by Teri Terry
He hesitates, considering, then nods. ‘All right. You were special to me, Rain. But being on the side of freedom, there was always the risk of getting caught. I knew I had to find a way to protect you if the Lorders got their hands on you.’
‘How?’
‘By separating you into two parts, inside, so one could survive if you were Slated. Rain was stronger than Lucy; she survived.’
As he says the words, I know them. I have always known them. I was one who became two: Lucy, with her childhood memories, and Rain, whose life was with Nico and Free UK. The pieces of the puzzle slot in together. Lucy was made to be right-handed: she wouldn’t cooperate, so Nico forced her to be. Rain was left-handed. And how Slating is done depends on handedness: memory access is hemisphere dominant, and linked to handedness. But who was I when I was Slated?
‘I still don’t understand. If Rain was stronger and in control, why didn’t the Lorders Slate me as her, as if I was left-handed?’
‘That’s the beauty of this. Rain hid inside when you were captured; you were trained to do this. So the part of you that was Lucy was dominant.’
‘So. As far as the Lorders knew when they Slated me last year, I was right-handed. And they didn’t know about Rain. When they took my memories they only took part of them.’
‘Exactly. Lucy is gone, she was weak. But you, special Rain, survived Slating: hidden inside. Waiting the right moment to fight your way out.’
‘And this,’ I say, spinning my Levo, ‘doesn’t work any more now because I’m Rain again: left-handed. It’s linked to the wrong side of my brain.’
‘Just so.’ He catches my left hand in his. Gently kisses my fingertips. ‘I’m sorry I hurt you all those years ago. But I did it because it was the only way to protect you.’
Lucy: gone forever. That is why I can’t remember her life. The ache of loss fills me, spreads into the emptiness inside. So much of my life destroyed, forgotten. But part of me is still here: Nico saved me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be gone completely. I wouldn’t even know what I missed.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper. And I wonder: does Rain being stronger mean Kyla is disappearing, too? All that she hoped and cared about? Like Ben. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, and blink furiously. Don’t cry. Not in front of Nico. Don’t! And then fear wars with pain: Nico doesn’t like weakness.
But instead of anger, he takes my hand. ‘What is it?’ he says, his voice gentle.
I cling to his hand. It is much bigger, stronger. He could crush mine in an instant.
‘Ben,’ I whisper.
‘Tell me. I know a little: but you tell me. What really happened to him?’ He stresses really, as if he knows there is more than the official story.
‘It was all my fault. I did it.’ I say out loud, at last, what has been haunting, festering, inside.
‘What did you do? Tell me.’
‘I cut his Levo off. With a grinder.’
And as I tell him the facts, the events, Nico shifts his chair around next to mine, slips a warm arm over my shoulders. And the images fill my mind. Ben’s agony. Me running away, leaving him to his fate. And what was that, exactly? What became of him? Did he die because of what I did, or later? With the Lorders.
‘What happened to him?’ I ask, my eyes pleading for a chance, a hope.
‘You know the ultimate answer to that question,’ Nico says. ‘You know what the Lorders will have done to him if there was any life left.’
I nod through the tears.
‘And you know what they did to his parents.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you feel it, Rain? Inside. The anger.’
And it springs to life, a fire, as if Nico had tossed a match of his own. The bonfire burns in my mind, hotter and angrier than the blaze that consumed their house. Than all the fires Lorders set that night combined.
‘Now, listen to me, Rain. This doesn’t mean you have to forget about Ben, or what he meant to you, or what the Lorders did to his parents. Any of it. Just use it; use it the right way.’
Use the rage.
And it rolls through me, like a wave – a searing heat that ripples through every muscle, every bone. Every drop of blood that burns in my veins.
I grip the arms of the chair. ‘We must make the Lorders pay for what they’ve done. They must be stopped!’
Nico cups his hands around my face, tilts it up. His eyes study mine, searching, assessing. At last, he nods. His eyes are warm. A flush on my skin tingles, travels up my body.
‘Yes, Rain.’ He smiles, leans down. His lips lightly brush my forehead. ‘But there is one question you still haven’t answered. When did you get your memories back?’
The attack in the woods. Wayne. The words are working their way up my throat to tell him what happened, but I stop. He’ll deal with Wayne if he knows. But why am I protecting Wayne? Isn’t that what he deserves?
‘It really should have been when you left Ben, and the Lorders took him. That should have done it; it is exactly the right sort of trauma to break through. So why didn’t it happen then?’ Nico says the words almost like he is talking to himself, as if he has forgotten I am there.
I squirm, uncomfortable with his analysis, his sifting through my ‘trauma’ to evaluate its effects. But if my memories didn’t return that day, why didn’t I black out and die? I look at my useless Levo.
Then I remember. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘It was the pills.’
‘What pills?’
‘Happy Pills. Ben got them from someplace,’ I say. Holding back just where he got them, and unsure why. They came from Aiden, who is in MIA: they run the Missing in Action website I saw at Jazz’s cousin’s place.
Nico nods. ‘That makes sense. They’d block the full experience. Then, when they wore off, Rain made an appearance.’
He grins widely. Laughs. ‘Rain!’ He hugs me. ‘You were always my favourite, you know.’
My heart sings. Nico never had relationships with girls in training camps – not that I saw. His power was absolute, but we all wanted him.
He pulls back. ‘Now, listen. There is something you can do for me. You’re still going to hospital appointments in London, aren’t you?’
I nod. ‘Every Saturday.’ New London Hospital where I was Slated is a symbol of Lorder control, and a frequent Free UK target; it is where they took me, and countless others like me, and deliberately erased our memories.
‘I want plans. As accurate as possible, of every bit of the hospital you know. Inside and out. Can you do that for me?’
‘Of course,’ I say, eager to help strike against the Lorders, even in such a small way. I can see the layout in my mind without trying, my memory and map ability so ingrained inside, that…
And a memory comes back. Long and tedious training. ‘You taught me that,’ I say slowly. ‘How to memorise positions and places, how to draw maps.’ Consequences were dire if we made a mistake: I remember, and quail inside. But I don’t make mistakes any more.
He smiles. ‘Yes. That was part of your training. You will do it.’
‘Yes. I will.’
‘Now get going.’
I stand, and he unlocks the door, looks both ways. ‘All clear. Go.’
I run around the school track, not trusting myself to meet Cam for the drive home until I calm down. All the moments with Nico I hold to myself, inside.
I was his favourite!
He hugged me. My forehead still tingles where his lips touched.
He saved me.
So many reasons he could have been angry, but he wasn’t!
But most of all: I know who I am. I know where I come from, and where I belong. What I must do. The Lorders failed. I remember.
Joy threatens composure, and I pound harder and harder around the track, until a wo
lf whistle pierces my reverie. I spin round.
Cam.
He claps, and I slow my pace, do another lap to cool down, then walk over to him.
‘Geez, you can run. Is this what you so desperately needed to do after school?’
I’m breathing hard. I shrug. ‘Sometimes, I really need to run,’ I say, not answering the question directly. And it is true enough. It used to be that I’d run to keep my levels up. Curious, I look at my Levo. Still hovering around 6: running used to put it up into the 8s, but it really is a useless bit of kit now.
‘Time to head home?’
I nod. ‘Sorry I’m all sweaty,’ I say, and grin, then try to remember to tone down. At least I have running as an excuse for being giddy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
‘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 hol
ding 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.
