Resistance

by C. J. Daugherty

  ‘Hate and love,’ Carter said. ‘They’re a lot alike.’

  They turned on to another road, just as quiet as the first. They were halfway down it before she summoned the courage to ask the one question she was most afraid of.

  ‘Do you think she’s dead?’

  Carter glanced at her; his pace slowed.

  With clear reluctance, he nodded. ‘I think so.’

  A frond of grief uncurled inside her, taking up its familiar territory near her heart.

  She’d hardly known her grandmother. But she was family. And she had, from the very first meeting, seemed to believe in Allie. To have faith in her.

  Now there was no one left in her family who felt that way.

  It took them nearly an hour of walking to reach the address Raj had made them memorise.

  Number 38 Carlton Lane was a nondescript three-storey terrace building with a dingy sign hanging out front that said ‘The Drop Inn B&B’.

  ‘Bit dodgy,’ Carter said, as they looked up at the front door. ‘I wonder why they chose this place?’

  ‘No idea.’ Allie looked around as if the answer could be found elsewhere on this insalubrious street. Even at this hour, the bar on the corner had customers. And they seemed to be getting in a fight. ‘This is Kilburn. It’s all dodgy.’

  ‘What’s Kilburn?’ Carter asked.

  ‘Where we are,’ she said. Then, not wanting to explain north London neighbourhoods right now, she changed the subject. ‘Want to go first? I’ll keep the door open in case we have to leg it.’

  She was certain this was the right address but Raj had said nothing about a B&B. He hadn’t mentioned that the street was scary nor told them who would be inside. Maybe he’d never really thought they’d need to use it.

  As Carter walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer, she stayed a step behind him, keeping an eye on the street.

  Nothing happened.

  Carter shot her a look over his shoulder and she shrugged.

  He pressed it again.

  This time they both heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs inside. Then the metallic clunk of three locks being opened. The door was yanked open to the extent a protective chain would allow.

  A dark face glared out at them. ‘It’s one o’clock in the bleeding morning.’

  The accent was classic north London. The man looked cross. He sounded cross. And he was big.

  When Carter hesitated, Allie stepped up beside him.

  ‘We’re guests of Raj Patel.’ This was what Raj had told them to say. But she added apologetically, ‘We’re sorry to bother you so late.’

  The man slammed the door in their face.

  Allie and Carter exchanged puzzled looks. Maybe this was the wrong place after all.

  Then the chain slid loose inside and the door opened wide enough to reveal the tall man in a blue dressing gown.

  ‘You better come in.’

  40

  Forty

  Carter and Allie stepped inside cautiously. The man let them pass, then closed the door, flipped the three locks shut again and braced the door with a metal bar.

  Allie watched this elaborate procedure with interest. One thing was certain, this place was secure.

  The entrance hall had once been grand. It had a beautiful old tiled floor, stained-glass windows and carved wood. But it was run down . The paint needed touching up and two lights had burned out on the stairs behind them.

  The man turned and looked them both up and down.

  ‘I’m Sharif,’ he said after a thorough inspection. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Uh … I’m Carter,’ Carter said.

  Allie kept her hands in her pockets. Her eyes darted to the door now so very comprehensively locked.

  Trust Raj, she told herself. But it wasn’t easy.

  ‘Allie,’ she said tersely.

  ‘That’s all you need to tell me.’ The man headed down the hallway, motioning for them to follow. His slippers made a scuffing sound on the tile floor. ‘If you’re here, something went wrong. I’m sorry to hear it.’

  There was kindness in his voice. Allie relaxed a little.

  He stepped into a windowless kitchen, and turned on the switch. Harsh fluorescent lights came on with an industrial buzz. It reminded Allie of a hospital: white walls, white cupboards, white floors. Everything was spotless.

  Opening a drawer, he located a black key on a silver ring and held it out to them. After a brief hesitation, Carter accepted it.

