by S McPherson
‘Why to me?’ I ask after taking a sip. It burns on the way down.
‘Why not?’ Jude cries. ‘You’re the counterpart after all.’ Jude clinks his glass against mine once more before taking a swig. I now take a large gulp of my own. I’m not sure if being the counterpart is something to celebrate but a bit of bubbles to dull the knowledge won’t go amiss.
It isn’t long after the true gaiety begins that I once again feel isolated; a wilting daffodil in a field of sunflowers. The events of the day all come flooding back to drown me and I’m suddenly overwhelmed. I suppose the three glasses of wine don’t help either as I stumble off the bar stool and over to Mrs Edwards.
‘I think I’m going to turn in for the night,’ I tell her.
‘You have had a long day.’ She nods consolingly and gives my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Don’t go alone. Jude?’ she calls. Jude finishes dancing and saunters over.
Reading my expression, he says, ‘Ready to go?’
I nod.
‘This way,’ he steers me towards the exit. Stopping by a windowsill, he pulls up the lid and reveals a bow and arrow. My eyes widen. ‘Never can be too careful.’
I force a fractured smile and hurriedly follow after him before I completely suffocate. I thought being back in Islon would make me feel somewhat normal again; now I realise I haven’t a clue what normal feels like anymore. As we walk towards the house, the wind blows the trees and I’m reminded of the figure I did or did not see in the woods.
‘How did Oxor know you were bringing me here, to the farm?’ I ask.
‘Because it’s where he would have brought you himself,’ Jude says.
I eye him questioningly. ‘How would he have known to bring me here?’
Jude teeters across a fallen log where I choose simply to walk around it. ‘Everyone in Coldivor knows about this place,’ he explains. ‘It’s how the two worlds continue to connect without being found.’
I suppose this makes sense. I also suppose that’s what Brixen meant when he said they would try to keep me safe as well. My stomach unclenches slightly. If what I did or didn’t see means anything, I’m going to need more than Jude’s bow and arrow.
The guest room he shows me to, is lovely; quaint, carpeted, a desk in the corner, a double bed in the centre. A small window with drawn flowered curtains faces me, a plush armchair resting beneath it. Unfortunately, my vision is too blurred with tears truly to appreciate any of it. Once Jude says goodnight, leaving me to wallow, I drop my bag on the floor and sink onto the bed.
‘Milo!’ I hear myself call as my eyes spring open the next morning. Not hard to guess what I was dreaming about. Instantly, the twinge in my chest and the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach return.
Its official, I decide, pulling the duvet back over my head, I’m staying in bed today and quite possibly forever.
Hours later – I actually know it’s been hours as there’s a clock by my bed – I wake to an incessant pounding on my door.
‘Yes?’ I call.
‘Can I come in?’ It’s Jude.
‘Sure.’ I force myself to sit up, shoving the mountain of tear soaked tissues under my pillow.
The door creaks open and Jude pokes his head around.
‘You missed breakfast,’ he states, ‘and lunch.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I mumble. ‘Think I’ll just stay in bed today.’
‘Is this about Milo?’ he guesses as he wanders in.
My heart jolts at the mention of his name. Reading the expression on my face, Jude shrugs and perches on the edge of the bed.
‘Nathaniel mentioned you two were close, that you actually saw him before you met him.’
‘Oh. Yes,’ I murmur, my heart still shuddering at the sound of his name.
‘So, what did the two of you decide in the end?’ he asks conversationally.
I crumple my face. ‘About what?’
‘Are you staying together, not staying together?’
‘We didn’t really decide anything,’ I say, wishing he’d stop asking questions; questions I really wish I had the answers to.
‘Well, what do you choose?’ he proffers. ‘Life with him? Or without?’
Irritation rises. ‘I don’t really have a choice,’ I snap. Part of me longs to lean over and smack him across the head, but I know my anger is misplaced.
‘We always have a choice,’ Jude muses, ‘and the choices we make determine whether we follow our projected path or change to another.’
My brow furrows. ‘And what if I choose another path?’
Jude ponders. ‘It won’t be bad I suppose, just…just not as good as it could be – should be.’ He pats my leg then rises, heading for the door.
