Read Spark: A Novel for Free Online

searched all the rooms, of course, then went downstairs and out on the street. I asked everyone— I asked
strangers
—and then—and then …” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Lloyd, the pensioner who lives at number fifty-two, found Joey’s body dumped in a recycling bin. My darling—my precious friend—had been kicked to death by … by a
monster.
”
    “Who are you talking about?”
    “Sheila Cassidy told her mother who told Mr. Singh who told Miss Batenor—the lady downstairs—who—who told me. But now they all
deny
saying it—refuse to talk to the police—because they don’t want trouble.”
    “Trouble with whom?”
    “There—there are these young men—on the corner—up and down our street—I’m sure you’ve seen them. And I was a fool, Mr. Morgan. I was blind—
blind
to the danger. Because I told them to go away and even called the police twice. And they knew me—knew Joey was my pet—and they mocked me and whistled—so I stopped going out in the evening and—”
    “
Who
mocked you?”
    “This one man in particular. They—They call him ‘Micky Sicky.’ So he was there on the pavement and Sheila said that Joey was running around, barking. He wanted to play, of course. He loved to
play.
”
    “And what happened?”
    “Micky kicked my darling very, very hard. And then he must have beaten him or kicked him many times, because Joey’s body was broken and one of his eyes was nothing but blood. And then Micky threw my love away.”
    Mrs. Driscoll started weeping again while I stood there like another piece of furniture. I didn’t feel any of the emotions listed on my phone’s database. My strongest desire was for more information.
    “What did the police do?”
    “They talked to Micky Sicky, but he denied everything. And he’s still there, out on the street, watching me. Not more than an hour ago, when I looked out the window, he saw me and made a barking sound.” Mrs. Driscoll got up from the sofa. She forgot all the rules and touched me, pulling me over to the window. “Look! There! Can’t you see?”
    I peered out the window and saw four young men smoking cigarettes and talking to each other. “The one with the very long hair and the—”
    “Yes. I see him.” Micky Sicky was a stocky white man in his twenties with matted dreadlocks that touched his shoulders.
    Mrs. Driscoll staggered back to the sofa and blew her nose with the lace handkerchief. “It’s just a
dog.
That’s what my sister said when I spoke to her on the phone. And yes—yes, that’s true, but …” She shook her head. “But it gives you its love and you give it
your
love and then it’s more than a dog. So much more.”
    Once again, she curled up on the sofa, and pulled the pillow to her chest. There was nothing I could do for her, so I maneuvered around the furniture and slipped out the door. Riding back to Kensington on the tube, my Spark began to bounce around inside my Shell. I remembered Mrs. Driscoll weeping and the framed photograph of Joey with his feet on a striped ball. And those thoughts continued when I got back to my apartment and drank two bottles of ComPlete.

    When I first met Miss Holquist and began working for the Special Services Section, she emphasized one fact and one rule.
    The fact was:
I was now working for Miss Holquist.
    The rule was:
I must not work for anyone else.
    If I was given a weapon for a particular target, then I shouldn’t use that weapon to neutralize someone else. Trying to resolve the problem, I told Edward to activate the Power-I program on my computer. I used the program to make two lists:

    Eventually, my Spark was absorbed by darkness, but when I woke up the next morning the thoughts remained. After the shops opened, I found a hardware store and bought a hacksaw and nylon cord. Then I returned to my apartment and cut four inches off the barrels of my shotgun and two inches off the walnut stock. I tied one end of the cord to the barrel and attached the other end