Shiver the Whole Night Through (6 page)

Only it wasn't
him
– Mr Lee – saying it, it was Sláine. I'd know it anywhere, I'd never forget it. That voice which sounded like the tinkle of ice, which you felt more than heard.

I thought I heard her whisper something else; it could have been ‘heart'. Then she laughed and there was silence. I snapped back to reality. Mr Lee was still talking: ‘But nobody has any
proof
that they exist. Probably just legends, you know. A bit of local colour. All right, is that it, so? Okay, off you go.'

I looked around. No one else appeared to have noticed anything strange. What was that, a hallucination? Is that what those feel like? I remembered reading that epileptic fits and brain seizures are often preceded by some bizarro out-of-body type feeling. Aw God, I wasn't going to be struck down by one of those, was I? As if I didn't have enough crap to be dealing with.

I met Podsy after school and we walked part of the way home together. He'd talked to his uncle late last night. God bless you, Uncle Tim, and your free-and-easy way with confidential information.

According to Podsy, Sláine had been fully dressed when they found her, although not wearing a coat. Her parents said they didn't think one was missing from her room, so I assumed she'd gone there without. That'd back up the suicide theory, but of course I knew by now this wasn't the case.

Her feet were bare – they'd turned blue from the cold, become swollen. Other than that, the medical examiner found no marks on Sláine's corpse, no signs of violence, self-inflicted or not. The one thing of note they couldn't explain yet was the state of her skin and eyes. Sláine's skin was marked by tiny light-blue lines all over her body, as if the blood vessels underneath had somehow petrified. Tim said the girl looked like she'd been tattooed.

And her irises had changed colour: from her natural dark-grey to the same icy-blue as the lines on her skin. The coroner was baffled, hypothesising that the freezing temperatures had had some radical, mystifying effect.

I didn't recall noticing marks on her skin when we met on Saturday night. Having said that, I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to notice much of anything, beyond the fact I was having a conversation with a girl who was dead and now appeared to be alive once more. Also, her eyes had seemed dark to me, not blue. I'd have to examine her more closely tonight.

I thanked Podsy for the information and turned to go. He stopped me by the arm, saying, ‘What's all this about? All this wanting to know about Sláine McAuley. Did you fancy her or something before?'

I laughed unconvincingly. ‘What? No way. I didn't even know the girl.'

He eyeballed me, clearly suspicious.

I said, ‘I'm just curious, I told you. Like, it's weird, the way she was found and all. How they don't know what happened to her.'

‘They
do
know, though. She died of the cold. Anyone would, out in Shook Woods in winter, middle of the night. Your body temperature drops below a certain point, you can't metabolise nutrients and your organs start to fail. Eventually you'll slip into a coma. Then you die.'

‘Did Uncle Tim tell you that?'

‘Nah, just know it myself. From Biology, you know.'

‘Right.' I paused, not sure if I wanted to express the thought that had just popped into my head. ‘I, uh  …  this's going to sound awful, but you want to know something?'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘I kind of don't give a shit that Chris Harrington got his ass torn up like that.' I looked at Podsy, feeling ashamed but not ashamed. ‘Does that make me an evil person?'

He smiled wryly. ‘Yeah, I noticed you weren't too concerned about him, all right. No, I don't think so. I mean I'm not happy the guy got attacked. But he was an asshole. Is, sorry. Still is an asshole. Not dead yet.'

I smiled at Podsy and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘I mean I guess I want him to pull through.'

‘Sure, yeah. Me too.'

‘So what did happen, anyway? Harrington. What was it, a pack of wild dogs or something?'

Podsy said indifferently, ‘Mm, think so. Don't know where they came from, though. Do we have wild dogs around here?'

‘Maybe from the forest.'

‘Yeah. You wouldn't know
what's
hiding out in that bloody place.' He gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘Man. Shook Woods. Wouldn't catch me going there for love nor money.'

‘No? You believe all that stuff, then? Legends about the forest?'

Podsy glared at me as if I'd just said the dumbest thing ever. ‘Eh,
no
. Of course not. I'm not a child. But there's something really creepy about the woods all the same. Don't you think so? You never got that little shiver up your spine out there?'

