A Dark Inheritance

by Chris D'Lacey

  “Hel-lo?” Rafferty flipped her fingers, making a dolphin mobile spin. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost — oh, sorry, you have.”

  Hilarious. Now I knew where Freya had gotten her wit. “Tell me about that night.”

  “I’m not ready,” she tutted, picking at her fingers. “I don’t want to leave here yet.”

  “Leave? I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said, resettling her shoulders. “You’re a visitor here. That means you can return any time you like. But when this is done, I have to leave.” She rested her hand on a pair of white jeans and a college sweater, the only two items of neatly folded clothing in the entire room. “Mom’s done the laundry again,” she said. “Every week without fail. So sweet. And look, she’s bought me a brand-new sketchbook.” She moved her hand over a spiral-bound notebook so like Freya’s I thought it was the same one. “He took it,” she said. A dark tone filled her voice. On the landing, I thought I saw a lightbulb flicker.

  “Who?” I pressed. “Who took your book?” I remembered Candy mentioning this in the message she wrote on the newspaper article, Rafferty’s notebook disappearing. “Someone followed you home after your piano lesson, didn’t they? A black car. Who was driving it?”

  She sighed and thumped her head back against the wall.

  “I need to know, Rafferty. They tried to kill me, too. My mom’s so wired she won’t let me out on my own any —”

  “He wasn’t trying to kill me. He just wanted the pictures.”

  “Pictures — in your notebook?”

  She nodded.

  “Who was he?”

  “I don’t know his name. He wasn’t nasty, just pushy. He followed me out of the Holton police station and offered to take me home. I said no.”

  “What were you doing in the police station?”

  She looked out the window at the lightning-filled sky. “Telling them — what I’d seen on the headland. They didn’t believe me; maybe he did.”

  “What did you see?”

  She closed her mouth tightly, biting her lip. “Look in Freya’s book. I showed her, Michael. I made her remember. I made her draw it. Freya knows.”

  “But the only things she draws in her book are — Hang on, you saw a dragon? On Berry Head?”

  I didn’t know whether to fall over laughing or order my sword and shield right then, but she wasn’t going to help me out either way. She sat up smartly, as if she’d heard a doorbell that only spirits could detect. “Liam’s here. It’s time. You need to go back.”

  “Time for what? And why’d you call him Liam?”

  “Because he’s my stepdad, not my dad.”

  I heard the sound of tires pressing through the rain as a car maneuvered on the road outside. The engine died, almost taking me with it. For half a second, the car’s lights had flooded the window.

  They had colored the glass a weak shade of blue.

  “Go back,” said Rafferty, more urgently now.

  My head was spinning. “Why, what’s going to happen?”

  “I hate that man, for what he did to me. For taking me away from Mom, from all this. If I tell you everything, they won’t believe you either. It has to be this way. I’ve worked it all out. I have to bring everything into the open. Show, not tell. Isn’t that what they teach us?”

  “Rafferty, stop babbling. Just tell me what you know. Did Liam have something to do with the accident? And what exactly did you make Freya draw?”

  “I promise I won’t hurt her — not much, anyway. Thank you, Michael, for bringing her to me. I know you like her. But it has to be like this.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to the center of her chest.

  “No!” I shouted as I realized what she was doing. I immediately pictured the UNICORNE symbol. With a rush, I slammed back into my body. The jolt was so strong I dropped my phone. It skidded down the polished floor of the hall and was batted aside as the house door opened. A tall, lightly bearded man stepped in, carrying a doctor’s bag.

  “Who on earth are you?” he said. “And what the devil are you doing on my stairs?”

  There was a scream from the living room. Somehow, Liam surged in ahead of me and was already kneeling down, tending to Freya, when I skidded up to Aileen’s side. “What happened?”

  “She fell off the piano stool, clutching her chest.”

  Freya was on her back on the floor, breathing as if she’d swallowed a baby’s rattle.

