Shattered
Page 28
‘It’s all part of being a superhero,’ he teases, and I remember I called him that, ages ago. When he found Ben hidden away at that Lorder place: Aiden the superhero, helping people find those they care about. Trying to set the world to rights.
I’d thought he was a no-hoper on the last one. But more and more I am hoping, clinging to strands of future possibility, that things might be fixed by MIA without using guns and bombs. That he and the others can really do it.
That we can do it.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For everything.’
His eyes hold mine, warm, and for a moment it is hard to breathe. Then he shakes his head, looks away, and calls the others back in.
‘Well?’ Florence demands.
‘That’s enough for today,’ Aiden says. Florence protests; Aiden replies. ‘We don’t work like that; we’re not Lorders. She can tell us when she’s ready, if she’s ready. I’m satisfied it’s not critical to us now.’
And I’m scouring my brain, looking for something, anything, that might help, and then I have it. ‘Wait a minute. There is somebody who might know something about my DNA.’
‘Who’s that?’ DJ asks.
‘I always thought there was something she wasn’t telling me, something she was hiding, but I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.’
‘Who?’
‘My doctor at the hospital. Dr Lysander.’
Aiden’s eyes sharpen. ‘She was your doctor?’
‘Yes. She said it was on my records that I was a Jane Doe: that even though everyone is supposed to be DNA tested at birth, they didn’t know where I came from. She said that was all she knew about it, but there was something hiding behind her words. She never lied, exactly, but she hid things by twisting words around.’
‘The Dr Lysander – the very doctor who invented Slating – was your doctor?’ DJ says. ‘Interesting. I bet that wasn’t a coincidence. But why would she tell you anything about your records?’
‘We were sort of close. She told me loads of things she shouldn’t. Broke rules to help me.’
‘We need to talk to her.’
‘She’s always surrounded by guards, and the hospital is a fortress.’
‘If we can get you to her, will you do it? See if you can find out what she knows?’
‘Of course.’
Aiden protests: she is a Lorder doctor; however close I thought we were, it would be too dangerous.
I shake my head. ‘She wouldn’t turn me in. Never.’
In the car on the way back to Oxford I sit in the back, staring unseeing out the window. Pondering other coincidences.
What did seeing Astrid and Nico together really mean? How did I end up with the family of the assassinated Prime Minister after I was Slated? My two families – Mum and Amy, Stella and Astrid – somehow their history and what may yet come to be are entwined and twisted together, with me caught between. Yet neither of them is truly mine.
Everything is crowding in on me; there is only one solution.
I need to run.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
* * *
‘Bet you can’t keep up,’ Ben says.
‘Oh yeah?’
Ben takes off up the path and I’m on his heels. It is too narrow to run side by side, but at last we are doing something that until recently I thought could never happen again: we are running together. It’s cold, dark enough that running full tilt on an unfamiliar path is a little dangerous, but he has set the pace. There is no way I’ll let him pull ahead.
It used to be we’d run to get our levels up: endorphins from running would have them high, even in the 8s. We could talk about anything, without risking a Levo zap from dropping levels sending us off to a blackout.
So much has changed since then. Neither of us has a Levo any more; we don’t need to run to stay level, but today, I needed it. Yet I was surprised that Aiden said all right, that he let us leave the college grounds together. Maybe he understands. Maybe he understands too much.
There is a sudden thud in front: a cry. Ben flies through the air, lands heavily, and I almost trip over him.
‘Ouch,’ he says.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I think so.’ He twists his foot side to side. ‘Yeah, it’s fine. Just caught it and fell over, not sprained.’
I give him a hand up and he brushes himself off. ‘Let’s walk a little,’ he says.
‘Sure you’re not hurt?’
‘I’m fine. Was it a tough day that made you want a run?’ Ben asks. He takes my hand in his as we walk up the path.
‘You could say that.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
I stay silent a moment. ‘Do you mind if we don’t?’
