Shadows (7 page)

‘If you fight real demons, why would you want to read made-up stories about them?’

‘Some of it’s hilarious. And not all of it’s made up.’

I pull the blanket tighter around me. It’s the middle of the day at home, but I’m tired enough to sleep.

‘You still having those dreams?’

‘Not since you showed up at the bar.’

We’re quiet for a moment. And then: ‘Why did you call me Matt?’

‘It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now that I know you, I realise I should have called that character Dick.’

He laughs, and the couch shakes. ‘Honestly, Gabe, I forgot you could be this much fun.’

Church bells wake me. Loud, clanging bells that sound like they’re inside my head. I don’t even have the brief luxury of disorientation. I know exactly where I am. Well, sort of.

Rafa’s arm is draped over me, his body pressed against mine. There’s no way he can be sleeping through this noise, but he’s giving no signs of being awake. Maybe he’s pretending to sleep so he can keep holding me. But that kind of thinking will only lead to me feeling stupid again. Rafa’s got his own game going on here. If I had more experience with men, I could work it against him. But no matter what he says, I’m only eighteen. And while I’ve come close, I’ve never actually been with a guy. Before the accident, there were plenty of close encounters, but afterwards, I didn’t want anyone to touch me. And then
along comes Rafa…But if what he says is true, and I’m a hundred and thirty-nine years old, then clearly I’m not a virgin.

I’ve only been awake a few minutes and I’ve managed to tie my brain in a knot again.

The bells finally stop. Behind me, Rafa stirs and draws me closer.

‘Morning, Gabriella,’ he says, his voice still heavy with sleep.

‘Where are we?’

‘Same place we were a few hours ago.’ He nuzzles the back of my neck.

I push his arm away and sit up.

‘Hey.’ He grabs me. ‘Come back here and keep me warm.’

His grip is light, so I slap his hand away and stand up. The room might be musty, but it’s a vast improvement on Rafa’s shack in Pan Beach. The walls are white and clean, and the couch looks antique-expensive. No wonder it was so uncomfortable. Above the fireplace is a school of fish made from beaten copper, each stuck to the wall individually, and there’s an ornate silver plate propped up on the mantelpiece. The fire is down to a few flickering coals. I throw more wood on, and go to the window.

I stand there for a good five minutes, taking in the view. It’s a town of whitewashed buildings with flat roofs.
Beyond the houses, the sea stretches out in all directions. Is that a cruise ship in the distance? I press my face against the cold glass. Down the road is a church with a white dome and arches hung with bells.

‘Worked it out yet?’ Rafa is behind me.

My breath fogs the window. ‘We’re in Greece somewhere, aren’t we?’

‘Patmos.’

I turn. He’s still got his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, his hair’s mussed and the first signs of stubble have appeared. For a second, I wish I was back lying next to him on the couch.

‘It was Jude’s idea to get a place here. He liked the irony.’

Patmos. The name is familiar. ‘The Apostle John was exiled here.’ Strange I can remember that, but not that I’m descended from fallen angels.

‘Back in the days before the place was crowded with tourists and cruise ships.’

I run my fingers through my hair. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a brush here somewhere?’

Rafa nods in the direction of the hallway. ‘Second door on the left is Jude’s room. There are a few things in there. Help yourself.’

The door is plain timber. It’s not latched. All I have to do is nudge it. On the other side is a room that supposedly belonged to Jude. A room I never knew existed—in
a house my brother shared with a man I don’t remember. My stomach twists. I don’t know what’s unsettling me more: the idea I might discover something new about Jude, or the fear I won’t.

‘You need a hand there?’ Rafa asks, watching me from the window.

I ignore him and push open the door.

Inside, there’s a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, all made from dark, heavy timber. Out the window is a hill dotted with olive trees. The bed has been stripped of its blanket, but the rest of the room is strangely neat. I pick up a pillow and inhale deeply. Is there a hint of Jude there, or is that just wishful thinking?

The bookcase is crammed with paperbacks and hardback books. I run my finger over the spines. Two whole shelves are dedicated to books about angels and demons. Volumes on Judaeo-Christian and Islamic theology, and a brightly illustrated tome on Hindu teachings. Essays on the concept of the human soul. I count ten bibles and six volumes of apocryphal writings. Copies of the Talmud and the Koran. In Hebrew and Arabic. I pull a few out and flip through them. One after the other is peppered with underlining and handwritten notes. Jude’s spidery scrawl.

