The doctor hesitates. ‘Well, you’d be at a regular hospital, where there are, em, security measures to keep the overnight patients safely inside. But you and the other day-patients can leave any time you like.’
The thought sends my heart racing. How do I know they’d let me out if I asked? What if it’s a trap?
‘Zachary, I realise it will take a leap of trust for you to accept this treatment. Though we’ve not discussed details of your captivity, the mere fact you were held against your will for so long …’ She shakes her head sadly. ‘I can only imagine how hard this must be.’
I shut my eyes. I know it’s time. For months I’ve tried to stand on my own, only to fall again and again.
I search my soul for the last scrap of strength to say ‘yes’.
* * * *
‘Your father’s illness has made you a prisoner.’ Mum presses a tissue under her leaky nostrils. Though we’re the only passengers on the bus but for an old man sleeping in the rear seat, she’s trying not to cry. ‘I’m so sorry we did this to you.’
‘Caring for Dad is the only thing made me feel sane. It gave me a reason to get up in the morning.’ Afternoon, technically.
‘Then you’ll have to find other reasons. From now on, you’re not to care for him until you’ve cared for yourself. That’s the first rule of caregiving: you’re no good to him if you’re unwell.’
‘Same goes for you. If you lose my help, you’ll be even more burdened.’
‘I’ll hire help. I can get a night sitter so we can sleep, and someone to bring in meals a few times a week.’
‘Can we afford that?’
‘NHS will cover some respite care. Even if we pay for the rest, we can’t afford not to do it.’ She takes my hand firmly. ‘We’ll make it work, Zachary, all of us. Just get well, alright?’
I nod, then turn my attention out the window. The trees are bare now along Buckingham Terrace, revealing the row of stately grey Georgian homes, many of which have been converted to small hotels or blocks of posh flats.
A For Let sign in an upper window catches my eye. For a moment I let myself dream of living here with Aura. A life for us in my home. Our home.
Then I wonder if we’ve a future at all. Will she ever forgive me for shutting her out? She’s had one boyfriend disappear on her already. How much can one girl take?
I think of Logan and the flashback that invaded my mind Saturday night, of him saving me from myself. I know he was just a hallucination. But why would my mind conjure my old rival, of all people, to comfort and protect me? Why not my parents or Martin or Aura? Was I so unreal to myself that only a ghost could feel real to me?
Regardless of who or what he was, his voice held my mind together long enough to keep this body alive. After Logan came, I started eating and exercising again. I constructed a fantasy world where he and I hung out together like old mates. Sometimes he’d sing to me, or we’d talk of music, Aura, Ireland – all the things I had to look forward to.
With Logan’s help, I could pretend I had a future, even in a hopeless pit like 3A.
So why is it so hard to do here?
* * * *
As Aura’s face comes up on my brand-new laptop screen, I notice that for once, it’s lit by natural light from her window. We’re video chatting earlier than usual from now on. She knows only that I’m trying to sleep more human-like hours, not that I need to be at the day hospital eight a.m. Wednesday.
‘Hey, how are you?’ I ask her.
‘Worried. Where have you been?’
Hell and halfway back. ‘I’d a bad weekend.’
‘Oh my God, what happened? Is it your dad? He had chemo on Thursday, right? Did that go okay?’
‘No worse than usual. Look, Aura.’ Cold sweat forms on the nape of my neck. ‘I love you.’
She pulls back in her chair. ‘Is the next word “but”?’
‘No! What I’m trying tae say is, I know how much you want to help me, and I know you feel frustrated cos I can’t – cos I won’t ask you for it. Just believe me when I tell you I’m safe. I’m getting help.’
‘Like your shrink? Does she even know about your redness?’
‘No, but—’
‘Zach, I may be far away, but I know you better than anyone. You’re not the average mental patient. You have paranormal powers.’
‘But I don’t experience them unless I’ve kissed you. That’s the only time ghosts are part of my life.’ Except for the ones I hurt just by existing. ‘Inside, I’m a regular guy.’
