” asked Josh.

  “It’s a secret.”

  “You can tell us.”

  “But then it wouldn’t be a secret,” said Amanda.

  Josh had an easy fix for that. He picked up a random jar and called out to the gods of the future. “I wish to find out what Amanda wished for.”