Angel's Fury (9 page)

After they’d gone I went to the desk and flipped the plastic folder open. I had a booking-in appointment with the Doctor at four p.m. A stainless steel clock ticked quietly on the wall. I had an hour.

Pandra’s door swung open when I knocked. The girl lounged on the bed, one leg up, graceful as a model. She was reading Stephen King’s
The Stand
.

I paused awkwardly in the doorway. ‘How can you read that stuff?’

Pandra shrugged. ‘I get the dreams either way.’ She bent the spine to mark her place and discarded the book. ‘The olds have gone?’

I nodded and stared. The room was a mirror image of mine, but Pandra had obviously been in hers a lot longer. The wall was completely papered with drawings. They were mostly violent and disturbing and many featured the same cast of characters.

One portrait stood out above the others: the pencil strokes, which ranged from near invisibility to angry slashes of black, created a woman so lifelike she seemed three-dimensional. The paper cut her off at the chest, but one hand was in frame because she held a gun to the underside of her chin. The torment in her eyes was so real her hand seemed to shake.

Mesmerised, I drifted towards the picture but didn’t touch the paper, afraid of smudging it. I cut my eyes to Pandra. ‘Did you draw this?’

She shrugged as if indifferent, but a glimmer in her eyes told me she was pleased by my reaction. ‘She doesn’t do it.’

I was drawn back to the image. The woman had been battered. Her old-fashioned hairstyle was dishevelled and bruises shadowed her face and chest. Squinting closer I thought I could see what looked like bite marks on her shoulder. The hairs stiffened on the back of my neck. ‘Who was she?’

Pandra frowned. ‘Her name was Madge . . . Madge . . . something.’

My fingers curled. ‘She doesn’t shoot herself?’

Pandra shook her head. ‘I stopped her.’

My eyes went back to the picture and I rubbed the goose bumps that had appeared on my arms. ‘You stopped her.’

‘In my last life.’ The other girl curled her long legs under her and toyed with the bar pinned through her eyebrow. ‘You know, everyone we dream about is dead. Not one of them can be hurt any more. Sometimes knowing that is all that gets me through the night.’ She gestured at the macabre wallpaper. ‘When I wake up and all I can see is this stuff I remember they’re long gone . . . so there’s no point torturing myself.’

I sank on to her mattress, eyes still on the portrait. ‘Do you really believe the people we dream about don’t matter because they’re dead?’ I looked at her.

She twisted the rings on her left hand as she answered. ‘Course. The Doctor’s really big on helping us let go of guilt that doesn’t belong to us.’

Mention of the Doctor made me check Pandra’s clock. It was almost buried by the sheets of paper that were crammed on to every available space. An image of a dragon covered the twelve. Oddly out of place, it was painted with acrylics so bright it appeared to writhe on the paper.

‘I’ve got an appointment at four.’ My head throbbed with a full-blown tension headache and I winced. ‘Have you got any paracetamol?’

Pandra’s leg nudged mine. ‘We aren’t allowed to “self-medicate” here.’ Her eyes flicked to the door and her hand slid under her mattress. ‘I haven’t got anything to give you.’ Her wrist moved back and forth as she felt around and came out with a plain white packet. ‘Not even any paracetamol.’ She handed me the box with a wink.

‘Thanks,’ I mouthed, and gratefully dry-swallowed two of the tablets. I gagged slightly but got them down. Then I frowned.

Does Pandra think someone’s listening in on us?

I didn’t dare ask. Returning the packet to her, I looked at her
artwork once more. Sitting in the centre was almost like being inside one of the girl’s dreams and I was suddenly desperate to be out of the room. ‘I’d better go.’

Pandra picked up her book. ‘You’ll sit with me at tea?’ Surprised, I nodded and her blue eyes flashed. ‘Good luck then.’

As I backed out of Pandra’s room I nearly bumped into Seth loping down the corridor. At the sight of him bubbles of excitement burst in my gut and I tried to smooth down my hair.

When he saw where I’d been a flush darkened the skin around his scar, but all he said was, ‘I’m to make sure you don’t miss your first appointment.’

‘I was just on my way.’

We fell into step and he cleared his throat. ‘Pandra’s been here longer than any of us. I don’t know what she was like before, but now she’s . . . I guess you could say, indoctrinated?’

