Fractured A Slated Novel

Chapter FORTY NINE



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It is a long trip in the dark without one of Katran’s trail bikes. On an ancient bicycle instead, bouncing around the canal and footpaths in the middle of the night. I’d allowed loads of time so it is still dark when I arrive.

Guilt, I’d felt, sneaking out without a word to Mac, after everything he’s done for me, letting me hide out at his house while I work out what to do. Guilt, likewise, at borrowing his rickety bicycle without asking. But the thing I realised more and more was this: I couldn’t make any steps forward, without taking one step back.

I stash the bicycle in the woods.

This time, it will be different. I will be different, having thought it through with care.

What if he doesn’t come?

He will come. He has to. I can’t accept any other possibility, even as the fear of it gnaws inside.

I stash the dark camo gear I wore over my clothes for the trip. Hat off; brush hair until it shines. A pale green running top, warm yet fitted, that Ben once said brings out the colour of my eyes.

The sky is barely beginning to lighten as I warm up. A distant figure appears at the brow of the hill: Ben! I almost melt with relief. Shaking with so many emotions I can barely work out what they are, I run up the path. Fast. So that as he comes over the hill I am in full view.

He won’t be able to resist overtaking. Will he?

But he won’t be able to.

I hear him closing in behind, and bit by bit increase my pace so he can almost, but not quite, catch up. Feeling the strain, the effort. The joy of speed. I slip back slightly, and then, it happens. We run side by side. That familiar skittering music of feet: his thud-thud and my shorter-legged beats in between. I glance up at his face just as he looks down at mine. He grins, wide, and is so much the Ben I knew, that my feet falter, and he pulls ahead. But then he drops pace so I can keep up.

Finally we both slow, dropping to a walk.

He is laughing. ‘Brilliant run!’ he says, and I smile. It feels as though I am lit up inside, and all I am is there to see, plain on my face. Like I used to be. It is so easy to forget, to pretend that nothing happened. That we are just Ben, and Kyla. Friends, and then more, with uncomplicated lives, families. A possible future together. I ache to reach out, clasp his hand. Stop and pull him close, and—

But we’re not those phantoms. Not any more.

‘You’re that girl,’ he says, and I hold still. Does some part of him recognise, or feel who I am? That girl – no. He must remember the other time on this path. ‘The one who said she knew me,’ he says, confirming. ‘But I’d remember you.’

‘Would you?’ I laugh. The sunrise is properly under way now. Warm light in a cold morning on our faces.

‘I’m going to be late. We came too far,’ he says, and reverses direction. ‘Run back?’

‘Not yet. We need to talk.’

‘Do we? What about?’

‘Who are you?’

‘Can’t answer that. I’m on a secret mission.’ He says the words like he is kidding around, playing some game, but something is behind them. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m on a secret mission, too. But I can tell you a story. One that was.’

‘Go on,’ he says, still Ben in his eyes: curious, wanting to know everything I am inside, like he always did.

‘Once upon a time, there was a Slated boy named Ben, who loved to run. He met a Slated girl with a few problems: let’s call her Kyla. But she loved to run, too. They became…friends. More than friends.’ I blush.

‘Ben: that is what you called me the last time.’

‘Yes.’

And I see the realisation in his eyes. ‘I’ve got good taste in girls, even in fairy tales,’ he says, still light, teasing. Curious.

‘But now is where it gets difficult.’ My smile falls away. ‘Listen, Ben or whoever you are now. You’ve been re-Slated, or treated somehow to forget. I don’t know how, or why. Don’t believe what you are told. The old you fought to think for himself! He believed there could be a better way than the Lorders’ way.’

He stares into my eyes, something inside him thinking, considering, for a few heartbeats. Then the look is gone along with his smile. ‘This is indeed a fairy tale,’ he says. ‘Time for me to go now, dream girl.’ And he takes off, running, back the way he came. I stop myself, just, from chasing after him, and slip into shadows under the trees. Fighting not to cry at the cold vacuum created by his absence.

I did the best I could. Did I achieve anything?

For a moment, there was something in his eyes, some trace of thought. I didn’t imagine it! Have I planted a seed of doubt that will grow into something strong enough to withstand what has been done to him, what is being fed to him in that Lorder place?

I pull my dark clothes back over what I wear, and get on the bicycle to start the long ride back to Mac’s. Thinking of what I said, what I could have said that was better, and—

When it hits me I almost fall from the bike.

Dream girl, he called me. Has he been dreaming about me? Like I dream about the past, and lost memories. Am I still there, hiding, in his subconscious?

Somewhere inside is a glimmer, a feeling. It is warm and unfamiliar, and I hold onto it, hug it tight.

It is hope.

Late that night I’m at Mac’s, sitting at his computer. Lucy’s face – my face, from so many years ago – fills the screen on the MIA website. She was Missing In Action, but not any longer.

Aiden sits next to me.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he asks, his dark blue eyes intent, and kind. Not pressing, even though I know how much he wants this.

‘Yes,’ I say. And I am; so sure. Dad said never forget who you are, but I did. I failed him. There is only one thing I can do to try to fix it: I owe it to him to find out who Lucy was. Who I was. And there is no other way to find the missing bits of myself, than this.

Who reported me missing? With my dad gone, was it the mother I cannot remember, or someone else? There is only one way to find out.

I take the mouse, and click the box: Lucy Connor is found.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Teri Terry has lived in France, Canada, Australia and England at more addresses than she can count, acquiring three degrees, a selection of passports and an unusual name along the way. Past careers have included scientist, lawyer, optometrist and, in England, various jobs in schools, libraries and an audiobook charity. The footpaths and canal ways of the Buckinghamshire Chilterns where she now lives inspired much of the setting of the Slated trilogy. Teri hates broccoli, likes cats, and has finally worked out what she wants to do when she grows up.

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Website: teriterry.com