Sitting in a large room filled with rows and rows of desks and chairs, feeling like a single sheet of paper within a folder of a file... in a cabinet filled with files... in a room filled with cabinets... The silence was not tense or forced, not rehearsed as it was when you were trying to impress a teacher ,but strangely natural. Everything felt prearranged; from the desks and papers to the occasional polite cough or draught of wind swishing in through the back door. Three teachers strutted up and down in between isles with well planned steps of even lengths and little sound. They all wore dull faces as I am sure they would much rather be tucked up in bed drinking coffee than invigilate a bunch of snotty-nosed kids on such an icy day. The city had reached subzero temperatures and there had been no rain in two months. My hands looked as cracked as my bedroom door with its old, peeling paint. It was as though a great, invisible sponge had drained my skin of all its moisture. I suppose I should not really have been thinking such things in the middle of my geography exam, but I could not help myself. My mind wandered about like an unsatisfied traveller, never staying put in one place for very long. In class, people called it daydreaming, but during an exam nobody called it anything. Everyone was too busy scribbling away on their papers about drought and tornadoes and maps. It was like I was not even there, as though I was a radio station; something you could choose to tune into or switch off when you felt like it, although the radio signals would still be present around you – even if you did not notice them.
“Daphne. Daphne.” It took me a while to realise that Laura was addressing me.
“Y-yes?” I mumbled, yawning.
“Did you fall asleep in the exam room?” she chuckled teasingly.
“Of course not.”
“I’d rather you had.”
“I don’t know whether or not to feel insulted by that comment,” I replied with a slight smile.
“Oh, don’t look so damn smug, Daph! You know exactly why and now you’re just bathing in the limelight,” Laura snapped at me, but with a confusing smile.
“You’ve lost me.”
“You cruised through that exam like it was Grade 2 work! The least you could do was fall asleep so that mere mortals like me could laugh at you and not feel so bad about not finishing the paper!” she beamed, though I felt the subtle bitterness that her smile masked.
“I did not cruise through the paper! I just couldn’t be bothered to waste my time on it,” I retorted.
“Hey, did I just hear what I think I heard?” a clever, perfectionist in my grade interrupted us. She looked somewhere between a gobsmacked jaw-dropping and a haughty laugh with her thin, dark lip twitching in anticipation of my response.
“Depends on what you heard.”
“Daphne, did you really not complete your geography exam? Not even try to?” she squealed in disbelief.
“What’s the point? I can’t stand map work and I loathe studying it.”
“You’re doomed, you nutcase,” she giggled. My lips curled up in a rictus of a smile.
“Sometimes it can be to your benefit not to get so wound up about schoolwork, Ndlovu,” I told her acidly. Ndlovu was actually her surname but for some reason nobody around school seemed to call her anything else – I did not even know her first name!
“You wouldn’t know the benefits of hard work, Daphne. All you do is laze around and dream and expect everything to simply fall into place. You don’t give a damn and someday that will come back to haunt you!” she said ominously, raising her smooth-skinned fist in front of my face. How she had such unbelievably moist, healthy skin in such weather astounded me.
“I do give a damn, but about the important things – the really important things.”
“What? Like doodling in class? Oh, I’m sure you have a wonderful collection of doodles, Daphne, but I think you need to get your priorities sorted out,” she smirked coldly.
“Back off, Ndlovu. There’s no need to get all bitchy about it,” Laura jumped in defensively. Ndlovu took a long hard look at her, then a quick peek at me, and stalked off to the locker-room.
“If you ask me, she’s the one who’s a nutcase,” Laura said. I laughed.
“Don’t give her words a second thought, Daph.” All traces of sourness had been erased from her being. I smiled gratefully and followed her down to the library.
After two hours of sitting in the library, pretending to write study notes for my upcoming history exam but really writing in my diary, Kiara arrived. My phone went off, the relatively loud sound of Star Wars theme music causing a riot of angry shushes among the diligent pupils around me, and I knew that it meant there was a buggy in the driveway.
