Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (15 page)

"You OK?" asks Aaron.

"Better," I reply with a sniffle. "I think."

It suddenly strikes me that this is the first time I've been alone with Aaron since the day he turned up on my doorstep; the day everything went crazy. Since then, I've kneed him in the nuts and dragged him into a life or death ghost-hunt.

"I'm sorry about all this," I say, pathetically.

"Sasha, what on Earth do you have to apologise for? You're the victim here, not the perpetrator. We'll help you find your dad. Zara's good; way better than me. She's a diamond. I'm sure she's got a reason for coming here other than a family visit."

He's right about Zara; she's been a rock from the moment we met. To describe her as a diamond seems pretty accurate; she is both beautiful and unbreakable.

"You two seem pretty close."

I regret saying this almost immediately; I only hope it didn't come out like it sounded to my ears. Aaron stares out of the window in the direction Zara left.

"It's
kinda funny to think how close we are, considering our different personalities. Zara has such attention for detail. She dresses smart and thinks smarter. I guess I'm a bit more impulsive; act first, think later. Together, we seem to work well though. Our skills seem to complement each other. We're different, but in a good way. If it wasn't for The Agency, I'd still be cleaning gyms and she'd probably be a scientist."

Opposites attract, apparently, and I can't help but think that Aaron and Zara seem made for each other. Raindrops start to fall, tapping a rhythm on the car's metal roof. Aaron winds the window shut, which squeals in protest.

"What will happen with The Agency after all of this?" I ask.

"Who knows, and who cares? Blake has shown his true side. I'm just thankful that we got to find out sooner rather than later. You know, I always wondered why your dad wasn't head of The Agency instead of Blake. I joined because of him and he taught me everything I know. I'm just surprised that he managed to keep it all a secret from you.
And kept you a secret from me."

A familiar
warmth spreads through my belly. I fiddle with a zip on my jacket, rather than look him in the eye, as I speak.

"These last few years I've been too preoccupied with working
torward college to question things."

That's not the only reason; I was happy to be ignorant, and Dad has always been more than willing to keep his job a secret from me. Now, I understand that he was just trying to protect me.

"You were young," says Aaron. "How were you supposed to know?"

"But I'm old enough now," I reply. "The night I followed Dad and found out about his job, he tried to explain. He offered me his hand and I just walked away."

It shames me to admit this out loud. Tears start to well in my eyes and I fight to hold them back. Aaron jumps out of the car and opens the passenger door on my side.

"Move over," he says, shuffling onto the back seat next to me.

He yawns and stretches, spreading his arms across the headrests. I feel his muscular arm around my shoulder and when I turn to him he's grinning cheekily. I laugh through my watery eyes.

"I bet that works with all the girls, huh?"

"Only the nice ones."

He seems so sincere right now and the way he's looking at me makes me feel like I am the only thing he's thinking about. When his eyes lock on
mine, their blue is so dark that I feel like they could swallow me whole. For a moment, I wish that they would, so that I could escape this place and everything that has happened. I lean my head onto his shoulder. It feels like a safe place. I realise, for the first time, how lonely I've been and how comforting the presence of another human being can be.

"You're shivering," says Aaron.

He pulls me in closer and rubs my shoulder. The rain patters the roof and the wind gently rocks the car. The windows have steamed up, leaving us in our own little world. I let out a long sigh and feel my shoulders relax. I could almost go to sleep.

"How did you meet my dad?" I ask him.

I just need a momentary escape; to be taken somewhere else, even if it's just for a few minutes. He scratches at his stubble, deep in thought. I didn't realise it could be a potentially difficult, and personal, question. I'm reminded that talking openly is not encouraged among Agents.

"
The week I met your father was pretty awful," he says finally. "Mum was in the hospital ─ she had fallen over drunk and broke her ankle. I'd just spent my entire week's wages paying her rent arrears. I was doing a bit of street magic on the London Underground."

"Was there much of a crowd?" I ask.

"It was decent," he says. "Why?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture," I reply, snuggling in closer.

He smiles, enjoying my willing audience.

"Anyway, after I'd wowed everyone with my
Empath skills this grey haired guy approaches me. He told me I was worth a lot more than the few pounds I'd made and offered me an apprenticeship under him; regular, well paid work and a chance to develop my skills. He told me I was special. When I shook the hand he offered, I knew instinctively that he was telling the truth."

It's a nice story, but it reveals a broken home and tough upbringing. Aaron's background sounds pretty
bad. Not that he goes on about it a lot. The amazing thing is, he's emerged from the chaos of his life completely sane. Unbroken, stronger even. Unlike me.

