I expect her to apologise and start revealing what else she's been hiding all these years, but she is silent. I look at the door and then drop my gaze; she takes her purse and leaves the room without saying anything else. I am shocked and surprised that she wasn’t prepared to stay and fight. I stare at the door for a minute, wondering whether she will come back. She doesn't.
I really want to see Gabriel; I try to call him in my mind but the room remains empty. I fall asleep while wondering if I can change the past and have my friend back. A few hours later, the doctor tells me that I need to be moved to another room. He is amazed because he thought that I was a lost cause; everyone thought that I would never wake up. I think about poor Amy and my mother who betrayed me so easily.
The next day, I wake up late; I have slept well through the morning. I have lunch and after that the nurse transports me to another room where I hope to see Gabriel. I promise myself that I won't think about Natasha.
The new room is more comfortable; I share it with a few more patients, mostly elderly women. Despite this, the lack of Sprites around begins worrying me. After a series of checkups, the doctor advises me that I have to stay in the hospital for two more days and if everything is all right after that, I can go home. In the evening, I manage to walk. All my muscles are stiff, but I am determined to move. I can't stand lying in bed any longer; I don’t have any visitors to keep me occupied, so I busy myself with walking to the corridor and aiding my own strength.
The sooner I can get better, the sooner I can get out of here and see Gabriel. He is probably trying to teach me a lesson, but I am hurt and I wonder why he isn't with me. Unfortunately, everything seems to be normal. There aren’t any Sprites around; just ordinary people. I have been so used to seeing them everywhere so now it feels strange not having them around at all. I try to be patient and wait for him in the nights, but he doesn’t come back. The days are passing by and everything remains the same; slowly I begin to wonder if I have lost not only my best friend, but also my ability to see Sprites. The grief and pain worsens as the realisation that I may have lost Gabriel forever dawns on me.
I am allowed to leave the hospital at the beginning of May; no one is waiting to take me home. I get a phone call from Gosia, who is concerned about everything that's happened. She knows my housemate Amy is dead; Natasha told her about the attack, but failed to mention anything about my adoption. When I tell her the whole truth, Gosia doesn't believe it at first that Natasha isn't my real mother. It takes her few minutes to realise that it isn't a joke and then she says to give Natasha more time; she will tell me the truth soon enough.
Carl calls me unexpectedly; he apologises that he and Michael haven't been to see me in hospital. They have been in the middle of exams and haven’t been able to make it. I tell him not to worry about it. He sounds tired and says that Amy's parents have already been around to empty her room and some journalist keeps coming to the house to ask about me.
My life is falling apart and I am sure that someone is after me; Amy is dead because of me and everything feels so empty without her. Before the doctors allow me to leave the hospital, I am given clear instructions that I need to take it easy. People are passing by unaware that someone else is looking out for them. They are there but we just can't see them.
My ability that I had been cursing so much is completely gone; I am no longer special. I’m ordinary. I am trying to convince myself that maybe it is only temporary and tomorrow morning when I wake up I will see Gabriel again, but deep down, I know that I am lying to myself. Suddenly, I realise that I will never see him again; I will never get to touch his warm skin, caress his hair and stare into his blue eyes. I don't want to cry. My tears won't change anything and this can't be fixed.
I take my bag and jump into a taxi, trying not to think about what's ahead of me. When I get home, it is still early and the house seems to be empty. There are lots of flowers by the door and a few candles in Amy’s memory. The guilt creeps over me; I’m ashamed that I am more upset about the loss of my ability rather than the loss of my friend, who had a full life ahead of her.
I don't sleep during the night. Instead, I try to remember the face of the man who killed my friend, but everything is hazy and unclear. An uneasy silence hums in my ears as I try to sleep. In the morning I walk to the kitchen, trying to act normal, but Amy’s memories are imbedded in the house. She is all that I can see. While the kettle is boiling, I open the fridge to make a cheese and onion sandwich. I can’t remember the last time that I ate.
