Fractured

by Teri Terry

  But Katran comforting me, holding me: this must be made up by my unconscious mind. It couldn’t have been that way. But even as I reject this caring Katran, one I don’t know, and wonder if the rest of the dream must then be fiction, too, I know that it can’t be. It felt more real, more true, than anything ever has before.

  And there is something else, something hidden in that dream. It is so close I can almost reach out and brush it with my fingers, but still it dances away.

  Even as my fists clench, even as I want to scream in frustration at these gaps in my memory, there is a cold nugget of truth inside.

  I don’t want to know.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  * * *

  ‘Come.’

  Just one word in a low voice, that is all. The Lorder isn’t one I recognise; he walks ahead and doesn’t look back. He has no doubt that I will follow. I consider running for it, but what would be the point? I drop behind, just keeping him in sight through the crowd of students changing classes. Easy to do as they give him a wide berth: just follow the blank spot in a crowded hall.

  He opens an office door in the admin building, goes inside and leaves it ajar. I look quickly in all directions: even though Nico should be in science block, you never know. But there is no sign of him or anyone else I recognise.

  When I reach the door, it is unlike the others I pass on the way. There is no nameplate or number.

  I knock once and go in.

  The Lorder I’d followed stands at attention to one side of a desk. At the desk sits Coulson.

  ‘Sit,’ he says. There is only one chair, on this side of the small desk facing him: too close for comfort, but I sit. ‘Speak.’

  I swallow, throat suddenly dry. ‘Nice office,’ I say.

  He says nothing, but the chill in the room increases by enough of a factor for me to know I’m in trouble. The silence is brittle.

  The best guide to lying is to stick to the truth as much as possible. ‘There may be some plans, but I don’t know when, or the details.’

  He inclines his head slightly, his face blank, as always. Considering.

  ‘Not good enough,’ he says, finally. ‘What sort of plans?’

  My brain isn’t cooperating; it has gone cold with fear. What I should or shouldn’t say is an unprepared mystery, and the more his eyes rest on me, the more my brain stops working. Until I find Ben, until I warn him to hide where Coulson can’t find him, Coulson must think I’m sticking to our deal. He must. I have to tell him something.

  ‘There may be concerted attacks planned. But that is all I know. I don’t know where, or when.’ I say the words in a rush, then flinch inside. Nico is part of these plans. I can’t say anything to lead them to him or the others.

  He stares back. The clock on the wall behind me ticks loud, and seems too slow, like seconds are stretching beyond their usual limits. His eyes bore in, see the holes in what I say, the things I leave out.

  ‘There have been rumours of this. A few…confessions, that suggest similar. What else?’

  ‘That is all I know,’ I say, the words almost sticking in my throat.

  The bell for next class rings, and I jump.

  There is something in his eyes. He knows I’m holding back, that I haven’t told him everything.

  The blood drains from my face.

  He smiles, but it doesn’t make me feel better. ‘Go now. You can’t be late for maths.’

  I almost leap out of the chair and reach for the door. He even knows my next class?

  ‘Oh, Kyla?’

  I pause.

  ‘Consider yourself lucky today. I am not a patient man. The next time we speak, I want more. I want the whole story.

  ‘Go!’ he barks, and I bolt out the door.

  I dash down the hall, glad to be late, to have an excuse to run.

  In the door of my maths class I scan in, sit, get my notebook out. Pretend to listen to the teacher go on about statistics while my mind churns over probabilities of my own.

  It has only been two days. Coulson is impatient, now? Somehow he knows something. That I wasn’t where I was supposed to be yesterday afternoon. How? He has been watching, or someone is spying on me.

  We file in for Assembly that afternoon as we do every Friday, but this one is different. Coulson is there again with the Lorders, and this time I know I’m not imagining things. His eyes really are resting on my head, marking me out. Like a neon sign stamped on my forehead: See the Lorder Spy. I feel like a butterfly pinned in place under a lens, a hot lamp burning my wings.

  Can anyone else see how he watches? I glance about, then with a start spot Nico sitting with his tutor group, off to the left and several rows back. His eyes flit to mine and then away. Did Coulson see?

  Dangerous games.

  Face carefully blank, I focus on the Head as he goes on about school inspections. Inside, all is turmoil: those two, together, breathing the same air in the same room. Perhaps I could point them out to each other and let them get on with it.

  No. It isn’t fair to put them together in my mind like that. Lorders are evil: thinking about what happened to Tori in their hands turns my stomach. And to so many others, who go missing without explanation. Nico is right to want to put an end to them and their ways.

  Yet what Nico is to me…that is complicated.

  I should have told him. Right from the start, as soon as it happened, I should have told Nico about Coulson and his deal. Let Nico decide how to handle it, how to turn it back on them. The old Rain would have done.

  But I didn’t. I couldn’t risk Ben; or Cam either, for that matter. But that isn’t the Free UK way. They will rescue their own if they can without undue risk. Otherwise, all are expendable; we know this. It’s part of the deal. The safety of the group – the cause – is more important than any individual, in the group or outside it.

