Blood Entwines (10 page)

‘Well?' Kara demanded in a friendly tone.

‘Fine.' Hannah nodded her head once before turning for the door.

Kara sighed, this was not going to be easy.

***

His fingers drummed on the seat of the motorbike, his left foot tapping the tarmac. He was nervous. The memory from yesterday, the proximity of the girl, the burning heat in his veins
.

He was prepared for it now
.

He would not let her get away
.

They walked in silence. Kara was struggling to engage Hannah in conversation. What had she been thinking, inviting this relative stranger home with her? She barely even knew the girl.

There were two subjects neither of them wanted to talk about, school and the strange abilities they both possessed. Taking these two topics out of the conversation toolbox, didn't really leave much else to chat about.

Kara distracted herself by testing her heightened senses. She could smell fresh-cut holly, compost in someone's back garden and mouldy rubbish bins. That smell was particularly unpleasant. She wrinkled her nose.

The sound of Hannah's footsteps beside her set a comfortable rhythm,
da dum, da dum, da dum
, like heartbeats. The sound stopped and Kara looked at her companion. The girl was stock still, as if paralysed mid-stride. Her face had drained of all colour, her grey eyes exaggerated with fear.

‘Hannah, what is it?'

‘It's here.'

‘What?' asked Kara. ‘What's here?'

‘I don't know. But I saw inside its head, its decision. Death. I saw death.'

The fear emanating from Hannah was almost palpable. Kara put her hand on the girl's shoulder and tried to move her forward. She scanned the street in a panic.

‘Come on, Hannah. There's nothing here – nobody's about.'

The smell of rotting garbage was getting worse. Kara felt her stomach churn.

‘Come on,' she said again, trying to stay calm. Befriending Hannah had been a mistake. ‘Let's just get back to mine and I can get my stepmum to take you home.'

If it wasn't for the wind that blew his duffel coat open at that precise moment, Kara would never have seen him. The pungent smell of rot floated on the breeze to her sensitive nose. She gagged for a clean breath of air.

‘It's him,' hissed Hannah as she backed away to the imperfect cover of someone's high garden wall, pulling Kara with her.

Kara could sense the danger, could feel it pulsing from the man across the road. ‘Who is he?' she whispered.

Hannah's fingers had clenched in a claw-like grip on Kara's arm. She shook her head a few times. ‘He can hear you.'

‘He's halfway across the street,' said Kara, extracting her arm from Hannah's pinching fingers.

The fading light of the winter evening acted as a screen, shading him from view. He leaned nonchalantly against a clapped-out motorbike, held together with rust. All she could see were his face and two hands, hanging limply by his side. A shaggy mane of hair fell around his features, complemented by a thick unkempt beard. The only vestige of skin on view was his nose and cheeks. He watched them both.

His bearded mouth moved and the words carried on the wind, ‘I see you, Watcher.'

Hannah whimpered behind her.

‘What's he talking about?' asked Kara.

The man flexed his hands, as if readying himself. He pushed away from his bike and stood up, about to close the distance between them.

Kara had no idea what to do. Should they run? Somehow she knew that was pointless as he could cover the distance in a few short, even strides, and she doubted very much that Hannah would be in any fit state to move quickly. Should she scream? Who would hear her? The street was deserted. Maybe they should run into the garden of the house behind her. But, again, Hannah was frozen rigid, and what were the odds of someone actually being home? She couldn't turn round to see which house had lights on, as then he would know her intent.

He was out from under the trees, moving slowly towards them.

She made a split second decision and hoped that Hannah would have the good sense to act upon it. Pushing Hannah roughly, she heard the slap of her body as it made contact with the bricks of the garden wall.

For once Kara was glad she had weird, excessive strength flooding her muscles. She should be able to take this guy. She stepped off the footpath and moved towards the man. He stopped in his tracks and eyed her. She was hoping that Hannah would run, get help, while she distracted this creep.

He moved towards her stealthily. She could see his eyes now, blue like an angry sea. He advanced another step and the smell almost overpowered Kara. She spread her weight evenly and lowered her centre of gravity.

