To Where You Are (The Protectors of Light Series Book 1)

by K. A. Hobbs

  “You already know the answer to that question, so we’ll try again, shall we? Whose address is this? If you really don’t want to tell me, I’ll just phone the number and see who picks up.”

  “Dog with a sodding bone,” she mumbles, scrambling for a glass from her cupboard and quickly filling it with water to presumably douse the flames in her mouth from the scalding hot coffee. “Fine. It’s the good doctor’s number. But if you start reading stuff into that, I’m gonna take that paper and cover you with papercuts before soaking you in vinegar.”

  I’m pretty sure my mouth pops open and my eyes go wide. “You’re a little psycho, you know that?” I glare at her. “I’m reading into it what everyone would. You exchanged numbers and he gave you his address. What could you possibly need both of those for if you weren’t interested?”

  She gives an exaggerated cough before tapping my nose with her finger patronisingly. “Exchanging numbers would mean I gave him mine back. He simply wanted me to have it. You know, in case of head injuries and such.”

  “Is that a euphemism?” I tease. “And his address is in case… what? You need mouth-to-mouth?”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she says, slamming her glass down on the counter after draining the water. “Fine. He turned up here with cookies. We chatted a little. He was… kind. And then he had to go.” She turns away to place her glass in the sink, continuing under her breath, “And then I looked after his dog.”

  “Sorry, what? You looked after his dog? How did that come about?”

  “Christ!” she grumbles, running water into the sink completely unnecessarily for a single glass. “I like dogs. He has a dog. He had to work. The dog needed company. Now, can we please go out?”

  I sit back in my chair, knowing full well she can’t see me, and grin. Little Miss Molly has not only invited Seb into her house, but she said he’s kind, and she’s looked after his puppy. I think that’s progress.

  “Of course we can,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “But don’t for one minute think you’ve got away with this. We will be revisiting this monumental life event of yours, Molly.”

  “Dog sitting is hardly a monumental life event.” She wipes her wet hands down her jeans before wandering into the hall and slipping her feet into a pair of fuzzy brown boots.

  I follow her and put my boots back on. “It bloody is when you don’t leave the house, you hermit.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a hermit. It’s good enough for the crabs. Right. You ready? You have a reeeeeally long walk ahead of you.”

  “You didn’t say anything about walking,” I groan. “Are you going to tell me where this special place is? Or am I to guess?”

  She grins wickedly before grabbing my hand, dragging me to the door and throwing it open. “Ooh, we’re nearly there,” she coos before skipping down her front steps and crossing the small pathway that soon dips into the sand from the beach that fronts onto her house. “Race you!” she calls over her shoulder as her feet leave the path and start to kick up sand behind her.

  I’ve never felt anything like it.

  Every single muscle in my body tenses, some feeling like they’re going into spasm. My stomach rolls, my body breaks out into a cold sweat and I hear that all too familiar evil laughter filling my ears.

  Blood rushes to my head as I struggle to breathe in and out, the burn in my lungs from inhaling the cold water seeming to take over once again and no matter how much I chant over and over again that it’s not real, it doesn’t stop it.

  Nothing stops it.

  I can’t do it.

  Why didn’t I think?

  Of course this is Molly’s special place. She’s mentioned it before. And she’s there now, running ahead, carefree, just waiting for me to join her.

  I can’t do it.

  I can’t do it.

  I struggle to breathe, my legs shaking so violently I know I’m going to fall and there’s not a single thing I can do about it. Black spots dance in my vision and my head feels like it’s floating off my shoulders.

  Before the world goes black, before I’m transported back to a memory I don’t ever want to revisit, I manage to tap my ring three times in desperation, needing to speak to George. However, my lungs aren’t willing to wait. My heart rate is too fast and my body is intent on throwing me into paralysing darkness once again.

  I try to hold out. I try to breathe deeply, and I frantically tap my ring over and over and over.

  But I pass out before I feel a tap back.

  The first thing I’m aware of when I open my eyes is that I’m no longer cold, I‘m no longer outside and I’m definitely not alone.