I smiled inside. ‘I suppose so, yeah. The odd time.'

Podsy muttered, ‘Whole
town
gives me a weird feeling sometimes.' Then he smiled. ‘But it's home, right? For good or bad.'

He waved goodbye and headed off towards his own house: Hiro the Hero was Skyping from Japan again this evening, so he had to prepare. I walked in the direction of my home – I had things to prepare for too.

This cold snap wasn't going away. We were in the last week of November now, not normally a freezing time of year on the west coast of Ireland. Chilly, yes, usually windy, and rainy of course. It's almost always rainy in this country. But never so cold in November, temperatures hovering close to zero.

If anything, it was getting colder. Those days were sunny, motionless and perishingly cold. There hadn't been any rain in weeks; even the wind had eased down. Still no snow, but we had crystals on windows, frost on the grass, spiders' webs glistening icily. Everything felt
caught
in a sort of stasis of coldness: the molecules which form matter slowing down and slowing more and then stopping,
kaput
. It was all quite beautiful.

I was doubly wrapped up when I hit for Shook Woods at ten past eleven that night. My mother heard me leaving; she was up, smoking a cigarette and doing the crossword. I told her I was feeling insomniac too and going for a walk to bring on sleep hopefully. She may or may not have believed me; all she said was, ‘Mind yourself, love. It's treacherous out there.'

I didn't know if she meant the weather conditions or the world in general.

Sláine was waiting when I reached our place.
Our place
. Wow. Did we have a ‘place' now? And what did I mean by ‘we' anyway? What exactly was going on here? A mystery, an intrigue, a freaky experience that I still wasn't one hundred per cent sure was actually taking place.

The most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time.

Whatever it all meant, there I went and there she stood, exactly in the centre, as beautiful as before. Her clothes seemed a slightly lighter colour, probably a trick of the moonlight. Her eyes, I quickly confirmed, were dark-grey, and her skin was flawless. It glowed like white alabaster, cool, exquisite. I don't know what that coroner was talking about.

A little smile played on Sláine's lips as she beckoned me towards her. The air was thin in our Ancient Greek amphitheatre in the forest; I had to labour that bit harder to draw enough oxygen from it. I shuffled over.

Sláine said, ‘Hmm. You look like you've got something to say.'

I started rolling a cigarette. ‘That was a cool trick you pulled in History class. Getting your voice inside my head like that.'

She mock-curtsied, then said, ‘No. Something else.'

‘Heh. I've got so much to say, I don't know where to start.'

‘No, this is something in particular. There's a question on your mind that you want to ask but you're afraid to. You think it might upset me.'

Was there? I realised that actually, yes, there was. How odd. ‘How'd you know what was in my head before I knew it myself?'

‘I'm not sure. Maybe I'm telepathic, ha!  …  That was a joke, Aidan. I can't literally read your thoughts. I'm not Edward Cullen.'

‘So how then?'

She shrugged. ‘I think I can read you pretty well. You're easy to read anyway, and that's a compliment. You're an open, genuine guy. You don't dissemble all the time, like a lot of people. Am I right in saying this?'

I gave a shrug of my own, signifying, ‘Sure, I suppose so.'

She went on, ‘I read your body language, maybe? Or something in your eyes, the way you looked at me a bit warily  …  I don't know how I knew. I just did.'

I smiled. ‘Maybe I'm wary because of  …  Well.' I threw my hand around the open space. ‘This. You. Me and you. It's a pretty goddamn weird situation, don't you think?'

Sláine smiled back – it made her look younger. She said, ‘Maybe. You're probably right to be wary. But you still haven't asked that question you're afraid of.'

I changed tack. ‘How did you get me home the other night? Into my room. Thought you couldn't go into, like, people's houses or whatever.'

‘Yeah, like Dracula. Not until I'm invited  …  ' She looked off into the darkness. ‘I don't know. I
couldn't
before, now I can. Your house, at least. I'm not sure about other places – except for one  …  Maybe it's because I met you? Met you, touched you – made some kind of connection, right? Like that enabled me to some extent, gave me power? But I don't really know. “Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do or  …  ”'

She left the last word out – the Tennyson quotation was seared into my brain from English class, rote learning, and I unthinkingly finished it. ‘“Die.” Shit. Sorry, that was  …  '

‘Don't worry about it. Now come on, you're stalling for time. You realise that, don't you? Ask me the question you
really
want to ask.'

