She shakes her head in a he’s-a-lost-cause way. “I know,” she says. “And people say I’m the weird one.”
Half an hour later we find ourselves standing outside a small, grubby house the shade of slate grey. An olive mesh of ivy coils its way around one side of the house as the paint sheds. There is a battered car in the driveway and although the grass in the front garden is a little unkempt, the small Iris flowers neatly blooming in shades of blue and purple around the edges of the lawn are beautiful. It’s hard to imagine that someone like Ben Hastle lives somewhere so peaceful.
I walk slowly up the driveway, dodging the car, while Claire follows hesitantly behind me. “Ben had better not answer the door,” I hear her mutter under her breath. I ignore it, stepping onto the porch where a frayed welcome mat sorely in need of replacing is waiting for me. Some of the letters spelling welcome have long ago faded. It is not a welcome mat anymore; it is an ‘elom’ mat. I look up, only to be forced into a staring match by the menacingly silent front door.
“You’re knocking by the way,” Claire says, expression bleak. “And if anything happens, I’m blaming it on you. We’re practically walking into the enemy’s lair.”
I send her a withering look. “Claire,” I say. “We’re knocking on someone’s front door. Not infiltrating the Mafia.” I ring the doorbell.
I hear muffled shouting from inside, accompanied by the clattering of footsteps. I breathe out deeply, unable to stop my sweaty hands from fidgeting nervously with the hem of my jacket. My stubborn feet stay rooted to the ground. Finally the lock clicks and the door swings open to reveal a petite girl with sharp, aristocratic features eerily similar to her brother’s. Thin sliver of lips, drawn taught into a frown, with light freckles and platinum blonde hair pulled back into a pale tuft while delicate strands frame her face. She looks no older than thirteen or fourteen.
“Well? Is there anything you want?” Her impatient voice cuts through my thoughts. “If you’re looking for my brother, he’s not in.”
“No,” Claire says. “We wanted to see you, actually.”
She seems surprised. “Claire?” Then her hawk-like gaze swivels to inspect me. “And who are you?”
I try a polite smile, but fail miserably. “Hope Weller. I’m new here,” I say. I suddenly realise that I’m being intimidated by someone shorter and younger than me.
Tia relaxes slightly and opens the door wider to let us in. We file in quietly and she leads us to her bedroom. It’s a small room with a messy bed pushed up against one wall. There is a large window on another side, looking out onto a garden almost symmetrical to the front one. The rest of the room is taken up by a bookcase and closet. Pale, afternoon sunlight drizzles morosely through the grimy windows. Tia settles herself on her bed, motioning for us to do the same. We oblige and awkwardly sit in a little circle. Looking around properly, I notice the glaringly big posters that hang off the walls.
“You like ‘Blue menace’?” Tia asks, noticing me staring at the posters.
“I’ve never heard of them,” I reply honestly.
“Well, you should listen to them some time. They’re a good band.”
“I’m not into music that much.”
She gives me a what-rock-have-you-been-living-under type look. “What do you do in your spare time, then?”
I shrug. “Work, study. I paint, sometimes.”
“How have you been, Tia?” Claire joins in the conversation. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, it has. How’s Daniel doing?”
“Still terrified of you.”
“That’s good to hear.” Sharp, hawkish eyes drift to me again. I wonder idly if Claire feels insulted. “You – Hope, right? You said you’re new around here. When’d you get here?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Staying with family here?”
“Not exactly.” Beside me, Claire poorly stifles a snicker. I send her a pointed look. “I’m staying with Ash and Jenny Falkland. They’re friends of my parents.”
One delicate eyebrow raises slightly. “Well then, good luck. How long for?”
“Probably until the end of the summer holidays.”
She nods. There is an uncomfortable silence. Claire plays with the hem of her dress absently and I look away. Eventually Tia breaks the tension in the air. “So why did you come?” she asks bluntly.
“We just felt like visiting,” Claire starts, but the blonde girl interrupts.
“We were never the best of friends,” she states. “And somehow, I think it’s unlikely that you two would come here, just to talk and have a little tea party.” She’s logical, observant and cynical. I like this girl. She glares at each of us in turn. “What do you want?”
We stay quiet. She raises an eyebrow expectantly. When I realise that no one else is willing to come to my rescue this time, I sigh in defeat. “It was my idea to come and see you. I just dragged her along with me,” I admit guiltily. “I’m sorry, but I really need some information and I think you might know the answers to a few of my questions.”
She narrows her eyes. “What sort of questions?”
“Questions...about your brother.”
The tension in the room is stifling. Cobalt blue eyes harden and I’m reminded of a certain pair of angry grey that had done the exact same thing on multiple occasions. “What do you want to know about him?” She asks, tone guarded, as if she has something to hide.