  I bolt upright and flash my eyes around the room, trying to work out where I am. I instantly recognise Molly’s lounge and relax a little.

  It’s okay.

  You’re not there.

  You’re safe.

  “Imogen?”

  I flinch at the sound of a male voice. In my head I know it’s not him. I know the voice speaking is one of safety, comfort and unwavering kindness, but I’m still reliving the nightmare. Every cell in my body is hyper aware of everything and my head is screaming run.

  “Imogen, are you okay?” A female voice this time.

  Molly.

  I search the room and find her, sitting on the floor right beside me, a panicked look in her eyes.

  “Hey,” I manage to croak.

  “Wh-what happened?” she asks, rubbing a hand over her face.

  “I skipped breakfast,” I lie, sitting up a little more. “I think I just passed out from not eating. I’m fine.”

  Her eyes meet mine and I stare back, waiting for her to accept what I’m telling her as the truth.

  “Okay…” she says, not looking entirely convinced. “Can I get you something to eat then? What would you like? We have bacon?” She smiles at me and I can see genuine concern and worry etched on her face.

  “Bacon would be great, and a coffee maybe?”

  “Coming right up.” She stands and turns to leave then stops. “George, can I get you something, too?”

  I watch him smile at her with reassurance that everything is going to be okay. ”Please, don’t go to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble, honestly. I’ll bring it all in when it’s done. You—” she points a finger at me, “—stay where you are.”

  I raise my hands in surrender and she giggles. George waits until she’s out of the room before turning his full, intense attention onto me. Without Molly as a buffer, I know I’m going to have to tell him what happened.

  “You ate breakfast,” he says.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I was with Leo when… What happened?”

  “I think it was a panic attack.”

  He sits up a little straighter and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Brought on by?”

  “Molly’s love of the ocean and my loathing of vast amounts of water.”

  He goes very still, like he’s thinking of something, trying to decipher the meaning behind my words, and I can pinpoint the moment he does.

  “We’ve never…” He cocks his head in the direction of the kitchen and goes still for a minute, then turns back to me. “We’ve never spoken about what happened to you. I didn’t want to push. Of course, I’m aware of the circumstances that led you to us, but we’ve never discussed it. I think maybe now is a good time.”

  “Here?” I tense. “Molly is in the other room.”

  “She’s busy, and she will be for quite a while. It’s important we do this now, Imogen. I need to know you’re okay. I’ve been foolish to think you’re dealing with what happened to you. I should never have let it get to this point.”

  “I am dealing with it, but I can’t… You’ve seen my reaction to water before. You’ve come to my rescue, remember? This is no different. It just took me by surprise is all.”

  “Talk to me, Imogen. Please.”

  He does his usual thing of not talking an
ymore, and waiting for me to begin. I try to sit it out, but I know we don’t have much time left, and this is not something Molly can ever hear.

  I sit up a little more, pulling my legs up to my chest in an attempt to shut myself off from the onslaught of pain I know is coming and can do nothing to stop.

  “It was dark and cold. It was even snowing. I knew I shouldn’t walk home alone, but I did anyway. The show had been a success and I was buzzing, still on a high from how amazing everything looked. I probably wasn’t paying attention to things like I should have been and I’d had a couple of glasses of Champagne to celebrate with my family before they went home, leaving me to enjoy a little more of the evening with everyone else.”

  It feels like the cold from that night is slowly seeping into my bones, chilling me from the inside out. I tighten my grip on my legs, wrapping my arms tighter around myself in a feeble attempt to keep warm.

  “I didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. I remember a blow to the head. The pain was excruciating. I thought I would fall to the ground but someone caught me. I remember for a few stupid, naive seconds I thought someone was helping me, that I’d somehow hit my head on something. I hadn’t of course. The person catching me was the one who had caused me to fall.”

  George doesn’t speak. He doesn’t tell me to keep going, or to stop.

  He sits perfectly still and waits for me to be ready to talk again.

