Read Soul Storm Online

Authors: Kate Harrison

Tags: #General, #Juvenile Fiction

Soul Storm (5 page)

BOOK: Soul Storm
12.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

‘Hey, Alice, tell me something shiny and good.’ Her voice is weary.

I sit down. ‘I passed my driving test.’

She leans over and kisses me on the cheek, her dreadlocks rough against my neck. She’s never done that before. The smell of nicotine is strong, and her lip ring is cold where it touches my
skin.

But there’s something missing . . .

Then I realise. When we touched, I saw no flash of memory, no vision of the moment just before she died.

Sam is different to the Guests. Older, sharper. She’s the Beach agony aunt, as well as the girl who mixes the drinks and clears away the empties when the dead, cool kids decide to call it
a night.

But she’s also part of the Management, or at least she carries out their orders.

‘Brilliant news, mate,’ she’s saying. ‘Made up for you. Got wheels yet?’

‘Yeah. My folks bought me a car. I’m really lucky.’

‘You’re growing up, eh?’

I nod. ‘Sam, is there something wrong?’

She looks down, pulls at the skin around her nails. Sam doesn’t have the gloss of the Guests. She seems real. ‘Why do you say that, Alice?’

‘Well, apart from anything else, I’ve never seen you not working before. You’re always busy.’

‘Ah, bless you, mate. You’re pretty much the only one here who actually notices how I am. Or treats me as a human being.’ She laughs, then coughs, a hacking sound that sounds
wrong above the gentle whoosh of the breeze through the palm roof. ‘If that’s what I am.’

‘Is
it what you are?’

‘Eh?’

‘When you touched me just then, well, you know how since Javier went, I’ve seen . . . no,
felt,
a Guest’s last moments whenever I make contact?’

‘Uh huh. Your latest reward, right?’

Sam’s the one who helped me see that whenever I help a Guest escape, the Beach experience intensifies, like a game. ‘Yeah. Only with you, I saw . . . nothing at all.’

Sam looks at me. Her brown eyes are the only part of her that don’t show exhaustion. ‘No, well. Maybe I’m different.’

‘Are you?’

‘You know robots, right? They’ve been designed to be as smart as humans, but they’re hollow inside. Like, in movies, they learn, but they don’t have memories or feel joy
– which is why they always end up smashing stuff up. Out of frustration at being, like, empty vessels. Soul-less.’ She takes a puff, then breathes a long stream of smoke out of the side
of her mouth, to avoid blowing it into my eyes. ‘Like me.’

‘Come on. You’ve got a soul. A good one.’

‘What, you can see mine, can you? Souls aren’t like that, Alice; they’re not solid like a nose or a big toe.’

I gaze through the open side of the bar, towards the shore, where the Guests are basking in the sun. Some of them while away the hours talking about this kind of deep and meaningful question.
Whether they’re really here. What’s the difference between body and soul? It makes me dizzy, especially as no one ever finds the answers.

‘I can’t see it. But I know you’re not empty.’ I try to think of a way to convince her. ‘Like, if you really don’t have memories, how could you know about the
movies where robots try to take over?’

Sam winks at me. ‘Hey, good point. Though I could have heard the Guests talking about them. Or maybe I come preprogrammed, loaded with teenage facts so I can relate to the kids, but with
no memories of my own.’

There’s always been a darkness around Sam, but I hadn’t noticed sadness before. ‘You must have had a life, Sam. Honestly. Because you’re wise. All the advice you’ve
given me, and the tough love. You’re too kind-hearted to be a robot.’

She laughs more warmly this time. ‘I’ll miss you when you’re gone.’ She puts her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t panic. I don’t have insider information about
your departure date. It’s just, well, you
will
leave, won’t you? That’s what Visitors do. I don’t keep count but you’ve already stayed longer than any of the
others.’

‘A lot longer?’

Sam nods. ‘Loads. I won’t slag them off, but the few we have had didn’t have the staying power. But it’s obvious that you love the bones of your sister. And she’s
the same about you.’

Something about the way she says it makes me wonder. ‘Has she been talking to you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So you know she wants me to leave?’

‘It’s not that clear-cut, mate. She’s just having her own little crisis. They all go through it, sooner or later. Hers has been delayed, first by you arriving, then Tim. But
now all the excitement’s worn off, she’s feeling blue.’

