Free Outcast (The Darkeningstone Series Book 2) by Mikey Campling Page A

trouble to call him. It was as if they forgot all about him the moment they walked out past the security gates. He suddenly became part of their past, part of everything they were trying to leave behind. If only they knew , he thought. You can run from your past, but you can never leave it behind . Tom ran his hands over his face. He was tired. He glanced back at the TV screen. The news was over and the programme had already moved onto the weather forecast. “Oh bloody hell,” he moaned. “I’ve missed the football results again .”
    He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. But as he pushed himself up off the sofa, he had a thought. Why didn’t he check the caller ID? He picked up the phone again and tapped in the correct digits, but the automated voice told him that the caller had withheld their number. He replaced the handset. “Bloody telesales probably,” he muttered. It was a bit late at night for a sales call, but maybe they didn’t know that in Delhi or wherever these call centres were these days. They had some sort of computerised way of calling people up and it automatically hung up if a salesperson wasn’t available. Tom shook his head. It was damned annoying. Where did they even get my number? His details must have got onto a list somehow. He ought to be more careful with his personal details. He really didn’t want salespeople pestering him at home. He already had more than his fair share of phone calls to deal with at work: aggressive family members, petty-minded probation officers, hopeless social workers. These people seemed to have nothing better to do than to call him up and make his life more difficult.
    Tom rubbed his chin. “I mustn’t get too negative,” he muttered. “It’s just because I’m tired.” He yawned and stretched. He might as well go to bed. A solid night’s sleep would do him the world of good.
    Tom was brushing his teeth when the phone rang again. He spat into the sink and strode toward his bedroom. Maybe this time he could catch the bastards and tell them not to bother him again. But just as he went through the bedroom door and turned the light on, the ringing cut off. Tom scowled at the phone. He was tired and his mouth was full of gritty toothpaste. He just wanted to go to bed. But that second phone call really needled him. “I’ll sort them out,” he muttered. He went to the phone and tried, once more, to get the caller’s number. But once again, it had been withheld. “Bloody hell!” He replaced the handset more forcibly than usual and it bounced out from its cradle and fell onto the floor. He scooped it up and replaced it more carefully, then glared at it, defying it to ring. Maybe he should just disconnect it? But it was just a wireless extension. He’d have to go downstairs to disconnect the base unit if he wanted to be sure the phone in his bedroom wouldn’t ring. There was probably a way to turn the ringer off on the handset, but he’d never figured it out and he was damned if he was going to try now. Anyway, what if it’s a genuine call and someone’s just having trouble getting through?
    Tom ran a hand over his mouth. Perhaps someone was calling from a mobile phone and their signal kept dropping out. But who could it be? He didn’t have any close friends anymore and his family wanted nothing to do with him these days. But still, you never knew—it could be an important phone call. He trudged back to the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. Now , what number had I got up to? He frowned for a moment then remembered and nodded to himself as he began to brush. Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four .
    By the time he got into bed, Tom was a little calmer. But he couldn’t get comfortable. He twisted and turned, and the quilt cover tangled around his legs. He sighed and flipped his pillow over, allowing his face to sink into the cool softness of the other side. And he listened to his breathing, trying to slow it down. One, two, three, four . The