Freedom! I never really understood what that word meant. I knew that it must be horrible not to have control over your own life and I thought that I could feel real empathy for those who were not free, but I was wrong. I never really understood about captivity, about how cut off a person could feel from everything and everyone. It is enough to drive someone mad, sitting or lying around all day everyday. The walls seem to close in on you; everything tighter and hotter and harder until it is all a blur. Hunger burns deep within you. I recall that hunger; a hunger that was every bit as strong as all the guards and walls and other forces that were used to hold me in, to keep me prisoner. It was not a normal hunger, not one I was used to. I could down the entire contents of my daily tray of food and still feel it writhing in the pit of my stomach like a ferocious animal. All that would satisfy it was escape. I was deprived of true movement and felt suffocated. The close proximity of the solid structures around me seemed to throttle my energy, my breath, my physical strength, but not my hunger. I was determined to get out, somehow. Lying seemed like my only chance of freedom before the final plan came into action. Ace had told me not to do anything stupid, that time would pass soon enough and then we would be out of that miserable place, but how can you listen to the words of someone who can fly off in any direction daily when you are trapped like a canary in an ill-fitted cage?
Walking down the corridor was pure bliss. My feet pressed lightly onto the cool, smooth floor, carrying my achy body towards the prison bathroom. It was a special luxury now. For months I had only the small toilet at the far end of my cell, but now once a week I could go to a real bathroom. I walked cautiously with my hands cuffed behind my back and an unsheathed sword pressed up against my spine as a warning threat. It forced me forward at a steady pace, not that I really needed the encouragement. I always looked forward to September’s Wednesdays in the jail; the flushing toilet with the porcelain seat, the wash basin with a bar of Dettol soap, and the two minute shower I was permitted with the shampoo and soap, the tooth brush and peppermint-flavoured paste. Never in my life would I have anticipated that a little trip to the bathroom would make me so happy. It was the closest thing there was to freedom and it felt good.
As I reached the door, the guard uncuffed my weary wrists and pushed me into the restroom. His usual lecture about how I would be a fool to so much as contemplate running away followed, and I nodded and gave my usual snap of response – something to the effect of: how stupid do you think I am? – and he laughed cruelly and told me to get on with my business. This was my reward. I had sent Ambrose on a wild goose chase to Kimberely in search of Jacqueline, assuring him that she had specifically told me she was going there. I often fantasized him falling into the Big Hole, but then I would tell myself that that was unfair – even if my reward for such information was just a weekly trip to the bathroom. First, I set about brushing my teeth. There was a tooth brush there that I now called my own, and a tube of Colgate that smelled really delectable. The water was cold but that didn’t matter. The aircon system at the prison was quite remarkable. The temperature now was the same as it had been in June, July and August. There was no way of sensing a change of season or weather pattern. Things were a lot better now than they had been though. I brushed all along my teeth and gums and my tongue too, taking my time and imagining what my teeth looked like as there was no mirror. Then, I switched on the tap again and gargled my fluoride-filled mouth with the bitingly cold water cupped in my frail hands. The guard stood a few paces behind me, watching, always watching. There was no such thing as privacy in the prison. I doubted whether any of the workers there had ever heard of it, but I was used to it by then. The months had been dull. Apart from nightly phone calls to Ace, not much happened. A tray of edible but tasteless slosh and a glass of water would be delivered every morning. At noontime Newspaper let me make my requests. I had remembered what Ace said about them needing my knowledge about Jacqueline and not wishing to have me die, so I had notified them of my sickness and other needs and these were seen to. A doctor came to check on me twice a month and administer the necessary medication. I asked him if he knew where he was and he just smiled and said that it didn’t matter much to him. I scowled but didn’t ask any more questions. The doctor didn’t care about the strange place that had imprisoned a fifteen-year-old girl, he only cared about the money Ambrose was paying him to treat the sickly girl.
