Fractured A Slated Novel

Chapter TWENTY FOUR



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‘Yes, dear?’

Cam’s aunt is older than I expect, grey hair swept up on top of her head. Anxious eyes peer through thin wire glasses.

I shift feet on the front step. ‘Is Cam home?’

‘Yes, I think so. Come in, dear.’

I follow her into a chintzy entranceway that leads to their front room: the whole place is crammed with cottage kitsch, frills and china animals everywhere.

‘Cameron? You have a guest,’ she calls.

He comes down the stairs and my breath catches at the sight of him. A day on and what the Lorder did to him looks worse, far worse; half his face is bruised, purple and swollen. He has the shiner from hell, and it is all my fault.

‘Thanks,’ he says, and looks at his aunt; she seems a little flustered. Disappears into the kitchen and shuts the door.

‘Er…nice place.’

‘Cut the crap. It sucks.’

‘Want to get out of it and go for a walk?’

‘Sure.’ He smiles at me with the half of his face that can still smile. We head out and I think we have more in common than I realised. The atmosphere in that house is weird. Watchful. He is stuck here with relatives he doesn’t really know, in a strange place. Not that different to what happened to me a few months ago when I landed across the road. At least Mum has better taste in home furnishings.

But why did I go and knock on his door, today of all days? After the afternoon with Tori, then Katran and Nico, I just had a compulsion to do something ordinary: to see a friend. If he still wants to be my friend after what happened. Or maybe it is not wanting to be alone with my thoughts?

We’re past the edge of the village before he starts.

‘Didn’t see you at school today.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Missed you at lunch, as well: where were you?’

‘Around.’

‘I waited outside your last class at the end of the afternoon. Never saw you.’

‘I think I liked it better when you were giving me the silent treatment,’ I say, then immediately wish I hadn’t. His face looks hurt in more ways than one. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Look. If you tell me what is going on, maybe I can help.’ We’ve reached the edge of the village now, and I turn to go back, but he pulls my hand towards the dark footpath along a field. ‘Come on,’ he says, and I’m uneasy. This path leads to the woods where Wayne was found, a place I never want to go again. But once we’re out of sight of the road, he stops and leans against the fence.

‘Kyla, listen. I understand that right now, you feel you can’t tell me anything. And don’t say there is nothing to tell. I won’t believe you.’

‘All right.’

‘But if there is ever anything I can do to help, anything, just ask, and I’ll do it.’

I stare back at him. My throat feels thick, like I’m going to cry, and it’s because he cares enough to offer help that could land him in any sort of trouble. He’s not stupid enough to not know that, not after yesterday. But at the same time I wonder why. Why is he so willing to risk himself for somebody he barely knows? Is it just friendship, or something else. I reach out and lightly touch his bruised cheek. ‘Isn’t that what got you this?’

‘Well. If I’d had another second, I’d have bested that jerk. He was on the ropes, wasn’t he?’

I smile. ‘Sure he was. Not a mark on him, but he was quaking.’

‘He won’t dare bother us again,’ Cam says, and drops into a boxer’s stance.

I laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. And thanks again, for sticking up for me. Even though it was completely mental.’

‘I’d do anything to get back at the Lorders,’ he says, face back to serious. His eyes turn inwards, focus someplace else, some other time, and I don’t think he is talking about yesterday. He shakes his head. ‘What about you?’ He looks up; his eyes are here again, and hold mine.

I hesitate. ‘I have some things to work out. That is all I can say.’

‘Cryptic Kyla,’ he says. ‘Come on, we’ll be late for our dinners.’

He holds out a hand, and I take it, hold it a little too tight as we walk home. A lifeline to another life. One that is slipping away.

At Group that night, Penny continues with the games theme. She’s found some more chess sets, evidently having decided that if one Slated can manage to play it, the rest of them can work it out, too.

She splits us into two groups, me with one and her with the other, and we go over the board set-up, the pieces and how they all move. We start some games, but it is all so distant, so unimportant, I can’t concentrate. As if moving chess pieces about – one player’s move, then the other’s, in sequence – has anything to do with real life.

My mind wanders in circles and back again. Nico always seems to be at the centre of things, directing and controlling the action. A chess master knows so many moves in advance, the other player’s positions and goals can always be predicted. But even he doesn’t know about me and Coulson.

Who will win? Is it just a game to them both?

That night I focus on Ben’s face, try to hold it in my mind, but it is frustration. His features are slippery.

He is everything to me, yet he is just one. One victim out of many the Lorders destroy every day they stay in power. What is one when the fate of many hang in balance? Nico said I am to play a vital role in Free UK plans. The thought fills me with both pride and nervous fear at what that role may be. If Nico is right – if the Lorders really are under threat – how can I put that in jeopardy, even to save Ben?

How can I not.

I despise my weakness, that everything is so mixed up inside. But there is always only one answer: I have to see Ben. I have to warn him about Coulson.

I’m running as fast as I can.

But it is never fast enough.

Sometimes I am still running when I wake, chased by nameless, unseen fears. Other times it is worse, and I’ve fallen, and he won’t leave me.

Even when I am in it, I know this is a dream now. It comes so often.

But knowing doesn’t stop the terror.

I fall. And he won’t leave. My eyes are clenched shut tight, I can’t look, I can’t see what happens next. I can’t…

And I’m screaming, but a hand is tight round my mouth, stifling the sound. I struggle, but strong, warm arms hold me firm, rock me side to side. A voice murmurs soothing sounds in my hair. ‘Shhhh, Rain. It’s all right. I’ve got you.’

I open my eyes, and as reason returns, he takes his hand off my mouth. Katran is here. It was just a dream.

‘Same one again?’ he asks.

I nod, shaking, still unable to speak, gripped by another fear. Of losing more bits of myself, wrapping them up and shunting them away.

My eyes snap open in the dark. The fear from the dream is quickly replaced by shock. My recurring dream, the one I’d always thought must be from when I was Slated? It can’t be. Not if tonight’s version holds any truth. If I had this nightmare when Katran was there, then I must have had the same recurring dream when I was still training with the Owls. Before the Lorders caught me. Before I was Slated.

But Katran comforting me, holding me: this must be made up by my unconscious mind. It couldn’t have been that way. But even as I reject this caring Katran, one I don’t know, and wonder if the rest of the dream must then be fiction, too, I know that it can’t be. It felt more real, more true, than anything ever has before.

And there is something else, something hidden in that dream. It is so close I can almost reach out and brush it with my fingers, but still it dances away.

Even as my fists clench, even as I want to scream in frustration at these gaps in my memory, there is a cold nugget of truth inside.

I don’t want to know.