There hadn't been mist before. She was sure of it. So why couldn't she see? Everything was obscured by some sort of swirling white fog, which stretched out ghostly hands to almost tenderly shroud her eyes. Subsequently, she had no idea where she was. It was like before. She couldn't think, couldn't speak. But she could remember. She had not been so careless this time, keeping the key to her memories held tight in her fingers. She could recall everything. The stark white face of Oscar Cullen as he leant over her, mouth slightly open, eyes hard as granite. So she was dead.
She hadn't been planning on this – death to come so soon for her. She didn't want to die. She'd just begin to get her life back on track again. Sudden pulsing anger flared within her. It was as if her very spirit had been slumped in her chest, weeping softly in defeat, but the flame of rage had roused it. She wanted to fight. She wouldn't let death beat her. She had cheated it once before – she could do again.
As she fought through the fog, consciousness trickled slowly back into her limbs and body. Something was tickling her cheek. She could taste blood – her teeth had been forced into her tongue, cutting it. The taste was rich, but revolting. She tried not to concentrate too hard it as it danced around jubilantly inside her mouth. Bracken opened her eyes. The lids felt as though they were made of thick steel, but she managed it somehow. At this tiny, tiny movement, pain shot through her body. Her lips parted and she gasped. What had happened to her?
Before she had a chance to react, soft voices punctured the air. Bracken's first thought was of help, but then a jagged dagger named fear forced itself through her heart. Panic skittered from her shoulders to her fingertips, as unpredictable as lightning. Gritting her teeth through the blood, Bracken forced her bruised body into a crouching position. The effort left her shaking with fatigue, but at least from this new vantage point she could view her surroundings. A jolt if surprise shook her. She had not moved. The same clearing encircled her.
Through the trees, she could see a small group of people. It was their voices that had caught her attention. Bracken shuffled backwards. Her sight wasn't the best, but she could point out such jet black hair anywhere. It could be Oscar, and the very thought of him shoved terror down her throat to choke her. Bracken tried to quieten her fast breathing in order to listen. She could only pick out a few words, but suddenly, a louder voice cut across the others. "Great. She's not dead," it was strong, low and masculine, but still carried the zesty, cheeky spice of youth. "That makes things so much better."
Sarcasm sliced away any truth from his last statement. Bracken gasped once more as several faces turned to her at once. She did not register any of them. She just rose, a cry ripping through her clenched teeth as pain cracked through her concentration, and fled in blind panic.
"No! I'll go after her!" The same voice shot like a bullet through the trees, and Bracken felt tears run down her face and slide back into her hair. Every desperate step was torture, every movement made her whimper with agony. If somebody had decided to pursue her, they weren't doing a very good job of it. She was not running fast, and yet there was no sign of anybody. Bracken stopped, sagging against a tree. She had almost given up. Sobs racked her body, shaking her ribs, rattling through her entire being.
It took her several long minutes to calm down. The tears kept on coming, and loud alarm bells still screamed at the back of her head, but she smothered the sound with thoughts of safety and sanctuary. Walking very slowly, limping, Bracken carried on her way. She avoided the school, sticking to the trees. She didn't particularly want to be seen, not like this. But there was only so much forest, and too many streets to cross.
Bracken inhaled through her nose to prepare herself as she finally accepted that she would indeed have to leave the trees. She tried her best to pull the leaves out of her hair and brush the mud from her clothes, but she was sure she still looked a mess. Psyching herself up for only a split second, Bracken stepped from the trees.
The street was eerily deserted. Bracken hurried out of the foliage onto the grass that bordered the road. It was a wide affair, a thick slate river across the town. Bracken shuddered, before putting one foot onto the road. Her steps were fast, and a flickering light from a shop window made her head spin. The pain roared at her, furious that she was not submitting. She swayed on her feet, her eyes rolling back. Flinging out her hands, she groped for something to hold onto.
A loud, shrill beep, followed by the screech of hastily halted wheels hit Bracken's ears. As she fell, something caught her. Bracken went limp, her eyes shut. She wanted to bow down to the pain, but something was shaking her. "Hey! Hey! Are you alright?"
The voice belonged to a man, and it was tight with anxiety. Bracken opened her eyes slightly, though her vision was whirling as if she were being spun around at a high speed. She tried to speak, but only groaned, and felt the sudden urge to be physically sick.
"Dad, what are you doing?" Another voice cut through the chill air. Bracken recognized it, but could not place it. "I'm coming out, Dad- Oh my God!" The last words were wailed, high-pitched with shock. "Bracken! That's Bracken!"
"Sym, what are you going on about? We have to get her to hospital, she's been mugged, I think," the man's voice said.
Something clicked in Bracken's sluggish mind. Sym. Symone. That was why she recognized the girl's voice. Something else quickly lodged itself into her brain, though. Hospital. Hospital. No. No, not hospital. She couldn't go back there. Bracken's eyes opened wide. The world was no longer spinning. She was staring into the worried faces of dark-haired Symone and her father, who was a tall man with similarly dark hair and an intensely worried expression.
"Please, I'm okay..." Bracken's voice was thin, but just about understandable. She struggled to stand on her feet again – she was still depending on Symone's father to keep her upright. "Please, just... I'm fine." Symone's father reluctantly released her. Bracken stood still for a moment, then swayed. A hand caught her elbow.