  “The pain got worse the more he… It was disgusting. I remember the smell of the place he took me. It was damp and filthy, and the smell of cigarettes and alcohol filled my nostrils. I remember I heard music and laughter like we were close to a bar or something. I don’t think he… He wasn’t interested in raping me. He just wanted to cause me pain. My pain was his pleasure. He got off on watching my life slowly being taken away.”

  “You’re doing so well, Imogen,” George says softly, encouragingly.

  “I think I was there for a few days. I can’t be sure. I tried to blank out what was happening. I remember asking myself why I wasn’t more afraid. Why wasn’t I fighting? Why was I just accepting what he was doing to me? Then I realised I was hoping that if I behaved, if I didn’t make him angry, he’d let me go. I was so stupid. He had no intention of letting me go. My fate was decided the minute he took me.”

  I’m surprised by my own lack of tears, at my calmness while discussing my death.

  But then, death is the easy part.

  Living my new life is the true challenge.

  Surviving alone, knowing everyone I love is down there, struggling too—that’s the hard part.

  “I remember the exact moment I knew I was going to die. He woke up different that day. He was excited, hyper almost. He didn’t speak when he came to me and pulled me into the bathroom. It was over quickly. I was so weak by then, so tired from trying to keep myself alive, trying to keep my head clear so I could make my escape. He lowered me into the bathtub, and at first I thought maybe I was getting a bath, but no. He slid me into the bathtub, and he held me down.”

  I start to shake, the terrifying reality finally sinking in. I’m discussing my death like it’s a programme I recently watched on the television. I feel strangely detached but I know it won’t last long.

  “Do you need a break?” George asks softly.

  “No. Let’s get this over with.”

  The tears come then, thick and fast and paralysing.

  “I tried to stop him. I lashed out, kicked and screamed, and tried to grab a hold of anything to stop him. He just laughed. And my screams killed me faster. I swallowed mouthfuls of water so I choked, and with each breath, black surrounded more of me.”

  I close my eyes and remember the terror of drowning, how my lungs burned, my heart racing so fast I knew I only had minutes to live.

  “In my final moments, I thought about stupid things, pathetic things. How I’d never have another cup of coffee, or eat another cake. Then real, all encompassing fear took hold. I’d never see my family again. I wouldn’t get another hug from Mum and Dad, and most heartbreakingly I’d never see Olivia again. That was my last thought, before all the pain stopped, all the lights went out and I left the only life I’d ever know.”

  I wipe at my eyes and look at George. He’s looking at me, his eyes reflecting my grief and sadness back at me. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the need to comfort me all over his face, but he doesn’t move. He sits there and waits until I’m done.

  Knowing I have to keep going or I’ll never find the courage to finish, I take a deep breath and go on.

  “And then… I opened my eyes and saw Leo.”

  “And how did you feel?” he asks softly.

  “Hopeful. I felt like maybe I hadn’t died after all, that maybe someone had come to save me and I was in hospital or something. Everything was so bright, so clear. I was warm, so delightfully warm, and I was wrapped in the softest material, lying on the softest bed. There was no pain, no fear. There was just light and warmth, and a kind man watching over me.”

  I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember how much I loved the feeling of hope I had. I wasn’t dead. I was going to see my sister again.

  And then…

  “Then Leo spoke and I realised…” I take a deep breath and close my eyes again. “I realised I was in a different place, a new place. And there was no going back.”

  I thought there would never be a moment when I’d be as afraid as I was on that morning almost two years ago. I still lie awake at night trying to wring the sound of screeching tyres and tearing metal from my head, but the memories just won’t leave no matter how hard I try.

  I know now, though, that as much as I’ve tried to guard my heart against ever feeling that kind of soul destroying pain again, somehow, people are still managing to push their way through my defences and into my affections. What I feel for Imogen is a completely different kind of love to the kind I lost before but just as powerful in its own way. Without even trying, she’s become my best friend, my soul sister and confidante. So when I turned on the beach—expecting to see her kicking up sand behind me—to the sight of her lying in a heap at the edge of the beach with a male form standing over her, the kind of fear I’d hoped to never feel again shot through my system like lightning, tapping every nerve on the way past, leaving me shaky and panicked as I threw myself back across the sand quicker than I’d have thought possible.

