CHAPTER TWO

That night, long after James had gone back to bed, Dante was having the strangest dream. She thought someone was coming into the room, and placing something over her mouth. She woke with a start for the second time that night. The room was empty, just as it should be. A green glow from near her bed told her it was now four in the morning. She rolled over, fully intending to get a few more hours sleep before school.

Dante woke again. It was too bright . . . Oh shoot! She had over slept! She sat up, and nearly fell back down again. This wasn't a room in the children's home that was certain. The walls were pristine white, the space large. She was also shocked to find out about the lack of clothes she was wearing. Someone had been in her room last night.

There were a pile of clothes stacked on the floor beside the bed. She jumped out and put them on quickly. Olive army trousers and a bright orange polo shirt went surprisingly well together. She pulled on two heavy black boots, and realised that if this was what they supplied her with for clothes, she had better make the bed.

She stepped nervously into the corridor. There was a girl wearing the same trousers and boots coming up the corridor.

'Excuse me?' Dante said, but before she could begin her next sentence, the girl spoke up.

'Can't talk to orange' the girl said, but pointed to a lift, then held up one finger. She was telling her to get on the lift, and go to floor one.

'Thank you' Sasha said and smiled gratefully.

Floor one was very crowded. Everyone here wore the same trousers and boots, but there were masses of different coloured shirts. She was the only orange one though. Above the heads, she saw a sign saying 'Reception' and decided that would be a safe bet. Once she had battled her way through the crowd, she realised she had been in a dining space. No wonder it had been rough getting through.

'Excuse me?' Dante said once she had got to the reception.

'Ah, Dante? Dr. McAfferty will see you now' said a smiley, plump woman behind the counter. She gestured to an oak door, just beyond a line of four chairs. She walked past the hard-looking plastic seats and knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately.

The room inside was impressive in every aspect. A huge glass window spanned one wall, and a sturdy wooden desk sat in front of it. To one side were a fireplace and two large leather sofas and an armchair. A man with ashy grey hair in a professional looking suit gestured to a leather sofa and smiled. On it sat James, wearing the apparent uniform with a navy T-shirt.

'Hello Dante. I'm sure you have lots of questions?' The man asked, obviously Mr. McAfferty.

'Yes; Who, what, why, when and where?' Dante said, only half joking.

'Oh' Mr. McAfferty laughed 'Well. Who: My Name Is Dr. McAfferty, call me Mac, and this, as I'm sure you know, is James Adams.'

'Yes, hello James, what on earth are you doing here? What on earth am I doing here?' said Dante, taking a seat on the sofa.

James laughed and gestured for Mac to continue. As he did, James made no attempt to follow the conversation, having heard it before. He was just wondering why he was here again when Mac snapped his fingers in front of his face.

'James?!'

'Oh, sorry' James shifted upright. 'Didn't get much sleep. How's your hand Dante?'

'Better thanks,' Dante replied, holding her palm up for Mac to examine when his bemused expression requested it.

'What happened here then?' Mac said, tenderly brushing the stitches. After a quick explanation from James, he sighed and nodded, taking a seat opposite Dante in an armchair.

'That is the main problem we have with recruiting you Dante. I'm sure you know that with congenital insensitivity to pain, we are incredibly worried about the fact that you could be damaged without realisation, so we-'

'Mac,' Dante interrupted kindly. 'I understand that it is a major factor, but I wish to reassure you. I have been tossed around from home to home for the last eight years and I'm sure I don't have to tell you that when that happens, you have to look after number one.'

'Mac, I have to admit, the one time that I saw Dante take a punching from Michael, I saw her checking herself over-'

'Ah, it was you was it?' Dante accused. James blushed in agreement. He had been worried that the punches Michael had left in her stomach might be serious, but when he had seen her probing her stomach in the kitchen he noticed a book on the table. It was a well thumbed medical textbook, open on a page about internal injuries. There were even additional notes stacked along the margins.

'Anyway, she knew what she was doing, Mac. ' James finished. Everything was silent for a few minutes while Mac mulled it over, physically rolling his jaw while he thought.

'Alright. Just . . . Be careful Dante. I want you to get weekly check-ups rather than monthly ones, and if you ever suspect any possibly severe damage, you find a doctor quickly.' Mac said, standing. Dante grinned and shook his hand vigorously.