I force myself to hold her steady gaze. I’ve seen more intimidating eyes than hers before. “I want to know why Ben was expelled and what he’s got against Ash.”
“And why should I tell you anything?”
“Because I live with Ash now and his business is my business. Once I know what happened, I’m going to try and stop this feud, or whatever it is.”
“So you’re doing all of this for him?”
The question catches me off guard and to my horror I feel a faint pink suffuse my cheeks. “Partly, yes,” I admit. “But it’s not just that. I want to know. I’m curious. Will you tell me? Please?”
Suddenly her eyes widen in realisation. “No way, you’ve got to be kidding me. So you’re the girl he…?”
I send her a warning glance, but nod all the same. “Yes. That’s me.”
Luckily she catches on and drops it, sending a discreet glance towards Claire. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll tell you.”
“Thank you,” I say, and send her the most genuine smile I can muster.
And then she begins her tale.
“I don’t know if you already know, but my brother has always had a bit of a cruel streak in him. In other words, he was a bully. When someone got in his way, or when he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d use any means possible. He was constantly bitter and angry-”
“He still is,” Claire mutters.
“Fine, whatever. But despite his reputation as a bully at school, he was considered ‘cool’ by just about everyone. The girls swooned over him, always trying to get closer to him, and the boys wanted to be like him.” She pauses, for dramatic effect or to think, I’m unsure of. “Anyway, like most other very popular people, he had his own little circle of ‘friends’; a gang basically. And guess who their newest recruit was?”
“Who?” I ask anyway even though I already know the answer.
“Ash Falkland.” The silence is suffocating. “Why else do you think he’s so popular? You could say it was his rise to fame almost. I remember Ben coming home one day and muttering about ‘that Ash kid.’ Said he had potential. He was almost worried. He seemed to think of him as a rival.”
“Is that all it is then?” I ask. “Is it just rivalry?”
She shakes her head coldly. When she picks up her tale though, it is on a completely different subject. “Have you two heard the rumours?” she asks. “About Ben being a pyromaniac?”
We nod. “Is it true?” Claire asks.
“Yes, it is. Maybe it’s not a very severe case, but my brother has always had a bit of a thing for fire.
That’s where things went wrong between him and Ash. You see, Ben was the leader of the group and Ash at the time was a new member. Therefore he was expected to join in with the...ah...activities they took part in. And for Ben, that normally meant burning something.”
“What about your parents? Didn’t they try to stop him?”
“They didn’t know. It was harmless to start with. He threatened me not to tell and I didn’t think it would get out of hand.”
“But it did,” I state simply, the realisation coming to me with a sick sort of horror.
“Yes, it did. He planned to burn down an old car he’d found ‘just for fun’. But then, it went from a car to the town council building. The rest of the gang was expected to be there. He would’ve gone ahead and done it, but in the end Ash stopped him. He actually fought him and managed to steal the lighter from him. And of course all of the commotion attracted attention. The police got involved. Luckily, because there had been no damage done and he didn’t have any previous charges, my brother wasn’t put in prison. However, he was expelled and given a counsellor.”
I try to push away my horror, the nausea swelling inside me, at the thought that I had been going out with a dangerous pyromaniac. I’m a terrible judge of character.“I see, so that’s why those two hate each other so much,” I murmur.
Tia sighs. “My brother can be a little irrational sometimes. But don’t think too badly of him. Despite everything that’s happened, I know there’s still some of his old self left in him.”
I can’t bring myself to believe her words. “Thank you for telling us all of that,” I offer a shaky smile. “I need to talk to Ben, alone. I’m going to fix this. Can you tell him to meet me, out on the field, three days from now? Seven pm.”
Both girls look surprised, and Claire looks ready to argue, but Tia nods hesitantly. “Fine. I guess if you’re this determined, you may have a chance.” And then, the guard finally drops from her eyes and I can see a deep-rooted pain there that’s hardened into resolve. “Please try and help him,” she whispers.
“I will, I promise,” I say, but inside I’m breaking all over again as I remember every other promise that I have not kept.
Chapter 15: Fireflies
That night I dream about the end of the world.
Grey eyes; cold, hard, unforgiving, callous and mixed with the slightest tint of red. Or maybe that’s just my imagination. Windswept, chaotic strands of yellow like liquefied amber coil endlessly around each other in desperation. A flash of brown fabric, a vague memory of scarred blue denim and fury rippling just beneath the surface. And then a smirk – malicious, humourless and cold as the world is consumed by red, crimson shadows that lick at the blackness.
Suddenly the grey becomes hazel. The yellow coils lighten to a pale blonde and flare out like a hundred, writhing snakes. The eyes are just as hard, just as cold; just as dead.
