Shattered: A Shade novella (22 page)

‘
Awright
.’ I open my eyes to accept her gift. ‘I will let
you be strong for me.’

Chapter
Seventeen

‘A
wee bit to the west.’

‘Which
is west again?’ Standing on our bed in his sock feet, Martin shifts the glow-in-the-dark
star on the ceiling. ‘This way?’

‘You’re
facing north. Think about it.’

‘I’m
no facing north, I’m facing
up
, which
means my neck’s getting stiff. So if you could
gies
a
clue—’

‘Move
the star to the left two inches. Perfect.’ It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for
now. I check the map in my hands. ‘Just one more constellation.
Boötes
is missing its Beta and Gamma.’

‘Sounds
tragic.’

I
point to the bright star above the foot of the bed. ‘That big yin’s
Arcturus
. Beta should be at its eleven o’clock, about five
inches away.’

‘I
need more tape.’

I
hand him the roll and watch him curl a piece around his finger. ‘I want to help
Finn.’

‘Help
him do what?’ he asks.

‘Get
better, or at least not worse. Part of his brain damage came from turning into
a shade. His doctors can’t treat that.’

‘Hm.’
Martin stretches to place the star. ‘Here?’

‘Another
inch.’ I back up a few steps to evaluate. ‘Aye, there. Anyway, I’m going to
apply to join MI-X.’

‘What?’
Martin spins to face me, his foot slipping off the edge of the bed. He sprawls
on the floor with a thud. ‘Fuck.’

I
laugh out loud. ‘That never gets old. I mean, sorry, are you okay?’

He
gets to his knees and looks at me over the bed. ‘Am
I
okay? What about you? Have you gone completely mental?’

‘Yes,
but I’m a wee bit better now.’ After a week at the day hospital, I can already
feel a shift. For one thing, they’ve taken me off the Xanax and put me on
antipsychotic meds that have stopped the flashbacks, if not the nightmares. So
when I’m awake, I’ve a clear grasp on reality, whether I like it or not.

The
routine there is oddly reassuring. It’s a bit like school, except the only
subject is Getting Well. My sanity graph – a daft idea if there ever was
one – has been replaced with a set of smaller, realistic goals. And
although I was petrified of group therapy, they’ve not forced me to reveal more
than I’m willing to share. Mostly I listen to others and feel less alone.

Once
I’m stable, they’ll have me try a new trauma therapy called EMDR, Eye Movement
Desensitisation
and,
em
,
something that begins with
R
. People
who’ve done it say memories that once haunted them have lost their power. The
scientist in me wants to investigate it immediately, but I’m told I’m not ready
yet. It’s something to work for.

‘What’s
MI-X got to do with Finn?’ Martin asks.

‘Maybe
they’d know what to do. They’ve centuries of experience dealing with the
supernatural.’

‘Centuries?
They’ve only been around ten years.’

‘As
MI-X. Before that they were a secret brotherhood of paranormal investigators.’
Well, they’re a bit less secret now I’ve told Martin. ‘Dad was part of it, and
so were my granddad and great-granddad. The only difference is, now it’s a paid
job with government benefits instead of a hobby.’ A hobby that took over my
grandfather’s life and left his family in poverty, but that’s another story.

Martin
frowns as he curls another strip of tape around his finger. ‘But to help Finn,
MI-X would need to know what’s wrong with him. Which means they’d need to
know—’ He stares at me. ‘You’re
gonnae
tell
them about your redness?’

‘The
DMP already knows. And after what they did tae me—’ My fists clench at my
sides. ‘I can make a difference. Not just for Finn, not just for me and Aura,
but for my country and maybe even the world. I’m the only one who can do what I
do. I can’t hide forever.’

‘Why
not?’

‘Think
about it. Post-
Shifters’ll
start turning eighteen
soon. How long before a ghost complains about my redness to someone in
authority?’

His
eyes widen in horror. ‘Aye, you’d have to move to Antarctica or a space station
or something to get away from post-Shifters and ghosts.’ Martin shakes his
head. ‘But what about this summer? You’ll tell MI-X that, too?’

‘Not
till Aura’s safe from the DMP, and for that she’d have to be in the UK where
MI-X could protect her better. She could never go home. I can’t ask that of
her, not yet.’

‘Maybe
one day?’ He looks up at me with hope, like a child begging for a happy ending
to a faerie tale. ‘She could live here with us!’

‘I
hope so. But Martin, I have to learn to live with secrets. If I ever do join
MI-X, I might not be able to tell anyone. Not you or Aura or maybe even my
mum.’

‘So
you’d be one of those people at a party, when someone asks what ye do for a living,
ye say in this vague voice, “Oh, I work for the government.”’

‘Exactly.’

‘Well.’
He examines the star stuck to the end of his index finger. ‘If anyone can live
a double life, it’s you.’

‘Thanks,
I think?’

‘You’re
welcome, I think.’ He holds the star out to me. ‘Last one. You do the
honours
.’

I
take it from him, then climb onto the bed, wavering from a slight rush of
dizziness. The constantly shifting chemicals are still making my body a strange
place to be, but at least I feel I’m inside my skin again.

I
reach up and plant the star in its place.

‘Lights
oot
!’ Martin runs to the lamp and switches it off.

We
stretch out on the bed, under our fully operational artificial heavens. I wish
Aura could see it, now it’s complete.

‘Well
done, us.’ Martin lets out a long sigh of satisfaction. It’s deep and smooth
and doesn’t end in a cough.

‘You
quit smoking, didn’t you?’

‘Oh,
ye finally noticed.’