Her body tingled with energy; she could feel it coursing in her veins. Her lungs pumped oxygen into her cells, and her skin felt warm. She was hungry with anticipation, wanting to lash out, to strike something. She half wished that he would lunge for her so she could kick the crap out of him.
No
, she coached herself, the voice of sanity taking charge. This man is probably high on drugs, dangerous – avoid all confrontation. And what about Hannah? Kara would have to be polite but firm, defuse any potential aggression.

The man clicked his tongue, as if summoning a pet. When he spoke, his voice was fluid and soft, almost throwing Kara off balance.

‘You have something that belongs to me.'

The words sounded clearly, but Kara knew that they had been uttered in no more than a whisper. She shifted her weight as he circled round her, keeping him in her sight at all times.

‘I have nothing belonging to you.' She threw the words at him with a hiss of challenge in her voice. Whatever happened to non-confrontational?

Kara kept her eyes trained on him. How dangerous was he? In the shifting evening light she saw the flash of metal, just the barest glint of cold steel. He had a knife secreted up the sleeve of his duffle coat.

He cocked his head and appraised her. ‘You're just a girl.'

‘And you're just a hobo badly in need of a shower,' she said, fear beginning to worm its way through her body. She needed to distract him so Hannah would have time to move.

He stopped in his tracks a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose I am. I've been looking for you for some time.'

He was two strides away from her now and she could see he wasn't as old as she'd first thought. He was perhaps mid-twenties – she couldn't tell for sure.

He stepped closer to her. Kara's sense of balance went awry and she stumbled automatically towards him. The pressure in her body was instantaneous. The blood in her veins pushed against her insides, battering to get out. Her heart constricted in her chest and then began to pump furiously. There was so much pain. The man in front of her had his hands raised, gasping for breath. He seemed in equal discomfort.

I'm going to pass out,
she thought.

They blundered towards each other, arms grappling. One second, Kara was struggling to stand up. The next she attempted to pull her assailant to the ground. The need to lean towards him coupled with the desire to get far away writhed inside her. It was as if the earth swayed, its balance lost in the movement of tectonic plates.

He was stronger, managing to push her away, his breathing laboured. In one deft movement he drew the knife, its blade curved cruelly. He was going to plunge it into her skin, pierce her with it. And, from the feverish look in his eyes, he would enjoy doing it.

Kara remembered the news report from earlier that week; a man found dead in a parking lot. Then there were missing students from the university campus, and last month a child unaccounted for over in Ridgeway. Maybe this was the reason: this man was a psycho killer.

Kara needed to sit down, her brain whirling with panic. She had to get away from him.

Then the beautiful sound of wood
whooshing
through air towards his head. Hannah, brandishing a timber plank, had bashed him from behind. Instantaneously Kara felt the pressure on her chest lessen, the rush of her blood slow down, the tightness on her skin abate.

‘Come on!' Hannah grabbed her arm, flinging the piece of timber over a nearby wall.

Kara glanced behind. The man's body lay slumped in the roadway, his face planted into the dirt. ‘You killed him?'

‘Don't be stupid. I just knocked him out.'

They jogged as fast as they could down the street. ‘It didn't sound like it.'

‘It takes more than that to kill
him
.'

‘You know him?'

They rounded the corner, and Hannah slowed down to a walk. ‘Of course not.'

‘Well, he seemed to know you. What's going on, Hannah?' Kara stopped at the junction of her street, her arms crossed over her chest.

‘Nothing.'

‘Bull. There is something you're not telling me.'

Hannah glanced over her shoulder. ‘Can we discuss this somewhere else? Somewhere that is not out in the open in the almost dark.'

‘Fine.' Kara rooted for her keys, muttering to herself as she marched down her street. She walked quickly towards her house, up the footpath, her hand shaking as she went to unlock the door. She flicked on the hall light. Rosemary was still at work. The house was eerily quiet.

‘Spill it.' Kara dropped her bag, leading the way through to the kitchen.

Hannah looked around her, taking in the detail of the room.

‘Come on, Hannah. I know you are not telling me something.'