  Now, as the bacon sizzles in the pan, spitting droplets of fat into the air, I don’t have the mental capacity to move my exposed skin out of their way. All I can think about is the sight of her lying there. I don’t know what I’d have done if George hadn’t shown up at just the right moment. It was almost like he knew on some weird subliminal level what was going on. A siren call, perhaps. There’s definitely more between the two of them than Immy has let on.

  Absentmindedly, I butter about fifty slices of bread, tearing holes in most of them with my carelessness. Then I pile the bacon high, making what Ben would have called door-stop sandwiches, and carry them through to the living room where George is still crouched in front of Imogen, who is curled into a ball on the couch looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen her.

  “Alright?” I question cautiously, placing the plates for the two of them onto the table and sliding onto the couch beside Imogen.

  “Fine.” She smiles at me, but it’s the most un-Imogen-like smile I have ever seen. “Do I get a coffee, too?” she asks, one eyebrow cocked at me.

  “You can have whatever you like when you tell me the truth,” I counter, leaning towards her and dipping my head onto her shoulder. “You’re not fine, are you?”

  “I’m not not fine. A little shaken and hungry, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you,” she whispers.

  She looks so lost, more like a scared little girl than the feisty woman I’ve come to know. “Eat up then and I’ll get you that coffee. Next time, I’ll have Coco Pops on standby when you come around.”

  “Make it Frosties and we
have a deal.” She smiles, looking a little more like herself.

  “Frosties it is.” I grin and move back into the kitchen to make coffee, listening out for the sounds of conversation from the other room.

  I can hear nothing but indistinguishable murmurs as the coffee machine sputters and squeals inconveniently. I try to push the vision of Imogen like this out of my mind, but it’s all I can focus on. For so long, she’s been my rock, my anchor, holding me together when I wanted to fall apart. She’s been there every time I’ve needed her, somehow seeming to know, with that sixth sense of hers, when I wasn’t okay. And now… Now, it’s my turn to be there for her. I’ve never seen a face so pale. It’s like all the life has been drained from her, and I don’t understand how it can be when only less than an hour ago she was teasing me about Seb’s address and trying to wheedle information out of me. It’s like her essence, the things that make her Imogen, have been stripped away, leaving behind this confused shadow.

  As the coffee machine spits the last few drops into the cup with a wheeze, I reach for it while angrily swiping at the water gathering in my eyes. I don’t cry. Certainly not in public. And yet… Immy is my best friend. She feels more like a sister to me now, and the idea of her hurting enough to lose that sassy spark that defines her makes my chest constrict and my eyes sting.

  Taking longer than strictly necessary to arrange the cups of coffee on a tray in order to pull myself together, I drag in a few deep breaths and school my face into a neutral expression. Shuffling through to the living room when I’m convinced that I can pull off normal, I hesitate in the doorway when I enter to see George sitting beside Imogen on the couch, her petite form curled into his arms while his chin rests on top of her head. The devastating expression of concern and affection on his face has my hands starting to shake with the tray full of hot drinks precariously wobbling until I find the coordination to deposit it on the table beside them.

  The room is heavy with silence, and I get the eerie impression I walked in at the wrong moment. Confused and unsure, I hover beside the couch, not knowing whether to stay or go. Perhaps they want to be alone. But would it be rude to walk out? Cursing silently, I cast my eyes to George where his are watching me with undisguised interest and give him a pleading look, begging for guidance. I want to help my friend. My God I want to. But I don’t even know how to help myself, let alone somebody else. Our eyes lock for a moment, his sharp blue gaze seeming to see right through me to my soul. It’s not a comfortable sensation but I’m not afraid of him. I can’t imagine anybody ever could be. There’s a strange sort of tranquility he carries around with him everywhere he goes, and as he tips me a small, reassuring nod, I find myself glad that Imogen has somebody who can give her that peace.