Entwined (36 page)

He closes the book. “Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll find something. Come on – two minutes to class. By the way, how’s Rakwena enjoying the working world?”

“Oh!” I clear my throat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s nothing new to him. He misses classes, but he definitely doesn’t miss the Syringa social scene.”

“How cool,” Lebz sighs, linking her arm through mine as we walk towards the classrooms. “You have a working boyfriend.”

“He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

“Not yet,” she and Wiki reply in unison.

When I tell Dad Rakwena’s coming over, he suddenly decides it’s been ages since he saw Wiki’s father, and he must take him out for a drink. Immediately. I’d like to think it’s because he wants to give Rakwena and mesome privacy, but I suspect he’s still feeling bad about being so hard on a tragic almost-orphan, and doesn’t know what to say to him.

I wave him out the front door, assure him that his shirt isn’t too wrinkled for O’Hagans and listen to his Volvo rumble as he pulls out of the driveway. Then I settle on the sofa, drinking Oros out of a plastic cup and eating cheap “chocolate” biscuits. I’ve just put
The Time Traveler’s Wife
into the DVD player – last year’s birthday gift from Dad. Speaking of birthdays, my seventeenth is creeping up on me. Feb 13. The day before Valentine’s, not that it’s ever done me any favours. I’m not looking forward to it. It means I’m one step closer to leaving Syringa and becoming – shudder – an adult.

For Syringa kids, eighteen means being able to drink in public. Freedom. But I don’t want to be free. Freedom is scary. I’m not that kid who always wanted to be a doctor or a pop star. I never wanted to be anything. I never thought about it. English is the only subject I like, but not enough to make a career of it. If only I could be a professional telepath, or a police psychic.

Rakwena arrives halfway through the movie. I hit the pause button and let him in. He looks worn out. “Kitchen,” I tell him, pointing. “Now.”

Three glasses of Oros, several biscuits and two helpings of beef stir-fry noodles later, he looks more human.

“Ready to talk?” I ask cheerfully, curling up beside him on the sofa.

He sighs. I wait impatiently for him to speak.

“My mother’s been a little agitated,” he begins. “Nothing major – just restlessness. Then she started having bad dreams – that’s when they called my aunts. They couldn’t get anything coherent out of her – she was babbling. When I got there at Christmas, she was so happy to see me she actually cried. It was as if she hadn’t seen me in years, as if she thought I was never coming back.”

“Why would she think that?”

He shrugs. “You never know with my mother – she gets paranoid. I decided to stick around for a few days, so the doctors offered me one of the spare rooms. On my last day there, my aunts came to see her. It was… tense.”

I frown. “You can’t even be in the same room?”

“We’d rather not be,” he admits. “But we’re civil, for Mama’s sake. Anyway, by the time I left my mother seemed to be fine again, but when I called a few days later, the nurse said she was still having nightmares. We couldn’t figure out what was triggering them. The nurse said no one other than me and my aunts had visited her. I went back and forth a few times. When I was there she seemed OK, but as soon as I left she got upset again. Finally, I think a week or so after New Year, she settled down. But I think…”

I reach out and touch his arm. “You think her dreams had something to do with your father?”

He gives a terse nod.

I rub his arm slowly, smooth strokes up and down, then take his hand in mine. It’s hot, but safe. “Can you tell me what happened when he died?”

He looks away. “You’re asking a lot.”

“Am I?”

He’s quiet for a long time, and when he finally speaks his voice is almost a whisper. “Things were strained between my parents. Let’s just say my father didn’t take his marriage vows seriously. At the time I didn’t really understand all this, but as I got older a lot of it became clearer. There was a huge argument, and she told him she was leaving and taking me with her. Obviously he wasn’t having that. He threatened to involve his family. She got really scared when he said that – I didn’t understand why. I’d never met his family. He left the house, and Mama drove us to her sister’s place in Rustenburg. We were there for about two days before they came.” He falls silent.

“They?” I prod gently.

