Between (8 page)

Lunch
finished, I walk toward the quieter area of the hospital grounds. Finn sits on the wooden bench next to the memorial plaque; the one I wanted to sit on because it’s the most peaceful part of the hospital grounds. His long legs are outstretched as he scrolls through his mobile phone. He doesn’t notice me at first, and I take the time to study him. The sun picks out the gold in his blonde hair. I picture the man from the fog and half-close my eyes to see if Finn looks like him, as I imagined the time I fainted outside the hospital.

He looks over
as if he senses my scrutiny. "Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?"

My face heats. "Nothing. Sun was in my eyes."

Finn opens his mouth to speak as I walk over to him, but I talk first. "Sorry about getting in the way the other day. With the patient, I mean. It was wrong of me; I should've left the ward as soon as I realised what was happening."

He shrugs
then tips his head to look at me. "Okay. It doesn’t matter, no harm done."

The unspoken about what happened when he touched me hovers. Subconsciously, I rub my arm and he watches, chewing on his lip.

"Was the patient okay?" I ask.

Finn puts his phone in his pocket, focusing very hard on the action
, and then deflects the question. "How are you?"

The
woman died
. I saw Finn in the room with the patient shortly before this happened and a doubt flickers. I chastise myself; what possible reason do I have to think Finn is harming people? The weirdness of the house is rubbing off on me. "I'm okay."

He misreads my stiff reply. "Did I upset you? Sorry, I just had to get you to leave…"

"No, I’m just not feeling sociable."

"That’s a
shame; I was going to ask you out."

"Oh."
I attempt to hide my shock. "Why?"

"Because I’m sick of being bored in the evenings. It
doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want us to be that."

"Okay…"

Finn turns on a dazzling smile. "Cool. I don’t have your number yet, though."

Stupefied, I hand my phone to him. He gingerly takes it from me as if I’m handing him something icky, then punches in his number. He drops it back into my palm
and it's obvious we both avoided physical contact.

"I guess picking you up at your house won’t be a good idea if
Crazy Boy is around?"

"Probably."

"Meet in town then? We can decide what to do once we get there?"

"Right."

Finn stands, but doesn’t approach me. "You okay?"

"Yeah."
No, I wish I’d stop speaking in monosyllables.

Grabbing his bag, he turns his dimpled smile to me. "Meet me by the bus stop on High Street? Seven pm."

I stare at his retreating figure. How did a trip to the morgue and a failed attempt at house-hunting end with arranging a date with a guy I’m not sure I like? Especially when I have a crazy notion he might have killed someone.

CHAPTER 9

Finn rests against the wall near the bus stop, hands buried into the pockets of his grey hoodie. My stomach flips as the bus approaches the stop, and I remember his words about this not being a date. Even
though I don’t want this to be a date, I can still be attracted to him, right?
Am
I attracted to him? Nowhere near as much as Alek, whose weird and unwanted effect on me continues to summon inappropriate thoughts about me and him doing inappropriate things. These thoughts are now finding their way into my dreams. No, I want Finn as a friend and I don't want Alek as a friend
or
a lover. Or so I keep telling myself.

Finn appraises
me a little too closely as I step off the bus, and I fight off the discomfort. My lack of confidence since the accident has evidently morphed into feeble behaviour around guys, and this pisses me off.

"What do you want to do?" he asks.

"I’m hungry."

"Okay, there’s a pub
that does have good food. I need a beer."

At least
, we’re not doing the ‘who’s going to make the decision?’ dance. Still, he could have asked for my suggestions. "Pub is fine."

Finn walks
alongside me, not too close, as we head across the precinct and toward the part of town frequented by students. I look down at my jeans and hope he is talking about a student place, not somewhere filled with after-work city drinkers.

Round tables with
stools are crammed together in the middle of the pub, with wooden booth seats in the corners. The place has a stale beer smell. The current occupants are middle-aged men propped against the bar and a slot machine in the corner. I slide onto the hard wooden seat and push the dirty beermats to one side.
I’m definitely okay wearing jeans in this establishment. Finn disappears to order food.

"Healthy diet today," I comment
ten minutes later as a huge plate of chips and burger appear in front of me

"You look like you need to eat more."

I pick up a chip and bite savagely, hoping he notices my displeasure. Pale, skinny girl in need of protection? I don’t think so. Finn pulls off his hoodie, and I’m fixated by the tattoo circling his forearms and bicep.

"Does
your tattoo mean anything?" I ask him.

"Only to me." He rubs his arm, and I picture myself doing the
same. Then I remember the spreading cold from the last time we touched. "Do you have any tattoos?"

"Do I look like I would?"
I say.

"
I don’t know. They’re popular; you might have a fairy or unicorn somewhere."

I snigger at him. "I’m not a fairy or unicorn girl."

"Not a believer in myths and legends?"

"Nope." I don’t mention the near
-death experience; that doesn’t count. Right?

Finn tucks into his identical plate of chips and burger and we lapse into silence again. I don’t have the impression he’s nervous around me
; he spends his time watching those going into and out of the quiet pub. Surreptitiously, I watch to see if he’s checking out any of the girls who walk in. Or guys; I can’t be too presumptuous.

We turn to small talk about the hospital but apart from that
, things get progressively quieter between us as the place fills and gets louder. Finn disappears to the bar for more drinks and I stack our plates, wondering why he asked me to come out with him because he's barely speaking to me. The extra bodies heat up the room and I'm warm. I decide it’s dim enough to take off my jumper, which I fold across my lap.

