‘Stay out of this, Blondie; it's for your own good!’
Amy is choking, he face is purple and if he won’t let her go she will suffocate. I am prepared to fight, but he is strong and he pushes me down to the ground. I can feel the blood in my mouth when I realise what's happened. I look at the man and in the shadow of the moon I see him lifting Amy off the ground. He is holding a knife in his hand. I try to scream and beg him not to do it, but I can't move and no sound comes out of my mouth. I can hear the last breath coming out of Amy's body as she falls to the ground like a doll; there’s a lot of blood and silence immerses us completely. I drift off into dreams, leaving the world behind.
***
I open my eyes and look around the room not recognising the space. I am in a small living room with dark wood floors and old-fashioned paintings. In front of me there is an old, traditional fireplace, the fire keeps blasting out consuming away the large wood blocks. The house smells of spring meadow. It seems that no one lived here for a while. I notice a man by the window.
Suddenly, the deadly silence is pierced with terrifying screams coming out of one of the other rooms, and I shiver. I look at myself; there is no sign of blood or bruises and I have a white dress on. I can hear the sea nearby and the sound of waves hitting the rocks. The man isn't looking at me but instead is staring out the window. He has long, straight long red hair that hangs to his elbows and bright green eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I don't know what I’m doing here,’ I say, directing my words to him but he doesn't respond or turn around.
He should be surprised that someone just spoke to him but he doesn't seem to notice me at all. He is staring at the view outside the window and looks deeply lost in his thoughts. Someone screams again and I shiver at the pain in the scream; it's a woman's scream and I detect the noises are coming from the further parts of the cottage. The red-haired Sprite looks at me for a moment but I know that he can’t see me. His eyes shine in the falling darkness. I think that I must be dreaming. I retrace the last memory I have and I remember I was out with Amy and we were attacked. This seems too realistic for a dream, though. The Sprite gets up and I follow him; he opens the heavy wooden door and walks into another room. It's a bedroom and I see why the woman was screaming. She’s in labour.
‘How long?’ the green-eyed man asks.
Two more Sprites are standing by the woman on the bed; she is holding her stomach, her tangled hair is stuck to her sweaty head, and her face is ruby red. She looks worn out. Despite the exhaustion and sweat, I am amazed at her beauty. She must be in her mid-twenties but then Sprites age differently, so she probably is much older.
‘A few minutes and it will all be over,’ says another fairy, giving the Sprite in labour a glass of water. The red-haired fae nods. No one notices that I’m in the room.
‘Come on, a couple more attempts and she will be here,’ the other dark-haired sprite says.
The woman in labour has a strong contraction and screams in agony. It sounds like her screams last forever but in reality are only a couple of minutes. Just when I can't stand the screaming any longer, I hear a baby’s cry and it’s all over. The dark-haired fairy takes the newborn and walks out of the room.
‘Isabelle, it's a girl,’ he says and there’s pride in his tone. He is glaring at the child with admiration and rare hunger.
I realise that he is speaking to the Sprite who just gave birth; she falls back on the pillow, looking completely exhausted. The red-haired Sprite looks at the baby and smiles.
‘She’s perfect.’
‘Something is wrong. I think it's not over yet,’ Isabelle says and her breathing speeds up. ‘I’m having more contractions.’
Both Sprites are looking at each other with confusion. ‘Are you sure, Isabelle?’
‘Another one?’ The red-haired Sprite looks disoriented. Isabelle screams again and the first baby starts crying at the same time.
‘Get ready for another push. I will count to three and then try as hard as you can,’ says the dark-haired Sprite as she stands by Isabelle's side, holding her hand.
‘I’m tired. Use your magic, I can’t go through this again,’ says Isabelle looking in desperation at the dark-haired Sprite, but she looks at her head.
‘You know I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous for the baby, Isabelle. A couple more pushes and it will all be over.’
‘Maurice, please,’ says Isabelle, looking petrified at the Sprite who is holding the baby.
I want to disappear and if it is my dream then I should be able to change it. However, something is telling me that it is not a typical dream. Isabelle looks as if she is going to faint, the bed is covered in blood but she keeps screaming. I close my eyes and try not to focus on everything that’s happening in front of me. It takes another ten minutes and another baby is born. When I open my eyes, I can see that Isabelle has lost consciousness.
‘It’s another girl,’ announces the dark-haired Sprite and hands her over to Maurice. I am certain that he is the father.
The dark-haired Sprite is whispering something quickly, but I don't follow. I look amazed, as the bloody sheets become pure white again. Isabelle starts to breathe more calmly and her face becomes radiant again. I am breathless at the sight before me; her skin is soft and despite just giving birth, I think she is the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen.
I follow the Sprite called Maurice, who is holding both of the babies; they have been cleaned up and are no longer crying. Maurice looks at them lovingly, cradling them in his arms. Another Sprite enters the room; she has short brown hair and large brown eyes.
‘How is she?’ asks Maurice, asking after the blonde Sprite who has just given birth.
‘The magic is done; she is fine. Have you made the decision about the swap?’ She is talking with a really strange accent and I don't recognise where she is from.