  “Get the dog out of here,” Liam said, pulling a stethoscope out of his bag. He fixed it to his ears and opened Freya’s blouse. “Has she taken anything or —?” He stopped speaking when he saw her operation scar.

  I grabbed hold of Trace. “She has tablets for her heart, but I don’t know what they are.”

  “Her heart?” said Aileen. She looked as though she was going to faint.

  “She needs to go to a hospital, now,” Liam muttered. He stuffed the stethoscope into his bag and slid his hands under Freya’s back. “Aileen, get on the phone to Holton General and tell them to prepare for a cardiac arrest. There’s no time for an ambulance. I’m driving her in.”

  Aileen put both hands across her mouth. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

  Liam rose up with Freya in his arms. “For God’s sake, woman, get a grip. Turn this mawkish music off and call the hospital. Now.”

  “You’re not going anywhere with her,” I threatened, holding Trace like an attack dog.

  Liam looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What is wrong with you two? This girl is going to die if she isn’t treated quickly. Now put the dog in the kitchen and bring my bag to the car. I’m going to need you to sit with her while I drive. Hurry, boy. Move.”

  His car was white, an Audi perhaps. Nothing like the one that had hit me on the road. The moment his lights punched holes in the rain, I asked him if they were xenon beams. No, he replied, irritated at being made to think about it. He told me they were a longer-lasting type of bulb that could be mistaken for xenon lamps because they burned with a slight blue flare. They were well within legal limits. Any more ridiculous questions? I was desperate to ask if he remembered Dad, but this wasn’t the time. I shook my head. Then let’s get this child to the hospital, he said. And though I couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t been involved in Rafferty’s death, from that moment on, he became Dr. Nolan in my mind, not Liam.

  He drove fast, like an ambulance would, spraying water out of puddles and running red lights. He had a canister of oxygen in the car. There was a mask attached, which I held to Freya’s nose and mouth all the way. “Just breathe,” I kept whispering. “Breathe. Just breathe.” I put my arm around her, hoping it wouldn’t be the final time. She felt no heavier than a bundle of rags. I would have gladly given her my own heart then. Anything to save her fading life.

  The car swept onto the forecourt of Holton General Hospital, where a medical team was waiting with a gurney. They wouldn’t let me stay with Freya but said I could sit in the lobby if I wanted to. Dr. Nolan offered to drive me home, but I refused to leave the hospital until I knew Freya was going to be all right. He patted my shoulder and went to speak with some of the medical staff. Within minutes, a nurse appeared with Freya’s cell phone. She crouched beside me and asked if I knew the name of Freya’s father. She pointed to a contact labeled DADDY. Daddy. It almost made me cry. I shook my head, and the nurse said not to worry, and had I called my parents to let them know where I was? I thanked her and phoned Mom right away. She was surprisingly calm and told me to stay put until she got there. While I was waiting, Chantelle slid into the chair beside me.

  “What do you want?” I hissed. The last thing I needed now was UNICORNE messing up my life even further.

  “I was watching the house and followed you to the hospital. What happened to Freya?”

  “Rafferty tried to stop her heart.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. Some sort of weird revenge plan.
It’s Klimt’s fault for making me take Freya there.”

  “I will call him.”

  “Yeah, tell him I’m back — and I’m looking for him.”

  She stared at me hard.

  I pulled down my sock to reveal the tattoo. “This isn’t just a tracking device, is it? He planted something in me that makes me shift when he plays a signal on a cell phone.”

  “Cover yourself,” she said, wary of the gaze of a passing orderly. “I know nothing about this.”

  “Bull!”

  “Such manners, Michael. Your mother would be so impressed.”

  “Mom’s gonna be here any minute. If you don’t disappear right now, I’ll make sure she sees this and knows exactly why it’s there.” I let my sock snap back. “Take Klimt a message. If Freya dies, I’ll hold him responsible.”

  She stood up slowly, looking about eight feet tall in the jeans she was wearing. “Big words for a small boy, Michael. Do not do anything foolish. Trust me, you need me more than ever now.”