‘You’re the least regular guy I’ve ever met! This is insane.’ Her mouth shuts with a clack of teeth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t use that word. What I mean is, it’s illogical.’
‘From where you’re sitting, aye. You feel helpless, but please know, you do help me, just by being there. Let that be enough for now. In twenty-six days we’ll be together, and – and things will be good between us.’
She purses her lips and nods. ‘Okay.’
My hands curl into fists. She probably thinks she can just turn around and get information from Martin. I should tell her she can’t now, that he’s on my side.
Then I remember there are no sides here. She went to Martin because she loves me, because I gave her no choice.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell her. ‘For shutting you out. You don’t deserve my silence.’
‘No, I don’t.’ She sighs. ‘But you deserve patience. Especially after you put up with me last year when I was grieving for Logan. I wasn’t always easy to deal with.’
‘Aura.’ I gaze straight at the camera so she’ll see me look into her eyes. ‘Dealing with you was an honour.’
‘That’s how I feel about you.’ Aura folds her hands in supplication. ‘Last year, you were so strong for me through everything. Please let me be strong for you now. Not because I owe you, but because I love you.’
I shut my eyes to let her words echo within me. Do I dare nudge the edges of my circle of trust, expand it to include one more person? None of those inside it now – Martin, my parents, my doctor – knows all my secrets, so why not reach out to Aura, too? The bond we share is like no other on earth.
But that bond’s not invincible. It’s been weakened by time and distance and the forces allied against us. Most of all, by my neglect.
‘Awright.’ I open my eyes to accept her gift. ‘I will let you be strong for me.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘A wee bit to the west.’
‘Which is west again?’ Standing on our bed in his sock feet, Martin shifts the glow-in-the-dark star on the ceiling. ‘This way?’
‘You’re facing north. Think about it.’
‘I’m no facing north, I’m facing up, which means my neck’s getting stiff. So if you could gies a clue—’
‘Move the star to the left two inches. Perfect.’ It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for now. I check the map in my hands. ‘Just one more constellation. Boötes is missing its Beta and Gamma.’
‘Sounds tragic.’
I point to the bright star above the foot of the bed. ‘That big yin’s Arcturus. Beta should be at its eleven o’clock, about five inches away.’
‘I need more tape.’
I hand him the roll and watch him curl a piece around his finger. ‘I want to help Finn.’
‘Help him do what?’ he asks.
‘Get better, or at least not worse. Part of his brain damage came from turning into a shade. His doctors can’t treat that.’
‘Hm.’ Martin stretches to place the star. ‘Here?’
‘Another inch.’ I back up a few steps to evaluate. ‘Aye, there. Anyway, I’m going to apply to join MI-X.’
‘What?’ Martin spins to face me, his foot slipping off the edge of the bed. He sprawls on the floor with a thud. ‘Fuck.’
I laugh out loud. ‘That never gets old. I mean, sorry, are you okay?’
He gets to his knees and looks at me over the bed. ‘Am I okay? What about you? Have you gone completely mental?’
‘Yes, but I’m a wee bit better now.’ After a week at the day hospital, I can already feel a shift. For one thing, they’ve taken me off the Xanax and put me on antipsychotic meds that have stopped the flashbacks, if not the nightmares. So when I’m awake, I’ve a clear grasp on reality, whether I like it or not.
The routine there is oddly reassuring. It’s a bit like school, except the only subject is Getting Well. My sanity graph – a daft idea if there ever was one – has been replaced with a set of smaller, realistic goals. And although I was petrified of group therapy, they’ve not forced me to reveal more than I’m willing to share. Mostly I listen to others and feel less alone.
Once I’m stable, they’ll have me try a new trauma therapy called EMDR, Eye Movement Desensitisation and, em, something that begins with R. People who’ve done it say memories that once haunted them have lost their power. The scientist in me wants to investigate it immediately, but I’m told I’m not ready yet. It’s something to work for.
‘What’s MI-X got to do with Finn?’ Martin asks.