As I watch raindrops race each other down the car window, something catches my eye. To my complete horror,
the words start to form in the steamed up glass. I scream and bury my head into Aaron, who hits his head on the roof as he jumps.

"What's wrong, Sasha?"

"It's the Hangman Ghost," I sob. "He's here. Look at the glass!"

I don't dare to read what it says. After a moment, Aaron's chest star
ts to heave. Failing to hold it in, he bursts out laughing.

"What the hell is so funny?" I ask, shoving him away.

"I don't think it's the ghost who wrote that, unless he wants to tell you that Paul loves Jen!"

I look back at the steamed up window. The back-to-front words "Paul & Jen" are framed within a heart shape in the steamed up glass. It must have been already written on the glass and only showed up as the car began to steam up. What at first seemed so sinister is actually nothing more than a loving gesture traced onto the dirty glass of the old
Landrover by some teenage couple. I feel for the hangman game in my back pocket, which is still there, tucked behind the small knife. Aaron draws a large heart in the opposite side window and writes his and my name inside.

"See, it's nothing more than a bit of finger graffiti," he says.

I feel tired, happy, scared and confused, all within sixty seconds. He wraps his arm around me once more and smiles warmly. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. It's the first time I've ever kissed anyone properly. He responds and I feel a stirring inside my chest, warm and curious. I immediately want to do it again.

Nobody has ever held me like this; no one's arms have made me feel this safe. The rain drumming on the roof provides a lulling sensation. We sit pressed together, our shoulders falling into the same rhythm, silent. For a brief moment, I'm deliriously happy. This feels like something a normal couple would do: kiss, cuddle,
laugh. Then confusion sweeps over me; what about Aaron and Zara? Have I totally misread the situation and made a fool of myself?

Footsteps approach rapidly and the passenger door is flung open. Our silent moment is broken by a gust of wind. Zara eyes us suspiciously as we separate and sit upright in our seats. Her shoulders and hair are damp and her glasses spotted with rain.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"Um, nothing," replies Aaron, wiping away his finger graffiti. "We're fine. How's your mum?"

"She's having one of her good days, thankfully. You can come and meet her. I think you'll want to hear what she's got to say."

We follow Zara as she leads the way across the gravel car park and
torward the entrance of the old building. I dare not look at Aaron through sheer embarrassment. When my lips touched his, did his Empath skills allow him to sense my feelings? Do I even know my own feelings for him? If I felt confused before I'm now a complete psychological mess. And I'm about to enter a mental asylum.

Chapter
19

Wednesday 18 September 3:38pm

Zara Gordon

They kissed. I saw it through the steamed up windows so I don't know why they pretended it didn't happen. Right now, I've got more serious things on my mind: my mother.

The clerk at the reception desk asks Aaron and Sasha to sign in and issues them with security passes. They giggle when they mistakenly pick up each others, which is kind of annoying. My irritation must be written all over my face as they wipe their smiles away pretty quickly. I'm not here for my benefit, not even for my mother's, and I'm in no mood to babysit these two. Aaron and Sasha are proving to be a burden, like school kids on a day trip. My sole motivation is to help Agent Hunter. If my mother can manage to give me the information I need, then that's all that matters right now.

A nurse escorts us along a harsh, white corridor with doors on either side. In one room a support group is in session and a patient is wailing about something I'm unable to comprehend. Like my mother, they're probably in treatment for Hysteria, the most severe form of post D-Day Dementia.

Further on, a girl pummels her fist against a small door window. A team of orderlies rush past us and into the room to restrain her. The door is left open and I'm able to see her wild expression, all bulging eyes and veins. She's an extreme Hysteric, a lost cause. I promise myself I'll never let my powers overcome me and end up in a place like this.

We are shown to a large, empty recreation room full of comfortable chairs and well-read magazines. It reminds me of a retirement home; the soft furnishings, the musty smell. Rain hammers at the tall windows which are covered in decorative wrought iron. It doesn't disguise the fact that they are bars. I hate that my mother has to be here, even though I know there's no other option. The vines creep into the corners of the windows, like they are listening in on our conversation. I can't help but notice that Aaron looks unusually pale.

"Something up?" I ask.

"You won't believe the energy I'm picking up in this place," he replies. "It feels like I've got a hundred different voices screaming inside my head and none of them make sense."

A mental asylum is probably the worst place for an Empath, which is why I asked him in. As for Sasha, I need her here. We wait for several minutes, refusing the offer of a drink. We've got no time for niceties. I used to visit mother regularly when she first came here until she told me to stop coming. I knew she said that for my benefit and not hers but I respected her wishes all the same.