‘Is there anything I could do?’

‘Apart from the obvious thing?’

She doesn’t have to spell it out: she means resolving the killing, ending my sister’s unfinished business. ‘I’m working on it, Sam.’

‘Yeah, Meggie said. She’s scared for both of you. Scared of the unknown if you do send her on her way. Scared of what’s gonna happen to you if you don’t.’

‘I won’t take any unnecessary risks.’

‘Alice,
I
get that. So does she, deep down. But to be honest, I don’t see the biggest threat as coming from whoever killed your sister.’

‘No? Who does it come from?’

She stubs out her cigarette. ‘Ah, take no notice of me. It’s just unsettling, the way you’ve set this record as the longest-serving Visitor. The place feels weird, lately. Like
we’re all heading for a shake-up.’

‘How—’

‘I’ve got no crystal ball, but it’s not a good feeling.’

The Beach looks exactly the same: turquoise waves lapping against sand that reflects the sunlight through a billion tiny crystals. I can’t see any sign of trouble brewing.

‘So what do I do?’

‘You know what, Alice? My hunch is it’s already happening, whether we like it or not. Not a thing we can do. Except live – or die – one day at a time.’

She stands up, walks towards the bar and fills a silver bucket with ice. Then she takes a bottle of champagne and four glasses, and places them carefully in the bucket.

‘Compliments of the bar, of course, mate.’ She hands it over. ‘I know
you
can’t drink it, but the others will want to toast your driving licence. Not often we
have something to celebrate on the Beach.’

And she gives me a little push on the back, and I pad down the steps towards the shore. I can see my sister, Danny and Tim waiting. Am I doing them more harm than good, with my stories of
outside, of things they can never do? I love Meggie and Danny so much. But maybe that’s exactly the reason I should let them go.

No. I can’t.
Not yet.

Danny’s seen me now and he’s waving. His strong bronzed arm as defined as an athlete’s. All of them are so beautiful. They shimmer in the heat haze, like spectral
supermodels.

Maybe
that’s
what souls look like.

 

 

 

 

8

 

 

 

 

The florist laughs when I call the next day.

‘Sorry. We’d never reveal the name of the person who sent the flowers. Well, except to the police, I guess. You know how priests take an oath of silence? We do too.’

Would she change her mind if I told her why it matters, who my sister was, what happened to her and her boyfriend, why I need to know.

Instead, I say, ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.
Really
important.’

But the girl on the end – she sounds my age – is still in la-la florist land, where the worst that can happen in life is that your lilies droop or your roses get greenfly. ‘Ha,
ha, that’s what they all say. Valentine’s Day is the pits. Husbands and boyfriends calling up because their other halves got flowers they never sent them.’

I ring off. It
had
to be Sahara, didn’t it? Except why not put her name to the flowers? It’s not like her not to want the attention, my undying gratitude.

Could I have got it wrong? Her guilt is such a certainty for me now that maybe I’m overlooking something – or someone. Ade knew my sister, but only through Sahara. And Lewis
recognised her because they both grew up around here, but he never actually talked to her.

The only other possibility is some random stalker who fell for my sister after seeing her on TV. Which makes no sense, either. It was Zoe who told me that indifference doesn’t turn people
into killers – that I should be afraid of the people who adored Meggie.

And the one thing I know for sure is that Sahara adored my sister. Maybe I’ll find out how much this morning.

Everyone knows I passed now. Cara texted congratulations from Bermuda, and Lewis called an hour after my test. ‘I don’t like to say I told you so, but I did, didn’t I,
Ali?’

I promised to take him out soon, if his street cred would survive a trip in a Ka.

‘It’s OK, I’ll put on a ski mask. Have you decided where your maiden voyage will take you yet?’

I have, of course. But I didn’t tell him.

Mum takes a photo of me as I leave the house and get into my car –
my
car – for my first drive, because ‘it’s one of those landmark moments, sweetheart.
Don’t get lost. Or drive too fast. Or too slowly. Just . . .’

I put my hand through the open window. ‘Be careful? Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t get lost with your satnav to guide me. And the instructor says I am
very
safe.’

I reverse out of the driveway and take the corner out of our close, turning to the passenger seat to check whether my instructor is happy.

