Fractured (19 page)

His eyes widen. ‘You’ve done
what
?’

‘You heard me.’

He shakes his head. ‘You’re one crazy girl,’ he says, but there, in his eyes: grudging respect. Maybe he’s impressed, even. And I start to believe I can convince him.

‘I’ll do it with or without you. So, are you going to help me, or what?’

He hesitates, thinking, and I manage to keep quiet and leave him to it. Staring steadily back at his blue eyes. Hoping and hoping, so hard. For all that I said, it is a bit needle-haystack, and he and I both know it. I could have missed a track on the maps; the track might be new and not even on a map. I could go to the right place and not know it if he isn’t there. I could get caught trying.

‘It would be better to wait,’ he says, at last. ‘Until we have more information.’

‘But...?’

‘I’m as crazy as you are.’ He grins.

I launch myself at him for a hug. ‘Thanks, Aiden! When?’

‘How about Sunday? It may be dangerous.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘I do. You have to promise to do what I say on the day, Kyla, and mean it. Or it’s off.’

I stare back at him, hesitant to make a promise I may find hard to keep. Yet he is taking risks here, too. ‘I promise.’

Aiden holds out the photo. ‘This was taken last Sunday: training at the village track. So we can hope he’ll be there same time and place again. You can at least confirm if it is him. What do you think?’

‘I’ll do it,’ I say again, and Aiden tells me where he’ll pick me up, what time, and I note the details but all the while I’m staring at Ben’s photograph in my hands.

It
is
him. I don’t know how or why he survived being hauled off by Lorders. But it really is my Ben.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

The next morning I wait, nervous, in Dr Lysander’s waiting room. There are so many things I have to try to hide from her now. I try to remember what it feels like to just be Kyla, before the memories, but it is slipping away. She mustn’t notice how different I am, how changed: if she orders scans, I’m in big trouble.

Once again there is a Lorder standing guard outside Dr Lysander’s door. A nurse comes out of the office next to it, her face one I don’t recognise. I store her up, some part of my brain busy collecting people who work in the hospital to draw for Nico. That is when it hits me: what about Lorder faces?

I force myself to study the guard. It is uncomfortable, trying to overcome the automatic urge to look away, to avoid eye contact, and stay out of notice. Apart from Coulson whose face is ingrained on my memory, and those ones when Cam and I were taken in, I can’t say I know what many Lorders look like, exactly. Men and women, they all dress the same: identical grey suits most of the time. Or in black operations gear like this one has on now while on guard duty, with a black vest over top, a weapon at his hip. The vests are bulletproof, Nico says. And the way they stand and carry themselves says
stay out of our way
. Faces generally expressionless; hair either short or tied back. Nothing to distinguish them as individuals. If you came by him on his day off in blue jeans, would he look the same as everybody else?

He is young, and I’m surprised. Why? I suppose the whole uniform and stance of authority makes me assume older. His face is blank, staring straight ahead, not noticing any lesser beings like myself around him. But he looks no older than Mac or Aiden, early twenties or so. Average height and build. Thin tapering fingers like a musician, not for holding guns. I shake myself internally: stop being so fanciful. Hazel eyes, short light brown hair. Average features in an average face that would be hard to distinguish in a drawing, but I store it up so I can reproduce it later, and—

He rolls his eyes. Shifts and turns a little, face still blank.

I nearly fall off my chair.

Dr Lysander appears in her door. ‘Kyla? You can come in now.’

Saved. I scurry past him and through the door.

Dr Lysander smiles; so she is in a good mood.

‘Good morning, Kyla. What is on your mind today?’

‘Are Lorders human?’ I cringe after I say it: I was so busy studying her Lorder guard, I hadn’t prepared what to say.

‘What?’ She laughs. ‘Oh, Kyla, I do enjoy our talks. Of course they are.’

‘Well, I know they’re
human
. That isn’t what I meant, exactly.’

‘Please explain.’

‘Are they ordinary: do they have pets, hobbies. Do they play musical instruments or go to dinner parties. Or do they just march about scowling all the time?’

She half smiles. ‘I expect they have lives beyond those that we see. But now that you mention it, I’ve never had one over for dinner, unless you count the one guarding the door.’

