As if swept up by a magical force, I feel myself lift from the darkness suddenly.
‘He’s stabilising,’ the doctor calls out with relief in her voice. ‘Let’s get him down there, stat. We move on my count – one, two …’
And then I’m rushing along a corridor and into an elevator with hospital staff hovering around my bed. I get the sense of dropping, then the lift opens and I’m in front of a pair of wide swinging doors marked Theatre 2. A different crew, wearing green outfits with matching paper caps, takes over. They’re chatty and make jokes and laugh. An older guy introduces himself as Dr Mac. ‘We’ll have you back as good as new in no time, Jordan,’ he says, grinning.
I know they’re just trying to put me at ease, but their breezy attitude doesn’t fill me with confidence.
At least I’m feeling no pain now, so the morphine they gave me upstairs must be kicking in. I get how bad my situation is, and the nicer these people are, the more thoroughly I get how tentative my hold on life is right now.
A dude named Todd smiles and starts explaining how he’s going to be my anaesthesiologist tonight. ‘Now I want you to start counting down from a hundred …’
My lights go out at ninety-nine.
9
Ebony
We stand out on the pavement while Amber calls her dad to pick us up and I try to figure out what happened tonight. I recall one other time when my hands felt overcome with a similar compulsion. I was two years old and Dad was losing his favourite mare, Lady Elsa. She was in the final stages of a difficult labour and struggling because something was stopping her foal from being born. Dad had tried everything, even turning the foal around with his hands, but Lady Elsa was exhausted, scared and panicking. I laid my little hands on the mare’s belly. She calmed right away, allowing the gutsy foal to make his final push for life.
Dad had looked at me strangely for days afterwards.
My hands feel the same now. Though they look normal, they’re tingling fiercely. I take a deep breath and release it slowly. ‘I think I’m hyperventilating.’
Engrossed in my memory, I’m surprised to find Mr Lang pulling up at the kerb. Amber holds open the rear passenger door. ‘That’s nothing,’ she says as I get in behind her. ‘All this commotion is making you breathe faster, that’s all. You’ll feel better in a minute. Trust me.’
I stare out the window for the ride home. Mum and Dad will be waiting for me, poised and ready to attack. I know the routine. They’ll drill me first, then punish. They probably plan to ground me for life!
Well, tonight I have questions too important for them to brush aside with their usual tactics. Tonight I will have answers.
Tonight I will find out the truth about the crazy things happening to me.
10
Jordan
I hear a gurgling, crackling noise, like a long-distance radio picking up static, and far-off, indistinct voices.
But I’m in la-la land, aren’t I?
Anaesthetic is the deepest sleep you can imagine. I’ve been under before. Cut my arm open trying to climb through a broken window a couple of years ago. I don’t know how long I’ve been under – time is tricky to gauge in this kind of nothingness – but I’m almost certain I shouldn’t be hearing voices.
The last I remember, Todd asked me to count backwards from a hundred and I got to ninety-nine, then nothing. But now my brain is aware of stuff. I’m thinking again, and as I become more conscious, the white noise emerges as hushed whisperings of two men with a lot to say.
I get a sudden urge to open my eyes, to see the faces that belong to these strange voices, but my eyelids won’t budge. It’s annoying because the whispers sound like a conversation I’m not supposed to hear.
How is the lad holding up? This is a deep, older voice and I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the doctors treating me. After searching the Earth for sixteen years, can we really be this fortunate, my prince? My what? Did he say, ‘prince’? How sure are you that this young man is the one?
Isaac, you saw the illumination in the sky, the other voice answers. It’s also male, but younger, polished, every word perfectly enunciated. Nothing shimmers as bright as the connection between a Guardian and their human charge at the time of the human’s death, or, as in this situation, his near-death. It’s what alerts the Guardian to act fast.
And so the race with the Death Watchers begins. At least they’re not here yet, the older voice says.
Yet? What’s that supposed to mean?