I mouth meaningless apologies over and over again, but I never hear myself. A flash of orange, a sliver of pink, a dash of purple darkness and then above me the clouds come, thrashing and obscuring any possible light. The shadows twirl and dance and cackle – high-pitched and merciless – in their delight. They latch on to me, shaking me, rattling me. I stand still. Across the darkness the hazel eyes that are so tired, so cold fixate on me. The shard of pink lips open, revealing gaping blackness, and let out a silent scream.
Two large, warm hands grip my arms and shake me harshly. I feel disorientated and dizzy. It’s the demons, the red shadows, which are trying to rattle my life out of me. But then I hear a distant exclamation of “Wake up already, would you?” and realise that no, it’s not the demons, it’s just him.
My eyes snap open. In the dark room, I make out the shape of a large figure looming over me, illuminated by the glow emitting from the TV. I jolt up, eyes wide, panic setting in. The dark figure leans back in surprise. I rub at my eyes and blink rapidly. When they finally adjust, my assumption is proved correct as I see the trademark messy hair and dishevelled clothes.
“Are you okay?”
I settle into the corner of the sofa and try to shrink into the soft cushions. I look away and nod, unable to trust my voice. He hovers for a moment, then sits down on the opposite end of the sofa, watching me carefully. Neither of us speak and the only sound in the room is the incessant, comforting background din of the TV. I stare blankly at the screen, not seeing or hearing it. Brief flashes of red hurtle through my mind, vague memories of the nightmare I have just escaped. I close my eyes tiredly.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask, voice hoarse. It has been two days since I visited Tia, two days that I have known the truth.
“Only about half an hour,” he eyes me cautiously. “You missed the best part of ‘The matrix’.”
“What time is it?”
“Around seven I think.”
I glance around the dark room again blearily. “I thought the lights were on when the movie started.”
“They were. I switched them off ‘cause the movie was better without them and I didn’t want to wake you.” I just nod, curling into the sofa more and staring blankly ahead. “You look like a cat curled up like that,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I notice he’s watching me worriedly as though I’m going to have a mental breakdown at any moment. Then again, it’s not too unlikely.
“Of course I am,” I reassure him.
“What was the nightmare about then? You were talking in your sleep.”
My sluggish mind spins. “What sort of things did I say?”
He looks a little embarrassed, but it’s an expression that resembles pity far too much. “You said you were sorry, over and over again.”
“Oh.” I look down, picking at the fraying hem of my shirt. Humiliation and shame well up inside me, but I force the emotions down. “Forget it, I must have been a bit out of it,” I say. “I’m fine now.”
He looks unconvinced. “Won’t you even give me a clue what it was about?” He tries the puppy-dog eyes and when that doesn’t work, a pout.
“It’s not all that interesting.” When he refuses to let it drop, I give a defeated sigh. “Fine. I dreamt about the end of the world.”
“The end of the world?” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not. “What was it like? Lots of volcanoes, meteors, screaming?”
“All I remember is red; lots of bright, crimson red everywhere.”
“You mean blood?”
“Maybe. It could have been lava or fire or anything really.”
There’s still some concern etched into his expression. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” I say. “I thought I’d already said so. Twice.”
And whether he believes me or not, he smiles back warmly. “Ok then,” he says, then picks up a bowl and offers it to me. “Popcorn?” I shake my head, stomach queasy.
It takes half an hour for the movie to finish. I stare blankly at the TV for the whole time, never looking away but never properly watching or even listening. Instead, I attempt to search out the scraps of tattered memories from my nightmare. When I think of it all I see is the red. Like Blood. Like fire. That is all I can remember.
When the ending credits finally roll onto a black screen, I avert my stare. I realise that this is the moment, the moment I have been putting off and waiting for ever since I talked with Tia. Blinking away the flashes of red, I realise that I have to tell him that I know. Because he has a right to know that I know.
“Ash.”
“Hmm?”
I swallow, my dry throat burning. “Do you remember when I asked you about Ben Hastle?”
“What about it?” he asks, feigning a bored tone. “I thought we’d already talked about-”
“How many fights have there been?”
His jaw tightens. “About four or five. Why are you asking me all these questions-”
I interrupt him,
again. “I know,” I say and my voice is hollow. “I know,” I repeat.
“Know what?”
“About everything that’s happened.”
Realisation kicks in. I wait patiently until his shocked expression dips into a frown. I wonder if he’s angry that I know. “How did you find out?” he asks.
“I talked to Tia Hastle. She told me.”
“Oh,” is all he says. The credits of the movie finally end and adverts replace it.
“It was brave of you to stop him like that,” I say quietly, and there’s a dull note of admiration in my tone.
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