by Tim O'Rourke
I was quiet for a moment as the wind grew steadily stronger around us. Kayla and Sam sat in the back of the van, watching us.
“What about Isidor?” I asked Potter.
“What about him?”
“That photograph found its way to him, just like the letters you sent found their way back to Sophie,” I reminded him. “Isidor is dead now and so is Sophie. Whoever sent that picture and those letters did it because they knew that Isidor and Melody had once loved each other, just like you and Sophie had.”
“So?” Potter said.
“You just don’t see it, do you?” I said, slapping my forehead with the heel of my hand.
“See what?”
“Whoever is behind all of this is targeting people we loved,” I told him. “They are slowly killing them off one by one. The picture of my father, with the word push on the back was a warning.”
“What picture?” Murphy cut in.
“Potter brought a picture of me and my father back from my flat, and just like on the back of Isidor’s picture, someone had written the word push. It’s a warning,” I said, my stomach starting to knot in dread.
“What kind of warning?” Potter snapped.
“That my father is going to be killed next,”
I breathed.
“How many ways have I got to explain this – that man isn’t your father,” Potter said, his voice brimming with despair.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said thoughtfully.
“But he still doesn’t deserve to die because I failed to make a choice. I can’t just sit back quietly knowing that someone is about to die because of me.”
Taking me by the shoulders, Potter stared at me and said, “Who says that it’s your father who is going to die? It could be you, Kiera. The trap could’ve been set for you.”
“That may be so, but none of us can be sure of that,” I said. I couldn’t go on knowing that my father was going to die another hideous death – but this time because of me. How would I be able to live with that? Then, looking at Murphy, I said, “Where does my father live in this world?”
“Kiera, forget it,” Murphy barked at me.
“I can’t,” I whispered with tears welling in the corners of my eyes. “I’ve got to go and save him. I couldn’t last time, but this time around I have a chance of putting something right. If that’s all I do in this world which has been pushed – then my coming back has some meaning.”
“But you can’t save him any more than I could save Sophie, or save Isidor,” Potter tried to warn me. “If that car hadn’t had hit Sophie, then the wolves would have got her in the end and...”
“...And just like we couldn’t persuade Isidor to leave the station with us,” I cut in, “you can’t convince me not to go and try and save my father.” Then looking at Murphy, I added, “Now give me my father’s address.”
“He’s
not
your
father,”
Murphy
whispered, his eyes looking wet.
“He’s the nearest thing that I’ve got to one,” I said, guessing I would hurt Murphy by those words. I still felt hurt by him and Potter.
Angry.
“Don’t tell her,” Potter snapped at Murphy.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll find him myself. I’m sure I can read a phonebook.”
Then as I turned my back on the both of them, I heard Murphy reluctantly whisper the address. I looked back at him.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“I don’t believe you?” Potter hissed at Murphy. “What did you go and tell her for?”
“We can’t stop her from going,” Murphy snapped back.
“But I thought you said it was a stupid fucking idea to go and look for him,” Potter said.
“It is but...”
Before Murphy had a chance to finish, Potter looked at me and said, “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” I said. “This is something I have to do on my own.”
“Why?”
“Why didn’t you take me with you when you went in search of Sophie?” I asked him.
“That was different,” he came back at me.
“Sure it’s different. I haven’t screwed the person I’m going back to save,” I said, turning away. Then stopping and looking back at him I added, “Did you?”
“Did I do what?” he asked, his eyes growing dark.
“Sleep with her – when you found each other again?” I whispered, tears spilling onto my cheeks and hating them. I didn’t want Potter to see me cry. He didn’t deserve to see my hurt. He had no right.
“What do you think?” he asked back.
“I guess it doesn’t matter what I think,” I said, looking at him. “Or you would’ve never gone looking for her again.”
Then, turning my back on him and the others, I set off across the field.
“Kiera,” I heard Murphy call after me.
“There is a house on the other side of this hill.
We’ll wait until this time tomorrow morning, then we’ll have to move on again. It’s too dangerous for us to stay in the same place for too long.”
Without looking back, I brushed the tears from my cheeks and went in search of my father.
Chapter Eight
Potter
“Well done!” Murphy said, turning back towards the police van.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” I asked, the wind picking up and making the long grass bend to and fro.
“You’ve gone and upset Kiera now,” he said, lifting his leg and trying to shake the mud from his slipper.
“It wasn’t my fucking idea to go and lie to her,” I snapped in resentment. “That was yours.”
“I meant looking up your old girlfriend!”
Then turning to face me, he said, “Potter, at what point did you think that was a good idea?”
“I was desperate,” I said, remembering how lost I had felt in those first few weeks after returning from The Hollows. “You were dead – or so I thought. I needed to find out what was happening. I had no one else to turn to.”
“Yeah, you did,” Murphy grunted, giving up on his slippers which were now caked with mud. “You had Kiera. Why you feel the need to fool around when you have such a beautiful girl like Kiera in tow beats the shit out of me.”