The shower felt wonderful, refreshing and energising. It was short but I felt rejuvenated and enlightened, my newly washed hair tumbling over my bare shoulders as I stepped out onto the hard, cold floor. I hated that the guard stood there all the while; watching me as I sat on the loo, his eyes on me as I undressed and entered the narrow shower, still looking when I got out. My hair was extremely long and straight by then, darker than it had ever been and silky soft. My body was skinnier and my skin smoother too. I knew, without ever having met Ace, that I was becoming just like her. The piece of towelling waiting for me on a hook on the wall was coarse and smelled of mould, but it did the trick of drying me, more or less. There were some clean garments waiting to be worn. I had insisted that laundry be done every Wednesday as I could not bare the thought of getting back into the filthy black dress and underwear I had been wearing the rest of the week after a decent shower. They never did find clothes the right size for me; the dresses were always too short and tight and the undergarments were an even worse fit. I gave up on wearing any form of top underneath the dress as the vests were even more uncomfortable than the dress itself! I told Ace about the clothing problem and she said that I had a right to decently fitted attire and that I should complain.
Complain? What exactly do you expect me to do, Ace? Demand that they buy me something more comfortable? Underwear that actually fits? No, I couldn’t possibly!!! It’s bad enough that they watch me all the time… How do you have the guts to do things like that? I thought.
Walking back down the corridor, I felt the sense of dread that always came when I realised that I was going to be locked up in my little room for another week. I had ways to pass the time now, at least. As part of Ace’s ingenious plan, I had been sucking up to Newspaper, making him sympathise with me, listen to me, like me even. I now had a single light bulb in my ceiling which was switched on for twelve hours a day so that I could read. Yes, I had requested books and my wish was granted. Day after day, I sat reading. I read fiction and non-fiction, comics, magazines, newspapers, Newpaper’s schoolwork – whatever was given to me. Endless sci-fi, fantasy, thriller, adventure and horror novels to quench my thirst for action… The historical documentaries, journals and biographies opened my eyes and broadened my knowledge greatly. The magazines were quick pieces of entertainment; light-reading which I enjoyed now and then. Newspapers, on the other hand, though often rather sensational, were for the most part depressing and energy-draining. That day was no different from any other, not really. The guard closed the door behind me and I heard the clicking of the latch, then crawled backwards and snatched up a novel. That morning I had finished reading a real classic – Frankenstein – and it was now time for something a little more modern. Gemma Malley’s books, The Declaration and The Resistance, had been brilliant and I wondered if maybe I should read the last book in the trilogy. There was also a collection of short stories by Roald Dahl that sounded rather unusual and funny… I wasn’t really in the mood for laughing though, so perhaps I could try the second book to A Great and Terrible Beauty. It was entitled Rebel Angels and sounded every bit as gripping as its predecessor. Then, I thought to look at the book currently in my clasp. It was a thick hardcover with dusty fabric bindings and stiff cream-coloured pages. I eyed it thoughtfully, swiping my bony fingers across the front cover and coughing as dust arose. I wiped off as much dust as I needed to in order to make out the title.
“Very well,” I said to myself.
“A Life Lived by Alyssa Shuttle. Yes, that’s what I’ll read next.”
I leaned forward in search of my bookmark – the second letter Roberto had sent to me – and then settled against the wall to read. Three chapters later, I paused to reread what was written on my bookmark. I had read the handwritten words countless times, knew the letter off by heart, and I clung to it like a frightened child clinging to her mother’s skirt. I uttered my favourite part out loud, smiling sadly at the wall as I thought of my old life.
“Everyday more leaves fall from that big, old tree beside the cemetry. The leaves are massive, crispy ones that little kids love to trample on. It’s weird but they seem to change colours in my eyes. Maybe I’m hallucinating or maybe it’s that sight kicking in... The other day they looked a sort of teal-ish colour – grey mixed in with blue, almost the colour of your eyes I think. That was really weird. I think I’ve really lost it now. I don’t understand how this stuff works – the birds, the letters, the sight. I don’t know if I ever will, but I’ll try to. That much I can guarentee.”
