Spark

by Rachael Craw

  I hug my waist for something to hold on to. “He’s so young.”

  “He was fifteen. I was twenty. He sold me coffee in a cafe in New York.” Her mouth presses tight. “I couldn’t save him. I didn’t know what was happening to me. He was stabbed in the neck on his way home from work on a Saturday night.”

  It’s like having a bucket of ice poured down my back. If she failed, what hope is there for me? For Kitty?

  The next Spark, a woman in her mid-twenties. Lauren Sutton. Beside this, a photocopy of a driver’s licence. Jason Lyle. His image, crossed out with a red marker.

  “This guy was her Stray?”

  She barely nods.

  “And you got him?”

  “I did.”

  There has to be nearly thirty, maybe thirty-five photographs of Sparks. Eight have black lines through them – the ones who didn’t make it. They’re closer to the top. Beside them are sticky notes with question marks. The rest are shots of survivors and the Strays who’ve been crossed out with red marker.

  Something fierce rises in my chest and I reach for Miriam’s hand, staring at the board, the evidence of her DNA. “Show me how to save Kitty.”

  She turns to look at me, her brown eyes warm and deep. “We’ll train during the day and run in the evening.”

  “In the dark?”

  “Don’t you want to check out your night vision?”

  DELAY

  “But Mr Gallagher, I – I explained to Jamie that I would stay out of the way.” I stand rigid in the hall, trying not to crush the telephone in my hand. My heart pounds like it might break loose from its valves. I cannot be having this conversation. The thought of prolonged separation from Kitty is unacceptable.

  Leonard Gallagher has the gift of immovability. Even if I let go of social restraint and flew into a full panic-induced rage, he’d still respond in the same polite unwavering tone. “Things have changed, Evangeline. Jamie didn’t know the doctors would place restrictions. It’s enough that detectives will be coming in and out over the next couple of days.”

  “I can wait in the corridor. I could–”

  “No.” The line crackles. “She needs rest, Evie. I’m asking you to respect my decision.”

  Arguing would only make me sound unreasonable and offensive, but holding back feels like swallowing a stone. “Of course. I’m sorry, Mr Gallagher. I don’t want to upset anyone.”

  Leonard sighs, a soul-deep sound. “Kitty’s lucky to have friends who care as much as you do and we appreciate it.”

  My throat constricts. “Jamie said you were going to review the CCTV footage from the ball. Did it show anything?”

  “It – it was very difficult to make out; the police are having it analysed.”

  “What about the DNA test?”

  “It’s too soon for results. Evie, I promise we’ll keep you posted, but you might not hear from us until Kitty’s been discharged and is settled in at home.”

  I close my eyes. “A week?”

  “At the least.”

  There are parting words but the white noise in my head devours everything.

  I hang up the phone and lean against the bookcase, closing my eyes to reach for Kitty; waiting for the peak in fear, the looming shadow. Nothing comes, nothing but static. It doesn’t comfort me. I hate the feeling I’m missing something.

  Miriam’s head appears out the glass door of her studio. “Who was that?”

  “Leonard. Doctors say no visits.”

  “Oh.”

  We look at each other in silence.

  I straighten up. “Can I take the car? I can sit in the parking lot.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She’s safe there.” Miriam steps into the hall and closes the studio door with a clap. “How many times do we have to go over this? You need to concentrate on training, stimulating your frequency so that you can read the bandwidth. It’s the only thing you can trust. There’s a difference between run-of-the-mill anxiety and the kind of signal that will build when Kitty’s in danger.”

  Familiar anger flares inside me, the combination of frustration and fear. “Waiting across town for blind panic to hit me while some psycho guts her in her bed doesn’t strike me as an efficient use of time!”

  She closes her eyes as though searching for strength. “This is not the only time in your life you will feel this way. You still have to live, be a functioning human being, not some crazy vigilante.”

  “I want to go back over the photos again.”

  “You’ve been over them and over them. It’s pointless, a dangerous distraction that only feeds your paranoia.” She looks at her watch. “I have a bus load of models arriving in half an hour. I suggest you go downstairs and work out, and when I’m finished we’ll do some reflex training.”