‘You get guarded having dinner?’

‘I get guarded most places these days. But this isn’t about me.’

‘Well, I don’t get guarded. I get ignored, and scowled at.’ Kidnapped, and offered impossible deals. I stuff the thought down before it can show on my face, but she doesn’t seem to notice, and turns to her screen. Taps at it a moment, then looks up.

Watching me very carefully. ‘Have you had any more memories? Or dreams you thought were real.’

‘I might have done.’

‘Tell me.’

It is impossible to lie to her, and even if I could, I shouldn’t. She has to believe me or she might want to do scans. ‘I dreamt I was having a nightmare. And...’ I hesitate.

‘Yes, Kyla?’

‘A boy was holding me when I woke up. But I didn’t wake up. It was part of the dream.’ I can feel my cheeks burning.

‘Oh, I see.’ Amused. ‘That sort of dream element is a pretty common fabrication at your age.’

Even though it makes sense to leave it at that, I can feel myself bristling inside. It is a real memory. As much as I’d rather it wasn’t Katran, somehow, I know: it happened.

She looks at the screen again.

‘Are things all right at home?’

‘Yes.’

‘Really?’ She turns and I’m pinned under her eyes again.

She’s heard something. There is a pang inside: Mum. Must be, she must be giving reports. It really
is
her. Dad hasn’t been home, and who else could it be?

What can I tell her?

‘Well…’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m not sure, but I think Mum and Dad aren’t getting along that well.’

‘I see. Are you troubled by this?’

‘No. I don’t mind him being away more.’

She tilts her head. Thinking position. ‘It is a requirement of your contract that you have two parents, to guide your transition to home and community.’

My eyes open wide in alarm. ‘I do, just not as often!’

‘Don’t worry, Kyla. As long as things are stable at home for you and your sister, I feel there is no need to report that at this time.’ She glances at the clock. ‘Time is about gone. Is there anything else you wish to talk about?’

And her eyes are pinning into me again. There are so many things that want to spill out when she looks at me like that. I manage to shake my head no, and get up. Head for the door.

‘Oh, Kyla?’ I turn. ‘We will talk about whatever is on your mind the next time,’ she says.

I scurry out, escape made good.

The Lorder is still at her door. Standing at attention and staring straight ahead. I can’t help myself glancing back at him before leaving.

He winks.

I just about trip over my feet.

Well! I’m pretty sure winking at a Slated could get him into trouble.

‘Your dad called last night,’ Mum says, one eye on the road home and one on me. London traffic this close to the hospital is, as usual, so slow it doesn’t need much attention.

‘Did he? How is he?’

‘Fine. He asked about you, how things are.’

‘Really?’ I say, surprised. ‘What did you say?’ I ask, unable to stop myself.

‘Just what you tell me: school is fine, Cam is just friends, nothing is wrong.’ She sighs. ‘I wish…’

‘What?’

‘I wish you wouldn’t feed those lines to
me
, though. We used to talk, really talk, didn’t we, Kyla? What is going on with you these days?’

I bite my cheek.
Focus.

‘Nothing, really.’ I smile, and I have got better at faking it, yet somehow she doesn’t seem convinced.

‘If you need to, we can talk. Just between us, all right?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I know.’

But what I don’t know is who turned me in to the Lorders. And even if I could be sure it wasn’t her, what should I start with? Perhaps that I am in Free UK. The same organisation that blew up her parents. Or that I’m not, really – I’m a Lorder spy, infiltrating Free UK. Either way, I don’t think she’d be much impressed.

I watch her as she drives. Daughter of the first Lorder PM: is she one of them, or isn’t she? But apart from all of that, there is one thing that bugs me most of all.

‘I don’t understand you,’ I say, finally breaking the silence.

‘What’s that?’

‘Why did you take in Amy and me? We might have done anything, you don’t know. We might be terrorists, or murderers.’

‘You don’t strike me as the bloodthirsty type.’

Appearances can be deceiving.

‘How can you know?’

‘I can’t. But I do know who you are, now. You and Amy both.’

I stare out the window. Does she know who I
really
am? Did she turn me in to the Lorders because she found out? ‘But what about your parents? And your son. They got blown up by AGT.’ I stumble over the words, nearly saying Free UK instead of AGT.
Take care
.

