Chapter 1
The gentle summer breeze wafts through the partially open window of the upstairs bedroom. I inhale the sweet scents from the flowers in the garden below, trying not to inhale too deeply, as I let their perfumes wash over me, and relaxing, I sink deeper into the battered, much-loved old armchair.
Its cushions are lumpy, and the floral pattern faded, but I don’t care as I look out of the window at the blue-black velvet night, through my raw, red-rimmed blue eyes. My vision is blurry with unshed tears.
Wincing, sucking in a breath through my clenched teeth. It hurt to move much, as I try to rearrange myself in the chair without putting too much pressure on my injured back.
I suppose I should have realized I wisnae ready to face up to the bastard. I’m nearly sixteen years old and nearly six-foot-tall, taller than that stinking brute downstairs. But I suppose that’s it, isn’t it? I’m nearly this, nearly that, but I’m no’ a man.
I’m glad I did it, though. Faced up to him, and shouted at him, even when the bastard drew his belt and beat me with the buckle. Just like a Cat ’O Nine Tails. Sadistic Bastard. It’s the only way he can show how “he’s a man and I’m not.” No, not yet anyway. I’ll get him.
Sucking in a breath, wincing. Gently, I run tentative featherlike fingers across some swellings on my back — the ones I could reach, anyway. I could feel dampness through the t-shirt. Pulling my fingers away, I looked at the red spots on the tips, at first not comprehending what it was. Rubbing absently at the redness between my fingers. Sticky. Shit, that’s blood. I’ll get him back for this. Bastard. I clenched my fists tightly, so hard. The knuckles turned white, and my jaw muscles rippled with suppressed rage.
My sister, Chloe, stirred in her bed, next to the armchair. The council knew it wasn’t right. They still shared the same bedroom at their age. “But what could they do? A housing shortage,” they had told my mum.
Turning my head to look over at her, curled foetal under the thin duvet. So small. She was nearly twelve. Realization dawns on his mind. He feels a cold sheet of water cascade over him. He tries so hard not to let his chest expand, but it is futile as he sucks in breath after breath of the summer breeze, as the pain from his wounds erupts in waves of agony.
Dear God, my heart rate has just quadrupled. It’s hammering in my chest, fit to burst. I just know what that sadistic sod’s going to do to Chloe when she’s twelve.
Jeez. I’ve got to protect her. Something needs to be done. But what? I’ve seen the looks he’s given her, thinking no one’s watching, but I’ve seen. Yes, I’ve seen him lick his lips wet in anticipation, his hot eyes staring.
I draw my knees up to my chest and curl up. My chest tightens and my heart beats staccato against ribs tight with anger, and feelings of helplessness wash over me, as silent drops of salty water roll down my cheeks unchecked, to drip unnoticed onto my folded arms, as I brood about what might.. no, will happen when Chloe turns twelve.
“Come to me. Come to me.”
Shit. What was that?
My head jerks upward like a startled deer. Looking quickly around the room, my muscles bunch ready to jump up, to flee. Trying to sit up straighter in the chair, wincing at the renewed waves of pain coming from the stiffening cuts and bruises on my back.
Quickly turning my head towards the door, thinking that someone had silently come into the room. Uncurling from the chair brings a fresh wave of pain and nausea, but I know what I heard. A man’s voice. A stranger.
Stiffly, I carefully arch my body so I could see better out the window. Was someone in their garden? Nope. It’s pitch dark out there. Could be someone, but can’t see a blasted thing. It’s so dark. Damn it.
I give up staring into the black night. And, I slowly lower myself back down into the warmth of the chair, as that light flashes at the bottom of the garden. So quick, it seems I may have imagined it.
“Come to me. Come to me.”
There it is again. I’m going nuts, I’m hearing things now. And what’s with that light? There it is again. Damn. It’s stopped.
I sit up straighter again, staring out to where I saw the flash of light. The breeze seemed to carry the words into the room. It was like a personal message, just to me. I can only see the dark silhouette of the leaves on the tree rustling. The rest of the garden was dark. Black on denser spots of black.
The soft movement of covers comes from Chloe’s bed and I turn my head, tearing my eyes away from the window as the light flashes again and that male voice calls out. My head snaps back to glare out into the night.
“Come to me. Come to me.”
“Do you hear it?” Chloe whispers.
Her elfin features were starkly white, her fine, artistic hands trembling as she shakily holds them over her mouth to muffle her voice. She was sitting up, her back to the wall, and had her knees drawn up to her chest. The threadbare duvet clutched tightly under her elbows so that only her face was visible.
Startled by Chloe’s voice, I tear my eyes away from the window and the sweet-scented breeze.
Shit, she heard it too.
Thinking fast, I don’t want to get her all upset, get her all worked up. “Hear what?” I whispered back.
“Jamie, stop that. I know you heard it. Just stop being difficult. Okay?” Chloe said. Her voice is full of annoyance. Immediately, I have a picture of her standing in front of me, arms crossed, tapping a foot in annoyance. I smile.
“Yeah, okay. Peace. I heard something. Thought it might be a nut job that has come into the garden looking for something to steal. Can’t see anything, though. It’s pitch dark out there. No moon. I’ve seen a single flash of light. From a torch, maybe? Happens when I hear the words. What are you hearing?”
My mind’s racing and my heart’s galloping along in time, trying to keep up with the tumbling, chaotic turbulence of my thoughts. Wild theories of alien abduction flitted through my agile mind.
“Well, I’m probably hearing the same as you. A warm, friendly female voice. A young person, maybe about my age. They’re saying, ‘Come to me.’ Over and over. What is it, Jamie? What’s happening?” Chloe asked. The more she thought about it, the more frightened she was getting.
“I’m scared, Jamie. Shut the window so they can’t get in,” Chloe said, pleaded, but I didn’t want to shut the breeze, the voice off.
Damn it, she’s going to cry. I hate seeing her upset, and everything is upsetting her these days. She’s becoming more like mum every day. Switching off.
Burying her head in those fanciful books about god knows what and aye, that and unicorns, gryphons and dragons. I mean, come on. There’s no such thing? Well, is there? Jeez, now I’m asking myself stupid questions.
