‘No. I haven’t had a chance yet.’
‘You know Tom went to see him the other day anyway? He told me if Tommy had made an effort with him, then he would have, too.’
‘I know … Tom told me what happened. But anyway, I’ll talk to Tommy as soon as I can.’ Then Nick realised something. ‘Wait … is Tom at your house now?’ He laughed. ‘I’ve only just thought about it … He’s been staying at your house these past few days, but now you’re here at work. Where is he today?’
Michael smiled a bit gormlessly. ‘He’s at mine still. Didn’t even get out of bed when I left for work. He loves having a lie-in.’
I’m sure he does, thought Nick, not having to work, living off of Dad’s money … But with all the support his brother had given him, he couldn’t truly be annoyed. ‘Are your family okay with Tom staying over so much?’
‘Yeah. My mum and dad really like him. He’s probably chatting away with them right now. I’m quite lucky, really. One of my cousins came out lesbian a few months before me and Tom started seeing each other, so I got to see the way my mum and dad were about that before I told them about me. When I told Mum, she was shocked, but she said, It’s your life, Michael; with any luck you’ll live a lot longer than I do, so why should I start telling you what to do now? I won’t be able to when I’m dead!’
Nick laughed unexpectedly. ‘That’s a nice way to look at it,’ he said, and he meant it.
‘Yeah. She respects that it’s my life … and my dad’s happy if Mum’s happy.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Nicolas?’ Mora’s delicate yet authoritative voice travelled across the shop floor.
‘Yeah?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
He’d already started walking towards the back of the store, surprised by Mora’s bluntness. ‘What’s the matter?’ He found her holding the landline phone in her hand.
‘There’s a man on the phone. He says he’s a local stock provider, just setting up, and that he knows you.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m all up for enquiring into new stock, Nicolas, but your friend is extremely unprofessional.’ She lowered her tone and held the phone at a distance, which seemed quite unprofessional itself. ‘He insists on speaking with you about his offer.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Mark Caraway. Apparently he was a couple of years above you at middle school?’
Huh? Nick’s eyebrows squeezed together. ‘I don’t remember many people who weren’t in my year group.’
‘Okay, well …’ Mora switched into business mode, but still spoke reasonably. ‘I’d like you to speak with him, find out what he wants, and explain that if he wishes to do business with us in the future, then he’ll need to get used to conversing with me directly.’
‘Okay,’ agreed Nicolas. He took the phone from her. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi! Nicolas, it’s Mark Caraway. Do you remember me from school?’ the man asked in a rushed manner.
‘Erm … I don’t, actually.’
‘I was a couple of years above you.’ There was a short pause. ‘We played bulldog in the playground a couple of times.’
Nick remembered playing that lethal game at middle school with a group of friends, including Fin, but most boys would have played games like that at least once during their school years. If Mark Caraway was lying, then it was a safe lie for him to pick.
‘Right …’ Nick dragged out the word. ‘So, my manager says you’re a local stock provider?’
‘Yes, that I am. And I’d like you to come take a look at the items I’ve just got in. It would be perfect for your manager’s store.’
‘Creaky Crystals.’ Nick stated, feeling peculiarly defensive over the shop’s name being pushed aside.
‘Yes, Creaky Crystals. I came by to try talk to you a while ago, but you weren’t in.’
The man with black hair …
‘Well?’ the voice urged.
‘Where are you?’ As Nick asked the question, he heard Michael call for Mora from the front of the store. Mora gave an apologetic look and hurried off.
‘The old Rest-Easy-Beds factory in Etherby. It looks abandoned from the outside, but don’t worry, I’ll be here.’
Nick knew the factory; he’d heard they’d closed down about a month ago and had sold off new mattresses, usually priced over seven hundred pounds, for less than two hundred quid each. The building was in a quiet business estate on the outskirts of the one town on Lansin Island Nick actively tried to avoid.
‘You want me to come take a look now?’
‘If you can, yes.’