She says nothing, keeps driving. Traffic slows to a stop.

‘Kyla, what do you know about Robert? My son.’

I turn and look at her, startled to see her eyes welling up.

‘His name is on the memorial at school. He was killed when their school bus got bombed.’ That is what I say, though Mac was there and had a different version of events.

She shakes her head. ‘No. I believed that for a long time, but it isn’t true. I found out he survived the bombing, but I never saw him again. I think he was Slated, though I haven’t been able to prove it. I’ve done everything I can to find him, but nothing.’

I stare at her in shock.
She knows.

There is the toot-toot of a horn behind us; traffic starting again. Mum continues up the road.

‘That is why, Kyla. Do you see? It is because I hope that somewhere out there, somebody looked after Robert. Somebody loved him. That is why I do that for Amy and you.’

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The van door slides open. ‘Quickly now,’ Aiden says, and I climb in. ‘Sorry, it isn’t very comfortable back here.’ He shifts a tool box across. ‘Have a seat?’

I perch on the edge of it. He knocks on the wall to the front compartment, and the van rattles off. It is chock-full of technical stuff, parts, tools. Things hanging from the ceiling, on shelves and on the walls. There is barely enough room for the two of us amongst it all.

‘Is all this the other half of your double life?’ I ask. ‘Telephone repair man by day, superhero by night?’

Aiden laughs, an easy, natural sound, likes he laughs often. ‘Something like that,’ he says, and smiles. And I’m struck by the risk he is taking, now, to find Ben. The same risk he takes all the time to find other missing people.

‘Thanks for doing this,’ I say.

‘Don’t thank me yet. I’ve seen the photo and I’m still not convinced it is definitely Ben. But we’ll check it out. I’ve arranged an emergency repair at a house opposite the training field.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, it’ll turn out to be a simple job, though it can last as long as we need it to. Won’t take long to actually fix, since I know exactly what is wrong. Since I was there in the small hours indulging in a little superhero sabotage.’

‘Naughty!’

‘Don’t get your hopes up too much. There is always the chance he won’t be there today, though he has been the last two Sundays.’

‘Ben would never miss training.’

‘If it really is him,’ he cautions again, eyes serious.

‘Where are we headed?’ I ask.

Aiden finds a map-book on a shelf, and shows me our destination: about twenty miles up country roads. I quickly commit the way to memory. The van hits a pothole, and lurches to one side; my bottom smacks on the tool box.

After what feels like forever but is actually thirty minutes or so, we switch to a smoother road, and go faster. There is a window at the back but with Aiden and so much stuff in the way all I can catch are glimpses of trees, blue sky.

We slow down, take a few turns.

‘Nearly there, I think,’ Aiden says, voice low. The van stops. Moments later there is a knock and the door pulls across. The driver nods, and I say hi. Aiden doesn’t introduce us, and the driver turns away, moves so fast that I barely get a look at him.

‘Come on,’ Aiden says. Shielded by the van, we go around the back of the house, and the driver stays behind, getting out equipment. He starts making a show of checking wires outside the house as we go to the back door. Aiden reaches under a pot plant and holds up a key.

‘No one home?’

‘Yeah. It belongs to friends of friends, but they’ve arranged to be out. She said if we go up the stairs to the front bedroom, that is the best place to see. That is where she took the photograph.’

Upstairs the bedroom window overlooks a green field, a track surrounding. At the far side is a large building: a sports hall? There is a group of a few dozen or so boys, a coach, some onlookers. The boys are standing about, doing stretches.

‘Can’t we go over there? Get closer to see?’

‘Wait. They’ll run around,’ he says. ‘Then you can get a closer look. For now, try these.’ He passes across binoculars, and I eagerly peer through, try to see faces, but they keep moving around and turning their heads, and—

There
.

‘I think I’ve got him. Far side of the group.’

I pass the binoculars to Aiden. He looks, considering. ‘Could be,’ he says, a moment later. He hands them back, and I look again:
is it really you, Ben
?

After what seems an age they start running round the track. The closer they get, the more sure I am. It is his body and the way he runs as much as what I can see of his face: a loping, easy gait that quickly leaves the others behind.