‘She was nice to me.’

‘I’m sure she was.’

Seth halted just in front of the swinging door above the staircase. I stopped next to him and, kind of horrified at my own behaviour, leaned in until I could smell his spicy deodorant
and the washing powder used on his shirt.

He huffed under his breath. Then he looked at me. ‘Don’t get me wrong, we’re all here to be cured, or at least to find a way to live with what’s going on up here.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘That means we need to listen to the Doctor. But you have to think carefully about some of the things she says to you. Pandra too. Don’t just take all their ideas straight to heart, okay?’

I nodded slowly, but knew my face gave away my confusion.

He sighed. ‘For Pandra, whatever the Doctor says is gospel, but some truths are more true than others.’ He winced. ‘Am I making any sense?’

‘I guess so.’ I examined my fingernails and considered what Pandra had said to me: that the people we dreamed about could no longer come to harm. Maybe that was true for her, but to me the hurt felt real and Karla’s suicide proved that our past lives did have consequences. I hesitated. Discussing reincarnation as if it was something other than fantasy was so surreal.

‘D-do you have a past life too?’ I half covered my mouth as if I could take my words back if Seth laughed at me.

Seth checked his watch then rested against the wall. ‘Past lives, Cassie, same as you,’ he replied.

I dropped my hand from my mouth. ‘So . . . you do remember more than one past life.’

Seth’s mouth sank into a sad line. ‘We all do. The most recent life is usually the one that affects us most strongly, but not always.’

‘It isn’t?’

He shook his head. ‘You remember Kyle?’ I nodded; the rocker with the green eyes was hard to forget. ‘He says his clearest memories are from the building of the pyramids at Giza.’

‘You’re kidding!’

Seth offered a twist of a smile. ‘I think our strongest memories are either from the most recent or the most violent and eventful lives . . . but I could be wrong.’

I glanced at his scar. ‘Somehow I don’t think many of our past lives have been calm or uneventful.’

‘You’re probably right.’ Seth twitched his hair to cover the puckered skin and I looked awkwardly away.

‘I wonder why we’re the only ones who remember our past lives. If everyone’s lived before I mean.’ I thought resentfully of my roommate in Germany and how peacefully she’d slept.

‘I’ve thought about that.’ Seth’s palm rasped over the hint of stubble that just shadowed his cheeks. ‘I don’t think
everyone
reincarnates. If souls were just recycled all the time, populations wouldn’t be able to grow.’

‘That actually does make sense. But why are
we
reincarnating if no one else does?’

Seth shook his head. ‘I asked the same question. The Doctor thinks some people are destined to live out “little” lives.’ He raised two fingers for the word ‘little’ and emphasised it as he spoke. ‘They’re born, they die and it doesn’t really matter. Except to the people around them, I suppose.’ He spread his hands. ‘She thinks others are born to do certain things, to fulfil a destiny, like history needs them to or something. She thinks those souls are reborn over and over until they fulfil that destiny.’

‘What . . . like I’m meant to do something great and I’ll keep coming back till I get it right?’

‘Not necessarily something great.’ Seth’s nose twitched as if he wasn’t sure about his own words. ‘Just something important. There must be lots of things important to history that don’t seem that special at the time.’

‘And you believe this?’

Seth crossed his arms. ‘It’s as good an explanation as any.’ His eyes locked on mine then he peeled himself off the wall. ‘Come on,’
he said. ‘We can talk more about this stuff later. You don’t want to be late for an appointment with the Doctor. Believe me.’

He walked me down the staircase. ‘Go to the end of the corridor and sit on one of the chairs there. You won’t need to knock; she’ll expect you to be on time.’

I nodded dumbly.

‘Go on, you’ve only got a few minutes.’ Seth nudged me towards the doors and turned towards the leisure centre.

As he left apprehension settled in my belly like gristle. The double doors looked innocent enough, but the sign by them –
Treatment Area
– shone a sickly green in the light reflected from the carpet and seemed to warn me against entering.

When I placed my hands on the doors I almost expected them to resist my weight. Instead they swung open and I had no reason not to walk into the corridor.

This is my first step towards losing Zillah. I should be happy.

But my feet dragged on the carpet and the indigestible mass of anxiety grew.

