Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

I went to speak, but my throat constricted, and I couldn’t stop the floodgate holding back my tears from opening up. How the hell was I supposed to tell them what a monumental fuck up I was, and that I couldn’t even manage a session teaching six children in a reading group?

Mum must’ve heard the commotion because she barrelled into the room next, and when she saw me crying, she started too.

“I knew it was too soon. They sent you home, didn’t they?” She always did know what was going on before I could tell her, and if Brodie was here, he’d have filled in the extra gaps. I never did have any secrets in this house.

“They don’t want me,” I managed to splutter through the sobs. “I can’t do it anymore.” I meant that I couldn’t keep holding it all together, but from the petrified look my mother gave me, she thought I was checking myself out for good.

“Harper, love. You need to see someone. I know you think you’re coping, but you’re not.” Mum was clutching at straws to try and make me see things her way, and Dad was crouched down next to me, giving me a side hug as I tried to reciprocate but pulled away at the same time, wanting to right myself. “It will help to talk to someone about what happened. I know it was a shock after they told us about the aneurysm-”

I shut down, hearing that conversation start up again. I knew what I saw that night. I knew why my brother died. I didn’t need to hear about the complications that’d happened afterwards. It was hard enough getting my head around the fact that he was gone, let alone hearing about brain aneurysms and all the other medical jargon they filled my parents’ heads with at the hospital afterwards.

I sipped my disgustingly cold tea to give me something to do and then, when mum had got her little rant off her chest, I told her about the head teacher referring me to occupational health.

“That might be a good thing.” She gave me a sad smile. “They have their own counsellors, don’t they? If you don’t want to see Meredith with me, maybe someone there could see you?”

I shrugged. If it’d help to relieve some of the stress for her, I’d play along.

“Maybe. I’ll ask them.”

She seemed happy enough with that answer and let it go. I was glad. I had absolutely no intention of arguing this point any further.

Later that night, I sat up on my bed, afraid to go to sleep in case I missed my night stalker, or even worse, fell into another Brodie dream, reliving his death over again. The sun had set hours ago, and now the shadows of the trees outside danced across the walls of my room like sinister dark strangers that were slowly becoming my only friends.

I had my window open and I focused on the rustle of the breeze as it blew through the trees. The simple sound helped to soothe the sting from the barbed-wired heart inside my chest that pierced me every time I took a breath. The chill of the air numbed my heavy, twisted lungs. These were aches I’d never be truly free from, I knew that, but zoning out helped to dull them somewhat.

“You’ll never be alone. You were born with a best friend. Even in the womb you had your other half, always there, always looking out for you.”

My grandma’s voice echoed in my ears.

“Do you remember the time Brodie cut your hair so you’d look just like him?”

I heard her laughter reverberating through my mind and immediately an image of my mum, looking totally horrified, sprang forth. And there stood a five-year-old Brodie, grinning from ear-to-ear with the kitchen scissors in his hand.

“Harper looks just like me now. We’re proper identical twins.”

He’d laughed, Mum had screamed, and Dad tried to calm everyone down and assure Mum my beautiful blonde hair would grow back eventually.

Suddenly, I jolted awake, feeling my neck crick as a result of falling asleep in such an awkward position. All too soon, the surge of pain overwhelmed me again and I stood, walking over to the window.

And there he was.

Skulking in the shadows, hiding in the dark with all the other fucked-up creatures that only came out at night. Vermin, that’s what he was.

The grief I felt in my zombie-waking state turned to fury. I spun around, flinging my door open and barrelling down the stairs.

He didn’t get to come here and lurk in the night, scaring us and making us feel like prisoners in our home. He had no right to walk into our garden, intimidate us, and flaunt the fact that he was still alive, still breathing air into his traitorous body. He didn’t deserve any recognition, any acknowledgement, and I wanted him gone. He’d taken my brother’s life, wrecked mine, and now I was spiralling out of control. On a fairground ride that I couldn’t get off, and he was driving. Forcing me to the brink of insanity.

When I got to the back door, I ripped it open, making the handle bang off the wall, but I didn’t give a damn. I just stalked outside, ready to face whatever hell he wanted to unleash.

“I know you’re out there,” I bellowed into the darkness. “You don’t get to win this time.”

I didn’t care what happened to me. I wasn’t thinking straight. All I wanted to do was face him. Stand in front of him and tell him how much I hated him. No, despised him. Hate wasn’t a strong enough emotion for what I felt when it came to Brandon Mathers. I wanted to pound my fists into his face this time. Make him hurt as much as I did.

“Come out and face me, you murderer. Come out from your hiding place, like the scum you are.”

I stood in the middle of the garden shouting down to where I’d seen him before, but he wasn’t there. Like always, he’d run away.

“You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll find you.”