‘So you finally woke up?’
I jerk, surprised. Richard is standing by the door, staring at me. I open my mouth to say something but he just doesn't look right. His clothes are dirty and his hair is in a mess, tangled and scruffy. He looks like he’s lost weight.
‘Richard, you scared me,’ I say, staring at his brown eyes. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in a while. ‘Are you OK?’
‘She wasn't supposed to die,’ he says, coming closer to me.
I breathe through my nose as the stench of stale alcohol hits me suddenly.
‘I know Richard and I’m so sorry.’
He stares at me with his eyes full of pain; I can see that he looks confused.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’
He ignores me.
‘You know it was supposed to be you,’ he whispers.
I freeze. My hands are shaking. The cold expression on his face scares me; he is grieving Amy's death but there’s something sinister in his look. His eyes are faraway, unreadable.
‘How do you know?’ I ask, swallowing hard. I step away slightly.
‘I know about the fancy party. You were supposed to die that night.’
He turns away from me, grabbing his hair and starts making whining, sobbing noises. Now I am certain that he needs help.
‘Calm down, Richard. Everything’s going to be OK,’ I say, but I am afraid to touch him.
‘What's going on here?’ says Carl as he enters the kitchen.
Richard looks at him; his face red and his eyes uneasy. I smile weakly, giving Carl a nod as he looks at both of us, confused.
‘Someone wants you dead and I mean it,’ states Richard.
He pushes past Carl and walks out of the kitchen, I breathe out, trying to digest what's happened to Richard. Carl stares at me.
‘Don't ask. I don't know what's got into him; he is grieving,’ I explain.
After a few seconds, Carl walks over to me and hugs me. It’s nice to know that someone cares about me. I hold Carl, taking in his cologne.
‘I’m glad that you are all right,’ he says. ‘I miss Amy and this house won't be the same without her.’
‘I know. How was Amy's mum?’ I ask.
‘All her family is devastated; her sisters can’t believe that she’s dead. They couldn’t stop crying when they came for Amy’s things and I just couldn't stay in the house. It hurt too much.’
I pat him on the shoulder and then make him a cup of tea. He fills me in on what’s happened while I’ve been in hospital. The police have been interviewing the whole neighbourhood and everyone at University is still in shock. He tells me that he couldn't face going to the funeral; he couldn’t bear to see the pain on everyone’s faces. Richard came back few days later when I was still in a coma. The police had questioned him too but he was released; apparently he had an alibi. I didn’t believe that Richard would kill her anyway. Besides, the killer was tall and Richard is shorter. As I walk back to my room, I think about Richard; how did he know that I was supposed to be dead, not Amy?
In the evening, I can't take the silence any longer; my phone is quiet and I think of calling Natasha, but I change my mind after thinking that if I hadn't discovered the adoption certificate, she would continue to pretend that she is the one who gave birth to me. I order a pizza, hoping that food will shift my miserable mood, but I can’t bring myself to eat. The exhaustion takes over and I fall asleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and switch on the light
. It is one in the morning; the exact time that Gabriel would materialise.
‘Gabriel,’ I whisper but no one answers. Feeling lost again, I close my eyes and I dream to forget.
17
I sleep, eat and cry until I don’t have any more tears. I haven’t thought about how I am going to get through the exams. I feel nothing but the pain inside me. I’m glad that I don't have to explain any more about what happened the night Amy died. People still stare at me but I’m too caught up in my sadness to even care. I spend most of my time in the library buried under books and papers in an attempt to study. I still can’t get used to the silence that haunts me.
The exams are in June, so I have a month to shake off the grief and start studying, but my mind keeps wandering off; I fight to concentrate but often fail to bring myself back to reality. The mornings are the worst; it is a struggle to get out of bed. Deep down, I want to give up, but when I think about the effort I made to get this far, it doesn't make sense to give up now.
