Page 31 of The Last Death Poet


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‘Oh God. Oh no!’

Meg is beside me. ‘Michael, what’s wrong.’

I point a shaky finger. ‘The hotel.’

She looks at it then back at me, eyes wide. ‘What? What can you see?’

There are soldiers stepping over the glass, signalling to people to stay back. Some stare in horror, but others are just strolling along the streets taking no notice. What’s wrong with them? Are they so used to violence here that they just ignore it?

‘It’s been bombed.’ My voice is unsteady and a cold sweat chills my neck. ‘We have to do something.’

Meg steps in front of me. ‘Look at me, Michael.’ She places her hand on my shoulder. ‘There’s nothing there. Everything is OK. I’m going to call Cormac, all right?’

I shake her off. ‘What are you talking about. Look!’

One of the soldiers is leaning on a yellow car. It’s old, retro. So is the one beside it, a pale blue Beetle.

What am I seeing?

Meg has taken her phone out.

The light is dying away now. I can see the glass in the hotel windows starting to reappear, while the cars are fading.

Take a photo.

I fumble with my phone and snap.

Chapter Seven

As I lower my phone, the bombed hotel before me fades away and I see the modern Europa on a normal July day. No broken glass, no soldiers or terrified onlookers, no blazing light. Some birds fly from the roof overhead.

I bend over, gripping my thighs.

Deep breaths.

‘You’re scaring me,’ says Meg, placing a hand on my back.

I slowly rise up and exhale.

‘What was that? Did you have a fit or…?’

My head is fuzzy. ‘You won’t believe me.’

‘Try me.’

I exhale again. This is worse than coming out. ‘I saw the hotel just after it was bombed.’

‘OK… I think maybe we need to get you some water, or sugar or something.’

I show her my phone. ‘Look.’

She stares at it and blinks. ‘Holy shit. What is this?’

She looks up at the Europa Hotel then back at the phone, her mouth falling open.

The image is way too bright. The top half of the photo is completely whited out but the yellow car is there, a soldier leaning against it. I look up but the hotel, the modern and definitely un-bombed hotel, is back to normal – tourists walkingpast, a smiling member of staff opening the door for an Asian couple.

The light is gone too.