Fractured A Slated Novel

Chapter ELEVEN



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‘Are you ready to go?’ Mum asks.

I look up from the homework I am pretending to do at the kitchen table.

‘Where?’ I say, my mind a blank.

She laughs. ‘What day is it?’

And all I can think of is Guy Fawkes. Hard to believe this is still the same day that started before the sun came up with a burning house, and Tori.

‘It’s Thursday,’ she says.

‘Thursday?’ I stare at her blankly.

‘Group, right?’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ I dash to brush my hair, grab shoes. How could I forget? Too many other things floating through my mind. Group is every Thursday night. All the Slateds from the surrounding area get together with Nurse Penny to support our transition from hospital to society. Huh. More like to spy on us and watch for any deviation that needs to be dealt with. Then I squirm at my thoughts. That may be true in some ways, but Penny is all right.

This is still a test.

Yes. I must be like the rest of them. Penny or any other hidden listening ears mustn’t notice anything different or wrong. I cast my mind back. Last Thursday, I was so upset about Ben I could barely stay level enough to remain conscious. She’ll expect the same.

I focus on that day, being that person, pushing Rain and her memories aside.

Kyla, you’re on.

Penny’s jumper is bright lemon yellow with purple trim, her face just as sunny. She is talking to a woman and girl, neither of whom I recognise. The girl is fourteen or so, and grinning like a lunatic: a new Slated. They are all like that to begin with. Full of joy that the Lorders have stolen their memories, their past; that no matter what crimes they have committed, here is their second chance and a new life. I was like that, too, though less than most. Was it Rain’s memories hiding inside that always made me different?

The other nine are as always. No Tori any more; no Ben. And I don’t have to remind myself to be just Kyla, to act and look as she would. Here, in this place, I am her. Rain doesn’t belong.

We gather our chairs into a circle, and it begins.

Penny stands at the front. ‘Good evening everyone!’ Everyone looks at each other, hesitates. ‘Good evening,’ a few voices say back, and then the rest chime in.

‘Tonight I want you to welcome Angela. She is joining our group. And what do you do now?’

She looks around and I groan internally, remembering my first day here. It was Tori who rolled her eyes and told everyone to introduce themselves, all sarcastic. Then Ben came late.

The memory catches inside. Jumps like a stone skipping on water. I can see him, dashing through the door. Shorts and a long T-shirt, clinging to him from running. Always running. I sigh.

‘Kyla?’

Penny walks over, concern in her eyes. ‘Are you all right, dear?’ she says.

‘Sorry, just faded out a moment.’ She checks my levels, raises an eyebrow when she sees they are fine at 5.8. She goes back to the front.

I give myself a shake inside. Neither smile too wide, nor sink into misery. Stay level is what I am really saying. What all Slateds must do, though it isn’t the same for me any more.

Penny is smiling at the new girl, whose grin is even wider. She looks so happy, she is in no danger of ever blacking out from low levels like I used to sometimes. The rest of them, too: they all look too happy. Happy the Lorders caught them, stopped them doing or saying whatever it was that wasn’t liked. I glance across the open, blissful faces. Were any of them real criminals like they were supposed to be? Murderers, or terrorists. Like me. They’re so happy, do they even care what they once were? If my Slating had worked like it was supposed to, I’d be smiling along with the rest of them.

I’d be happy, too.

I jump as a warm hand squeezes my shoulder. Penny. ‘Can you answer my question?’ she chides.

‘Ah…’

‘Why are we here?’

‘It’s our second chance?’

‘Exactly, Kyla.’

I do have a second chance – not the one she means. She doesn’t know I’ve come back, that the Lorders failed. My Slating failed. I hold the knowledge tight inside, a small knot of satisfaction deep in my guts.

Back to addressing the group, Penny tells us that today, we’re going to play some games. She opens a trunk, takes out draughts, cards and other board games. There is an odd number of us and she decides she and I will make a pair. Keeping an eye on me still?

‘Have you played any of these before?’ she asks, and I look in the trunk to see what else is there.

‘Most of them. I like chess. I used to play it, late at night at the hospital: a Watcher taught me.’