He stops walking, pulls me around towards him, his eyes dark pools in the moonlight. ‘Talking is one option. There is another.’ One hand slips around my waist, the other under my chin. And it is as if I’m in two places, here, and another: the first time he kissed me. It was at night after running, and so like this that my mind is drifting, falling between past and present: between the Ben I knew, and the Ben I don’t. And then I’m shaking and crying.
He pulls away. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. Who are you? Who am I? What does this mean?’
‘That’s way too much thought.’ He smiles. ‘Stop thinking.’ And he kisses me again, and again, until the past is gone, the tears are gone, and we are here. Now. There is nothing else.
We sneak back in late. Ben holds my hand tight; I protest when we get to a corridor, and he pulls me the wrong way. ‘My room is the other way.’
‘No, you’re coming back with me. We still have some talking to do.’
Another corridor and turn, some stairs. Ben still holds my hand. It’s late and I’m tired, but every bit of me is alive. Talking?
‘Now for the “be quiet” bit,’ he whispers. He opens a door, peers in. Someone is fast asleep on a bed in the dark; we creep past him to another door. Ben opens it. ‘Wait in here,’ he whispers. ‘I’ll tell my jailer I’ve returned so he doesn’t check if he wakes up.’
I step through the door; he shuts it behind me, and I’m plunged into darkness.
There are low voices through the door; then it opens and Ben steps through. ‘Give him five minutes and he’ll be out like a light,’ Ben whispers, pulls me close. Kisses my cheek, my neck, and I can hear my heart going thud-thud so loud I worry the student through the door will hear.
But then Ben lets go, turns and puts on a small desk light. Darkness retreats, reveals a small student room. Desk, wardrobe.
Single bed.
‘Ben, I should go.’
‘You’re not escaping that easily.’ He smiles, pushes me down to sit on the bed, sits next to me. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Talk?’
He grins a wicked grin. ‘Talking is one option,’ he says, and takes my hand. ‘Tell me. Why were you so upset before?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got nothing but time.’
And once I begin, it all comes flooding out – all I’ve wanted to tell him for so long. Inside me, things are letting go with the words, loosening and coming free. Ben wraps a blanket around us against the cold, just holds me while I talk, and cry, and talk some more. I even tell him that I don’t know where I come from, about being kidnapped by the AGT and what they did. Why I was Slated, and what happened after he was gone. I tell him about Stella, but not about her mother and the assassinations: that isn’t my story to tell.
Finally Ben says, ‘Enough. I have a question. With all of that, why is it that what really upset you earlier was me kissing you?’
I shake my head. ‘No, that wasn’t it. That was lovely.’ I blush. ‘It’s this: how can we be anything together when we don’t know who we are?’
He shakes his head. ‘I haven’t any idea where I come from either, or anything of what happened before I was Slated, so you’re ahead of me on that. At least you know who raised you. But it doesn’t matter.’
‘It doesn’t?’
‘No. Kyla, all we are is what we are, here and now.’
And he kisses me again, and that is all that matters. Now. But a little voice inside knows that in the morning, the sun will come up. Tomorrow will come one way or the other.
CHAPTER THIRTY
* * *
I’m warm, in a dark, sleepy happy place. There was something: a sound? A click. I stir, then remember where I am.
I sit up fast. Light is coming through under curtains just enough to see. Ben is turned away, putting something in the wardrobe.
‘Ben?’
He whips around. Smiles. ‘You look cute all sleepy.’
‘It’s morning? I didn’t mean to fall asleep! I need to get out of here before anyone notices.’
He shrugs. ‘Stay. Who cares?’ He slips a hand around my chin, kisses me, but I pull away.
‘I care.’ I slip to the door, open it quietly. The student outside is sound asleep.
‘He’s a crap guard,’ Ben whispers. ‘He could sleep through anything.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘See you here tonight?’
His eyes hold mine and somehow the words come out without any thought or volition. ‘All right.’