Michael and Carl don't get involved with my life. They are often out and I feel as if they are avoiding me; maybe they are also convinced that Amy died because of me. We were never really close and they each have their own circle of friends. Natasha doesn't call. I suffer because I fell in love, and because I wanted to know the truth. She seems to have given up on me after being with me all these years. Suddenly, it dawns on me that I don't have anyone that I can talk to.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, it is midday and it’s sunny. My hair is greasy; I can’t remember when I last had a shower. If I don't start studying soon there won’t be any point in sitting the exams. I try to do some research about Sprites and changelings but there isn’t anything specific that I can find; just tales and brief legends. I’m not even sure what I am expecting to find. The Internet doesn’t give me any answers and I soon give up after going round in circles.
After a week of struggle and sleepless nights, I have had enough. I am desperate to see him again, even just one more time. And yet I am not sure how I’m going to achieve that. Amy was my best friend and Gabriel was my lover. Everything seems irrelevant at this point. The legends aren't real. Sprites have been around for centuries but no one ever knew that they existed. I am going over all the events that led me to fallen in love with Gabriel and all the emotions, and yet I still believe that it was all worth it.
I still have a massive scar on my stomach and I know that I would never want to go through that pain again, but it was my near death experience that led me to my ability. I feel that I lost a part of me the night Amy was killed. I still remember the blood and her still eyes; her soul left the body and she was just lying there, hopeless, unable to move. I know that there must be a way to bring back my ability again. I’m ready to do anything to get him back; I know that I won't find anyone else that I will love as much as I love Gabriel.
Later that day an idea pops into my head - the fortune-teller! I remember how Gabriel explained that anyone who can read minds or the future must have fairy blood in them. The person would have changeling ancestors from the blood line that was created centuries ago. Far in my memory, I manage to get back to the beginning of the year when I saw the gypsy woman in London; I can't believe that I didn’t think about this before. I vaguely remember her mentioning that I would lose something I valued the most. Her prediction was bizarre; I didn't believe her but she was right. All the memories from that day are somewhere in my mind, but everything is so hazy and unclear. Subconsciously, I know that I have to see her again; she might be the only person that can help me.
‘Hello, Ania?’ says Michael, walking into the kitchen. I jerk and his voice brings me back to reality.
‘Hi Michael, how are you?’ I ask, facing him. His smile fades away as he looks at me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, looking concerned. ‘You look rough. Is everything OK?’
I sigh, wondering if it's really that bad. I haven't seen daylight for a few days and I don’t remember the last time I looked in the mirror.
‘Yes, everything is fine. I’m just fed up,’ I answer honestly.
‘I have never seen you look…’ he pauses for a moment as he searches for the right word, ‘so lost.’
‘Thanks Michael but I’m fine,’ I assure him.
He leaves the kitchen but he looks unconvinced. I take my cup of tea and sandwich upstairs. After filling up my empty stomach, I walk to the bathroom. I don't recognise myself when I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look horrific; my hair is all over the place, I have been depressed and unable to bring back the life that I had before Amy’s death. I undress and jump in the shower, trying to wash the dirt and grief off my sunken body. It feels good as the steam and warm water touches my skin. After the shower, I am encouraged that there is still hope. I know that I have to get to London tonight. I dress quickly and within half an hour, I start the engine in my car and begin my journey to seek the answers I need to put things right.
A new energy fills me; a hope that Herne will find a way to bring Gabriel back. While driving, I think about the all the hotels near my college; staying with Natasha isn't an option and Gosia isn't in London, she had mentioned that she was away in Poland, working on her papers for few weeks. Natasha would love to have me back but I won't give her the satisfaction, going back home is out of the question. It wouldn't be right to show up after all that’s happened between us. In the end, I decide to stay in some cheap hotel; I can afford a room for one night.