‘You make it sound easy, but it’s not.’ I flounder. ‘How can I be with someone who I can’t actually be with, someone I may never see again? How can any choice I make change the fact that we’re both from different worlds?’
‘You know, for someone who stopped asking questions a long time ago,’ and Jude raises an eyebrow, ‘you ask an awful lot of questions.’ With that, he leaves the room, allowing the door to shut behind him.
I am genuinely surprised when I wake up to discover it’s the early hours of the next day. My mouth is dry and I scramble around for the jug of water I heard Jude bring in during the night.
Pouring myself a glass, I slip out of bed and decide to drink it by the window and wait for the sun to rise. Perhaps Milo will mindle me today. According to Oxor, he and Sara did it all the time when they were apart until one day they just stopped.
I choose the path of Milo, I tell myself as I slowly sip my water. Great, I’ve made my choice…now what?
Finally, it feels like an appropriate time to get dressed and go down for breakfast. I’m ravenous, not to mention extremely fed up of this room. I ready myself, pack my bag and head downstairs.
On my way, I bump into the greying man from the bar who I learnt is called Fawn.
‘Well, look who’s up and at ‘em,’ he beams.
‘Good morning.’ I stretch my clamped lips to mimic a smile.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘The kitchen. Thought I’d get something to eat. It’s been a while.’
‘Julie is serving breakfast in the dining room today – a once a month tradition.’ He extends an elbow. ‘Allow me.’
I graciously take his arm and permit him to lead me down the corridor and through a door.
The dining room explodes with life and chatter; almost as lively as the bar. It has an array of dishes laid out on an oak table and it seems people from all walks of the farm’s life have come to enjoy the feast. It’s packed and I struggle to squeeze through the throng.
‘Banquet style,’ Fawn announces, handing me a plate and taking another. I notice Jude sitting in an armchair in the corner, devouring a leg of chicken. He stops long enough to give a friendly nod when he sees me then returns to the task at hand. I pile my plate high then head over to join him, occupying the armchair opposite.
‘Good morning,’ I smile.
‘Now, that’s nice to see,’ he says, noticing my grin.
‘Yes, well, I can’t wallow forever.’ I don’t look at him when I say this – sure the lie is printed on my face. I slice through my bread bun, sighing as the steam spirals out.
‘Good for you,’ he nods approvingly.
‘So, I assume we’ll head back this afternoon?’ I ask, lathering butter onto my cob.
‘Head back?’ Jude mumbles, his cheeks bulging.
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘Back to my real life. Up there.’
‘You want to go back?’ he asks incredulously.
‘Of course,’ I cry, confused. ‘I can’t very well stay here.’
‘That was the idea.’
I stop mid-bite. ‘What?’
‘Of course,’ Jude cries, grease from the chicken smothering his lips. ‘Who will protect you up there?’
‘What do you mean?’ and I shake my head.
&
nbsp; ‘What do I mean?’ Jude scoffs. ‘Down here there are force fields and magic folk instructed to protect you. And up there there’s...’
‘Nathaniel,’ I interrupt, ‘and Drake.’
‘Drake?’ Jude throws his head back in laughter. ‘I wasn’t aware the two of you were on speaking terms.’
I glower at him. We’ve barely spoken in our entire existence and yet here he is, judging me, giving his opinion as if I’d asked for it.
‘My relationship with my brother is just that,’ I hiss, ‘my relationship.’
‘So, you’d risk your life to see Drake?’ Jude stares at me with what I can only identify as disgust.
I exhale deeply, pushing my plate away, suddenly unable to take another bite. I feel Jude watching me, but for a while he doesn’t speak.
‘How about we go up after the Elenfar?’ he offers.
‘Didn’t you all say the Elenfar is just the beginning?’ I point out.
He sighs. ‘It’s really not safe, Dezaray.’
‘I’ve never really been safe,’ I sigh, ‘plus, if it’s as dangerous as you say, I’d like to check on Nathaniel. They know who I am; they could know of him too.’