  I feel sick inside. It is too late to tell Nico about any of it; I’d be damned by the delay. He’d see I am divided. That I am weak.

  No matter what I do, it is wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  * * *

  Jazz winks and slips an envelope in my hand when we get home after school. I race up to my room, and shut the door. He made sure to do it when Amy wasn’t looking. What could it be? My hands are shaking so hard it takes longer than it should to open, and I almost rip it.

  Inside is a photograph. A runner: slightly out of focus, taken on a track from some distance. His hair, his build, the away look on his face as he runs.

  It’s Ben.

  Flipped over a few words are written faint in pencil: Is it him?

  I open the envelope again – nothing else, no instructions, no explanations.

  I bite my tongue, hard, to keep myself from a therapeutic scream. Not. Good. Enough. This can’t wait.

  The last time I saw him, Aiden said he’d be at Mac’s on Friday: today. Maybe he is still there? If he isn’t, maybe Mac knows where Ben is.

  Minutes later I’m cycling up the road.

  I knock on Mac’s front door. No one comes, yet I could have sworn I heard someone inside as I walked up to the house. I try it, but it is locked. I scramble over the high gate down the side of the house: a white telephone van is parked on the other side. Aiden’s? Then Skye bounds over and almost knocks me off my feet to lick my face.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ I ask her. She wags her tail.

  I bang on the back door. ‘It’s Kyla. Let me in!’ I yell. ‘I know you’re in there.’

  There are footsteps inside, the turn of a lock. The door opens: Aiden.

  I pull the photo of Ben out of my pocket, and hold it up. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Come in.’ Aiden takes my hand, pulls me inside Mac’s kitchen. ‘Sorry I didn’t answer the door; didn’t know it was you. Mac is ou
t and I shouldn’t be here. Skye doesn’t make much of a guard dog, does she?’

  ‘No.’ She leans on my legs so much she almost knocks me over again, tail thumping madly.

  ‘I was just about to make some tea.’ He gets an extra cup out, holds it up. I nod and he puts the kettle on, then turns and leans on the worktop. ‘So. I’m guessing by your appearance that you think that photo is Ben.’

  ‘Yes. It’s him.’

  ‘Careful, now. Are you sure? It isn’t just that you hope it to be so, so you see it? Look again.’

  I take out the photograph. Study it, but it is him. Even in the way he holds himself as he runs.

  ‘I’m sure,’ I say. ‘Where is he? When can I see him?’

  ‘Not so fast. It may be…complicated.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He hesitates. ‘He’s going to a boarding school. The surrounding area is infested.’

  ‘Infested? By what?’

  ‘Lorders.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know why. But there is a high presence of Lorders in the village where the school is located. We’re looking into it.’

  ‘I need to see him.’

  ‘You need to wait.’

  ‘No. Tell me where he is.’

  ‘Kyla, until we work out what is going on there, it is far too risky. Have some patience.’

  I stare back at Aiden. He is being reasonable, and cautious, but he doesn’t know the stakes.

  ‘If you won’t help me, I’ll find him myself.’

  ‘Really?’ He raises an eyebrow, sceptical.

  ‘Yes. You said a running track, twenty miles away. I’ve done a search. There are exactly nine possibilities. I’ve already been to three of them.’ I’m exaggerating, but I would have been the day we went cycling if Lorders hadn’t interrupted. But I can do it.

  His eyes widen. ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You’re one crazy girl,’ he says, but there, in his eyes: grudging respect. Maybe he’s impressed, even. And I start to believe I can convince him.

  ‘I’ll do it with or without you. So, are you going to help me, or what?’

  He hesitates, thinking, and I manage to keep quiet and leave him to it. Staring steadily back at his blue eyes. Hoping and hoping, so hard. For all that I said, it is a bit needle-haystack, and he and I both know it. I could have missed a track on the maps; the track might be new and not even on a map. I could go to the right place and not know it if he isn’t there. I could get caught trying.

  ‘It would be better to wait,’ he says, at last. ‘Until we have more information.’

  ‘But...?’

  ‘I’m as crazy as you are.’ He grins.

  I launch myself at him for a hug. ‘Thanks, Aiden! When?’

  ‘How about Sunday? It may be dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘I do. You have to promise to do what I say on the day, Kyla, and mean it. Or it’s off.’

  I stare back at him, hesitant to make a promise I may find hard to keep. Yet he is taking risks here, too. ‘I promise.’

  Aiden holds out the photo. ‘This was taken last Sunday: training at the village track. So we can hope he’ll be there same time and place again. You can at least confirm if it is him. What do you think?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I say again, and Aiden tells me where he’ll pick me up, what time, and I note the details but all the while I’m staring at Ben’s photograph in my hands.

  It is him. I don’t know how or why he survived being hauled off by Lorders. But it really is my Ben.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  * * *

  The next morning I wait, nervous, in Dr Lysander’s waiting room. There are so many things I have to try to hide from her now. I try to remember what it feels like to just be Kyla, before the memories, but it is slipping away. She mustn’t notice how different I am, how changed: if she orders scans, I’m in big trouble.