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier," says Aaron. "If only I'd have known. I mean,
you could have talked to me about it."

"I try not to think, let alone talk about it. It's been over a year since I last saw my mother and you'll soon realise why."

Aaron had a point; maybe I should have confided in him. I only told Sasha because I thought it might help her deal with her own situation. To her credit, she kept it to herself.

"I'm sure if she knew what you do she'd be proud," says Sasha.

"She knows about my work at The Agency," I reply. "She used to be an Agent herself."

"Really?"
Aaron seems pretty stunned. "Is there any other breaking news that I should know about?"

"My mother was an Agent until three years ago. It was the events of Dystopia Day that did this to her. She was abroad, on an assignment. Something happened; I don't know what. I'll probably never know."

I lock eyes with Sasha; we have much more in common than she thinks.

An orderly wheels mother into the room.
She can walk, but I was told that she's had a few falls lately. I was also assured that she's having one of her "good days" but if that's the case I'd hate to see a bad one. Slumped in the wheelchair, her head lolls to one side and her reddened eyes stare at nothing in particular. I know she hardly sleeps; her weakened body is a prisoner to insomnia. She looks a lot older than her forty nine years. The orderly wheels her up to our seating area, then retreats to leave us alone.

"Hi Mother."

I don't expect a reply, or an acknowledgement.

"These are my colleagues, Aaron and Sasha."

They each mutter an awkward hello. I'm aware of the gaping silence and do my best to fill it.

"I hear that you've fallen recently. You must be more careful."

Nothing. Not even the flicker of an eye.

"How have you been?"

It's a stupid question. I try to imagine what it must be like to be inside her head. What thoughts fill her waking hours? What dreams come to her at night? I have absolutely no idea. I catch myself biting my nails, which I haven't done since I was a teenager. I stop at once.

Mother clears her throat.

"The birds are singing," she says softly.

It sounds
random, but when I follow her gaze I realise that she's watching a blackbird perched on the outside window ledge.

"I envy them," she continues.

"Why?" I ask, a little confused.

"They're free and safe, the exact opposite of me."

A lump rises in my throat and refuses to go away. I run my fingers repeatedly over the soft fabric of my suit, helping to calm my emotions. I decide to change tack and get straight to the point in the hope I'll engage the part of her brain that still works properly.

"I wanted you to take a look at something."

I nod to Sasha, who fumbles in her pockets for the hangman game. When it's placed in Mother's lap, she is unmoved.

"Does the name Jack Ketch mean anything?" I ask, beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea. Mother utters a single word which immediately changes my mind.

"Poltergeist."

Sasha and Aaron exchange wide-eyed glances while Mother descends into a mini coughing fit.

"The condemned are sentenced to hang," she says, the pitch of her voice rising. "Hangings are always on a Friday". Mother's eyes become wild and animated. "Friday is Hangman's Day. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S CAPABLE OF."

Her last words are screamed rather than spoken.
              She erupts into another bout of coughing and the orderly dashes into the room. He apologises and insists on taking her away. I don't have the strength to argue otherwise. We're left in the empty room, the hollow silence occasionally broken by the chirping of birds outside.

"I'm so sorry about your mother," says Aaron. "I'm sure she'll be OK."

I stare at the window ledge where the blackbird was perched before my mother's scream frightened it away.

"I'm sure she'll never be OK."

Aaron places a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and I shrug it off as I stand to pace the room. I don't take easily to sympathy and I'm not about to let emotion cloud my thoughts.

"Mother is a
Recognitive. It's the exact opposite of me. Precogs can glimpse future events, whereas Recogs can see into the past. That's why I came here. She didn't give us much, but she gave us something. Now we need to use it."

Aaron's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I've given him more information on my past than ever before and it's clearly a shock to his system. Sasha is much quicker to engage her brain.

"When I found the hangman game in Dad's attic, it told me that he'd been sentenced to hang. The Hangman Ghost could have killed me and Dad in the Tyburn tunnel but it didn't. Maybe he has to wait until Friday, Hangman's Day?"

I'm
impressed, but I'm not about to show it. I push my emotions aside and focus on my training at The Agency. Analyse the facts; process the information; draw a conclusion.

"Ghosts are bound by the rules of their Earth lives. The rule of Jack Ketch's life as a Hangman was to execute the condemned on the Friday after they'd been sentenced. If Sasha is right, Agent Hunter will only be safe until Friday."

Mother may well be Hysteric, but maybe she has helped to unlock part of the Hangman Ghost mystery. The rest is up to us and we've got under forty-eight hours to solve it.