According to my watch, I’d been sitting outside the Doctor’s office for five minutes. It felt like much longer; enough time for my
knotted stomach to tighten. I rubbed my chest, attempting to relieve the acid round my heart, and tried not to think about the coming appointment. But there were no distractions in the waiting area, nothing to look at: no pictures, not even a scuff pattern in the paintwork.

Finally I decided to ignore Seth’s advice and knocked. There was no sound from inside. I pressed my ear against the door and heard no call to enter. Perhaps the Doctor had forgotten my appointment.

What if she isn’t even there?

I bounced on my toes, snatched a breath and turned the handle. The door swung open in churchlike silence. Inside the office, a carbon copy of the one in London, the Doctor sat at her desk absorbed in a large book.

With an expression of intense concentration she made a note on the text.

Curiosity propelled me into the room . . . and my nightmare burst into life.

The office faded into the background. All I could see was the book on the desk and there was no doubt: it was the same book I had seen in the most terrifying of my new nightmares.

Unable to resist its pull, I stepped nearer.

My feet scraped the carpet and the Doctor looked up.

Immediately she covered the pages in front of her and jumped to her feet.

I stumbled backwards out of the room. The Doctor pursued me as far as the doorway. There she stopped and throttled the frame with fingers so white I thought they would splinter the wood. ‘You
never
enter this office without permission, Miss Smith. Wait here until I fetch you.’

The door thudded closed and I gasped as if I was drowning. The air felt too thin and I couldn’t catch my breath.

When the Doctor finally reappeared and gestured me into the room I lowered my eyes, not wanting her to see the fear in them.

Gingerly I sat in the chair meant for me. There was no sign of the book anywhere. Instead a silver laptop whirred on the desk as if such old-fashioned things no longer even existed.

I jumped and half turned as the Doctor placed her hand on the chair back. Sitting, my head barely reached the tops of her legs.

She was first to break the strained silence. ‘I’m glad your parents finally decided to send you to us, Cassie.’

The Doctor’s lipstick was bright red and I shivered, unable to dismiss the sense that she had a rim of blood round her mouth. I forced a smile and she took her place on the opposite side of the desk.

‘I hope you’re settling in alright? You’ve met Pandra? You’re the same age, so I thought you’d appreciate being next door.’

I nodded, saw the Doctor’s eyes narrow and knew she expected more of a response from me. ‘Thanks,’ I murmured.

‘You saw her artwork?’ It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t.

The Doctor knows I was in Pandra’s room.

I nodded again and the Doctor glanced at her computer screen. ‘Pandra’s a very talented artist. Please make use of the art facilities in the leisure area yourself. If you can find some way of getting your dreams out of your head and into reality it would help us both a great deal.’ Her tongue flicked over her lips. ‘Allowing me to see what you are seeing can only move our sessions along faster. You will also discover that such an outlet is cathartic. You may find that your nightmares abate a little if you can pin them on to paper.’

Instantly I resolved to experiment as soon as I could. I drummed my fingers on the arms of the chair. ‘What do the others do?’

The Doctor tilted her head. ‘Have you met Lenny?’

I shook my head. ‘I’ve met Kyle and Seth.’

‘Ah, well. Seth sculpts magnificently. Kyle’s genius is music. He knows everything about musical history and theory, he composes and he plays several instruments. He puts his dreams into music. Not as explicitly useful to me as the other talents, but quite amazing nevertheless.’ She paused. ‘I’ve found that all of you tend to do something exceptional, as though you’ve had several lifetimes to perfect it.’ Her eyes snapped to mine and I froze. ‘Do you?’

‘Do I . . . what?’

‘Have such a talent?’

With a sinking heart I thought about my lack of skill in the school art department and shook my head. The Doctor released me from her gaze. ‘Maybe you’ve just not had the chance to discover it. Try some things out and see what comes naturally.’

She typed in silence for a moment then continued. ‘The leisure areas are all open to you of course, but if you decide to go outside please keep to the Manor grounds. There are a number of rivers and streams in the surrounding area and we tend to get flash floods at this time of year. The road has been washed out more than once and the moor can be quite dangerous.’

‘Floods . . .’ I echoed.

‘Yes, I believe one of the locals drowned a couple of years ago.’ She paused. ‘You’ll be fine as long as you stick to the grounds . . . and I can think of no reason for you to leave them.’