Then Nick’s vision came to mind. A big room with shiny walls. Metal beams on the ceiling. Lighting that should have been on. A factory …
Who is this man? Now he was certain the caller was lying. But what has he got to gain? Maybe when Nick arrived at the building, he would find Kerra looking as ill as she had in his vision, and this man would show up and threaten Nick, demanding a ransom or something. He had no money, though, so that theory made little sense.
Whatever true reason ‘Mark Caraway’ had called for, Nick would go. He had waited for this moment, for a clear sign he could act upon that would lead to his premonition coming true.
‘I’ll talk with my manager and head over if I can.’
‘Erm …’ The man sounded like he was about to push for a definite answer.
‘I should hopefully be there soon.’
‘Okay, fine.’
Nick hung up, placing the phone in its holder on the wall. When he returned to the front of the store, Mora was handing a woman some change and saying, ‘Thank you for shopping with us. Have a nice day.’
Michael dawdled about now, tidying shelves. Whatever urgent thing he’d called Mora for had been dealt with. Mora must have heard the tip-tap of Nick’s winklepickers; she turned, aiming her green eyes at him expectantly. ‘So, what did Mr Caraway want? Does it turn out that you know him?’
At a foot taller than Mora, Nick sometimes felt like the way he had to literally talk down to her might come across condescending, especially when he had assertions to make. To take a more casual stance, he stood at an angle and shuffled DVDs about while he responded. ‘Yeah. After talking for a minute, I remembered him. He was a couple years above me at school, like he said.’ He wished he didn’t have to lie, especially not to Mora, but finding Kerra was more important than being honest. ‘He wants me to head over and take a look at the stock.’
Mora’s face was straight as she took in the words, but her eyes moved around to make sense of it. ‘Shouldn’t he be asking me to inspect the stock?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know why he wants me to go. I think he might be nervous, having just set up, and he’d feel more comfortable talking to someone he knows. Just to start out.’
After a short sigh, Mora said, ‘Well, how am I supposed to feel confident doing business with someone so timid?’ She spoke with a steady tone, not stressed. It was apparent she was considering many angles.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you want to go and take a look?’
‘Erm, if you and Michael are fine without me.’ Nick aimed to sound neutral. ‘I don’t see the harm in it. If there’s any good stock, I’ll make it clear to Mr Caraway that he needs to deal with you directly in the future.’
Please just let me go. He tried not to let his plead show in his eyes. But the longer this conversation continued, the more he felt like his vision was crumbling into dust. Soon the chance would be gone.
‘Okay. As you know the man, we’ll give him a chance.’ Mora smiled brightly. Nick got the impression she thought she was doing him a favour, and he hoped it wasn’t just because he’d saved her from the firework. His manager plodded over towards the jewellery section. ‘Right. You’ve been here long enough to know what does and doesn’t sell, but I’ll tell you what I’d like you to keep an eye out for.’
She went from section to section, pointing out items that hadn�
�t shifted in a long while, items that flew off the shelves, items that were steady sellers, and also spoke about products she’d been wanting to get in.
This is a complete waste of time, thought Nick. Michael had overheard everything and added some suggestions on ‘cool stuff’ they should get into store. Mora’s excitement at the prospect of new stock made Nick frown.
‘Are you alright, Nicolas?’ she asked.
‘Sorry, yeah. Just a lot to remember.’
‘Don’t worry. I don’t want you to agree to anything with Mr Caraway. Don’t sign anything. Don’t promise anything.’ She touched his elbow and peered up at him. ‘I trust you to judge the quality of his stock. Take some pictures on your mobile if you like, and ring me if you’re uncertain about anything.’
‘Okay.’
Mora squinted suddenly and placed a hand on her side.
‘What’s the matter?’ Nick’s heart rate quickened.
‘I’ve been getting cramps in my stomach all day.’ Mora tapped at her ribs. ‘Just here.’
Where the firework should have struck you … Nick had worried there might be consequences, and now he hoped cramps would be the only repercussions.
