By Jenny Twist (Broken/Desert/Voices)
There was someone running across the desert. Running hard. Just a silhouette against the blinding sun. But the figure was familiar. His voice cried in her head. “Olivia, where are you? Come! Come now!” And she tried to call back, but all that came out was a rusty squeak, “Aidan!”
He heard her anyway and began running towards her and that was when she first saw his pursuers, coming up fast, huge nightmare creatures with long, insectile legs.
Olivia woke up screaming.
She tried to persuade herself that it was just a dream, but she was left with such a feeling of dread that she couldn't go back to sleep. She switched on the bedside lamp and looked at the clock – 5am.
“Olivia.” Aidan's voice sounded again in her head. No dream this time.”Come! Come now! Mother -” His voice cut off as if someone had suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and another voice, deep and throaty, glutinous, said,” Yes, Olivia, come.”
She gave a shocked gasp. She had never before heard any other voice in her head except Aidan's.
Without stopping to think, she leapt out of bed and got dressed in the same clothes she wore yesterday. No time to grab clean clothes. On her way out, she grabbed her bag with her keys and mobile phone, hesitated, and then reached down her father's gun from over the door, then she ran hell for leather to the car.
Two and half hours journey to Aidan's. She bit her bottom lip and floored the accelerator. What the hell was that? Whose voice was that in her head? Hearing Aidan in her head was normal. They'd always spoken to each other that way, since they were old enough to speak. Just one of those things that twins share. But nobody else could do it, could they? How?
Driving as fast as she dared along the city roads, she went over her dream again. Obviously Aidan had been trying to reach her while she was asleep. Was trying to tell her something. Certainly that he was being pursued, but was there anything else? Any clue. Surely even in his dangerous profession he wasn't actually dealing with aliens. Maybe he was. It was the only thing he never discussed with her, ever. All she knew was that he worked for the government in some secret capacity. She had assumed for years that he was a spy. Maybe it was something even more dangerous.
Desert? Could that mean anything? He hadn't said he was going anywhere. He always told her if he went away. Even though he never said where. Oh dear God. What could she do, anyway? She didn't know anything about what she was getting into. Would he still even be there when she got there. She cursed the fact that they lived so far apart.
Shaking with frustration, she turned onto the motorway and floored the accelerator, the lyrics to Bat Out of Hell sounding uselessly in her head.
Another awful thought struck her. What if it could hear her think? She couldn't afford to worry about that. She just had to get there.
****
Two hours later, she came screaming round the corner in front of Aidan's house and screeched to a stop right behind his Skoda. It was daylight now. The house looked the way it always did. The front door was closed. The car was parked in its usual place. It didn't look like the scene of a drama.
She got out of the car, leaving the door unlocked and keeping the keys in her pocket. The gun she stuck in her belt. Then she ran up the path at the side of the house and round to the back door.
The door was wide open, swinging on its hinges as if someone had rushed through it moments ago. It creaked slightly in the breeze.
The kitchen was a mess. Chairs overturned, pans pulled down from the shelves, drawers pulled open.
Feeling numb with terror, Olivia forced herself to go forward into the living room. Same story. All the books taken off the shelves and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Even the cushions had been pulled off the settee.
She went through the house. Every room had been turned over. Every book, every drawer examined. No damage though. Just mess. Whoever it was had been looking for something. Had they found it? Maybe not. Certainly not until they had searched every nook and cranny. Even the toiletries in the bathroom cabinet had been thrown out. So, something small. Something that would fit in a book or behind a medicine bottle.
She stood helplessly looking round at the chaos.
They had taken Aidan and they had somehow stopped him from talking to her. But she didn't think they'd killed him. She'd know, surely, if he were dead.
She went back through the house, looking more carefully, looking for clues, but drew a blank.
Now what? She thought, slumping into the one kitchen chair that still stood upright. And then she saw the shattered jug under the table – Mother's Delft jug. It lay, broken in a hundred pieces, instantly recognisable with its distinct blue and white pattern. Mother. He said Mother just before he was cut off. Mother's jug?
Yes, there, amongst the wreckage lay a tiny piece of paper. He must have stuffed it in the jug as he heard them come in, and then contrived to knock it off the table as they dragged him out.
Good old Aidan. She picked it up and started to unfold it.
“Thank you,” said a voice behind her. A deep, throaty voice, glutinous.
