Trespassers

by Claire McFall

  A few minutes later, something happened that made her really, really wish she’d gone with the kind-faced nurse: a much less kind-faced nurse burst into the waiting area, eyes raking the crowd for Dylan.

  “Are you all right?” Joan barked when she saw her. “Marie said you refused to be seen.” Her eyes dropped to Dylan’s leg, taking in the stiff, awkward way she held it.

  “I’m fine,” Dylan said quietly. She tried to draw the limb closer in to herself, moving languidly like it was nothing, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. A sharp hiss escaped her clenched teeth. “Do you know how Tristan is?”

  “You’re not fine, I don’t know what you two were doing,” Joan told her. “You’re coming with me to X-ray.”

  “Do you know how Tristan is?” Dylan repeated her question. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

  Joan stared straight down at her, lips clamped tightly shut and eyes angry. She knew something; it was obvious. Dylan prepared herself for an almighty fight, but instead, tears filled her eyes. One slipped free and ran down her cheek. “Mum…”

  And that was all it took.

  “He’s fine,” Joan sighed. “Well, he’s not fine. He lost a lot of blood. They had to put an IV into him,” she added, making Dylan gasp audibly, “and he’ll need a lot of stitches. But he will be fine.”

  ***

  Joan’s words proved true. Pressure on hospital beds, and the fact that he was going home with a nurse, meant that by eight o’clock that night, Joan was bundling Dylan and Tristan into a taxi.

  Tristan was pale and moving stiffly, but he was alert and alive, and Dylan was satisfied with that.

  Joan was still angry, but her initial blazing fury had cooled into a white-hot blade. She sat in the rear-facing pull down seat in the back of the black cab and glowered at Dylan and Tristan.

  “What on earth were you two thinking going back to that tunnel?” Her voice was low and cutting.

  “Mum—”

  “With her barely out of a wheelchair and still limping – I can’t imagine what you were up to to injure yourself that badly, but it certainly wasn’t doing the one thing you’re supposed to be doing while you’re living under my roof.” A hissed intake of breath. “Looking after my daughter!”

  If only she knew the truth, thought Dylan. But she had to appease her mother somehow.

  “I’m sorry Mum, it’s my fault – I begged Tristan to take me to where the train crashed because I thought it might help…”

  “Might help? You’ve set back your recovery, Dylan. And I’ve had to lie for him once again, fudging his details on the forms. Stupid boy, slicing himself up like that. I could lose my job—”

  “Tristan was lifting me over the barbed wire and he slipped,” Dylan lied. “We both fell down the verge, that’s all. Please don’t blame Tristan for this, it’s my fault.”

  “I’m sorry Joan,” Tristan croaked, shifting uncomfortably. “It won’t happen again.”

  Joan went silent once again, and remained that way until they got home. Still, she hadn’t enacted Dylan’s biggest fear and kicked Tristan out – yet. Perhaps she knew that if she did, Dylan would go too. No matter what Joan said.

  Despite the fact that it was barely after nine, Joan announced that Tristan needed to sleep, so they were all going to bed. That suited Dylan. What she really wanted was to speak to Tristan alone and that wasn’t going to happen until Joan was safely tucked away in her bedroom. Doing her best not to limp – her leg was throbbing – she did her bathroom routine, threw on her pyjamas and turned off the light. Easing into bed, she shifted right over to the wall and settled down to patiently wait.

  ***

  Tristan stood at the living room window, staring out into the darkened street. It was late, but a quiet flow of traffic still ghosted along the road below. There were few illuminated windows in the flats across the street and nobody walked the pavement. It was as peaceful as it ever got this deep in the city.

  Nothing. Nothing but the hushed murmur of Joan, on the phone in her bedroom. She’d been talking for a while now, though Tristan couldn’t work out who was on the other end of the line. He could guess, though.

  He was waiting for her to finish her call, make her nightly trip to the bathroom – then he was going to Dylan.

