Read The Painting for Free Online Page B

be the one asking you the questions,” the man chuckled. “I was just out here on my—my walk, and I see you lying there. Almost called the ambulance; good job you woke up when you did.” He shuffled his feet and eyed Donny up, head to toe. “I’m guessing you’re er, you’re not from around here, eh?”
    Donny’s face heated up. What did he tell him? Did he admit he’d been staying at the house?
    The house. The painting. The boys and—oh God, the singing. His breathing grew more intense as he leaned towards the floor and heaved from the bottom of his gut.
    “Oh heck,” the man said, patting Donny’s back. “I think we should get you to a doctor, don’t you?”
    “No,” Donny said, raising his hand. “I… I just need to get back. I’ve been staying here and I need to get back to… I need to get back to the house and I need to go home.”
    The man crinkled his eyebrows. “You’ve been staying round here? But there’s no house for miles. Listen, why don’t I get you to my place? You can have a kip on the sofa if you need. You look like you could use one.”
    “But,” Donny said, his head spinning with confusion. “Manny Bates’ house. The house with… the house where she went mad. It should be…”
    The man’s face turned, his eyes widening as he took a step back. “I… what did you say? Did you just…” He stared at Donny, lines forming on his forehead as he frowned, eyelids twitching. “It—this can’t be… it can’t—”
    “What can’t? What’s… what’s happening?”
    The man looked distant and lost, as if he’d woken up in a world he didn’t recognise. He stared at Donny as if he were ‘other’.
    “Please,” Donny shouted. “Just tell me what’s—”
    “Okay, okay,” he said. “Just calm down. I need you to calm down first, all right? Okay?”
    Donny tried to breathe normally. What was happening to him? “Okay. Okay.”
    “Right, well,” the man said, edging closer towards Donny and shuffling in the pockets of his blue raincoat. “The thing is—” He pulled out a white cloth and, before Donny knew it, he was pressing it up against his mouth.
    He struggled as he fell to his knees, the bearded man grabbing his arms. “Just keep calm,” he was saying. “Just keep calm.” But the more he breathed, the more he felt his muscles loosening as his knees scraped against the concrete and his body shook violently in protest.
    When he was on his back, he stared up at the sky as it began to slip away, the old man standing over him and shaking his head. He lifted something to his ear as Donny’s vision grew blurrier and his muscles locked into place.
    “Alice, I need you to get down to Crescent Way right now. We’ve got a gap.”
    Then silence.

    The children. The painting exploding with ink.
    The man.
    “We’ve got a gap.”
    Donny gasped as he returned to his senses, the air stinging the back of his throat. He opened his eyes and looked around as the nausea welled in the bottom of his stomach. He was lying in a bed—no, on a sofa. He was covered in a thick, white, cotton blanket, an open fire crackling at the other side of the room. On the fireplace, pictures of the man with another woman. The man. He’d grabbed him, drugged him, and brought him here. What did he want?
    No sooner did the thought enter his mind than the door in the far corner of the room opened. The man, now dressed in a black, V-neck cardigan, nodded at Donny, who edged back against the sofa. He had to make a run for it. He had to get back to the house, get his novel, and go.
    “Now before you get all flustered, at least have a biscuit,” the man said, offering Donny one from a half-empty carton. They looked like Jaffa Cakes but he didn’t recognise the brand.
    Donny’s jaw dangled. “What—just please, what’s going on? Why am I here?”
    The man held the carton in Donny’s face and sighed, pulling it away and stuffing three of the biscuits in his mouth. “Problem with Soft Oats is