  ‘Go to room eleven,’ Sharif instructed. ‘It’s at the top of the stairs. Lock the door behind you. Don’t come out for anyone you don’t know. And I mean anyone. Including me. Go now.’

  They hurried to the long steep staircase that ascended into darkness. Behind them, Sharif was turning out the lights.

  Halfway up the stairs, Allie turned back. ‘Thank you, Sharif.’

  His hand on the light switch, the man looked up at her.

  ‘No need for that,’ he said. ‘I owe Raj Patel my life. I imagine you do, too.’

  Room eleven was in a converted attic, three flights up. It was pitch dark at the top of the stairs, and Carter fumbled with the key for some time, trying to get it into a lock he couldn’t see.

  When he did get it unlocked, the door was so heavy he had to put his shoulder against it to open it.

  It was just as dark inside the room as out, and they both felt along the wall until Allie’s fingers found the cool plastic switch at last and flipped on the lights.

  The room was small and stuffy with a ceiling that slanted steeply. A double bed took up most of the space, topped with two flat pillows and a clean but faded blue bedspread. A small window on one wall was hidden behind dark curtains. Through a narrow door Allie could see a minuscule bathroom.

  It seemed unnaturally quiet.

  ‘I wonder what he meant,’ Allie said to break the silence. ‘That he owed Raj his life.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Careful not to bump his head on the low ceiling, Carter went to the window and moved the curtain far enough to look out. ‘Raj was in the military for a while.’

  Allie hadn’t known that.

  The blanket of silence came down again.

  Now that they were here and safe, weariness hit her like a fist. Carter still stood by the window. She wondered what he was looking at. Or if he just didn’t know what to do. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room aside from a small, battered bedside table with a lamp.

  After a brief hesitation, she sat down on the edge of the mattress. It was one of those hard mattresses that seemed to be carved out of solid wood.

  ‘That must be it,’ she said, running her hand tiredly across her face.

  In the light, she noticed something on her wrist, and she turned her hand over to see it better.

  It looked almost like a bracelet, but she wasn’t wearing jewellery.

  A sudden image of Lucinda grabbing her wrist flashed in her mind.

  The bracelet was her grandmother’s blood.

  Stifling a sob, Allie rubbed hard at the rust-coloured stain.

  ‘What is it?’

  When she didn’t reply, Carter crossed to her side in three long steps. He took her hand to look at her wrist. She didn’t fight him.

  ‘It’s …’ But she couldn’t bring herself to say what it was. That would make it all real. Besides, he must know anyway. She swallowed hard. ‘I need to clean up.’

  To her relief, he didn’t try to make her feel better.

  ‘In here.’ He reached into the bathroom to turn on the light then moved back to the window, giving her space.

  Like everything else here, the bathroom was antiquated but clean. Allie turned on the tap. As she waited for the water to warm up, she stared at herself in the old mirror. She was shiny from sweat and her skin looked greeny-yellow in the fluorescent light.

  Tears ran down her cheek and she stared at them curiously. She hadn’t realised she was crying.

  The water was warm now. Grab
bing a cracked bar of soap, she rubbed it against her wrist. The water ran pink at first. Then rusty red. Then clear.

  She scrubbed her hands and arms until they burned. Then she splashed water on her face and neck.

  By the time she finished, she actually felt better. Her eyes were red but she wasn’t crying any more. She took a deep breath and walked back into the bedroom.

  Carter was by the window again. His eyes searched her face.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she lied.

  ‘I know you are,’ he said.

  He walked towards her, and she stiffened. If he hugged her she’d start crying again and then she might never stop.

  Instead he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  Relieved, Allie sank down on the bed. She could hear water running behind the door. She wanted Carter close but she was glad there was some space between them right now. She needed a second to think.

  It struck her that he might feel the same way.

  She was so tired. The adrenaline that kept her going all night – maybe all week – had abandoned her. She went to pull her feet up on to the bed but then cast a guilty glance at the clean coverlet.