  She disappears inside the studio and I stand staring in the hall.

  A week. Maybe more.

  Twelve hours apart from Kitty has almost driven me mad. I can’t imagine seven days of that kind of torture. I need the tether, that pulse that tells me she lives and breathes.

  The Virgin sits beside me on her shelf, mournful eyes downcast, her blue robe filmed in dust already, lint at her feet. I wipe her carefully, my fingers trembling, wishing I’d prayed when I had the chance.

  DINNER

  The Gallaghers’ rambling estate merges with the forest but the huge stone house sits on a rise near the south-east boundary, surrounded by gardens and manicured lawns. It has deep-set panelled windows, French doors opening onto sweeping porches, an elegant balcony running the length of the top floor and a slate roof. Less ostentatious than the governor’s mansion and all the more impressive for its restraint – grand not grandiose.

  The sun has nearly set but we’re early on account of my seismic reaction to Miriam’s dawdling. We sit silent and sullen in the idling car, waiting for the gates to open. I grit my teeth. The gates take too long, like everything that has placed itself between Kitty and me in the past fourteen days: drip-fed information, the Gallaghers’ responses to calls and messages, endless days and sleepless nights and even time itself. Molasses slow. Then, finally, an invitation to dinner. I picture jumping out of the passenger seat, forcing my way through the increasing gap, charging up the long curving drive and launching myself through the dining room windows …

  “Please don’t break the armrest,” Miriam mutters.

  I release the groaning plastic and fold my hands in my lap, bouncing my knee in time with my pins and needles, zip-zap-zip-zap-zip-zap. I grip my knuckles and wince at the sting beneath my bandaids. I’d taken skin off each joint and the calluses inside my palms were just as bad – combination of rope burn and reflex training. At least my thumb has healed from the kitchen surgery.

  I fidget with the hem of my dress, counting in my head until the gates are wide enough for Miriam’s car. “Finally!” I lean forwards in my seat.

  “Play it cool,” Miriam says. “Remember what we talked about.”

  I doubt she can drive any slower, making me too irritated to enjoy the splendour of the Gallagher’s estate. We pull in by the front steps and I’m out of the car before Miriam has turned off the engine. I have so much adrenaline in my body I don’t notice the aches and pains from training. Miriam fishes in her handbag and fusses with the collar of her shirt, seeming to invent new means of stalling. I grind my teeth, choking my purse between my hands until she gets out of the car and joins me on the drive, holding a pack with a selection of photos from the ball.

  Halfway up the steps, it hits me, a magnetic pulse that hooks behind my bellybutton. The tether. I grab Miriam’s arm. Tears spring in my eyes with the rush of irrational relief. I already know Kitty survived her stay in the hospital and returned home safely, but I still shake, overwhelmed by the proof of life. Immediately, my consciousness of the bandwidth heightens, like someone has turned the volume up. I don’t even mind the static.

  “Even from here?” Miriam says.

  The door opens and there stands Barb, fastening a pear
l earring, a faltering smile on her lips. Behind her carefully applied make-up she looks drawn. I dab at my eyes, trying not to smudge my own make-up. I have shadows to hide too.

  “Goodness,” she says. “Come in, come in. We’re all running a bit behind, I’m afraid.”

  “Sorry, Evie’s been itching to get here.” Miriam mounts the porch, embracing Barb, kissing her cheek.

  Barb looks teary eyed and shakes her head. “Sorry. Seeing you both – it makes me …”

  “It’s all right,” Miriam says. “We all miss April.”

  I’m so wired I don’t even feel the pang of grief. I follow Miriam into the vast foyer, gleaming, white-panelled woodwork, pale walls, sweeping central staircase, and a triple-height ceiling with a crystal chandelier. There are two sets of double doors to the left and right of the staircase. The first on the left lead to a formal dining room and out of sight beyond that, the kitchen. Second is the ballroom but its huge glass-panelled sliders are closed. A drawing room, living room and conservatory are through the first set of doors on the right, and Leonard pops his head out of the last set of doors, a phone pressed to his ear. He waves, makes an apologetic face and disappears again into his study.

