I don’t know what I expect, perhaps a letter from my mother, but it is not that. Inside is what looks like an invitation card. On the top is embossed a set of regal initials topped with a golden crown, followed by:
Her Majesty The Queen
requests the pleasure of the company of
---------------------------------------
Miss Diana Elspeth Bellona
---------------------------------------
at a reception to celebrate the engagement of
Her Royal Highness Princess Caroline of Wales,
to
His Royal Highness Prince Alexander Castiel Daxx
At Wintersdeep Castle, England.
My mouth drops open. A laugh of disbelief comes out. Is this Dr Carrington’s sick idea of a joke? Something to taunt me with? Could he somehow have known about the dream I’d had?
And yet the more I look at the heavy cream envelopes, the calligraphy work, the details in the wax seal, the more certain I am that this is the real thing.
It is an invitation to a party, and not just any party but to The Royal Engagement Gala. The Party of the Decade according to the discarded newspapers and magazines I snitched from Mrs Colton.
Xander Daxx’s party. Xander Daxx whose murder I’d dreamed of.
I cannot believe it. I stare at the name on the invitation card, triple checking that it is mine, almost expecting the lettering to melt away before my eyes. The week-long party is taking place in a fancy castle in England. Princess Caroline and Prince Xander’s celebrity friends will attend. Everyone in the world must want one of these invites. Why on earth was one sent to me?
And oh, how I would love to go. To see Xander Daxx with his windswept chestnut hair and his steely grey eyes in the flesh. And to see Caroline, the beautiful English princess who looks like a model with her peaches-and-cream skin and her dark blond hair.
Even I, locked up in my attic most of the time, had imagined what it would be like to go to Caro’s Big Bash as the press have been calling it. There I might even meet a man with wild black hair and midnight in his soul. My Hunter, as I have secretly started to think of him.
A yearning stronger than anything I have ever felt fills my whole body. I want to go there so badly. But even with the invite, it will be impossible. It is in England. How on earth would I get there?
The answer is in the second envelope. A flight ticket falls out onto my mattress. The date on it is for tomorrow evening. And in the last envelope is a booklet containing a schedule of the planned entertainments.
I realize that I am trembling. I have to go. But the flight is tomorrow evening. Practically impossible.
I pace my room. I don’t know how, but I must go. I have to get on that plane to England, even if it is with just the clothes on my back. For years I have been stagnating here, waiting for my parole to end. But there was no parole. And now Dr Carrington and Mrs Colton are conspiring so that I will never be free. All so they can have my mother’s money.
I can’t let them do that to me. I want the happy life I’ve dreamed of. I have to get out of here. I am convinced it is my misery here that is bringing such awful dreams to me. I can’t bear to see people dying in my visions anymore. I want to leave it all behind and start afresh. I want to be human and free. And what better way than at the Royal Engagement Gala?
But if I am going to do this, first things first. Money is what I need most. Enough at least to get me to the airport. And tonight of all nights Mrs Colton has left her purse in her handbag downstairs. Perhaps it was meant to be. Perhaps I am meant to go downstairs and get it. After all, some of it is mine. If I get it now, I can be gone from the house before morning, before she even realizes the money is missing.
It wouldn’t really be stealing. She’s kept all the money I’ve earned. And it is clear now that she has also been being paid by the lawyers to look after me all these years. She has been spending the money on herself. I’ve been so stupid. So pathetic. Well I’ll ever be this pathetic again.
My hands are shaking. I sit down on my bed to calm myself. I need to be careful. I need to not stomp down the stairs in rage. I can’t get complacent just because I’ve already been down once tonight without them hearing. Finally, taking a deep breath, I get up from the bed.
And then I hear the floorboard outside my bedroom door creak.
Sheer instinct makes me whip my blanket over the letters on my bed. My door opens and Buck is standing there. He looks surprised that the door has opened. He sees me standing by the bed and he smiles.
“Caught you,” he says softly.
I freeze. So many nights I had blocked the door so that this would never happen. And now that he is here I do not know what to do. There is nowhere for me to go. He is barring the only way out.
He takes a step into my room, his eyes fixed on me. “I heard you go downstairs,” he says.
I take a step back from him. How much does he know? Did he creep out of his room to watch me from the banister? Does he suspect what I did? I can’t let him find out I stole the letter. Not now.
“I was hungry,” I whisper. “I hadn’t eaten all day.”
He takes another step closer. “Ma won’t like that. You’re not allowed to steal our food.”
“It’s not stealing. She takes my money to buy my food.”
His eyes narrow. “You little sneak-thief. You think just because that doc wants you that you can do what you like now? That pervert?”
I take a step back, moving away from my bed so that his eyes stay on me and away from the bump under my blanket where the letters are.
He smirks and comes slowly towards me, as if he is stalking his prey. “You’ve been flirting with him, haven’t you? You’ve been persuading him to take you away from here. Have you let him touch you?”
