Shattered: A Shade novella (23 page)
Read Shattered: A Shade novella Online
Authors: Jeri Smith-Ready
But
Finn’s different. My redness didn’t drown him, but it did make his revival as
much a curse as a blessing.
I
look at Martin. ‘Do you agree with your parents? What do you think should be
done about Finn?’
He
doesn’t hesitate. ‘I think when he turns sixteen and becomes an adult, then he
should decide himself.’
Three
years feels like a lifetime. By then I’ll be almost finished at university,
perhaps already hired by MI-X – if I choose to join them.
‘When
that day comes,’ my father says, ‘Finn would need to be deemed mentally capable
of making such a decision. But if he is, you could give him the choice then.’
‘
Dinnae
worry,’ I say, never taking my eyes off Martin. ‘I
will.’
Chapter Eighteen
Date:
20 December
Weight:
70kg
Hours
of sleep last night: 1
Passports
in hand: 2
Condoms
in suitcase: 19
Days
since 3A: 117
Days
until Aura: 0
In
the dark
centre
of the second longest night of the
year, a taxi arrives at my house to take me to the airport. A light mist is
falling, one that can’t seem to decide whether to be rain or snow. It makes
glistening halos around the Christmas lights on the
neighbours’
houses.
I
walk out the front door alone, locking it behind me. This is it. If all goes
right, I’ll be with Aura in six hours and twenty-eight minutes. Approximately.
So
many things need to go right. Aura needs to escape the US without the DMP and
Nighthawk
realising
she’s headed for Dublin instead
of Glasgow. The false IDs that MI-X made for us need to pass inspection at
customs and immigration. My driving skills need to get us from the airport to
our bed and breakfast, despite the fact I’ve been behind the wheel exactly once
since returning home, only to get my driving
licence
.
Most
of all, I need to hold it together, through the crowds and the castle and the
unforeseen challenges that will meet us. In some ways, I feel less normal than
ever now that I’m on the road to recovery, if only because I’m
realising
how long that road is, how much work there is to
do, and how I’ll never get halfway to healed until I can tell the world what I
went through in 3A. Until I find justice.
I
climb into the taxi. Turns out it’s not empty.
‘
Awright
, mate?’ Martin sits in the far seat, still wearing
his shirt and tie from the pub where he works.
‘You’re
off early for a Friday night.’
‘Just
a wee bit. Told Tina it was a special occasion.’
I look
up and down the road as we pull away from the
kerb
.
‘What happened to the taxi I called?’
‘We
told him tae piss off. Right, Sully?’ The driver gives him a thumbs up. Martin
looks me over, then kicks the side of my foot. ‘Nervous?’
I nod
quickly.
‘You’ll
be fine,’ he says. ‘Just remember: LOL.’
I
made the mistake of asking Martin for advice on losing my virginity with Aura.
He offered some practical tips: relax, take it slow, and above all, LOL. Which
turned out not to stand for
Laughing Out
Loud
, but rather
Lots of Lube
.
‘That’s
not what I’m nervous about,’ I tell him now, ‘but thank you.’
Traffic
is sparse, so we arrive at the airport before I’ve found words to elaborate on
thank you
. But perhaps I never will.
The
driver gets out, sets my bag on the pavement, then returns to the car to wait
for Martin.
‘Well,’
I say, ‘I guess this is—’
‘Ach,
who’s that?’ Martin points past me at the terminal door. Four guys are standing
in front of it looking our way.
‘Is
it—’
‘Hooligans.
I
wouldnae
trust them if I were you.’
I
pick up my bag and walk towards the entrance. ‘Fuck’s all this?’
Graham
raises a hand for a high five. ‘What sort of
mates’d
we be if we let ye go without a parting gift?’
‘Happy
Birthday, Zach.’ Niall presents me with a large manila envelope, tied with a
wrinkled red ribbon.
‘What’s
in here?’
‘Open
it when ye get on the plane,’ Frankie says.
‘It’s
against security procedures.’ I start tugging on the ribbon. ‘If they ask, “did
anyone
gie
you a package to carry aboard?” I’ll have
to say “aye, these suspicious-looking
eejits
ootside
.” Then it’s MI5
ruinin
’
all
yer
Christmases.’
I
tear off the ribbon and peer inside the envelope. Even in the low light at this
angle I can see a ream of notes accompanied by very descriptive illustrations
and photographs.
‘Martin
said you needed a few beginners’ tips with the lassies.’ Roland nods to the
envelope. ‘That’s volume one of sixteen. When you get back, you can read the
rest.’
I
shrug. ‘When I get back, I can write the rest.’
They
laugh and clap me on the shoulders, cuffing me upside the head like I’m a wee
pup. Then they start talking over one another, bits of advanced-sounding advice
that must be part of volume sixteen. I wonder if I should take notes or if
they’re just
blethering
.
‘’Mon,
taxi’s waiting,’ Martin calls out after a minute or two. ‘Zach’s got a flight,
and I’d like tae sleep some time the day.’
The
others wave goodbye and head for the car, shouting a few last pointers. I’m
glad it’s too dark for them to see me blush.
