Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (5 page)

Chapter 5

Monday 16 September 9:15am

Sasha Hunter

I don't need to open my eyes to know something isn't right. I wake up to find that I'm tucked up in bed. For half a second I ponder the old line from children's stories; maybe it was all just a dream? But when I open my clenched fist the aged paper with the hangman game confirms the cold reality.

I try to sit up and immediately wish I hadn't; I've never felt weaker in my life. My legs tremble and my tongue feels too thick for my mouth. It feels like someone is crashing a set of symbols together inside my head and there's a swelling on my scalp. Even the lightest touch of my fingertips makes me wince. All in all, I feel dreadful.
At least I'm breathing. At least I'm still alive.

I glance at my alarm clock: it reads 9:17am. I must have been out for eight or nine hours. What happened? And what's going on with the hangman game and the words which morphed before my eyes? Did I faint, or was I attacked? Only one person can answer these questions. I need to speak to Dad.

I wander the house, dazed and confused, but can find no sign of him. As I stagger torward the lounge Katalina walks into the hallway from the kitchen. On finding me wandering half-dressed, her jaw and her coffee cup hit the floor simultaneously.

"Sash, you scared me! What you doing out of bed?"

I stuff the yellow paper away as she gives me a big hug.

"Kat, what happened?"

Katalina's face has bad news written all over it.

"Oh Sash, there been a break in!"

A break-in? But why is every room in the house fine apart from Dad's attic room? This has something to do with Dad and his strange job, I'm sure it has.

"Where's Dad?" I ask
, as Kat kicks into housekeeper mode and starts to fuss over the spilt coffee.

"Mr Hunter
has been attacked. I find him on the floor and take him to hospital." In her agitated state Kat's English is even more broken than usual. "Then I come home and find you fainted! I want to take you to the hospital too, but you tell me you OK and need lie down. Do you remember? Did you bang head?"

I don't remember passing out at all but my main concern right now is for my father.

"Don't worry about me, Kat. Is Dad alright?"

"He
’s been strangled, Doctors say. He’s alive, but not very well. I take you see him, yes?"

I throw on some clothes and we race off in Kat's VW Beetle, much faster than it was ever built to go. The old Beetle groans in protest as we lurch through a set of lights on amber. Kat's normal driving mode is blind panic so I'm pretty used to it by now. Despite not wanting to, I start to cry angry tears.

"Why would anyone do this to Dad?"

I'm raging over
what happened and as I fix my eyes in the car mirror, I see their crimson glint burning. I'm also upset that I didn't take Dad's hand the last time I saw him.

"You see anything, Sash?"

I hesitate. This is my chance to confide in someone. Kat is a good friend, but the last thing I said to Dad was that I'd keep his secret.

"No … nothing," I lie.

I don't like lying to Kat. But it's only a white lie, the kind of lie you tell when you're trying to do the right thing. I twiddle nervously with the paper in my pocket. I have to speak to Dad.

+ + +

On our arrival at the hospital, we're directed to a private ward. As we turn onto a corridor we almost walk into an argument between a young man and an older nurse. Even from behind, I recognise the tall physique and broad shoulders. It's Aaron. I feel a surge of anger, like I did the last time I saw him and left him in a crumpled heap for grabbing hold of me. Everything has turned crazy since he showed up. What's he doing here now?

"I need to see him," demands Aaron to the nurse.

"I'm sorry, sir, but that's not possible," replies the old nurse firmly. "Mr. Hunter is very ill. It's close family only."

He turns at the sound of our heels clicking on the linoleum floor. Dressed in jogging pants and a fitted tee shirt, he looks like he's just come
from the gym. Our eyes lock. Mine have their crimson glint. His look wild and desperate. Aaron speaks first, which is a mistake.

"Sasha, I'm sorry about what happened to your dad, but I really need to see him. Perhaps you can explain to this nurse─"

"You should leave," I snap, cutting him short.

"Can we talk privately?" he asks me, ignoring Kat.

"You heard her," says Kat, stepping forward protectively. "You go, now."

Aaron sighs and gives me an almost pleading look until his phone goes off. He looks embarrassed by the timing and when he pulls out his mobile I notice the name of the caller, Zara.
Typical boy; unable to give his full attention to one girl at a time. The Nurse gives a sympathetic smile then turns to usher Aaron away. She probably thinks it's a lovers' tiff. That couldn't be further from the truth. If I never see him again, it will be way too soon.

I take in a deep breath before entering the room, not sure what state I'll find Dad in. His eyes are closed and he is propped up in bed with a neck-brace on, an oxygen mask over his mouth and tubes from a machine going into one arm. I'd once read that people who are in a coma can still hear things so I steel myself not to cry.