Jude considers a moment. ‘That’s not a bad point,’ he nods. ‘In fact, he should be down here with us.’ I screw up my face but don’t argue. At least he’s agreeing to take me Up Top, back to the real world. I don’t quite know my plan for the future, but hiding away, won’t stop it from coming.
Nathaniel’s familiar face is all I need to make me feel at ease. I’m surprised to find him in my home’s kitchen, looking quite at home himself but I don’t query it. I rush into his arms and allow myself a few fleeting seconds of happiness. He cradles me, searches my face, acknowledging my blotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, then squeezes tighter.
‘You’re back,’ he sighs, ‘officially.’
‘Officially,’ I murmur, my voice catching in my throat. He ushers me onto one of the kitchen stools whilst he rummages through the cupboards, presumably for my favourite biscuits; Custard Creams. Jude hops on a stool beside me.
‘How was the crossing of the portal?’ Nathaniel asks.
‘Perhaps we should start with a simpler question,’ I lament and slump forward onto the counter.
‘How are things here?’ Jude offers.
‘Perhaps we should start with a simpler question,’ and Nathaniel frowns. He’s relaxed but a frazzled air seems to trail him like a leash.
‘What do you mean “a simpler question”?’ Jude asks. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Well,’ and Nathaniel mulls over his words, ‘Drake has…’
‘Has?’ I ask, now alert.
‘He’s been arrested.’
‘What?’ I gasp.
‘For manslaughter.’
‘What?’ Jude and I shriek in unison.
‘See what I mean?’ Finally, Nathaniel locates the biscuits and frees them from their plastic cell, sliding them onto a plate. ‘We should have started with a simpler question.’
‘What do you mean “he’s been arrested for manslaughter”?’ I say, flummoxed. ‘When? How? Why? Explain!’ My heart is racing, my head pounding. So much for my hope of familiarity.
‘About a week ago, I’m told.’ Nathaniel fills a jug with milk and slides it onto the breakfast counter. I’m too baffled to eat and simply stare at him, willing him to continue.
I’m tense with anticipation, like a stretched-out rubber band. I wonder what it will take for me to finally snap.
‘He was drunk of course, on his way home from the local pub,’ Nathaniel explains. ‘Apparently, some fella thought Drake looked at his girl funny; touched her in some way. Witnesses have failed to clarify and apparently said girl is too distraught at the minute. Either way, one thing led to another, and the fight ended with Drake squeezing the life out of the man.’
My hands instinctively fly protectively over my throat.
‘He hasn’t changed then,’ I whisper. Nathaniel shakes his head. ‘And now he’s a murderer too.’
‘Well, it’s manslaughter,’ Nathaniel amends.
‘Same thing.’ I scrunch up my eyes as I run my hands over them. It so easily could have been me not long ago. ‘So, what’s the situation?’ I ask at last.
‘Hard to say.’ Nathaniel now grimaces. ‘His bail was recently denied.’
‘Denied?’
He nods. ‘To be honest, I’ve taken to camping out here; beats my friend’s couch,’ he confesses wryly. That explains why he seemed so comfortable when we arrived.
I sigh. ‘And? Now what?’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t look good,’ Nathaniel says. I know he’s only being cautious to spare my feelings. I’m sure, when the news came out, he cackled maniacally, like some evil genius.
‘I have to see him,’ I decide, as surprised by my decision as the boys are.
‘What?’ Jude pins me with a burning glare that asks if I have a death wish.
‘Why would you do that?’ Nathaniel slams his hand down on the counter harder than he intends.
‘I just have to,’ I say, sliding off the stool. The idea of Drake sitting by himself in a jail cell makes my stomach turn and I can’t help but think that just maybe, after being left alone with his thoughts, Drake now feels terrible about our recent past. I may never have a happy ending with Milo but maybe I can still have a happy ending of sorts.
‘My, you really are a sucker for punishment today, aren’t you?’ Jude scolds.
‘No one’s asking you to come,’ I say as I shrug on my coat and slide back the kitchen door. I just can’t shake the feeling that this might be the exact wakeup call my brother needs.
‘Of course we’re coming,’ Nathaniel grumbles, following after.