She takes the chess box out, hands it to me to set up while she checks on everyone else. The box is inlaid wood; it opens and the pieces are nested inside, one set in light wood, one in dark. I take them out, then line them up on the board. Rooks in corners, then knights, bishops, king and queen. The long row of pawns in front, lined up and expendable. Though with the right strategy, the right game, a pawn can make the difference.

Penny returns, and pulls a chair across so we can play.

My hand is drawn to one of my rooks: I pick it up. A castle, something says inside. You used to call it a castle.

No. I frown. The Watcher – bored, stuck babysitting me late at night when I was having nightmares – taught me to play. Taught me the correct names for each piece, their moves, and was surprised how quick I learned. By the time I left the hospital I even won sometimes.

‘Kyla?’ Penny looks at me curiously.

I give myself an internal shake, put the chess piece back into its square. We begin.

‘Good night?’ Mum asks.

‘All right.’ She looks at me still, wanting more. ‘We played chess, Penny and I.’

‘Who won?’

‘She did.’

I didn’t play at my best. I kept having this weird feeling as I touched the pieces. Something right in the way they felt in my hands. I kept wanting to pick them up, run my fingers over corners and rounded edges, to pick out the shapes of each by touch alone.

I fake a yawn. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to turn in.’

But up in my room my brain is jumping.

My second chance, but not as the Lorders mean. My second chance with Free UK. To strike at the Lorders.

Yet…what have I done before with Free UK? Whenever I try to remember that life, with Nico, it is shy and hides away. Things seem to come when I don’t hunt and search. I try to relax, to let my mind drift. The training camp I can see – yes. But not much else. Did I go out on attacks? The Lorders caught me somehow, so I must have. But of that I remember nothing.

Nico’s face floats into view and won’t go away. With him this afternoon, it was hard to think, to know what to say or do. I just was what he wanted.

I shake my head, confused. No. That isn’t right. It is what I want, too.

Though tonight, playing chess, I felt more like me, whoever that is. In my own skin. Like holding a rook in my hand somehow made things start to settle down inside, start working themselves out.

I concentrate on the board, the carved pieces standing on their own squares. I chew my lip. Every move I can see will end in one of mine captured. I haven’t many left. I reach my hand out, then pull it back again.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I admit, finally.

‘Want a hint?’

I touch my fingers to one piece, then another. Watching his eyes.

He winks when I touch the castle on the king’s side. But there is nowhere useful it can go, there are just a few open spaces between it and the king. The king is in an unguarded position, and will soon be under threat. Unless…

‘What’s that special thing the castle can do?’ I ask.

‘It’s called a rook, Lucy.’

‘It looks like a castle!’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ He smiles. ‘It can slide up to the king. And then they swap places.’

‘I remember!’ I do as he said, they swap places, and my king is safe.

The game continues: I finally win.

I know he let me. I hold the castle in my small hand, take it to my room when I go to sleep. It stands on my bedside table when Daddy kisses me goodnight.

I wake slowly; warm, happy, safe. Open my eyes. The rook is gone. I sit up in shock, the room folding and contracting, changing, to become Kyla’s once again. Not Lucy’s.

How do I still have this memory? It should have been Slated away with the rest of her, like Nico said. Confusion twists and pulls inside. I’ve had dreams of Lucy before, but never anything this real.

Never anything of her at home, safe and happy.

I grasp at the dream but already it is becoming unreal, slipping away. I stumble across the room, switch on the lights. Find my sketch pad and pencils, and try, again and again, to draw his face. To hold onto him.

But he is gone. I can’t. All that is left is vague and unsure, a sense of size and proportion. No details, no features anyone could recognise as individual.

I give up on the hopeless task of drawing Lucy’s father. My father. And I start on Ben, instead. Now that Ben’s parents are gone, there is no one else left to remember him. I’ll look at his drawing every day. That way I can never forget him: I will always be reminded when I see his face.

And there is something else I can do. Lucy reminded me.

There is one last chance.

One final way I can try to find out what really happened to Ben: MIA.