It is a good sign for the lad, it goes on.
Phew! Well, that’s a relief!
This is the break we need, the younger one says. We have almost found her. She’s here, Isaac, hidden somewhere in this valley, cleverly concealed by those mountains we flew over.
Flew? Flew?
How were we to know the Dark Prince would select a valley so close to a Crossing guarded by our own people? It seemed the most unlikely choice.
OK, I heard that. He said ‘Dark Prince’! Someone tell me what’s going on!
Two more years and she would be lost to me, Isaac.
But she’s not lost, my prince. She’s finally within our reach.
And this boy is our key to finding her. Now that the bond has formed, she will feel drawn to the boy, and he to her. She will sense his needs, and her instincts will compel her to be near him.
They go quiet. Good. I get a chance to try to figure out what’s going on. Who or what do these voices belong to? They sound like … Nah! No way, man, that’s impossible.
I’ve gotta be dreaming.
Oh no! the older voice suddenly gasps. What’s happening, my prince? Can you see inside his body?
The young one doesn’t answer right away, like he’s too upset or something. I wasn’t expecting this, he says. I thought he reached the medical facility in time. Their connection didn’t reveal this, so it must have occurred afterwards.
Is it certain then?
Is what certain? I wish they could hear me like I hear them!
Unfortunately for the boy, his fate is sealed. If he is to survive, I will have to assist in his repair.
This is a travesty! What happened, Thane?
I see it now. The surgeon nicked a vital artery in his spleen. They won’t find the source of this new bleed without the wisdom of a post-mortem examination.
Human error from those he trusts in his time of greatest need! Is there anything more distressing?
Not in the mortals’ world, nor ours.
How does his spirit appear?
Strong. Still fighting.
Remarkable. But I suppose it won’t be long then.
I’m afraid it will be very soon, Isaac.
How long before the Death Watchers arrive?
The ‘Death Watchers’ are coming here? What is this bullshit?
We’d better call for assistance. His voice sounds urgent. Quickly, Isaac. They must be intercepted.
Suddenly as if my eyes are wide open, I can see Dr Mac leaning over me with two metal plates attached to coils in his hands. He yells, ‘Stand back, everyone. On my count. Three … two …’
Ohhh, man! Don’t tell me …
My chest lurches violently.
Damn, it’s true. I knew my life sucked, but still, I wasn’t expecting this.
11
Ebony
It’s midnight by the time Mr Lang turns into my driveway, and just as I knew they would be, my parents are waiting up with lights on upstairs and down.
My mother is making a point.
I thank Mr Lang and tell Amber I’ll catch up with her tomorrow. They drive off and I walk to the veranda. Here I pause, glance up at the stars and drag in a deep settling breath of crisp air. Only then do I open the front door.
Mum and Dad are sitting in their favourite couches watching late-night television. Before they start drilling me, I switch off the television and sit on the low table facing them. ‘We need to talk,’ I say. I apologise for my childish behaviour, and I rea
lly mean it. It was wrong to worry them like that, especially knowing how concerned Mum is whenever I leave the house.
Through tight lips Mum says, ‘Firstly, since you appear to be home safely, I will accept your apology.’
It’s more than I expect and I’m both relieved and grateful. ‘Dad –’ I turn to my father – ‘do you forgive me too?’
‘Of course, Ebony; you’re my baby girl.’
I jump across the small space between us and give him a hug. On the way back I catch the look he exchanges with Mum. Hmm, no wonder that was easy; something’s going on.
As I sit on the sofa opposite them, Mum crosses her legs. ‘Now, darling, your father and I had a talk tonight and, well, we decided we will forgo punishment this time.’
Now I know something has happened. ‘What’s going on, Mum? Dad?’
‘Nothing!’ she snaps. She scans my clothes, notices the red smudges at my middle and her eyes almost pop out. ‘Is that … Ebony, is that blood on your shirt?’