On the way there, Jude reiterates how much he thinks this is a terrible idea; how we should return to the Farm and let sleeping dogs lie.
‘What do you thinks going to happen?’ I ask at last. Something other than Drake, clearly has Jude on edge.
‘You have no idea what the Vildacruz will do to you, to all of us, if they find us.’ He warns but I can’t turn back now. Not when there’s a chance, however small, that my brother needs me. A chance that we can finally go back to how we were when mum and dad were alive.
‘Then let’s hope they don’t find us,’ I say.
After Jude whips out his bow and arrow and directs it at a passing squirrel for the umpteenth time, Nathaniel agrees it would be best if the two of them wait for me in the coffee shop nearby. Jude hates this idea even more but there’s no way he could enter the station looking all jittery and wired. I make my way around the corner and am greeted by the sign ‘Partridge Police Station.’ This is where they took me the night I met Imogen. This is where Drake is. As if on autopilot, my legs lead me to the great stone building, red and blue lights flashing and sirens blaring as a rush of cars leave the station.
I walk robotically past security and up the marble steps and push my way in to the building, allowing the familiar sensation of shame and justice to take hold. I venture to the desk ahead of me, past overdone women in skimpy fabrics – here, I can only assume, for selling themselves – and grubby men in handcuffs; glowering, spitting, whistling as I pass.
‘Excuse me,’ I say meekly before clearing my throat. ‘Excuse me,’ I repeat, firmer.
The lady desk sergeant looks up. She’s in uniform and her name badge reads ‘Naomi’.
‘How can I help you?’ Naomi asks, tying up her perm with a pair of pencils.
‘I’m here to see someone; two people in fact.’
‘Names?’
‘Drake Storm and Imogen.’
‘Imogen…?’ Naomi encourages as she types something into the system.
‘I didn’t get her last name.’
‘Sorry. You can see Mister Storm, but without a last name, I cannot help you with Miss Imogen.’
I nod. I wonder if the cell number would help but then that may open up questions as to how I know it but not h
er last name. Admitting I was in here, even for a night, is the last thing I want to do.
‘Visiting hours begin in ten minutes,’ Naomi announces. ‘Please take a seat until we call you in.’
I nod again and find myself a seat at the very end of a row of chairs, trying my best to ignore the stares and cat calls.
The ten minutes feel like a thousand. When my name is finally called, I’ve almost forgotten how to walk, struggling from my seat and staggering into the visiting hall. I look around at the tables of grey trackies and blue T-shirts. One of these uniforms is my brother.
At last, I see him, slouched down in his chair, fingers drumming impatiently on the table. Apparently, a wave or a ‘My dear sister, I’m over here’ is too much to expect. Cautiously, I make my way over. As I do, I note all the concerned faces, guilty cries and hand clasping of the other inmates and their visitors. None of them has the same look of utter fear and severe trepidation as I have.
‘Hello,’ I say, taking my seat opposite him.
‘What do you want?’ he grumbles, barely lifting his gaze from his blackened nails. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair greasy and his knuckles bruised. For a moment, I think I may feel a twinge of sadness, a whisper of a hand-clasping moment in the midst of it, but it’s fleeting. Clearing my throat, I prepare myself, repeating the mantra: He can’t hurt you in here. He can’t hurt you in here.
‘I thought I would check on you,’ I say.
‘Why?’ Drake raises his eyebrows.
‘Because you’re my brother?’ I try to laugh but it doesn’t work.
Drake throws his head back in what appears to be a silent chuckle. ‘Don’t remind me.’ Suddenly, a flash of hatred sparks in his eyes and I feel myself recoil. He can’t hurt you in here.
‘I thought you might…want to see a friendly face.’
‘So why would I want to see yours?’ he hisses. ‘Look at you, so smug with the cops at your back. What will you be like when I get out of here? “No Drake! Nooo.”’ He raises his voice to a high-pitched squeal, mimicking me in our first few violent interactions, and shielding his face as I often did.
‘By the looks of things you aren’t getting out of here,’ I snap. My hands are shaking and I press them under the table in the hopes he won’t notice.