  Carefully she unzipped her muddy boots and slipped them off, leaving them on the floor. If they were attacked she might have to run away in her socks but … so be it. She wasn’t smudging Sharif’s neat bedspread.

  Pulling her feet up on to the bed she leaned back against the flat pillow.

  Lying down felt good. Even the hard-as-a-rock mattress felt good.

  The overhead light was brutal but she was too exhausted to care.

  I’ll close my eyes … Just for a second.

  ‘Allie …’

  Someone was calling but Allie didn’t know who. It was too dark to see.

  ‘Hello?’ she called back. No one replied.

  She looked down – she was barefoot but for some reason she couldn’t feel the grass against the soles of her feet.

  When she looked up again, she was back in Hampstead Heath, at the top of Parliament Hill. The lights of the city twinkled below her.

  ‘Oh no …’ she whispered.

  Lucinda lay gracefully at the crest of the hill. Nathaniel knelt beside her. Neither of them moved or spoke. They were like statues.

  Slowly, Allie approached them. Her heart pounded. It was hard to breathe. Somewhere up here was the man who grabbed her. Somewhere Gabe waited.

  So many enemies in one place. What was she doing here?

  But she had to see Lucinda again. To tell her goodbye. To tell her she was sorry.

  But now she and Nathaniel weren’t alone. Jo was there, too. A sorrowful angel in white, her blonde hair highlighted by the city lights behind her.

  ‘It’s not your fault, Allie,’ she said, reaching out a pale hand.

  Slowly, fearfully, Allie looked down at her grandmother. Nathaniel was weeping. Lucinda’s white blouse was soaked red with blood. Blood pooled beneath her and ran down the hillside in waves. Pouring and rushing. Engulfing the city.

  ‘Allie, I’m serious. You did all you could. It’s not your fault,’ Jo said again.

  Then Lucinda’s eyes flew up.

  ‘Yes it is,’ she said.

  Allie screamed.

  ‘Wake up, Allie!’ Carter shook her by the shoulders.

  She stared up at him. ‘What?’

  Her gaze skittered around the unfamiliar room. No Lucinda. No Jo. No Nathaniel.

  Blue coverlet. Dingy walls. The safe house.

  ‘You had a nightmare.’ Carter still held her tightly. His fingers were warm against her shoulders. ‘You screamed.’ Letting go with one hand, he brushed the hair back from her face, smoothing it gently behind her ear. His fingers were like feathers against her skin. ‘You talked in your sleep.’

  Allie’s gaze shot up to meet his. Her brow creased. ‘What did I say?’

  Carter’s fingers paused, then resumed stroking her hair. ‘You said … “Jo”.’

  Biting her lip, Allie nodded.

  She resisted the urge to lean against him. Let him hold her and tell her everything was OK. Like the old days.

  Because everything was not OK. And this wasn’t the old days.

  Her eyes searched the room. At some point, he’d turned off the overhead light and switched on the bedside lamp. She wondered how long she’d been asleep.

  She glanced at him again. It couldn’t have been too long – his hair was still damp and curling a little from the water. He smelled of the same bar of soap she’d used.

  Unconsciously, her gaze darted down to her clean hands and wrists.

  No blood.

  He was stroking the strands of hair against her shoulders now. It felt soothing and electrifying at the same time. She felt each touch like heat against her skin.

  She didn’t want him to stop. But he had to. He wasn’t hers. And she wasn’t his.

  With unnecessary abruptness, she sat up.

  He dropped his hand as if she’d stung him.

  Pretending not to notice this, she cleared her throat and scooted back against the pillows.

  She glanced at the pillow next to hers. It wasn’t dented – he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d been standing guard.

  He was staring down at his hands. Even at that angle, she could see the sadness in his face.

  ‘I … dream about her,’ she admitted, finally. ‘About Jo, I mean. All the time.’ She paused, and he raised his gaze to meet hers. His dark eyes seemed as deep as the ocean. You could sink into them. Lose yourself. ‘I like seeing her. It’s like she’s not really gone.’ She searched his face for judgement. ‘That sounds crazy, right? Lock Allie up in the Lunatic Hotel. She sees dead people.’