I said it out straight, finally: ‘Your body. Is it still in the graveyard? I mean, I'm  …  I presume that this' – I gestured towards her – ‘isn't you. As in, the old you. Do you know what I mean?'

‘I do.' She thought about it. ‘I think  …  I think it's still there.
I'm
still there. But that's not me any more, like you said. It's just decaying flesh.
This
is me. And I'm free now.'

‘Is that how you feel? Free?'

‘In some ways. Not entirely.'

‘Someone told me that your skin was all blue when you were found. Little blue lines all over. They said it looked like a tattoo. What was all that about?'

‘I don't know. I don't remember that.'

‘What
do
you remember? About – you know. Dying. God, it sounds so messed up when I say it out loud. Kind of absurd.'

Sláine threw her head back and laughed, gorgeously. My heart quickened half a beat. She said, ‘Some of it. But I'm not going to tell you about that yet. Like I said, not until the time is right  …  Don't get that disappointed look, Aidan. You trust me?'

‘I guess.'

‘Then trust me on this.'

‘Sure. All right  …  Hey, I also heard that your eyes had changed colour. They were blue too, like the lines on your skin. But that couldn't have been correct. I mean I can see them right now. They're dark.'

‘Same as the day I was born. Again, I can't explain what they saw. I mean, I wasn't there when they did that – that examination, whatever you call it. Elvis had left the building, as they say. I was long gone, my spirit  …  How do you know all this?'

I answered, ‘My friend Podsy told me. His uncle's a Guard, blabs all the time.'

‘Do I know him? What's his name again?'

‘Podsy O'Keeffe. It's a pet name for Padraig. I don't know if you do. Probably not – he'd be younger than you. Bit younger than me. Small fella, kinda nerdy? He's a good guy. Podsy's a good friend – he's been really decent to me.'

The clearing shimmered from the moonlight, but the forest surrounding us was totally black, as though dipped in ink and left to dry. The trees were massive and unmoving. I had an unnerving feeling that they were listening to us, conscious in some way. A creature flapped into the air, beyond my vision; something told me it was a bat, not a bird.

I hopped onto the wall of rock and began pacing it to distract my thoughts. Shook Woods
was
creepy, no doubt about it. And moonlight made everything kind of strange and spectral; I read it described once as not so much a light, more ‘a state of things'. Still, while I continued to find the forest unsettling, I was beginning to feel comfortable there. It might have been the fact that Sláine was with me, and for whatever reason I was coming to see her as a protector of some sort. My gut instinct told me, she'll look after you, whatever happens. At any rate, I was positive she wouldn't do me any harm herself.

Standing in our space, the shining moon above us like a celestial spotlight, I felt secure. The trees were outside this blessed circle, they couldn't get in to us; we were safe here. I was even a tiny bit happy in this place. It almost felt like home.

‘Okay, my turn for a few questions,' she said.

I nodded and muttered, ‘All right. Yeah, fine.'

‘First off: are you happy?'

‘Right now, or life in general?'

‘Either. Both.'

‘Right now, yes. I think I'm happy, being here, talking to you. Which is a sad reflection on where my life's at, I have to tell you.'

We both laughed. She said, ‘So in general  …  not so happy?'

‘You could say that.' I finished my smoke and flicked it into the shadows. For an instant I had a ludicrous fear that one of the pines would lurch forward and clobber me for littering. I went on. ‘I don't know. I mean things aren't as awful as they were, so that's progress, right? I used to be
unbelievably
 …  Like, I'd just feel so bad all the time. Angry and upset and lonely. Basically like the world's biggest asshole. As if I was cursed or something. Probably was clinically depressed. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Laying all this doom and gloom on you.'

‘Because I asked you to. Go on.'

‘Well I haven't really been hassled much since  …  uh, for the last while. Don't know why but I'm being left alone for the time being. So I guess I'm happier now? Or less
unhappy
, anyway. I don't feel  …  '

I left that unexpressed. Sláine must have read my mind again, metaphorically at least, because she completed the sentence: ‘Like killing yourself any more.'