I’m
noticing all sorts of things lately. ‘When was this?’

‘You mean
the first time I quit or the second, third, fourth time?’

‘The
most recent.’

‘Saturday.’

‘How’s
it going?’

‘Hm.’
He thrums his fingers against his chest. ‘I miss it. And I’m
gonnae
get fat
cos
I want tae eat
all the time now. So I’ll die of diabetes instead of lung cancer.’ He pauses,
probably thinking of my dad. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s
awright
.’ I expect the sadness to roll off me like it
usually does, but it sticks in my throat. Sometimes this alive-and-aware
business is not so pleasant.

‘Aw,
no!’ Martin exclaims. ‘The ceiling’s not done yet. You know what it needs, to
be an authentic Scottish sky?’

‘What’s
that?’

He
spreads out his hands over our heads. ‘Clouds.’

*
  
*
  
*
  
*

The
next evening when I get home from day hospital, I take my father to his room
and tell him everything.

Well,
not
everything
everything
.
Not about how Aura and I exchange powers when we kiss. No one knows that but
her. And not about what happened to me in 3A. No one knows that but Martin.

But
everything else: about my redness, about Finn turning to a ghost and then a
shade when he drowned, because of me. About wanting to join MI-X.

Dad
and I are sitting on the twin beds, across the narrow room from each other. Our
postures are mirrored, hands folded, elbows on knees, shoulders hunched.
Through it all he listens, his face flickering between fatherly concern and
professional curiosity. Which is good, since I need both sorts of advice.

When
I’m done, he remains silent for nearly a minute. I wait, wishing for a cup of
water to wet my dry mouth.

‘Before
MI-X was created,’ he says finally, ‘I worked for one of the other security
services. I started when I was not much older than you.’

I
knew he’d already been working for the government before I was born, but not
that his employer was MI5 or MI6. I wonder which?

‘Being
a spook’s not like any other job in the world,’ he says. ‘The hours are brutal,
the salary’s minuscule compared to what one could make in the private sector,
and the toll on one’s family is – well, you know from experience.’

‘Aye.’

‘And
if you do your job, if you save lives and protect your country from unspeakable
harm, no one will ever know. There’s
nae
headlines or
knighthoods.
Nae
glory.’

‘I
don’t need glory. I need a purpose.’

‘MI-X
would give you that. But it would take away
yer
freedom
to decide what that purpose is.’ He holds out his palm. ‘If you tell them what
you are, your life will never be your own again.’

‘Dad,
I know—’

‘I
don’t think you do. ‘

‘Dad.’
I raise my voice to a level previously only spoken
by
him
to
me. ‘I know
what it means to lose my life. It was
taken
.’

He
frowns and looks away, blinking fast. He knows I have him there.

‘If I
do this,’ I tell him, ‘then my life will always be mine. I will have given it over
by my own choice, and for the right reasons.’ I soften my tone, because the
next part will be hard for him to hear. ‘Until you’ve been a prisoner, you
can’t know the meaning of freedom.’

Dad
bows his head and puts a hand to his stomach, as though the fact of my
captivity gives him a physical pain. Perhaps it does.

Footsteps
are climbing the stairs, too heavy to be my mother’s. I hear Martin clear his
throat as he enters our bedroom next door. I leave Dad’s door open –
there’s nothing we’re discussing Martin doesn’t already know.

Finally
my father says, ‘
Awright
, son. Tell them if you want.
But do it for
yerself
, not for Finn. There’s
nae
guarantee MI-X can help that boy.’

‘I
know nothing’s for certain, but surely they know more about the effects of shades
than Finn’s doctors do.’

‘We’ve
theories, of course, but there’s never been experiments done. And you know what
that means.’

‘It
means Finn would be the—’
Oh, no.
‘He’d be the first. They’d experiment on him.’

‘Aye.
I’m not saying it’d be inhumane, but they could make him worse without meaning
to.’

In
the next room, a shoe drops on the hardwood floor. I wonder if Martin can hear
us.

I
lean forwards to whisper. ‘Or they could make him better. Shouldn’t we give him
that choice?’

‘He’s
thirteen, Zachary. He’s got no choice.’ Dad shakes his head angrily. ‘I
cannae
believe that after the DMP detained you
cos
of your redness, you’d hand a child over to be a test
subject.’

‘But
if it’s the only way to save him—’

‘Son,
not everyone in this world can be saved.’

Now
I’m the one too pained to speak. I broke Finn; I have to fix him.

‘I
don’t accept that, and I’ll not sit here and let you decide.’ I get to my feet.
‘I’ll go and talk to the
Connellys
myself.’

‘I
already did.’ Martin stands in Dad’s doorway, hands shoved deep in his hoodie
pockets. ‘My parents said no.’

‘What?’
I can’t believe this. ‘Don’t they want to help him?’

‘They’re
afraid he’ll be taken away. That they’ll never see him again.’ He lifts his
hands, then lets them drop. ‘Ma said there’s still a piece of Finn behind his
eyes. She said we can’t lose that.’

‘But
what if you could get every piece of him back?’

‘Zachary,’
my father says, ‘Finn drowned long enough to die. His brain was severely
traumatised
by that alone, regardless of whether he became
a shade or not.’ He touches his chest. ‘Some bodies have problems which are
entirely mundane. Like me with this cancer, or you with your … illness.’

I
drag my fingertips across my forehead. He’s right about me and him. Anyone
would’ve gone mad left alone in a tiny cell for eight weeks, just like so many
who encountered asbestos will get his disease. Living, non-paranormal humans do
enough damage to one another to fill a million hospitals.