Fractured

  Who was the man who ran with me, who said he would never leave? Never became seconds; he was torn away almost as he said it. And what happened to him, to me? What came next?

  The fear that lingers from the dream turns to frustration, then anger. I slam a fist into the mattress. Why can’t I remember what really happened, now that I have these other memories back? Why?

  So much is still missing. Inside, I feel empty, hollow. Suddenly limp, I sag back in bed, tears trickling down my face that I don’t even bother to wipe away.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  Bzzzz!

  A muffled vibration at my wrist pulls me out of sleep, confused. My Levo…? But it doesn’t work any more. I squint at the numbers in the dark: 5.6. Even if it did work, my levels aren’t low enough to make it vibrate.

  Bzzzz!

  The com underneath: it must be. A call from Nico? My stomach swirls with nervous butterflies.

  I fiddle under my Levo to press the hidden button. ‘Hello?’ I whisper.

  ‘Took you long enough.’ Nico’s voice radiates tension.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t realise it was you.’ And how clever to make calling sound like my Levo vibrating. No one would blink unless they saw the numbers weren’t low.

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘Yes.’ The house is quiet, dark. Everyone asleep but me and Sebastian. He stalks across the bed and stares at my wrist, keeping a safe distance as if some danger lurks there.

  ‘We’ve got trouble.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Tori is missing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I had a meeting. And when I came back just now, she was gone. She seemed pretty settled until you were here yesterday: what did you talk about? Where do you think she has gone?’

  Nico is keeping control, now, but there is a definite edge to his voice. Whatever she does is my fault. Whatever she might say if forced or otherwise about where she has been, or who with. My fault she was there at all.

  ‘I don’t know. We talked about Ben and his dog. That’s about it.’

  He curses. ‘If you think of anything, call me.’ There is an abrupt click, then silence.

  I lie back and stare at the ceiling. Where could she be? I review yesterday, the little we said. Tori was held in tight most of the time, contained. The only time cracks really showed was when she spoke about Lorders taking her from home, and her mother.

  I sit bolt upright. I told her that Ben had been to see her mother, that her mother said she had been returned. Tori was furious with her. That is it, isn’t it?

  She’s gone to confront her mother. Call Nico!

  I should call him. But I’m already up, pulling clothes out of drawers, getting dressed in the dark.

  This is my mess to fix, and I’ll not do it his way.

  Careful and silent, I creep down the stairs, out of the house. No time for anything else, I ease Mum’s bicycle out of the shed. The door clunks when I shut it, and my heart jumps in fright; a flutter inside. But no lights go on, no curtains move.

  There is no time for discretion. On the bike I head down the road as fast as I can go, hoping no one watches.

  Ben had pointed out Tori’s street once when we ran: on the other side from here of the hall where we have Group. I don’t know which house, but I remember Ben saying it was the big one at the end. Hopefully that will be enough to work it out.

  If Nico has her address, it is one of the first places he will go.

  And if he doesn’t already know it, he will soon. I pedal harder.

  The night blurs past. If she is there, I can understand why. She’d hoped her mother was missing her, didn’t know what happened to her, and I crushed that hope. Stupid! She’d wanted to know Ben’s reaction to her being taken. That was the evidence, but why didn’t I just say he went on about her, and not tell her he went to see her mother? He did talk about her often enough. Enough that it made me jealous. Is that why I didn’t tell her?

  I reach her street and slow down, trying to control my breathing after such a mad dash. It is after midnight, yet the big house at the end is lit up. There are cars parked everywhere, and an unseen piano tinkles in the background. Some guests have spilled out onto the lawn, and there are voices, laughter. I tuck my bicycle in some bushes and slip closer, through the shadows. There are too many eyes about, but at least this should have stopped Tori. She couldn’t be crazy enough to go in with all these people. Could she?

  After the big house the road ends; there is a footpath sign, woods. That is where she’d hide.

  On the opposite side of the street I slip behind front garden hedges, hoping the neighbours sleep despite the party noises, and are not looking out their windows.

  Tori is easy to find in the dark trees that overlook her old house, in a pale blue hoodie that almost glows in the dark. I creep up next to her and touch her arm. She jumps, turns and sees it is me. Turns back to watching the house. ‘You have to learn to dress for these sorts of things,’ I say.

  She doesn’t answer, eyes fixed. I follow them: there is a group of a half dozen, talking, laughing. One woman, the rest are men in tuxes. She must be freezing in that slinky black dress, arms bare. Laughing at something one of the others said, her head thrown back.

  ‘Is that her?’ I whisper.

  Tori nods.

  She is beautiful, like Tori. Both have long dark hair. Had she asked for a Slated with similar features? I’ve heard rumours some do that, request a designer son or daughter. Perhaps when Tori got older she took too many eyes away from her mother: a younger, more beautiful version of herself.

  ‘Why are you here, Tori?’

  She doesn’t answer. I take her hand, ice cold, in mine.