“You’re disgusting. He’s my psychiatrist.”
“I heard all his patients are girls. That mental home of his is all full of girls. Young pretty ones. Why do you think that is?”
I stare at him, shocked. I had noticed in the waiting room before my appointments that the other patients were all girls. But it is just Dr Carrington’s specialism.
Buck’s smirk turns ugly. “He doesn’t get to have you first. Not before me.”
Now he is only a few feet away from me, a hulking brute towering above me. I’ve been stupid. I should have stolen a weapon, not a bag of raisins. Some old knife or one of their old baseball bats to keep in my room. But I was too afraid they would find it, and now I have nothing.
The little voice stirs into life, woken by my fear. Use your teeth, she whispers. They’re made for cutting meat.
But they’re not. They’re just ordinary human teeth.
Buck looks pleased to have cornered me against the wall. When he gets near enough, I dodge to the side and dart past him, trying to get to the stairs. But he grabs hold of my arm. He yanks me hard. I fall against him. His arm goes around my waist and he pulls me tightly against his body. My back is squashed up against his bulky torso.
“Little Diana,” he whispers against my hair. “I know you want me.”
“Please don’t do this, Buck,” I say, struggling to break free. My voice comes out in a high squeak.
Don’t show fear, the little voice snaps. Bite his arm. Take a chunk.
But he is so much stronger than me. Biting him will only make him mad.
He seems to love my fear, because he chuckles. “You’re a little tease. Now it’s time for you to pay up.”
He kisses my neck, his moist thick lips sucking at my skin. When I try to slap him away, he catches hold of both my hands and holds them behind my back.
I struggle silently, not wanting to wake Mr and Mrs Colton up. Then I will be in even worse trouble than I am now.
Who cares? says the voice. It’s better that than this.
His hand paws at my chest, and then goes down. It starts dragging my shirt up.
“Stop it, Buck!” I yelp.
He turns me around u
ntil I am facing him. To my horror he puts his mouth on top of mine. I gag at his sour breath. And then his tongue is invading my mouth, and his hands are all over me, and he is hot and sweaty and heavy. And breathing. Breathing on me. And I am falling to the ground with him on top of me. He is so heavy. Squashing me. I can’t get him off. I squirm and struggle, but he is too big.
And then I bite his lip hard. His head rears away from me as he yells. And I scream as loud as I can. I scream and I scream.
The back of his hand slams into my cheek. “Bitch!” he says, as my head hits the floor hard. “Shut your mouth!”
I try to scurry away but he is kneeling on top of me, pinning me. He grabs me by my hair and wrenches my head up so that he can slap me again.
I scream louder. I manage one sharp wail of furious agony before his big fleshy hand lands on my mouth, cutting off my air supply. His other hand pushes on my throat. He is choking me. He is smiling. I claw at him, scratching his face, but I am weakening. I can’t breathe. I am sucking against his hot hand. There is no air.
And then, mercifully, I hear a shout downstairs.
“What’s going on?” calls Mrs Colton.
Her hasty footsteps come up the stairs. Buck lets go of me. I crawl away from him. Mrs Colton comes into the room, closely followed by Mr Colton, then Cody, a brutish clone of his older brother. His eyes eagerly lap up the scene. He looks at Buck and then he looks at me, and he seems angry and envious, as if he has missed out on a nice treat.
“She came on to me,” says Buck. “I heard her go downstairs to steal food, so I came up here for an explanation. She came on to me so that I wouldn’t tell.”
Mrs Colton sees Buck’s bleeding lip and then my torn disheveled shirt. Her eyes narrow.
“You little harlot!” she says.
She grabs a fistful of my long hair and drags me up onto my knees. She slaps me. I jerk away from the blow, and cry out as some of my hair tears from my scalp.
She drags me by my hair and throws me onto my bed. She demands for her husband to give her his belt. Cody rushes down to get one. She whips me with it until I am bleeding. I lay there, my body on top of the precious letters beneath my blanket, enduring the blows, and the shame of their eager eyes lapping up my humiliation.
The little voice simmers with discontent inside me. Some Angel of Death, you are, she says, sounding disgusted and frustrated.
I stay still and meek, showing Mrs Colton that I am defeated. But inside me there is a fire. My heart is raging. This is the last day that I will have to endure this. As soon as they are gone, as soon as I am sure that they are asleep again, I’m taking my letters and I am taking her money and I am leaving this house forever.
Finally she finishes. I am limp and sobbing. She herds the reluctant men from the room, and then shuts my door. And then I hear the snap of the bolt outside as she locks me in.
Chapter 6
DIANA
I wait for what seems like a really long time until the house has grown silent and I know that the Coltons are asleep. Then I go over to my door and peer through the keyhole. The hole is dark. Mrs Colton has left the key in the lock.