As I reached the car, wind swirled around me, with dark clouds threateningly peering down at me. I knew that that was all they were, an empty threat. They were as harmless as an empty rifle; no rain would come for a long time yet. I watched a lone bird swoop down from its perch on the maths classroom’s roof, its feathers changing in hue and size as it drew nearer. Its beady eyes glared at me worryingly and I tried to shrug that feeling off my shoulders – that feeling of never truly being alone. Everywhere I went, something trailed along – be it a bird, a moth, a fly or even a crumpled piece of paper caught in the wind. The sky continued to darken and the chill sunk through my many layers of clothing, right through to my shaking bones. In the car, Kiara and I barely spoke. We had our usual “hello, how are you?” and then I turned my head away and stared blankly out of the window, watching the yellow lines on the road as we drove home.
Once home, I clambered into bed with a cup of Milo and a book, trying to relax. Of course, I could not relax one bit, not with that same bird I’d seen at school perched on the ledge outside my shut window, watching me absorbedly. It took me about six minutes of bird-watching and attempted shooing to realise that the bird would not just simply up and leave. Groaning, I walked towards the window. My hand lifted to unlatch it, but hesitated in mid-air. I could have sworn the bird’s eyes had widened and changed colour, but when I looked again they were back to their original beady state. Sighing resignedly, I unlatched the window and pushed it open. The bird sailed into the room on wings of a brilliant maroon colour, as apposed to its initial black, and I saw something appear clasped in its crystalline beak. The bird landed gently on my outstretched arm, its pigeon-toes soft as pincushions. Then it opened its beak wide and let me remove the article within, slowly and cautiously, with my other hand. Once I had taken the item, the bird’s eyes glowed a garish orange-red and its feathers turned magenta, while its tail grew in length. It cooed like a dove and then hopped onto the window ledge outside. I blinked and then the mysterious fowl was gone.
As had become the usual trend, Kiara and I sat in front of the old, oil heater in the lounge eating a stir-fry lunch and having a conversation which made me feel like Kiara was a spade desperately trying to unearth my deepest secrets from within the mound of words that she dug out of my mouth. A few weeks previously I had caught my mother reading my diary. She was in tears and did not even apologise for reading my most private thoughts. All she did was look at me like I was some kind of alien, not her daughter of fifteen years, and walk out of my room sniffing. I found my diary open on a page where I was busy describing how I felt about killing Ambrose/Vusi. I figured that she was now convinced that I was either a lunatic or just a very disturbed individual. My theory was confirmed when I found that she had set up daily psychological sessions with my au pair, who was not yet an authorised psychologist so she didn’t charge a cent. Kiara would never admit to being asked to do such a thing, but of course she wouldn’t. It was so frustrating having to answer her probing questions and try to assure her that I had not lost my marbles. I felt so alone really.
No one would ever believe me about Jacqueline or Ambrose or the fowl with its magical feathers and radiant eyes. I had been in a state of shock for so long after I’d found out about the knife in my hand and what had happened. What was worse was that Roberto took it even harder than me. He couldn’t even look at me after I told him. I didn’t know if he hated me or just what I’d done, but either way I couldn’t understand because he knew that it was an accident. So, I ran off and washed away my sweat, blood and tears in the local lake. It was the middle of the night, so nobody was about to see. I had no idea what I was supposed to tell my parents or Tiva, so I headed for the road and caught a taxi to the nearest hospital to check that my head injury was not severe. After a long night of waiting to be seen to and crying silently in my seat, trying to block out all the faces staring at me in my fine dress, with sopping hair turning red from the constant flow of blood, I was tended to. I can’t remember how they treated my head, but I remember that afterwards I felt much better and they said it was free of charge (after they saw me arguing with an Indian mynah in French and figured I was screwy). It was not my fault that I came across that way. The strange bird had started it – laughing at me and telling me I’d made a big mistake! In any event, it was just as well it did, because I didn’t have a cent of cash on me. After that things only worsened. Ever since then, birds and other creatures and things had been stalking me and I no longer had anyone to tell, seeing as Roberto could barely manage to look me in the eye. I bought myself a hat and refused to take it off for the remainder of the weekend, to cover up the evidence of what had happened.
