Leah Giarratano - Disharmony

‘Samantha?’ Rebecca appeared, beaming, and carefully transferred the contents of her white-linen-draped tray to Samantha’s tray table: a lovely silver teapot, a jug full of milk, and a tiny saucer heaped with pink marshmallows.

‘You’re gonna love it. It’s melted chocolate. From Belgium. We never give it to the passengers.’

Samantha smiled back, tightly. The card called, almost burning now, from beneath the tray table.

What do I need to get through this? Her single-card question. As soon as Rebecca turned away, she pulled the card from under the tray table and flipped it over.

Huh. She stared at the picture on the card and breathed deeply. A monk, small of stature, robed in deep green and gold, stood calmly, head bowed in thought. Behind him, filling the rest of the card, the monk’s spirit towered over him. His spirit was a giant, his robe thrown backwards, baring a broad chest and huge, powerful arms. The arms were raised high, holding up a cracking, crumbling ceiling.

Samantha gave a small smile and reached for her bag. She found the lacquered box and slipped the card back inside. Then she poured herself a hot chocolate. Rebecca was right. It was absolutely delicious.

She leaned back into the seat and thought about her answer. A spirit card, representing spiritual strength. The cards were telling her that even though she may be frightened and weary, this was no time to rest. A great danger was poised above her, but ultimately she was strong and had everything she needed within her to survive.

But it still seemed that everyone had more faith in her than she did. Because she still had no idea how she was going to get out of Sydney airport without being captured.

And then there was the small matter of searching a country she’d never set foot in, to find a boy she’d never met and wasn’t sure she wanted to – her twin brother, the psychopath.

Samantha followed the other Qantas passengers shuffling towards the immigration gates at Sydney International Airport. With her only luggage slung across her shoulder, she was not in any particular hurry to clear customs and race to the luggage carousel.

She still didn’t have a plan. She felt like she was walking towards her doom.

Let them wait, she thought.

Standing in the custom’s queue, she spotted Rebecca, the stewardess, moving with the other airline personnel through the staff exit. Rebecca caught her eye and waved. I’m an idiot, Samantha told herself. I should have asked her if there was a staff exit I could take. No one would think to look for me there. Too late now. She watched Rebecca’s back clear the doorway. At least Daisy will be happy to have her mum home, she thought. It was sad that she had to be without her mum for days at a time, but at least she had a mother who loved her.

For the first time, Samantha felt anger towards her real mother for leaving her with Lala. She’d always assumed her mother just couldn’t cope, and she was grateful she’d been left with someone who had cared so much for her. But now she knew that her mother had left her in a gypsy camp as a science experiment – or maybe that should be a magic experiment – as though she was part of a recipe that required more ingredients before it could be used.

She wasn’t sure what made her more angry – that her mother had separated her from her twin brother and then abandoned them both, or that she’d had the hide to go and die before she could meet her and tell her off. Sera had clammed up when she’d asked whether the baby her mother had died giving birth to – the genius – had survived, and Samantha had felt too sad and sore to push it.

She realised she was next in the queue to have her documents checked to clear customs. Clutching her plastic wallet, she stepped forward, certain as she had been going through every other checkpoint, that she was about to be detained and arrested.

Maybe that would be a good thing, she thought. It would be one way out of here. But then she’d still be trapped.

But when she held out her travel documents, she watched the instant change in the dour expression of the middle-aged woman behind the custom’s counter. Holding the Carnivale ticket, she stared at it as though she were checking the paperwork of her favourite movie star.

‘Welcome to Australia, Samantha White!’ she said, loudly and so proudly.

Samantha thought that maybe the woman had a tear in her eye. ‘Um, thanks,’ she muttered.

And then a sort-of idea popped into her head. A not-quite-there-yet idea that needed some more thought, but she had no more time.

All senses alert, she followed the other passengers down the Arrivals ramp, feeling emotions buffeting her as she drew closer to the throng of people waiting for their relatives and friends to disembark. She peered anxiously into the crowd. Everybody smiled and waved, some cried in joy, holding balloons, signs, flowers. She didn’t sense anything sinister, but there were so many people. As she drew closer to the end of the ramp she scanned further out beyond the edge of the crowd.

And a block of ice the size of a brick dropped into her stomach, freezing her instantly.

Maybe ten metres away, a bank of windows and glass doors led out to twilight in Sydney, Australia. And in front of them stood four people dressed completely in black. Samantha had seen them too many times already in her life, but she only knew one of their names.

Kirra.

And Kirra saw her. She smiled, as though in greeting. And then she lifted an arm above her head, and Samantha could see that she held something between her fingers. It glinted slightly under the artificial lights and Samantha almost cried out, remembering the last time she’d seen Kirra, the whistle of metal flashing past her, and then Tamas, his life bleeding out of his throat. She blinked rapidly, trying to rid her mind of the agonising image. A sob formed. Was this how they were going to take her out?

But as she blinked, she began to feel that she hadn’t got it quite right. She stared across the expanse between them, still standing rigid, oblivious to others jostling around her. She squinted her eyes to try to see clearer, and now she was certain – whatever Kirra held aloft in her black-sheathed arm, it wasn’t a throwing star. And suddenly Samantha realised what she was looking at. Kirra waved her destiny at her – a syringe. So. Scarface and the other two goons were going to grab her and Kirra would inject her with something that would knock her out.

And they were on the move now. Coming closer, fast.

She stumbled sideways, pushing a big guy with a guitar case strapped to his back into the path of a giant luggage bag. He tripped, sprawling, crash-tackling another man who had two young boys in tow. The children shouted in surprise and people began to stare.

And even though her brain felt as frozen as the rest of her innards, Samantha knew she had to make her move. She couldn’t outrun them. Even if she did manage to make it through this crowd and bolt screaming for help, Kirra was so super-fast she’d be on top of her, have her sedated and have a convincing story for the authorities before they had any idea what was going on.

It’s now or never, Sam thought. She squeezed her eyes shut and conjured up memories of Lala, Esmeralda, Bo and Mirela. And then of Tamas and their legs tangled together in the ghost train. A searing wave of homesickness and love instantly blasted the ice from her stomach. She amplified the feelings, whipping them faster and faster into a burning sphere that roiled within her, a mushrooming, molten mass of emotion that she knew she could not hold inside much longer. With no idea whether it would work, and feeling as if surely people around her could see she was irradiated, she bent forward, as though to help the men she’d knocked over.