Fallow Heart Page 5
In the photo, Kasabian was shirtless, showing off a half-way decent set of abs. Lori dipped her phone, mortified that someone in the row behind her might see. She was ready to swipe the picture away and black out the screen entirely, except that the image of his tattooed torso caught her eye. Across the centre of his chest, there was a work of art much larger than the others, three symbols that froze Lori to the spot. One that looked like a curving capital E, and two that looked like the lowercase j, one without the dot. She had seen them before, of course, another detail from that fateful morning that had slipped her mind until now. His ink matched the graffiti on the side of Mum’s van.
The last few days of Lori’s life had been a blur of the absurd. Flashes of beasts, the mysterious scar, bodies falling at her feet from great heights, fake journalists and real police, and now this. This was the first link she could make between one thing and another, and yet the connection shed no light on anything else. Could Kasabian have been the one to graffiti her home? Had he been following her from the moment she’d lost her bag? Did he know what had happened to her in the alleyway?
Lori cringed, her eyes shut tightly. Idiot. She should have asked him, she could have if she hadn’t been so cowardly. He might have known something about her condition in that alley, on the day that all this madness began. Four days of Hell. Was that all it had been? Four days of unending confusion and misery. It had to stop, and the tattoo message was as good a place as any to start. As Profesora Marta began a choral drill, her usual pronunciation technique for opening lessons, Lori slipped her phone onto the desk behind a carefully placed book. As each ‘repeat after me’ sounded, she repeated the words with near-perfect replication. But her eyes were cast down, fingers tapping away to search and install a translation app.
“Forastero. Forastero.”
“Forastero. Forastero.”
Lori pondered the language, the curving script. Was it Arabic? That had to be a good place to start. She fumbled with her phone as her lips mouthed yet more words, searching for a way to load up an on-screen Arabic keyboard.
“Necesito ayuda.”
“Necesito ayuda.”
Once she had the keyboard, she needed another quick look at the photo to make out which symbols would match with those on Kasabian’s tattoo. She brought up his photo once again, pinching the screen to zoom in more closely on the three large letters across his pectorals. As she let the picture go, the letters filling the screen, Lori froze.
No way. Impossible. It can’t be a scar.
Hidden under the dot of one of the j-like symbols, Kasabian had a pale brown scar. It was about the size of a two-pence piece, situated over his heart, in the shape of a crescent moon. The moon looked a little thicker than the one that Lori possessed, like a waxing crescent, the kind that gets larger in the sky. But it was there, plain as day, and Lori couldn’t believe the connection. Her hand wandered up to her heart, feeling the ridge of her scar even through her hoodie, and she stared at Kasabian’s chest, marked in more ways than one. It took her a good long moment to realise that the drill had stopped.
“Lorelai, are you even listening to me?” Profesora Marta asked.
Lori snapped into reality, speechless. The teacher was still standing at her desk, but her thin arms were folded haughtily over her chest now. Profesora Marta’s dark eyes narrowed on Lori, a flush of that heavy, sickly guilt welling up inside her. She wasn’t used to being singled out, least of all for not listening.
“She’s too busy checking out some buff guy’s photo!”
The voice guffawed from behind her, making everyone else in the room laugh. It belonged to Ryan Wade, a class-A dickhead whom she’d had the misfortune of spending AS Spanish with too last year. He was leaning over his desk into her peripheral vision, and Lori snatched her phone up and clutched it closer so he couldn’t see the screen. This only made Ryan laugh harder.
“Aww, internet dating, is it Lor? Hope you’ve given him an honest photo. Guy’s gonna have a heavy shock otherwise, right?”
Idiot. Loudmouth, dickhead, idiot.
Lori’s grip tightened on her phone. Her whole body was hotter, skin crawling with embarrassment. Profesora Marta converged on the scene as the echo of laughter ran around Lori’s head.
“That will do, Mr Wade. Nobody asked for your input.”
It was a mistake to look around, which Lori only realised after she’d done it. Ryan Wade was full of self-satisfaction, revelling in the amusement of his peers. His dark hair was shorn into a buzzcut at the sides, left longer on top so it fell down into his sharp hazel eyes. They were trained on Lori like the sight of a gun, yet more shots ready to fire.
“Bet Lor’s fancying some input, eh?” Ryan continued with a crass grunt.
“Ryan Wade!” Profesora Marta yelled. “Out of my classroom, now!”
But Ryan didn’t go, and Lori began to crush her phone in her burning grip.
Shut him up. Shut him up for good.
“He looks like an Arab to me,” Ryan mused cruelly. “They like their women bigger, I hear. Good for you, Lorelai. Find your market!”
Make him stop. Break his neck.
Lori didn’t know how she came to be on her feet, or what had even possessed her to move. All she knew was that someone had screamed, and now she had a fistful of Ryan’s stylish hair. He was bent over the desk towards Lori, her force holding him down about an inch from the table. Had she moved any further or faster, she’d have slammed him into its polished surface. Lori let him go with sudden surprise, and the boy shook himself all over.
“Jesus, can’t you take a joke?” he scoffed, brushing himself down, but his voice was shaking.