After lunch, I went for a walk in the garden, clasping my elbows and drawing them in to my chest in an attempt to keep warm. I reached the large trees at the bottom of the garden and picked a fallen leaf almost as big as my head up off the ground. Twirling it ‘round in my fingers, I wondered what I should do. How could the letter be true? There was nothing logical about what it said, so why did I believe it? I shuddered as I contemplated its possible meanings and then I saw the bird, sitting on a nearby branch.
“Show me who sent you! Show me the person who willed you to deliver that letter!” I called out to the mystical fowl. The bird blinked, its pupils dilating and growing a deep violet in colour. Its wings extended and its feathers glowed magnificently in the afternoon sun. It looked almost as if they had been gilded, though I knew that that was not possible. The bird spoke to me, in French, as the Indian mynah had. I thanked my lucky stars that I had paid attention in that class at school and enjoyed it so much that I’d opted for extra lessons in my free time. The bird told me to follow it to the realm of death.
How charming! Sure, I’d love to go there... my sarcastic thoughts bleated in my head. I agreed to go with the bird and, after not much hesitation, I was off in the direction of the track that I used to go jogging along in the April holidays. Once we were on the track, I had to run to keep up with the fowl. I knew that I couldn’t go on like that for long but the bird clearly didn’t. I cried after it, but eventually I had to stop, doubled over and panting, and when I looked up I found myself alone. I breathed out a tense breath and kept walking, hoping against my better logic that I would soon see the strange creature that had led me that far.
“Looking for someone, Fauls?”
I froze in my tracks, hair pricking up on the back of my neck. I had been walking by myself for nearly two hours without disturbance and was weary and vulnerable.
“Don’t be scared. Man, you should see your face!” the voice laughed.
“What did you think I was? A ghost?” More laughter, but I still couldn’t trace the source of the voice. At least I recognised it. I remembered that intonation from somewhere, though the voice seemed considerably deeper than I had any recollection of it being. This made it all the more foreboding.
“Fauls!!!” he shouted playfully, swinging his arm around my shoulder before I had enough time to figure out where he had come from or how he had remained hidden so long. I let out an instinctive shriek and he laughed and pulled his free hand over my mouth lest I thought of letting another cry escape my mouth into the stillness of the treed pathway.
“You shouldn’t be walking alone, especially not at dusk,” he said, teasingly pointing to the darkening wintry sky. I spat on his palm and he pulled it away from my mouth, groaning in disgust but laughing too.
“You’re not such a polite young lady, you know that?” he murmured.
“You’re not terribly polite yourself!” I spat at him. The boy laughed as he wiped his hand on his navy jeans.
“Have you gotten shorter, Fauls? Or have I simply gotten taller?” he smirked, raising his free hand towards my face once more. I dodged automatically, but his other hand grabbed my shoulder more tightly and held me still at his side. I prepared to bite him if necessary and he laughed at my tension, reaching out not for my mouth but my hair. He stroked it gently and I looked into his abnormally round eyes confusedly. He certainly had grown taller; he was exactly my height.
“What are you doing here, Newspaper?” I scowled.
“Oh, only my usual, daily jog. Of course it’s always nice to have some company...”
“A bit cold for that now, isn’t it?”
“Well, you sure don’t seem to think so. Why are you out here, hmm?”
I shivered and tried to think of a logical explanation. When none arose, I shrugged and told him that it was none of his business. Then, I shivered again. It was ice-cold outside and I felt very uncomfortable and insecure. I wanted to go home.
“Cold are you?” he smiled and I felt myself being pulled closer towards him.
“Let go of me, you moron!” I shouted, slapping his face as hard as I dared. I want to go home! I need to go home! I thought desperately.
“Moron? Now I’m a moron?” his words were colder than the weather and more acidic than Kiara’s favourite vinegar. His arm was stronger than I’d thought and I couldn’t simply shrug it off. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Newspaper, you’re acting like a creep!” I yelled, trying to figure out why he was behaving so strangely.