I get down the halls without seeing anyone, and to my door. Open it.
Wendy is at her desk. She turns, smirks. ‘Good run with Ben last night?’
‘We were just talking, and I fell asleep!’
She laughs. ‘Sure, I believe you.’ She winks. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’
I protest a few more times, cheeks burning, then head for the shower. Will she keep it to herself? Why does it even matter? Somehow I don’t want it known I was out all night, for things to be assumed.
Something nags inside. Mostly it’s that I don’t want Aiden to find out, and I’m not sure why. He had Ben brought here; he must know how I feel about him. Yet somehow I know Aiden wouldn’t like it if he knew I’d been in Ben’s room all night: he’s protective, and he’d worry. And he is the last person I want to hurt, after all he’s done for me. That is the only reason I don’t want him to know. Isn’t it?
The day passes. Florence takes me out to record some more witnesses; adults this time, so not as hard as the last, but their stories still tear inside. Ben isn’t with us as they’ve finally found a doctor to take him to who will do scans without asking questions. And after each witness I’m telling myself, just get through the day. Then I can be with Ben.
When Florence and I get back to the college, I stare up at St Mary’s Tower as we walk across the quad, where Ben wanted to go. ‘Can you go up there – up the tower?’
‘Sure. If anyone from the church is there, just smile and flash your student ID. It’s thirteenth century: check out the gargoyles. Great views.’
We get to the office and I fidget impatiently while Florence copies today’s recordings from my camera to a computer.
‘What’s with you?’ she asks.
‘Nothing.’
She raises an eyebrow, but before she can say anything else, the door opens: Aiden.
‘Kyla? Are you done? I need a quick word.’
Florence hands me my camera. ‘All finished. Away you go.’
Aiden holds the door open; I step through, heart sinking. Has he heard something about last night? No. His eyes are sparkling. ‘Quick, grab whatever you need until tomorrow; we’re off on an adventure.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see Dr Lysander.’
‘But how—’
‘No time for questions; you can ask on the way. Don’t tell anyone! Meet me out back in five minutes. Go!’
I’d thought he was a no-hoper on the last one. But more and more I am hoping, clinging to strands of future possibility, that things might be fixed by MIA without using guns and bombs. That he and the others can really do it.
That we can do it.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For everything.’
His eyes hold mine, warm, and for a moment it is hard to breathe. Then he shakes his head, looks away, and calls the others back in.
‘Well?’ Florence demands.
‘That’s enough for today,’ Aiden says. Florence protests; Aiden replies. ‘We don’t work like that; we’re not Lorders. She can tell us when she’s ready, if she’s ready. I’m satisfied it’s not critical to us now.’
And I’m scouring my brain, looking for something, anything, that might help, and then I have it. ‘Wait a minute. There is somebody who might know something about my DNA.’
‘Who’s that?’ DJ asks.
‘I always thought there was something she wasn’t telling me, something she was hiding, but I don’t know. Maybe I imagined it.’
‘Who?’
‘My doctor at the hospital. Dr Lysander.’
Aiden’s eyes sharpen. ‘She was your doctor?’
‘Yes. She said it was on my records that I was a Jane Doe: that even though everyone is supposed to be DNA tested at birth, they didn’t know where I came from. She said that was all she knew about it, but there was something hiding behind her words. She never lied, exactly, but she hid things by twisting words around.’
‘The Dr Lysander – the very doctor who invented Slating – was your doctor?’ DJ says. ‘Interesting. I bet that wasn’t a coincidence. But why would she tell you anything about your records?’
‘We were sort of close. She told me loads of things she shouldn’t. Broke rules to help me.’
‘We need to talk to her.’
‘She’s always surrounded by guards, and the hospital is a fortress.’
‘If we can get you to her, will you do it? See if you can find out what she knows?’
‘Of course.’
Aiden protests: she is a Lorder doctor; however close I thought we were, it would be too dangerous.
I shake my head. ‘She wouldn’t turn me in. Never.’
