Dark Heart Surrender (3 page)

Everything was going to be OK. It had to be.

‘So how’s it going at Pete’s? What’s he got you working on?’

Luca’s hesitation was just a split second too long and a small crease appeared in his forehead as he frowned.

‘What?’ I eyed him. ‘Is it the work? I’m sure there’s something else you can do if the construction is too boring—’

‘It isn’t that,’ Luca replied carefully. ‘It’s just we … well, we went over to the army training ground today. A property developer has bought up the land and everything needs clearing out.’ He trailed off, avoiding her gaze.

‘Oh. Right.’ I knew that my shoulders visibly slumped. ‘Sorry, I mean. How awful. That place …’ I swallowed, remembering that terrible night. ‘So creepy.’

‘It doesn’t get any less creepy in the daylight either.’ Luca bit his lip. ‘All those weird metal tools, like instruments of torture, rusting away.’

‘I remember when I first went there.’ I forced myself to remember being in the car with Evan, who turned out to be Raphael, and the aura of the place. Deadly, full of watching eyes somehow. ‘It seemed so full of ghosts.’

‘It is.’ Luca said obliquely. ‘That’s exactly what it is.’

My eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’

Luca’s intake of breath was sharp. ‘I can smell the dead.’

‘What?’ My own breath practically froze in my throat. But as I stared at Luca’s profile, I saw the faint quiver of his cheekbone and I pushed him hard, watching as he collapsed into laughter.

‘Don’t ever do that again!’ I said breathlessly, trying not to laugh along with him. ‘“I can smell the dead’’!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Luca’s eyes were a little damp from laughing and I realized how great it was to see him like this. My outrage – what there had been of it – dissolved as I couldn’t help grinning at the sight of him.

‘Seriously though.’ I arranged myself crosslegged on the bed. ‘It can’t have been great.’

‘Horrible – and I wasn’t entirely joking about the feeling I get from there. Of course I can’t smell the dead. But I could sense danger.’

I nodded. ‘Me too. There’s something … some bad spirits around that area – like something awful happened there once.’

We looked at each other, gravely now, and for the hundredth time I felt that bond charging between us. An understanding.

‘But you don’t have to worry about that,’ he said, tracing a finger up the bare part of my leg before putting his palm over my knee protectively. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Not again. I promise.’

‘Thank you.’ I picked up his hand and threaded my fingers through his. It felt good to know Luca wanted to protect me from all the bad things that could happen now.

But we both knew he couldn’t. Nobody could.

C
learing out the first of the damp Nissen huts was difficult and exhausting. Luca worked hard to get as much done as quickly as possible and to hide his nausea from Pete.

Everything other than the dirt-caked floor was rusted. Metal contraptions resembling torture instruments lay abandoned or hung creaking from two poles – or beams – from the roof. The wind caused the metal to creak and whistle. Luca avoided looking too closely at anything. He rubbed his face, which was reacting to some kind of dust, grime or rust allergy. His eyes smarted. His head felt heavy and light simultaneously.

After he had shifted most of the more manageable rusting rubble to the sides of the hut, he kicked at a larger machine of some kind on the ground unnecessarily, simply out of discontent.

‘Making progress?’ Pete’s gruff voice came from behind him. Turning he saw the old man at the door, his eyes sweeping the contents of the hut.

‘Think so.’ Luca pulled himself up straight. ‘But we need another pair of hands.’

Pete moved from the door, keeping his eyes on the boy. ‘Should be fine if we keep at it. You struggling?’

‘No!’ Luca’s response came out more emphatically than he had intended. ‘I mean, it’s just it will take us twice as long.’

‘Doesn’t bother me. We have the time. The developers are paying by the day. ‘Pete chuckled but he took in the look of anxiety on Luca’s face. ‘If you’re not up to it, son, there are plenty of kids who’ll take over the task.’ He kept his eyes on Luca’s, testing him.

‘Fine. That’s fine.’ Luca turned away, swallowing back the bile in his throat.

