Gravity: The Gravity Series #1

by A. B. Bloom

  Lauren had spent a large proportion of our childhood friendship encamped at my house. I'd always been jealous of the freedom she enjoyed, but she loved my mum’s overbearing ways and stuck up for her every time I complained. Even now when mum and my step-dad, Aaron, were swaddling me in cotton wool on a daily basis. I knew I should be grateful that I had a stable life, it could have been worse. My mum had never lied about the fact she’d been pregnant with me when she met Aaron. I'd always known that Aaron wasn’t my real father; he’d always insisted that I call him Aaron, as opposed to Dad, which when I was young, had hurt, as all the other kids called out to their dad’s. But he’d provided enough security for me I’d never wondered who my real dad was. I didn’t need to. And that said a lot.

  It didn’t stop my frustration with their constant monitoring. I grabbed my phone, my fingers flying over the screen.

  Me text: F

  There was no point not answering. They'd just as likely ring the school office and ask the Headmaster to track me down and check I was okay. Aaron didn't respond straight away. A small voice in the back of my head hoped he'd read my answer as the 'Fine' I'd meant, and not a swear word beginning with the same letter. Lifting my tray in my hands, I made my way to the empty trolleys, ready to ditch lunch and get to the library. The tray was blocking my view of my feet, although I would have tripped over Eleanor's outstretched foot whether I'd seen it or not. With a resounding clatter, both the tray and myself smashed onto the floor. My empty can of coke clattered along the floor as it rolled to a stop. I gasped as a shooting pain seared up my wrist and stared wide eyed at the unnaturally limp angle my hand hung at. It was broken, smashed, and useless. Tears stung along my eyelids as I rolled onto my knees and cradled my arm to my chest, struggling to sit. I blinked at the tears, dispersing them along my lashes. The room was deathly silent apart from the cackle of Eleanor as she leaned down and said. "Oops.” Her lips were close to my face and I could smell the peach scent of her sticky lip-gloss. “Bronte, you really must look where you're going." I managed to straighten myself as I watched her walk away, but it was as far as I could get. Waves of shock ran through me, causing my body to rock with a hard shudder. My teeth clanged together. We hadn't even made it to afternoon lessons, and I'd already broken a bone. My chest felt heavy. I laboured to breathe through the tight constriction that banded around my rib cage. I would be home schooled for sure. I expected Lauren to reach down and help me, but everything around me swirled like a kaleidoscope. My eyesight blurred to a dim hazy grey. Shit. I was going to pass out. A wave of sick washed over me like a high tide threatening to drag me out into a dark sea.

  "Here." A hand reached for me. I couldn't even see through the shadowy darkness to determine who it was. My stomach gave a warm squeeze which I recognised from earlier in the day. It was the new boy confirming I was in fact vertically challenged after all. I didn't care. If I could make it to the office, they'd call my mum and she could take me to hospital, again. I reached out my good hand, the one that wasn't splintering in pain.

  "The other hand."

  I didn't respond. My eyesight darkened from grey to black, and my grasp on reality slipped as the pain of the shattered joint ran through my body. It resonated up my arm and into my chest. Fingers reached down and gripped my distorted wrist in loose fingers. "Come on, up you get." Despite the pain, the soothing words flowed over me like a balm.

  Through the darkness, I let the hand guide me off the floor. The voice reached inside of me, soft and coaxing. "You definitely aren't the right girl." A low chuckle filled my ears. "Amusing, but not the right girl."

  The absence of pain shocked throughout my body. It was like falling asleep to white noise and then waking in surprise when it switched off. My eyes opened, the threatened darkness of loss of consciousness, vanished like it had never existed at all. I looked down and found myself holding my tray—Lauren was standing by my side. My wrist was fine. Sitting at her table Eleanor Heavers was squawking away like she'd been moments before.

  I spun round trying to catch sight of the new boy but there was no sign of him anywhere. I gasped.

  "What the hell just happened?" I turned wide eyes for Lauren.

  "What?"

