Secret Worlds (386 page)

The girl on the sofa is engrossed in her textbook again. Lizzie continues to stare in the direction the Alek storm swept in. I can’t move, amazed by my reaction to him. Lizzie soon shrugs and looks away.

My desire to know who this guy is wipes away the less-than-savoury details about the house. Any doubts I had about living here, well, they left through the door as he came in.

The grey mist surrounds me as I lie on the road. I can’t move or breathe, but the figures are there again. Two tall men, dressed in black. Suits, I think, but I can’t be sure. The mist fogs around me, and I can’t see Jamie anymore. My chest hurts; I can’t move. When my eyes are closed, I hear voices arguing, and if I open them, the two men are around me. One of them blends into the grey fog, disappearing from view, and the other approaches me. Paralysed, I stare up at him, into his deep blue eyes. Blonde hair falls across his face as he smiles down at me, and the panic recedes as he strokes my head. Maybe his hair falls; I don’t know. I can’t figure out where I am or what’s happening, but I know he wants to help me.

The man glances around him, and then leans over me. Gentle fingertips rest on my head and the calmness emanating from him soothes me. He leans forward; his blonde hair touches my face as he whispers something in my ear.

***

I jerk awake, feeling as if I’ve fallen from a great height. Perspiring, I sit upright and when this isn’t enough to feel safe, I jump out of bed and back into a corner. My heart thrums in my head as I attempt to control my breathing and gradually realise where I am. Groping on the wall behind me, I find a light switch and flick to illuminate the box room. I focus on the nursery rhyme figures on the wallpaper and ground myself.

My new home.

Sinking onto the bed, my striped pyjamas stick to my back as I drag myself back to reality. Nightmares. I’m in a strange house; of course the dreams will start again. The traffic noise filters through the window and I walk over, push up the old-style window frame and breathe in the cool autumn air. When I have the dreams, either I fall asleep again straight away, or I lie in bed listening to the blood pushing against my ears. Or I get up and make tea.

The old staircase creaks as I creep toward the kitchen. The house is three storeys high and I’m at the top. Two days here, and I still haven’t figured out how many rooms there are. The house is a lot bigger than the number of occupants, so no wonder they need someone else for the rent.

Digging around the bottom of the kitchen cupboard, I find my box of chamomile teabags. I also haven’t unpacked properly or taken the long trip to the local supermarket, but at least I have my essentials. As the kettle boils, I stand on tiptoes and look through the kitchen window. Below, the lights of the town shine like fairy-lights of an everlasting Christmas. I pour the boiling water into the mug and sit, hovering my face over the herbal scent.

A noise alerts me, and I hold my breath as someone comes down the creaking stairs. Alek steps into the kitchen, bare-chested with a pair of sweats sitting low on his hips. I hitch a breath; I’m not used to living with guys who walk around half-naked.

“Oh. It’s you,” he says.

I don’t reply and tear my gaze from his chest to my mug. Alek walks into the kitchen and crosses to the fridge. The room lights up as he opens the door and grabs a beer. I want to comment how late it is to drink beer, but I’ve no idea of the time and it’s not my business. Alek pulls a chair out and sits opposite me.

“You look like a ghost,” he says.

I don’t know how to respond. All I’m aware of is his bare chest, and I castigate myself for being such a cliché as I stare at the smooth, toned skin.

“If you don’t speak, I’m going to think you
are
a ghost.”

“I’m not a ghost.”

Alek takes a swig from his bottle. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No.”

He makes a small sound of amusement in his throat. “You sound very certain.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I retort.

“Yes.”

I swirl the teabag around in my cup, hyper-aware of the bare-chested, hot guy sitting across the table from me.
Hot guy? Oh, please…
Actually, I’m glad because he’s distracting me from a topic prickling shivers along my neck. I don’t believe in ghosts, but moving into a new place brings ghosts from the past.

This is only the second time I’ve seen him and the first time since I moved into the house. Stupidly, I expect some kind of hello or welcome, but he’s evidently too caught up in himself to offer one.

“Your hair is very blonde.” Alek says.

“Thanks, I never noticed.”

He ignores my sarcasm. “Almost white, it shines even in the dark.”

