Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (4 page)

I do believe that somewhere, deep down, Dad loves me – I'm just not sure he has the words to say it. A part of me wishes I'd never found out about this covert side to him; full of secrets, Agents and ghosts. But at the same time, I feel closer to him than ever before; like I've finally got to know the real him. It's the first time since my thirteenth birthday ─ the Day of Dystopia ─ that I feel anything more than a sense of ignorance.

I spend the day walking in the local park, trying to make sense of everything. How can people go about their daily lives, not knowing the truth that ghosts really exist? I have been given an insight, yet it has only left me more confused. The sky is blue and cloudless and the trees are in the last weeks before fall. In the distance, I hear the sound of children playing on swings. Ordinary life surrounds me, but I am alone with these revelations. I have a hundred and one questions in my head and as I walk home, I decide it's time to ask.

The house is in darkness except for a solitary light burning in the attic room window. It looks ominous, like the eye of an evil beast. I know something is wrong when I find the door to the attic wide open. The room has been ransacked; it's a scene which suggests that a violent struggle has taken place. Furniture is upturned, books and files are strewn everywhere and the drawers on Dad's desk have been ripped out. What happened and where's Dad?

As I sort through the mess I notice something familiar on the floor: the crumpled paper with the game of hangman on it. Dad has made another wrong guess and the matchstick hangman is now complete. The words written in shaky handwriting have somehow changed. How can this be? They're written in ink and you can't erase ink. It now reads:

As I pick up the paper, I have a distinct feeling someone is watching me, sending a shiver down my spine. As I stare at the paper in my hand the ink starts to run. To my amazement, the matchstick man and the row of incorrect guesses seem to dissolve. As if written by an invisible hand, the words are replaced letter by letter with two new words:

Fear rises within me sending every hair on my skin upright. I crumple up the yellowed paper in a childish act of defiance. A nauseating dizziness overpowers me and my eyes become blurred. It's as though the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. I feel faint, followed by a sharp pain on my forehead. Then the world goes black.

Chapter 4

Monday 16 September 7:21am

Aaron Hart

Agent Hunter told me I was born for this, but lately I've begun to doubt him. The last thing he said to me was to grab his daughter as she tried to make a run for it; the resulting kick in the nuts made me question my trust in him. It took the last twenty-four hours to fully recover, and only now am I able to hobble into the gym for an upper body workout. Anything below the waist is on rest duty.

I've known Agent Hunter for over a year now and I respect him. He's a mentor to me. He's probably the only positive male role model I've ever had. But I never knew he had a daughter. I always had him down for the live-alone hermit type, especially after what happened to his wife. Agent Hunter sure is an
enigma, and as for his daughter. . .

It's nice to have The Agency gymnasium to myself. It means I can switch off the round-the-clock news that normally drones through the flat screens. Unlike most people, I like to work out in total silence. It's my thinking time; the monotony of physical
exercise allowing my mind to run free. And right now, my mind is on Sasha.

She's kind of cute, in a quiet rebellious type of way. Her hair is the darkes
t shade of black I've ever seen. And her eyes. Wow. She was wearing something dark around them to make the colour stand out. I could have sworn they had a reddish glint, like someone had lit a match behind her pupils. But what really got me was when her hand brushed against mine.

I have an inherent talent for reading people's feelings through touch.
It's how Agent Hunter found me in the first place. I was brought up by an alcoholic single mother and moved from school to school due to "behaviour problems". I ran away from home when I was still just a kid, age fourteen. I remember it clearly: it was just after Dystopia Day.

My mother had some kind of breakdown, ranting and raving. She wasn't the only one affected in this way; many people became hysterical. It was a time of confusion and fear, and when I needed her most she wasn't there for me. The world became a dark place that day.
It's times like that when you find out who you can and can't rely on.

I started a new life on my own, sleeping on a friend's sofa while I was working as a cleaner in the local gym. The pay was
bad, but the perk was free gym use. At that time, I made extra money as a street entertainer. I had a knack for reading thoughts and feelings. I'd challenge people to shake my hand so I could tell them exactly how they felt. I had no idea how this worked, but it did ─ every single time.

A tourist posted a video on YouTube which got a load of hits. Next thing I know, a middle aged man turns up on my doorstep offering me the chance to develop my skills. He told me I was special; one in ten million. Nobody had ever told me I was special.

My arms are burning now, and it feels good. A few more sets on the dumbbells followed by some tricep dips and I'm done. A quick shower then I'll head to the lab. Hopefully I'll bump into Agent Hunter so I can ask him about Sasha. It's not what you're thinking; I'm not looking to start dating my boss's daughter. I'm concerned for her. Sasha clearly witnessed things at the old house that she shouldn't have. But that's not all.

When we first met and our hands brushed, I felt something in her: it was a strange mixture of fear and latent power. It was buried deep down, and I know it's something most people wouldn't notice, maybe not even her dad. This is why I need to talk to him about Sasha. Maybe he's been protecting her from this secretive life we lead at The Agency? Maybe he's been protecting her from herself? If so, it hasn't worked. And now that she's been exposed, I need to know how he plans to deal with this.

