Watercolour Smile (45 page)

“Fuck you,
Weston
.”

A hand whipped out, catching the boy across the face. Judging by the swelling in the right side of his face, it wasn’t the first blow that he had suffered. I felt sorry for him, but I also wished that he would stop laughing, and start fighting back. He looked strong. I wished I was that strong.

I
wished
I could fight. Why wasn’t he?

“Either you start cooperating, you little parasite, or I’ll have you stab yourself with a needle over and over again until your every pore has been filled with metal,” the man called Weston said. He delivered the threat so convincingly, so chillingly, that I found myself frozen in fear, even though I wasn’t physically
there
.

I immediately changed my mind.
Don’t fight
, I urged the boy.
Run
.
Run away, as fast as you can
.

The boy didn’t run. He fell back against the topside of a table, pushing a hand through his mussed hair to draw it back from his forehead again. “Get out of my head,” he said. “You won’t find anything new. I told you already, I didn’t feel anything. She’s not my Atmá. Not her, and not any of the others.”

“I’m not in your head.” This time Weston laughed. It wasn’t an evil laugh; it held no mocking. He seemed almost delighted. “Twenty years old, and you’re already unhinged. Really… I’m disappointed. Your mother has lasted much longer, and her mind shows no signs of breaking down.”

“I can feel the presence,” the boy continued, sounding confused. He didn’t seem to have heard what Weston had said. His brow creased, drawing two darkly arched brows together in concentration. “I can feel it there, in my mind…”

Weston stopped laughing. He peered at the boy, and then whipped a hand out. I cringed, expecting the blow to land across the boy’s face again, but Weston clapped his hand over the boy’s shoulder instead. The boy tried to pull away, but Weston’s fingers curled inwards. It was almost as if he had grown claws—the boy became rooted to the spot, as though the fingers had pierced his skin and dug into his bones, holding him hostage.

“That’s not me…” Weston sounded astonished, and something tickled against my mind. I pushed at it, rejecting the alien feeling, and Weston jerked back from the boy. “It’s
her
,” he sounded breathless, “finally! She’s trying to connect to you. She must have some kind of mind ability.” He reached for the boy again—but the boy jumped off the table.

“No.” He shook his head rapidly, spraying hair over his forehead again. “No. You’re wrong.”

“What other person in the world would be trying to attach themselves to your mind?” Weston was laughing again.

This time, the boy fought. He punched at Weston, but the bigger man clamped a hand down on the boy’s shoulder again, and all of the movement drained out of the boy’s body. He slackened, his form dangling, inert, from Weston’s fingers. The presence brushed against my mind again, once, twice, and then it latched onto
me
.

In that moment, I was jolted from my sleep as the door to my bedroom swung open. Gerald materialised in the doorway and I snapped upright, clutching my head. It felt as though someone was trying to hammer into my skull, but there was a barrier in the way. I knew, instinctively, that the barrier was the boy. His mind was fighting alongside mine, even if his body had been incapacitated. I had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t there willingly. I felt that I had dragged him between myself and Weston, and now he couldn’t leave.

“Wake up,” Gerald slurred at me, even though I was now sitting up in bed.

He teetered on his feet, swaying in my doorway for a moment, and then he fell forwards, landing beside me.

I couldn’t speak, because the pain in my head had intensified. The boy was still fighting, but Weston was stronger. I gritted my teeth as my vision swam, blurring Gerald’s face into a featureless blob that stunk of spirits and grinned too widely to be human. I counted too many teeth, before the grin melted away and Gerald’s sloppy mouth was on mine. I fought the vomit that rose, because the last time I had vomited on him, he had punished me severely.

I fought the sickness, but I didn’t fight
him
.

I couldn’t. It was our deal. As long as I kept quiet and allowed him to do as he wished, he would leave Tariq alone. My mother was already dead, but Tariq was still very much alive, and if Gerald turned to him for entertainment, I was almost certain that it would kill me.

Weston was gaining in his fight with the boy, and I was sure that he was seconds away from piercing my mind. I wasn’t sure what would happen if he succeeded, but there was something otherworldly dangerous about the man. I gagged, both from the pressure on my mind, and the sour taste in my mouth, and Gerald’s hand wound around my neck. He didn’t like it when I made that sound. He slapped my cheek, but the shock of sudden pain cleared my mind. I propelled the force of Weston away, clinging to the remnants of the boy. Gerald slapped my other cheek, slurring something as his face dropped sloppily against my collarbone.

“Where do you keep going?” he groused, slapping the opposite side of my face again. “Stop that.
Pay attention to me
.”

I tried.

I
tried
to pull myself back into the real world. Gerald only needed compliance. He would bully me and touch me and spend himself in my hands, and then he would leave, satisfied that he had taught me another lesson. The most important lesson of all: he was better than me, and I was nothing; he had control, and I had nothing;
he
was the abuser, and I was only the victim.

