Books in the Destiny's Joke series

1. Those That Are Silent

2. Human Testing

3. Persona

4. Changeling

5. Drifters

6. Destiny's Joke

Author's Note

A quick word on this story’s universe

After much deliberation, I have decided that my story is not set in our fair universe but in one that is quite similar. This gives me a lot more freedom as I don’t need to stick to our universe’s timelines.

There’ll be a few smaller differences, certain people haven’t become famous, The Second World War was two years later etcetera, etcetera.

For this story, I suppose the biggest difference is the Conference Parties. Businessmen in this world really do mix business with pleasure.

I hope this also clears up any confusion.

Those that are mad...

A psychiatric unit is usually the last place on earth any rationally thinking seventeen year-old would want to be during the summer holidays. So that was why there were more than a few glances at the two teenage boys who stood at the entrance, staring up at the daunting building.

“Do I even wanna know what he's got us into again?” Ren grumbled blowing his fringe out of his eyes. Several studs gleamed on his left eyebrow as he raised it at his companion. More gleamed on his left ear.

Satra shrugged, staring up at the place with a frown. “It depends whether or not you want to be forewarned.”

 “I think I'll pass. Wait…” Ren looked around. “Wasn't Pretty boy coming?”

“Oh yes. I bet he's on another date, though,” Satra laughed before he pulled out his phone and started texting. After a couple of seconds, there was a Bing as a new message arrived. “Ah ha!” Satra crowed, “Yup. ‘I’ve got a superhot date, go away.’ Just like I said.”

Eyebrow raised, Ren read it over his shoulder. “He ain’t telling us who the latest victim is, huh?”

“Yeah,” Satra sighed, mock pouting, “He stopped after I hacked one of his previous dates’ phones and played their conversations through the school speaker system.” Giving Satra a sidelong look, Ren slowly edged away from him.

“You’re bloody dangerous,” he muttered. Satra just laughed, coffee eyes shining with delight. “Tch.” Ren looked at his watch. “Oi, dumbass, it was one o’clock, right?”

Unconcerned by the nickname, Satra blinked and tapped his chin. “Yeah, but we’re a little early, thanks to someone.”

“Is it bad for not wanting to be late for once?” Ren demanded. When Satra just shrugged and looked at his shoes, Ren frowned and glanced up at the hospital. Thinking logically may not have been Ren’s greatest feat but he knew his friends well enough to understand certain basics. “You know, whatever Kami’s got planned, if you don’t like being here, he’ll under-”

“You came!” an excited voice yelled, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. Hair dancing about with the movement and babyish eyes gleaming with excitement, Kami, their youngest friend, raced up to join them. “You're here!” He smiled delightedly up at them, much like a pleased toddler.

Ruffling the younger boy’s hair, Satra perked up and grinned. “You asked didn't you? When you ask we rarely have a choice. Now, what have we gotten ourselves into this time?”

Apparently ignoring him, Kami looked around and his face fell. “Where's Terone?”

“On a date,” Ren told him.

“But,” Kami whined, “I wanted all of us here.”

Eyes rolling, Ren sighed. “Pretty boy can come next time.”

“Yeah,” Satra agreed. “You made it sound like a regular thing. Now what is ‘it’?”

Brightening up, he smiled again. “My Auntie works here and she's going to let us help her! We get to help the mad people!” Open mouthed, they stared at him. Ren's eye twitched slightly.

“That- uh-” Ren mouthed wordlessly for a second. “What the hell?!”

“That sounds like…work! Like actual, physical labour,” Satra whined, looking aghast. “We're not... feeding them or anything, are we?”

Apparently oblivious, Kami shook his head. “No, we're just talking to them and socialising.”

With a sigh of relief, Satra grinned. “Thank god. I can do socialising.”

On the other hand, Ren seemed to have frozen to the spot. “Wait! I’m not good with the whole… talking thing.” His concerns were completely ignored as the other two took an arm each and made their way into the hospital.

