Djinn (3 page)

"Sounds great." I stacked my books back in my backpack.

I helped Dad make the chicken wraps. We worked as a team in the kitchen, as we did in almost everything. Dad chopped and I placed the food in the wraps—we moved like a well-oiled machine. I loved that we always seemed to know what the other was doing, there was no awkward bumping into each other.

We sat on the couch and Dad put
The Karate Kid
, original version, into the DVD player. It was one of the few DVDs we owned, and it was my favourite. I used to stand in front of the TV as a kid and copy every lesson the Karate Kid learned.

Our lounge room was cramped with room for only a double-seater couch, a small coffee table and a TV. The couch was an ugly orange, squishy thing from, like, the 80s.

Dad liked to get all our furniture from op shops; because we moved so much we only really had room for personal possessions and clothes in Dad's Ute, meaning our big furniture items had to come at a cut-price.

Dad and I sat together on the couch and I leaned my head on his shoulder as the movie begun. It was funny to think I once hadn't realised how different my life was. For such a long time I'd thought this was what all people's lives were like. They simply moved around the country all the time. It wasn't until I was seven that Dad told me the truth.

The truth was, we were on the run from people who wanted to hurt Dad any way they could, including by coming after me. That was all I knew.

Dad had two things he never talked about: why the people were after us, and Mum. I'd asked a lot of questions over the years about who my mother was and why she wasn't with us, but it always seemed to make Dad angry so I just ended up dropping it. I still hoped he would tell me one day. Maybe when I was eighteen.

Being on the run really wasn't that bad; I suppose I was used to it, though. I always saw new things and met different people. Dad said I was born curious and I always wanted to discover things, no matter what. He was right, of course, I always seemed to stick my nose where it didn't belong, but there was just so much to know. I suppose that was one of the reasons Dad couldn't keep home-schooling me. He didn't have all the answers to my endless questions.

I actually didn't go to a proper school until I was nine. I'd spent years begging Dad to let me. I wanted to live like a normal kid and socialise, but he always thought it was too dangerous. It's not like I can blame him, though. Not when they'd do anything to get to me.

I remember when I was seven, just before Dad told me the truth. He took me to a playground a few blocks away from the apartment we'd been staying in. I was playing hide-and-seek with some other kids. It's funny, how easy it was to make friends when I was that young.

I was determined to find the best hiding place and beat everyone; competitiveness was a strong part of my personality then, too.

I ran as one kid started to count. The others picked the usual spots around the playground, in the enclosed slides and behind parents. I decided to go hide on the far side of the park in a group of thick bushes.

My hiding spot was so good no one found me, not even Dad. He went crazy looking for me, calling my name and searching every spot I'd hidden in before. I could hear him shouting, but I only giggled, because he couldn't find me. At seven, I could never understand the fear Dad must have felt in that moment.

Eventually I came out, having proved I was the best, and headed back to find Dad. I was so pleased with myself that I didn't notice the man in the trench coat with the funny moustache until after I'd run into him. I wasn't afraid, it was an accident, and I looked up to apologise.

"You're lost," he said, looking down at me.

"No, I'm not," I replied. "My Dad is just there." I pointed off toward the playground where Dad was taking to another parent. The man followed my finger and his face scrunched up, like he'd smelled something bad. He knelt down to my eye height, causing me to look away from Dad.

"Come with me," he said, in a reassuring voice, and offered his hand.

Dad had always said not to trust strangers and I didn't like the look of the man at all. I stepped back a few paces, ready to call out.

"Come on, Kyra!" His voice had lost its fake sweetness. I had no idea how he knew my name. I felt my heart pounding, every beat pulsating through my body, and yet I couldn't move.

"No!" I stumbled backwards fighting the fear, but the man grabbed my arm and dragged me toward him.

"DAD!" I screamed.

Dad heard me and came running. Parents just seem to be able to hear their children anywhere. The man lifted me up, holding me sideways under his arm, and ran toward a parked car at the edge of the park.

Dad caught up to him within seconds and tackled him to the ground like a football player. They threw some punches until one of the mothers Dad had talked to earlier announced that she'd called the police. The man fled—and so did we.

Dad told me the truth after the incident. There had been other attempts over the years, but that was the closest they'd ever come. I learned to pick them from a crowd: quiet, watchful, about Dad's age. As soon as someone became suspicious, we moved straight on.

We usually didn't stay long in one place unless we needed money. The Ute had broken down about a kilometre outside of this town and we'd used a good deal of our savings fixing it. Dad decided we would set up here for a while, and so far it had been two months. I'd been going to school, which, despite the math, I was enjoying.

"Kenny wants me in for the later shift tomorrow," Dad said, bringing me back to reality. I hadn't even realised I'd missed almost half of the movie.

"So you can drive me to school then," I replied, scooping some leftover lettuce into my mouth.

"Of course. I shouldn't be too late. Call me after school so I know you're all right."

I shifted to a more comfortable position on Dad's shoulder and concentrated on the movie.

"I know the drill," I said.

"All settled then," Dad said, putting an arm around my shoulders. It was warm and comforting. There was no safer place than with my dad. I snuggled closer to his chest and settled in for the rest of the movie.

Chapter Three

It was far later than it should have been when I trudged up the stairs to bed. I pushed open the door and shuffled inside like a zombie from
The Walking Dead
, but with less moaning.