I groan inside, and reluctantly explain, talking it down as much as I can. ‘There was a stabbing in the alley at the back of the club. A boy from school was taken to hospital.’
‘You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you? Did you?’ She examines my face.
‘Mum, it was all over by the time I got out there.’
‘How did you get blood on your shirt?’ Dad asks.
Breathe, I remind myself. ‘I must have rubbed against the gurney as the paramedics slid him into the ambulance.’
Mum gasps, covering her open mouth with her hand. ‘You were that close?’
‘I wasn’t involved in the stabbing. OK?’
‘Don’t use that tone with me, young lady.’
‘Ebony, what happened?’
‘A lot happened tonight, Dad. We have to talk. I want you tell me everything you know.’
‘About what?’ Mum snaps.
‘About me. Let’s start with the day I was born.’
They glance at each other, and when they return their attention to me, though they’re trying to conceal their nervousness, their eyes are still wider than usual, their pupils dilated. They look scared.
Scared? But I’m their daughter! It shouldn’t be hard to explain how I came into the world. Should it?
They have to know how important this is to me.
What don’t I know?
Mum returns to her couch, so I move to the coffee table, where I can see both their faces. ‘You told me Ben was my twin who died soon after we were born. But I need to know – was Ben really my brother?’
Dad gulps hard while Mum laughs, the sound too high-pitched. She’s nervous, and … well, I keep picking up guilty impressions. ‘What’s got into you tonight, darling? It’s the stabbing, isn’t it? It’s shaken you up.’
‘It’s not the stabbing, Mum.’ She’s trying to sidetrack me again, push me into losing my temper so our discussion will fall apart, she’ll start crying and, like usual, I’ll get no explanation. ‘This is what you always do. You play diversionary games so you end up telling me nothing.’
They remain silent.
‘Please answer my question.’
They stare at me with their mouths both clamped shut.
‘One of you, answer the damn question!’
They avoid looking at each other. They stare straight ahead, Dad over my left shoulder, Mum over my right.
Arrrgh, this is pathetic!
‘I’m sorry, parents, if my question is a little difficult. Let me help you. It requires a yes or no answer.’
‘You don’t have to be sarcastic,’ Mum says. ‘We understand the question well enough.’
‘Then what’s the problem? But, please, the truth. Was Ben really my brother?’
Suddenly Dad opens his mouth, but before a word comes out Mum yells at him, ‘John, stop! What do you think you’re doing?’
Dad sighs. ‘It’s time, Heather. Our girl needs to know. We can’t leave her in the dark any longer.’
‘But we have to,’ she hisses, giving him a warning glare colder than an arctic snowdrift.
‘Dad.’ I wait until he looks at me. ‘Mum’s scaring me. What’s going on?’
He peers at her earnestly and Mum’s lips turn white as she presses them together. But then she sighs and nods. She reaches out to me. I take her hand and notice it is trembling.
‘Your birth didn’t exactly occur the way we’ve led you to believe,’ Dad says finally.
I pull my hand out of Mum’s even though she’s tightening her grasp. I don’t want to be touching her when she finally reveals the truth.
‘Ebony,’ she whispers in a shaky voice, ‘I was never pregnant with twins. I was … never pregnant with you.’
And as I sit back and brace myself, a minuscule part of me, the part that always knew I wasn’t a Hawkins, is sighing with relief.
‘Why would you tell me I was a twin? Why couldn’t you tell me that you’d adopted me? Heaps of people adopt kids. You may not have heard,’ I mutter sarcastically, ‘apparently it’s less damaging to our psyche if we’re raised knowing the truth.’
Dad’s eyes turn sad as he rests them on me. ‘We had no choice, darling.’
I don’t accept his excuse. ‘Everyone has a choice.’
Mum says, ‘You’re right, and we chose to protect you.’
‘Protect me from what? The big, bad bogeyman?’