All my actions are impulsive. I debate with myself on how I should handle the conversation with Herne. I can’t just walk in her shop and ask her about fairies. She will assume I am not taking her seriously but Herne might be my last hope. She must have some kind of power, some connection to my ability. The only problem is that I don't remember which part of London the shop was located in, as we got there purely by accident.
Around half past 9, I arrive at the hotel where Mum and I had once stayed when we first arrived in London eight years ago, not knowing anyone and with no place to live. The hotel looks exactly as I remembered; dated and spooky. The room is basic with a bed and a lamp. I don't have much money and I have to save what little I have to pay Herne. I have a vague idea of how to get to her shop but all I remember is jumping on a random train with Gosia; we used to do that a lot when we wanted to go shopping.
I use the Internet to look for any information, but there are millions of fortune-tellers around London and it's like searching for a needle in a haystack. After half an hour of hopeless searching, I drift off as the exhaustion and emotions of the long day take over my body. I wake early, still fully clothed and with the laptop on my lap. I never knew that I could sleep so comfortably in my jeans.
It's a bright early morning and I am feeling lucky. I remember that I need to eat; fortunately, breakfast was included in the price. I choose a full English. My last meal was a cheese sandwich that I forced myself to swallow. I’ve been skipping meals recently and the weight had fallen off me, making me look gaunt and unwell. An hour later, I check out and pack everything back into my car.
When I walk outside I notice the waiter who served me breakfast this morning. He is smoking, looking at the passing crowds of tourists. His looks tell me that he isn't British; he has a slender, heart-shaped face with very pointy high cheekbones and his light blond hair is cut very short. He has a typical Eastern European look. I hesitate for a moment but then walk up to him and ask him for a cigarette. I’ve never smoked but somehow I have to start a conversation. He seems happy to share it with me.
‘So, have you been working here long?’ I ask, trying not to inhale the nasty smoke.
‘Around seven years,’ he answers, revealing a strong Eastern European accent.
‘Well, that's pretty long,’ I observe.
He nods. ‘I got to pay the bills somehow.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Poland.’
I smile and cough; the smoke from the cigarette is tickling my throat unco
mfortably. I’m never smoking again.
‘My friend is Polish. I am originally from Russia,’ I answer, while my eyes are watering.
He looks surprised.
‘You don't look like from you are from Russia,’ he says, looking amused by my lack of experience with smoking.
I ask myself if it is so obvious that I don’t look Russian at all. I sigh.
‘OK, I thought that I was Russian all my life, but I am actually Welsh.’
'A couple of people from Wales work here,' he explains, pointing at the hotel. We talk a bit more, and I mention where I am going.
‘The only fortune-tellers I know are gypsies. There is one near where I live, but I wouldn't recommend going there. It's dangerous. Romanian travellers haven't got a great reputation,’ he says.
I wonder why I never thought about this before. In Moscow, I had often seen Romanian travellers on the streets, but I was never interested in their culture. Natasha always used to tell me to be careful around gypsies. He might not be exaggerating.
‘Where is that?’
‘You want to go there?’ he asks, looking surprised.
‘Yes, I need to get there.’
It takes me a while to convince him to give me the directions. I can picture myself walking through the familiar streets with Gosia, but I can’t be sure. Despite his reluctance, he gives me a clear idea where I need to go. I thank him and leave in a hurry, feeling the excitement that's building inside me.
When I reach my destination, I begin to understand what the Polish waiter was talking about; it's just one of those parts of London where you wouldn't want to get lost, but the strange looks don't discourage me. After twenty minutes of walking, I finally recognise the roads and shops, but I still feel like I am in a different part of the world and no longer in London. I manage to spot a couple of Romanian gypsies in the crowd and I follow them; after a further ten minutes walk I finally find myself standing in front of the shop. It’s weird to think that I was only here a few months ago; I never thought I would be back so soon. Everything looks exactly the same; the poster advertising the tarot reading is still on the door. The shop is open. Hesitating for a long moment, I decide to enter.