The following is an excerpt from Leane Wherett's yet-untitled novel.
Preface
I opened my eyes and searched desperately for the reason for the sudden tightness around my neck, the tightness that was beginning restrict my intake of air. With horror, I recognized the hands that were now clamped on my throat, attempting to crush it. They belonged to my lover, my kindred spirit...
I was instantly aware that this was out of his control when my eyes found his. I noticed his face eerily alight, contorted into a malicious smile. My blood ran cold. I understood at once who had ensnared the body of my soul mate, forcing his strong hands into a vice like grip around my throat.
As the darkness started to engulf me, my head spinning and my strength rapidly abandoning me, I thought that it would be so easy just to forget everything and give up now, to allow his beautiful strong hands to suffocate me. But when I looked into his dark eyes and could find no trace of him behind them, how could I possibly surrender?
I could not afford to panic now. It was imperative that I keep a level head.
My body lay limp, while I concentrated on his hands, desperately willing the crushing grip to release me. I refused to give the love of my life, the distress that would result should I perish by his hands. The power of my conscience was fighting for two lives.
Chapter 1
I was twelve again. My eyes scanned the small familiar room that was no longer to be my bedroom. Despite being small, it was however extremely cosy and managed to neatly house my matching pine furniture.
Adjacent to the door, sat a chest of drawers with a mirror hanging directly above; the combination served as a makeshift dressing table. Beside them was a desk where both a TV and PC monitor were squeezed together as much as they would allow, only just able to fit in their designated area. Opposite, the two door wardrobe fit snuggly in the far corner, sandwiching the bedside table between itself and the single bed that faced the door. The bed was now stripped, and on top of the bare mattress,lay my much-used overflowing suitcase, which held every other item that was not on display.
My mother had given her all too common order to pack up as we were to be going away for a few days. However, with my mother, a few days always meant a few months and we never returned to the same place twice. So over time I had learnt to be resourceful and take as much as possible.
Our departures were always sudden and swift; my mother would announce we were to leave and within two hours,we would be gone, abandoning the house and anything else too big for the car to accommodate. This behaviour had almost become a routine that stretched back as long as I can remember. We never stayed in one place for too long and were lucky if we managed to get more than six months. When I was younger I would find this lifestyle very unsettling; a new house, new school and a new everything but I had grown used to the sudden departures, and came to expect it. I had once asked my mother if we were “crimimals” on the run and received a laugh for an answer.
As I grew older and my sense of cost had matured, I often wondered how my parents could afford to buy everything new whenever we relocated. Although I never asked any questions and quietly accepted our nomadic customs, I had already promised myself (future husband and children) that I would push myself to work hard, go to college and university so that I could raise a family in a nice house and only seeking out my suitcase for family trips.
I crossed my room to take one final look through the window. I had often sat here, watching the local children playing out on the street. I would feel a mixture of emotions, sometimes envy at their ordinary lives, longing to be playing with them and able to call them my friends. On the other hand, I had often felt relief and gratitude that I had kept my distance, protecting myself from the inevitable pain that would surely come should I form any attachments, only to be torn away.
I often felt that I was different from ordinary children, strange and alienated; as if they were to get too close they would see the difference and reject me anyway. I couldn’t explain why I felt this way but often consoled myself by blaming the gypsy like lifestyle.
There were no children playing now as it was both late and dark. The large trees that were planted periodically along the grass banking between the road and pavement obscured the dim lights from the street lamps which silhouetted the neighbours cars and front gardens.
I sighed before retreating from the window and beginning the struggle of zipping my suitcase. Victorious, I lead it out of the bedroom on its wheels and onto the landing to enquire whether my mother needed any assistance.
Visible from my position, I noticed the front door was wide open and I assumed that mum had started to load the car in preparation for our one way journey. I was surprised when my father strode into the house clutching a suitcase. He had been out when my mother had explained that we were leaving and she had called dad and explained to him that our time here was over. He was clearly angry; I had heard him yelling down the phone with my mother and I now noted his red face as my mother followed him,
“We need to leave. Now.” My mother’s voice was pleading with a hint of authority. My curiosity kept me quiet, my body motionless like a statue, silent, trying not to breathe in case they would hear me. My father threw the suitcase to the ground. I almost jumped with fear. I had never seen him this angry before. He turned to face my mother,
“No. We’re staying. I’ve had enough of this running and hiding. It’s not fair on any of us, especially Emily. She needs security, a proper home where she can stay in the same school and make some friends. Not once has she had a friend visit or an invite to a slumber party. If she doesn’t get a chance at a normal, healthy, childhood now, there could be serious problems when she’s older. I’m only thinking about her.”
“So am I.” she snapped, “You think that I don’t care about her wellbeing? She could never be a normal child, you know that, and we could never give her a normal upbringing. I wish we could, but I do this to protect her and us from them.” Her voice softened and the desperation returned “They’re coming, right now. If we don’t go now they will take her and I don’t even want to think what will happen to any of us. I’ve seen it; it’s too much for me to bear.”
Panic started to overwhelm me, rising in my chest, making every breath difficult. Her words had sent a shiver down my spine, making me shudder. Someone was coming for me. I don’t know who or why but they are. They must know. They know that I’m different and strange, wrong even. Everything fell into place, it all fit, our continuous movement, my parents apparent lack of jobs and my aversion to other children. I was being hunted, hunted down like a rabbit.
“I don’t want to be taken away.” I alerted my parents to my presence and obvious eavesdropping. Silently I begged my father to take us far away, away from danger, somewhere safe, together as a family.
“Let’s just get away now and we can talk later” my mother implored, tears were silently falling down her cheeks. My father was aware that he was outnumbered and defeated “Okay. But we can’t keep running.”
He grasped the handle of the suitcase that he had earlier thrown in his fit of anger and promptly left the house. My mother’s tear streaked face looked up to mine; composing herself, she asked if I were ready to go. I nodded and proceeded to follow my father, my luggage clunking with every step of descent.
A few minutes later, we were all buckled safely in the car, my dad behind the steering wheel and we made a hasty get away. I watched as my mother’s hand delved into her bottomless handbag and retrieved her mobile phone. She had dialled a number and raised the device to her cheek waiting for someone to answer her phone call.
“Hi, Malcolm, it’s Sue.” Her voice seemed exceptionally loud as it shattered the current silence. I had often heard my parents mention Malcolm, but I had never met him.
“I need to talk to you … no, no, in person … we’re already on the way, we should be there in a few hours … I know where you are … OK, I’ll see you soon. Bye.” She hung up.
“Mum? I’m sorry.”I ventured.
“What for Darling?” tenderness was flowing into her voice. It made it harder for me to attempt holding back my tears.
“Because I’m different and somebody knows about me, so we keep moving.” I blurted out “I heard you and daddy” I added guiltily, although knowing that it was already apparent that I had overheard.
“Listen to me very carefully …” she had swung her body into an awkward position, which enabled her to make eye contact, her face deadly serious. “You do not have anything to feel guilty about. You are different just like daddy and me are, but it makes you a very, very special person. When you are a little older I will explain just how special you are. Until then, we have to keep you safe, but we are both so proud of you and we love you so much.”
Her hand reached for me and gently with the tips of her fingers, she sweetly stroked my wet face. The gesture immediately filled me with contentment and a strong sense of security, the same that any child who feels loved would, and I fell silent.
“You look tired sweetie” she observed and I nodded my agreement. She suggested that I get some sleep. I thought that might be difficult as my head was swimming with thoughts. I tried to comprehend this new jigsaw piece of my life as my heavy eye lids kept closing, fighting to keep them open I watched the street lamps racing by.
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