My mind cycles through the things you're supposed to say at times like this, but nothing feels right. All I can do is look down at him and take in the details. In sleep, Dad looks much younger than his thirty-nine years; the lines of stress have smoothed out. I rest my hand on his and Katalina grips an arm around my shoulder as we stand and watch and wonder.

"Excuse me," a deep voice interrupts. "
Katalina, may I have a word?"

The door had opened without me even hearing it. A middle-aged, dark-haired and well spoken man in a white coat stands partly in the room.

"You be okay?" Kat asks.

"Sure. I'll wait here with Dad."

I'm still numb and not sure how to act. Should I be crying uncontrollably or showing a strong exterior? Kat leaves with the doctor and the door closes gently as if not to disturb the patient. I don't want Dad to sleep, I want him to wake up, to tell him everything and for him to tell me that it will all be fine. As I sit alone by his bedside, I realise that I've never watched him sleep before. I hold his hand and twiddle with his wedding ring. I've lost Mum. I can't lose Dad too.

Two days ago, I was happy and I didn't even know I was happy. At least, it was happiness compared to this. It's all relative and when you're as unlucky as I am you
take what you can get. I wipe my eyes and sniffle, and when I touch my nose it reminds me of that stupid game Dad played when I was young. He would pretend to pull off my nose and show it to me, then put it back again before I realised it was only his thumb. This random memory makes me smile, which is when I realise that my face has been aching from frowning.

I squeeze Dad's hand and his pupils seem to move beneath his eyelids, shooting left then right. Then they open. I jump back and gasp as Dad stares at me straight in the eye. Instinctively, I reach for the red emergency call button above the bed.

"No!" Dad says with a strained whisper as he tries to remove the oxygen mask.

"But Dad―"

"Don't let them back in!"

His voice is grainy, forced through an injured throat.

"Lock the door, Sash."

Is he crazy? I'm about to press the red button when his eyes convince me what his words can't. Instead, I flick the privacy switch on the door; the doctor is still talking to Kat in the corridor outside. Dad is suddenly more alive than ever; eyes bloodshot and animated.

"We don't have long."

"What happened, Dad?"

"It doesn't matter right now, I'll be okay. But you're in danger." His rasping voice sounds laced with pain. "Do you remember the hangman game I showed you?"

I pull the folded yellow paper from my pocket.

"You mean this? Is this whole situation something to do with that ghost?"

"Yes, but not only the Hangman Ghost; somebody else is working against me."

The door handle rattles as someone tries to enter the room.

"What do I do Dad?"

"Sash, listen to me carefully. Whatever you do, don't look at that paper again. Keep it folded up. And the knife I gave you ─ keep it with you at all times. Do you remember what I told you about The Agency?"

I do my best to bury my emotions and make mental notes as Dad speaks.

"
Go to our headquarters and give the hangman game to Gordon. Gordon will know what to do. Gordon will keep you safe."

The door handle rattles furiously and someone starts to knock insistently on the door.

"But how do I get to The Agency headquarters?"

"Don't worry, they'll find you. But remember; don't speak to anyone except Gordon."

"Open the door right away, please," says the doctor from outside.

Dad looks more than anxious and for half a second I wonder whether he's a little bit crazy.

"You'll be fine Sash. I'll find you when I can. Use your instincts, you're a clever girl. Keep the hangman game and the knife safe at all times. Don't be afraid. Remember what I told you; always face your fears head on. Fear only has the power you allow it. Go and find Gordon but other than that, don't trust anyone."

The door bursts open and the doctor enters the room. When I glance back at Dad, his eyes are closed like they've never been open.

Chapter
6

Monday 16 September 1:19pm

This can't be how it is. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Hours pass, yet I refuse to leave Dad's bedside. I'm only allowed to stay on the doctor's insistence that the room door be kept wide open for him and the nurse to observe. They check the tubes going into Dad's arm and the reading on the machine, but I know they're also keeping an eye on me. I manage to convince Kat to go and sort things out back at the house so I can be alone with Dad. I sit on the edge of the uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning forward and hoping that Dad will open his eyes and talk to me. But his eyes remain closed, coma-like.

"Miss Hunter, may I have a word?"

The dark-haired doctor interrupts in his overly polite way.

"Can we step outside, please?"

He stands at the open door waiting for me to get up and clearly isn't going to leave until I do. I squeeze Dad's
hand, then follow him out into the corridor, expecting the same brief and non-specific update Kat had been given earlier.

"Follow me, please."