  She walked away without looking back. Barely a minute later, Mom burst through the hospital doors.

  She swept through the lobby with her coat flying open and dropped into the seat Chantelle had vacated. She gripped my hand. “Is there any news?”

  I rested my head on her rain-sodden shoulder.

  “You did the right thing, coming to the hospital with her,” she said. “We’ll stay as long as we need to.”

  For half an hour, we drank tasteless coffee from a vending machine. We stared at the sunshine yellow walls and watched cars sluicing in and out of the parking lot. Shortly, Freya’s father arrived. He was an ordinary-looking man, with his daughter’s dark hair. We introduced ourselves but said very little. He looked shocked and confused, like a man who’d walked onto a film set by mistake. They drew him away, down an endlessly long corridor. We didn’t see him again before we left.

  I was already losing track of time when a doctor dressed in scrubs with a face mask loose around his neck came to speak to us. Dr. Nolan was with him. Mom gripped my hand. This didn’t look good.

  The hospital doctor said, “Freya’s stable but in a critical condition. She’ll be here for a while and we may have to operate. As you’re not directly related, I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than that. I suggest you go home. Call tomorrow. We’ll have more news then.”

  “Thank you,” Mom said.

  “Will she live?” I asked. I couldn’t stop a tear rolling down my cheek.

  Dr. Nolan stepped forward and encouraged me to stand. “She’s in the best possible hands, Michael. Can I give you both a lift home?”

  “Thank you, but my car’s outside,” Mom said.

  He nodded kindly. “Then allow me to escort you both to the parking lot.”

  Mom had parked in the regular slots, well away from the doctor and ambulance spaces. We parted quickly from Dr. Nolan, which meant there was little need to talk, other than a few words of consolation. I thanked him for rushing Freya to the hospital and said I was sorry if I’d said anything out of turn. He just looked at me and nodded and got into his car.

  “Come on, let’s get you home,” Mom said. We walked swiftly to the Rover and pulled on our seat belts. She was about to start the engine when Dr. Nolan’s car pulled up, blocking our path. He got out and knocked on my window. I slid it down.

  “This was on my backseat. It must have dropped out of Freya’s pocket. Probably best if you take it. Good-bye.”

  He handed me her notebook, the one she’d shown me in the library.

  “Thanks,” I said, and put it on my lap.

  It stayed there until we were on the coast road. Then I couldn’t bear it any longer. I switched on a light and opened the book.

  “What is it?” asked Mom.

  “Some of Freya’s drawings.”

  She glanced sideways. “Dragons?”

  “Mmm. She likes them.”

  Mom nodded. “Talented girl. I liked her — like her,” she corrected. She frowned and looked away.

  I continued turning pages. More and more dragons, until right at the back …

  Suddenly, I started to retch.

  “Michael?” Mom squealed. She slammed on the brakes, then quickly leaned over me and opened my door.

  I vomited onto the road. That was one pothole filled, at least.

  Mom jumped out and hurried around to my side, producing yet another tissue from her sleeve. “Oh, Michael, baby.” She wiped my mouth.

  “I’m all right. Honest.” I stayed her hand. “Sorry — for the mess.”

  “It’s just the shock coming out. And you missed the car, anyway. The rain will soon wash it off the road.” She ran my hair off my brow. “What am I going to do with you, huh?”

  “Nothing. I just want to go home, Mom. Please.”

  She noticed me closing the book and said, “Your hand’s trembling. Did something in the book upset you?”

  I shook my head. It was a lie, but there was no way I could show Mom what I’d seen.

  It wasn’t a brilliant drawing but close enough for recognition.

  On the inside back cover was a pencil sketch of a human face.

  Not an old lady.

  A photographer.

  Eddie.

  There was one other drawing that wasn’t a dragon. An eerie sketch of the sea at night with moonlight patterning the rippled water and what looked like a cargo ship in the distance. In the sky above it, the clouds were parting, as though God himself were about to speak. I studied the picture but didn’t really get it. All I could think about was that image of Eddie.