  "Seriously? What the bloody hell just happened?" And then I dropped my tray.

  "It's not her." There wasn't a crackle on the line, despite the thousands of miles that separated the two calls. Technology would never cease to amaze him. Humans were blindingly stupid but their ability to create gadgets that could make their lazy lives easier had its perks. He could remember a time when a horse messenger would ride for weeks just to deliver a sealed envelope. Phones were infinitely easier and didn't involve flogging a sweating horse, or being saddle sore for days.

  It had been different back then, easier. Simpler. Before, when the weight of destiny wasn't pulling him down with a force of gravity he couldn't control, he would have stopped to talk to her. Help her. Smile at her. He would have relished in the familiarity and let it absorb into his being. But now he was on a promise, one he had to uphold, a promise that he couldn't break. The promise hurt and he regretted ever making it, but it was what it was.

  Fate.

  A muffled curse fluttered thousands of miles into his ear. "You're wrong, it's got to be her. We've been watching her for years."

  He allowed himself a dry laugh, it rubbed his throat like sandpaper. "You've been watching the wrong girl then. This one's sick and I mean really sick. She can't even walk straight."

  He'd seen her before, god how could he not, for the last sixteen years they'd all kept a watch. He’d forced himself to stay away, telling himself that it was easier that way, but it hadn’t been easy. It had hurt with a stinging bite, and he’d never stayed away longer than a year. Sometimes he’d only managed a handful of months before he’d found himself there again.

  They’d been watching her, guarding her, just in case it came to this, but something was wrong. Her birthday had come and gone and nothing had happened. She'd got weaker not stronger. It was a shame. They'd spent all this time watching the wrong one. He should have accepted the small break that destiny had given him, but he had an uneasy feeling it would not be that simple.

  Tara. That was what they'd called her. That wasn't her name in her world but that's what they'd always called her. It was Celeste who'd said she should have a name and that they couldn't keep calling her The Child.

  He pulled at his hair, his shoulders stiffening. Guess they wouldn't have to call her anything now. Maybe he could? Don’t go there.

  "You need to try again. Did you touch her?"

  Had he touched her? His stomach clenched as he recalled the feel of her fragile bones fusing under his fingers. The heat of her skin as it meshed with his flesh. Creating a subtle hum that he could still feel resonating deep within him. Had he touched her? His soul had wept when he'd walked away. "It's not her." He couldn't lift his voice beyond a whisper.

  "Try again. You've got to, man. Come on."

  "We are wasting our time. We'd be better off gathering our numbers and preparing for battle. Not waiting for someone who doesn't exist to tip the balance."

  "It's not a waste. It's her. Try again." It wasn't a friendly request. It was an order from high up the chain of command. There were no friends, not anymore. He knew they thought that he hadn’t tried hard enough, that he’d wanted it this way, but that wasn’t true. He was sticking to his promise, even if it hurt.

  "We need to gather."

  A beat of silence echoed before, "We will. We are coming. You unlock The Child."

  "Tara," he corrected.

  "Tara." The voice was impatient. "Yes, Tara. You unlock Tara, unravel what's happening, and we will be there soon."

  He felt his stomach drop like a stone. "Okay."

  The voice called him back before disconnecting the call. "Have you decided yet?"

  The stone in his stomach morphed into a massive boulder that felt like it was dragging him down. They were all head
ing down, anyway. Weren't they? "Not yet," he said. With a flick of his thumb, he hit the red button and held the handset in his hand. His eyes glanced up at the stone cottage in front of him. From his spot in the shadows, he could see the bedroom light. It illuminated the violet coloured walls. A net curtain was softly blowing through the open window. The nights were cooler already and darkness had fallen, despite it only being five o'clock in September. If he strained, he thought he could hear her talking. Part of him wished he were inside with her. He could watch as the light from the lamp transformed her fair hair into a shining halo, but any chance of that happening was past.

  She wasn't the right girl.

  She was the right girl for him. She always had been.

  But she wasn't the right girl to save the world.

