Dark Heart Rising

by Lee Monroe

‘You’d think they would have brought you all the way to the door.’ My mother shook her head, about to launch into a disapproving diatribe.

  ‘I told them to drop me off in town,’ I said, rubbing at my wet hair with a towel. ‘Then the rain just came out of nowhere.’

  ‘Well I know this mountain has its own particular microclimate, but it’s odd that we didn’t see a drop of rain.’ She frowned, pulling at my sweatshirt. ‘Didn’t you take your coat? I could have sworn you left here yesterday with a coat?’

  ‘Oh, right …’ I shrugged. ‘I must have left it on the coach.’ I stopped rubbing with the towel and she whipped it from me.

  ‘A bath for you, I think. And I’m going to have a serious word with this Mr Balzac. Totally irresponsible.’

  You have no idea, I thought, catching sight of my little sister, dawdling in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Hey, sis.’ I smiled, pleased to see her. So pleased to be home.

  ‘Hey.’ She slunk into the room, looking me up and down. ‘Why are you wet?’

  ‘Rain?’ I said facetiously. ‘It has this habit of making you wet…’

  ‘But I just got back from town with Dad,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t raining.’

  ‘Yeah it was.’ I glared at her, and she raised one cute little eyebrow.

  ‘I’m going to take a bath then.’ I stood, ruffling her blonde curls. ‘Let’s catch up later.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded, and I sighed as I climbed the steps. Part of me wanted to confide in Dot, but it would just mean more complication, and for absolutely nothing.

  Lying in the bath, I tried to go back over what had happened. When I’d arrived home, I opened my eyes and just felt confused. For a few moments I felt so disorientated I had no idea how I’d come to be crouched at the bottom of the track, my hair and clothes sopping wet. And then bits of memory came back. I remembered leaving Soren outside Vanya’s house, and that wind, coming from nowhere, pushing me forward.

  I had to have got back with somebody’s help, but it wasn’t Soren who had been there.

  As I lay back in the bath, watching the mirror steaming up, the heat was making my head fuzzy. It had to be the heat because a fresh memory was there … the touch and the smell of someone I knew very well, someone I never thought would touch me again.

  Luca!

  I shot up in the bath, and sent water splashing over the sides.

  It had been him. He’d brought me home. I groaned; everything had moved so quickly. All the times I had imagined being alone with Luca again, I thought we would talk, I never imagined it would be fleeting like it was.

  He’d just wanted to get rid of me. That was the only reason he’d helped me. He wanted to make sure I disappeared. Probably for good.

  All there was was the sound of the tap dripping.

  Everyone had turned on me. Even the boy I trusted most. I had no choice now but to move forwards with my life. Concentrate on college, my future here in the mortal world. At least I knew for sure now. I told myself it was a good thing. It was the right thing. I didn’t belong on Nissilum. That pack of lies Soren had told me. He was a killer and I couldn’t believe a word he said.

  The water was getting cold now. I looked down and saw tiny goosebumps on my legs. I was cold.

  I was so cold.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In the midst of the crowds I spotted the twins perched on the wall outside college. Ashley, or it could have been Emma, was examining a manicured hand, her skinny legs encased in lace-up heels and legwarmers, were swinging like a little kid’s. Emma was craning her neck looking for someone. I watched as her eyes travelled around, finally resting on me.

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’ She waved manically.

  I raised a hand, giving a quick embarrassed glance at the people next to me.

  Ashley jumped off the wall, gathering up her pink rucksack and slinging a tiny little bag with a gold-chain handle over her shoulder and the two of them pushed through milling students towards me.

  ‘We heard a rumour about you,’ Emma said, patting me on the hand. ‘You’re a dark horse.’

  ‘What?’ I frowned. ‘What rumour?’

  ‘About you … and that amazing Art teacher,’ supplied Emma. ‘Mr Balzac.’

  I stiffened. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know him.’

  ‘Tell that to the rest of your Art class,’ giggled Ashley. ‘And you don’t even wear make-up! What’s your secret?’