I wonder if he’s already drunk. Or high. Hair colour isn’t a normal topic of conversation for guys.

“I like it. Your hair.”

I shift uncomfortably. This is weird. He’s weird. The room is too dark for me to see his face clearly, and I wish I knew if he was hitting on me in a sarcastic way.

Standing, I cross to the bin and dump the teabag into the plastic bag. “Night, then,” I say.

Alek takes a long drink. “Night, Casper.”

I glare at him and he arches a brow. Without responding, I leave the room. My heartbeat remains as rapid as when I woke from my nightmare. No amount of chamomile tea is going to fix whatever just happened in the kitchen.

Work. The disinfectant and stale food smell of hospitals, along with the sterility of the atmosphere around, bothered me for weeks. Friends were surprised when I chose to work here, amongst the sick and around the wards I spent so much time in. But everything else I try fails; until I’m a hundred percent well again, I have to take a job I can stick at

After I recovered from the accident, I worked in a restaurant. I got orders wrong and irate customers would accuse me of not listening to them, so I didn’t last long before I got sacked. Then I tried being a checkout chick, which was an even bigger failure. For some reason, ninety percent of the aggressive customers chose my aisle; despite my short stature and meek personality, the hostility was way beyond anything I’ve come across before. After one nasty incident, where a mother accused me of deliberately upsetting her two year old, screaming daughter, I decided enough was enough. Which is how I ended up here, as a hospital porter, hidden in the background, away from too much interaction with the general public.

Hospital porter is a million miles away from the job I studied for: primary school teacher. I qualified a month before the accident, but, physically and mentally, I’m not ready to begin my career in such a stressful job yet. 

Sometimes, I have to go up to the ICU, the ward I avoid as much as possible; if no other porter is available to go, though, I don’t have any choice. I can’t remember my time in ICU, but the tone of the machines drags me back into the fog of those months, and then the dizziness starts. Today my attempt to avoid going fails and I’m here. The familiar sickly hospital smell turns my stomach, and every muscle in my body tenses as I walk through the double-doors.

A blonde guy sits at the nurses’ station. I know most of the staff and he’s either new or from an agency. He doesn’t look much like a nurse. I know guys are nurses, too, but he fails to exude nurse-like calm. Heavy brow knitted, the guy taps the keyboard while chewing on a pen. The unusually-intense blue of his eyes catches my attention; the blonde hair falling into his eyes as he leans forward is not as blonde as mine, but, like me, he’s paler than most people.

Swearing, he drops the pen and looks up at me, eyes reddened by tiredness. “Yes?” he snaps.

Taken aback, I return his scowl. “Just brought some files.” I slap them onto the counter of the nurses’ station.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

I stare at the name badge pinned on the front of his shirt. He’s wearing a black hoodie over his uniform, which is odd because it’s not cold in here.

“Well,
Finn
, you’re the one sitting here.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!” He grabs the nearest phone and smacks the keypad. “The computer’s frozen again! And is anyone else coming on shift soon?” I feel sorry for the person on the other end of the phone.

I could tell him I can help with the computer but decide against it. He’s rude; plus, I don’t want to stay in ICU a moment longer than I need to be here. Squeaking footsteps from behind herald the arrival of someone else, and I turn to see a nurse walking toward us. Even in a hospital uniform, Chloe looks the model of elegance in posture and appearance, but without the haughty attitude to match. Pushing the unruly strand of hair from my face…the strand that always escapes my ponytail—I envy her ability to look naturally beautiful without trying.

“Hi, Rose,” she smiles.

Chloe was one of my nurses when I was in ICU. Again, I don’t remember but I don’t want to.

“Hey. I think Finn here has issues.” He looks at me sharply, and I give him a saccharin smile, hoping he notices the double meaning of my words.

“What’s up, Finn?” asks Chloe.

“System’s down again.”

Chloe slides behind the counter, and Finn wheels his chair out of the way. She leans over Finn, silky-brown ponytail falling forward as she taps the keyboard. Instead of watching Chloe, Finn studies me silently for a few moments, not as though he’s checking me out, but as if I’m intruding. I don’t bother holding his gaze; the clock above indicates it’s finally time for the end of my shift. I say goodbye to Chloe and ignore Finn.