Mum closes her eyes against my hostility. I glance at her and wait, but inside I’m so rattled I could scream. ‘It was in the contract we signed.’
‘An adoption agreement?’
‘Sort of,’ she says slowly.
Dad says, ‘We were warned off telling you the truth.’
‘So, I’m a black-market baby? Is this what you’re saying?’
They deny the accusation emphatically.
My mother told me once that people lie because the truth is too ugly to bear. She was probably referring to this truth, this lie. I wonder how ugly this is going to get. It’s obvious, though, what happened. ‘You bought me after you lost your own baby.’
Mum starts to cry. ‘He told us that if we told you the truth, his people would come and take you away, and we would be punished for breaching the contract.’
‘Along with our neighbours in the valley,’ Dad says, adding to my confusion.
Mum whispers, ‘We were scared. Surely you can understand that.’
‘Someone blackmailed you into silence! What happened to your brains? This man didn’t want you to expose his crime so he could go on selling more stolen babies.’ I pause to let this sink into their heads – and mine.
Mum and Dad are not my real parents.
‘I … I promise you both right now, nothing is going to happen to me, or the neighbours, just because you’re finally telling me the truth. But you’re going to have to tell me everything’.
In a sad voice Dad says, ‘A strange man came to our door unexpectedly. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a black suit with a matching long coat and a smart black fedora.’
‘His name was Zavier. He was extremely good-looking with an unusual accent.’
‘He claimed he lived just outside the valley, in a cottage by the Windhaven River. He said he travelled a lot and was hardly ever home.’
Mum says, ‘He came to our house the night of the day we buried Ben, the day after he was born. We were still in shock.’
Dad jumps in. ‘It had poured with rain all day, but Zavier didn’t have a drop of water on him, not even a speck of mud on his shoes.’
Mum flicks a sharp look at Dad. ‘You’re scaring her.’
Dad leans forward and touches my knee. ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’
‘Yes. As long as it’s the truth, I want to hear it. I have to.’
Dad explains, ‘Zavier carried a cane basket in his hand.’
‘A Moses basket,’ Mum throws in. ‘It had a baby in it.’
‘The infant was wrapped in a black blanket,’ Dad continues, ?
??which I thought was somewhat odd.’
‘Oh, that’s the part you think is odd?’
They both give me an exasperated look. I tell Dad to keep going.
‘He didn’t show you to us at first, but you kept making little gurgling sounds and we knew a real baby was in our house.’
‘It was an amazing feeling,’ Mum interjects.
‘Zavier explained that his work kept him away from home too much to take care of a baby.’
Mum takes up the story again. ‘His sister had recently come to live with him after the situation at her home became difficult.’
I sit quietly riveted to the story of a young pregnant girl, rejected by her parents, who gave birth in her brother’s house, dying later that night from an unexpected haemorrhage.
Mum touches my arm. ‘You were three days old when he brought you to us.’
I gasp, my mouth falling open. ‘So my birth date is incorrect.’
Dad says, ‘By two days, but we had no choice. He insisted that was the birth date we give you.’
Questions hammer away at my brain. Didn’t this man Zavier have other family he could turn to for help, like a grandmother, an aunt or someone? Why did he give his sister’s baby to complete strangers to raise? Where was the baby’s father in all of this?
Mum explains, ‘You have to understand, darling, this man was … intimidating.’
I shake my head, unable to imagine my parents, especially my mother, who is strong and even outspoken at times, being too scared to ask such fundamental questions as what happened to the father.
‘Did you even ask about the father? Weren’t you worried he might turn up one day to claim custody?’
Dad answers, ‘Zavier assured us his sister had had no further contact with the father, who was only seventeen at the time. So you see, sweetheart, your biological … that man … doesn’t know you exist.’
Their story keeps growing stranger. I brace myself as Dad continues, ‘Zavier said he heard of our loss and it occurred to him that, if we were willing, we could come to an arrangement for his newborn niece.’