“Am I? Well, is a murderer really any better than a creep?” he beamed confidently. What?!?! How could he possibly know?!?! I only told Roberto but he wouldn’t have told a soul! He couldn’t have! They’d think he was crazy too!!!!
I stopped struggling, too shocked to move. Newspaper smiled and reeled me in towards him, under his powerful arm until we were practically nose-to-nose. Then he whispered menacingly, “So, what exactly did your letter say, Sunshine?”
I couldn’t breathe. All my thoughts were as jumbled as the papers on my desk at home and I was absolutely flabbergasted.
“Let’s see if I can’t jog your memory,” Newspaper sneered, tugging a sharp knife with an intricately carved wooden handle out of its sheath in his belt. The knife was the spitting image of my own, but now it was pointed at my throat.
“Don’t!” I screamed; my voice as high-pitched as a six-year-old’s.
“You’re confused,” he said amusedly, not lowering the shining, metal weapon from its daunting position.
“The – the l-letter,” I stuttered.
“Yes, that letter that was written on -”
“Newspaper!” I finished for him, the pieces beginning to piece themselves together in my head, as though this was all one big jigsaw.
“Good girl,” he simpered, still gripping the deadly item tightly in his hand. I quivered in his grip, like a leaf caught in the harsh wind.
“Please, Newspaper... You don’t have to hold that – that thing... Please, put the knife away.”
“No, this is the fun bit, Fauls,” he grinned wickedly.
“Tell me about the letter, Fauls.”
I took a deep breath and said, “It made no sense! It said that Ambrose wished to meet me in person and that he was devastated that I had betrayed him, but thought that I might be able to make it up to him...”
“How so?” he asked playfully, as the flat of his cold blade stroked my skin.
“If... If I could bring Jacqueline to him. But that’s impossible! Ambrose is dead! I- I.” I stopped. I couldn’t go on. My chest was tight and my throat dry and sore, aching with the guilt that I still hadn’t overcome. Tears started welling up in my eyes. I didn’t want Newspaper to see them and think that I was weak and that he might as well kill me then and there, but he wouldn’t let me turn my head away.
“You what?” he said, his face perfectly unreadable.
“What do you want?” I sobbed.
“To tell you that Vusi was a red herring, Sunny-Sunshine.”
“A what?” I coughed.
“You know, like in detective novels and such?” he said quietly.
“You – you mean he was not...” I sniffed, my throat throbbing horribly.
“Not Ambrose, no. And neither am I, just to clarify. Vusi was working for Ambrose certainly, but he was mortal. Ambrose is not. That means that he cannot be killed.”
“But I called him Ambrose and he...”
“He was told that you might call him that and that he must play along with such games for his master’s own safety. Ambrose is desperate now that he sees that you lied about having slaughtered Jacqui. I know because I am his messenger and that’s why-”
“Why all the letters were sent on newspaper,” I interjected.
“Quite,” he replied gruffly, replacing his knife in its sheath.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked.
“Before, I didn’t realise how strong you were. Now, I am sure you can make good use of this information and will make the right decision. You will go straight to Ambrose and prove your loyalty.”
“You are wrong,” I said bitterly, my voice croaky as a frog’s.
“Oh, believe me, Fauls, I am never wrong,” he smiled cruelly. I gulped and shifted uneasily in his tight grip.
“Now, come with me, Fauls. This way nobody has to get hurt,” Newspaper grinned, tugging me along with him.
“Nobody except Jacqueline,” I puffed, trying to sound brave and resilient. The messenger merely laughed and pulled me further along the track.
At first I tried to resist, but not only was he too powerful, but equipped with a keen and cruel knife that was produced whenever he got annoyed. By nightfall we had reached an area of derelict, face-brick buildings and a rusty sign-post taking a great battering from the vicious wind. My phone rang in my tracksuit pocket but Newspaper’s nimble fingers fished it out before I could. I watched the small object rise to his ear as he pressed the green button to receive the call. I tried to grab it back but to no avail; my hand was knocked aside with a brutal slap that left it stinging.
