Miller - Lost Boys

James Miller was born in London in 1976. He has worked as a private tutor and academic teaching English and American literature. Lost Boys is his first novel.

For more information, visit www.jamesmillerauthor.com

Wonderfully striking You will stay haunted for days by the image of a London in which prepubescent, middle-class young Wasps start to disappear of their own free will to join a mysterious, global and murderous anti-western insurgency Brilliantly done Guardian

A strikingly imaginative and tightly written story with wider resonances Independent

This is a genre-defying debut. It casts a spell A menacing sense of doomsday gathers force I couldnt help thinking of Hitchcocks The BirdsThe Scotsman

You certainly couldnt ask for a more topical novel than James Millers electrifying debut Lost Boys is beautifully structured Time Out

The pace is exhaustingly gripping. The different narrative voices are finely nuanced. The characterization of parents and children is acute Miller captures relief quite exquisitely Times Literary Supplement

Fantastically enjoyable, Millers union of speculative fiction, mysticism and classical allusion weaves a wonderful mystery Independent Weekly

Published by Hachette Digital

ISBN: 978-0-748-13351-2

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2008 by James Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

Hachette Digital

Little, Brown Book Group

100 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DY

www.hachette.co.uk

he distinctly remembered a youthful desire to return to the tree-tops, and with that memory came others that he had lain in bed planning to escape as soon as his mother was asleep

Nothing, I said nothing, I told them nothing

But what did they ask you?

They must have asked you something.

No, no, they didnt. They just seized me. They pushed a gun into my face and bundled me into a pick-up. Like Ive said. But I didnt tell them anything. They asked me nothing.

Nothing?

Yes, thats what I said.

Youre sure?

Of course Im sure. They didnt know who I was. I dont think they even knew why they had taken me. It was a mistake. It was just a mistake. Thats all. I thought I was going to die I thought I would end up like the others I thought they would kill me like they killed all the others.

Yes, you were lucky.

Very lucky.

Arthur Dashwood rubbed the sweat from his face. He had said all he could say. All he wanted now was to see his wife and his two darling boys again. Throughout the ordeal, in the heat of the room, with the dirty hood over his face and the ropes binding and cutting his wrists and with the other things, the terrible things they did to him all he could think, all that had kept him going, was his beautiful family: Susan, Timothy and Harry. But he couldnt tell them what had happened. He couldnt tell anyone. Throughout those dark hours, the thought that he might not see them again had been unbearable, a torture worse than anything. And that was why. He looked at the men with him now in the room. They were trying to be kind, but couldnt hide the fact that this was also an interrogation of sorts. Only two of the men present spoke to him. The first, Mr White, said he was from the Foreign Office. Arthur vaguely knew the other one, Mr Curtis. He was head of security for the company the bad-news manager a short, rough-tongued man with a shaven head and thick dark eyebrows that met in the middle. He chain-smoked as Arthur talked, plumes of blue smoke circling upwards.

Nothing nothing nothing. I said nothing. I told them nothing.

Its very important you realise.

Nothing.

The other two men sat at the back and they too said nothing. One made notes. The other one had asked for clarification on a couple of answers Arthur had given earlier, and he had an American accent. Arthur assumed they must be intelligence officers CIA, MI6, that sort of thing. A tape recorder sat on the table, capturing his every denial. He couldnt shake the fear that they didnt believe a word he was saying. A small camera mounted on the ceiling watched them all. Arthur just wanted to see his family.

How much longer will I have to put up with this? My wife has been worried sick.

Your wife didnt know what had happened until you were found again, Mr Curtis spoke through a cloud of smoke.

You werent gone for long.

She didnt have time to get worried.

Well, she was worried when they told her. I was gone for long enough. You should have been there, in that room. Its easy for you to say.

Arthur wiped some of the sweat from his face. He didnt know why he felt so hot.

Ive told you all I know. I cant stay in this room much longer. Im sorry. Im exhausted. Ive hardly slept in days.

And youre sure you never saw their faces?

Back in the Green Zone, the Americans had shown him a great many pictures of men, none of whom Arthur had ever seen before, and they had played him recordings of voices, some speaking Arabic, others English, or languages that didnt even sound like anything he had heard before. But he hadnt recognised any of those either. Then they showed him footage and photos of torture camps and insurgent bases: hidden rooms with bars on the windows and chairs stained with blood, with bloody palm prints and crude messages scrawled on the walls. Any of them could have been the same room; he couldnt say for certain.

No. Like I said, the only guy I really saw was the one who seized me and I hardly remember it now. I gave the best report of what he looked like back in Iraq. Like I said, he was just a guy, an Iraqi-looking guy. I told you all this. I dont even know if he was a Sunni or a Shia. I cant tell. I cant remember anything very clearly. I was scared. Its not easy to remember, is it, when youre scared?

And you didnt tell them anything? You didnt reveal any information about your work over there? You know many things.

Nothing.

I said nothing. I told them nothing.

At last they let him out. In a private room in a strange part of Heathrow his family were waiting. His wife had never looked so beautiful and his boys had never been so precious to him. Rising together at the sight of him, they seemed bathed in a radiant light, like treasure from a distant world. The worry in Susans eyes turned into a curious troubled sort of delight. He had been away for just two weeks, but it felt like so much longer. With a stifled sob, she was in his arms and he brought her close, inhaling the sweetness of her hair. Trying not to let his hands shake too much, he hugged his sons, one arm around each. He suddenly felt very weak. With some effort he was able to control his emotions. He did not want to frighten them. He had been so scared. The worst thing would be to break down now and start crying. They must never know that hed thought he might die, alone and wretched, in that black hot room. They must never know what it was like to have such a thought, and what it might make you do. Seeing them all, he felt overwhelmed with love, a feeling so strong and tender it seemed almost to crush his heart.

Daddy, youre back! said Harry.

It was impossible to speak.