The flight for England leaves at seven o’clock in the evening. I have to get to that plane. It is my key to a new life. It is meant to be. But only if I leave this house right now in the middle of the night. When daylight comes my chance will be gone forever. Mrs Colton will be keeping a close eye on me after tonight’s trouble.
Instead of feeling sickened from the beating I have endured, I feel almost heady with wonder. I had dreamt of dancing in my love’s arms while Xander Daxx was nearby. And now I have an invite to his engagement party. The thought I might meet my Hunter there feels magical.
Soppy nonsense, the little voice hisses with derision, but I don’t care.
I take the large empty envelope that contained my letters and slide it under the crack beneath my door, leaving an inch on the inside so I can drag it back in later. I have positioned it directly beneath the lock. A newspaper would have been better but I don’t have one. I have never actually tried this, only thought of it often in earlier years before I realized that I had nowhere to go.
I go to my clothes rail and grab one of the wire hangers. It is more difficult than I thought to bend the stiff wire and twist it into a strong little rod. Eventually I am satisfied with it.
I insert my handmade tool into the keyhole slowly. I feel it when it hits the key. This is the bit I am worried about. I don’t want the key on the other side to fall out too far. I need it to land on my envelope, so I can drag it back inside to open the door from this side.
Another worry is that Mrs Colton or one of the others might hear the sound of the key hitting the ground. I am counting on them being asleep, because after I get the key I still have to sneak downstairs and take every last cent from Mrs Colton’s purse.
And then will come the hard part. I do not know the code to disable the security system, so the alarm is bound to wake them up when I leave the house. So I will exit via the garden window and not by the front door. They’ll be looking for me in the wrong direction. Hopefully long enough for me to have made my escape.
Feeling bolstered by this plan, I nudge the tool slowly and carefully, trying to gently ease the key out of the lock. The key does not budge. I jiggle the tool a little, hoping to work it loose, but this does not help. I spend a long time reshaping my tool and angling it different ways in the keyhole. I even resort to shaking it vigorously and loudly, but nothing works. The key will not come out.
Finally, feeling on the verge of screaming in frustration, I give up. I pace the length of the attic. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. It feels like my life is spiraling out of control. After this, Mrs Colton will hand me over to Dr Carrington as soon as possible. And then there will be no chance of escape.
Aside from the door, the only way out of this attic is a skylight. It used to be barred, like the window. Last summer some workmen had come to fix broken tiles on the roof, and they had laughed at the bars.
The sides of the skylight had been leaking, but Mrs Colton had not asked them to fix that. She didn’t care if my attic was damp. But one kind builder had seen me inside, and he had fixed it anyway. He’d taken off the bars, and winked at me that I wasn’t a caged little bird any more. I could fly if I wanted to.
He had been joking of course. He hadn’t known I was a prisoner in here. I had never dared open that skylight, not even to let in a breeze, for fear that Mrs Colton would come in at any time of the day or night and notice that the bars had gone.
It occurs to me that if the builders could walk on that steep roof, maybe I can too. They had erected scaffolding around the sides. It is gone now, but there is a large tree in the garden that is as high is the roof. The more I think about it, the more tempting the idea is. I might fall and die, but what if I don’t?
I hurriedly change my clothes. I select one of Mrs Colton’s old trousers, which I cinch tightly to my waist with a belt. I have to roll up the fabric at the ankles too. I put on a clean shirt, and then a cardigan on top of that. I don’t have a coat.
I stuff all of my letters into the pockets of my trousers as deeply as they will go. I don’t want them falling out. My other essentials I put in a cloth bag that I can sling over my shoulder. The roof of the attic is deeply sloping and low. I am able to reach the skylight by dragging my bed to beneath it. I open it and hoist myself through and onto the roof.
It is dark outside and it takes a while for my eyes to adjust enough to see. The roof is steeply angled, even more than I had thought it would be, and I have to crouch low to keep my balance. At the edge I can make out a big shadowy shape that must be the tree.
I inch my way towards it slowly, clinging to the roof tiles for dear life. By the time I get to the edge, all of the bruises and pains in my body are screaming in protest.
My work is not done. The branches here are too thin, their thickest parts too far for me to reach. I edge sideways unt
il I find a thick branch that is almost close enough.
I have to half throw myself onto it, and it takes all of my willpower not to scream when the branch falls beneath my weight. I cling to it like a monkey as it bounces a few times. Once it is still enough, I begin the arduous climb down the branch towards the trunk of the tree, ignoring the twigs and leaves that thrust against my face and my bare hands, scratching me.
Somehow I make it to the thick trunk. As I spread my arms around its girth and try to find some way of clinging to its thickness, my hand catches hold of a protruding piece of smooth wood. It takes a moment for me to figure out what it is.
When I had first moved here there used to be an old treehouse here that the boys used as their fort in childhood. I used to gaze at it, wishing I could hide there. Mrs Colton had it torn down, but the ladder is still here, laying against the trunk.
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