Phoenix

by Alison Ashley

  Phoenix

  the fifth shadow

  Phoenix

  alison ashley

  Warrambucca Books

  Published by Warrambucca Books

  PO Box 492, Romsey, VIC 3434, Australia

  www.warrambuccabooks.com.au

  First Published 2011

  © 2011 Alison Ashley

  All rights reserved – Alison Ashley

  Names, locales, characters, businesses and events in this work of fiction are from the author’s imagination and any similarity to real people, living or dead, businesses, places and events is not intentional.

  The author, Alison Ashley, asserts her moral rights in this work throughout the world. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Ashley, Alison, 1962–

  Phoenix : the fifth shadow / Alison Ashley

  1st ed.

  ISBN 978 0 9870859 5 5 (eBook)

  Designed, typeset, printed and distributed by Palmer Higgs Pty Ltd www.palmerhiggs.com.au and www.phbooks.com.au

  With thanks to:

  Grandad’s spirit for giving me the words.

  Ken, for letting me live my dream.

  Debbie, for the brainstorming, promotion, criticism and excitement, and for always believing in me.

  The CYA conference judges, whoever you are, for picking my story as a winner and giving me confirmation that this really is a compelling read.

  Kara, for my very first review.

  Terri and Karen L, for the unfaltering belief that I’d get there.

  Ally, Amanda, Ashley, Claire, Debbie, Gayle, Gillian, Jan, Jen, Jonathon, Judith, Kara, Karen E, Karen L, Karen P, Kim, Lauren, Laurie, Lee, Lisa, Nathan, Merle, Mum, Phil, Sharon, Susan and Terri, to name but a few, for reading this book during its many stages of development.

  Gillian, for giving me courage.

  Jacquie, for making me prove I could do it.

  Mum, for sharing her wartime memories.

  Katrina, for whipping my words into shape.

  Helen, for wrapping them in such an amazing cover.

  And finally, me, for never giving up.

  – chapter one –

  katie

  Haunted by shadows.

  I clasped my head to silence the thoughts.

  No choice.

  But I was exhausted and my defences were down.

  Die.

  “Stop it!” I buried my head in my lap, aware that half the people on the train were watching.

  “You okay?” Mum fussed, rubbing my back.

  I flicked back up but purposely avoided her gaze in case the words ingrained on my brain spilled through my mouth. As much as I wanted to tell her, I couldn’t.

  “We’re just over this frigging never-ending journey!” Ally said.

  I slumped back in my seat, grateful my twin had detracted the attention from me and offered some explanation for my odd behaviour, even if it was only partly true. I pressed my earphones further in, relieved that my movements had woken me enough to suppress the unsettling thoughts.

  My heart quickened when I caught sight of the guy sitting at the end of our compartment. Could it really be Zac? But even though I was more awake, my eyes were still achingly tired and I knew my mind was just attempting to plaster the cracks of my fractured heart. I gazed sadly at the veil of grey conjured by the guy’s drab patched and darned clothing and cap. Despite his lean frame, his clothes seemed too tight and his appearance reminded me of the kids in one of Dad’s black-and-white war films who’d struggled through years of clothing rations and made do with repaired hand-me-downs.

  I sighed and turned away, knowing that my athletic best friend, whom I’d bid an emotional farewell to only a day ago, would never wear such a constricting outfit, and could not possibly be here, now.

  “This is where we change.”

  Dad’s voice dribbled around my dying music as the bright lights of the next underground station slipped into view. I plucked the earpieces out but my ears were still sore and blocked from the plane and everything was strangely muffled.

  “Where the hell are we?” Ally demanded as we fought our way off the train. She slung her suitcase against the wall dividing the underground platforms and thrust her hands on her hips, glaring at the giant white map plastered over it.

  “Here.” Dad deftly pointed at a little circle indicating where various coloured lines intersected. “And this is where we’re going.” He tapped another point that was almost as far as the distance we’d already travelled from Heathrow, re-slung his laptop case over his shoulder and headed to yet another tunnel.

  “See, told you the underground was easy to navigate,” Mum said, forcing a tired smile. “Even you could find your way, Ally!”

  Ally scowled and trudged behind our parents, but the endless labyrinth of tunnels had compounded my fear to such an extent that I couldn’t bring myself to follow. Dad may have known where he was going but I didn’t, and that was more disconcerting than I’d ever thought possible. Until just hours ago, my life had been an endless state of déjà vu, not just in the sense that every week was as predictable as the next, but because every moment came with the awareness that I’d already lived it before, a surreal sensation which although rather distracting at times was strangely reassuring. That, however, had stopped the moment I’d set foot on English soil.

  “Katie!” Mum called. “You coming?”

  The urgency in her voice propelled me into motion and I stepped onto the wind-blasted platform as the train pressed in.

  “It’s really not much further,” Dad said, hustling us on board.

  “Great. Not.” Ally glowered fiercely and tossed her fringe from her eyes with a dramatic head flick. “Why can’t Grandad move to Australia instead of us all moving here?”