After that, I went back to reading the dusty, old book with the fabric bindings. The air around me seemed to cool as I read, but I didn’t bother to look up at the strange air con attached to the ceiling. That would mean tearing my eyes away from Alyssa Shuttle’s stimulating writing. The protagonist, Luke, was a very complex character. I thought that I had him all figured out after the first three chapters – after he had visited his neighbour’s grandmother at the old age home and brought her home-baked peppermint tart – but I was wrong. As soon as the mysterious murder and break-in at the mental assylum, four streets away from the old-aged home, took place I realised I had been wrong about him. His reaction was cool and unsurprised. He acted indifferent at first, but then when he bumped into his neighbour’s ex-girlfriend, he had a break down. It took me a while to come to grips with what was happening, but by the time I had reached Chapter 15 I had established that Luke was not a bad person and neither was the strange girl, Mattie Greys, but that they were both guilty of the most peculiar crimes. All I needed to find out was why. Why had Mattie Greys taken part in the crime at all? What was she getting out of it all? Money? Fame – or rather infamy? And what was her relationship with Luke? Were they enemies or allies, and, either way, was their association purely business-orientated?
My thoughts were interrupted by the familiar sound of an old science-fiction movie. Groaning, I picked up my phone and pressed the green button.
“What do you want?”
“Nice greeting for me there, Daphne.” There was a little laugh to be heard but I was too irritated about having my reading time interrupted to reciprocate.
“Don’t worry. I won’t trouble you with the details of our you-know-what if you are too busy,” she said in her mischievous voice.
“Ace!!!”
“Uh... Yes, that is my name...”
“Ace, what the hell is going on? I thought you said there was no chance of you-know-what happening until at least November!” I exclaimed.
“Glad to have gotten your attention,” she answered silkily.
“You’ve more than gotten it! Tell me! Tell me everything!”
“Alright, alright. Calm down, you!”
“Please?”
“OK, Daphne. Here’s the deal: students do not wish to have a social function around exam period.”
“No wonders why.”
“Exactly. So, a little birdie may have vented to me...”
“A little birdie?” I chuckled.
“Well, I may have told said birdie to buzz off and find someone else to whine to... Or I may have given him a suggestion.”
“The suggestion being?”
“Why not bring the event forward a couple of months? Sure, you’re date might go into a frenzy to find a suitable dress or whatever, but in the long run...”
“That’s brilliant, Ace!” I gasped.
“Why, thank you. I did think so at the time.”
“And not now?”
“Of course now, you idiot,” she laughed jokingly. My ears detected a faint scraping noise in the background on the other end of the line.
“Ace, what are you doing?”
“Shaving my legs.”
“What?! Seriously, Ace!”
“I was being serious,” she said curtly.
“But they’d never let you keep a razor in your cell! It’s a weapon.”
“Oh, no? You think they’d be more likely to let me use some hot wax? In any case, they’re not worried about me attacking anyone to get out. I could break free as a bird any time I like. They’ve grown to trust me, seeing as I have no one to fly to on the outside.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly are you shaving your legs?”
“You would be too, if they let you have a razor in your possesion.”
“Would not!”
“You telling me that you know how to wax your legs all alone?”
“Why would I want to, Ace? We’re in prison. There are many other things I’d rather do.”
“Yes, well, I hope you are looking very pretty at the moment,” she said smoothly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I almost shouted.
“Charm, Daphne. Charm. Inwardly, outwardly, in every possible form. That is your ticket, remember that.”
“What makes you so sure that this is going to work?”
“Another little birdie made me a promise.”
“Oh, yeah? What promise?”
“He said he’d make old Hector think of you, of how wonderful you are and bla, bla, bla.”
“So that he asks me to go with him?”
“Precisely.”
“And you’re sure that we can trust him, Ace?” I whispered nervously.
I heard a sigh and more scraping and then, “Don’t you trust Roberto?”
A little wave of silence settled over my cell as I contemplated what Ace had just told me. Then, I heard the faint scraping on her end of the line again.
“Okay, okay... So, what do you want me to do?” I whispered.
“Glad you thought to ask, Daphne,” she chuckled excitedly.
“I have it all planned out.”
The following day I awoke as a new person. My tummy bubbled with anxiety and excitedness as I flicked through the pages of Newspaper’s history essay.
“Well?” he asked me, impatiently rattling the bars of the lcoked gate in front of the open cell door.
“It’s very insightful and informative,” I said slowly, pronouncing each syllable with a clear, cheery voice and forcing a smile onto my face. I hoped it all appeared sincere.