  ‘Not that you’re not totally gorgeous.’ Emma linked her arm through mine. ‘But it’s not fair. Ash and I spend hours every morning getting ready and not one boy here has noticed us. You’re just one of those girls who doesn’t need to make an effort, I guess …’

  ‘Well, thanks … I think.’ I couldn’t help smiling. ‘But for your information, there is nothing whatsoever going on between me and Balzac. In fact’ – I gave a not-entirely-fake shudder – ‘I find him a little creepy.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind!?’ shrieked Ashley. ‘He’s gorgeous. All dark and smouldering.’

  ‘Right.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘I just don’t see it.’

  ‘That’s funny … because someone saw you getting in to his car.’ She lifted her cute little chin imperiously. ‘Sounds cosy to me.’

  ‘Oh that.’ I waved my hand about dismissively. ‘I forgot to get my dad to pick me up … Balzac and I barely spoke the whole journey. I hate him.’

  The last bit slipped out before I could stop it.

  ‘You hate him?’ The twins stared, wide-eyed at me. ‘Why?’

  ‘I mean, I find him creepy … like I said.’ Flustered, I pretended to look for something in my bag. Even though I wasn’t looking at them I knew the twins were staring at me suspiciously.

  ‘Anyway,’ I muttered, ‘I think he left suddenly or something … That’s what I heard. At least …’

  ‘Well that’s funny,’ said Emma, ‘because unless he has a twin brother, I’ve just seen him going into the cafeteria in the basement.’

  I looked up sharply. ‘He what?’’

  ‘Yeah. About fifteen minutes ago,’ she said, looking with amusement at my pink face. ‘Did you two have a falling out?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said as light-heartedly as I could, but inside wondering what on earth Soren thought he was doing.

  ‘Um, I’ll catch you two up,’ I said, shrugging. ‘I need to get to the toilet before my first class.’

  ‘OK,’ they said in unison, an identically sly look on both faces.

  ‘I’ll see you at lunch maybe?’ I gave a lame half-wave and turned in the direction of the toilets. I had no intention of going there. My first class was Art. There was no way I was setting foot in that class now. Maybe not ever.

  I started to pick up speed, heading for the college main entrance, weaving in and out of kids who were hanging around killing time till their next class. As I turned to apologise to a couple of boys on skateboards, I crashed headlong into someone else.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, seeing only a checked cowboy shirt in front of me. ‘I’m in kind of a hurry.’

  ‘Really,’ came the silky answer. ‘And where do you have to be so urgently?’

  My heart sinking, I lifted my head to meet those black eyes, mocking me.

  I closed my eyes. ‘Please get out of my way.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said, sounding less self-assured now. ‘Really.’

  ‘I have nothing more to say, Soren,’ I hissed, trying not to look too conspicuous. I’d already got people talking here, apparently. I didn’t want to get some kind of reputation.

  He sighed heavily. ‘You arrived home safely I see …’

  ‘Obviously,’ I said impatiently. ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘You were behaving like a petulant little girl,’ he told me. ‘You can’t just run away when the going gets tough …’

  I opened my mouth in outrage. ‘I don’t take lectures from killers,’ I growled. ‘You’ve got a nerve.’

  ‘I wonder who h
elped you home?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘And you thought he didn’t care?’

  ‘You?’ I couldn’t help myself asking.

  ‘Not me … Luca.’

  ‘Luca? Well, if he did, it was just to get rid of me. He doesn’t care.’ I really didn’t want to think about that night. The last time I would ever see Luca.

  ‘Of course he does, you fool. Do you realise what a risk it must have been for him to do that?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sick of thinking about it,’ I snapped. ‘Sick of thinking how hard it must be for Luca. What about me? What about how hard it is for me?’

  I stopped, feeling breathless and angry all over again. All the while Soren just stood, regarding me as though I were a curious exhibit in a museum. I went to push past him but he gripped my arm.

  ‘We have unfinished business,’ he pleaded, ‘you and I.’

  ‘Well it’s not my business any more … I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get on with my life.’ I wrenched his hand away.

  ‘Glad to see you haven’t lost any of your backbone, at least.’ Seeing the furious expression on my face, his own softened a little. ‘I know I can’t expect you to believe I have any goodness in me, but killing my family … it was not my choice. I was just so … angry.’