“Hello,” Newspaper’s voice said, low and cool.
“Uh! No, don’t you worry about a thing, Mrs Fauls. Daphne’s perfectly alright.” At this point I let out an ear-piercing scream that I knew my mother would be able to hear on the other end of the line. Newspaper hastily planted his hand over my mouth and shot me a glowering look.
“No, no, Mrs Fauls. She’s just taking in the wondrous view of the hills here. A scream of sheer delight... Yes... Yes... Of course... I understand.” I spat into his hand but, though he glared at me, I remained as good as gagged while Newspaper spoke to my mother on the phone.
“Yes... Yes... You have a marvellous,” he said, a brooding gaze falling upon me as I struggled violently against his clutch, “daughter.” Newspaper bit his lip until it turned white as I bit ferociously into the palm of his hand. He was in too much pain to end the phone call properly, and he knew that letting out a yelp would make my mother worried, so the boy ended the call.
“You are a little monster!” he roared at me, swinging his uninjured hand at my head but missing, as I managed to bend out of the way. I could see his round eyes beginning to tear, but even so, I was afraid.
“Let me go!” I barked hoarsely.
“What? After that charming little incident?” he scowled, tucking my cell phone into his coat pocket.
“I think not.”
I was forced to walk with him, his arm constricting my movement, his words spitting bubblegum-scented saliva onto my face. It grew so dark that I could no longer see anything but coal-blackness in front of me, but Newspaper was not deterred. He kept tugging me onwards in the dark. After some time had passed, he came to a sudden halt. Newspaper released me and I turned to run, but then I felt something grab me. It could not have been Newspaper; I could swear that around my ankles, there were a set of strong, claws with flesh-penetrating talons. I winced. Something surely had clawed me for I felt immense pain about my ankles. I was shivering dreadfully and I tried to move once again, but the talons dug deeper into the tissue of my lower leg and I yelped helplessly, blinded by the sootiness of the night sky.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for him to hurt you,” I heard Newspaper say. He sounded, for a moment, just like his old self. I felt hot tears trickle down my cheeks.
“Here we go,” he whispered, though his voice seemed bodiless and far-off. I felt my feet being freed of the harsh grasp and let out a breath I had not even realised I had been holding. Soft hands rubbed some kind of soothing gel around my ankle bones that made me feel tingly and warm. The pain faded and my eyelids became droopy, tired of staying open to allow me to see nothing more than the inky blotch that surrounded me. The last thing I remember of that night was the sound of a strange fowl whistling above me...
“Daphne, Daphne?”
I woke with a start, my head throbbing, in a state of confusion.
“Daphne?” the voice said again. I looked around but I could see no one. I tried to remember where I was and what had happened but I had no recollection of the previous day. I saw a door: grey, tall and narrow. It had a handle made out of what looked like crystal. The walls around me were high and grey too and when I rammed my fists against them, I fold that they were hollow. The voice spoke again, but now it spoke a language that I did not know. I looked around me again. There were three pointy hooks on the left-hand-side wall, one of which held a small, felt hat. Where am I? I thought desperately. I wore a dress; black, composed of scratchy material, and short – not long enough to reach my knees. I had horrible cuts and scratches, and all other sorts of slow-healing wounds around my ankles but I could not understand why. The dress had spaghetti-straps instead of proper sleeves and I was aware of no sensation of coldness, though I remembered that it was winter. Then the voice came again, low and disconcerting, no longer speaking in a foreign tongue.
“Daphne,” it boomed.
“I welcome you to Silvia’s Pass, exit one – the one and only.”
“Silvia’s Pass,” I repeated. My words were slow and slurred and the sound of my voice shocked me. It sounded so contorted and croaky that I couldn’t believe it was mine.
“Silvia’s Pass,” I tried again, but the voice was still as strange and scratchy as before.
“You will be staying here among our many fascinating delinquents, you who slew the one that you presumed to be Ambrose.”