“You think so?” Newspaper queried, eyeing me hopefully.
“Absolutely! It’s very good,” I beamed, tucking a strand of rod-straight hair behind my left ear before handing his paper back through the bars.
“You’re enjoying school then?” I tried to say as casually as I could.
“Guess so.”
“Lot of stress at the moment?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we’ve got this Grade 10 dance thing coming up and people have been paying more attention to that than the work, I guess.”
“A dance?”
“Ja. It’s compulsory so even those of us who can’t dance...”
“Have to go,” I finished for him smilingly.
“Right.”
“So, do you have to bring dates?”
“Your supposed to, ja... Kind of a disgrace if you don’t.”
“Well, at least you won’t be disgraced then,” I cooed, my stomach reeling.
“Oh, no?” he asked sceptically.
“Don’t play dumb! I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“Who?”
“Your date. She must be so excited to be going there with you.”
“Right... I have to go. Ambrose said he’d call from Kimberley around eleven,” he answered distractedly. I nodded and felt my heart plummet. My one chance at escape and it did not seem to be working... I sighed and went back to reading my book.
Midday came several chapters later. I tried to ask Newspaper more about the dance but he seemed to be on a different planet.
Typical! He wants to hear everything I have to say when I don’t want to tell him anything, and whenI need him to listen he doesn’t give a damn! This is never going to work!!!! I thought miserably.
“Newspaper?”
“Yep?”
“You don’t have a date do you?”
“That’s nice of you to say,” he smirked bitterly.
“Well...”
“Well what?!” he snapped.
“It’s not like I could take you!”
“Why not?” I asked in as innocent a voice as I could muster.
“Are you mad? You’re a prisoner, Fauls!”
“I haven’t much to do ‘round here anyways. Let me be of service at least. I feel so useless!”
“Na-uh. That’s not it. That’s not it at all!”
“What are you on about?” I sighed.
“Do you think I’m stupid?!” he exploded.
“No.”
“Then shut up! You’re not getting out of this cell! You’re not using me for some crazy escape plot!”
“There is no way of me escaping! You know that, Hector! Keep me by your side all the time and I’m useless – there’s nothing I could do!”
“So you expect me to believe that the reason that you want to go to the dance has got nothing to do with escape?” he fumed.
“Fresh air is all, just a bit of a breather... And I like dances,” I tried in a humble tone. Newspaper sighed and told me that he would have to check with Ambrose.
“Thank you, Newspaper,” I said coyly.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he muttered, slamming the door and locking it. As soon as I heard his footsteps fade into nothingness, I leaned back against the wall and sighed, rubbing my queasy belly.
“Bastard,” I murmured, cocking my head to the side and slipping into a meditative half-sleep filled with puzzling daydreams.
Nightfall found me curled up with my book, wondering what Luke was going to do to the cat’s corpse when suddenly interrupted by an unfamiliar sound. High-pitched and clear, but soft – it chimed sweetly and gave off a strong sensation of movement. It felt as though the sound had come from inside my head; I felt an intense vibration beneath my temple, a flicker behind my eye sockets and a shiver along my jaw.
What is that? Can only I hear it or everyone else too? I thought nervously.
The sound grew stronger and stronger; not necessarily louder but just tenser and more powerful. That didn’t even make any sense! How could a sound be more intense without being louder? I didn’t know but it made me feel sick, and then the light went out. I was adamant that the sound waves had somehow killed the light. It was a bizarre idea but I was so certain about it, so instinctively certain. My stomach tightened like a clenched fist and I felt the chime rattling between my ears. It pierced every part of my head, painful and overpowering, until I had to squeeze my eyes closed and press the palms of my hands over my ears. Everything was a jumble. I felt pain and terror and the heated vibrations of the high-pitched sound, but there was a new feeling seeping into me along with all that. Invasion. I felt like something had eradicated all the barriers defending my mind and was now roaming there freely, doing as it liked.
Oh, my stars! I’m going to die! I thought, biting my lip so hard that it began to bleed.
No, you’re not, a voice said. I remember screaming and shaking myself violently. The voice was not natural, not normal. It sounded eerie and otherworldly and the worst part of it was that it was coming from inside my own head.