There was someone running across the desert. Running hard. Just a silhouette against the blinding sun. But the figure was familiar. His voice cried in her head. “Olivia, where are you? Come! Come now!” And she tried to call back, but all that came out was a rusty squeak, “Aidan!”
He heard her anyway and began running towards her and that was when she first saw his pursuers, coming up fast, huge nightmare creatures with long, insectile legs.
Olivia woke up screaming.
She tried to persuade herself that it was just a dream, but she was left with such a feeling of dread that she couldn't go back to sleep. She switched on the bedside lamp and looked at the clock – 5am.
“Olivia.” Aidan's voice sounded again in her head. No dream this time.”Come! Come now! Mother -” His voice cut off as if someone had suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and another voice, deep and throaty, glutinous, said,” Yes, Olivia, come.”
She gave a shocked gasp. She had never before heard any other voice in her head except Aidan's.
Without stopping to think, she leapt out of bed and got dressed in the same clothes she wore yesterday. No time to grab clean clothes. On her way out, she grabbed her bag with her keys and mobile phone, hesitated, and then reached down her father's gun from over the door, then she ran hell for leather to the car.
Two and half hours journey to Aidan's. She bit her bottom lip and floored the accelerator. What the hell was that? Whose voice was that in her head? Hearing Aidan in her head was normal. They'd always spoken to each other that way, since they were old enough to speak. Just one of those things that twins share. But nobody else could do it, could they? How?
Driving as fast as she dared along the city roads, she went over her dream again. Obviously Aidan had been trying to reach her while she was asleep. Was trying to tell her something. Certainly that he was being pursued, but was there anything else? Any clue. Surely even in his dangerous profession he wasn't actually dealing with aliens. Maybe he was. It was the only thing he never discussed with her, ever. All she knew was that he worked for the government in some secret capacity. She had assumed for years that he was a spy. Maybe it was something even more dangerous.
Desert? Could that mean anything? He hadn't said he was going anywhere. He always told her if he went away. Even though he never said where. Oh dear God. What could she do, anyway? She didn't know anything about what she was getting into. Would he still even be there when she got there. She cursed the fact that they lived so far apart.
Shaking with frustration, she turned onto the motorway and floored the accelerator, the lyrics to Bat Out of Hell sounding uselessly in her head.
Another awful thought struck her. What if it could hear her think? She couldn't afford to worry about that. She just had to get there.
****
Two hours later, she came screaming round the corner in front of Aidan's house and screeched to a stop right behind his Skoda. It was daylight now. The house looked the way it always did. The front door was closed. The car was parked in its usual place. It didn't look like the scene of a drama.
She got out of the car, leaving the door unlocked and keeping the keys in her pocket. The gun she stuck in her belt. Then she ran up the path at the side of the house and round to the back door.
The door was wide open, swinging on its hinges as if someone had rushed through it moments ago. It creaked slightly in the breeze.
The kitchen was a mess. Chairs overturned, pans pulled down from the shelves, drawers pulled open.
Feeling numb with terror, Olivia forced herself to go forward into the living room. Same story. All the books taken off the shelves and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Even the cushions had been pulled off the settee.
She went through the house. Every room had been turned over. Every book, every drawer examined. No damage though. Just mess. Whoever it was had been looking for something. Had they found it? Maybe not. Certainly not until they had searched every nook and cranny. Even the toiletries in the bathroom cabinet had been thrown out. So, something small. Something that would fit in a book or behind a medicine bottle.
She stood helplessly looking round at the chaos.
They had taken Aidan and they had somehow stopped him from talking to her. But she didn't think they'd killed him. She'd know, surely, if he were dead.
She went back through the house, looking more carefully, looking for clues, but drew a blank.
Now what? She thought, slumping into the one kitchen chair that still stood upright. And then she saw the shattered jug under the table – Mother's Delft jug. It lay, broken in a hundred pieces, instantly recognisable with its distinct blue and white pattern. Mother. He said Mother just before he was cut off. Mother's jug?
Yes, there, amongst the wreckage lay a tiny piece of paper. He must have stuffed it in the jug as he heard them come in, and then contrived to knock it off the table as they dragged him out.
Good old Aidan. She picked it up and started to unfold it.
“Thank you,” said a voice behind her. A deep, throaty voice, glutinous.
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