“Lorelai, I’m afraid that this is unacceptable,” Profesora Marta began.
But Lori heard nothing more of her teacher’s speech about unacceptable violence. The fiery heat of anger was spreading all over her body, burning into every vein. Deep inside her chest there was a tightness, far worse than the pains she’d been experiencing over the weekend. Panic overcame her and she grabbed her bag, racing from the room as hot tears flowed like lava down her burning face. So hot. Air. Need air. She smashed her way back down the corridor, out of the double doors to the now-abandoned grass. Rain was falling, cooling her face and melding with her tears, but it wasn’t enough. The pain inside raged like something was clawing at her heart.
Something was trying to get out.
“Look at me.”
There were hands on Lori’s shoulders, calloused fingertips pressing down hard, but her vision was a blur. She was lost to the sight of antlers, those deadly horns that had haunted her and begun the inevitable path of ruining her life. Was this madness taking her over at last? A panic attack? A stress outpouring? No. Something more. Something worse. The hands squeezed her shoulders tighter still.
“Lorelai. Look at me.”
Her name brought her closer to reality. For a moment, she saw only red, piercing eyes staring back at her, close enough to see their burning amber pupils. But then the vision faded away, leaving a coal-black gaze that was fathoms deep. Lori looked into the wide, calming eyes absorbing them. Recognising. Realising.
“Kasabian.”
“I can’t stay,” he said.
As his face came into focus, Lori marked the quiver of Kasabian’s lips.
“You have to help me,” Lori pleaded, grabbing hold of his biceps. They seemed thinner than they ought to in her forceful grip. “What’s happening to me? You know. I know you do. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Kasabian’s lips moved, but he made no sound. His dark brows arched as his mouth opened and closed helplessly. Lori’s heart swelled, but the stranger shook his head.
“Not here. Not now,” he confirmed. “You have my number. It’s all I can do.”
His hands started to pull away, but Lori grabbed him harder.
“No!” she said, squeezing him. “You tell me! You tell me now!”
The lack of control shook her to her core. Lori
’s hysteria mingled with desperation and fear, willing her not to let the young man go until she could make some sense of the world again. But Kasabian was stronger than he looked, and he yanked his torso out of Lori’s grip with a sudden lurch backwards. She fell towards him, landing hard on her knees, the shocking pain racing through her nerves and straight into her chest. It was all converging on her heart, making her clutch the flesh around the scar. When she looked up at Kasabian again, quivering helplessly, he too was holding onto his chest. His skin was slick with sweat, the black ink on his arms and neck glistening.
“It’s coming,” he said, his breath caught in his throat. “Run Lori. Run home. It’s all happening there. She’s there right now.”
“She?” Lori stammered. “But who-?”
“NOW!” Kasabian said, giving her a shove. “Go now!”
Fear electrified her every nerve. As Kasabian bolted, streaking away through the trees, Lori hauled herself to her feet and pelted after him. She couldn’t keep up with his pace, heaving and panting after only a minute or so, but it was enough for the ache in her heart to start fading. She spied a bus ready to leave at the stop across the road, using her last smash of energy to reach it and board. It began to pull away before she’d even collapsed into a seat, but with every turn of the wheels her pain lessened.
She glanced out of the window, rubbing hot tears from her eyes. There had to be a sign somewhere, a flash of Kasabian running, or some vision of whatever he was running from. Though she didn’t want to see the beast again, at least her feelings would make sense if she did. But there was nothing outside the wet window of the bus, and her heart had settled once again in her chest. Whatever she was running from, it was no longer chasing her. It was an instinct. A complete certainty, like that of being hungry or being itchy, and this newfound knowledge terrified her far more than any of the visions so far. Because this sensation was coming from deep within.
Demons, and all their realities
The bus took her back into town, way off her route home, so it was a good ninety minutes later that Lorelai arrived back at Fir Trees. She was relieved not to see Mad Addy the wild swimmer on her trek back to the park, having already filled her quota of weird for the day. Attempting to rationalise things no longer seemed possible. The only way forward was the conclusion that the world had gone to Hell and she was going mad, which Lori could almost get on board with. Except now, there was Kasabian. A real person, reacting to what she was going through. A real person who was in a real photo on her phone. That was undeniable, as corporeal as the scar on her chest.
It's coming.
His parting words. Every time Lori thought of them, the words burrowed deeper and deeper into her chest, hollowing her out. Had he meant the monster? The thing that had attacked Lori and given her the scar? What if it was as real as it had felt, and it was coming back for more? It was bullshit, not to give her the full information. Kasabian knew things and that was too scary for words. She had to call him. Lori had thought up a hundred excuses during the bus ride, ready to race through the narrow caravan and get into her little room the minute she got back. She’d put the covers up over her head to muffle the sound, like she did when she called Granddad on her mother’s worst nights. She had to know what was happening, as soon as she was somewhere safe and alone.
Her mother wasn’t alone in the van. It was clear as soon as Lori arrived. Brian’s car was gone, replaced by a smart-looking saloon car with tinted windows that definitely didn’t belong on the muddy skit of ground in front of her. Someone had been trying to wash the graffiti symbols off the van’s side too, though a smeared black shadow of them remained, clear as day. Lori eyed the posh car as she rounded it, stepping up the little metal stairs and putting her key into the lock. There must have been voices within, because Lori noticed a sudden silence as she opened the door.