My room consisted of a single bed that I was too tall for. It was designed for someone much younger than me, and I was much taller than normal people my age anyway. It was comfy though, and I tended to sleep in the fetal position, so I didn't have to worry about my feet hanging over the edge.

The rest of the room was empty space except for two boxes: one full of clothes, the other turned over for use as a bedside table. It held two photo frames, one with a picture of Dad and I last year at a carnival, and the other a picture of me as a baby.

I was maybe one year old, wearing a pink dress; something I would never be caught wearing now. The reason I loved it so much was because my mother was holding me. You couldn't see her face or anything, but I could see her arms around me, and the purple silk dress she was wearing. On her left hand was a ring, which made me believe Dad and Mum were married, though I'd never seen him with a ring. Maybe he hid it because it reminded him of an unbearable pain he couldn't live with. I really wish I knew more about her. Who was she? Did she love me? Why wasn't she with us now?

That photo was the one connection I had to my mother, and was by far my most prized possession. Everything else in my life was disposable; that photo was not.

I threw my school bag into a corner and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I felt tired and sore from training and it didn't take long for sleep to take me.

* * *

I sat in the back of a black Commodore. Beside me, there's a child wrapped in a yellow blanket. Dad was driving the car in the rain, but he's much younger. Lightning flashed outside followed by the boom of thunder, but the child remained silent. She wasn't scared by the loud noises.

Dad looked back at the child and smiled. He gazed at her with such loving eyes that I knew the child was me. I smiled and something caught my attention outside the car. I tilted my head to look through the windscreen in time to see a man in the middle of the road.

"Dad, look out!" I said, but he couldn't hear me. He continued to stare at the child until finally he turned back. By then, it was too late, and Dad hit the brakes hard. I grabbed hold of the back seat with claw-like hands as the car swerved out of control. My heart raced as panic set in and I reached for the child, my fingers just scraping the edge of the yellow blanket. Dad spun the wheel, but there was no grip on the road with all the rain, and I knew before it happened that we were going to crash. I spotted the tree, knowing there was nothing Dad could do to stop it.

"Dad!"

* * *

I bolted upright, drenched in sweat. My heart pounded like it would break free of my chest. I clutched at my tank top as I took a moment to realise it was just a dream.

I focused on steadying my breathing and my heart slowed. I dropped my hand from my chest and groaned before slumping back onto the pillow.

"Stupid dream," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead, letting my hand drop like a sack of potatoes.

I'd had the dream for as long as I could remember. I was pretty sure it was a memory, but when I told Dad he said it never happened. I just didn't understand why I could picture something so clearly it if it wasn't real. None of my other dreams felt the same.

I picked up my phone to check the time. 5.15 am flashed bright on the screen. Too early to get up and too late to get any more sleep.

I didn't want to be left with my thoughts. Instead, I swung my legs over the bed and sat up. I was still dressed in my training tracksuit from yesterday.

I took my laziness as a sign from above that I needed a run to clear my head. My sneakers were still sitting by the front door downstairs, so I poked my head out of my room and looked down the still, dark hallway at Dad's bedroom door.

It was closed and the hall was silent. Dad was a pretty heavy sleeper and I hoped he'd ignore the creaking floorboards as I stepped as lightly as possible into the hallway.

Closing my bedroom door carefully, I stepped on the boards I knew would make the least amount of noise. One of Dad's lessons: always know your environment. I was sure I knew this house better than any previous owner.

I made my way down the stairs and through the kitchen and finally slipped out into the cold morning air. Sitting on the front steps of our house, I tied my shoelaces into bows and watched as my breath made little smoke clouds. I rubbed my bare shoulders, feeling the prickle of goosebumps. I'd left my jacket upstairs.

I glanced at my bedroom window, but decided not to risk waking Dad. He wouldn't like me heading out by myself so early. I'd always followed almost all of the rules he'd set to keep me safe but, really, I could go into town on my own. Better to go and get yelled at when I got home than risk being caught now. What's the saying? Better to ask forgiveness than ask for permission.

I set off down our driveway and onto the main road. For a town so small, the houses seemed to be so far away from one another. I'd jogged for almost ten minutes before I passed our neighbour's house.

Dad liked this in a location. The further from civilization, the better, he thought. No nosy neighbours watching you, suspecting anything or giving us away. Dad liked privacy, high walls and locked doors.

I jogged up the road until I reached the main shopping strip. The street was empty, it was too early for even shop owners, except at the gas station, but I made sure to jog out of view of it. I may not have agreed with all of Dad's rules, but I was still careful when I went out on my own. I never brought attention to myself, staying in the shadows and going unnoticed.

Further down the road was the school but I didn't want to run all that way so I stopped for a drink at the park taps.

I wasn't a fan of parks or playgrounds anymore. I hadn't been in ten years. It wasn't like I was scared of them, or anything, I just didn't feel safe. The hairs on my neck prickled, so I had a quick drink, and then I was gone.

The sound of running feet came up behind me and I spun around, water flying off my face, ready to confront whoever was sneaking up on me.

No one was there.

Had I just imagined it? Dad's paranoia must have finally got to me. Maybe the run was a bad idea.

I turned back to finish drinking when I felt a tug on the edge of my trackpants. Looking down, I saw the source of my paranoia: a large golden Labrador, gnawing at the bottom of my pants.

"Stop that," I said, pulling my leg from the dog's mouth. It let go willingly, like it was only playing, and barked happily at me.