When Finn slides back into the seat opposite, his look is instantly drawn to my arm before he shifts his gaze away again.

"I had an accident. I didn’t do it to myself." Pink scars crisscross the inside of my lower arms from elbow to wrist, the deep pink standing out against my pale skin.

Finn’s concerned eyes meet mine. "But
you’re okay now?"

"
Mostly."

"When
was the accident?"

I inhale and run my finger down the condensation on the edge of my glass of orange juice. "
About five months ago."

"I thought the scars looked fresh."

"Broken glass. From the window. Car accident."

Finn tips his head as if he wants to ask me questions and can’t. I don’t want him to. He finally settles on, "Pretty bad accident
, then?"

"Yeah. I don’t feel like talking about it
, though, if that’s okay."

"Sure. You mentioned it." His attention is now wholly on me
; he no longer gazes around the bar.

"I
didn’t want you to think I’d tried to kill myself."

His head jerks back at the words. "I
didn’t think that."

I chew on a nail
; it’s too late. Jamie is back in my head again, my best friend, who I should be with instead of Finn. And when memories of my last minutes with Jamie come in, so does the fog.

"Rose?"

I blink through the grey and suck in a breath, touching the scar with my fingers as the pathetic tears well up. Finn lightly touches my arm to get my attention.

The same intense chill catches my skin and spreads along the scars, as if Finn were tracing them with an
ice-cold finger. The sharp pain intensifies as it spreads toward my chest, the bitter cold shooting into my brain. The fog blows out of my mind, replaced by a dizzying ache.

Finn pulls his hand back, wide eyes indicating he’s aware of the sensation. I stare back, unable to speak because every cell in my body has numbed.

"Sorry, I’ve always got cold hands," he says eventually and sits on his hands.

"That’s an understatement."

The sensation subsides, warmth pouring back into my limbs, and the cold in my head is replaced with fog of a new intensity. The images of the accident flood in with nausea, my meal heavy on my stomach. I have to leave.

I mumble something about needing the bathroom and leave the table, hoping my slight stagger isn’t visible in the darkened pub.

In the bathroom, I lean over the dirty sink and study myself. My newly-purchased foundation isn’t doing the best job of covering how pale I am, and the pupils of my wide, blue eyes are dilated. The fog ebbs, but the world lurches and I grip the sink, shivering. Goosebumps rise on my arm, over the scars, and I wish I hadn’t taken my jumper off.

A girl around my age appears at the sink next to me, scrubbing tears from her face. She’s smaller than me and her
short jacket is torn as if she’s been fighting. As she pushes her long, honey-coloured hair behind her ear, dark bruises are evident on her arms.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

The girl turns to me, her green eyes red-rimmed. "No. Can you help me?"

I think about going to Finn. He can help? "Did someone hurt you? Are they still here?"

She shakes her head. "They’ve gone. But I’m too scared to go alone."

"Do you want me to call someone for you? Or can I call you a taxi?"

"Please. Then would you wait with me?"

I understand her fear of being alone outside in the dark, especially if her attackers might come back. We leave the bathrooms and walk across the stained red carpet
toward the exit.

"Can we go the back way? I don’t want to be seen like this," she says, and we head
toward the propped-open fire doors. The doors open into a side alley piled with beer crates and a large metal skip. The hubbub of voices fades as we head away from the building, down the narrow alley between this building and the next. The girl edges ahead of me and pauses at the point the alley meets the busy street. I pull my phone from my pocket and search for the nearest taxi firm. Looking at the list, I decide the best option would be to go hail one; in this part of the city, they're plentiful.

I put my phone away. "I’m just going to tell my friend what’s going on.
Have you thought about calling the police?"

The girl cocks her head
then shakes her hair over her shoulder before coming back along the alley. Her eyes glint in the darkness and she holds a hand toward my face. I step back.

"I
didn’t want to go with them, but I’m running out of time here," she whispers.

Something in this girl's demeanour brings the red-haired girl
’s face to mind, and I question the sanity of standing in darkened alleyways with strangers.

"I think maybe we should wait inside," I say and edge back
toward the fire door.

"You can help me. I only need a little of what you have."

I peer at the scruffy girl.
Is she homeless and targets unsuspecting soft touches like me at night?
"My money’s inside."

"No, not that. I don't want money."

A sensation crawls across my scalp, like spiders caught in my hair. I need to go. This girl is around my size, which means nothing; I’ve never fought anyone. I take another step toward the door, but she blocks my way.

"Please. It won’t hurt you," she says.

The girl darts her hand out and places a palm on my chest. Affronted by the invasion, I open my mouth to shout, but no words come out. I can’t move. She closes her eyes and my chest constricts as if she’s pulling my heart from behind my ribs, the strength of the pain almost convincing me she is.

My vision slips into muted greys; the building
s around shimmer in and out of reality. This isn't the fog which follows from my nightmares; this is different. The sound of the world around fades and is replaced by a multitude of voices whispering words I can’t hear. I struggle to move against the invisible force holding me to this girl. Of everything around me, she is the most solid and as I stare, her dull face brightens and a renewed shine enters her green eyes. The pain in my chest is accompanied by an overwhelming sense of sadness, and I want to collapse to the floor and give in to the darkness.