He sighs. “My father’s family. Brothers, cousins. There were six of them. They came in the middle of the night, forced their way in and took me out into the bush, where my dad was waiting. He asked them to take me with them, but the eldest one thought I should stay with my mother until I was of age. They argued for a while. When I realised they weren’t paying attention to me I tried to run. My father was furious. He hit me a few times and I got so upset I used my gift. I didn’t even know I had a gift, but stones started flying and I realised
I
was making it happen. My father had a gift, too. Like mine, but stronger. All I saw was blue light, and the next thing I knew my face was cut open and blood was pouring all over me.”

“That’s how you got the scar,” I murmur in horror.

He nods. “As soon as his power touched me I couldn’t feel my body any more – I was just a mass of energy, tense, like a vibrating string. I heard voices and screaming and then it was over. My father was lying on the ground with a hole in his chest. His family took him, and I never saw them again. My mother and aunt found me a few hours later, just sitting there by myself. I said nothing to my aunt, but I told my mother everything.”

“How did she react?”

“She was calm. Relieved. She told me it wasn’t my fault. But from that moment she was different.” He looks at me. “So now you know my story. I killed my father and my mother went mad trying to deal with it.”

I respond in the only way that makes sense – I wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I know how difficult it was for him to open up, but there’s still an uneasy feeling in my stomach. He hasn’t told me everything. I’m not sure he ever will.

Amantle has lost so much weight that she looks like someone in an Oxfam poster. She’s hunched over in the hospital bed. Her skin is ashy and her eyes seem unnaturally large in her sunken face. But she’s alive, and in control.

Her mother shoots curious glances at me. She knows Rakwena and I are the ones who found Amantle, passed out near the hill as our story goes, but we’ve never spoken until now. Amantle asks for a drink and her mother steps out, leaving us alone.

Amantle licks her lips, raising her eyes to my face. “I just wanted to thank you,” she croaks, in the voice of someone no longer accustomed to talking. “You saved my life. Not just me – all of us.”

I manage a smile, although this scenario feels strange and awkward. “We’re just glad you’re all OK.”

“OK.” Amantle’s lips curl in a sardonic smile, way too grown-up for a thirteen-year-old. “I don’t know about that, but we’re alive.” She takes a deep breath. “It was my fault. Everything. The stupid necklaces. The… John.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You know about John?”

Just the sound of his name makes me want to hit something. “He got away.”

“Of course,” she sneers. “A man like that will never get caught.”

I grit my teeth, but the girl has a point. “Where did you meet him?”

“There was a party at my house, and I had to greet all the guests. John came with Mr Gabathuse from the
GC Chronicle
. John was the only one who let me call him by his first name, like I was on the same level. I liked that. He asked about my necklace and I told him all my friends had one. He told me he owned a jewellery shop that did engravings and he’d do it for free.”

I can’t help feeling a flash of disgust. What kind of man asks to be introduced to a young girl? It’s just creepy. “Where did you meet John to hand over the necklaces?”

“His house.” She lowers her gaze, embarrassed. “He was so nice. I gave him the necklaces and he returned them the next day. And from the minute we put them back on, everything changed.”

She’s going to drown in remorse if she doesn’t find a way to forgive herself. I can see the darkness looming in her head, an overwhelming mix of shame and guilt. She really does remember everything: running along the road for hours, standing in the Puppetmaster’s yard on her hands and knees with a cement slab on her back, being tied to a pole while the Puppetmaster strikes with his mind to see much she can take before screaming. I reach behind me for Rakwena’s hand, and his fingers close around mine. Slowly my despair and anger dissipates.

“I’m sorry,” says Amantle.

I take her hand with my free one, wishing I could transfer some of Rakwena’s power to her. “You were the victim of a very dangerous man. Don’t blame yourself.”

“Who else can I blame?” She looks at Rakwena. “What you can do is amazing. Both of you. I liked being strong, but it wasn’t me. I wish…”

My heart twists around in my chest. She wishes she could be like us. She’s too proud to say it out loud, so I’ll pretend I can’t hear it. “Look, Amantle, you made a mistake. But you still have the rest of your life to make up for it.”

She nods, but I’m not sure she’s convinced. After a few more minutes of awkward chatter, we say our goodbyes and leave. When we step outside the sunlight seems a little too bright. I hear Lebz sniff, and reach out to hold her hand. I think it’s really hitting home now, the fact that Amantle and the other girls could have died.

