How I Found You (16 page)

Out of the Game

ON THURSDAY I AWOKE AT
sunrise. The morning had scarcely begun, but I could tell from the oppressive sky that it would be another grey day.

I had no interest in going back to sleep, so I crawled out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans and a butterscotch top. I sat down at my dressing table and inspected my reflection in the mirror. At this early hour the lighting was poor, so the left side of my face was shadowed with what looked like deep bruising. Even my eyes looked murky and dark—a sort of seaweed green. I pulled a brush through my hair and watched the strands settle on the cotton of my top.

One more day.

Staunchly, I stood up and made my way out of my room.

As I stepped onto the attic staircase, my heart leapt into my throat.

Oscar was sprawled across the bottom step, half sitting, half lying.

“You scared me,” I gasped. “What are you doing down there?”

He shrugged, and his auburn eyes met mine. “I don’t feel like sleeping. I’m more at ease when I can keep watch. You know, just in case.”

I tiptoed down the steps.

Oscar courteously rose to his feet. “Did you have another vision?” he asked, taking my hand.

“Yes,” I replied. “It was the same as the night before. You…” I paused. “Well,
Oliver
was there again.”

“Did he say anything?”

“He kept telling me to go back,” I relayed.

We stood in the hallway now, standing face to face and breathing quietly. Oscar was several inches taller than me, so I looked up to meet his eyes.

His expression was unreadable. “Go back?” he repeated.

“Yes, but I couldn’t move. It’s horrible. My body feels like rock. And then Lathiaus comes towards me… It’s the same every time.”

Oscar placed his hand on my shoulder and then idly trailed it along my arm. He opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something imperative, but he stopped himself.

“What is it?” I pressed.

A dashing smile shaped on his lips. “Chess?”

I laughed quietly. “Okay.”

As we crept downstairs, I studied Oscar’s footing. It was incredible. He moved with such effortless agility. Compared to his steps, my own seemed awkward and lumbering.

Oscar led the way into the conservatory, holding the door open for me to duck through.

I took a seat, watching the concentration on his face as he arranged the table-top chessboard. He was so careful and accurate, lining up the pieces without any room for error.

Once the board was efficiently in order, Oscar rubbed his hands together.

“Get ready to lose—again,” he teased.

I mimicked his self-righteous expression. “I don’t think so. This time, I’m playing to win.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffed. “Because the other times you’ve intended
to lose.”

“They were practice rounds,” I replied haughtily. “This time, I’m serious.”

He snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yes, we will.” Ha. Last word.

“Ladies first,” he said as he gestured complacently to the board.

I went for what was swiftly becoming my trademark first move. I pushed forward the centre pawn. Yep, well played.

Oscar clapped his hands once, then bent over the board. His fingers hovered, poised eagerly to make their move. I noticed that his foot had begun to tap in anticipation.

“Come on,” I muttered.

After a lengthy deliberation, he moved his first pawn. Although it appeared to be a tactical manoeuvre, I was ninety-nine per cent sure it was random.

We played a cut-throat game for a further twenty minutes before Oscar called a time out.

“No, no, no,” he sighed irritably. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?”

I inspected the board. “Nope. Am I winning?”

He groaned impatiently. “No. You’re losing. And you’re not paying attention.”

I yawned. The truth was, I’d stopped caring about nineteen minutes ago. The bold competitiveness had quickly fizzled out—as it usually did.

Oscar looked at me sternly. “You’re in check.”

“Oh. So, you’ve won?”

“No, not yet. Winning would be check
mate
. Check
means your king is in danger, remember?”

I yawned again. “Shall we just call it a draw?”

“No!” he exclaimed.

“Fine. You win.”

“No! I’m not winning by default. We have to finish the game.”

I rolled my eyes and made a half-hearted attempt to slide my king one space over.

My renewed participation pleased my opponent. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, carefully assessing every remaining piece on the board.

The conservatory door rattled open.

Oscar scarcely noticed. I, however, waved a greeting to my uncle, who ambled into the room dressed in his shirt-and-tie work clothes.

Roger propped his briefcase against my chair and peered down at the coffee table.

“Dear, oh dear!” he let out a good-natured chortle. “He’s got you, Rose. Oscar’s got you in checkmate. There’s no escape!”

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Can’t I move one space to the left?”

“No,” Roger shook his head solemnly. “I’m afraid it’s game over. You’re dead.” He used the word so blithely. Little did he know.

“Okay,” I relented without protest. “It was only a practice round.”

I glanced at Oscar. He sat rigid in his chair. The muscles in his jaw contracted and his eyes had darkened.

Roger gave me a commiserative pat on the shoulder. “Someone has to lose. That’s the game.”

With that, Oscar sprang up and snatched my king from the board. He stormed out through the side door, pacing into the garden.

Roger and I swapped a bemused look as the conservatory door gently swung shut. Oscar was already out of sight.

“My, my,” Roger uttered, “that was rather odd. He took your player off the board.”