  “He’s on the line to his brother.” Barb’s mouth thins. “Knowing Jeremy, it might take awhile. Why don’t you come into the living room while we wait for the others. Jamie only just got in. He’s been running on Allesford Ridge.”

  I couldn’t sit and wait if she paid me. “Can I go up and see Kitty?”

  “Oh, um.”

  I move towards the stairs before I register Barb’s hesitation and Miriam’s warning look.

  “I’m sure she won’t be long,” Barb says.

  “I’ll let her know we’re here.” I bound up the stairs as though the tether reels me in like a fishing line.

  “Well, I suppose,” Barb’s voice peters out before I make the landing. Miriam murmurs something apologetic and I head left to the family wing. I haven’t been up here in three years but I know Kitty’s room is the first on the left and Jamie’s is at the end. Their parents have an apartment-sized suite on the right, running the length of the wing. One of Kitty’s double doors stands partly open. I have to stop in the hall, close my eyes and exhale before knocking.

  I tap and call, “Hey, it’s me,” then nudge the door.

  Kitty is at her desk in a casual blue dress with a high collar that disappears inside her foam neck support. She sits up, startled and closes her pen inside the cover of a brown journal. “Evie?” She glances at her clock and rises from her seat, pulling open the top drawer of her desk and sliding the journal in. “You’re here early.” She locks the drawer then slips the key into her pocket.

  I stand on the threshold, taking in the stiffness and self-consciousness of her movements, trying to keep myself from running and squeezing the life out of her.

  “Like my new foam?” She still sounds husky and though she makes a face as if it’s a joke, her eyes water.

  “Better than the full brace.”

  “Not by much.”

  The airy room hasn’t changed from how I remembered it. A polished floor with a Gallagher textiles rug. The decor, white on white with raspberry hints in the exquisite drapes and quilt from their soft furnishings division. Big French doors, the balcony beyond. Hardbacks line an orderly bookcase and an old Audrey Hepburn movie poster hangs framed on the wall. I grin, close the door behind me and cross the floor, intending to hug her. She moves to the other side of the bed, tucks her hair behind her ears and brushes her hands down her dress, her eyes focusing on the pile of sweaters on her quilt. “Sorry about the run-around.” she says, as though trying to come across offhand rather than embarrassed. “We’re all a bit crap at returning calls.”

  I stop by her desk and shake my head, trying to come across easy-going rather than agonised, knowing full well I made a nuisance of myself, texting, leaving messages at the hospital and on their home line. I stare at the bruising that has yellowed around her eye. “Sorry, I guess I was worried.”

  “Good grief, don’t be sorry. It’s lovely.” She picks through the pile and fishes out a light sweater and makes awkward work of trying to get it over her head. “It’s been a bit mad with the police and so many bloody interviews and the doctors banging on about resting and whatnot.”

  “Can I help you?” I take a couple of steps around the bed, anxious she might strain herself.

  “No!” She backs away with the sweater only halfway on.

  I stop, surprised by her tone.

  “Sorry.” She gives a tremulous laugh. “But I have to learn to do these things by myself. I’m never going to come right if I let everybody treat me like an invalid, am I?”

  “I guess not.” I move back, feeling awkward and unsure. “And they’re happy with your progress then? The doctors, I mean.”

  Kitty tugs the sweater into place, hair mussed, pink in the face and red-eyed. “Well, they let me leave.”

  The bedroom door opens, producing a gust of air. Jamie walks in, pulling a blue shirt on over a white T-shirt. I catch a glimpse of black ink circling his left bicep. Tattoos? His eyes are cautious, shifting from me to Kitty and back again. “I heard the car,” he says. “I was going to tell Kitty to get a move on but here you are.”