There’s also a smattering of crime novels by various writers in English, Italian and German, and what might
possibly be first editions of
The Lord of the Rings.
Cracked, leather-bound covers.

I open the wardrobe, expecting to find clothes. Instead, I find swords and knives.
Dozens
of deadly weapons of all shapes and sizes. The shelves have been removed and the weapons hang on hooks on the sides and back of the wardrobe. It’s a mass murderer’s tool shed. I close the doors and stand there for a few seconds, just breathing.

I go to the drawers, almost afraid to open them. I start with the bottom one. A few stray socks and a pair of combat boots. Of course the boots are in a drawer—it’s not like you’d put them in your weapons cupboard.

I open the second drawer: t-shirts and light-knit jumpers. I recognise a few of them from our backpacking days…or at least my memories of those days. Below that, jeans and trackpants, all folded with military precision.

Finally, I open the top drawer. Socks and underwear are neatly folded and lined up. Ordered. It doesn’t feel right. Jude was always tidy, but not like this. This seems
disciplined.

I rummage through his things, not sure what I’m looking for. And then my fingers touch the edge of something under a pair of woollen socks. I pull it out, and it takes me several long moments to accept what I’m seeing.

It’s a photograph of Jude, smiling, with his arm slung over a young woman’s shoulder. She has long dark hair,
hanging past her shoulders, and she’s laughing. They’re in Istanbul, in front of the Blue Mosque. They’re both wearing clothes that haven’t been in fashion for at least two decades. The photo itself has seen better days—it’s slightly discoloured, and folded at the edges. I feel like I’m being dragged through the air by Rafa again.

The woman in the photo is me.

I carry it over to the bed and sit down. I can’t take my eyes off that impossible image. It’s only when the tears come that it blurs out of focus.

It’s too much.

All of it.

More tears fall, and I don’t have the strength to stop them. I don’t care anymore. Jude is gone. And the brother I’m mourning is a lie. A memory someone else has given me. I have a whole other lifetime with him I don’t remember.

I ball my hand into a fist, pull the bed sheet free from its neat hospital corner. Grief wraps itself around me. I can barely draw breath. My throat burns and tears spatter onto the crisp linen. I sob and shudder, and make a low noise like a wounded animal.

After a while, a weight settles next to me on the bed. Rafa tilts the picture in my hand so he can see it, but he doesn’t try to take it from me.

‘I never said you didn’t go to Turkey with Jude. It just wasn’t recently.’

My face is hot and wet and my whole body aches. I stare up at him, empty. Lost.

‘Gabe…’ His voice catches.

I wait for him to lob another grenade but, for once, he’s got nothing to say. He scoops me up and carries me back out to the couch. He sits me across his lap, and draws me to his chest, dragging the blanket around my shoulders. His hand makes slow circles between my shoulderblades.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t think it would be like this.’

‘Did he hate me?’ It’s hard to form the words.

‘Of course he didn’t.’ Rafa’s voice is sharp. ‘You were both as stubborn as each other, that’s all. You were so pissed at him for leaving the Sanctuary, and he was so pissed at you because you wouldn’t listen to him.’ His hand comes to rest on the small of my back. ‘He grabbed that photo when we left the Sanctuary. It’s one of the few things that ever meant anything to him.’

I wipe my cheeks with my thumb. ‘Why do you care what happens to me? Is finding Semyaza that important?’

Rafa looks at me. All his usual attitude has fallen away. ‘I couldn’t give a shit about Semyaza anymore, or any of the Fallen. But Jude’s the one person I’ve been able to trust in the last century and I want to know what happened to him.’

I take a ragged breath, and he pauses to brush a stray hair out of my eyes.

‘And…?’ I ask.

His fingers linger on my face.

‘You shouldn’t be alive, Gabe, but you are.’ He swallows, and it seems to take an effort to get his next words out. ‘And I can’t help but wonder if you’re not the only one who survived.’

I stare at him with sore eyes. ‘Is that possible?’

The idea is so huge, so shattering, I can hardly bear to think about it.

‘It makes as much sense as you being here,’ he says. Jude may be alive somewhere.

All this time I’ve been lounging around Pan Beach and Jude may be alive.

My breath comes quickly. Too quickly. Black spots explode in my vision.

‘Hey, hey,’ Rafa says. ‘Settle down. Take a deep breath.’