A long silence stretched out in the still cold darkness. Finally I said quietly, ‘Yeah. Like  …  doing that, yeah.'

She spoke so softly it was barely a sound. ‘You were going to do it on Sunday week, weren't you? Jump off the bridge. End it all.'

I didn't reply.

‘That would have been a stupid thing to do. I'm glad you changed your mind.'

I snapped at her, ‘What do you mean, stupid? What the hell d'you know about my life anyway?'

‘I know it's worth more than to throw it away because a group of malicious little babies decided they didn't like you.' She sighed. ‘You're right, I don't know everything about you. But I know enough, Aidan. I know you're a good person and they're not. You're more precious than they'll ever be.'

I sighed too. ‘I suppose you're right.'

‘There's no suppose. I
am
right.'

I smiled up to meet Sláine's own smile, and jokily bowed before her great wisdom. I thought to myself, man oh man, you're parleying wits with a dead girl at midnight. And you like it. How did
that
happen?

She hovered closer to me, that funny moving-that-wasn't-moving. ‘Tell me about it now. The bullying.'

‘Do I have to? To be honest I'd sooner talk about you. You and this and how is it even possible.'

‘That can wait. I'm not going to suddenly be alive again, don't worry. There's plenty time.'

‘I didn't mean anything by that.'

‘I know. Now tell me.'

So I did. The whole sorry story, beginning to end. Caitlin, the carnival guy, the sneering, the punches, the shame, the isolation. The stupid Facebook page, the brick through my window. That night at the bridge. The way I wanted a massive hole to open up and the earth to swallow me completely. The way it made me hate them all, like an unquenchable fire in my belly, and hate myself for hating them.

The way it made me hate myself, full stop.

Sláine let me talk myself out. It could have lasted ten minutes, it could have been an hour. All I know are two things. I was freezing by the time I'd finished, because I hadn't moved throughout the telling. And I didn't cry, which surprised me a little. Maybe the tears inside had chilled to ice too, along with everything else in this frozen midwinter.

‘Actually,' I finished, ‘one of them got attacked yesterday. One of the bullies. This complete and utter knob called Chris Harrington. Sorry, that's not a nice way to talk about someone in hospital.'

‘Hospital? That's serious. What happened?'

‘He got  …  they think an animal or something. Or a pack of them, wild dogs maybe. They tore him up pretty viciously. He's in ICU, hooked up to who knows what. I think he's gonna pull through, but still. Harrington got messed
up
, you know? Really badly.'

‘Did he deserve it?'

‘What? To get himself attacked?'

‘Mm-hm.'

I considered Sláine's question, and the answer came slamming into my head with the weight and violence of that brick hurled through my window. I looked at her and said evenly, ‘Yes. Yes, he did. Harrington was a horrible bastard to me. Just, a really nasty piece of work, you know?'

‘I do.'

I said warily, ‘And, like, if he
hadn't
survived last night? He did, but just say he hadn't  …  ' I gulped heavily. Did I believe what I was about to say? ‘People often go, “Oh the world's a better place without such-and-such.” I don't know if that's the case here. I mean Chris Harrington isn't a serial killer or Hitler or anything. He's just an asshole. But  … 
my
world might be better without him. I know that sounds awful. It makes me sound like a vindictive psycho. I can't help it. I hate him. Probably a part of me
wanted
something bad to happen to him – and now it has. Maybe I should be careful what I wish for  …  But feck it, that's how a bit of me thinks. And Harrington's not the only one.'

‘I think I know how you feel.'

‘Why, were you bullied too? I gotta tell you, that'd shock me. You always seemed so – popular. Confident.'

‘No, I was never bullied. But I have a heart and eyes, which means I can empathise with people and can see things happen. I saw a lot of that stuff going on, and I felt sorry for those on the receiving end.' She clicked her tongue and added regretfully, ‘Never did anything to stop it, though.'

I waved a hand, dismissing her self-criticism. ‘Forget it. Nobody ever steps in, really. I wouldn't feel bad about it, Sláine.'