  Tristan needed her. Needed to hold her, feel the gentle rise and fall of her ribs under his hand as she breathed. If Joan didn’t hurry up, he was going to sneak in there anyway. He would have done already, if it wasn’t for—

  He closed his eyes, concentrated. Nothing. Nothing but the road noise and the low tones of Joan’s voice and—

  There it was again. A tingle, tickling the darkest corner of his mind. A presence, the likes of which he’d not felt since Dylan dragged him into the real world with her.

  A ferryman. Here. In this world.

  Snapping his eyes open, he scoured the street. He still didn’t see anything, but there was an awareness deep inside him. It resonated in a pattern Tristan could not mistake.

  Susanna.

  The name she claimed. Claimed along with her dark hair and dark eyes. So many nights, he’d sat in the safe house doorway or beside the window and seen Susanna doing the same. What was she doing here? There was no answer from the darkened street.

  Sighing, he stepped backwards and turned away from the window. Just that small movement pulled at the would on his shoulder. He froze, feeling pain ripple from the spot, spiking down his arm and trapping the air in his lungs.

  “Tristan?” He looked up to see Dylan in the doorway, peering out at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Just… looking out the window. I couldn’t sleep.”

  He paused, and the moment to tell Dylan about Susanna hovered in front of him. He let it pass. Susanna was a ferryman – not a wraith. Her presence in the world wasn’t a danger to them. If she’d managed to find a way here, had a chance to live a real life, it was no concern of his. Susanna’s fate was her own.

  “Come to bed,” Dylan murmured.

  Putting Susanna to the back of his mind for now, Tristan crossed to where Dylan stood waiting for him and put his hand on her hip, guiding her backwards.

  “Bed,” he agreed. “I need to hold you.”

  They crossed the hallway as quietly as they could and Dylan motioned for Tristan to lie down first. She settled in beside him, breathing out a deep sigh. “Are you all right? Does it hurt?”

  “A bit,” Tristan admitted. “Your mum gave me some painkillers.”

  Dylan snorted. “I’m surprised she didn’t leave you to suffer.” She paused. “I was scared she was going to throw you out earlier.”

  “I thought she might,” Tristan said. “She still could.”

  Dylan didn’t disagree with him.

  “If she does, I’m coming with you.”

  “You won’t have much choice,” Tristan said. He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “You know our bond doesn’t bother me.” Dylan shrugged. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t known what would happen. Besides, she secretly liked the way they were bound together – when it wasn’t making her freak out or want to puke or driving needles of pain down her leg.

  “That’s not what I mean,” he said. Dylan furrowed her eyebrows. “When we came through from the wasteland we left a hole, and the wraiths are coming through it. Coming through it and killing people. I should’ve known—”

  “I didn’t see a hole, though. Did you?”

  “You felt the hole,” he murmured. “You told me you felt like something was pulling you. That was the wasteland, trying to get you back.”

  “Oh,” Dylan said. “I expected, I don’t know – to see a rip or a portal or something.”

  “Remember the two worlds look identical at that point,” he reminded her.

  “But you saw it?”

  No answer.

  “You didn’t see it,” she said. “The first you knew about it was when I said I was feeling funny. That doesn’t mean—”

  “Yes,
it does, Dylan. I know there’s a hole there. How else can you explain the wraith appearing like that?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that.

  “Well, you killed it,” she said, searching for a bright side.

  “I killed that one.”

  “That one? You think there are more?”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan admitted. “I don’t sense them here anywhere near the way I did in the wasteland. I didn’t feel that wraith until it was almost on top of me.”

  “So it’s not like we can go and hunt them. And that thing almost killed you.”

  “It didn’t,” Tristan shot back, his low voice full of offended male pride.

  “You could have bled out, Tristan,” Dylan said gently. “You would have, if I hadn’t called the ambulance. You can’t fight them the same way here.”

  He grunted, which she took to mean he agreed with her.

  “So,” she said, “there’s nothing we can really do, then?”