  ‘Come away. Come with me,’ I say. ‘There is nothing for you here.’

  No reaction. Her eyes are fixed and staring, straight ahead. Then a tear glistens and runs down her cheek.

  ‘Tori?’

  ‘I just had to see her. I wanted her to tell me why I was returned, to hear her say the words. See what justification she has.’

  ‘Busy place tonight.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe that would be even better. In front of all her friends. Imagine the embarrassment!’

  ‘The Lorders would take you again.’

  She flinches. ‘It might be worth it.’

  I tug her hand. ‘Come on. Before we’re spotted.’

  She tears her eyes away from the woman who had been her mother.

  ‘What did I do wrong?’ she says, and another tear spills out, chases the other down her cheek.

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  She lets me lead her away, listens when I tell her to bend down and slip along the hedges, out of sight.

  We get to where I stashed the bicycle. ‘Come on, I’ll double you,’ I say, and she gets on the seat behind and I cycle, standing up, down the road. Legs protesting after the dash earlier.

  ‘Where is there to go?’ she says in my ear.

  ‘Nico. Where else?’

  ‘He’s going to be really pissed.’

  ‘Yes. He is.’

  Nico isn’t home when we get there. The house is locked, but Tori knows the door combination and soon we are inside.

  She is shaking. I find his whisky, pour her a glass. After a moment have a sip of it myself.

  Then I call Nico and tell him where we are.

  Tori is sound asleep on the sofa.

  ‘What did you give her?’

  ‘Sedative. Knock her out for a day or so while I work out next steps,’ he says, his voice cold. ‘That was too close to disaster. You should have told me where she was.’

  ‘I didn’t know; I guessed.’

  ‘Your guesses are good, Rain. You sh
ould have told me.’ He walks closer; much taller, he looks down, and I fight the urge to back away.

  I stand my ground. ‘She was my responsibility. It was up to me to deal with it. What are you going to do with her?’

  He stares back a few heartbeats, then nods, as if to himself. ‘I still think there may be a use for her. In the meantime I need to put her someplace more secure.’ He sighs. ‘What am I to do with you?’ His lips curve up in some semblance of a smile, but the ice is still there behind it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nico. I just wanted to fix it; it was my fault.’

  He stares at me for one beat, two. His eyes soften. He puts a hand on each shoulder, pulls me close and I nestle in against him. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, to do anything to spoil this.

  ‘Your heart beats so fast,’ he says at last. Pushes me away, looks into my eyes. ‘I’m not angry with you, Rain. At least not the way you think I am.’

  Relief swells through me. ‘You’re not?’

  ‘No. I was scared.’

  ‘You, scared?’ Even saying the words sounds wrong. Nico isn’t afraid of anything.

  He half smiles. ‘Yes. Even I have fears. I was scared of something happening to you. What if you’d got caught? You should have told me where she was, so I could deal with it. You need to stay safe, Rain. I need you to stay safe.’

  I stare up at him in wonder. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. It was brave of you. But promise me something: don’t rush off to rescue anyone again without checking with me, first. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘One more thing before you go. Those plans you did of the hospital are wonderful, but I want the people, too. Faces. I know you can draw them. All the faces from the hospital. Nurses, doctors, security. Everyone you come in contact with now or have done in the past.’

  ‘What will you do with them?’

  He doesn’t answer, and all I can think of is that nurse who died the last time Free UK attacked the hospital. Her blood pooling on the floor. My stomach twists, and I fight to keep it down. If they can identify them outside the hospital, they are easier targets.

  ‘You know, Rain. But don’t waste your sympathy on Lorders’ servants. Remember whose side you are on. Think about it. If you’re not with us, then you are with the Lorders and everything they stand for. You might as well have handed Tori over to the Lorders yourself. Snatched Ben and ended his life. Tossed the match that burned his parents alive. Think about it, Rain. Now, go.’

  I head for the door, the long bike ride home. Anxious to escape into the night. But I force myself to look back. Tori’s chest rises and falls; her face, peaceful in sleep, a marked contrast from the pain it held earlier.

  ‘She’ll be all right?’ I can’t stop myself from asking.

  ‘For now.’

  Back home, I feel my feet are fighting for purchase, slipping down a long and sandy slope. Nico wants faces. But giving them to him would be like handing out death sentences for nurses and doctors.

  They’re not innocent!

  No. They Slated me, countless others like me. What happened to Ben lies square on their shoulders.

  They do what they are told. And I know that isn’t good enough! But some of them are nice, more than nice. But what else can I do? Nico is right. They’re all part of it.

  I can’t sleep. I spread sketch paper around me. Every time my pencil touches the paper, a real face soon stares back. Like the messy grey hair of Nurse Sally, from the tenth floor. My floor, and she was one of the ones who looked after me at the beginning. She was always laughing, told me about her new grandson when he was born. Showed me his photo.

