12-08

by Bethany Chester

  As the realisation hits me, my eyes begin to twitch. Then they’re open, and I’m staring at the ceiling in my room. My perfectly intact room, in Hamilton House. I fumble for my phone and push a button to turn on the screen. It’s 4:27 AM.

  I breathe in deeply, and feel the sheets peel away from my sweaty skin. The relief is almost overpowering. I toss aside my duvet. I have to make sure.

  Standing by the window, I look out at the street. The streetlights are alight, the way they should be. All the houses are in one piece, and there’s nothing odd about them. Everything is fine.

  But I can’t rest easy until I know for sure that everyone is okay. Quietly, I go out into the hallway and push open Annemarie’s door.

  She’s sleeping soundly, her face turned into the pillow. Her dark hair is as sleek and tidy as it is in the daytime. God knows how she does that.

  Jamal’s door is closed, so I have be as quiet as I can. My heart irrationally beats harder, even though there can’t possibly be anything wrong. It was just a dream.

  He’s the exact opposite of Annemarie, sprawled out across his bed like a starfish, his scruffy hair rumpled. The duvet moves up and down with his breath. I’m so, so grateful to find my best friends alive and well.

  I creep back to bed, feeling a little calmer now. It was definitely a dream, but the word ‘just’ isn’t appropriate here. Now I think back, it’s clear that the houses on the street were old, far older than the current buildings. I saw Kingston Road as it was before it was destroyed.

  More than that, I saw it being destroyed. I saw the bodies of the original Hamilton House’s inhabitants.

  It gradually begins to sink in. Those were the bodies of Sidney Smith’s parents and sister. I saw them lying in front of me just as if I had really been there.

  I know the subconscious is a powerful thing, but I don’t think it’s that powerful.

  And I don’t know much about the bombs that were used in World War Two, but I’m pretty sure the strange phenomenon in my dream wasn’t a bomb of any description.

  I should try to go back to sleep, but I’m scared I’ll have another nightmare. There is nothing to fear but fear itself, I remind myself. I’m avoiding something because I’m afraid of being afraid. The mind is a strange thing. I huddle up in my duvet and stare out of the window, waiting for the sky to lighten.

  *

  I don’t tell Jamal and Annemarie about my dream. I’d only scare them, and besides, I don’t really want to relive it.

  I have a lecture at nine, so I don’t see either of them before I leave the house. The lecture exercises its usual calming influence – well, apart from reminding me about all the work I haven’t done. That’s nothing new, though.

  When I get home, I find Clemency and Annemarie sitting together in the kitchen. They appear to be deep in conversation – I wonder what they’ve found to talk about. Then again, they are similar in some ways, as I noticed before. I’m glad they’re getting along.

  “Tell me,” Clemency says, the instant I walk in.

  “Tell you what?” I ask, but I have a sinking feeling that I already know what she means.

  “Tell me what your vision was about.”

  “It was a dream, not a vision.”

  “Who says the two things are mutually exclusive?”

  I slump down at the table. “It was more of a memory than a vision. It showed something that had already happened.” I look dubiously at Annemarie, not liking to say any more.

  “She already knows everything,” Clemency says, following my gaze. “She’s an adult, she can handle it. Just tell me.”

  I do so, trying to gauge her reaction as I speak. It’s no good, though; her expression is as neutral as ever.

  “Well, that certainly explains some things,” she says, once I’ve finished.

  “Does it?” I say intelligently.

  “Does it mean the poltergeist – I mean wraith – killed Sidney’s family?” Annemarie asks.

  “I’d assume not,” I say, “since it was banished after it killed Sidney and all.”

  “Oh yeah,” she says, her face falling. She isn’t long deterred, though.

  “Maybe it asked another wraith to do it?”

  “Why would another wraith agree to several decades of banishment for a cause that was nothing to do with it?” I scorn.

  “Actually,” Clemency says, “there might be something in what she’s saying.”

  Annemarie looks triumphant.

  “Explain,” I demand.

  “It’s quite simple,” she says. “It may have happened exactly as Annemarie said, although the asking was probably quite...forceful.”

  “So it was basically blackmail? How do you blackmail a wraith?”

  “I’m not going into that now,” Clemency says. “There’s another possibility, too. It may be that the accomplice was offered a reward. It’s not unheard of.”

  I consider asking her how you reward a wraith, before realising that she probably won’t be willing to into that, either.

  “Well, I guess I’ll you to work out the rest of this,” I say. “I think I need to get a dreamcatcher. Last night was just too stressful.”

  “No chance,” Clemency dismisses. “Your dreams are too valuable. We need them. Anyway, I have to go. See you tomorrow.” With that, she stalks out, slamming the door behind her.

  “I just can’t keep up with her,” I groan, resting my head on my folded arms. “I don’t even know if I can trust her half the time. I sometimes worry about how our friendship is going to end.”

  “Don’t be mean,” Annemarie says. “She’s helping you out.”

  “Yeah,” Jamal says, walking in. “Don’t dis Clemency. She’s given up a lot of her time for you.”