I
slap Martin’s arm with the envelope. ‘You’re a mad wee prick, so you are.’
‘Aye.
Be well, lad.’ He hugs me, in the effortless way I wish I could’ve hugged him
when I arrived here months ago. As he pats my back, he whispers, ‘Just remember
how I taught you tae breathe.’
I hang
on to him for an extra second. ‘I will.’
Then
I pick up my bag and turn for the terminal. I want to look back but resist the
urge until I hear the taxi door shut and the driver put the car in gear.
The red
taillights fade into the veil of misty rain. My heart lurches instinctively at
being alone. I pull in air slowly through my nostrils, counting
aon
,
dhà
,
trì
,
ceithir
.
After
the second breath, my pulse turns slow and even. I enter the terminal and head
for the closest emerald-green kiosk to print my boarding pass.
Martin
did teach me to breathe again. He resuscitated me. He kept this body alive in
Glasgow the way Logan kept my mind alive in 3A.
And
now, in Ireland, Aura can resuscitate my soul.
*
*
*
*
While
I wait for Aura at the Dublin airport, I stay calm by counting and recounting
the roses in my hand. Seven red, five yellow. Almost like the bouquet I brought
her one year minus two days ago. Back then there were six of each
colour
, representing our relationship’s perfect – and
perfectly confusing – combination of passion and friendship.
Now
I’ve tipped the balance. I hope she approves.
A
half hour ago, Aura texted me from the plane saying she’d landed. She’d still
needed to go through baggage retrieval, then customs, then immigration. Or is
immigration, then customs? I can’t remember, and I was just there myself a few
hours ago.
Americans
are coming through the gate now, their various accents washing over me. The
voices of the self-assured. Even the poorest and weakest of them know they’re
on earth for a reason. Their desperation is never the quiet sort.
I
keep my back to the pedestal, one hand holding the flowers and the other
wrapped around the phone in my pocket, in case Aura texts me again. The crowd
thickens as it floods past, but there’s still no sign of her. Part of me wants
to run from the massive press of flesh. But I stay where I am, grinding my
teeth so hard my jaw cramps. I would walk through a thousand of these hells to
see her again.
Something
brushes my sleeve from behind. I jerk my arm, ready to strike out.
It’s
Aura.
My
mouth can’t even utter both syllables of her name before it meets hers. But
words don’t matter now. Nothing matters.
The
Atlantic Ocean is no more.
*
*
*
*
I
wonder if Aura and I look twenty-one, the age on our fake passports. I feel
about half that at the moment, so nervous and happy I could explode. It’s all I
can do to take three steps in a row down this airport corridor without stopping
to kiss her. But every delay keeps us from the castle.
I take a quick glance at my phone to see
if I’m on schedule with my meds.
Dr
McFarlane warned
me that travelling makes it harder to remember, and harder to get the regular
food, drink, and sleep I need to ensure the prescriptions work as well as
possible. At home I’ve three people to nag me into compliance; here, none.
Or,
perhaps, one. If I can open up that much to her. Perhaps this wall of secrets
could lose a brick or two without collapsing.
‘Aura,
I’m going to send a file to your phone.’
She
gives me a saucy grin. ‘Ooh, secret spy document?’
‘No.’
‘Pictures
of you naked? I won’t need those while we’re here, but maybe once I’m home
again.’
‘You
can take all you want this weekend.’ I smile as I convert my calendar to a text
file and click Share.
She
shifts the roses to her other arm and pulls out her phone. ‘It means more when
you take them yourself.’
I
fill in her number, let out a deep breath, then hit Send.
‘I
will also accept
pics
of you in nothing but a kilt,’ she
says, watching her screen. ‘That’d be even better than one hundred percent
naked, to tell you the – oh, here it is.’ Aura’s pace slows as she
scrolls through the document with her thumb. ‘What is all this? Is it even in
English? I can’t pronounce half of—’ She stops, no doubt
recognising
the name of a well-known antidepressant. ‘Zach,
are these—’
‘Prescriptions.’
My mouth has gone dry again. ‘Things I need to take to keep me … ‘
Strong. Stable. Standing.
‘To keep me
with you.’
Time
slows as she stares at me, searching behind my eyes for the chaos in my head.
Is she terrified of being trapped in a car, then a room, with someone who might
snap? Does she still see
me
behind
all the long, unpronounceable medication names?
Aura’s
face melts into a smile, and she says, simply, ‘Good.’ Then she stands on her
tiptoes to bring her lips to mine.
I
close my eyes and breathe in the scent of her skin, her hair, and the roses in
her arms. The flowers get crushed between us as she embraces me.
You’re free. You’re safe. You’re home,
I tell myself
again. And this time, I believe it.
About “Shattered,” Zachary, and Jeri
“Shattered”
is a companion novella in the Shade trilogy. The full-length novels in the
series are
Shade
,
Shift
,
and
Shine
.
“Shattered” takes place concurrent with the middle third of
Shine
. (Click the book titles to
purchase them for your Nook.)
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