  ‘I dream about my parents all the time,’ he said simply.

  Allie blinked. ‘Really?’

  He nodded, forcing a faint smile. ‘So … if there’s a Lunatic Hotel, maybe we can share a cell. Save on the rent.’

  Allie felt strangely relieved. She was new to this whole grief thing. Carter, on the other hand, was a professional – his parents had died when he was five. That he’d lived to be seventeen, and relatively sane, was one of the things she’d held on to after Jo’s death.

  After all, she’d only lost her best friend. Carter had lost his mum and dad and survived. Knowing that he’d kept it together after all of that made the idea of going crazy seem almost selfish.

  ‘It’s weird,’ Carter said when she didn’t speak. His hands were crossed loosely in front of him. ‘Sometimes in my dreams they look like they do in the pictures I have of them. Other times they don’t look like themselves at all.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘When that happens I wake up feeling guilty for not recognising them.’

  He looked so shy at that moment, and so vulnerable. Allie had never wanted to hold his hand so much as she did right then. She had to curl her fingers into fists to stop herself.

  ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘if anyone’s bonkers it’s definitely me.’

  ‘You’re not crazy,’ Allie said softly.

  When he looked at her then his eyes nearly broke her heart.

  ‘You’re the sanest person I know,’ she said.

  He smiled. ‘Yeah but … you know a lot of crazy people.’

  ‘True,’ Allie conceded. ‘Birds of a feather.’

  ‘But I’m the closest bird at the moment.’

  Allie’s smile faded as she held his gaze. ‘You always are.’

  The light moment dissipated instantly. The electricity returned, crackling unseen around them.

  ‘Carter …’ she started to say but he spoke at the same time.

  ‘Allie …’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘You first.’

  Her lungs felt strangely tight. ‘I just wanted to … I mean … thank you for what you did tonight. You were so calm.’

  Carter exhaled and shook his head. ‘Someone shot your grandmother tonight and you’re telling me I was calm? I’m not the cool-headed one, Allie. I’ve n
ever seen anyone so steady under pressure. You were amazing. Are amazing.’

  He reached for her hands then and she let him pull them into his, although she knew it was wrong. Knew it couldn’t be anything.

  But she wanted it to be something.

  She could feel the strength in his fingers. And yet his thumbs brushed her knuckles with the softness of butterfly wings.

  ‘You are the most amazing person I know.’

  She needed to stop this before it went too far. ‘Carter …’

  What should she say? Don’t? Stop? We can’t?

  That would be the right thing to say.

  What she wanted to say was entirely different. But she couldn’t say that.

  Could she?

  Jump.

  He studied her face intently, as if he could hear her internal struggle. As if he knew she was deciding something.

  ‘What?’ His fingers ran up her bare arm to her shoulder. His eyes were urgent. As if this was their last chance. ‘Say it, Allie. Say anything.’

  With her whole heart she wished that was true. Wished she could say anything. Because, if she told him the truth, what would she say?

  ‘Carter … I love you.’

  41

  Forty-one

  Allie’s heart seemed to stop.

  The words hung in the air like smoke; incriminating her.

  I did not just say that, she thought, panicking. Why did I do that?

  But it was too late to turn back. You can’t recant a declaration of love. It cannot be withdrawn or stricken from the record. It’s there forever.

  She stared at Carter in shock, as if he was the one who’d said it, and waited for him to recoil. To look embarrassed. To tell her she was wrong. A horrible person.

  A cheater.

  He’d gone dangerously still – so still he didn’t seem to breathe.

  Then he sagged back as if some unseen force that had been holding him up had suddenly let go. His breath came out in a ragged sigh.

  ‘Oh God, Allie, I love you, too.’

  Something cold inside of her began to thaw. All of her confusion left her. Because the answer was right in front of her.