In the car on the way back to Oxford I sit in the back, staring unseeing out the window. Pondering other coincidences.
What did seeing Astrid and Nico together really mean? How did I end up with the family of the assassinated Prime Minister after I was Slated? My two families – Mum and Amy, Stella and Astrid – somehow their history and what may yet come to be are entwined and twisted together, with me caught between. Yet neither of them is truly mine.
Everything is crowding in on me; there is only one solution.
I need to run.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
* * *
‘Bet you can’t keep up,’ Ben says.
‘Oh yeah?’
Ben takes off up the path and I’m on his heels. It is too narrow to run side by side, but at last we are doing something that until recently I thought could never happen again: we are running together. It’s cold, dark enough that running full tilt on an unfamiliar path is a little dangerous, but he has set the pace. There is no way I’ll let him pull ahead.
It used to be we’d run to get our levels up: endorphins from running would have them high, even in the 8s. We could talk about anything, without risking a Levo zap from dropping levels sending us off to a blackout.
So much has changed since then. Neither of us has a Levo any more; we don’t need to run to stay level, but today, I needed it. Yet I was surprised that Aiden said all right, that he let us leave the college grounds together. Maybe he understands. Maybe he understands too much.
There is a sudden thud in front: a cry. Ben flies through the air, lands heavily, and I almost trip over him.
‘Ouch,’ he says.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I think so.’ He twists his foot side to side. ‘Yeah, it’s fine. Just caught it and fell over, not sprained.’
I give him a hand up and he brushes himself off. ‘Let’s walk a little,’ he says.
‘Sure you’re not hurt?’
‘I’m fine. Was it a tough day that made you want a run?’ Ben asks. He takes my hand in his as we walk up the path.
‘You could say that.’
‘Want to talk about it?’
I stay silent a moment. ‘Do you mind if we don’t?’
He stops walking, pulls me around towards him, his eyes dark pools in the moonlight. ‘Talking is one option. There is another.’ One hand slips around my waist, the other under my chin. And it is as if I’m in two places, here, and another: the first time he kissed me. It was at night after running, and so like this that my mind is drifting, falling between past and present: between the Ben I knew, and the Ben I don’t. And then I’m shaking and crying.
He pulls away. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t know. Who are you? Who am I? What does this mean?’
‘That’s way too much thought.’ He smiles. ‘Stop thinking.’ And he kisses me again, and again, until the past is gone, the tears are gone, and we are here. Now. There is nothing else.
We sneak back in late. Ben holds my hand tight; I protest when we get to a corridor, and he pulls me the wrong way. ‘My room is the other way.’
‘No, you’re coming back with me. We still have some talking to do.’
Another corridor and turn, some stairs. Ben still holds my hand. It’s late and I’m tired, but every bit of me is alive. Talking?
‘Now for the “be quiet” bit,’ he whispers. He opens a door, peers in. Someone is fast asleep on a bed in the dark; we creep past him to another door. Ben opens it. ‘Wait in here,’ he whispers. ‘I’ll tell my jailer I’ve returned so he doesn’t check if he wakes up.’
I step through the door; he shuts it behind me, and I’m plunged into darkness.
There are low voices through the door; then it opens and Ben steps through. ‘Give him five minutes and he’ll be out like a light,’ Ben whispers, pulls me close. Kisses my cheek, my neck, and I can hear my heart going thud-thud so loud I worry the student through the door will hear.
But then Ben lets go, turns and puts on a small desk light. Darkness retreats, reveals a small student room. Desk, wardrobe.
Single bed.
‘Ben, I should go.’
‘You’re not escaping that easily.’ He smiles, pushes me down to sit on the bed, sits next to me. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Talk?’
He grins a wicked grin. ‘Talking is one option,’ he says, and takes my hand. ‘Tell me. Why were you so upset before?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got nothing but time.’