He walks off at a brisk pace. Something about him irritates me. Maybe it's his false smile, or the fact he's ordering me around. He ushers me into a small interview room brightly lit with harsh fluorescent lighting. How many people have been given bad news in here?

"Sit, please."

It's more of an order than a request.

"How's my dad?" I ask, taking the initiative by getting straight to the point.

"Your father will be just fine, Miss Hunter. He has suffered some damage to his throat and neck, although strangely there are no visible marks."

"So how did it happen?"

The dark-haired doctor smiles a false smile and stares at me way longer than you should without speaking.

"I was about to ask you the same question."

As I study the man sitting before me certain things about his appearance stand out: the expensive dark suit beneath the white coat; the lack of an identity badge or medical equipment. Don't all doctors carry stethoscopes?

"How should I know what happened?
Aren't you supposed to be the doctor?"

"Ah, a slight misunderstanding.
I am not, in fact, a doctor, although I am responsible for your father's well-being. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Menzies Blake."

If I was sarcastic before, I'm now plain angry.

"If you're not a doctor, then who exactly are you?"

"I'm afraid I can't go into too much detail as I am bound by the same professional restrictions as your father. I presume you are aware of your father's … business affairs?"

The man with the stupid name looks at me as though expecting some sort of reaction, like he's testing the water, trying to find out what I know. I decide to be as casual as possible. My father's words play over in my head: don't trust anyone, Sasha. This creepy man makes that promise an easy one to keep.

"I've got no idea what you're talking about. Maybe I should go and talk to a real doctor, or the police?"

He smiles at my attempt to provoke him like it simply rebounds off his well moisturised skin.

"I work for the government and report straight to the top. My powers go way beyond that of the police. Besides, you'll find all the authorities are fully informed of the situation. In fact, there's a Psychiatrist waiting to speak to you after I am done."

"What do you mean?"

He smiles again, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. He knows he has me.

"There are concerns over your mental health and your abnormal behaviour."

The phrase "mental health" sends panic through my system. In the aftermath of Dystopia Day there was a sharp rise in related dementia and cases of hysteria. So much so, that the government reopened all of the old mental asylums.

Blake focuses on the seam running down the sleeve of my hoodie, which I'm wearing inside-out. He must think I'm crazy. In fairness, most people would.

"I'm afraid you'll be put into temporary care until your father fully recovers.
All for your mental well-being, of course."

"But
Katalina can look after me. I don't want to go into care!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Hunter.
Katalina cannot accept this kind of responsibility for you. Although there is another option…"

He pulls an expensive looking gold pen from his inside breast pocket and starts to click it, toying with it like he's toying with me. The thought of a mental hospital makes me shudder. Anything has to be better than that.

"Well? What is it?"

"Oh," he says, surprised that I'm interested. "Miss Hunter, your father works for my Agency and his good health is of the utmost importance to us, as is yours. At this time of great distress, we can provide lodgings at our headquarters until your father fully recovers."

"And what about seeing Dad?"

"Anytime you wish."

I thrust my hand into my pocket and shuffle with the cursed paper making sure it hasn't unfolded. I have to get to The Agency headquarters, find some guy called Gordon and give him the hangman game. Maybe this is my chance? Menzies whatshisname notices my hesitancy. He stands up and smoothes out the creases on his white overcoat.

"Well, if you're not sure then maybe I should ask the Psychiatrist to come in―"

"No. I'll do it."

"Good," he replies with a final click of the pen. "I'll arrange a car to take you home and pack a bag. Here's my card. If you need anything, anytime, call me."

When I glance down at the business card something unusual strikes me. The number next to the phone symbol looks nothing like a telephone number. It's a binary-like row of 1s and 0s with a 13 at the end. My heart sinks as I absorb the significance of this number and even though I agree to go with him, I will never trust him.

"You'll find it works exactly like a normal number," says Blake smugly, reading my confusion. "I picked it myself; thirteen is my favourite number."

Blake offers a sardonic smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. The irony isn't lost on me. I don't trust anyone who actually likes the number thirteen. I bet Blake is the kind of guy who thinks nothing of walking under a ladder or opening an umbrella indoors. I tuck the card into my pocket, behind the hangman game, and head toward the exit.

Menzies Blake escorts me outside the hospital to a waiting black Mercedes four-wheel drive car; its windows tinted black and its bodywork armour plated. It's chauffeured by a large man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. He gives me a long, cold stare which penetrates his shades. His shaven head is flecked with scars, which give him a hard and uncompromising appearance, revealing every gnarl and crevice in his skull. He couldn't look more like a James Bond baddie if he tried.