  “We’ve been through this a thousand times, Ally,” Mum said, struggling to an almost empty section of the train with two suitcases. “He’s simply too frail to travel.”

  I cast Ally a sympathetic glance as she slumped into a seat in the row opposite me. I too was totally dreading an unknown future, though not in the same way as my twin. She was so terrified of emigrating that she’d tried running away from home when Dad first told us about it. But we’d found her. Well, I’d found her. My mind kept picturing a fluffy blue teddy bear we’d constantly fought over in our pre-school days, and I instinctively headed to the disused building that once housed the playgroup. I found Ally crying in the derelict kitchen and trying to make a cup of soup with a disconnected power supply.

  Mum reckoned it was a twin connection that had led me to her. Dad said it was just deducted reasoning. And Ally didn’t talk to me for almost a month even though I sensed she was glad to be home.

  Whatever it was, logic, luck or a twin thing, I was just glad that Ally, like my parents, had absolutely no idea about the letter residing in my jacket. I fumbled inside my crumb-filled pockets to make sure it was still there, and the softened paper brought the whole nightmare rushing back.

  Just days after Ally’s dramatics, I’d been doodling at my desk when my bedroom suddenly turned eerily cold. Ice frosted my glass of water and my nervous breath showed in misty white bursts. My hand seemed to freeze to the biro, my fingers instantly purple. Then the pen shot back and forth across the page with me still grasping hold. I tried to stop it and get away but I was paralysed with fear.

  The ordeal seemed to go on forever but when it finally ended I lobbed the biro in my bin and leapt from my seat. But throwing the pen away didn’t erase what had happened and I
stared at my notepad in shock. The page was still attached, still part of my book, but it seemed aged and yellow, and words smudged as if written in real ink weaved across the page. But it was the words themselves which sent new terror convulsing through me.

  They formed a letter. A frightening, incomprehensible letter.

  With my signature at the bottom.

  I wanted to show my parents, but Dad was so antiparanormal that when Mum had once bought some books on psychic awareness to try and contact her dead parents, he’d totally freaked out and the books mysteriously disappeared. He’d denied anything to do with it so Mum bought more. They vanished, too, this time coincidentally when we had a bonfire, and since then any talk of the supernatural had been strictly taboo. I hadn’t talked to Ally about the letter either, as I’d been getting the silent treatment from her, and by the time we were communicating again I was convinced that I must have written it myself.

  I’d taken the letter with me everywhere afterwards, sometimes checking it to make sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing, yet at the same time wishing I had. I thought I was going insane until one day, whilst walking Honey, our Golden Retriever, I’d noticed an ad in the newsagent’s window for a psychic.

  It took me weeks to pluck up the courage to see her. What if Dad found out? But I had to do something. In the end I’d called her from my mobile and set up a consultation, but it left me with as many questions as I had answers. Apparently my letter was a spirit channelling through me so at least I knew I wasn’t going mad, but having someone confirm that it wasn’t all a figment of my imagination reinforced my belief that I wasn’t like ordinary people, and if I was to ever have a chance at living a normal life in England, or anywhere, I first had to do something completely extraordinary to get there.

  The problem was that I didn’t fully understand what it was that I needed to do. However, now that my déjà vu had stopped it was as if a cog had slipped into place, and with the letter forcing itself more and more into my thoughts, I sensed it was time to break the news.

  Sorrow surged through me as my fingers tentatively curled around the envelope that safely concealed my letter. I wished I didn’t have to give it to them, but I owed them an explanation.

  “Ally?” I said.

  “What?”

  Her blue eyes fixed dully on mine. A whole day of flying and this endless trip through the stuffy underground had extinguished their brightness. Even her dimple seemed flat and I was sure my face, the image of hers, conveyed the same sadness.

  “Doesn’t matter.” I sighed.

  I frowned as Mum stood up midway between the two rows of seats and leaned against the metal pole at the end of the carriage. She had one hand behind her back and quickly swept it forward. “Say cheese,” she said, aiming her camera at us. “One day we’ll look back on the diary of our journey with happy memories.”

  I quickly shielded my head with my arms as the flash went off.

  “Oh, brilliant picture,” Mum said sarcastically as she surveyed her handiwork in the review pane. She sat back with us and showed us the image. Ally was wearing her scowl, and despite my efforts I could still see the fuzzy outline behind my head. It was there in every photo.

  I flopped back in my seat and gazed wearily at the black nothingness beyond the window behind Ally. My stomach knotted and goosebumps smothered me. In the thick glass and with the continuous reflection from Ally’s window to the one behind me, my image was like an endless echo that seemed to have brought that odd shadow out of the camera and into real life.

  I closed my eyes and tried to draw my sleep-deprived mind into focus but the shadowy outline remained, and I was aware that I wasn’t the only one to have noticed. I shuddered as I realised the grey figure was back, no longer at a distance, and no longer a figment of my imagination. Now, he was right beside me, and he too was staring at my reflection. I deliberately concentrated on the blackness outside, but when his reflection turned its attention onto me, I felt compelled to look at him.