  Now, more than ever, I needed Chantelle.

  So the following morning, I got myself together and asked Mom if I could go into town and meet Ryan. Another lie, of course, but I needed a good excuse to be free.

  Josie had a bagel halfway to her mouth. I could almost see her thoughts dropping through the hole. Ryan? A week ago you were punching his lights out.

  Mom was hesitant. “I thought you might want a quiet day at home after —”

  “We’re buying a present for Freya.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “I texted the whole crew. I really need to do this.”

  “Well, that’s understandable. All right, I’ll drive you in.”

  “No!”

  “Michael?” She looked taken aback.

  “I’ll be in town, Mom. No one’s going to run me down on Hope Street, are they?”

  Harsh, Josie mouthed. She bit into her bagel.

  I sat down and picked up a cereal packet. “Sorry. I’m just …”

  “I know,” Mom said, tousling my hair. She took a moment to deliberate. “All right, you can go. But call me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”

  I shuffled some Wheatos into a bowl. “Is there any news from the hospital?”

  Mom shook her head. She picked up a couple of empty glasses and started heading toward the kitchen. “I called first thing. There was nothing then. They asked me to call again at ten.”

  I looked at the clock. 9:35. “Mom?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Which hospital was I in — after my accident?”

  Josie pulled another face, but this was important.

  “Holton initially. Then you were transferred to a private clinic.”

  “A private clinic?”

  She turned her wedding ring. “You have your father to thank for that. He put a lot of things in place before … Let’s just say he made sure we’d always be well looked after. Not just with the house, but health care and everything.”

  “Where was it?”

  “The clinic? On the outskirts of Holton. Where the old coal mine used to be. Why?”

  “Just wondered.”

  An old coal mine.

  The perfect place to hide a secret organization.

  I set off just after ten. There was still no news about Freya. I walked down the drive in my old denim jacket, aware that Mom’s gaze was burning into my back. At the end
of the drive, I turned left along our road, which was the signal to Mom that I would walk into Holton or catch the bus.

  But I wasn’t intending to do either.

  My plan was to call Chantelle and get her to run me back to the clinic, where UNICORNE headquarters must surely be. I went armed with copies of the drawing of Eddie and the strange sea scene, aiming to show them to Klimt. But it never came to that. The moment I was out of sight of the house, I bumped into Candy Streetham.

  “Michael,” she said, perking up like a meerkat. “I was just on my way to see you.” She was dressed more casually than the last time I’d seen her, in a pair of black jeans and a simple gray jacket.

  “Can’t stop. I’m … going into Holton.”

  “Fine. Hop in. I’ll give you a lift.” She gestured to a small red Fiat parked in a spot just along the road.

  “I’m okay, thanks.” I walked on past her.

  “Sorry to hear about Freya.”

  The words thudded into my back like arrows. I slowed to a halt. “How did you know?”

  She overtook me and zapped open the locks on the car. “We get feeds from all the local hospitals. ‘Doctor in mercy dash to save transplant patient.’ Not the biggest story in Holton right now, but very important to you, I’m guessing.” She held a door open. “Come on, I know the best café in town. Thirty minutes, tops. All the cola you can drink. There’s cake in it, too — if you’re feeling talkative.”

  She took me to Reynolds, an old-fashioned place with round oak tables and hand-stitched tablecloths. We sat in a sloping, claustrophobic window looking at passersby on Hope Street through glass as misshapen as a jam jar bottom. I had a tall banana milk shake and a slice of carrot cake. Candy had coffee, decaffeinated, black. The only thing she ate was the minuscule biscuit they put in her saucer, and she only took one bite of that.

  “So how’ve you been?” She stirred her coffee with her fingers splayed. “You’re looking well. Did you get my card?”

  Straw in mouth, I nodded.

  “Did it tell you what you needed to know about Rafferty?”

  “Some.”

  She extracted her spoon and dropped it in her saucer. “Why do I get the impression there’s more to this than you want to share?”