“I haven’t been fooling around with anyone,” I barked.
“Don’t give me that crap,” he said, his clear blue eyes fixing on mine. “You were upstairs in the bedroom with that Sophie getting your pecker wet when I showed up.”
“Hey, listen!” I yelled, grabbing his arm, so he couldn’t walk away. “I didn’t have sex with Sophie, not in this world. I wouldn’t do that to Kiera – I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to, and the thing is – I didn’t want to. I’m in love with Kiera – no one else.”
“Well it’s a shame you didn’t tell her that,” Murphy said, shrugging my hand free.
“Perhaps she would’ve stayed.”
“Kiera hasn’t gone because of anything I’ve said or done,” I told him. “She went because of her father.”
“Jesus, Potter,” Murphy groaned. “I worry about you sometimes. She left because of you and that tart, Sophie.”
“Sophie wasn’t a tart,” I cut in.
“You’re very defensive about someone you couldn’t give two shits about,” Murphy eyed me.
“Look, I’m not taking the blame!” I shouted. “This is your fuck-up as much as mine.”
“How do you figure that?” Murphy frowned.
“You were the bright spark who thought it would be a good idea to keep all of this shit from Kiera, not me,” I reminded him. “It was you who said not to tell her you were back. You didn’t even break the news that you were back gently. Oh no, you had to turn up in a big white police van, with sirens screaming and lights flashing and shouting out about the Muppets. Fuck knows what the Muppets have to do with any of this!”
“It was you I was calling the Muppet!”
Murphy roared, and prodded me twice in the chest with his forefinger.
“I ain’t no Muppet!” I shot back, my chest feeling numb from where he had jabbed at me.
“Oh no?” Murphy hissed. “You could’ve fooled me. You went screaming across the roof of that train like fucking Beaker. All you needed was the bright orange hair and I would’ve never known the difference.”
“If you hadn’t noticed, we were being chased down by a pack of berserkers who wanted to tear our freaking heads off!” I roared back.
“What else was I s’posed to do?”
“You’re not meant to be drawing any unwanted attention to yourself, and here you are, running around like The Terminator on crack,”
Murphy said. “And another thing! Who’s the wolf? I thought you hated wolves!”
“I do,” I snapped back. “Letting him tag along wasn’t my bright idea. It was Kiera’s. I think Kayla’s gone and got herself all loved up!”
“What’s he like?” Murphy asked.
“Who?”
“The Wolf!” Murphy growled. “Who else did you think I was talking about numb-nuts?”
“I wouldn’t trust him,” I said.
“Why not?” Murphy asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“Because he’s a freaking wolf! Why else?”
“We’ll see,” murphy said thoughtfully and walked away.
As we neared the van, I could see Kayla and the wolf-boy sitting next to each other by the open doors, their legs dangling out of the back.
Both of them were watching us as we approached. Kayla looked pale, her sprinkling of pink coloured freckles standing out like a rash in the cold.
Looking at the boy, Murphy said, “We haven’t been introduced. My name is...”
“Kayla has just been telling me all about you,” Sam cut in, his voice like a soft growl. “She told me you were once eaten by wolves.”
“That’s right,” Murphy said eyeing him.
“It’s a good job for you I don’t keep a grudge.”
Then Murphy was gone, climbing back into the van behind the driver’s wheel.
“But I do,” I said, looking at Sam, knowing that most of the troubles in my life had a wolf hidden not too far behind them. I left them sitting at the back of the van. As I reached the passenger door, Kayla called out to me.
“Potter, is Kiera coming back?”
Without looking back at her, I said, “I hope so, I really do.” I climbed into the cab of the van, and swung the door shut.
Chapter Nine
Kiera
With my coat wrapped about me, and my hands thrust into the pockets, I made my way across the field, leaving Potter and the others behind me. Murphy had given me twenty-four hours to see my father and get back. I would take as long as I needed – who was he to make up the rules? How could they both have kept such secrets from me? Who did they think they were?
At twenty years old, I didn’t need them deciding what I should or shouldn’t know. I had a right to know that my father was alive here – even if Murphy said I had no rights in this pushed world.
I just wanted to see my father again, to know that he was all right, to know that he was alive. The need to push those last memories of him crying out for pain relief would be pushed aside, buried, if I could only see him again, looking well – alive.
That’s all I wanted to do; just to see him again.
Who wouldn’t want to do that if they were given another chance? How many wouldn’t want to go back and be able to say all the stuff they wished they had said to their loved one before it had been too late – before they had been taken from them? I was no different from anyone else, other than I had been given a second chance – an opportunity to see my father again. If I didn’t, it would haunt me whether I stayed in this pushed world or not. I would spend my time here like a restless spirit. How could I rest knowing that my father was out there somewhere, within reach of me? It would drive me mental. It would drive me insane quicker than the need for blood does when it comes. It would be like that itch deep inside of me, which eventually turns into a craving, a hunger that can’t be quenched until blood is washing over my tongue and cooling my throat. I had to see my father again – despite Murphy’s and Potter’s warnings.