And once I begin, it all comes flooding out – all I’ve wanted to tell him for so long. Inside me, things are letting go with the words, loosening and coming free. Ben wraps a blanket around us against the cold, just holds me while I talk, and cry, and talk some more. I even tell him that I don’t know where I come from, about being kidnapped by the AGT and what they did. Why I was Slated, and what happened after he was gone. I tell him about Stella, but not about her mother and the assassinations: that isn’t my story to tell.
Finally Ben says, ‘Enough. I have a question. With all of that, why is it that what really upset you earlier was me kissing you?’
I shake my head. ‘No, that wasn’t it. That was lovely.’ I blush. ‘It’s this: how can we be anything together when we don’t know who we are?’
He shakes his head. ‘I haven’t any idea where I come from either, or anything of what happened before I was Slated, so you’re ahead of me on that. At least you know who raised you. But it doesn’t matter.’
‘It doesn’t?’
‘No. Kyla, all we are is what we are, here and now.’
And he kisses me again, and that is all that matters. Now. But a little voice inside knows that in the morning, the sun will come up. Tomorrow will come one way or the other.
CHAPTER THIRTY
* * *
I’m warm, in a dark, sleepy happy place. There was something: a sound? A click. I stir, then remember where I am.
I sit up fast. Light is coming through under curtains just enough to see. Ben is turned away, putting something in the wardrobe.
‘Ben?’
He whips around. Smiles. ‘You look cute all sleepy.’
‘It’s morning? I didn’t mean to fall asleep! I need to get out of here before anyone notices.’
He shrugs. ‘Stay. Who cares?’ He slips a hand around my chin, kisses me, but I pull away.
‘I care.’ I slip to the door, open it quietly. The student outside is sound asleep.
‘He’s a crap guard,’ Ben whispers. ‘He could sleep through anything.’ He kisses my cheek. ‘See you here tonight?’
His eyes hold mine and somehow the words come out without any thought or volition. ‘All right.’
I get down the halls without seeing anyone, and to my door. Open it.
Wendy is at her desk. She turns, smirks. ‘Good run with Ben last night?’
‘We were just talking, and I fell asleep!’
She laughs. ‘Sure, I believe you.’ She winks. ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’
I protest a few more times, cheeks burning, then head for the shower. Will she keep it to herself? Why does it even matter? Somehow I don’t want it known I was out all night, for things to be assumed.
Something nags inside. Mostly it’s that I don’t want Aiden to find out, and I’m not sure why. He had Ben brought here; he must know how I feel about him. Yet somehow I know Aiden wouldn’t like it if he knew I’d been in Ben’s room all night: he’s protective, and he’d worry. And he is the last person I want to hurt, after all he’s done for me. That is the only reason I don’t want him to know. Isn’t it?
The day passes. Florence takes me out to record some more witnesses; adults this time, so not as hard as the last, but their stories still tear inside. Ben isn’t with us as they’ve finally found a doctor to take him to who will do scans without asking questions. And after each witness I’m telling myself, just get through the day. Then I can be with Ben.
When Florence and I get back to the college, I stare up at St Mary’s Tower as we walk across the quad, where Ben wanted to go. ‘Can you go up there – up the tower?’
‘Sure. If anyone from the church is there, just smile and flash your student ID. It’s thirteenth century: check out the gargoyles. Great views.’
We get to the office and I fidget impatiently while Florence copies today’s recordings from my camera to a computer.
‘What’s with you?’ she asks.
‘Nothing.’
She raises an eyebrow, but before she can say anything else, the door opens: Aiden.
‘Kyla? Are you done? I need a quick word.’
Florence hands me my camera. ‘All finished. Away you go.’
Aiden holds the door open; I step through, heart sinking. Has he heard something about last night? No. His eyes are sparkling. ‘Quick, grab whatever you need until tomorrow; we’re off on an adventure.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see Dr Lysander.’
‘But how—’
‘No time for questions; you can ask on the way. Don’t tell anyone! Meet me out back in five minutes. Go!’