I sat up sharply and looked around the small, rectangular room for the source of the voice. A hair-raising chuckle echoed through the cell. I caught sight of a small box with a flashing red LED and scurried towards it.
“Yes, we work via telecomm, you felon!” the voice smirked. I could feel the bitter intensity of its source’s hatred of me.
“Why am I here?” I croaked, a pain seizing hold of my chest as I did so. I began coughing and spluttering and could barely breathe for what must have been fifteen minutes while this continued. Then weak and scared, I curled up on the floor like a cat curled around a ball of wool, and sobbed painfully as the voice laughed wickedly through the telecomm. It was then that it all came back to me. Silvia’s Pass – that dreaded sign led to Silvia’s Pass – the sign from my dreams, the sign from reality too. That means that Newspaper must’ve brought me here... Ambrose! He must be running this... this... what is it exactly? I thought.
“Yes, Miss Fauls. Welcome to Silvia’s Pass’ Primary Prison,” the voice rumbled through the telecomm.
“Prison?!” I exclaimed huskily.
“Yes,” a different voice said.
“And you will stay here to make amends for the wrong that you have done and to prove to Ambrose your loyalty and worthiness. Once you have led us to Jacqueline, you are free to go. The longer you waste time not doing so, the longer your pretty, little life will be wasted jailed like a foolish canary,” it said.
“Newspaper?!” I gasped.
“Yes, Daphne. I’m on your side here. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but if you refuse to co-operate, then I may have to, Sunny Sunshine,” he said in that new, deep voice of his.
“Please!” I cried, but that was all I managed to say before the telecomm was switched off. My throat hurt and so did my chest.
I tried to barrel my way out of the door, but to no avail. Next, I tried the walls, but though they were hollow, no escape occurred. After a long day of trying to break free, I collapsed once more on the shiny tiles, bruised and hungry, but mostly resigned. I felt defeated. Lying there, I cried and thought of my life before Jacqueline. I didn’t want this gift – this sight! It had brought me nothing but misfortune. Now I was a prisoner and no one could come and rescue me.
I was sitting in small cell, which was one of many small cells, in a corridor filled with cells... in a building filled with corridors... The silence of my surroundings was not tense or forced, just natural, as not a word could escape my cracked lips. Nothing felt prearranged. Everything was a mess. I didn’t know what would happen next or why and nobody would tell me. It was like I had disappeared from the face of the earth and everyone had forgotten me, like radio signals lost in space... a radio station never to be tuned into by others again. I felt like an insignificant piece of paper filed among many others in a long-forgotten file...in the drawer of a long-forgotten cabinet... in a room filled with such cabinets. For days, I felt so alone, but one day I looked at the single, high up window of my cell and saw a mystical fowl – not quite a peacock, a dove or an eagle but some mixed breed with gilded wings and glowing eyes. It looked at me fiercely and I felt its thoughts penetrating the shatter-proof glass. You’re never alone, Daphne. Never, its thoughts rang in my ears, though they were in French. I felt extremely hot then, too hot to be comfortable, so I moved around feverishly arguing with the bird. No response came, so I looked back at the window to find the fowl had gone. It took me ages to realise that a note had somehow slipped onto the tiled floor. It was written on plain printing paper and the words made my heart jump beneath my ribs.
It read:
I wanted you to know, Daphne that I do care about you. I wanted you to know that I was sorry. I called you thirty-three times yesterday; reckon anyone but you would call me nuts after that revelation. I worried about you. I spent countless hours wondering where you were. I went to your house and you weren’t there. I asked your mom, but she said that you were with some friend of Don’s. I was scared. I know I haven’t been helpful, if anything I’ve let you down. I left you alone, completely alone and that wasn’t right of me. I saw this bird and... Well, I don’t even know if this message will get through to you, because I entrusted it to some weird bird that came out of nowhere and landed on my arm. I swear there was something other-worldly about that bird. It could... do things. I can’t explain that, not really. The point is: I really hope this gets through to you and if it has, please let me know somehow.
You need to know, Daphne. You have to know that, wherever you are, you are not alone.
(5287 Words)
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