‘You don't know anything.' The other girl looked coolly at her, her grey eyes calculating. ‘I should never have let you sit at that table.'

‘This has nothing to do with us sitting together at school. He called you Watcher. What does that mean?'

‘I don't know. I've never seen him in person before.'

‘In person?'

Hannah folded her arms, her lips pressed together.

‘I thought we were friends?' Kara's voice held a hint of reproach.

‘Friends? You barely know me. You think after ignoring me for two years that suddenly sitting next to me in English class makes us friends?'

‘No,' began Kara, her voice high pitched.

‘I'm the last resort for you.' Hannah was angry now, her hands moving in wide exaggerated gestures. ‘
You
need something and you think you can use me to get it. I can't afford any trouble, not now, so close to the end. I don't want to get involved.'

‘But –'

‘Forget it. I made a mistake.' Hannah turned to leave the room.

‘Wait! Where are you going? It's getting dark – you can't just leave.'

‘I'll be fine. I can look after myself.' Hannah walked down the hallway, banging the front door closed behind her.

Kara was alone, the echo of the door ominous, like the shutting of a prison cell.

Hannah eased the front door of her house closed behind her. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. It had taken her ages to catch a bus.

She closed her eyes briefly, resting the back of her head against the cool timber of the door. She'd made it in one piece. Every noise, every dark shadow, had been cause for concern. Instead of her usual measured pace, she had stumbled her way from the bus stop, head up, her eyes scanning gardens, behind parked car, the shifts in the shadows.

She was really late.

The faint sound of the evening news came from the sitting room. Her parents were watching TV. She wanted to go and sit with them, to watch in companionable silence the stories of the day, turning off all other thoughts, all images of the man by the tree, the man from her dreams.

She knew there was no escaping the inevitable. She would have to show her face. Lowering her gaze so her brown hair covered a good portion of her face, she pushed open the sitting-room door.

‘Hi,' she said quietly to nobody in particular.

Her mother was sitting on the old brown couch in the corner, the
clink clink
of her knitting needles filling the space. A long length of something cream and baubled cascaded from her lap.

Her mother's face was slightly pinched, her lips forming a straight line, her hair scraped back into an old-fashioned bun, making her look at least ten years older than she actually was.

Her dad was on the big chair in front of the TV, his chin nodding repeatedly on to his chest, his socked feet resting on the footstool in front of him. Marked exam papers lay all over the floor, remnants of his day teaching the ins and outs of theorems and geometry.

Her mother did not stop in her rapid knit one, purl one. ‘You're late.'

‘Yes.' Hannah kept her gaze levelled at the mushroom-coloured carpet.

‘And?' asked her mother.

‘Sorry. I was at a friend's house,' replied Hannah.

Her mother's eyebrow shot up a half centimetre. This was the only alteration in her demeanour.

‘A friend?'

The doubt in her voice was obvious.

‘Yes. A girl called Kara. We've been partnered to do an English project together. Her mother, Mrs Bailey, drove me home.'

Hannah rationalised that if she name dropped as much as possible giving proper substance to these people, her mother would hopefully believe her. It's not like she had ever mentioned any friends before. So this was pretty new territory for them both.

‘Are they God-fearing people?'

Her mother's question was pretty standard when a new name was mentioned in the family. At any stage her father could be talking about some poor kid at school and her mother would pipe up with that question.

Hannah often wondered what would happen if she answered ‘No', but she was in no position to be cheeky, no position to draw attention to herself, and she didn't want to either. She kept her head lowered and nodded once for good measure.

‘Have you eaten?'

Her mother made moves to raise herself from her chair, which was the last thing Hannah wanted.

‘Yes,' she said, a little too quick and a little too forceful.

She could feel her mother's scrutinising stare.

‘Yes, thank you. I've eaten. I'm just going to go and finish my homework, if that's all right. I have a lot of maths to do.'

‘Yes.' Her mother settled back into the couch, her needles jumping together at ferocious speed. ‘Make sure to take your medication.'

‘I will.' Hannah slowly made her way towards the hall.

