When we woke in the night we were hot and caressing each other. She felt each of my scars. Looked at them. Asked me about them. I told her about each one. There are a lot, so it took a long time. Mostly I don’t mind talking about them. I told her about the tattoos as well and what Wallend did to me. The scars on my wrist are ugly but they’re just scars. The tattoos are a sort of reminder to me of how bad the Council is. I don’t really need reminding but there’s nothing I can do to get rid of them. The scars on my back are different again. They look the worst. I guess they are the worst.
She said, “That day changed everything. I had no idea what Kieran was going to do. But when he told me to run home, I did. I thought I could tell my mum and dad, that they’d stop him, not for your sake but for Kieran’s, so he wouldn’t get into trouble.
“But I got home and Dad wouldn’t listen. He approved of what Kieran was doing. Mum just went along with everything he said, as usual. Dad told me that I’d been warned not to see you or speak to you. They said that Kieran was protecting me and he was behaving like a good brother should. And Dad said that he must do what a good father should do too, and make me realize that you were evil. He told me you were as bad as any Black Witch, possibly worse, as you’re the son of Marcus. He said that you couldn’t be trusted, that I was an innocent girl, an innocent White Whet, who you were bound to prey on. He went on and on and on. How you couldn’t be trusted, how you’d grow up into a Black Witch, how your nature was undoubtedly Black, how . . .” She hesitated. “How your mother was evil too and in fact worse than Marcus because she should have known better and, because of her, her husband was killed and you were born. She’d ruined her good family name and more than anything my dad didn’t want me to end up like her, like your mother. And of course he loved me and he was acting out of love, and he was locking me in my bedroom because he loved me.
“I think I hate him for his stupidity more than anything,” she added.
I asked, “Do you think your father really does love you? I mean . . . I know it sounds like he doesn’t but . . .”
“No. He just said the words but made no effort to understand me. It was all about him. He said he was going to lock me up until I realized how wrong I was to deceive my family, to meet you. Mum came and talked to me, saying the same stuff as Dad had said.” Tears filled Annalise’s eyes.
“When she made no progress with me my father let Connor into my room to talk to me, hoping he would bring me round. Connor was always the only one I could talk to. He can be so gentle but Kieran and Naill push him around and he tries to be like them, tries to please Dad.”
Connor was the weaker of the three brothers, the one I beat up at school, even though he was two years older than me.
Annalise carried on. “Connor persuaded me to at least say that I was sorry. He said if I didn’t I’d never leave the house again. He said, ‘Apologize, have your Giving, and then run away.’ I knew he was right. My father would keep me locked up forever if he had to, so I pretended I was sorry. I said they were right, that I had been bad, been fooled by you. I promised to be good. I had to apologize to my dad, my mum, and each of my brothers in turn. They said I’d never be allowed anywhere without one of them being with me.”
She shrugged. “It took years but that’s how I escaped in the end. Connor was guarding me and he let me get away. I wanted him to come too but he wouldn’t.”
I said, “I should be grateful to Connor then.” But I didn’t feel that. I still despised the lot of them.
Annalise stroked my back gently and said, “Kieran told me what they’d done to you. He showed me a photo of you that he’d taken on his phone. You were unconscious; the blood was bubbling on your back.”
I nearly interrupted her to tell her Kieran was dead. But still it didn’t feel like the right time.
Annalise said, “When I saw the photo I knew then I had to get out. I knew I could never live with people who were so cruel. I realized I’d have to wait but eventually I’d have the chance to get away. I was so unhappy but every day I got through it by thinking of you. I knew you were alive. That kept me going.”
And I pulled her to me and held her.
“At times I almost gave up. I never dreamed you and I would be together again, and like this: free.”
I said, “When I was imprisoned I had different thoughts that kept me going. Thoughts of the good people in my life: Arran, Deborah, Gran, and you. And I had this special dream for the future. And in this fantasy future I’d live in this wonderful, beautiful valley by a stream and life would be peaceful. And I’d fish and hunt and live quietly.” I hesitated but managed to go on. “I still dream of that. Of living somewhere quiet and beautiful . . . and of being with you.”
“It sounds perfect.” She kissed me again. “When you talk about rivers and mountains, you change. You’re different then. I think that’s your true self. That’s how I love to think of you, at peace with nature and truly happy. Truly free.”
*
As I lie here now with her in my arms, remembering that conversation, I know that although we seem different we’re not. She was alone and a prisoner too.
The Burial