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I don’t know why I felt like crying. It was, as if seeing Mum cry meant that I had to cry with her.There was the sudden scrape of a pushed-back chair. A quick rush around the table, and I was wrapped up and squeezed tightly in a motherly hug. Or maybe it wasn’t so motherly – usually motherly hugs involve her trying to soothe me because I’m upset, or her telling me that she loved me, or ... so, maybe it was a motherly hug.Breathing was starting to become a real concern for me. I was released as suddenly as I’d been grabbed. Mum stepped back and picked the picture up from the table. She held it before her like it was some long-lost masterpiece by one of those famous European painters.“Peter would like to see this. Can I show it to him, honey?”I nodded, not really trusting myself to speak. Seeing Mum so moved had touched off some strange, unknown emotions deep inside me.Mum headed for the door, then stopped and turned back to face me, her cheeks still glistening with tears.“Just don’t. But when it came time to pay the piper, I’m the guy they all had to reckon with.’ ‘What?’ Tom stood back a little. He could feel the heckler coming towards him like a cold, brutal draft of wind that chilled him to the bone. ‘Don’t worry, Tommy Boy,’ the heckler laughed sympathetically and jumped the remaining fifteen feet to the stage, soaring in the air as though gravity meant nothing to him. His boots landed with a heavy thud on the wooden floor that echoed through the gym and shook Tom. The heckler still had his face turned downward, hidden by a dusty fedora and a sinister purpose. He said, ‘It’ll all be over so very soon.’ The man looked up and Tom’s voice hitched in his throat. Burnt flesh, oily and scarred stretched in a deadly leer around the heckler’s mouth, revealing misshapen yellow and brown teeth. Cold, gray eyes regarded him with impish amusement as the man withdrew his right hand from behind his back. He wore a glove tipped with razor sharp knives. They gleamed in the.
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