  ‘What could possibly have made you so angry that you’d take out your entire family?’ I shook my head, disdainfully.

  He sighed. ‘This is not the place … Had you stayed in Nissilum I would have been able to explain.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ I muttered, as the bell rang.

  All at once students were streaming past heading for the surrounding buildings, crowding us. I spotted the twins, arm in arm, heading our way.

  ‘I can’t do this now.’ I edged away from him. ‘I’ll see you.’

  ‘In class?’

  ‘Yes … no … maybe.’ I started walking backwards, feeling almost sorry for him as he stood there, looking kind of helpless.

  I didn’t go to Soren’s Art class. I couldn’t face it, and I had too much on my mind to concentrate on the subject. Besides, I felt exhausted. Being pushed this way and that. Deep down, I had a feeling that Soren was not a bad, evil person. Though my powers of judgement were not exactly reliable.

  There was a café opposite college, usually filled with students on break, but today it was empty. I found a seat and dumped my bag on the one next to me. I wasn’t hungry but I ordered a Danish and a cup of coffee.

  Staring out of the window I allowed myself a fantasy, one where time had gone back, to that day he first came into my life. Standing there with his coat that was a little oversized, his long gangly legs, his serenity, his sensitivity. And would I have got him to stay? Could I have stopped his parents from intervening, from deciding his future for him? Maybe if I had just refused to let go, held on to him while Henora told him he was marrying Lila, then he would have chosen me.

  But he hadn’t chosen me. That was the thing. He had free will and his will chose Lila.

  I pushed away the Danish pastry and watched the frothy milk as it began to evaporate in my coffee.

  ‘Hey.’ I looked up to see the twins standing over me. Ashley smiled, holding out her hand and gently touching my arm. ‘You OK?’

  I managed a weak smile in return. ‘I’m fine. Just feeling a little off today.’

  Ashley lowered herself into the chair opposite me and Emma followed suit.

  ‘It’s about him, isn’t it?’ she said sympathetically. ‘You can tell us … We’ll keep it a secret.’

  ‘Who? Mr Balzac?’ I laughed in spite of my miserable mood. ‘Believe me. There is nothing going on there.’

  ‘Maybe not on your side …’ The girls exchanged looks. ‘But we saw him watching you when you walked out of school just now …’

  ‘It was a look of pure longing,’ sighed Emma. ‘He looked so sad. Did you reject him?’

  ‘I…I…No. Not…No, I didn’t.’ I said, embarrassed. ‘It’s not like that!’

  ‘You’re going red, Jane …’ Ashley leaned in closer. ‘Is it the teacher-student thing? Is that why you said no?’

  If only it was that simple. I shook my head.

  ‘You’ve got it wrong … Mr Balzac was just talking to me about art … he’s kind of intense. Passionate about his subject, I guess.’

  ‘Passionate … See, there, you said it. He’s passionate.’

  ‘Seriously! You two need to grow up,’ I said grumpily. ‘Maybe if you had boyfriends of your own you wouldn’t try and invent romances for other people.’ I stopped, already regretting being so harsh.

  ‘Fine.’ Looking hurt, Ashley got up, indicating to Emma to do the same. ‘But maybe if you were less of a grouch you might actually get a boy to like you, not somebody practically old enough to be your dad.’

  I couldn’t help a little smile at that.

  ‘What’s so funny? God, you are such a bitch, Jane,’ whipped Ashley. ‘I would have thought you’d appreciate a friend. I mean you don’t seem to have any others.’

  ‘I wasn’t smiling because …’ I shook my head. I didn’t have the equipment for this kind of thing. I had never actually had a friend, after all. They were right.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said awkwardly.

  ‘Forget it.’ Ashley tugged on Emma’s arm. ‘Come on. We need to get to class.’ She shot me another glowering look before the two of them headed for the café exit.

  As the door closed behind them, and I watched them crossing the road, arm in arm, I felt a pang at their closeness. Ashley and Emma might have a simplistic view of the world. They might seem a little shallow sometimes, but they had each other. They would always have that special bond.

  I wanted mine back. I wanted it back more than anything. But at any cost?