Shut up! Shut up! You don’t exist!!!! my mind’s voice moaned as I rolled around the room with my head clasped in my arms.
Oh, but I do. I do, I do, I do!
The voice kept talking to me, tormenting me with every word even as I repeatedly hit my head against the wall.
Poor child, it whispered menacingly.
So many of those you love will be taken from you. They will forget you. Then they cannot love you, but you will always love them and how you shall yearn for them... Desire them with all the substance that is you... but you will never have them again – again? Did I say again? Do they truly love you now? Is anything permanent? Is anything real? What about the boy? The one who writes the letters...
“ENOUGH!!!” I screamed, out loud this time. I lay in a heap on the floor, my head hot and heavy in a puddle of my own blood. The noise faded, taking the voice of the invader and the extreme agony with it. I lay for several minutes sobbing painfully, and then my phone rang.
“Ace?” I whispered, shivering all over.
“Daphne, was someone in your cell?” Ace asked hastily, a hint of anxiety showing beneath her clearly pronounced words.
“No. Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath and lifted my hand up to feel my wounded head. When I brought it back down, it looked as though I had bathed it in a mixture of tomato juice and coffee powder.
“I – I don’t know,” I murmered, drawing my hand closer to my face to see if my eyes were deceiving me. Reddish brown liquid covered my palm and, surely enough, trickled down the side of my head and dripped onto the hard floor.
“Daphne, are you okay?” Ace asked; her voice shaky with worry.
“Something attacked me,” I said, trembling terribly all over now and crying in pain.
“Something got into my head and I tried to fight it... It said awful things and it... The noise...”
I shuddered, recalling the tremendous, eerie chime.
“I couldn’t stand it, Ace! So I tried to get it out and I hit my head again and again... I wanted it to go... I just wanted it to go...”
I was struggling to breathe through my tears and my head felt heavier than a sack of potatoes, weighing me down.
“It’s alright, Daphne. Everything will be just fine,” Ace said gently.
“How... can you... possibly... know that?” I choked.
“It’s part of your transition.”
“Transition?” I repeated confusedly.
“Into one of us. Daphne, in a few days time you will cease to be human,” she said tentatively.
“No!” I moaned.
“That can’t be right.”
“I’m sorry, but it is. Soon you will be able to harness more powers than just the Voice.”
“The Voice?” I spluttered miserably.
“Yes. That sound you heard is the Voice. It can be cruel at times, but it is very useful. While it may riddle and mock, when it speaks in statement it tells the truth.”
“Ace, that thing – the Voice – is evil!” I cried.
“No, it’s not. That’s like saying that having the sight is evil, Daphne,” she said calmly.
“I didn’t ask for any of this.”
“You didn’t have to. Whether by fate or fortune this came to you, these gifts are yours by right.”
“Gifts?” I hiccoughed.
“More like curses!”
Ace sighed and said that I should get some rest, and then hung up the phone.
The next week crept by at a snail’s pace. My head was treated and I spent most of my time either reading or arguing with Newspaper. I spoke to Ace every night on the phone, but each night she seemed more detached and the scraping sound on her end of the line grew louder. Wednesday was the big day – another trip to the bathroom and three days before Newspaper’s school dance.
“Daphne,” he whispered, after having relieved the guards of their duties about my person.
“Yes?” I said evenly, screwing the cap back onto my toothpaste tube.
“You’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I smiled, trying to make light of what he was saying. Newspaper laughed and held out his hand. I took it after some hesitation and followed him down the corridor.
“Where is everyone?” I asked timidly, having never been down so many different corridors in the prison.
“This is everyone,” he said smoothly, leading me down yet another grey-walled corridor.
I looked around, expecting to see several sets of eyes boring into me from along the walls.
“There’s no one here!” I gasped.
“Well, we only have five prisoners and not much guarding is required.”
“What was I right about?” I asked cautiously as he led me into a small, red-walled room.
“About Luke.”
“What?”
“Luke,” he repeated firmly.
“I don’t know a Luke,” I hissed confusedly.
“Yes, you do. He’s the main character in your book.”
“What am I right about then?”
“That he had a son.”
“How did you know I’d guessed that?” I asked incredulously. I had never discussed A Life Lived with anyone.