  She meant it as a statement, but the doubt in her voice – and a growing sense of foreboding – pulled it into a question.

  “Yes, there is,” Tristan replied. “I can try to shut the hole. Stop any more coming through.”

  “How?”

  Silence. Absolute, blanket silence.

  “How, Tristan?”

  “By going back through.”

  “No,” she snapped. “No. No way. Not a chance.” She was far too loud and she didn’t care. “Do you hear me? No.”

  “Dylan—”

  “I said no, Tristan. No. And that’s the end of it.”

  “Shhhh!” Tristan pressed his fingertips to her lips, turning on his good side so that they were face to face in the dark. He kept his hand there, the pressure gentle. “I don’t want to fight about it. I just… I just want to be close to you.”

  The angry words Dylan had been waiting to throw at Tristan died in her throat. He was right. She’d nearly lost him today, had had to watch the blood soak his t-shirt, run down his skin – and she’d been utterly helpless. Useless.

  He was here, he was warm beside her.

  That was enough.

  Reaching out to grip the bottom of the t-shirt Tristan had worn to bed, Dylan kissed his fingers. Then again. When he took those away and replaced them with his mouth, she kissed that too. Thoughts of his injured shoulder flying from her mind, she pressed herself against him, trying to get closer, taking in his warmth.

  She slid her hand up to rest against his chest and she felt his heart beating. It reminded her that the two of them were alive, miraculously, gloriously alive.

  That was all that mattered.

  As for the rest… they’d fight about it tomorrow.

  NINETEEN

  “Tristan?” Dylan nudged his good shoulder. It had been two days since he had been stitched up and he could handle a playful shove.

  “Mm?” Tristan turned to Dylan, keeping an eye on the streets surrounding them.

  “I promise we will sort the wraith problem when you’re better – for now can you…”

  “Can I…?” Tristan glanced at her through his mop of sandy hair.

  “Pretend to be a regular boy with regular-boy problems, just for a little bit?” Dylan grabbed his hand and squeezed.

  They’d agreed to meet Dylan’s dad at a little Italian restaurant just a few streets from the flat. Joan had insisted that, since she wasn’t going to be there this time, they stay in the neighbourhood.

  “Right – what should it be? No pocket money, might fail my exams, am I going to be invited to Cheryl’s next party?”

  “Right!” Dylan took a deep breath, pushed the wraith problem as far down as it would go – which wasn’t very far – and turned her head to glance at Tristan. “You nervous about my dad?”

  “Why should I be?” He squeezed the hand he still held. “Don’t worry about me, Dylan. You’re nervous.”

  She was. She was shaking with it.

  “I don’t know why,” she confessed. “I mean, I’ve met him already.”

  “You’ve met him once,” Tristan corrected. “He’s your dad, and he’s still virtually a stranger. This time, you don’t have your mum as a buffer, either.”

  “I have you,” Dylan said. “That’s better.”

  That earned her a smile and another squeeze.

  “Plus,” Dylan chuffed with wry humour, “I can’t seem to keep you away from pizza.”

  That was one of Dylan’s favourite things now – introducing Tristan to new experiences and seeing his reactions. Food especially, because his body didn’t have to eat in the wasteland. So far, ice cream and apples topped the list – after pizza.

  Inside the restaurant there was no sign of Dylan’s dad, but he had made a reservation so the waiter led them through to a cosy little table at the back.

  Dylan watched the door, unable to contemplate the menu when butterflies were filling up her stomach. Soon, her dad came rushing in the door, his head whipping about as he checked the seats. Somewhat awkwardly, Dylan got herself to her feet and starting waving at the same time as he spotted her. The sheer delight in his expression was almost enough to make her tear up, and though she felt silly standing up, she stayed that way until he’d crossed the room.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He folded her into a huge hug. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s all right,” Dylan said, pulling back from the hug to offer him a shy smile. “We haven’t been here all that long.”