  I paid for my food and trudged back into college, checking my watch. If I was quick, I would make it for the last half of my Art class. As much as I never wanted to see Soren’s smug face again, I didn’t want to mess up my future. I took a deep breath and headed for the Art block.

  ‘Today, we’re going to do something a little different. I am going to tell you a story.’ Soren looked around the room, his expression serious. I waited for him to try and engage me, but his eyes swept swiftly over me. ‘And when I have finished telling you this story, I want you to draw what has captured you most about it.’

  Students exchanged puzzled looks. Soren leaned back against his desk, waiting until the whispering had died down before he began.

  ‘There was once a good boy. A boy born into a hard-working law-abiding family, who raised him to be good-mannered, considerate and honest. They were emphatic about these qualities and the boy did his best to make them proud. The boy had two sisters and a brother. He was close to his siblings, but in particular to his younger sister, who adored him. This boy would have done anything for her in return. He was very protective of her. The boy lived happily until he was ten years old when something happened to destroy everything he believed in …’

  Soren paused for a few seconds, seeing that the entire class was enthralled. In spite of myself, I waited for him to continue too.

  ‘On his sixth birthday, a man came to the door and beckoned to the boy to come and sit with him outside in the front garden; he had something to tell him. Curious, but a little nervous, the boy sat with the man on a bench in his garden and the man – who seemed so kind, with his twinkly blue eyes – told him without very much ado that he – this little boy – was his son. The boy was shocked, but at once he knew it was true. There was something about this man that drew the boy to him. He felt safe and he felt that this man was very familiar somehow. As though he knew him.

  ‘But then the boy began thinking about his mother and father, who had been so emphatic about honesty, and that they had lied to him. They had been good to him, but they had lied. And then the boy thought of his sister, and that she wasn’t really his sister, and then he felt very alone and scared that he would be taken away from her. And as he listened to the m
an talk he grew even angrier, because this kind man seemed to be saying that he didn’t want the boy for his son … that he had only come to ease his guilt. And the boy felt used. He felt that all the adults around him had only thought of themselves and not him, that he wasn’t loved and never would be. And once his beloved younger sister found out he wasn’t truly her brother, she would hate him, when once she had loved him.

  ‘The man saw that the boy was upset and he himself was distressed. He told the boy that his mother was still his mother, that she had carried him inside her, and that would not change. He thought this would mollify the boy, but it made everything much worse.

  ‘Because the boy now realised his mother had committed a terrible betrayal, one that was worse than anything. That his own mother was a bad woman. And the boy, thinking of how often she had scolded him for misbehaving, felt a surge of hatred for her. He knew he could never think of her in the same way again. He knew that he no longer loved her, he hated her. He felt a fool believing that his whole family had known all along. All except for his little sister, who was surely too young and who still believed he was her flesh and blood.

  ‘The boy stood and thanked the man for telling him. The man held out his hand. He asked the boy to forgive him, and forgive his mother, and said that he – his true father – meant to pay penance for what he had done.

  ‘The boy tried to smile, but he knew that he could not do as his true father asked. He felt such betrayal and anger and confusion with the world in which he lived, that he didn’t know what he would do, but he knew he no longer wanted a relationship with the people who had brought him up.

  ‘As the man walked away from him, the boy stood and looked around. He looked at the carefully tended flowerbeds, and the grass kept short and moist, and the neatly clipped hedge around his freshly painted house. And as he looked he grew more incensed at all this perfection, which meant nothing any more. And the boy walked towards his father’s shed at the side of the house and inside he found his father’s axe. He took it back to the house, where he sat at the kitchen table.

  ‘The boy waited two hours before he heard the sound of his parents coming into the house. When his mother walked into the kitchen and saw him sitting there she began to scold him for sitting idle while there were chores to be done around the house. And his father nodded in agreement. And behind his parents, his older brother and sister looked on in a judgemental kind of way. And seeing them there, so self-righteous, the boy stood and just stared coldly at them all; he knew his father would now beat him for his apparent insubordination, but he didn’t care, he cared about very little any more. He felt no emotion. As his father advanced towards him, he lifted his axe and he spliced his father’s head clean open.’