I jump when I realise I don’t have an instructor any more, because I’ve PASSED MY TEST!

The thrill is soon replaced by nerves. The satnav is programmed to take me further than I’ve driven before, way beyond home territory. I’m trying to get used to the unfamiliar
controls, the slight creak as the car goes over speed bumps, the ticker-ticker-ticker sound of the indicator. I don’t turn on the radio, because it’s taking all my concentration not to
crash.

I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My jaw is tight. I unclench it, but the rest of me is still wired. This is the first time I’ve driven on my own and I’m about to hit central
London for the first time, too. It’s not what my driving instructor would have recommended. Even Cara didn’t take such a mad journey so soon after taking her test.

But I can’t wait any longer.

I’m going to Greenwich, to ask Sahara the questions I should have asked months ago. It’s too good a chance to miss. She said Ade was going to his parents – probably to avoid
helping her move. But with him out of the way, she’s lost her bodyguard, and I might stand a better chance of getting some answers.

Mirror. Signal. Manoeuvre.

I drive perfectly all the way to the dual carriageway. It’s muggy today, and as I see the elevated road looming above me, and the cars zooming past, the temperature in the car seems to
rise by ten degrees.

It’s now or never.

I put my foot down, and the engine growls and the speedo needle heads further and further to the right.

Forty.

To my right, cars and lorries are an intimidating blur.

Fifty.

Stop hesitating. Go!

Sixty.

A lorry with foreign lettering down the side races past and I know I must go after it.
Now.
I steer right so sharply I almost veer into the middle lane. But the car –
my
car – responds quicker than the tank-like driving-school one, and I correct myself with a light touch to the wheel.

I did it. And now no one can tell that I’ve never done this before.

The satnav tells me it’s five miles to Clapham, fourteen to Peckham. Busy, unfamiliar places. But the thought of what I have to do when I reach my destination is scaring me more than the
journey.

The entrance door to the halls of residence is propped open with a box full of text books.

I lean down to check, sweat from the long drive making my t-shirt cling to the clammy skin on my back.

History
text books. That’s not Sahara’s subject, which means there must be other people moving out today. Knowing I won’t be alone inside with her makes me feel
slightly less breathless.

Though, of course, there were dozens of other students asleep in this building the night Meggie was smothered and none of them heard her. Or helped her.

I step inside. It was here that I first understood that evil had a presence, when Sahara took me up to my sister’s old room. She’d kept Meggie’s spare key after the forensics
team had left. The tiny bedroom had been stripped of everything – carpets, furniture, even the washbasin fittings – but what remained was a darkness that overwhelmed me. Except now I
realise it wasn’t the room, was it? It was Sahara herself.

So much has changed since. Tim’s died. Zoe is trapped in a living death. Perhaps that’s what the darkness was trying to tell me back then: that Sahara killed my sister. If I’d
realised, I might have saved the others.

‘You’re not supposed to be here, are you?’

A girl is coming out of the lift with another box of books.

I smile at her. I already have my story straight. ‘Oh. Well, not till next term, anyway. This is where I’m going to be living. When
I
start.’

She frowns. ‘What, have they already allocated you your hall? Weird. Didn’t happen to me till after I got my results.’

‘Ah. But I . . . had a gap year. So my place is confirmed.’

The girl sighs. ‘God. I thought you knew you were old when the
policemen
started looking younger, not the freshers. Ah, well, enjoy it. It’s a good halls. Sociable. Decent
rooms. Oh, and take no notice of all the bullshit about the place being haunted.’

‘Haunted?’

She pulls a face. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘A bit late now, though.’

‘That girl. The singer from the telly. She was killed here. They left the whole of the third floor empty this year as a mark of respect, but . . . they’re opening it up again for the
new academic year. So many students need accommodation.’

I say nothing.

‘But, seriously, don’t worry about it,’ the girl says, her voice high-pitched. ‘Even if they put you on that floor.’

BOOK: Soul Storm
12.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Shadow Fall by Erin Kellison
Mind Blind by Lari Don
Innocence by Suki Fleet
Ask the Dice by Lynskey, Ed
Women in Lust by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Windigo Soul by Robert Brumm
Shadow Knight's Mate by Jay Brandon