  “Good, that’s good. Great to see you out of your chair and plaster.” He turned away from Dylan slowly, as if he was reluctant to do so, and she noticed the look he gave Tristan was a lot less friendly. “Tristan – I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

  As they took their seats, Dylan scowled at the idea of her mum bad-mouthing her boyfriend. “You don’t want to listen to anything Joan says.” She turned to Tristan. “I’ve said nice things.”

  Tristan smiled at her, all blue eyes and freckles, and Dylan couldn’t help but smiling back, something happy and warm rising up inside her. Then her dad cleared his throat – loudly – and the moment passed.

  “Your mum told me you hurt your leg again,” James said, picking up his menu and flicking through the pages. “How did that happen?”

  “I fell,” Dylan told him, thinking the less said about that afternoon the better – and wondering when and why Joan had contacted him about it. It seemed odd that she would do that – she hated him, didn’t she?

  “Where were you?”

  “What?”

  Dylan’s dad looked up with eyes her exact shade of green. “When you fell. Where were you?”

  She had the feeling he already knew, but she answered anyway. “We went back to the tunnel. I was having nightmares and I thought it might help.” The same teeny, tiny lie she’d told her mum.

  “You didn’t just go to the tunnel though, did you? You’re bypassing the fact that you skipped out on school.” He kept his tone carefully neutral, focussing most of his attention on the menu in front of him – but he was angry. “You went down into the tunnel on a bad leg, and violated a crime scene.”

  “You’re mad at me?” Dylan squeaked. A small part of her brain screamed out that he hadn’t the right – just who did he think he was – but for the most part she was hurt. Upset. She’d only just met her dad and already he was disapproving of her.

  But he shook his head at her accusation, meeting her gaze again.

  “No, Dylan. I’m not angry at you.” He flicked a page again, glanced down at it, then back up at her. “Although I am wondering if you’re being led astray.”

  By Tristan. He didn’t say it, didn’t so much as peek in his direction, but that was what he meant. “Your mother told me this was new behaviour for you,” he went on. “Bunking off school, sneaking to places you shouldn’t be. She and I are both wondering if your new boyfriend – who she hadn’t even heard of before the crash – has something to do with it.”

  “She and I?” It was out bef
ore Dylan could hold it back. “You’re a team now, are you?”

  Her dad didn’t react, didn’t censor her. He just waited.

  “I don’t know why you think you can pass judgement when you hardly know me – us,” Dylan told him hotly, not quite sure where this bravery was coming from. She wouldn’t let him think Tristan was a bad influence. She wouldn’t. “Tristan didn’t make me duck out of school. He didn’t make me go into the tunnel, and he didn’t make me bunk off school to visit you either. I did. I’m responsible for me. So if you’re mad, then I’m the one you have to be mad at.” Dylan took a deep breath, gave her dad a chance to interrupt, but he didn’t. “Tristan has been there for me through some really hard stuff. You’ve no idea how hard.”

  The slightest movement of James’s mouth made her aware he didn’t take her claim all that seriously. If only he knew how true those words were.

  “I love him, and he’s in my life.” She stopped and stared at her dad, giving him time to hear the unspoken thought – that he wasn’t in her life – not yet.

  The moment went on and on. Dylan risked a quick look at Tristan but he was just sitting quietly, not interfering. She went back to her dad and saw that he looked visibly taken aback.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I haven’t earned a place in your life yet, but I’m your dad, and I worry about you.” He smiled at her, made sure to include Tristan in the gesture this time. “Let’s start again. Tristan, it’s nice to meet you. I have heard some nice things about you… from Dylan.”

  ***

  Watching Dylan smile and laugh with her dad, Tristan felt only momentary relief from his thoughts. How could he smile and chat along, knowing more people could die if another wraith got through? He’d risked everything by coming here with Dylan – his life, such as it was; her immortal soul. For just a little while, a handful of days, he thought he’d gotten away with it.

  But actions have consequences. His actions had ripped open a whole between this world and the next… and living nightmares were seeping through, putting other souls in danger.