  I’m simultaneously surprised and gratified by their defensiveness. All I ever wanted was for my friends to like each other. I’m glad that worked out the way I planned, especially since nothing else has.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next day, I seek out Clemency. This is unusual, since it’s tends to be the other way around. I’m not even sure exactly why I’m looking for her.

  I get the feeling that I’ll find her in the library. I don’t know where the feeling comes from. Perhaps my so-called ‘connection’ is stronger than I thought.

  I’m right – I find her almost exactly where I first saw her, kneeling by the shelves with a stack of books and carefully slotting them into the right places.

  For once, I appear to have caught her off guard. It may just be the first time I’ve ever seen surprise on her face.

  “Sorry, I was distracted,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “That’s a first,” I grin.

  “Hm,” she says, unamused, as I sit down by her side.

  I laugh at her discomposed expression. I wait for her to speak, but she stays silent. She’s looking at me again, in that funny way she has. It scares me a bit.

  It’s strange, I’ve always thought Clemency looks as if she’s not really there. It’s like she’s a ghost or something, and no matter how hard you look at her, you can never quite see her. But now, now that she’s looking at me more intensely than she ever has before, I really see her for the first time.

  Her eyes strike me the most. I search through all the literary descriptions in my head for one that fits, but nothing does. They’re not glassy orbs, or deep lakes, or limpid pools, or burning stars. They don’t even have a perceptible colour – they’re almost translucent. Why did I never notice that before? Perhaps those eyes are the root of all her strangeness, and once she lets you see them you’re better equipped to understand who she really is.

  I don’t know how long the moment lasts. Eventually, I become aware of my discomfort, and look down at the floor. That seems to wake Clemency up a little. She takes another book off the pile and slides it into place on the shelf.

  For some reason, the boy from the picture in her flat finds his way into my mind. I want to know who Aiden was, and wh
y they split up. I want to know the whats and whys and hows.

  Well, there’s only one way I’m going to get those answers.

  “How did you meet Aiden?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  She jolts at the mention of his name. “Aiden? Oh, I met him in the park. He noticed that I was always there by myself, and he thought I looked lonely. He plucked up the courage to speak to me one day, and after that we spoke quite often. I found him annoying at first, but well…things change.”

  I think about Jamal, how he was never more than a friend until the night we kissed. I remember the feeling I got when I dreamed he was dead, and then woke to find him alive and well.

  “That’s true,” I agree. Clemency smiles slightly. I get the feeling she sees right through my pretences.

  “It was never going to work out, though,” she says quietly, hugging her knees. “I lost count of the number of times I told him to keep his distance, although I admit I said it against my will. He never listened anyway. He didn’t seem to care that I would never be an ordinary girl. His parents were a different matter, though. They always wanted him to get a ‘proper girlfriend’.” She sounds bitter, and I can’t say I blame her.

  Something warns me not to ask my next question. I used to think she’d tell me things if she wanted to, but from experience, I now know that she mostly doesn’t even think to say anything.

  “Was that why you broke up?” I ask hesitantly. She pauses for so long I begin to think she isn’t going to answer.

  “We never broke up,” she finally says.

  “What? But…”

  “We didn’t break up,” she repeats, more clearly this time. “He…there was an accident. He was killed.”

  Oh. Now I feel terrible for dredging up a subject she must want to bury. It’s like the thing with her mother all over again. She has lived through far too much horror for someone of her age.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say sincerely. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you have known?” she says. “Stop apologising. I’d be curious in your situation.”

  She looks so vulnerable, sitting there with the abandoned books scattered over the floor around her. She’s not really a prophetess, or a dryad, or anything of the sort – she’s just a human girl who got an unfortunate lot in life.

  Now she’s doing it again, just looking at me, but this time there’s more hopelessness in her expression. She looks so lost, as if she knows that everyone else is relying on her and isn’t sure if she can deal with it anymore. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt so much sympathy and compassion for her.

  It’s okay, I want to say, but it’s not okay, and nothing I say is going to change that. I try to crush any remaining curiosity about the way Aiden died. I’m almost ashamed of myself for being so intrusive. It’s morbid curiosity, I guess.

  I almost want to give her a hug or something, but she doesn’t seem like a huggy kind of person, so I leave her be. All I can really do is be here for her.

  I’m still not sure why I came to look for her today, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I guess it’s nice that I just wanted to hang out with her for once, rather than seeking her out because there was something I needed to ask or tell her.

  What can I say that won’t sound awkward or patronising? This moment could stretch out forever if neither of us ends it.

  Clemency is first to move. She picks up a book, but before she can put it back on the shelf, another one falls off and tumbles towards me. Before I can dive out of its way, a corner smashes into the side of my head, blurring my vision.

  “Ow,” I say. “That really hurt.”

  I see the corner of Clemency’s mouth twitch. I try to maintain some dignity, but it’s no good. We both burst out laughing at exactly the same moment. It’s nice to see her give in to uninhibited laughter, even if it is at my expense.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, but my words are barely coherent. That makes us laugh even harder.

  “Perhaps the poltergeist is responsible,” I suggest. That should be anything but funny, but right now, it’s hilarious.