  My consciousness of Jamie almost surprises me. With the potency of Kitty’s signal, I expected to find it difficult to concentrate on anything else, but Jamie seems to fill the room. He steps past me, heat radiating from his skin – that faint aroma matching the one from my memory – to stand beside Kitty and put his arm around her shoulders. His size only reinforces to me how small and vulnerable she is and my chest constricts.

  Is it me, or does everything seem off? I wonder if my emotional vertigo is infecting everyone around me.

  “You ready?” Jamie asks.

  “Just need to fix my hair.” Kitty squeezes her brother’s waist. Even the physical affection strikes me as weird. The twins have never been particularly huggy with each other. “Why don’t you take Evie down and get her a soda or something. I won’t be long and then I’ll check on the dinner.”

  “She’s gone all Master Chef.” Jamie raises his eyebrows.

  “Fills the hours of my solitary confinement,” Kitty says, again attempting, and failing, to sound offhand.

  He releases her and crosses to the door, holding it for me. I get the distinct impression I’m being ushered out. My pins and needles burn and my mouth feels dry. “I could use a drink.”

  “Miriam says she’s got you running, Evangeline.” Barb sits at the end of the table, shifting her cutlery with her finger, as though measuring for perfect alignment. “Jamie runs, don’t you, dear?”

  Jamie sits with his back to the French doors that overlook the garden. Miriam and I sit opposite the twins. I imagine the seating arrangement has been designed to give us the best view, but it’s dark outside now and even if the sun were blazing, my eyes wouldn’t be on Barb’s garden. Kitty and, for different reasons, Jamie are too distracting. He looks up at the sound of his name. “You tried the ridge?”

  I shake my head, turning to my aunt. “You’ll have to show me.”

  “We mostly do the reserve,” Miriam says, “since we can get to it through the backyard. It’s not as steep but the terrain is nice and rough. Keeps you on your toes.”

  “Hard to really get your stride though,” Jamie says.

  Miriam shrugs. “We manage.”

  This, like each topic raised, fails to launch and ends in silence. Miriam has talked about her work. Leonard has said something about the state of the business in Europe. Jamie only speaks when directly addressed and Kitty says nothing at all. I listen but find it hard to concentrate, what with the static in my head so loud it surprises me the others can’t hear it. Every time I look at Kitty – and I try hard not to stare – she almost seems to vibrate on high frequency.

  “When do you go back to Berlin?” Miriam asks.

  Jamie presses his lips tog
ether and shakes his head. “No set date.”

  “He will go back,” Barb says. “When – when everything settles down.”

  Jamie glances at his mother then away.

  “Kitty, this looks delicious.” Leonard leans forwards from the head of the table, reaching for the tureen of minestrone.

  I sit there, impatient with the small talk, desperate to know what the police have come up with – DNA test results, anything – but sense the topic is taboo. Wouldn’t they bring it up themselves if it’s open for discussion? Things are definitely off. Maybe their family really is connected to the Affinity Project, and all this jumpy behavior is hyper-vigilance, and inviting us to come tonight is purely to get us off their case? I have to swallow the urge to blurt my secret right then and there. How crazy would it sound? I bite the inside of my cheek for self-control.

  “Smells fantastic,” Miriam says, tapping my ankle with her foot and breaking my trance. She passes me her bowl and I give it to Leonard who mans the ladle. Like a discordant background note, I can’t pick why that also seems so strange and then it hits me. Where is the household staff?

  “Tell us about Burton Central, Evie,” Leonard says, after another awkward silence. “Will you know any of the Seniors there?”

  I don’t want to talk about it. With school only a week away and the future so uncertain, I have no intention of even starting the year until Kitty is safe. Miriam and I have argued about that too. Bitterly. Burton Central and Gainsborough Collegiate are on opposite sides of town. As far as I’m concerned it’s completely out of the question. “I doubt it,” I say. “Maybe I should look into those scholarships you were telling me about, Kit. Mom always raved about Gainsborough.”

  Kitty rises awkwardly from the table, eyes darting from side to side. “I forgot the other rolls. I – I made wholemeal rolls, and I better check the lamb. I’ll just be a few minutes, sorry.”

  I hate to see her so fragile.