"I'm taking you to hospital," Symone's father's voice was firm, but Bracken's mind flailed in desperation at the thought.
"No, I don't want to go!" The words were choked out, and a volley of sobs and tears followed them.
"Dad, why don't we just take her home? She looks bruised, but other than that I think she's just shaken up. Arguing will just make things worse," Symone pressed her voice tense but still sensible. There was a brief silence. Then reluctant agreement from Symone's father.
Bracken felt her friend's arm go around her shoulders, helping her towards the car. Symone's father was already at the door, holding it open. With the help of Symone and her father, Bracken slid into the back seat. It felt cool against her bruised skin, and she sighed. Her eyes fell shut. She did not want to open them, but eventually did so, to find Symone watching her fearfully. After that, she made sure to keep her eyes open and her head propped up – she hated for her level-headed friend to be anxious.
It seemed Symone's father had kept his word. The car whined as it turned up into the driveway of a large house. Bracken blinked at it sleepily. It reminded her of her home with her parents and Aden. Tears pricked her eyes and fell down her face, hot and intrusive. She wanted her mother to scream at her for being so careless; her father to hold her close and promise her everything would be alright. She even longed for Aden's inane questions. Anything. She just wanted it all back. How could she have ever dreamt of an ordinary life here, without anybody, or anything?
Bracken blinked, suddenly realising that Symone and her father were waiting for her to respond. She wiped her eyes, pain shooting up her arm in the process. "Sorry," she apologized quickly. She noticed the doubt back in Symone's father's eyes. "I'm fine, honest," she reassured him quickly.
"Come on, then," he said, his voice heavy. The two of them left the car. Bracken wrapped her fingers around the door handle and attempted to open the door. It was a struggle – the pressure hurt her hand – but eventually she managed it. Feeling wretched and completely pathetic, Bracken allowed Symone to help her out of the car. Her friend aided her as she limped to the door after Symone's father. It swung open as the man was fumbling in his pocket, apparently for keys.
A very short, slight woman stood in the doorway. Her face was strikingly similar to Symone's minus the glasses, and soft maple-brown hair framed her face. Her grey-blue eyes widened at the sight of Bracken. "What's going on?" she asked in utter shock.
"We were driving home and we found her," Symone's father explained. "She didn't want to go to hospital, but I couldn't just leave her."
"Her name is Bracken Moore," Symone said. She sounded tearful, an emotion Bracken had never dreamt of hearing penetrate her quiet friend's tone. "She's new in our school, she joined yesterday."
Symone's mother hesitated, then ushered them all inside. "Come on, come in," she said. She voice was just right; stressed, but soft and motherly. The perfect voice for a mother. Tears pricked Bracken's eyes again, but she pushed them away with a mammoth effort.
The hall was bright and warm, the walls a cream colour. The carpet was thick under her shoes, and Bracken prayed she wasn't marking it. There were pictures all over the walls. One of Mr and Mrs Webber on their wedding day. One of Mrs Webber holding a small baby. Another of Mr Webber, with one small girl of about four or five clinging to one hand, and a younger girl of around three clutching the other. The younger was definitely Symone. The older looked a lot like Bracken's friend – but there were some differences.
"Tom, are you sure she shouldn't be in hospital?" Mrs Webber asked her husband. Her face was lined with worry, making Bracken feel incredibly embarrassed.
"She refused to go," Mr Webber replied, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Sym, why don't you go and should Bracken where the shower is? We can discuss things after she's cleaned up a bit."
Symone led Bracken towards the staircase. It was hard, getting up the stairs. Bracken tried not to grit her teeth, knowing it would worry her friend. As they finally ascended the stairs, Bracken caught sight of a small child hovering just inside the doorway of a room. It was another girl, with the same eyes and mouth as Symone. But this child's eyes were blue, like her father's, and her hair was maple-brown and curly. "Who's that, Sym?" she asked her voice apprehensive.
"This is Bracken, Li," Symone replied. "She's hurt herself a bit." The little girl nodded seriously, and as Bracken and Symone headed towards the bathroom, they heard the child descending the stairs.
"Dahlia, go back to your room, darling," came Mrs Webber's voice. The girl's complaints became inaudible as they entered the bathroom. Symone let go of her, looking as at her as one might look at a delicate china figurine that could be shattered at the slightest touch.
"I'll go and get you a towel," she said, as Bracken leant on the sink. Bracken nodded, and her friend ducked out of the room. She raised her head to look in the mirror, and winced. Her face was drained, her hair messy, tangled with leaves and dirt. She peered down at her body. Her sweatshirt was creased and ruined, her skirt muddy and her tights ripped in several places. Bracken bit her lip until the taste of blood touched her tongue again.
Symone bobbed back into the room. She dropped a white towel and a shirt and jeans on the floor, before giving Bracken a last frightened look, and leaving the room. Bracken chucked her dirty clothes in the corner, hoping she had not gotten anything dirty in the gleaming bathroom. She quickly worked out how to operate the shower.
The water was warm on her back, and soothed her aching muscles. Finally, she could think. Finally, her head was clear. Her earlier worries waned a little, but still, fear yawned like a cave at the back of her mind. She was sure Oscar Cullen was not finished with her yet. He was out there, and he wanted to hurt her.
She was sure of it.