  Clemency wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind at all if that was the extent of its activity.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I say, touching the sensitive patch on my head and wincing.

  She laughs, and resumes her shelf-stacking. Luckily, I don’t fall victim to any more missiles.

  “You know why they always make me replace the books?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “Why?”

  She grins. “Because I’m not friendly enough to communicate with the customers. I did try it a couple of times, but apparently, I intimidated people too much. There was always a massive queue at the other desk, and nobody at mine.”

  “Funny,” I say. “You never intimidated me.”

  She shrugs. “You’re obviously made of stronger stuff than most of our customers.”

  My head still hurts; with my luck, I probably have a concussion. I pick up the offending book and take a look at it. The cover has a Gothic-style castle on it. It’s so badly beaten up that I have to squint to make out the title. It’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

  I laugh again, more nervously this time.

  “I hope this isn’t an omen,” I say, holding it up for Clemency to see.

  This time, she doesn’t laugh, or even react. She’s back to her usual self. I don’t have a clue what she’s thinking.

  I flick through the yellowing pages, familiar quotations jumping out at me. I haven’t read it since my GCSE years, but some things just stick in your mind. I decide I’d like to re-read it.

  Saying goodbye to Clemency, I take the book to the front desk to get it stamped. As I walk home, for some reason I’m overcome by a sense of triumph. Maybe it’s because the book made me nervous, and I managed to embrace it rather than push it away. I made it clear that I wasn’t afraid, that coincidence had no power over me. It’s not much, but it’s a petty victory, and these days, I’ll take all the victories I can get.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Sleep claims me quickly tonight, but it comes with a cost.

  I find myself standing on a common. Willford Down, my sleeping mind informs me. Where have I heard that name before? Oh, I remember. It’s the common where Clemency used to go as a child.

  It’s a summer’s evening, mild but vital. I don’t know how it can feel so alive when there isn’t an animal in sight. There are only two living creatures here. They’re a young couple, and they’re striding towards me.

  The girl walks slightly in front of the boy, her dark hair streaming out behind her. The boy is unsuccessfully trying to catch her up. With a jolt, I recognise the girl as a slightly younger Clemency, and the boy as Aiden.

  They’re arguing about something, but I can’t make out their words. Clemency points back the way they came; she’s telling him to go back. He crosses his arms stubbornly. He’s staying where he is.

  The grass waves in the breeze, an ocean of rolling blades. Clemency whips around, scanning the horizon, but there’s nothing to be seen.

  “Go!” Clemency is shouting now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so tormented. “You have to go. I can’t let you die here.”

  Aiden grabs her hands. She tries to pull them free, but he only grips them tighter.

  “If you think I’m going to leave you here to die alone…” he begins.

  “I’m not going to die!” she screams. “I know what I’m doing. You don’t. You have to go.”

  The grass is in a frenzy. It’s waving around crazily, irregularly, getting ripped out of the ground. Clemency tears herself away from Aiden, turning to face the sinking sun.

  The ground buckles, rising up like a tsunami. Grass and leaves scatter, peppering them both with green confetti.

  “GO!” Clemency repeats, shoving Aiden away from her. The earth-wave advances, and she raises her hands, wearing an expression of intense concentration. The wave’s advance pau
ses – she’s holding it back.

  “I can deal with this!” she yells. “Leave me. There’s nothing you can do to help. You’ll only get in the way.”

  He doesn’t listen. Instead, he moves closer to her side. She’s wrestling intensely with the earth. They seem to be evenly matched.

  The tide moves forward again, scattering chunks of soil in its wake. Clemency gasps in air and holds her breath. The earth halts again, vibrating silently with its desperation to move forwards.

  Sweat beads on Clemency’s brow. She’s holding up, but there’s got to be a limit as to how long she can keep this up, whereas the earth’s power seems to be boundless. She staggers sideways, away from her boyfriend.

  “Aiden!” she screams. “Go now, do you hear me? This will kill any ordinary human who stands in its way. It can hurt me, but it won’t kill me. I’m going to be fine, whatever happens. Don’t throw away your life like this.”

  “You don’t look like you’re going to be fine,” he shouts. He tries to run to her, but the ground under his feet is beginning to roll, upsetting his balance. Not to be deterred, he steadies himself and tries again.

  Sickened, I remember the way I scrambled over the rubble last night. It’s just a dream, I tell myself. This time, I’m aware that it isn’t really happening, but dreams and visions have become one in my head, and I’m afraid this may be more than a random combination of images and memories.

  Aiden tries so hard, but it’s just not enough. He’s only a few feet away from her when he yells out and clutches his side.

  “RUN NOW!” Clemency says. “It might not be too late! Go! I can’t help you. Too many other lives are at stake.”

  “I’m never leaving you,” he says, stumbling once more and crying out in pain. As he falls to the ground, his eyes go blank, and with a sinking heart, I know it’s too late.

  Clemency gasps and staggers again. I can see the battle raging on her face. She longs to go to him, but she can’t afford to move.

  The sun is setting in a burst of savage orange light. It bathes her face, stained with sweat and tears, in an amber glow.