I shrugged and smiled innocently.

Roger craned his neck to peer outside. “I’d call it poor sportsmanship, but he was just about to win! How curious.” My poor uncle was clearly baffled by the whole state of affairs. “What a peculiar young man.”

I grinned. “Yes, he is peculiar. Maybe the pressure got to him.”

“The pressure of winning?” Roger’s brow creased.

“Winning can be very stressful.”

“Quite,” Roger murmured. “Any rate,” he said, his voice brightening, “I’m off to the office. You have a nice day, dear.” He patted me on the head awkwardly and trundled away.

THE MOMENT I HEARD THE
front door close behind Roger, I hopped up from my seat and set off in search of Oscar. I trotted outside and scanned the meadow garden, speculating in which direction my playmate had gone. To my right was Mary’s flower patch, and straight ahead was the forest.

Taking a gamble, I headed for the forest.

“Don’t look for me,” Oscar’s voice called out, though I couldn’t tell from where. “I want to be alone.”

I whirled around. “Where are you?” I shouted.

No response came, so I continued walking towards the boundary of evergreens.

“Don’t go into the forest,” his voice came again.

I strained my eyes. Where was he?

“Is that where you are?” I asked. “The forest?”

Again he didn’t reply, so I continued forward.

When I reached the first tree, I tried again. “Are you in there?” I called, peering into the shadowed carnival of tree trunks.

“No.” His voice was much nearer now.

I laughed to myself. “Okay. I’m going into the forest. It’s up to you if you want to join me.”

“Emotional blackmail,” Oscar yelled.

I put my hands on my hips. “It’s not blackmail. I’m just updating you on my whereabouts. That’s what considerate people do,” I added.

“I don’t need updates, thank you. I can see you perfectly well.”

I looked up sharply. I could have sworn his voice had come from above me. But all I saw was a tangled web of leaves and branches blocking out the glimmer of daylight.

All of a sudden, an incredible thought occurred to me.

I sucked in my breath. “Are you… flying?”

“Of course I’m not flying!” Oscar snorted. He sighed loudly. “Take a step to the right.”

I took a generous sidestep.

There was a rustling in the tree tops and a few green leaves floated down to the ground. Then, high above me, I saw Oscar sitting on a sturdy branch. It bowed with his weight as he adjusted position.

I gawped at him. “How did you get up there?”

“I flew,” he remarked wryly.

Effortlessly, he slid from the branch and landed on the ground—on the exact spot where I had been standing only a few seconds earlier. The breeze stirred by his landing fluttered through my hair.

I stared at him, then up at the soaring branch, then back to him again.

“You can really…” What was the word I was searching for here? “Jump.”

“Technically it was more of a drop.”

I blinked at him.

He spun on his heel and marched off towards the garden.

I stared after him, astounded.

Oscar glanced briefly over his shoulder. “I’m storming off, now,” he told me. “Are you coming or not?”

“Oh. Right.” I shook off my starry-eyed wonder and skipped alongside him. “So, what was all that about?” I asked, struggling to keep in stride with him as we marched across the lawn.

“I took you off the table.”

“Um, yeah,” I said quietly. “I noticed.”

“It was a stupid thing to do.”

“I thought it was okay.”

He stopped in his tracks. “It was not okay. It was not okay at all.”

We stood on the spongy grass alongside Mary’s patch of garden. The dainty flowers grew in graceful sequence—with exception of the snapdragons, which seemed to have taken a battering.

“I know why you did it,” I told him softly.

Oscar bowed his head. “Caicus is right about me. I’m acting irrationally. I can’t just take people off the table.” He kicked the ground with the toe of his shoe.

“You can do whatever you want to do,” I disputed.

He stepped over to Mary’s roses and idly touched the silky red petals.

I stood behind him, inhaling the delicate scent of the flowers as it mingled with the familiar scent of him.

“Roses,” he noted, turning to face me.

I nodded my head, watching him curiously.

“Do you still like poppies?” he asked.

That took me by surprise. I racked my brain, but I was certain that we’d never discussed it.

“How do you know I like poppies?”

He offered me an ambiguous smirk. “So, you do?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what flower I like?” he coaxed.

“Roses,” I whispered, more impulsively than logically. It was as though I’d answered from my soul, rather than my consciousness.

He grinned and nodded his head. “Do you know why?”

“Because they have thorns,” I answered immediately. The inexplicable certainty and accuracy of my words staggered me beyond belief.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled in delight. He traced his fingers along the stem, stopping when he reached a sharp thorn. He allowed the thorn to prick his thumb, without even a flinch as it pierced the skin.

“You’re bleeding,” I murmured, watching a drip of ruby blood spill over his thumb.

He laughed ironically. “Does it bother you?”

“Blood?” I generalised. “Or your blood?”

“Blood.”

“No.”

“My blood,” he revised.

“Yes.”

He wiped his thumb on the rose petal. The ruddy colours blended together almost flawlessly.