  Tomorrow, he would try again, and then when that failed, he would prepare to go to war. Prepare to die for the inane humans and the future they didn't know they deserved.

  He glanced up again at the open bedroom window, straining to see if he could hear what she was saying. He wanted to go in. He shouldn't go in. He could just make sure that her wrist had healed and then he would leave her alone.

  He shouldn't go in.

  I groaned as I bashed at the alarm clock. Surely there was a mistake? It was still dark, the birds absent from their dawn chorus. The rich, familiar smell of coffee filled the air and opening one eye, I found a steaming mug next to the bed. Mum was a notorious early riser, but then Aaron had delivered coffee to my bedside cabinet after getting home from his graveyard shift at the police station before. Pulling myself up and tucking the surrounding duvet under my legs, I reached for the cup and lifted it to my lips. I took a deep gulp to wash away the last remnant of sleep. Yuck. Definitely mum. There was only half a spoonful of sugar sweetening the acrid brew. "Ugh." I groaned loudly and tried to swallow it down

  "It's better for you," she called through the closed door.

  "It's disgusting for me," I shouted back. Muttering about the curse of healthy living, I settled back against the wall and balanced the mug on my knee. Why was it still so dark? Yesterday with Lauren I'd laughed when she proclaimed the end of days, but I had to admit, it was a little unnerving. I switched on the news but the old professor jabbering on wasn't making a huge amount of sense. I switched it back off again.

  My laughter hadn't continued long yesterday. Not after lunch. The weird hallucination that had overtaken me in the dinner hall had made my head spin with terror. It must have been a hallucination. Right? Whatever it was it had unnerved me. My shooting anxiety levels had made it hard for me to deal the rest of the day. Sweat had broken out sporadically along my neck at too regular intervals.

  Examining my arm again, I searched for any evidence of the break. It had felt so real. If I concentrated hard enough, I could even recall the wave of nausea that had risen up my throat as my wrist had disintegrated. The bang of my knees as I’d landed on the hard tiled floor with the full weight of my body. They’d cracked against the floor. Wobbling and shifting. Threatening to separate the cartilage holding them in place.

  I shifted the duvet back to check for bruises but there were none. Well no new ones anyway. Just the week old yellow hue from my skidding trip down the stairs and some stubble from where I seriously needed to shave my legs.

  I yanked the duvet back over my legs, determined to sneak in another five minutes under the covers. The chair in the corner of the room grabbed my attention. The jeans I'd thrown over the rocking chair, which had been in my room since it was a nursery, were impeccably folded. Hanging over the wooden arm. I folded nothing. Much to my mother's annoyance. A tingle of apprehension spindled along the skin on my back.

  "Mum, have you been tidying my room again?" I called.

  "I wouldn't dream of it," she replied. In truth, I knew she dreamed of it frequently. Our house was a stainless steel, spotlessly tiled, show home. The entire house, apart from my room, which I liked to keep on the right side of dumpster chic.

  I squinted at the chair. Nothing else seemed out of place so I shrugged and stretched my way out of bed. There was little chance of getting back to sleep now. Pulling the voile curtains back, I found the street outside my window plunged into an ominous gloom. The lack of streetlights cast a sinister gloom long the pavement. The darkness was unsettling. The sash window was wide open, so I pulled it shut before the unseasonal feel of a winter morning could extend it's chilled fingers into my cosy room. The seasons were truly messed up. I shivered with an uncomfortable combination of cold and apprehension. Turning, I faced the huge mirror sat on the top of my late gran’s antique dresser. The piece of furniture was huge and imposing. I'd always loved it and when mum and Aaron suggested they take it to the second hand shop, I’d begged them to let me keep it. It was comfortingly familiar having it clash with my mum’s ultra modern style. The mirror reflected what I didn't want to see. I didn't need to step on the scales to see my weight was down again, my hips now jutting through my pyjama bottoms. On the dresser was an assortment of vitamins and tonics. Everyday a new bottle would arrive, placed there by my mum desperate to find something to help. After my birthday, mum was full of the dread every parent has that their child has something terminal—cancer, leukaemia. Something so bad she couldn't even put a name to it in case saying it out loud made it come true. When those tests came back negative, we went down the route of some form of muscle weakness / immunity problem. That was when she started stock piling vitamins by the truckload. We all knew they weren't doing anything. Nothing apart from creating a hole in her already limited bank balance.