‘Ooooh …’ Mora pulled an exaggerated face of discomfort. ‘It’s gone again. No need to panic.’
The time was 2:16 p.m., according to the clock in Creaky Crystals, and Nick was scheduled to finish at 5:00 p.m. ‘Okay. I better get going. I should be back here before my shift’s over.’ He wondered how true that was. Whatever he was going to face in the factory, he suspected it would be tougher than discerning the quality of dream-catchers and athames. Thinking of the ritual knives, he glanced over at them. Should I take a weapon?
‘Thank you, Nicolas,’ Mora said, her voice gentle.
‘That’s okay.’ He still considered the dark idea, but eventually decided against taking a weapon of any kind. His ability had saved people from harm before. Hopefully it would protect him if he needed it. Having an athame in his possession would only place suspicion on him if anything did happen. Who carried a weapon if they didn’t intend to use it? Even if only for self-defence?
The drive to Etherby was a short journey, and the contrast between it and Amiton always surprised Nick. The last and most memorable time he went to Etherby was the previous summer. Suffering with depression at the time, he’d occasionally become irritable at home, and so would go for long drives to clear his mind.
On a warm day, he’d taken his Vauxhall Corsa for a tour of the island, his favourite Muse album, Absolution, blaring through the speakers. As he’d cut through Etherby, he’d seen a throng of chavs surrounding an ice cream van. They’d rocked it back and forth, laughing and shouting profanities at the owner, who was still inside the vehicle. As Nick gained more distance from the ice-cream van, he heard a loud crash; the thugs had successfully toppled it. Other people drove past as well, so Nick didn’t even stop to call the police. He’d left the town as fast as the speed signs allowed him.
To this day he regretted turning a blind eye. If he ever saw someone in need of help again, he would at least call the authorities. He couldn’t blame his depression for everything, but having moved past it, he now realised that a lot of his previous actions had been selfish, all forms of avoiding anything tough in life. Maybe these choices benefited him at the time, but he’d left others he cared about in the lurch. Like Tom and Tommy, left to deal with their withdrawn father while Nick was too deep in his own sorrows.
I want to be a better person …
When he made it to the industrial estate, he pulled over and used his mobile to search the location of the old Rest-Easy-Beds factory. The area was quiet and had wide roads, the factories spread far apart. Nick figured out which building was his destination, got out of the car, and rushed towards it.
He trembled. Kerra, only metres away. Kerra, alive.
The ribbed metallic structure had a locked-down entrance, which he saw no way of opening. He wandered around the perimeter until he came across a green side door that was ajar. Just at the sight of the viable entrance, his shaking body ratcheted up a notch. A little sparrow flittered down and landed nearby, hopped about, and then flew away while Nick watched it suspiciously.
Slightly tilting his head in an attempt to heighten his hearing, Nick treaded towards the building with slow and quiet steps, steadily, steadily, steadily, until he could peer inside. A metal frame blocked most of his view. He entered completely and arched his neck to look up. The ceiling had dark square patches, striped with unlit bulbs. Nick’s footsteps, as gentle as he tried to be, echoed faintly, hauntingly.
Still moving forward, he returned his eyes to straight ahead, and there Kerra was. She limped in his direction, wearing her bright green jacket, red-and-white polka dot blouse, black skinny jeans, one remaining lime Ugg boot, and a black scarf that she hadn’t had on at the hotel. Mud and blood trailed down her clothes.
Nick’s quaking legs began to run. His eyes turned hot. He blinked to force tears aside. Kerra’s face was pale, and there was an emptiness to her stare. Nick couldn’t imagine the trauma she’d suffered. He stretched his arms out, reaching her; she extended hers too, but her eyes were blank and aimed away from him.
They embraced. Relief washed over him, stealing strength from his muscles, even as he tried to hold his girlfriend tighter, tighter. I’ve got you.
‘Kerra …’ Emotion wobbled the breath of his voice.
Kerra remained silent. A faint rotten odour hovered about her clothes. From the blood stains, Nick assumed. Then he realised something. In distress he’d become hot and sweaty, so warm that he hadn’t noticed the contrast to Kerra’s body heat at first.