I do, and it catches half a dozen times on the way in. I let it out and take another. And another. Eventually my pulse settles.

‘The thought never crossed your mind?’ Rafa asks. He hasn’t let me go.

‘But what I saw? The way he died?’

‘A lie, like everything else you remember.’

What if there really was no accident? No screeching tyres and hot metal. No crushed windscreen and shattered glass. No smell of blood and fuel. My mind is doing laps and I have to get moving so I can keep up. I get up— Rafa makes no attempt to pull me back—gently slide the photo into my pocket, and start to pace. It’s a short track I make back and forth, between the fireplace and the window.

‘If there’s even the faintest chance he’s alive, we have to look for him,’ I say.

‘I know.’

I stop in front of him. ‘You came looking for me because you thought I knew what happened.’

‘I still think you do. You just don’t remember.’

‘What do we do then?’ I’m ready to go anywhere with him, do anything. Everything I’ve tried to absorb in the last few hours is nothing compared to this possibility.

Rafa can’t hold my gaze. He’s looking at the rectangles of sunlight across the stone floor.

‘You have no idea, do you?’

‘I need to know what the two of you were doing. If we can figure that out, we’ll at least have a starting point.’

The buzzing in my chest fades. ‘I need that other life back.’

‘Agreed.’ Rafa looks up. ‘Of course, if you remember who you are, you’re just as likely to kneecap me and go off on your own.’

It’s so weird to hear him speak about this other person. This other me. ‘Am I different now?’

A half-smile. ‘Yeah, and it’s a big improvement.’

I chew my lip. He knows I want more, but he still takes his time.

‘You’re still you, trust me,’ he says, finally. ‘Just without the baggage.’ He pauses. ‘Make that
different
baggage. And with only two decades’ worth instead of a century and a half.’

‘But if my memory of Jude isn’t real, does that mean the way I feel about him isn’t either? Or how I think he feels about me?’ My lungs constrict. I shouldn’t have said that out loud.

Rafa rubs his jaw with the back of his fingers. ‘No. I think the feelings are real—it’s just the details that have been screwed with. You two have always been tight.’

‘Except for that decade or so where we didn’t talk?’

‘Yeah, but even then you were both obsessed with knowing what the other was up to.’

‘I still don’t understand what it was we fought over.’

He stands up. ‘Long story, and not relevant.’

‘But—’

‘It’s more important we find out who messed with your mind, and why.’ He wanders over to stand in the sunlight at the window. ‘I think you and Jude found something you weren’t supposed to—something to do with the Fallen— and someone wanted to make sure you didn’t remember it.’

‘But why not just kill us? And why didn’t we tell someone what we were doing if it was that big?’

‘I don’t know. I wish to hell I did.’

‘Jude didn’t tell you?’

Rafa has his arms over his head now, stretching. His shirt rides up and I see a flash of bare stomach. It’s flat and hard with a thin trail of fine hair running south from his navel. He drops his arms and the view is gone. So is the distraction.

‘….some things to sort out with you. That’s it. You’d only been talking again for a few weeks. I figured it was family stuff. You’re the only twins we’ve got, so what went on between you was always a bit of a mystery to the rest of us.’

I rub my palms together and press them against my eyelids, soaking in the warmth. ‘We have to go back.’

‘To the Sanctuary?’ Rafa’s voice hardens. I drop my hands. ‘Pan Beach.’

‘But there’s nothing there.’

‘I have to let Maggie know I’m okay.’

‘Ring her. We can stay here until we work out what to do.’

A few minutes ago, I would have agreed to anything, but Rafa has no plan and I’m no good at sitting still.

‘I have a life there. It’s the only one I know, and I’m not giving it up until we know what we’re doing.’

‘If you go back, Nathaniel will manipulate you into going to the Sanctuary. He’ll send others—Daisy, probably. Or Daniel.’

There’s that name again. ‘Who’s Daniel?’

Something shifts in Rafa’s expression and he pauses before answering. ‘A prick.’

‘But who—’

‘And I’m serious about the demons,’ he presses. ‘They’ll come for you if they think you know something about the Fallen.’

‘I have to work tomorrow.’

‘Are you serious? It’s a fucking library!’

I fold my arms. ‘You said you would take me back when I asked. You promised.’

‘So? It’s not like you trust me.’

‘I trusted you enough to come here.’