  Once again there is a Lorder standing guard outside Dr Lysander’s door. A nurse comes out of the office next to it, her face one I don’t recognise. I store her up, some part of my brain busy collecting people who work in the hospital to draw for Nico. That is when it hits me: what about Lorder faces?

  I force myself to study the guard. It is uncomfortable, trying to overcome the automatic urge to look away, to avoid eye contact, and stay out of notice. Apart from Coulson whose face is ingrained on my memory, and those ones when Cam and I were taken in, I can’t say I know what many Lorders look like, exactly. Men and women, they all dress the same: identical grey suits most of the time. Or in black operations gear like this one has on now while on guard duty, with a black vest over top, a weapon at his hip. The vests are bulletproof, Nico says. And the way they stand and carry themselves says stay out of our way. Faces generally expressionless; hair either short or tied back. Nothing to distinguish them as individuals. If you came by him on his day off in blue jeans, would he look the same as everybody else?

  He is young, and I’m surprised. Why? I suppose the whole uniform and stance of authority makes me assume older. His face is blank, staring straight ahead, not noticing any lesser beings like myself around him. But he looks no older than Mac or Aiden, early twenties or so. Average height and build. Thin tapering fingers like a musician, not for holding guns. I shake myself internally: stop being so fanciful. Hazel eyes, short light brown hair. Average features in an average face that would be hard to distinguish in a drawing, but I store it up so I can reproduce it later, and—

  He rolls his eyes. Shifts and turns a little, face still blank.

  I nearly fall off my chair.

  Dr Lysander appears in her door. ‘Kyla? You can come in now.’

  Saved. I scurry past him and through the door.

  Dr Lysander smiles; so she is in a good mood.

  ‘Good morning, Kyla. What is on your mind today?’

  ‘Are Lorders human?’ I cringe after I say it: I was so busy studying her Lorder guard, I hadn’t prepared what to say.

  ‘What?’ She laughs. ‘Oh, Kyla, I do enjoy our talks. Of course they are.’

  ‘Well, I know they’re human. That isn’t what I meant, exactly.’

  ‘Please explain.’

  ‘Are they ordinary: do they have pets, hobbies. Do they play musical instruments or go to dinner parties. Or do they just march about scowling all the time?’

  She half smiles. ‘I expect they have lives beyond those that we see. But now that you mention it, I’ve never had one over for dinner, unless you count the one guarding the door.’

  ‘You get guarded having dinner?’

  ‘I get guarded most places these days. But this isn’t about me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t get guarded. I get ignored, and scowled at.’ Kidnapped, and offered impossible deals. I stuff the thought down before it can show on my face, but she doesn’t seem to notice, and turns to her screen. Taps at it a moment, then looks up.

  Watching me very carefully. ‘Have you had any more memories? Or dreams you thought were real.’

  ‘I might have done.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  It is impossible to lie to her, and even if I could, I shouldn’t. She has to believe me or she might want to do scans. ‘I dreamt I was having a nightmare. And...’ I hesitate.

  ‘Yes, Kyla?’

  ‘A boy was holding me when I woke up. But I didn’t wake up. It was part of the dream.’ I can feel my cheeks burning.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Amused. ‘That sort of dream element is a pretty common fabrication at your age.’

  Even though it makes sense to leave it at that, I can feel myself bristling inside. It is a real memory. As much as I’d rather it wasn’t Kat
ran, somehow, I know: it happened.

  She looks at the screen again.

  ‘Are things all right at home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really?’ She turns and I’m pinned under her eyes again.

  She’s heard something. There is a pang inside: Mum. Must be, she must be giving reports. It really is her. Dad hasn’t been home, and who else could it be?

  What can I tell her?

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I think Mum and Dad aren’t getting along that well.’

  ‘I see. Are you troubled by this?’

  ‘No. I don’t mind him being away more.’

  She tilts her head. Thinking position. ‘It is a requirement of your contract that you have two parents, to guide your transition to home and community.’

  My eyes open wide in alarm. ‘I do, just not as often!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kyla. As long as things are stable at home for you and your sister, I feel there is no need to report that at this time.’ She glances at the clock. ‘Time is about gone. Is there anything else you wish to talk about?’

  And her eyes are pinning into me again. There are so many things that want to spill out when she looks at me like that. I manage to shake my head no, and get up. Head for the door.

  ‘Oh, Kyla?’ I turn. ‘We will talk about whatever is on your mind the next time,’ she says.

  I scurry out, escape made good.

  The Lorder is still at her door. Standing at attention and staring straight ahead. I can’t help myself glancing back at him before leaving.

  He winks.

  I just about trip over my feet.

  Well! I’m pretty sure winking at a Slated could get him into trouble.

  ‘Your dad called last night,’ Mum says, one eye on the road home and one on me. London traffic this close to the hospital is, as usual, so slow it doesn’t need much attention.