I glance at my watch; it's nearly 8am. This has to be the quietest gym on the planet for a Monday morning. That said, I'm pretty much the only one who uses it. The basic equipment was only installed after I moaned for long enough, my argument being that Agents should be physically fit. Of course, it's the mental side of things which is far more important here. I see the gym as my mental rest time. And I see Lou Hunter as my mental instructor.

I've always trusted him and never questioned his methods or
instincts, but things have been truly weird over the last few days. First of all he brings me an old bit of paper with a hangman game on it and asks me to run a few tests. I did the usual things to establish age and origin, but I struggled to find either. What I did find startled me. As I studied the ink under a microscope, I could swear it moved. When I held the paper I was filled with a sense of dread. I locked it back in the safe box as Lou instructed ─ he had the only other key ─ and popped it into the package it came in. It was a risk going to his home to find him, but one I had to take.

I'd never been to Lou Hunter's house before and when a young, dark haired beauty opened the
door, I thought I'd arrived at the wrong place. When she snatched the parcel off me, I wanted the Earth to swallow me up. What could I do? Kick the door down and take it back? I thought I'd truly blown any chance of becoming a fully fledged Field Agent.

Thankfully, Lou was as chilled as ever when I confessed. He told me no harm had been done. I didn't dare to ask him about his daughter after my mistake. But later that day we were on an assignment when she turned up. I held her and felt
the same mix of fear and power. . . followed by a sharp knee to the nuts. Sometimes I wish I was still a cleaner sleeping on my mate's sofa.

As I drop the two dumbbells the double doors to the gym swing open. In walks Zara, my oh-so-serious colleague at The Agency. She's more than a colleague; she's the closest person in my life. Here at The Agency we have to keep things formal and professional at all times, and nobody is better at doing that than Zara.

She nods hello as she walks onto the aerobic mat and begins stretching. Her shoulder length, choppy blonde hair is tied back into a small pony tail. She looks every bit the gym instructor in her
lycra top but still wearing the designer glasses which she never removes. Zara is so smart you can see it even before she says anything. She oozes brainpower and self-confidence.

From my hunched
over position, I grip the edge of the weight bench and lower my body until I feel the burn in my triceps. I'm distracted by Zara, who has progressed from gentle stretching to full-out Taekwondo kicks. She's not to be messed with, both physically and mentally, and that's probably why she's still single. That, and life at The Agency. Zara steps onto the running machine and pops headphones into her ears. Clearly she doesn't want to be disturbed but the devious side of me decides to walk over for a chat.

"How's it going?" I ask casually, leaning over
the running machine rail.

"Fine, Hart" she replies, not bothering to remove an ear plug.

For some reason, she insists on calling me by my surname like some kind of Army General. Maybe it's her way of enforcing her rank. After all, she's a Field Agent. I'm seventeen, still in my first year here and yet to be given my own assignment. Zara is twenty-three years old ─ six years my senior. She doesn't look it, but boy does she act it. If people say I'm overly-friendly and too chatty, Zara is my antithesis. Much like our names in the alphabet, we're polar opposites.

"Have you seen Agent Hunter today?" I ask, still trying to be casual.

I haven't decided whether I'll talk to her about Hunter and his daughter just yet.

"No," she replies, eyes fixed on the flat screen in front of her. "I thought you were working with him?"

She increases the speedometer and moves from a fast walk to a jog. The treadmill gets louder and I'm forced to raise my voice.

"I am. Well, I was. He asked me to meet him at an assignment location on Saturday
night, but not to tell Director Blake. I did as he asked, but now I'm wondering whether I did the right thing."

Zara picks up more speed and her legs pound the rotating track.

"You can trust Hunter. You don't need to question him."

Her reply is controlled without a hint of breathlessness, despite the pace of the running machine. Her cardio must be excellent. And I'm not at all surprised by her defensive stance. It's perfectly natural for her to side with Agent Hunter; he was Zara's mentor when she joined The Agency a few years ago. I wonder if Zara knows about
his daughter? I'm about to ask when her mobile vibrates. It takes her three seconds to read the text message and slam the emergency stop button on the running machine.

"Hart ─
we need to go, now."

I throw my hands up in mock frustration.

"For once, just once, can you call me Aaron?"

For the first time today she looks straight at me. Her eyes are wide and I know she means business. I can feel that she means business.

"It's Agent Hunter ─ he's in trouble."

Her voice is filled with trepidation. Whatever it is, it feels like it's been coming, ever since the incident with his daughter on Saturday evening.

"I'll grab a quick shower and change."

"No time," says Zara, leaping off the treadmill. "I'm leaving right now; it's up to you whether you come with me or not."

Zara lingers at the door for half a second before turning on her heels. She knows I'll follow immediately, and I do.