‘And why did you do that?’

‘Because you asked me to.’

Rafa’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks away first. Outside, the sky is growing brighter.

‘You want to go right now?’

I glance at my watch. It’s early evening back home. ‘Please.’

‘I won’t be able to be with you every second of the day.’

I cross the floor. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘That’s because you have no idea what’s coming.’

He holds me tight when we shift. When I open my eyes, we’re in the garden at the side of the bungalow. I keep my arms around him until my stomach stops fluttering and my skin warms. I’ll never get used to that.

It’s almost dark here, the sky smeared pink. We’re hidden out of sight of the road, just beyond the kitchen window—the perfect place to materialise out of thin air. And a good place to eavesdrop. This isn’t the first time Rafa’s been here; it’s where he must have stood when he overheard me telling Jason about my parents.

‘What are we going to tell Mags?’ I ask when I finally unwrap myself from him.

‘What’s this “we”? She’s your friend. Tell her what you like.’

Whatever moment we shared before has well and truly passed. ‘What’s up your arse all of a sudden?’

‘I just don’t get what’s so important here.’

‘I told you—’

‘Daisy’s coming back for you, isn’t she?’

I stare at him in the dying light. ‘What?’

‘You think she’ll be more use than me in finding Jude.’

Unbelievable. He’s nearly a hundred and forty but not too old to sulk. ‘I’ve had one conversation with Daisy and it lasted less than five minutes. Why would I trust her any more than I do you?’

‘Because that’s what you’ve always done. Stuck with the safe option.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Rafa, I have no idea what the safe option is.’ I grab the scrap of paper from my pocket. I’ve already put the number in my phone. ‘Here. Sort your shit out with her, not me.’

He tucks the paper in his jeans. ‘Are you going to call her?’

‘I haven’t thought about it.’ And I don’t have the energy to fight. ‘Look, I’ll come with you when we know what we’re doing. Until then, I’m not leaving Pan Beach. With anyone.’

He exhales. ‘Fine.’

And then he disappears. Like a light going out. The air stirs where he was, and a few dry leaves swirl back to the ground.

I can’t believe I let him have the last word.

In the kitchen, Maggie is lining up knitting needles on the table. ‘Oh my god.’ She stands up, sweeping a needle to the floor. ‘Where have you been? Are you okay?’

She hugs me so fiercely I forget to lie. ‘No.’

‘Are you hurt?’ Her eyes search me. ‘Gaby, you can’t…I thought…’ She steps back, says ‘demons’ under her breath. ‘I’ve been worried
all day.’

I wipe my face. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie.’

‘Have you been crying?’

I shake my head, fighting back fresh tears.

Maggie looks as tired as I feel. The sink is filled with dirty coffee cups, and skeins of wool are scattered across the table. A half-finished red scarf is draped over a chair.

Her nose wrinkles. ‘Why do you smell like a campfire?’

I pull the photo from my back pocket and hand it to her.

She glances at it, starts to look away, and then brings it close to her face. ‘Is that Jude? God, you look alike. I never knew you had hair that long.’

I sit down at the table. ‘Me either.’

‘When was this taken?

‘By the look of those clothes, sometime in the eighties.’

The fridge kicks in behind us. ‘Rafa wasn’t lying?’

‘It seems not.’

I tell her everything—where he took me, and how we got there. When I finish, she’s still staring at me, her mouth slightly open.

‘He took you to
Greece?’

‘That’s
the most interesting thing out of what I just said?’

She blushes, and her fingers stray to the balls of wall.

‘So, was he charming Rafa or jerk Rafa?’

‘A bit of both.’ I count the cups in the sink. ‘Where’s Jason?’ No way did he leave her sitting here on her own all day.

‘He’s gone to get fish and chips. You hungry?’

I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast at Rafa’s this morning, but I’m not in the mood to tell the story again. ‘Nah, I’m good.’

Maggie follows me into my room. She watches as I kick off my shoes and climb into bed, fully clothed. I don’t want to talk anymore. I’ve shared more with her in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last year. Now I just want to hide in the dark, not talk to anyone. Sleep again. We say goodnight. She closes the door and my room sinks into darkness. A minute later, a sliver of light cuts across my face.

‘Gaby?’

‘Yeah?’

‘It’ll be okay.’

Only Maggie could actually believe that. Because, really, there’s nothing about my life that’s going to be okay.