  Reaching for the tubs, I dutifully unscrewed the caps and shook the various shaped and coloured pills out into my hand. Using last night's water, which tasted decidedly funky, I swallowed them all down. Leaning into the mirror, I investigated my hair. It was brittle, shards of dry ends falling with even the lightest touch of my fingers. Brushing was a nightmare. With a frown, I decided against brushing and losing more of the little I had left, and lifted it into a loose bun, fixing it with some bobby pins.

  I wonder if he'll be there today?

  The thought came out of nowhere and I blushed in the mirror. Truth was, I had no idea if the new boy existed or not. Lauren claimed that there was no new boy, and I hadn't fallen in the dinner hall, or embarrassed myself on the first day of term.

  Maybe he really was just a figment of my imagination?

  But his fingers on my wrist had felt real. Even when I hadn't been able to see him, I'd felt him. Hadn't I? And the way his voice sounded which had turned my insides into an alarming mush, had felt more real than anything I’d known. It had felt familiar. That inside me there was a response I wasn’t expecting to make, but when I did, it had felt like I’d known it would happen all along. I couldn’t put the sensation into words. It reminded me of unravelling a chain, or rope, something tangible and heavy. I am crazy. I surveyed myself in the mirror, despairing at what I saw. Crazy, thin, and ravaged. I stuck my tongue out at myself and turned for the door.

  Breakfast was a quiet affair. Aaron looked slumped and defeated at the kitchen table. "What's up?" I asked, as I reached for a nectarine and sank my teeth into it, spilling the juice down my chin.

  Smiling, he handed me a tea towel to wipe my face on, which made mum tut in the background. "Hard night at the office, that's all."

  He's always called work The Office. I was pretty sure that being a police Inspector was nothing like working in an office.

  "Why?" I asked.

  He sighed, glancing out the window where the sun was finally tracking its morning journey into the sky. Three hours too late. "Lets just say, these long dark nights are providing interesting windows of opportunity. The more creatively minded criminal members of society are using them to their benefit," he said. His eyes focused on his coffee cup with a stern glare and I wondered what images he was recalling.

  "Oh." I didn't know in detail what he was talking about. He'd always kept me blocked from his job. Telling
the inquisitive five-year-old version of myself that he loved to chase baddies. I use to go to sleep at night with dreams of Aaron pounding the streets. Chasing after robbers dressed in black and white stripes, with sacks of swag over their shoulder.

  "Actually, Bron." He cleared his throat, which meant a parental moment was coming. I noticed mum's eyes flick over to us from where she was making another pot of coffee. "I'd like you to come home straight after school please, both you and Lauren. The streets aren't a good place for young girls at the moment. No one knows when darkness will fall so it's best you come home straight after lessons."

  I went to protest but the closed fold around the set of his mouth told me it wasn't up for discussion. What happened last night? An uneasiness settled in my chest. In truth, I wasn't sure it was something I wanted to know about.

  "Okay. I'd better get going." I scraped my chair back across the shiny tiles, eliciting a frown from mum. 'Sorry." I grimaced in her direction.

  "Want a lift?" Aaron asked around a deep yawn. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion and the colour of his face was fading to an unhealthy grey.

  "Nah, the fresh air is good for me." He looked like he might argue. "I'll meet Lauren along the way anyway, and I'm sure you don't want to give her a lift, you know she sufferers with chronic verbal diarrhea in the morning."

  He smiled, a fleeting reprieve from the doom on his face. "True, that girl can chat for England.” He laughed. “Hell, she can chat for the entire northern hemisphere. Okay, straight home after school."