Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (21 page)

Chapter 26

Thursday 19 September 11:51pm

Have you ever felt time slow so much that it almost appears to stop? Ever listened to a clock when the next tick seems to take forever to follow the last
tock? That's exactly how I feel; lost within a timeless darkness. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything.

I've come to learn that mastery of fear is all about perspective. The first time I faced the Hangman Ghost it was one of the scariest things I've ever experienced. Now, preparing to face him once more is not as daunting, because I have done so many more frightening things in the last week; more than most people will ever experience in an entire lifetime. The only difference is that now it's not just my life that's on the line.

As I open the chamber door I'm hit by a cold, damp smell, like a graveyard. I'm soaked to the bone, but thankfully the sprinklers haven't activated in this room. The emptiness makes me shiver more than my wet clothes. I take small, cautious steps forward. Nervousness seeps back into my system as I anticipate what is to come. I close my hands into fists to try and control their shaking. The general fear I've been dealing with condenses into an all consuming terror which threatens to engulf me.

A draught comes out of the dark as I step forward, stirring the tiny hairs on my neck. Every instinct I possess tells me to run. I brace myself against the fear, as if it's a wave in the sea, and when it passes I venture further into the dark room, ready to face him. My father's words stick in
my mind like a fishhook. "Always face your fears head on, Sasha. Fear only has the power you allow it." This is his mantra and his words give me the comfort I desperately need.

The door closes behind me with a resounding clunk. Then I hear a deadbolt shifting into place. In my
imagination, it sounds more like the lid of a sarcophagus slamming shut. Now I'm locked inside this room, in the dark. My eyes haven't adjusted so I stare into pure blackness, like the backs of my eyelids. Flight is no longer an option so I square my shoulders to stand, and fight.

My heart is hammering like it will burst through the walls of my chest any second. I've barely eaten or slept properly for days. I haven't stopped for a single moment since the black Mercedes drove me away from my father just a few short days ago. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. Despite all of that, I feel prepared for whatever is about to happen. It's a strange blend of terror and eagerness, unfamiliar until now. Everything I've endured this last week ─ facing up to The Hangman Ghost in the forest, almost dying in the
Tyburn tunnel, surviving the car chase and then being buried alive ─ all leads to this moment.

The sound of footsteps indicates a nearby presence. The temperature of the room seems to drop several degrees; it has the cold, stillborn air of death. Somewhere near the roof, the sound of fluttering wings resonates around the room; bats nestling in the eaves. I wheeze in the dusty air and try to suppress a cough. As a preventative measure, I reach into my pocket and take two squirts from my inhaler.

My stomach is trampolining and my heartbeat flutters like the wings of a hummingbird. With Zara and Aaron left behind, only an animal instinct — a deep-rooted desire to find Dad — keeps me going, driving me to place one foot in front of the other. As bleak as things are, I know what I must do… I just don't know how I'll do it.

The darkness is complete. I trip over an uneven slab on the floor. It reminds me of being
a young girl, holding my mother's hand as I tried to avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement. The thought of Mum makes me feel for her Athame, nestled in my back pocket. I flinch at the sounds of leathery wings beating together; I'm as blind as the bats flying around the room. I only have minutes until midnight, leaving Jack Ketch to do in death what he has done so many times in life.

I hear the sound of a switch being flicked, and several lights come on. They provide low-level illumination for the displays within the torture chamber. The room has a vaulted ceiling, its rafters draped with cobwebs that billow like silk curtains in the breeze. On the wall to my right hangs a row of poled weapons, each with its own unique and brutal tip; some have curved blades, others vicious-looking spikes. They're nothing compared to the display to my left: an axe, a chopping block and the noose of the executioner.
The tools of The Hangman's trade.

"Strange to think so many people visit such a violent place."

The sickly-sweet voice is unmistakable. Menzies Blake appears from a dark corner, his appearance ridiculously impeccable against the backdrop of the damp dungeon walls. One half of his cleanly shaven face is in darkness, the other illuminated by a lantern on the nearby wall. Light shines against the side of his face, creating shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. The heels of his expensive shoes click on the floor as he walks forward.

"For centuries people have visited London in their thousands to watch public executions."

I'm not exactly in the mood for a history lesson.

"Where's my dad?" I say, relieved to hear that my voice comes
out strong.

"Oh, he's here. But you can drop the scared-little-girl act. I know what you are Sasha, even if you don't. I must say I am impressed. I never thought you would get this far."

His words are honeyed with false praise. The scariest thing about Blake is that he is not a maniac; he is perfectly controlled, perfectly poised. I glance down at my watch. It now reads six minutes to midnight. I look back hopefully at the door behind me. Maybe Zara or Aaron will find help in time to save Dad?

"I wouldn't worry about us being disturbed," says Blake, reading my mind. "The door is locked from the inside. It has kept prisoners locked in here for years. Like them, this will also be your final destination. I gave you a choice Sasha; it didn't have to be this way." Blake produces a cardboard folder, the one with my mother's name written on it. "Remember this? I am the only one who knows the truth about your mother and what
happened to her on Dystopia Day. . . because I was there."

I steel myself; I can't get emotional or distracted. Blake knows that this is my weakness; he knows that I long to know more about my mother and what happened to her three years ago. His eyes gleam with
malice, and I know that his next words will be chosen to inflict maximum emotional damage.

"Allow me to educate you. I was one of a team of Agents alongside your mother. We were sent on an assignment to America to investigate a Gathering; the dangerous formation of a group of different supernatural entities. That was the day I came to truly understand the power and potential of the paranormal.

