Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)(9)

I decided to run.

Within seconds I was drenched, as I threw back the door bolt and launched myself into the rain and tornado-like wind.

“What is she doing?” screamed Slurpy.

“Titch, get back in here now,” yelled Arthur.

Too late. I was already halfway down the gravel path before the wind carried the sound of their voices to me. Slipping and sliding across the long grass, I ran, squelching into the dark mud. It rose up and over my bright red sneakers. I could feel the oozing, cold sludge seeping into my socks.

Then I saw him again, and a dose of warm happiness repelled, albeit briefly, the cold and wet conditions that were threatening to drown me. It was him, definitely him. There was the same honey and white colouring; the same floppy ears that almost reached the ground.

Two hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back sharply.

“I swear to something, Titch, you are seriously starting to scare me,” yelled Arthur. He was soaked to the skin already; his blue jeans were several shades darker because of the rain, and his white v-neck t-shirt had become transparent. He could barely see through his wet fringe, which was lying flat against his forehead.

“It’s Mr. Rochester,” I cried. “We’ve got to catch him before he runs away again.”

“What are you talking about? Mr. Rochester is dead, Titch,” yelled Arthur.

He turned to his girlfriend, who was standing under the arched frame of the back door. She looked as if she had been force-fed beetles. I wriggled free from Arthur’s grasp and continued running after my baby rabbit, which had disappeared from view again.

“Help me, Sammy,” cried Arthur.

Stumbling in the wet, grappling like really bad wrestlers, we reached the chicken coop. I was momentarily stunned by the sight of bloody straw which was soaking into the mud.

Slurpy had now joined Arthur. Her long dark hair was hanging in sodden thick tendrils around her face and shoulders. She snatched at my arm and sank her long purple nails into my skin.

“Stop behaving like a little spoilt bitch,” spat Slurpy, “and get the hell…”

Her jaw suddenly dropped. She let go of my arm and swayed like she was about to faint. All of the colour – which admittedly wasn’t much to begin with – had drained from her face. In the blink of an eye, Slurpy turned the shade of curdled milk.

“The rabbit,” she whispered. “I don’t believe it.”

Both Arthur and I turned to the spot that had mesmerised Slurpy, and sure enough, sitting quite still on all four paws, was Mr. Rochester.



But it wasn’t the same baby rabbit that I had lovingly cuddled and kissed before running away that day.



A golden cage surrounded Mr. Rochester, like a protective bubble. The rain bounced off it like dazzling miniature fireworks.

And if that wasn’t enough to stun the three of us into silence, where two big black eyes had once been, were two dazzling silver orbs.

Starlight.

“What the…” swore Arthur, wiping his long blonde fringe out of his eyes. My own long blonde hair, which was several shades darker than my brother’s, was stuck to my cheeks and eyelashes. Half of it was in my mouth; I gagged.

“That isn’t possible,” screeched Slurpy, stating the obvious. “What was in that drink? Have we been drugged?”

She started to back away, and I was sorely tempted to join her. My fluffy baby looked ethereal.

But Arthur was transfixed. The starlight from Mr. Rochester’s eyes had infected his own.

“Come here, little guy,” cooed Arthur, slowly walking towards Mr. Rochester. His body lowered to the ground with each careful step. “Come on, we won’t hurt you.”

With a twitch of his nose, Mr. Rochester disappeared under a holly bush. Arthur tore off after him in pursuit. I screamed at Arthur to stop, or at least slow down for me, but he vaulted over a long-slatted gate, and ran into the wood behind our house.

By the time I had levered myself up and over the same gate, Arthur was gone.



Slurpy and I searched in the torrential rain for hours, screaming Arthur’s name until we were hoarse. By the time the alarm was raised back at Avalon Cottage, darkness had fallen.

The authorities used spotlights from helicopters and trained sniffer dogs to search the woods, but at midnight the search for Arthur was called off. The chief police officer spoke to my mother in a thick Welsh accent and told her that the search would resume again at first light.

She was beyond reason by this point, and her wailing tore at my insides, dredging up memories that should never have been woken. I desperately wanted to put my arms around her, to feel her heart beating against my face as she allowed herself to love me.

But my mother was out of practice. She was still mourning.



Slurpy and I stood in Arthur’s bedroom and looked out through the grimy window into the darkness. An eerie stillness had fallen over the world outside. The leaded panes of glass were still covered in crystal raindrops, and for the mere want of something to do, I let my fingers chase each one as they streamed down towards the windowsill.

Slurpy and I had told the investigating team what we knew: that Arthur had run off into the woods after a rabbit.

We certainly didn’t mention the strange cage of light, or the starlight eyes. Nobody would have believed us.

We didn’t really believe it ourselves.