“Dad?”
Three reactions happened all at once, but that was the word that fell from Lori’s lips. Her father looked like he’d dressed in the dark, no longer the smart café boss who smiled and greeted his customers at the Spoon. His thinning hair was set at wild angles, and Lori watched him run his hands through it several times. He looked up at her, eyes ringed with raw scarlet sorrow, then back down at the patch of ground between his knees. He clutched his face hard, fingers digging into his cheeks, and Lori’s mouth was hot with nausea. She’d never seen him this way, and never wanted to. For all his faults in choosing girlfriends, Dad was solid. Dad was never broken like this.
“It’s all going to be all right, Lori,” her mother said.
She was slurring less than usual, but she still teetered unsteadily as she crossed the small gap between the door and the sofas. Mum was carrying a file that looked heavy enough to topple her over. As her hand landed shakily on Lori’s broad shoulder, the fourth person in the room also got to her feet. Lori had no words for this one. The petite figure. The smart clothes. The perfect blonde bob of hair swaying like some bloody L’Oréal model.
“Hello Lorelai,” said Matilda Vane. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Is it?” Lori stammered.
Mum was leading her to the corner of the sofa, guiding her blindly into a seat across the table from her father. Lori couldn’t bear to look at his hunched form. She let her eyes take Matilda in as the small woman came to stand before them, addressing all three of them now. The blonde folded her hands gently, and there was a semblance of a smile on her lips.
“I’ve been talking to your parents about the situation, Lorelai,” Matilda began, “and it’s time for you to understand what’s happening to you.”
She was back, accent and all, invading Lori’s life as suddenly as she had before. One minute she was posing as a police detective, the next a journalist, and now… she was this. Lori’s brow ached. All she wanted was to phone Kasabian, to understand what his warnings to her meant.
Run Lori. Run home. It’s all happening there. She’s there right now.
Was that what he’d said? Lori’s memory raced as Matilda cleared her throat. He couldn’t know, surely. Kasabian couldn’t have meant Matilda when he spoke to Lori last. Unless they were connected. The notion dropped another stone into her already heavy gut.
“I understand that you’ve been feeling quite unwell since the attack on Friday afternoon?” Matilda asked.
“Attack?” Lori repeated, flashing a panicked look at her mother.
Mum nodded, taking hold of her hand to pat it. The thick file was across her bony knees now, bits of paper and official-looking forms peeking out.
“It’s all right, love,” she said again, patting the file. “Miss Vane has explained all that’s been happening to you.”
Fear gnawed a hole straight into Lori’s heart, its cold sensation pouring in and freezing her face with shock. They had a file on her? How could they? Matilda hadn’t known that Lori existed until this week.
“Impossible,” Lori breathed.
“It was… quite a shock, I’ll admit,” her father chimed in, his voice hoarser than ever. “What with Pauline… And now, this happening to you…”
“It’s a lot to take in, Mr Blake,” Matilda said. She gave Lori’s dad a small smile, eyes bright, and he returned it. “You’re doing remarkably well under the circumstances.”
Lori’s dad nodded softly at that, like a child being told he’d been ‘very brave’ at the dentist. Lori rose to her feet. Her head spun with the rush of too much information. She took a single heavy step towards Matilda, exhaling. Her breath rattled out of her chest, making her shudder.
“What have you told them?” she asked. “What do I need to know?”
Matilda’s bright eyes glittered. Up close, Lori saw the gloss again, her gaze hidden behind it. When she placed a gentle hand on Lori’s shoulder, Matilda’s touch was icy. Either that, or Lori was overboiling again.
“Why don’t you come with me, my dear?” Matilda said softly. “It seems it might be better to explain this to you privately.”
“Can they hear us if we speak low?” Matilda asked, in the tone she had described. Lori shook her head, and Matilda gave a slow, deliberate nod. “In that case, I’m obliged to tell you that your parents believe you have contracted a disease, Lorelai.”
Lori’s eyes grew wider for a moment.
“A disease?” she breathed, matching Matilda’s volume. “What sort of disease? Is this about the monster? Is this why I’m seeing things? Am I sick?”
“Please, calm down,” Matilda said firmly. “Listen to me once again. Your parents believe you have contracted a disease. I’ve provided them with evidence, you see. Similar cases to yours, similar symptoms. Medical records from around the world, describing a new condition of the blood that has yet to be cured. Your parents believe that you now have that condition, after your injury on Friday.”
Lori furrowed her brow hard. Believe? Matilda was weaving yet more lies, tying Lori up in a net that had ensnared her parents already.
“Who are you?” Lori said, her voice darker. She narrowed her eyes, her throat growing tight.
Matilda reached into the thin folds of her smart black blazer, pulling out a leather wallet that contained an identification card. Lori saw the woman’s photograph there, the pale-as-porcelain face staring back at her, an exact copy. It seemed to be stamped with some variation of Her Majesty’s logo, but not any division that Lori recognised.