"The fallout of what happened resulted in a world-wide blackout; what is now known as the Day of Dystopia. Your mother wanted to destroy the Gathering; I wanted to harness its power. Like you and your father, your mother refused to conform. The full account of Dystopia Day ─ and what happened to your mother ─ is inside this folder."

Blake locks his gaze on me as he dangles the folder in one hand. He pulls out a lighter and runs his thumb across the spark wheel bringing to life the flame that will destroy the contents inside. A flash of blue heat licks up the outer edge of the cardboard folder and he drops it to the floor. I gasp as papers scatter and a
glossy photograph of my mother slides out. I see her face briefly before the picture bubbles and curls in the corners, and is then consumed by the flames. Tears well in my eyes as the realisation sets in that I will never fully know what happened to her.

At least I know one thing: Blake was responsible.

He dusts his hands, then reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a mobile phone. When he makes a call, it is answered immediately. His eyes hold my cold stare of hatred as he speaks casually.

"
Katalina, prepare the jet for our departure. I will be with you shortly."

My tears turn from pain to anger. Blake has robbed me of both my parents. He used
Katalina to spy on us and the call to her can only mean that she overcame Zara. He has finally broken me, and he knows it. He enjoys his moment of victory, mocking me with an ominous laugh.

"The truth will die with you and your fat
her. Now, let the torture begin. . ."

Blake takes a step back and sinister shadows slip into the sockets of his eyes like dark water. He flourishes an arm and makes a half-bow like an evil circus ringmaster. A light comes on, illuminating another display area. A man is bound to the wall by shackles and irons. His head is bowed forward nearly touching his chest and I can tell by the
fair hair that it's my father.

"No!" I scream, running
torward him and tugging at the chains.

He appears dazed and bedraggled, like a broken puppet. I'm vaguely aware of Blake laughing as I try to shake Dad
to wake him from his semi-conscious state.

"Dad, please,
tell me what to do!"

An invisible force throws me across the room. I land hard on the cold stone floor, crushing the inhaler in my pocket. As I pick myself up I'm faced by the ghostly shape of Jack Ketch. I fight the scream building up in my stomach, chest and throat; the scream that fills every part of me. I feel dread and despair clawing inside me, warring with each other for dominance, but terror is stronger than both.

The Hangman Ghost slowly removes the sackcloth hood to reveal a pale, sallow face. It's a face that belongs in a nightmare. His dark eyebrows furrow and his emaciated, gaunt features are framed by long, black hair which cascades down to his shoulders. His teeth are discoloured, his shrivelled gums exposed, and his lips drawn back in an expression of pure hatred. He looks more like a real man than he ever has before, right down to the dirt under his fingernails and the welts on his skin. Only a hazy outline hints at his otherworldly state.

Jack Ketch is silent, although his jaw is creased with lines of malicious laughter. Worst of all are his blank, soulless eyes, like painted stones. When he glares at
me, I feel as though those black stones are slipping down my throat, blocking my windpipe.

Menzies
Blake waves his arms like an orchestra conductor and Jack Ketch's eyes move slowly to the wall of weaponry. It's only now that I see Blake in his role as a Necromancer; one who commands spirits. Jack Ketch fixes an intense, burning stare onto one of the deadly weapons. I watch as a spear starts to dislodge itself from the wall. Blake is controlling the Hangman Ghost, who in turn is controlling the weapon and I know exactly how he plans to use it.

Instinctively, I pull out the
Athame and trace a circle on the floor around me. It's a protective circle; the same as the one Zara told me to use in the forest. As the spear comes hurtling torward me it stops within inches of my face and rebounds as if it has struck an invisible wall.

Ketch bares his rotting teeth, angered by my show of defiance. Blake flicks a wrist and Ketch moves his eyes
torward the chopping block, this time locking on the giant axe; the same axe he used in life to behead people. It spins through the air torward me. I flinch as it hurtles closer, only to be deflected once more.

"Nicely done Sasha," says Blake, letting out a patronising laugh. "But you can't stay within your circle forever." He walks
torward Dad and unlocks the chains around his wrists and ankles. "Maybe this will tempt you out."

Menzies
Blake opens his arms and curls his fingers, an intense look in his eyes. On command, Jack Ketch suddenly disappears like bubbles surfacing on a pond. Dad groans as a dark mist gathers near his mouth. He passes a hand across his face to brush it away, then flinches, aware of the shadowy weight slipping between his lips. I scream as I realise what's happening: possession.

"Dad!"

But it's too late. I watch in horror as Dad begins to twitch and writhe like a puppet whose strings have been shaken. His limbs jerk violently, his left arm fighting his right as Ketch begins to rule different parts of his body. Dad briefly wrestles control back, tries to shout something as his hand slaps his mouth shut before any clear sound emerges. And then, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, his chin drops listlessly onto his chest.

"Dad?"

His head shakes uncontrollably from side to side, suddenly fixing on me.

"GET AWAY!" Dad's real voice screams from inside. "SASHA, GET AWAY FROM―"

The head whips back into place and the eyes black over. He raises his head and stares at me — right at me — with eyes completely dark and utterly devoid of any emotion.

And then he smiles and the rasping voice that speaks isn't my dad's.

"Now who am I?"

Menzies
Blake claps enthusiastically, like a conductor applauding his orchestra.

"For years I've banished ghosts using my special abilities, never realising my true potential. Why banish a ghost when you can control it? With The Agency destroyed nobody will be able to stop me. It's almost midnight. In ten seconds Jack Ketch can claim his host." Blake taps his expensive wristwatch. "And then his first victim."

Dad lurches forward and grabs me with both hands around my neck. He is no longer a broken man. Menzies Blake is using his abilities to control the ghost, and Jack Ketch is using Dad's body to strangle me. Black spots start to form in the corner of my eyes.