‘Maybe they’d know what to do. They’ve centuries of experience dealing with the supernatural.’
‘Centuries? They’ve only been around ten years.’
‘As MI-X. Before that they were a secret brotherhood of paranormal investigators.’ Well, they’re a bit less secret now I’ve told Martin. ‘Dad was part of it, and so were my granddad and great-granddad. The only difference is, now it’s a paid job with government benefits instead of a hobby.’ A hobby that took over my grandfather’s life and left his family in poverty, but that’s another story.
Martin frowns as he curls another strip of tape around his finger. ‘But to help Finn, MI-X would need to know what’s wrong with him. Which means they’d need to know—’ He stares at me. ‘You’re gonnae tell them about your redness?’
‘The DMP already knows. And after what they did tae me—’ My fists clench at my sides. ‘I can make a difference. Not just for Finn, not just for me and Aura, but for my country and maybe even the world. I’m the only one who can do what I do. I can’t hide forever.’
‘Why not?’
‘Think about it. Post-Shifters’ll start turning eighteen soon. How long before a ghost complains about my redness to someone in authority?’
His eyes widen in horror. ‘Aye, you’d have to move to Antarctica or a space station or something to get away from post-Shifters and ghosts.’ Martin shakes his head. ‘But what about this summer? You’ll tell MI-X that, too?’
‘Not till Aura’s safe from the DMP, and for that she’d have to be in the UK where MI-X could protect her better. She could never go home. I can’t ask that of her, not yet.’
‘Maybe one day?’ He looks up at me with hope, like a child begging for a happy ending to a faerie tale. ‘She could live here with us!’
‘I hope so. But Martin, I have to learn to live with secrets. If I ever do join MI-X, I might not be able to tell anyone. Not you or Aura or maybe even my mum.’
‘So you’d be one of those people at a party, when someone asks what ye do for a living, ye say in this vague voice, “Oh, I work for the government.”’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well.’ He examines the star stuck to the end of his index finger. ‘If anyone can live a double life, it’s you.’
‘Thanks, I think?’
‘You’re welcome, I think.’ He holds the star out to me. ‘Last one. You do the honours.’
I take it from him, then climb onto the bed, wavering from a slight rush of dizziness. The constantly shifting chemicals are still making my body a strange place to be, but at least I feel I’m inside my skin again.
I reach up and plant the star in its place.
‘Lights oot!’ Martin runs to the lamp and switches it off.
We stretch out on the bed, under our fully operational artificial heavens. I wish Aura could see it, now it’s complete.
‘Well done, us.’ Martin lets out a long sigh of satisfaction. It’s deep and smooth and doesn’t end in a cough.
‘You quit smoking, didn’t you?’
‘Oh, ye finally noticed.’
I’m noticing all sorts of things lately. ‘When was this?’
‘You mean the first time I quit or the second, third, fourth time?’
‘The most recent.’
‘Saturday.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Hm.’ He thrums his fingers against his chest. ‘I miss it. And I’m gonnae get fat cos I want tae eat all the time now. So I’ll die of diabetes instead of lung cancer.’ He pauses, probably thinking of my dad. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s awright.’ I expect the sadness to roll off me like it usually does, but it sticks in my throat. Sometimes this alive-and-aware business is not so pleasant.
‘Aw, no!’ Martin exclaims. ‘The ceiling’s not done yet. You know what it needs, to be an authentic Scottish sky?’
‘What’s that?’
He spreads out his hands over our heads. ‘Clouds.’
* * * *
The next evening when I get home from day hospital, I take my father to his room and tell him everything.
Well, not everything everything. Not about how Aura and I exchange powers when we kiss. No one knows that but her. And not about what happened to me in 3A. No one knows that but Martin.
But everything else: about my redness, about Finn turning to a ghost and then a shade when he drowned, because of me. About wanting to join MI-X.
Dad and I are sitting on the twin beds, across the narrow room from each other. Our postures are mirrored, hands folded, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched. Through it all he listens, his face flickering between fatherly concern and professional curiosity. Which is good, since I need both sorts of advice.