  Even in the bright lights of the carriage he seemed like a smudge of grey, and I questioned my own misguided judgment in likening him to Zac. This guy with his tattered clothes, pale complexion and drooping shoulders was the epitome of low confidence, malnutrition and struggle. Zac was a symbol of abundance, vitality and self-esteem with his toned muscles, golden skin and branded sports’ gear. Yet I still couldn’t shed the sensation that there was a likeness between them.

  The grey guy’s focus eventually aligned with mine and the despair in his eyes almost winded me. My hand flicked to my mouth too late to stifle my gasp. His familiarity confused me and sent my heart leapfrogging in my chest. I had an urgent desire to ask him what was wrong – if I could help somehow.

  He glanced at his watch as the train slowed and I glimpsed the time sideways, ten fifteen or ten to three, it was hard to tell in such a fleeting moment and either could have been right. Thanks to the time difference between here and home, my body clock was stuffed and lack of daylight in the bowels of the earth made it hard to assess if it was day or night.

  I felt heavy and slightly dazed as he silently rose and headed to the door. It was as though his being there had been dependent on my energy and now he was leaving, he was taking it with him.

  “Hey, Ally,” I said, trying to snap myself back to reality as the next station slid into view. “Get a load of that lot!”

  Ally twisted awkwardly to view the platform behind her where kids were sleeping alongside the wall and others were sitting on the ground playing cards. Strangely though, none made any effort to board the train.

  “What’s so special about that?” she asked. “There are bloody crowds everywhere.”

  “But look,” I insisted, “even their clothes make them look as though they’ve been waiting forever.”

  A wave of sudden realisation washed over me as I eyed the fashions and hairstyles, once again reminiscent of Dad’s wartime classics, and stared at the back of the grey guy as he waited to exit the carriage. As if feeling my gaze, he half turned and beckoned to me before stepping off the train.

  My body tingled as he blended into the crowd, as if the scene was trying to absorb me too. I stood shakily to my feet but Dad pulled me back down.

  “Not there yet, Katie,” he said.

  The doors slid closed as I dropped bewildered, back into my seat. Outside the windows, that fleeting image of the past had gone, in its place just an ordinary view of passengers going about their daily business.

  My heart limped as I tried to suppress my disorientation. That guy had seen my shadow reflection. He had known who I was.

  My fingers curled back over the envelope. Time had run out. I had to give it to them before I got off the train and vanished into a former life.

  “Mum?” I struggled to focus on her face but I could see her worried expression and her hand was cold as she touched my brow.

  “Shhh.” Her voice was soft and soothing as she said something about a naturopath.

  I tried to respond but my mouth wouldn’t form words and the letter said it all anyway. I felt like meringue floating on an ocean, like I was dissolving, hot like molten sugar, cold like the sea. Fighting the inevitable was futile. I tried to extract the note from my pocket but my strength had gone. I closed my eyes and let my body drift on the bobbing tide.

  Something from my past was calling me, some family secret or tragedy that I had to resolve. I didn’t know what it was – all I knew was that I had to go back; the letter had made that very clear. And in all honesty, I didn’t feel like I belonged here anyway.

  Part of me hated the thought of leaving my family. They were all right, well as all right as a sarcastic sister, health nut mother and closed-minded dad could be.

  And they’d be devastated about me ditching them. But if I could trust the letter, and to be honest I felt I’d gone beyond the point where I had the choice of not trusting it, I’d be back. At least, I hoped I would. One day.

  – chapter two –


  “Time to get off.”

  Distant voices drifted through my subconscious and I grappled to pull them into reality.

  “We need to change trains, again.”

  My whereabouts confused me, not from being unfamiliar, but from me still being me in a totally foreign place. I still wore the jeans I’d spilled orange juice over on the plane and Ally still wore the sour expression that constantly reminded our parents that even though they’d spent thousands of dollars to send Honey over here as well, she would never forgive them for making us come.

  I struggled to my feet, extended the handle on the suitcase stashed behind my legs, and hauled it onto the platform.

  Even free from the staleness of the train, the air in the underground seemed overused and unbreathable. Waves of slightly cleaner, coffee-tinged air teased me as the jerky escalator rose to the next level and a passenger scuttled down the other side carrying a cardboard cup. I willed the familiar aroma to stay in my senses and bumped up the concrete steps of yet another flight of stairs to the overground station. Despite the clear daylight, everything seemed fuzzy, crackly, like a television partway between two channels, not quite tuned into either.

  I took deep breaths of fresh air and gazed wearily at the train heading towards us. That was odd; Mum, Dad and Ally’s shadows were deep, crisp and clear as they laboured towards the platform’s edge, yet mine was more like a stain seeping over the grey concrete. Two stains, in fact. I glanced over my shoulder but there was no one close to us. I looked at the ground again but it was still there, the fifth shadow, equally as nondescript as mine.