C. Daugherty: Fracture

Holding on to a waterspout elaborately designed in the shape of a dragon, Allie leaned over the edge of the roof to listen.

‘You haven’t found her then?’ Isabelle’s voice was taut.

‘No.’ Raj spoke so quietly Allie had to strain to make out his words. ‘My team is searching the grounds now.’

They wouldn’t find her. They never did . The thought gave her dull satisfaction. Maybe she was a complete failure at saving lives but she could outwit security guards who were supposed to be the best in the world.

Then Isabelle spoke again – her voice sounded closer now. Allie realised she must be standing by the window, looking out at the same view.

‘How is she… do you think?’ the headmistress asked hesitantly. ‘Has Rachel said anything?’

A sigh.

‘Better?’ Raj said. ‘Worse? Hard to tell. The same, maybe. Rachel’s worried about her. Is she still seeing Dr Cartwright?’

Allie frowned; Dr Cartwright was the shrink Isabelle brought in after everything happened.

‘Not any more,’ Isabelle replied. ‘She did at first, but he said he couldn’t get much out of her. He described her as “unresponsive”.’

They shouldn’t talk about that, Allie thought reproachfully. That stuff is supposed to be private.

She thought about the nightmares and the horrible thoughts – the very few things she’d shared with Dr Cartwright before shutting him out.

She didn’t want them to know about that.

‘How do you just go back to class after you’ve seen your friend die?’ she’d asked in one of the few sessions she’d actually attended. ‘How do you care about French verbs? Or the Spanish Armada?’

‘You just do,’ the psychologist had said. ‘You put one foot in front of the other every day. And you try. You keep trying.’

‘Bollocks,’ Allie had replied with venom in her voice.

He couldn’t know what it was like to be afraid of falling asleep because of the awful dreams. There was no way he knew what that felt like.

No one knew that.

Raj barked a humourless laugh that said he thought Allie was unresponsive, too.

‘He felt she wasn’t accepting Jo’s death – she’s looking for someone to blame,’ Isabelle said. Allie leaned further forward, eager for this insider information. ‘He said blame is a kind of crutch; it allows the anger phase of grief to extend indefinitely. Until she gets through it she will never accept what happened and learn to deal with it.’

Whatever, Allie thought with hot impatience. I’m angry for a reason. Because of you.

Still, underneath her anger she knew there was some truth in what Isabelle said and it nagged at her.

Below her, Isabelle was still talking. ‘But then Allie decided she didn’t like him. He’s meant to meet with her this afternoon and’ – Allie could almost visualise Isabelle’s weary shrug – ‘right on schedule she’s AWOL.’

Raj’s voice grew louder – even from the rooftop Allie could hear his anger. ‘This can’t go on, Izzy. You have to take action. My entire team is out looking for her right now when they should be working to keep the school safe. We still don’t know what Nathaniel is planning. He could hit us at any moment. She is wasting our time . We can’t keep doing this. Allie is behaving like a —’

‘Like she used to behave,’ Isabelle said, interrupting him. ‘This is exactly how she was after her brother disappeared. She’s just angry and I can’t really blame her. I’m angry, too. But I’m not sixteen so I have ways to channel it. She doesn’t.’

The sound of someone knocking interrupted them.

Who could that be?

Straining to hear, Allie leaned over further, until her head and shoulders were hanging right over the edge of the roof. But Raj and Isabelle had clearly gone to answer the door. She could hear the murmur of voices but they were too far away for her to make out their words.

After a moment, the door closed with a decisive bang. Then… silence.

They were gone.

Disappointed, Allie pulled herself back into a safer position on the roof; as she did, her eyes swept downward.

Two of Raj’s security guards stood on the ground below. They were staring right at her.

Allie’s heart leapt to her throat.

Oh bollocks.

Panicked, she scrambled out of view, her shoes skidding on the wet roof tiles. When she thought she was hidden, she leaned forward just far enough to peek down. Below her, the guards gestured for someone she couldn’t see to join them. After a second, Raj walked out to stand beside them. They pointed to Allie’s spot on the roof. Crossing his arms, he locked his unforgiving gaze on hers.

Allie swallowed hard.

Time to find a new hiding place, she thought.

Leaping to her feet, she ran across the rooftop to the place where the roof dipped down, sliding down the slope on her behind. Her short pleated skirt, not made for such activity, bunched up beneath her and water from the wet rooftop soaked through her dark tights. Holding on to the gutter with her fingertips, she slid along the stone ledge to her open window and vaulted through it on to her desk.

Once safely inside, she straightened triumphantly, only to find Isabelle standing in front of her with her arms crossed.

The headmistress didn’t wait for her to make excuses.

‘This is too much.’ Her tone was angry but Allie could hear the sadness in it. ‘You can’t keep doing this, Allie.’

Some part of Allie felt guilty for hurting her. But she easily suppressed that voice. Instead, she gave a disdainful shrug. ‘Fine. Whatever. Totes reformed. Never do it again, etc.’

Isabelle drew in a sharp breath. Her wounded expression threatened to make Allie feel something so she didn’t linger, heading straight for the door.

Isabelle seemed to gather herself. ‘I am not your enemy, Allie.’

‘Aren’t you?’ Standing by the door, Allie studied her as if she was a specimen on a tray.

‘Allie…’ Isabelle reached for her arm then, rethinking it, let her hand drop to her side. ‘I’m worried about you. And I want to help. But I can’t help you if you won’t let me.’

There was a time when Allie would have gone to Isabelle for help and advice – when they were close. When she trusted her.

Those days were over.

She fixed the headmistress with an uncaring look. ‘The thing is, Isabelle, your help gets people killed. So… no thanks.’

A direct hit. As Isabelle’s face crumpled, Allie ran out of the door.

Fighting the urge to cry, she limped down the grand staircase. Her knee ached, and the sound of her uneven footsteps ( thump-THUMP thump-THUMP ) echoed in the quiet like a cruel laugh.

With her head down, she took no notice of the polished oak panelling covering Cimmeria Academy’s walls. Or the grand oil paintings – some of which stood twice her height and held the images of long-dead men and women draped in gleaming silk and jewels. She was oblivious to the chandeliers made of hundreds of pieces of faceted crystal sparkling in the faint afternoon light, the heavy candle-holders that stood five feet tall, and the tapestries of wan medieval ladies and horses pursuing unworried foxes.

She saw none of it as, ducking into the great hall, she shoved the door to behind her. The vast ballroom was empty, illuminated only by weak afternoon light filtered through enormous windows at one end of the long room. Allie’s footsteps echoed hollowly as she paced the floor, her mind teeming with angry thoughts that pestered her like demons.

Thirty-three steps one way and pivot. Thirty-three steps back. And again.

Why should I be sorry? she fumed. Isabelle’s responsible for everything that’s happened. Jo trusted her. And now Jo’s dead.