Suddenly I feel Rakwena’s hand on my arm. He steps in front of me, as if to shield me from something. Or someone.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he hisses.

“His family is close to Amantle’s.” Lebz’s voice is laced with disgust. “I’m sure his parents sent him to check on her.”

I peer around Rakwena’s bulk and glimpse someone stepping out of a red Mazda 6. Thuli. He starts towards the hospital entrance, then catches sight of us and stops. We stare at each other, neither side willing to be the first to look away. Then his lips curl in a self-satisfied smirk. His gaze slides from Rakwena to me, and he winks. Rakwena immediately makes a move towards him, but Lebz and I grab his arms and pull him back.

“That’s exactly what he wants,” I remind him.

Thuli laughs and saunters off, looking far too pleased with himself for my liking. I don’t like the idea of him visiting Amantle, pumping her for information. He’s smart enough to have figured out that her recent behaviour was caused by something other than drugs and teen angst. I don’t think she’ll tell him anything, but his presence here still makes me uncomfortable.

“I wish I could hurt him,” Rakwena mutters as we reach the car. “It’s not right that he can just walk around like he owns the place after what he did.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance one of these days,” says Lebz hopefully.

Thuli, Puppetmaster, Puppetmaster, Thuli. A threat on each side, both waiting for a chance to wreak havoc. I miss the days before the telepathy, when I was just a sort-of psychic that no one paid attention to. I have to accept the fact that that girl is gone, and she’s never coming back. From the moment I woke up with that blinding headache my life changed. I glance at Rakwena. Despite all the danger and drama, I wouldn’t trade my new life for all the quiet humdrum days in the world.

I try to drown my worries in school, and now that the work is piling up, it’s not difficult. Form Five students are expected to take at least two extracurricular activities in addition to regular classes. No-one thought to put exorcisms on the list.

Rakwena looks up from my new timetable with a sneer. “Media Club?”

“Lebz forced me,” I explain, drumming my pen against his spotless dining table. “I also have two hours of peer counselling a week, and an hour of Cinema Club.” I sigh. “There go my free afternoons.”

“And your free weekends.” He picks up a pencil. “Sunday mornings – hiking.”

“Lizard!” I bellow in rage. “Sunday is a day of rest!”

“You can rest afterwards.” He slides my timetable back into its plastic sheet. “The stronger your body is, the better it serves you.”

“Yada, yada, blah, blah, blah,” I retort.

He grins. “One day you’ll thank me.”

I let out a derisive snort and snatch my file back. “I don’t know how I’m going get through the rest of the year. I’m going to fail, for sure.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got a good brain – you just don’t like to use it.” He raises his eyebrows at me, looking extremely self-righteous.

I hate it when he’s right. When it comes to school I don’t “apply” myself, like my teachers are always saying. “Maybe you have a point,” I mutter. “But I’m not like you or Wiki – I’m not used to working hard.”

“You worked hard last year when you were honing your gift,” he reminds me.

“OK, OK! Enough about school.” I lean forward with my elbows on the table.

He nods. “We have more important things to discuss.”

Oh, no. I know that look. He’s talking about the kiss. “Look at the time! Dad will kill me if I’m late – I promised I’d make supper.”

“I’m not taking you anywhere until we’ve talked about this.” His voice is calm, but I pick up the tiniest tremor beneath the surface. “It’s not fair to leave me hanging.”

“Hanging? You’re not hanging!”

He looks at me. My head goes spinning and my stomach feels like it’s been doused with sulphuric acid. He gets up, takes my hand and leads me to the sofa.

“Connie.” He licks his lips. “I mean, I just…”

My heartbeat is reaching a crescendo. I giggle, trying to lighten the mood because it’s getting a little too intense for me. “Should I get you a drink?” I get up and he pulls me back down.

“Connie, just listen. I have to tell you this, it’s driving me crazy.”

I know what he’s going to say, and I’m torn between wanting to hear it and wanting to run. It’s one thing to have it hanging in the air between us, making everything crackle and shine and sing with energy. But to have it said will make it concrete. We’ll have to deal with it and I wouldn’t know where to start. I need Rakwena; I’m addicted to having him as the person I can always count on to be on my side. I don’t want that to change, and if he says what he’s about to say, it
will
change.