“That’s not important,” he said hastily.
“The point is – he had two sons.”
“Two? It never mentioned that anywhere in the book!”
“No, it didn’t, but it’s still true. I am Luke’s one son.”
“What?! I think you’re losing it, Hector. Luke is a fictional character.”
“No, he’s not,” Newspaper said curtly.
“I’ll take you to the dance with me if you find my brother.”
My jaw dropped. How was I supposed to find somebody who did not exist? I fiddled with the rough material of my ridiculously short dress anxiously. How could I pass up an opportunity for escape like this? After all Ace’s planning, saying no to Newspaper was madness.
“Alright,” I breathed. Newspaper grinned.
“Now, why did you bring me here?” I asked curiously, peering at the two old-fashioned wardrobes up against the back wall.
“Thought you’d like to find something decent to wear,” he answered smilingly, pulling open the doors of one of the cupboards to reveal a rail of hung up dresses, coats, skirts and shirts.
“Oh. What sort of...?” I left my question hanging, not sure quite how to phrase it.
“Smart casual, if that helps,” Newspaper chuckled. I walked up to the cupboard on the right, trailing my fingers along the material of its contents thoughtfully, looking out for colours that I liked. It was in the second wardrobe that I found what I was looking for – a dress of a simple design with its skirt made of soft, flexible fabric that had spaghetti straps and a low back. The bodice was not made of the same fabric as the rest of the dress; instead it was made of a taut, well-starched material that looked almost as if it had been sewn onto a person’s body. The article was black and elegant but modest. Provided that it fitted, it would be just the thing to wear to the dance. Newspaper must have seen me taking down its hanger and holding the dress up in front of me, trying to figure out if the length was right.
“Well, try it on,” he said impatiently. I nodded and then looked around for a place to change.
“Back of the room,” Newspaper commanded. I nodded and took the dress with me to the back of the room, where I found an old-fashioned folding screen that I had not seen upon entering.
“Does it fit?” he called as I struggled with the adjustable straps of the dress, trying to make them longer to accommodate my height. Satisfied that the straps at least fitted properly, I stepped out from behind the screen. Newspaper marched forward for his inspection, suddenly businesslike.
“Suppose it would’ve looked a bit longer on a normal person but showing a bit of your legs isn’t too bad,” he muttered, circling me thoughtfully.
Normal person? So, what – I’m not normal?!?! That’s nice to know... Guess I could never be normal –especially not now... Not after all of this... But I don’t think that’s what he means... Normal? My height? Must be... I thought.
“No, not bad at all. Almost gothic with your hair, but it fits alright,” Newspaper continued.
He carried on talking but I’d stopped listening as the conversation seemed to be aimed more at him than me and long monologues could really bore me. Eventually, my assessor had decided that the dress passed the test and I was allowed to go and change back into my usual prison attire, and was then escorted back to my cell. Newspaper promised to take good care of the dress and that he would inquire about shoes. I told him my shoe size was somewhere between a six and a seven – a fact which had not altered in nearly two years. Newspaper said that he would have to sneak me out of my cell and back into the room with the cupboards some time before Saturday to try on his selection of shoes. I worried that these would not be shoes appropriate for the dress, but was proved wrong on Thursday. I found a pair of the most fantastic, shiny black sandals with little flowers on the sides and really low heels – more like thin slices of rubber really - so that I wouldn’t look taller than my date. They fitted and were perfect for the dress. I felt real excitement course through my body just preparing for and thinking of Saturday night.
During the course of Friday, I flicked through the pages of “A Life Lived” in an attempt to find any clue as to what Newspaper had been talking about. I had finished reading the old, dusty book the previous night. Not a single mention of a child, or children for that matter, arose. Sighing, I replaced the book atop a pile of others and began to doze. Newspaper was very energetic that day. At breakfast he had told me a whole lot of his theories about his brother’s whereabouts and at lunchtime he was talking animatedly about the dance. I had often wondered how he managed to get to the prison and back to school in the space of breaks at school without anyone noticing his absence but I never got around to asking.