  One day, he may not be safe. Her grandson – was it Brian, Ryan, something like that? – might say something the authorities don’t like, and then go missing, and be Slated, himself. Then be returned or terminated if anything goes wrong. Like Tori, whose life – no kidding myself about Nico’s slight reassurances – now hangs in the balance.

  Would Sally sacrifice herself for her grandson? Can I make that decision for her? For her grandson and all the other children and grandchildren whose lives are limited, controlled and threatened by Lorders.

  I keep drawing, compelled. I can’t stop.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  ‘Kyla? So, what do you think? Kyla? Kyla…’

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’ I turn to Cam, realising I’ve been hearing an echo of my name for a while. Lost in my thoughts while I ate my sandwich, his voice a comforting sound but the meaning not registering.

  Cam mock-glares. ‘A simple yes or no is all.’

  ‘Hmmm, let’s see: you might be offering me cake, and then I should say yes. On the other hand, you might have suggested anything.’

  ‘Take a punt.’

  ‘Uh…yes!’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come get you at about ten.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Going for a walk tomorrow.’

  ‘What about school?’

  He waves a hand in front of my eyes. ‘There is something seriously wrong with your memory.’ Then his face falls as he realises what he said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.’

  ‘Don’t worry. There IS something seriously wrong with my memory. Slating kind of does that.’ Not to mention all the rest of it.

  ‘But that is only for stuff before then, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Though not so much in my case. ‘Besides, if I actually listen, my short-term memory is okay.’

  ‘What is it like?’

  ‘What?’

  He hesitates. ‘Sorry. Forget it.’

  ‘There you go again!’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I—’ He looks stricken so I let him off.

  ‘I’m kidding. Go ahead and ask whatever it is. I don’t mind.’

  ‘What is it like, not having any memories?’

  ‘Well. To start with, it’s fine. Because you don’t know any different. And everyone in hospital is the same as you.’

  ‘And then?’

  I frown. ‘For me, things got worse when I got out. I wanted to know things I couldn’t know. And then it is like you fill stuff in because too much is blank. And then you can’t tell what is real, and what isn’t.’

  ‘Most Slateds look pretty happy about it.’

  I laugh. ‘True enough. They monkey with our happy settings, didn’t you know? Plus you learn to stay happy so your Levo isn’t buzzing and blacking you out all the time.’

  ‘Being happy and forgetting things sounds good,’ he says quietly. Thinking about his dad? I lean back, considering. I’d be happier if I didn’t remember anything from before. If I didn’t obsess about Lucy, and her broken fingers; if Rain’s memories never appeared. But then the Lorders would have won.

  ‘The thing is, if you’re making yourself pretend-happy to stay level, you don’t know what you feel any more. Nothing feels real. There may be some things it would be good to forget. Yet it is frustrating missing pieces of myself I want to remember!’

  For someone who talks so much, Cam has a good listener’s face. There is something about him that makes me want to tell him everything.

  ‘It’s nice to have a day off school in honour of your affliction, though,’ he says.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Are you pulling my leg, or do you really not remember?’

  I aim a punch at his shoulder, but he jumps away.

  ‘Tell me already!’

  ‘There’s no school tomorrow. It’s Remembrance Day.’

  There is a special afternoon tutor group all about it.

  We scan in, take our seats.

  Our form tutor glances across our faces. ‘Can anyone tell us why there is no school tomorrow?’

&nbs
p; ‘Remembrance Day,’ several voices call out.

  ‘But what are we remembering? Anyone?’

  He spends minutes on the original meaning: remembering those who fought and died for this country in wars, so long ago almost none living can remember. The numbers are dizzying. The population of the UK is less now than then, but still.

  ‘And what else are we remembering?’ he asks. But this time he doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns the lights down and a film begins. Horrifying images fill the screen. Angry mobs, out of control, destroying everything in their path. The student riots of the twenties.

  Windows are broken, shops emptied, fires burn. A girl younger than me is dragged off screaming by a gang of hooded youths, and though you don’t see anything else, you get the idea. An old man is pushed and trampled. A child knocked from a mother’s arms.

  I close my eyes to shut it out. A flash of memory: Nico. He showed us this same film! I remember. Then he showed another one.

  Whoever is in charge changes history to suit themselves.

  That is what he said. The Lorders took every bit of evidence they had of out-of-control riots and destruction, pieced them together, and made it mandatory viewing for the population. They didn’t show Nico’s version. Lorders – police, they were called, then – beating students. Causing many of the injuries and deaths shown, then deleting their involvement so it looked like the rioters were responsible for it all.

  Yet the students weren’t blameless. They caused damage, and injury. Many deserved to be punished for their part. And criminals and gangs joined in, took part to thieve and murder.

  But it wasn’t one-sided. And I wonder: if Free UK are successful, and the Lorders beaten down, how will history be rewritten? For a start, they wouldn’t be generally called ‘AGT’ any more, they’d be Free UK to everyone. A more palatable name, dropping the terrorist right out of it.