Pete perched on the broad handle of the machine. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around him, chewing slowly on his top lip. Self-conscious, Luca remained standing, exposed somehow.

‘No need to be afraid, boy,’ Pete said then, quietly. ‘Rumour is things have gone on here. Tales of mad dogs, wild animals at night.’ He scratched his head. ‘And there was one time, a year or two ago, it’s said there was a confrontation of some kind.’

Luca’s heart picked up a pace, though he kept his voice steady when he replied. ‘Yeah, I heard something.’

‘But the people around here …’ Pete waved his hand about dismissively. ‘They like to exaggerate. See, nothing much of anything goes on up in this mountain district. But in this kind of place, I guess it’s associated with conflict. A place where the military practise battle. A place of danger. People like to imagine that conflict still goes on here, long after the military have left – that there are evil forces at work.’

‘Do you believe them?’ Luca finally turned to look at the guy. ‘I mean, do you believe there are evil forces here?’

Pete scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘I believe there are things out there that we may not be able to see, or understand, that don’t amount to much good. That doesn’t mean that this place is a hotbed of evil.’ He paused. ‘I do think there are some pretty fierce wild animals out here. Wild dogs, wolves maybe.’

Luca knew his blood vessels were expanding. For a frantic second he thought he might be turning, but there was no full moon tonight. He was anxious. He felt somehow threatened. Some basic, primal instinct was closing in on him. He concentrated on regulating his breathing. Slowly it returned to normal.

‘I’m not afraid of wild animals,’ he told Pete. As he spoke he finally made eye contact with the old man. ‘In fact, human beings scare me more.’ There was a split second of confusion on Pete’s face before he smiled broadly at the boy. ‘I think you’re wise,’ he told him. ‘Scariest of them all, I reckon.’

Luca and Pete shared a relaxed moment, one of understanding, before Pete got to his feet. ‘It’s getting dark again,’ he said, dusting off his trousers. ‘I think we should knock off for the day, start again bright and early tomorrow.’

‘Sure.’ Luca smiled, relieved. He watched as Pete walked over to the hut’s entrance, then turned to find his jacket. He’d taken it off pretty early on and spotted it hanging on a nail on the wall near the back of the hut. As he crossed to get it, he tripped for the twentieth time that day on some piece of debris on the floor. His foot had encountered something hard and a twinge of pain shot through it. Wincing, he looked down at the offending article, but as he did so something else caught his eye. Jewellery. A chain, delicate, feminine, lay glinting slightly where his foot was. He bent to pick it up and felt another rush of bile coming up from his stomach.

The necklace was sticky with blood. Fresh blood.

I
 stared up at the college noticeboard, plastered with flyers on extracurricular classes, sports, stuff for sale, the date for the next student council meeting.

It was a pivotal moment. I was either in or I was out. Years of feeling like the outsider made me want, instinctively, to turn away. Student council wasn’t for me. I am not that kind of girl.

Except something had changed. Actually not just one thing. But a whole lot of things. And now, well, maybe I
was
that kind of girl.

‘Jane?’ The college principal was at my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, something mid-range expensive, strong and floral. I turned slightly, giving her a half-smile.

‘Hi, Mrs Connelly.’ She smiled back, her eyes flicking back to the noticeboard, settling, I knew without looking, on the notice about the student council meeting.

‘So,’ she said quietly, ‘have you had any thoughts about taking up leadership?’

I shrugged, feeling the heat on my cheeks. ‘I don’t know. I have so much on. And, really, I’m not sure I have the right kind of personality.’

‘I disagree.’ Her tone was mild, yet firm at the same time. ‘You have a kind of strength, a healthy disregard for what others think of you. You’re sensible. And I have noticed your maturity, your focus, your …’ She paused, taking in my startled expression. ‘You aren’t convinced?’

‘I don’t know.’ I shook my head. ‘I think you’re projecting a little too much—’

‘Projecting? Now there’s a word.’ She grinned. ‘See, I told you. You’re a little more mature than most girls your age. You seem to have a wisdom beyond your years. I don’t know where it comes from. But I can see it. I have watched you these past months.’