‘The two girls are healthy, but there is no sign of any magic in them.’
He places his daughters on the bed and whispers something in their ears, and both girls suddenly fall into a deep sleep. I stand amazed at the sight before me and wonder what he whispered in their ears.
'The last changelings will make us very powerful,' he announces, looking directly at me, but I know that he can't see me. His eyes are incredible and in his profile there is something familiar but I just can't put my finger on what it is. He gets up and goes to the room where Isabelle is; she’s conscious now and looks much better. All the Sprites in the room are staring at her, and she smiles at Maurice as he walks into the room; it’s as though the room lights up when she smiles.
‘I want to see them,’ she says softly.
He approaches her closely, touching her cheek.
‘You can’t see them, my love. We have to do as we discussed.’ His voice is calm but I can hear a hint of seriousness in his tone.
‘Maurice, you can’t do this. It's impossible,’ says the brown-haired Sprite, looking at him with fear in her eyes. ‘They will know.’
‘Not if the mother is partly human,’ explains Maurice.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changes; Isabelle starts crying and the other two women look at each other nervously.
‘I don't want to do it. We didn't know about the twins, I want to raise them myself!’ shouts Isabelle with determination in her voice, but Maurice isn't listening.
I begin to wonder why he’s so cruel; he’s just going to take the innocent children away from their mother. Suddenly, everything around me disappears and I find myself in a mist. I start walking, hoping to find a way out but I can still hear the screams of Isabelle, who is cursing Maurice. I try to concentrate on something positive to make sure that I don’t die here alone.
Then I am somewhere else. This time it's a hospital but everything looks different, as if I have travelled back in time. I am walking through the corridor following Maurice, who is still holding two babies. No one notices me again; the babies are crying but no one seems to notice the beautiful red-ha
ired Sprite either. He looks around and stares at me for a little while. I don't think he is looking directly at me but looks unconvinced about his decision. I want to scream to tell him that he can still change his mind, that he doesn’t have to do this, but he turns away.
The hospital is busy; I know where he is going and I know it's too late to change anything. He stops in front of the big window, staring at the newborn children along with the other happy parents. I want to close my eyes and not look when he places his daughters in one of the cots and begins searching for the children that he will take away. There is only one pair of twins in the room so his decision won’t be complicated. His daughters are crying when he places them in the two spots where, just a few seconds ago, two infants were sleeping. I am sure he will be upset, but his face is full of joy when he leaves the room. I want to scream and let someone know what’s happened, but I can't do anything. I feel helpless, dizzy and everything around me starts moving, I drift into the thick fog.
16
I try to open my eyes but they too are heavy and I feel a rising pain in my head. My neck is really stiff and my whole body is aching, sending pulsing pain signals to my brain. I open my eyes and notice Mum next to me.
‘Ania,’ she says. I can always tell when she has been crying.
My memory is hazy and I fail to recall what’s happened exactly. The dream seemed so realistic; I close my eyes, trying to focus and remember parts of it but the images are disappearing so quickly.
‘What's happened?’ I ask, opening my eyes again.
‘How are you feeling?’ asks the man with the white coat as he leans over to look at me more closely. He has dark eyes and must be in his mid-forties. I try to move my legs but my body refuses to respond. I feel like I have been sleeping for a while. I blink rapidly as my memory comes flooding back to me in flashes; I remember everything. I try to get up but my body is too weak.
‘What happened to Amy? Is she OK?’ I ask.
I feel the blood drain from my face as Mum’s flashes with fear. She drops her eyes and starts flexing her fingers.
‘You have been in a coma for the past two weeks, so your muscles are not used to movements yet. Try to relax,’ says the doctor.
‘What? I’ve been in a coma for two weeks?’ I say disbelievingly, my voice husky.
The doctor is right; I can't move my neck and my head is still hurting. I can't believe what I am hearing, I couldn't have been in a coma for two weeks, what about Amy? I look around the room. Where the hell is Gabriel? My mother is looking at me with tears in her eyes and she squeezes my hand.
‘Yes Ania, please calm down. There is more bad news,’ says Mum while my heartbeat quickens. How there could be more bad news? I look at my mother, thinking that she is lying to me. I try to remember what happened after we left the party, but my mind is blank. I remember the guy who appeared on the street and wanted to help us. I take a deep breath as I feel dizzy and sick and soon the uncomfortable sensation passes away.
‘Tell me,’ I whisper.
She looks at the doctor and he nods.
‘Amy is dead. You were attacked.’
I don’t register what she says. Amy can't be dead; she was only with me yesterday. My mind is blank and my heart is racing in my chest.
‘Dead,’ I whisper, not believing my own words. ‘It's impossible.’
‘She died within seconds. We’re not exactly sure of what happened, but there’s nothing that you could’ve done,’ says the doctor.
I’m not listening. Amy is gone and I didn't do anything to stop the bastard who killed her because I was too drunk. I cover my head with my hands.
‘The police are pushing to speak with you and as I am your doctor, it's up to me to decide if you're OK for that.’
My mother is silent. I’m hoping that in few seconds I’ll wake up and everything will turn out to be one more ridiculous dream. I try to pinch myself, but it doesn't work. The pain in my head is unbearable.