I tried… but I wanted so badly to float away with the boy. I didn’t want to release his presence in my head. His pain had called to my pain, he had collected my screams the way he collected his own, and now I didn’t want to leave him. Selfishly, I wanted to leave my house, leave Gerald, and forget that I had a baby brother to look after. I wanted to forget the reason that I sat here, night after night, forcing compliance. I wanted to disappear into the world of screams and fire, where I could force the boy to fight against the monsters that battered at my mind.

I wanted to embrace the looming insanity.

“
Stop. Leaving. Me.
” Gerald’s grip on my neck turned punishing, cutting off the circulation to my lungs and forcing me backwards, until my head smacked into the wall.

Not good
. Tariq would hear that. I couldn’t risk him coming to investigate.

Gerald heaved himself on top of me, trying to adjust himself for some new kind of punishment. I didn’t truly think that he would do it, until he was tugging down my pyjama pants.

“Get off!” the boy screamed, fighting against Weston again. He managed to break Weston’s hold, and the older man seemed surprised.

Unfortunately, the surprise didn’t last for long, and it was soon melting away into a cold, detached sort of fury. He walked to the other side of the room and retrieved a knife from the table. I balked, because there was already blood on the knife. It had dried to an ugly brown colour, caking along the shiny steel.

Gerald’s teeth sank into my neck, his foul breath wafting up to my face, and his fingers fumbled between my legs. I began to grow dizzy, indecision tearing me in half. Gerald had never gone this far before, and I wasn’t convinced that I could allow him. Not even for Tariq.

The boy dodged a swipe of the knife, and Weston grimaced. “I wish I could kill you,” he said, surging forward and sinking the knife into the boy’s shoulder, “But I’ll have to settle for this…”

I screamed as the pain seared from my own shoulder, my body bucking against the drunken weight on top of me. Something hot slithered down my arms and the door to my bedroom flew open. Tariq’s face was made round by his gaping mouth and horrified eyes, and it only increased the white-hot pain that was suddenly rushing through my bloodstream. Gerald reared back, and strange lightning flashed before my eyes.

Run
, I urged the boy once again.

I wasn’t sure if I could communicate with him. I wasn’t even sure if he was real; but I could feel him slipping away as surely as the blood seeped from his body, and I didn’t want him to die.

Run
, I pleaded, as Gerald fell to the side of the bed and began to convulse.

Tariq was frozen, his horror turned downward as Gerald flopped to the floor, alien webs of light closing in around him, seeming to cause him immense pain. The smell of burning flesh rent the air, and Tariq finally looked at me.

“Seph,” he rasped, “stop. You can stop.”

I tried to pull the strange webs of light back to myself, and they retreated willingly, surprisingly obedient. We dragged Gerald into his room and stood there for a few minutes, wondering if he would wake up again. Eventually, we both turned and went back to our bedrooms. We didn’t cry or panic, or call the emergency services as we had so many times in the past, for our mother.

No
. We pretended that nothing had happened. We didn’t even speak to each other. If we didn’t say anything out loud, we wouldn’t have to acknowledge the horrible things that we felt inside: the relief, that his eyes were closed; the hope, that they might never open again.

I closed my door lightly and curled up on the bed, reaching for the boy.

He was alone; still reclined against the same table, though the surface was now painted in red. There was another stab-wound in his thigh. 

“I know you’re there,” he rasped. “I can feel you in my mind.”

I couldn’t think of a way to communicate with him. I closed my eyes and embraced the shudders that wracked through me. It always happened after Gerald visited my room at night. They originated from somewhere deep inside me; blossoming out to rattle my bones and clatter my teeth together. I whimpered, my head falling against my raised knees. I wanted to submit to the panic, but I didn’t want to release the boy.

Desperately, I pushed the panic attack aside, and clung to him.

“Can you hear me? Can you speak?” His voice was faint, fading away as he slumped backwards onto the table, his head rolling to the side. “I don’t think you know what you’ve done, but it doesn’t mean anything good for you.” He laughed, but the laugh ended on a gurgling cough, and then he was groaning. “God, you have no idea. But it’s okay. I’ll find you, and I’ll make sure you forget everything. I won’t let Weston hurt you.”

His breathing turned laboured, and he wavered out of focus for a moment. I despaired losing him, but I couldn’t cling onto him anymore, because he was even slipping away from himself. He muttered something else, but I didn’t catch it. His voice was too low. I clutched at my trembling knees.

“Say it again,” I pleaded quietly.

“Silas… My name is Silas.”

To be continued…

Dear Readers,

I really hope that you enjoyed the second instalment of the Seraph Black series, and that you’ll stick around to find out what happens to Seph and the gang in the third book, Lead Heart.

If you read anything that made you boil over with fury, please send me a ranting email telling me all about it, because I’m a masochist like that. Alternatively, if you liked the book, please visit either Goodreads or Amazon to leave me a review!

Since I’m an indie author, I rely entirely on word-of-mouth and reviews to get my book out there. So, if none of you review me, the indie mafia will burn down my home and kidnap my family. That’s just how this industry works.

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, so hit me up! My Facebook page can be found
here
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here
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here
.

Now you have no excuses,

Lots of love,

Jane

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