At least Ben Shephard had no idea who she was. He walked right into her at lunch, stabbing her bicep with the corner of a science book. He’d looked at her blankly, a small frown forming on his almost perfect brow, as if his brain was struggling to remember. What a cretin. She sat two seats in front of him in English class and had done so for the last year. Not that she ever expected a guy like that to remember her.
Her headache was getting worse. The dreams were back. It was a girl, a college student this time, alone, in the cold, afraid. Hannah ran her hand across her forehead, attempting to smooth away the dream memory, the sensation of fear. She needed to get home. Walking down the steps of the school building, she let her long hair conceal her features, her shoulders rounding against the evening chill. Mousy Hannah Quinn, nondescript – that was the way she liked it.
As Kara’s legs twitched in unsightly convulsions, Mrs Rosemary Bailey pushed a shopping trolley around the supermarket. She was trying to decide what to make for dinner. Not that it mattered – Kara rarely ate anything substantial after a day at school anyway. Rosemary considered phoning the clinic, mentioning Kara’s lack of appetite to them. It wasn’t something really important but the counsellor had told her to keep an eye out for any changes.
Since her stepdaughter had moved to St Aloysius’ School, things were much better. Kara was staying out of trouble. There were no fits of rage, no fires, only occasional, quiet anger. Kara seemed altogether more placid, thanks in part to the counselling as well as the move.
Maybe things were beginning to turn around. Finally.
Rosemary stopped to pick up a copy of the daily paper, the front-page headline catching her eye. A missing girl, a college student, had disappeared on her way home from the campus library. That was the second missing person in a month.
Rosemary dropped the newspaper into the trolley, rounding the corner to the tinned-food aisle, beans on toast for dinner. As she reached to the top shelf for a tin, Kara’s lungs constricted, desperate for oxygen-drenched air on a tree-lined street on the other side of town.
Kara’s heart weakened and slowed its furious pumping while Ashleigh Jameson strutted down the corridor of St Aloysius’ School at the end of another great day. She paused occasionally to allow her manicured hands to brush through her blonde hair. She liked the way it moved, fanning around her shoulders when she walked.
She smirked to herself as she spotted Hannah Quinn scuttling in the opposite direction. She hated that girl. There was something about her, always lurking, watching with those grey eyes. It made Ashleigh feel ill at ease. She spent so much time scheming that the thoughts of an observer, ever watchful, made her uncomfortable.
However, there were always ways to make the likes of Hannah Quinn irrelevant.
Her phone pinged in her pocket. She retrieved it, sliding her finger across the screen. A text message from Jenny:
OMG Ash. Just heard news. BS asked Kara to Halloween dance. FB me when u get home! Jx
Ben Shephard had asked Kara to the dance. Ashleigh stopped in the hallway, stunned.
The concept was unimaginable. What was he thinking? Everyone knew Ashleigh was better-looking than Kara, more popular than Kara, more fun than Kara. In fact, if it wasn’t for Ashleigh taking Kara under her wing when she moved to the school after her meltdown, Kara would be a nobody like Hannah Quinn.
‘That little back-stabbing bitch!’
Ashleigh’s voice carried in the empty corridor, the words echoing. Her jaw clamped tight, her teeth grinding. She thought of her anger-management classes and tried to count to ten. The last thing she needed was to lose it in the middle of the school corridor. Her father paid a lot of money for her to keep her temper in check.
Taking a few shallow breaths, she steadied herself for a moment, putting her manicured hand on the wall. Something would have to be done to remind Kara how to be a better friend.
Ben should have paid more attention to their earlier conversation at his locker. Clearly he’d underestimated Ashleigh’s intent. She would make him pay, make them both pay.
Kara’s heart stopped. Her body jerked once, then lay perfectly still.
***
He was paralysed, enveloped in total darkness. He could not open his eyes, could not move, but he could smell others close by, could hear, acutely, all their conversations.
He was powerless and it made him think of that night, on the roof, almost two years ago. It wasn’t his fault; he hadn’t been in control. He kept telling himself that, over and over again.
Sometimes the guilt was so heavy it pressed down on him like a tombstone.
Now, it was almost time, no room for memories, only retribution. It was his burden. And he would bear it to the end, no matter what happened.
He was growing stronger by the day – he could feel it.
He had a plan.
He would destroy it. Free himself.
It was nearly time to wake up.
Chapter Three
Rosemary banged the heel of her hand against the Perspex window. She felt so useless. She had insisted on staying in the viewing suite to watch.
Kara was her responsibility, the last remaining tie to Patrick and the life they’d had together. And now the doctors were letting her die. She could see her stepdaughter, her body unresponsive on the operating table. A sob escaped Rosemary’s treacherous lips, tears blurred her vision, but she could not look away.
They were cutting Kara’s beautiful hair. First with sturdy silver scissors they cut chunks of matted mahogany, greasy with road dirt and dried blood. Then the shaver peeled off flurries and finally wisps of hair so light that it could be carried on the gentlest of breezes. The operating team trampled on the discarded hair as they gathered around Kara like a flock of feeding vultures, prodding her, attaching wires, wiping her skin with pads dipped in dark orange fluid.
The equipment around the operating table beeped, the noise urgent, demanding a response. The red digital number on one machine kept climbing, counting into the hundreds. Rosemary’s attention was focused on the heart-rate monitor, its screen showing the slow, laborious beat of Kara’s heart, struggling to keep going, straining to keep her alive.
The surgeon cut an incision two inches long at Kara’s temple. Blood oozed. Rosemary turned away, bending over, resting her hands on her thighs and breathing deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘I will not be sick,’ she said, her lips pursed together. Touching her forehead with cool fingers, she closed her eyes, counting silently to five.
She would watch every minute in the hope that her presence would give Kara strength. Straightening up she returned to her position at the window, her arms folded, her hands tucked in tight.
***
He heard them congregate around him, the gentle wheeze of breath in and out, cold hands grasping his wrist. He wanted to twist away, to pull back, but he was stuck, ridged, his body solid in paralysis. What were they doing?
No! You fools.
Not that, anything but that.
The pierce of needle into his flesh.
He could feel every press, every pinch, every hand on his body. But he could not retaliate.
Anger curled within him.
They had stolen from him. They had taken the one thing that had the power to destroy them all. It was his burden, his responsibility.
How could he make amends for the actions of other people?