When I’m done, he remains silent for nearly a minute. I wait, wishing for a cup of water to wet my dry mouth.
‘Before MI-X was created,’ he says finally, ‘I worked for one of the other security services. I started when I was not much older than you.’
I knew he’d already been working for the government before I was born, but not that his employer was MI5 or MI6. I wonder which?
‘Being a spook’s not like any other job in the world,’ he says. ‘The hours are brutal, the salary’s minuscule compared to what one could make in the private sector, and the toll on one’s family is – well, you know from experience.’
‘Aye.’
‘And if you do your job, if you save lives and protect your country from unspeakable harm, no one will ever know. There’s nae headlines or knighthoods. Nae glory.’
‘I don’t need glory. I need a purpose.’
‘MI-X would give you that. But it would take away yer freedom to decide what that purpose is.’ He holds out his palm. ‘If you tell them what you are, your life will never be your own again.’
‘Dad, I know—’
‘I don’t think you do. ‘
‘Dad.’ I raise my voice to a level previously only spoken by him to me. ‘I know what it means to lose my life. It was taken.’
He frowns and looks away, blinking fast. He knows I have him there.
‘If I do this,’ I tell him, ‘then my life will always be mine. I will have given it over by my own choice, and for the right reasons.’ I soften my tone, because the next part will be hard for him to hear. ‘Until you’ve been a prisoner, you can’t know the meaning of freedom.’
Dad bows his head and puts a hand to his stomach, as though the fact of my captivity gives him a physical pain. Perhaps it does.
Footsteps are climbing the stairs, too heavy to be my mother’s. I hear Martin clear his throat as he enters our bedroom next door. I leave Dad’s door open – there’s nothing we’re discussing Martin doesn’t already know.
Finally my father says, ‘Awright, son. Tell them if you want. But do it for yerself, not for Finn. There’s nae guarantee MI-X can help that boy.’
‘I know nothing’s for certain, but surely they know mor
e about the effects of shades than Finn’s doctors do.’
‘We’ve theories, of course, but there’s never been experiments done. And you know what that means.’
‘It means Finn would be the—’ Oh, no. ‘He’d be the first. They’d experiment on him.’
‘Aye. I’m not saying it’d be inhumane, but they could make him worse without meaning to.’
In the next room, a shoe drops on the hardwood floor. I wonder if Martin can hear us.
I lean forwards to whisper. ‘Or they could make him better. Shouldn’t we give him that choice?’
‘He’s thirteen, Zachary. He’s got no choice.’ Dad shakes his head angrily. ‘I cannae believe that after the DMP detained you cos of your redness, you’d hand a child over to be a test subject.’
‘But if it’s the only way to save him—’
‘Son, not everyone in this world can be saved.’
Now I’m the one too pained to speak. I broke Finn; I have to fix him.
‘I don’t accept that, and I’ll not sit here and let you decide.’ I get to my feet. ‘I’ll go and talk to the Connellys myself.’
‘I already did.’ Martin stands in Dad’s doorway, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets. ‘My parents said no.’
‘What?’ I can’t believe this. ‘Don’t they want to help him?’
‘They’re afraid he’ll be taken away. That they’ll never see him again.’ He lifts his hands, then lets them drop. ‘Ma said there’s still a piece of Finn behind his eyes. She said we can’t lose that.’
‘But what if you could get every piece of him back?’
‘Zachary,’ my father says, ‘Finn drowned long enough to die. His brain was severely traumatised by that alone, regardless of whether he became a shade or not.’ He touches his chest. ‘Some bodies have problems which are entirely mundane. Like me with this cancer, or you with your … illness.’
I drag my fingertips across my forehead. He’s right about me and him. Anyone would’ve gone mad left alone in a tiny cell for eight weeks, just like so many who encountered asbestos will get his disease. Living, non-paranormal humans do enough damage to one another to fill a million hospitals.
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