She was cold … and her body was hard, like a rock.
As he stepped back, he bent down to meet Kerra’s eyes. Why isn’t she saying anything? The colour of her skin was awful. Not just pallid, but almost grey in places—the lips, ears, nostrils. For a second she gazed past him as if he wasn’t there, but then her hands shot out and grabbed his wrists. Nails dug into his flesh. Kerra’s strength was unnatural.
‘Owhhh! Kerra?’ His mouth contorted, puppet to the pain. ‘What are you doing?’
Kerra yanked his arms up and pushed him backwards. He struggled not to trip when she shoved him with superhuman force. Something solid met his back. Thud. A rattle ran down and behind him, suggesting it was a metal frame he’d been slammed against. ‘Kerra?! What’s the matter with you?’
She gave him her eyes. In them, he caught a fleeting look of turmoil that horrified him. Helpless, frightened, she’d appeared. But then her stare fell blank again. It wasn’t the only thing that fell; the black scarf, having loosened during the struggle, slipped to the floor.
Sick rushed to the base of Nick’s tongue. He swallowed hard to keep it back, wincing from the sight. His thoughts battled one another to make sense of what he saw before him: Kerra’s throat was torn open, clumps of flesh hanging from strings of skin. There was no blood. Like her face, the wound was white and grey and pale, as if it had been drained. The hole in her neck revealed the inside of her throat, dried up and colourless.
Through his mental clash, one thought was stronger than the others: How is this possible?
Steady, confident taps began to echo through the factory. A man strolled out from behind a corner and approached. His hair was black and rebellious, tufted on top of a bony face with big lips. He smirked at Nick while he took handcuffs out of a jacket pocket. Kerra shoved Nick down to the floor, bruising his coccyx, and then the black-haired man cuffed one of Nick’s wrists to the metal frame. Kerra held fast to him as the man rummaged through his pockets, took out the contents, and dashed them out of reach.
Nick groaned, desperate to push free, but Kerra’s hold on him was solid. ‘Why are you doing this? Who are you?’ he asked the man, recognising him from Deirdre’s café.
Kerra released her grip as soon as Nick was restrained. The guy with black hair laughed dismissively. He placed the key to the han
dcuffs a few metres away, at a distance Nick might have been able to reach.
‘What’s wrong with Kerra? What have you done to her?!’ His voice ached the more he forced it.
The man had begun to walk away, but he swung around and said, ‘She’s dead, you idiot.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IMMORTAL. THE THOUGHT wouldn’t leave Juliet alone. Permanently self-actualising. Could it be true? Her body and mind had been improving without effort, and she certainly felt more youthful than before she’d gained her ability … but immortality?
If I’ll never die, then do my achievements mean anything? What are a few qualifications and a small business worth in the scheme of hundreds or thousands of years? The words echoed in her mind: thousands-of-years, thousands of years, thousands … of … years. She couldn’t think of much worse than living forever. If there was no cap on her life, then there was no pressure to fulfil goals … but extreme pressure to fill time.
I need to speak to Tamara. Maybe she’ll know the truth of it.
Sitting on a hard plastic bench in Amiton General Hospital, she waited for the doctor to finish speaking with her gran. The hallway was mild and airy, and seemed to stretch on forever. Having spent so little time in a hospital before, she was anxious of what to expect.
It was strangely quiet, like a ghost town, and although she was sure a lot was going on behind scenes, she saw very little. People came and went, some giving her suspicious looks yet saying nothing, and many avoiding eye contact completely. Gazing about at the pale colours around her—blue, jade green, brown, cream, the occasional yellow—she tried hard to keep her composure.
Is this place full of spirits? She was dealing with the situation rather well now that she was able to block them out. But even having practised it, she feared her resolve might slip and she would let the dead through. Believe in my ability, believe in what I can do.
‘Miss Maystone.’ The voice took her by surprise. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said, recognising the doctor.
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