SIXTY-THREE
THE FEET I see standing around us, once observers, are now in on the act. They suddenly take flight, and they are everywhere. Some are on me, trampling me, some are doing their best to block for me, but every time I try to get up, I am swiftly brought back down to earth again. With a bang, with a knock, winded, I lie on the ground, hands covering my head, waiting for the black spots in my vision to clear. I feel hands trying to pull me up, hands trying to push me down. I can barely breathe. Then I hear the whistles. The Whistleblowers have arrived, and I see black leather boots descending on the scene. Some people run away, more people hear about what’s happening and join in. I see fists flying, blood spraying. I don’t even know who is on whose side anymore. At one point, when I manage to see straight, I think I see Enya Sleepwell standing at the door of the supermarket, watching. But I have been knocked on the head too many times, and I know I’m seeing things. I give up trying to fight, trying to stand, and, instead, I lie down as I feel another blow to my head as a boot steps backward, not knowing I’m there, and I feel the leather on my cheek. Then it’s all a blur.
I hear noises and then I hear nothing. A buzzing in my ear seems to block out most of the sound. I’m on the ground, and then I’m floating, and I wonder if I’m dead, if this is what it’s like to rise toward the light. But the light is only the strip lighting of the supermarket, and I realize I’m alive, but I’m flying. Then I feel hands around my body, large, comforting, safe. Those hands place my arms around his neck. I feel flesh. My head rests on a chest. I feel flesh on my cheek. I focus on the chest and see an F, just like mine, below the clavicle, where a T-shirt has been ripped in the fight. A Flawed man is carrying me. He smells good, of clean sweat and something else I can’t place, but I feel safe. He carries me like I’m a baby, and I cling to him, turning my head to his chest, my head resting beneath his chin to block out the light that hurts my eyes. As we move, I run my fingertip over the F on his chest, which makes us stop moving. I have never felt anybody else’s scar. It feels like mine. Five of mine, but not like the final one on my spine. The one that was done without any anesthetic, which made me jump and the sear moved, smudged. I see his large Adam’s apple move as he gulps at my touch. I allow my finger to rest there on his chest. Even though he’s a stranger, the feel of the brand is comforting, like my own skin.
I know immediately who this is. I move my head away from his chest and look upward and see that he’s looking down at me.
Carrick.
With his intense eyes, worried and concerned as I smile at him. Carrick, who I only ever really saw through glass. There’s no glass now. Despite the madness around us, he returns my smile.
“I told you I’d find you.”
And we float away, away from the light, away from the sound.
SIXTY-FOUR
I WAKE UP with a groan, feeling raw from head to toe. I’m in my bed, in my house. It is dark apart from the light from the landing shining through the gap in the door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, but soon I can make everything out. There is no one in the chair beside my bed. I am still wearing the clothes I was wearing earlier. It is night outside, which means only a few hours have passed since I remember being awake. The events in the supermarket come back to me in a rush, and I think of Granddad, of his waiting outside for me and of his bleeding wound. I need to get my phone to call him, to make sure he escaped safely, but voices downstairs stop that thought.
The voices are low and urgent. Then I hear Mom’s voice, quick and pleading, higher and faster than usual, and it is quickly talked over by someone else. I recognize the voice, but it can’t be. Crevan, downstairs! I must be dreaming. He wouldn’t be here, in this house. I try to sit up but groan again. My stomach is sore; my ribs must be broken, at least one of them. My hand goes to my stomach and I feel a bandage wrapped around me. I swing my legs out of bed. I’m dizzy. I wait with closed eyes for the floor to stop spinning, for the nausea to pass.
I see water beside my bed and gulp it down. I manage to stand, feeling an ache everywhere, in every muscle. I don’t remember getting home, though I remember the floating sensation in the supermarket, being held by Carrick, feeling so comfortable and safe in his arms. His smiling at me, my resting my head against his chest and closing my eyes. After that, my memory is gone, and I wonder, did I imagine him? Was he real?
My door opens, and Juniper steps inside. There is panic on her face, and I know something is very wrong. “Celestine, you’re awake.”