I cringed, recalling Mrs Connelly’s ‘spontaneous’ visits to classes over the last couple of terms. Standing at the back of the room, observing. I’d had no idea she was scouting the joint for a political prodigy. Then again, I was a little wrapped up in other things at the time. A certain Soren Balzac, for one. He and I had sparred often during his tutorials. I suppose to the outsider it might have looked like I was more questioning than the rest of the class.

But maybe it didn’t matter what had motivated my assertiveness with Soren. It just meant I wouldn’t let things drop. I always wanted answers.

‘OK,’ I said, after what seemed like a very long pause. ‘What would it involve exactly?’

‘Well, a big part of the role is to be a kind of counsellor to the other students. Someone they can come to with their issues about life at college. Not personal problems as such, though perhaps any difficulties they have with their studies because of obstacles outside of here. But mostly, things they would like to see improved. It is your role to be a representative of the students’ needs.’ She sighed. ‘Some of them will be petty – or things we can’t change. Some of them will be valid and I will need to know about them.’

‘Isn’t that the job of a teacher, a …’ I stopped. I was going to say ‘grown-up’, but Mrs C seemed to have intuited my thoughts anyway.

‘It’s the job of an adult, yes,’ she told me, looking intently into my eyes. ‘Which is what you are, isn’t it?’

‘Well, not quite. I mean, I’m not eighteen yet,’ I began a little pathetically. What was my point? Isn’t this what I wanted? To be seen as an adult? I smiled then, not needing to look at Mrs Connelly to know what her response would be. ‘OK. I’ll give it a go. Maybe a trial run for a few months.’

‘Of course,’ she said quickly, as though she was worried I would change my mind. ‘Why don’t you start today?’

‘Today?’ I looked at my watch. It was four p.m. I had no more classes. I had been hoping to get home to Luca.

‘If you don’t mind,’ she said briskly. ‘We have a new student. She started last week. Her name is Polly Ellis and she needs a mentor.’ Mrs C bent a little, lowering her voice. ‘Her family have been through a hard time in the last few years and Polly lacks confidence. But she is very bright, if a little surly. She needs to be encouraged, brought out of her shell.’

She sounds like who I used to be
, I thought, not sure I wanted to meet with my former self.

‘She reminds me a little of you,’ Mrs C said lightly, echoing my thoughts, her lips twitching slightly. ‘I don’t know why exactly.’

‘OK, so,’ I shifted awkwardly on my feet, ‘where is she, this Polly?’

The girl sitting in front of me twisted a strand of long red, poker straight hair in her fingers. It was coarse-textured like she’d used hair straighteners on it. I could see the slight kink of curls at her crown. I resisted the urge to tell her she should keep it natural. With her perfect, creamy-white skin, a little freckled over her small nose, and her pale-blue eyes – masked as they were by thick black eye-liner – she looked like a pre-Raphaelite painting. The Lady of Shalott. Except for the grungy leather jacket and the tight tartan dress, the black tights and the creepers, that is.

‘You done staring at me?’ she said in a monotone. She stuck the strand of hair in her mouth and sucked on it in a pointed kind of way. If she’d given me the finger she couldn’t have made it more obvious what she thought of me.

‘Sorry,’ I said, trying to put some authority into my voice. ‘I was just thinking that you looked like a painting.’

Her little nose wrinkled up, but she looked interested. ‘A painting?’

‘Yes. Like a Rossetti …’ I drifted off, seeing the obliviousness in her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter. I guess I am just trying to say you’re – striking.’

‘Yeah?’ She shifted in her seat. ‘Thanks.’

‘So,’ I leaned forward, cupping one knee with my hands, ‘you’ve just moved to the area?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Only you’ve just started here. I thought maybe—’

‘Yeah, well,’ Polly looked down at her hands. ‘I kind of … well, my parents kind of … well, they’re not too keen on schools.’

‘Oh.’ I shrugged. ‘You’ve been home-schooled?’