As I climb into the luxury 4x4 I'm amazed to find a small drinks cabinet and a flat-screen TV built into the back of the driver's seat. Unlike my journey to the hospital in
Katalina's old VW Beetle, I am being driven home in style. The black car has a cold feel, closer to a hearse than a celebrity limousine; more RIP than VIP. Menzies Blake ushers me in, closes the door, then leans down to speak through the half open window.

"My driver,
Ludvig, will take you home and then onto The Agency headquarters. It's a long drive, so please help yourself to the on-board facilities and entertainment. Any questions?"

I have hundreds and Blake knows it. I'm half-tempted to ask about Gordon, but decide that it's better to find out for myself. Don't trust anyone, Dad warned me, so I swallow the curiosity rising up in my throat.

"No thanks, Mr Blake."

"Please, call me
Menzies. And remember, should you need anything, anytime, call me."

Before I can reply the blacked-out window slides up and the car pulls off.

+ + +

When we arrive at my house the driver leaves the engine running as I go to pack a bag. It's probably his way of telling me to hurry up.
Ludvig is a man of few words. In fact, he's a man of no words at all. He didn't speak to me at all on the way home. I thought chauffeurs are supposed to be nice and polite? Ludvig is about as friendly as a prison guard. Maybe he's foreign? It all seems to add to the mystery that is The Agency.

Thanks to
Katalina, the house has been restored to its usual organised décor like nothing had ever happened. My asthma medication has been packed into a small paper bag, which is nice of her. But it's also a strange thing for her to do, like she knew I'd be going away. Maybe Menzies Blake had already told her before he told me? It doesn't surprise me; I'm always the last to know. Kat has also left a note to say goodbye, not to worry and to call her if I need to. I feel bad for not confiding in her when I had the chance. She's been so good to Dad and I over the last year; she deserves my trust.

The car engine revs outside; it's a not-so-subtle hint to hurry me along. My first priority is the knife, which I retrieve from my bedside cabinet. I quickly pack a rucksack with enough clothes for a few days, which makes me wonder exactly how long I'll be away. I decide I'll stay as long as I need to find Gordon then get the hell out of there, wherever "there" is. Last of all I pick up a framed picture from my bedside table; a photograph of Mum and Dad with me squeezed in between. A thin crack in the glass runs between Dad and I, an unpleasant reflection of our fractured relationship. I place the picture carefully between two layers of clothes and zip my bag shut.

As I walk into the bathroom to pack some toiletries I notice that the air feels humid. The mirror is steamed up, like someone has recently taken a hot bath or a shower. I run the tap to wash my face only to find the water scorching hot in both taps. Something weird is going on, but my head has just about had enough thinking for one day.

I stare at myself in the mirror; my eyes have their crimson glint which is a sign of my inner edginess. As I try to tame my crazy long dark hair, something makes me drop the brush and recoil
backward. Two words have been traced shakily in the steamed-up mirror. Words that were not there a few seconds earlier:

I react instinctively, wiping the words from the mirror with the palm of my hand. Then I wish I hadn't. Behind my reflection, blurred by the coating of steam, I can make out another shape. I spin to check behind me; I'm alone in the bathroom, yet the image in the mirror remains; the hazy figure of a man, walking
torward me as if down a long corridor, making for the glass that covers its end. Over his head he wears a hood with two eye-holes; the mask of a hangman. Horrified, I wonder what he'll do when he reaches the mirror that seems to act as a barrier between my world and his. I'm not staying to find out. I begin to back away, until a hand covers my mouth from behind.

"Don't scream," says a male voice. "I just want to talk."

The hand turns me slowly until I'm facing him.

"Promise you won't scream?" asks Aaron.

I nod and he removes his hand. My fear is replaced by anger. I'm seething.

"How dare you?" I whisper shout, pushing him in the chest.
"Since you've shown up my life has been turned upside down. My house was broken into, Dad was attacked and now I have to deal with this!"

I point to the mirror where the writing is. Or rather, was.

"I can help you," says Aaron. "But you need to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," I reply, quoting Dad's last words to me.

"Sasha, there are things you need to know about The Agency. I'm sure this wasn't what your Dad planned. I'm worried about you."

A car horn blares.

"You don't have the right to be worried about me," I snap. "You don't even know me. My Dad told me all I need to know."

I shove past Aaron and this time he makes no attempt to stop me.
Ludvig doesn't seem to care that I come running out of the house looking agitated. The second the car door slams shut, he pulls off into the bleak autumn evening. I glance out of the rear window to see Aaron watching me disappear. I hope it's the last time I see him.