‘You have to speak with the police, Ania. You have to tell them what happened,’ says Mum, looking at me.
I nod, realising that I am looking at the woman who lied to me all my life, but I can't deal with this right now. I feel as if my heart has been replaced with the heavy stone. Guilt slowly creeps over me.
‘Miss Petrova, should I let them in?’ asks the doctor.
I nod as he finishes checking my pulse. I think about what I will tell Amy's parents when I see them.
A woman and a man enter my room; the man is short and overweight with strange dark eyes; the woman is slightly taller and skinnier than him and has a long face with small olive eyes. An image of Amy's face when she was lying on the street, the blood and her still eyes flash before me. I close my eyes and shake my head to get the image out of my mind.
‘My name is Detective Sergeant Stuart, and this is Detective Constable Smith. Miss Petrova, can we ask you a few questions about the incident?’ asks the woman.
I nod.
‘As you have just been told, Miss Roberts is dead. We have been working on this case for a few weeks now but, as you are the only witness, we have not been able to get the full story of what happened that night.’
I only register part of what she is saying. I take a deep breath and try to recollect as much as I can remember from that fatal night.
‘We were out at one of the house parties on campus; I was drunk and Amy was trying to get me home. I wasn’t feeling very well and I had definitely drunk too much. Amy was fine, but we had to stop because I was sick and couldn't walk. I don’t remember what time we left the party but the streets were empty, so it was probably late. Then this guy appeared on the street and started talking to us. I don't really remember what happened after that but I think he stabbed her and then I passed out.’
They both give me a smile of acknowledgement.
‘Can you describe the man who attacked you?’ asks Detective Smith. The man is taking notes, glancing at me from time to time.
‘It was dark and I couldn't see him clearly. He was wearing a hood and was tall; over six foot two, but I don't remember anything else. I was too drunk.’
‘Over six foot tall. Is there anything else at all that you can recall about his appearance or the events of the night?’
‘I’m sorry, no. His accent wasn’t local, but I might be wrong,’ I answer, confused. ‘How did Amy die?’
‘She was stabbed several times. At first, we didn’t understand why she was wearing a wig but after interviewing a few of the other students, we found out that it was a fancy dress-up party. I have read your file; do you think this murder could have something to do with what happened to you back in September?’
I stare at Detective Smith, trying to understand what she is insinuating. I don't remember anything from the day that I was attacked either.
‘I don't know. Maybe he wanted me but got her because he thought she was me,’ I speculate.
‘Why anyone would want to kill you?’ asks Detective Sgt Stuart.
‘I am asking myself the same question.’
In the end, the two detectives leave looking unsatisfied, as I haven’t told them anything that they didn’t already know. My memories are tangled, but I feel that the man who attacked us wanted me instead of her. That night I was supposed to be the one that was to be killed, not Amy. I’m not sure how I can face Amy's mother; her daughter is dead because of me.
I am alone in the room. I wonder where Gabriel is; I need him right now. Instead, a few minutes later, Mum comes back looking worried. When I look at her all the memories from London and the adoption papers come back to me. I stare at her in disbelief, all the lies she has kept up for all these years and she stands here now, still lying to me.
‘When is the funeral?’ I ask, looking away. I can’t even face her; she is a stranger to me now and no longer my mother.
‘She was already buried a few days ago. The doctors were not sure if you were going to wake up,’ she says, sitting next to me. She somehow looks old
er than usual. I can't stand this pretence any longer and feel like I have to confront her.
‘Mum, I know that I am adopted,’ I say.
She pauses and then look of guilt spreads on her face.
‘How did you find out?’ she asks and the tears start streaming down her cheeks.
I look at her and feel nothing.
‘Spare me your tears, you have been lying to me all my whole life,’ the anger grows inside of me.
‘You didn't need to know; we were always happy,’ she says, looking at me with pain in her eyes.
‘Happy living a life of lies!’ I shout, losing control. I am shaking as I stare at the woman I called mother my entire life.
‘I’m sorry, Ania. I was afraid that I would lose you if you knew the truth.’
I laugh when she says that. The reality of this woman’s sad and lonely life, full of lies, hits me. Grief and anger are the only emotions that I can see when I look at her.
‘You expect me to forgive you just like that?’
‘You are my daughter; I tried to raise you the best I could.’ The memories of her trying to control me all the time are coming up. She was a good mother, but she was also possessive, trying to keep me locked up.
‘Why did we leave Russia so suddenly?’ I ask, hoping that she would finally tell me the truth, but her body tightens and fear appears in her eyes. She knows that the story about the new life in the UK won’t work today and I want to know what else she is hiding.
‘I told you; I got this job in London and wanted to start over in a country with more opportunities,’ she says, but I know she is lying. She had another chance to tell the truth but she continues to lie to me. The anger grows inside me and I am shaking. The blood drains from my face.
‘Get out!’
‘What? Why?’
She doesn't understand but I don't care anymore; I don't want to listen to her lies.
‘You are still lying to me. If you're not prepared to tell me the truth, then I don't want to see you,’ I say firmly.