CHAPTER ONE
Dantes scream woke the entire building. It was a scream the trembled on an impossibly high note with a primal urgency. Small dew drops of sweat ran like raindrops down her face as she drew ragged breaths. Her arms outstretched reflexively in the dark , her delicate fingers dancing like spiders over the bed sheets in a large circle around her. Nothing there. She wrapped her hand around her mouth and brushed her tongue along all of her teeth. Yes, all there.
It wasn't as though she expected anyone to come running down the stairs, demanding answers to unspoken questions, but it was a nice surprise when she heard a tentative knock on her door. It was the new boy, startled at her strange ways.
'Dante? What's wrong, are you alright?'James said, eyes wide. Dante blinked rapidly a few times and found him leaning around the door.
'Yes . . . Just a nightmare . . . I'm gonna get a drink of water and go back to bed' Dante smiled weakly, wiping her forehead on the back of her hand. She proceeded to throw back the covers and place her clammy feet on the cold wooden floor.
James followed her down to the kitchen. He had only been here a few days on a recruitment mission, and yet he was already contemplating phoning Zara with a possible recruit. It might be hard to convince her after such a short time, but if what he had heard about this girl was true . . .
'You don't have to follow me like a damn lemming, you know' Dante said, aggravated, before draining the last droplets of water from her glass. James nodded but didn't move. Dante banged her glass down onto the marble counter.
With a spectacular crack, the glass smashed into fragments and tinkled to the ground. James snapped upright from his casual lean against the counter.
'Oh crud' Dante murmured when she looked down to see a crimson ribbon streaking across her hand. No sooner than the image had entered her brain, James appeared with a dishcloth and had wrapped it around her hand firmly.
'Hold th-'James began, heading for the stairs to rouse a sleeping care-worker.
'No!' hissed Dante, grabbing his wrist tightly.
'Come on, Dante, That's gonna need stitches . . .' he hissed back. Dante paid no attention and unwound the chequered bandage. She held her hand carefully under the tap and flipped it on.
'Can you go up to my room? In the top drawer by my bed is a plastic box, bring it down here' Dante said, her voice surprisingly calm and hushed for someone who's hand had nearly been cleaved in two.
James quickly assessed that his original assessment couldn't have been very accurate; Dante didn't appear to be in much, if any, pain and she obviously knew some basic first aid. He sprinted upstairs to grab the box. On the way down he decided to take a quick detour and grab two pairs of shoes.
When he re-appeared in the kitchen, the shattered glass had been piled into a heap on the floor. So much for the shoes. Dante was sat on one of the breakfast bar chairs, he hand resting gently on the table.
'Thanks' Dante said, unsnapping the box. James gasped lightly when he saw that inside sat what was unmistakably a surgeons needle and black thread.
'No! No no no! You can't do it yourself!' James tugged the box away, but relinquished his grip when Dante gave him a dangerous look.
'If you're squeamish, go back to bed.' She said simply, and threaded up the needle precariously. James deduced that if in fact the stitches were going to be done in a care homes kitchen at half one in the morning, they should at least be done by a qualified first-aider.
'Excuse me?' Dante growled when James plucked the needle out of her hands.
'I'm a St. Johns. Where's the pain killers in this place?' James half heartedly opened a few cupboards in a faint attempt at locating the said pain killers.
'I don't need any, and I've already cleaned everything. Just sit down and sew, will you? I want to go back to bed before school. ' James cautiously sat. If what he had heard about this girl was true, then she would feel no pain when he repeatedly stabbed a needle through her flesh . . . but if it wasn't? Would she be stupid enough to let him?
James poised the needle and pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disgust as he felt a gentle pop as he punctured the skin on Dantes palm.
'Don't worry, I promise I can't feel anything' Dante smiled. James thought back to when he had first heard about her . . . A scrawnier kid had fallen into the lounge declaring that Michael, a burly seventeen year old, would be testing Dante. It had been spectacular. She had taken between twenty and forty punches in the stomach without blinking. After a few questions, James discovered that Dante was apparently oblivious to physical pain.
'So . . . you really can't feel anything?' James pulled the third stitch a little rougher than necessary.
'Well, I can feel it go in, and the thread and the pressure and that . . . It just doesn't hurt.' Dante rolled her eyes when James grinned. 'You're a smart kid James, you should realise that if it's too good to be true, it probably is.' James' grin vanished into a frown.
'James, when I was little, I nearly bit my own tongue in half. If I Fall over, and I get up even if I've just broken my ankle!' Dante laughed bitterly.
James nodded with understanding as he closed off the stitches, but inside he was grinning like a moron. Dante was a prime candidate; she was just as physically fit as anyone on campus, she was immune to pain, but she was intelligent enough to know her limits. He was going to phone Zara. He was going to phone Zara at half past one in the morning.