She didn't like moving too fast when she was around her parents; she didn't like being too loud, too quiet, too energetic, too happy, too sad. The more of an even keel she kept things, the more her parents would believe that she was taking her meds.

And, above all, this was her priority. To make them think that she was normal was her goal until she turned eighteen. In a court of law, once she was eighteen, nobody, not even Dr Valerie Morris, could tell her what to do.

Hannah had scrutinised the legal texts at the local library on several occasions. She knew the legislation inside out. She was just too young to manipulate it for her own needs.

She eased the door closed behind her as she moved calmly into the kitchen, got down a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water and reached for a large bottle of white tablets that lived on the sideboard, next to the microwave. She took out one tablet, looked at it solemnly for a moment and put it into her mouth.

She swallowed two gulps of water and rinsed the glass in the sink before making her way slowly towards the stairs. As she passed the living-room door, she noticed it was slightly ajar, not as she had left it. She kept her pace even until she was in the safety of her room.

She sat in her study chair, pulled books out of her bag and laid them carefully on the desk. She picked up her paper weight. It was made from blue glass. Her dad had brought it back with him from one of his numerous school trips. She couldn't remember from where.

Hannah listened intently to the sounds coming from downstairs. Shifting slightly in her seat, she leaned over to open the casement window that was right beside her desk. The white window sill was dust free and clean. She ran her hand gently over its smooth finish. The smell of the night air invaded her room.

She opened her mouth, rolling her tongue around and spat out the remains of the white tablet into the palm of her hand. It was shiny with spit and perfectly preserved. Not for the first time, and surely not for the last, she said a silent thank you to Bunny for showing her how to hide her meds under her tongue, making it look as if she was swallowing them.

She placed a page of history notes on her desk and, taking up the heavy paperweight, she began to grind down the slightly moist tablet, crushing it into a fine powder. It was one of the few pleasures of her day, in the evening, and sometimes in the morning if she was on double meds, to grind away the evidence of her supposed illness.

She found it therapeutic. She wondered how Dr Morris would interpret that feeling. Hannah leaned over towards the window, the piece of paper fluttering, caught by the gentle wind. Tipping it upside down, she watched the powder blow delicately away on the evening wind.

There was a load of homework that needed finishing. Study was difficult, especially when it was necessary to keep her top mark average. Opening her maths book, she stared at the typed words, relaxing her mind, letting it wander.

Anyone looking at her would think her the model daughter; passive, obedient and sane. That's what her parents wanted for her, that's what Dr Morris lied and said she wanted for her. None of them acknowledged her difference, none of them, in the long line of people in front of whom she had been paraded, who had poked and prodded her, trying to decide if she was schizophrenic, psychotic, neurotic, ADD, autistic – the list was never-ending – had ever treated her like an individual. No one, except Kara Bailey.

Don't think of her
.

As a child, when Hannah had said she could see into people's heads, that she could see people's choices, her parents had looked apologetic at the doctors, guilty almost. At home they had prayed for hours on their knees for God to save their child, their little miracle, their adopted daughter.

After all their trying for years to conceive, they finally made the selfless decision to give an orphan a home. Hannah would have never known if it wasn't for Dr Morris. It was a weapon at first, a weapon of words that she used against Hannah, goading her with it, taunting her. At first Hannah didn't believe her, then, over time, the truth began to make sense, began to fit around things in a comfortable way.

So she wasn't really their biological daughter, but her parents loved her. But the day she fell down the stairs, that day had changed her forever. Her parents thought they needed to cast the devil from her.

Dr Morris had been highly recommended by someone from the church group.

‘For her own good,' they had convinced themselves.

Sighing, Hannah got up from her desk and rolled on to the bed. Changing her clothes would require too much energy. Instead she pulled the duvet up and snuggled under its heavy weight.

She needed to think.

The man from her dreams, the one who was surrounded by death, had been across the road and had spoken to her, knew what she was.

There was a tight pain radiating from the bridge of her nose. She wondered if she was getting a migraine. Her body, exhausted after the fright earlier on, betrayed her by drifting off to sleep.