Saturday came at last. It was five thirty when Newspaper came. He led me through darkened passageways, out into the open. The feeling of fresh outdoor air pierced my nostrils for the first time in months. It tasted so good, so bitingly crisp. We reached a tiny car parked in what looked like a greenhouse. I decided that there was no time for questions, not then. Newspaper kept looking around, checking that no one had seen us leave. I had assumed that he had asked Ambrose about this, but now I was filled with doubt and nerves. There were two people already in the car – a big man in a bow tie and top hat behind the steering wheel and a skinny girl wearing a feathered mask in the back seat. I joined her at the back and Newspaper clambered into the front seat, quietly closing the door behind him. With that we were off. No music played in the car and no one spoke. I got changed into my dress and sandals and Newspaper kept his eyes on the road. I didn’t ask any questions, I could barely breathe. This was it – this was finally it!
Freedom. That word seemed so strange, so unreal. The air around me cut through the invisible chain-links around my wrists and ankles that had bound me to my cell. It chilled every inch of my slender form, ripping through my lungs as I breathed it in, deeply, gratefully. The dancing was difficult at first. My legs struggled to move in time to the upbeat music as I was not used to too much movement any more. Newspaper guided me though, gently swirling me around and keeping a supportive hand about my waist. Finally the music began to slow; I felt dizzy but grateful. The girl who had been in the car with us was nowhere to be seen but Newspaper barely seemed to notice. He had completely forgotten about her and it was my duty to keep it that way.
“Do you want to get a drink?” Newspaper asked, nervously taking in my dizzy state of unfitness.
“No, no. I like this song! Let’s dance,” I panted, attempting enthusiasm in my tone.
“Are you sure? It’s very slow,” he said sceptically.
“Exactly! I can manage a nice slow waltz.”
“A what?”
“Oh, never mind. Any kind of dance you can do; I don’t care. Let’s dance!” I said forcefully, guiding my confused date further into the thicket of dancing couples so that he couldn’t run away.
“OK,” he murmured, taking my right hand in his and placing his other hand steadily on my waist. I tried an excited smile but I felt a little sick and it must have come out as more of a nervous one.
“It’s alright, you know. You’re just a bit weak from...” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I saw the guilt in his eyes.
“You’re a lovely dancer,” he said huskily, looking away for just a second.
“It’s not your fault. I know you couldn’t turn down Ambrose,” I whispered, feeling bad about his predicament.
“Well, I should have,” he said, looking me straight in the eye. For a moment I was thrown. I pictured pixies doing cartwheels in my gut, and reckoned that something of the sort must be going on there. I couldn’t drop the plan, not now.
“You could let me go,” I whispered, trembling.
“Where would you go?”
We were still dancing, only very slowly now, keeping eye contact and refraining from blinking – seeing who held the power.
“Not home. I would go somewhere they would never find me and I could say it was Ace’s fault I escaped, not yours. They would never suspect you if I wasn’t found in a place familiar to either me or you.”
“I’m sorry, Daphne. I can’t do that,” he whispered. I could see that he meant it.
“No matter,” Ace said smugly, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the dance floor in her immaculate red dress and six-centimetre heels.
“We weren’t really asking your opinion.”
Newspaper looked at first confused and then suddenly angry and panicked. He gripped me firmly and pulled me tightly towards him shouting at Ace to leave before things got nasty.
“Nasty!” she giggled playfully, tugging a lose strand of Coke-black hair behind her ear.
“Right now it looks as though the nastiest thing that could happen would be for you to kiss Daphne, and, nasty as I am sure that would be, it is not too terrible and I doubt it would happen anyway.”
I tried to pull away from Newspaper but he held me firmly, scowling and scarlet in the face.
“No worries, Daphne,” Ace smiled wickedly, extending her left arm towards my shoulder.
Freedom! Freedom is when a bird escapes its cage, when a prisoner escapes his cell, when a slave escapes his master. Freedom: the wind brushing through your wild hair as you run for your life. Running hand-in-hand with someone who has just created an extravagant explosion from the thin air feels amazing. Running along the road, as black as your loose, flying hair, feels magical. You feel like you are in an adventure movie. Escape! No longer running, but flying... You are the bird let loose – the bird on its way, inevitably, to paradise.
(6320 Words)
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