***

One thing I really should have checked before agreeing to live in the house was the bus route. Yes, there’s a bus stop a few hundred metres from the front door, but the bus from the hospital only stops there once every three hours. Most buses stop at the bottom of the steep hill. 

I consider this as I huff my way up the road. I guess I won’t need any workouts at the gym if I do this every day. My bag gets heavier with each step, and with burning calf muscles and a sense of triumph, I reach the front door.

“Hello!” I call.

Nobody sits in the popular spot on the sofa by the TV, so I dump my bag on the floor and wander to the kitchen. Washed dishes are stacked neatly on a wooden drainer and the table is wiped clean, but no one is around.

Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, I bite into it and climb the steep stairs with my aching legs. At the top of the first set, I pause and lean against the wall.
God, I’m unfit
. A door opens, the room next to the one I think is Alek’s, and a girl walks out. Surprised eyes reflect my own confusion. I’ve never seen her before, and I’ve lived here two weeks.

I tense.
Is she robbing the house?
She doesn’t look like someone who has broken in. But what would someone who robs houses look like? I scan her for a knife or similar weapon, but she wrings her shaking hands together. Empty. I hazard a guess she’s my age, but her make-up free, pale face could be any age between twelve and twenty. The girl’s emerald green eyes and curled red hair draw my attention. She’s pretty in an unusual way. Alek’s girlfriend? 

“Hi,” I say and smile.

The girl steps toward me and I step back, unsure of what she’s going to do. She doesn’t speak.

“I’m Rose.”

The front door bangs open and closed; the girl’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, and she runs past me down the stairs. I debate whether to keep going to my room or follow her. The apple drips onto my hand and I suck the juice off as I follow her down.

At the bottom of the stairs, I slam straight into Alek’s hard chest, smothered by his jacket and a scent of leather and sharp spice. “Sorry,” I mutter and pull back. 

Alek’s foot rests on the bottom stair, hand on the wooden stair rail as he pauses and studies my face. “What’s the hurry?”

“None, I wanted to see if the girl was okay.”

He frowns at me. “What girl?”

“The red-haired girl.”

“Oh. Her.” His scrutiny of my face continues, and my cheeks heat up as I look back. “She’s gone.”

“I didn’t know anyone else lived here.” 

I want to ask why nobody told me more than four people live here, but the edginess about Alek I haven’t figured out yet prevents me pushing the issue.

“She doesn’t. She’s visiting.” He steps back to let me off the step. “Move. I need to get to my room.”

His rudeness stuns me, and I’m pretty mad with myself when I comply. Alek stomps upstairs.
Is he incapable of going anywhere quietly?
His leather jacket scent lingers. Perhaps the way his smell burrowed into my mind is what desensitises me to his rudeness, because it adds to his attraction.

I shake my head at myself as I wander into the lounge.
Edgy, hot guy in a leather jacket? Oh please, get a grip.

At that moment, I resolve he’s never going to get a chance to be rude to me again.

***

Third-floor living is annoying. The bathroom’s on the second floor, and the kitchen’s at the bottom. The house doesn’t have any heating apart from an ancient gas fire in the lounge, so most evenings we congregate there or in the kitchen. 

I pad downstairs in my fluffy slippers with a towel wrapped around my wet hair; my bedroom is too cold to sit in after my shower. I mutter a triumphant ‘yes’ when there’s no one on the chair nearest the fire.

Low voices travel from the kitchen as I head down the hall to get a hot drink.

“She saw her.”

Alek’s voice arrests me; the fact he’s speaking quietly is enough to arouse interest.

“Definitely?” Lizzie.

“Yeah, didn’t describe her but must be who it was.” He pauses. “Why did you bring her here?”

“She needs help. You know that.”

“Yeah, apart from she’ll lead them straight to us, they know about her.”

“Yes, but they don’t know where she’s living so they don’t know where to look.”

“I don’t think it’ll take them long to figure out where she is, do you?” Alek’s voice rises with irritation.

Someone closes a microwave door, and the keypad beeps before the motor starts running.
Are they talking about me? Which ‘her’ am I? The one people are looking for?