Who was Potter to give me advice anyhow? I wondered, climbing over a wooden fence which circled the field. He hadn’t wasted any time in going in search of Sophie. Why had he done that? Because he was still in love with her, right? I didn’t care what he said, what excuses he made. The fact he went looking for her, before anyone else, said that he still had feelings for her, and I guessed he always would. Sophie was Potter’s first true love, and did we ever forget them? I couldn’t be sure – Potter was mine.
Would I be able to shirk off the feelings that I had for him so easily? Probably not. Even though he was a complete cock at times – I knew there would always be a small part of me that felt something for him. That’s what I hated, though.
He had hurt me, deceived me; and although my feelings towards him were ones of distrust and hatred, I knew that deep inside of me I was still very much in love with him. It was hard to admit that, as it hurt to do so.
On the other side of the fence, I stumbled across a narrow path cut into the grass. It spiralled downwards and away to a small crop of trees. I looked back, and the police van and the others had gone. Feeling alone now, I faced front and headed towards the trees. With the wind tugging at my long hair, I bent forward into the wind.
Had he slept with Sophie again? I wondered. What did she look like? Potter had told me deep below the Fountain of Souls, as we lay chained together, that she had been beautiful. He told me about those letters, the ones in which he had pleaded for her to come back to him. I should have seen the signs back then. For someone who saw too many things sometimes – I had been blinded by him back in those caves. That had been the first time we had made love, our hands manacled together. Had we made love though? I thought we had, but did Potter feel the same? As he had sex with me, was he thinking about me or her – Sophie?
I headed towards the trees, feeling sick with jealousy and hurt. I felt stupid and used. How could I have been so naive? If Sophie had been in those caves with him instead of me, it would have been her he would have made love to. It would have been an act of love – not out of fear and desperation at the thought of dying. That one final act bringing us together before we died – or so we believed back then.
I tried to push the thoughts of paranoia from my mind, but as I neared the trees, those voices of doubt just wouldn’t keep quiet. I tried to tell myself that Potter did love me, that there had been other times when we had been together – made love and it had been intense – it had been real. I tried to conjure all the times Potter told me how much he loved me while making love. There was the time in the summerhouse just before leaving Hallowed Manor. We had made love on the floor, and over and over again, he had told me how much he loved me. He had let me drink his blood, and he had drunk mine too. Then stopping up short, my skin turned cold and my stomach lurched.
“Oh, my God,” I breathed aloud.
Moments before making love on the floor of the summerhouse, Potter had returned from her – from being with Sophie. He had led me away from the statue I had been looking at in the rain.
Potter had taken me into the summerhouse, and as he had peeled my wet clothes from me and laid me down on the floor, he had been thinking of her.
All the time he must have been thinking of Sophie.
Potter had come straight back and tried to bury his own guilt and shame by having sex with me. I screwed my eyes shut as those images of us together taunted me.
I could remember Potter had been unusually gentle, covering my face, neck, shoulders, breasts, and stomach with soft kisses. I could hear the sound of the rain drumming against the summerhouse roof, and the gentle rise and fall of our breathing.
“I love you, Kiera,” he had whispered against my cheek as he lowered
himself onto me.
“I love you, too,” I smiled, running my hands through his untidy hair. Then those images changed, and it wasn’t me I could see beneath him, it was Sophie, and I was nothing more than the statue outside in the rain, peering in through the window.
With my stomach cramping, and feeling sick at the images of them together, I leant forward and gagged. A thin stream of vomit swung from my chin, and tears rolled down the length of my face. I armed the vomit away and sucked in two large mouthfuls of air. I staggered off from the path which entered the crop of trees.
With my legs feeling like jelly beneath me, I fell against a tree and slid down the length of its trunk.
I pulled my knees up against my chest, and covering my face with my hands, I cried. How could Potter hurt me like this? What had I done to deserve it?
I rocked backwards and forwards slowly beneath the canopy of trees and I couldn’t care if I never saw Potter again. There was only one man that I wanted to be held and comforted by right now, and that was my father. Wiping snot from my upper lip and the tears from my cheeks, I stood up. I wouldn’t waste another tear on Potter – he didn’t deserve one of them. With the trees offering me a place to hide, I loosened my coat and released my wings. I trampled slowly over the mush of fallen leaves until I found a hole in the branches above me. The morning sky looked white, like a bed of snow. Spreading my wings, I tilted my head back, pressed my arms flat against my sides, and shot up into the sky, hiding myself and the pain amongst the clouds.
Chapter Ten
Potter
Murphy drove the police van to the rear of a rundown-looking cottage. The outside was weather-beaten white, but most of this was hidden by blotches of yellowy-green moss and ivy. The roof slated downwards and was covered in thick rows of grey slate. There was a chimney which leant to one side and looked as if it might just collapse into a pile of brick and dust at any moment.
“It’s nice to see that you’ve kept up your high standards of living,” I said, peering through the mud-splashed windscreen.