Half an hour later, however, Kami seemed to be the only one unenthusiastic. When they had first entered, they had been met by several nurses in the reception room. After signing in, they had been led through one of the many doors to the games room.

It was a large area full of bean bags and comfy chairs, several plastic tables held board games like chess or Scrabble with many more types stacked up neatly on shelves. Several nurses were scattered around, socialising, interviewing and generally keeping an eye on things.

It didn't have all the straitjackets and padded rooms like they'd expected. Indeed some of the patients seemed normal. Actually, their normality was more surprising than anything they could really expect. They were all different, some bright and excitable to the point of hyperactivity. Others were laid back, sullen or anti-social. One girl shot Satra a glare so strong from over her shoulder that he squeaked and attempted to jump into Ren’s arms (predictably, Ren stepped back and smacked him).

Almost immediately, Ren got into an extremely competitive game of table football with a boy being treated for severe pyromania. They had been assured that the room had been checked for even the smallest trace of explosives and that they were deemed safe. Both boys had looks of intense concentration as they twisted and pulled at the handles.

Watching them, Satra chatted idly with a short haired, petite girl. She didn’t say much, just listened avidly and scratched at her bandaged wrists.

Meanwhile, Kami was bored. Lounging in a seat by the window, he pouted. Everyone in here was interesting, granted, but their stories were easy to guess from a few well practised looks. Unnaturally observant eyes took in the details and a photographic memory analysed the rest. Here, abusive parents and depression, there, anxiety and a life of isolation. Kami had always been good at reading, and reading into, people.

While one part of him wanted to go and talk to the patients, ascertain the details and discover the things he’d missed; the rest of him wanted something fascinating and unique. Why hadn't there been at least one padded room and one extremely mad patient that needed a straitjacket? Yawning, he rolled onto his back. Boring.

A door opened on the wall opposite him and a nurse hurried out. Behind the door there was a wide corridor with doors on both sides. Maybe he'd be able to find some real mad people! Grinning, he got to his feet and looked around quickly before going through the door.

An almost deathly quiet hung over the white walls and floor, seeming to muffle any noise that was made. Chewing his bottom lip, Kami made his way down the corridor slowly, eyeing each door suspiciously.

After a while, his ears pricked up to the sound of music echoing faintly down the passage. It was quiet, barely audible. Eyes gleaming with excitement, Kami set off at a quicker pace, eager to find the source. Gradually, it began to define and increase in volume. Though the words of the song were still indecipherable, a beat and a melody were easy to pick out.

Ahead, he could see what looked like a partially open door. Excitement and curiosity burned inside of him as he approached, a smile spreading across his face. Who was inside? He steadied himself as he reached the door. It wasn't open by very much but the music could be heard billowing from the gap. Now that he was close, he could hear that the singing wasn't in English: it sounded more like Japanese or some other Asian language. Inflating his lungs with one last deep breath, he placed a hand against the door and pushed...

There were no padded walls. That fact alone immediately disappointed him. The room was whitewashed, clean and neat. There was a white sofa along one wall, a white desk and chair, a white chest of drawers and a white bed against the other wall. An iPod dock shaped like a panda was sitting on the desk, music erupting from its eye-shaped speakers. Beside it, a sharpened pencil cast a shadow across the empty page of the sketchbook it lay upon.

On the bed, with her legs loosely crossed and her back against the wall, was a girl with long dark hair, dressed all in white. Her head was resting on her shoulder and her face was turned away from him. The only movement from her was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Frowning, Kami stood staring unashamedly. Eyes narrowing slightly, he looked for the tiny details that would give him some clue as to who she was.

She was a patient, that much was obvious, but apart from that… nothing. There was nothing. Not in her listless gaze at the wall or her lifeless limbs. It was like staring into an empty room.

“Um,” he blurted out, suddenly uncomfortable, “are you awake?”

Ever so slightly, she turned her head and he could just about see her eyes glittering behind her mane of dark hair. So there was life in there somewhere.

“Hi.” He smiled brightly. “I’m Kamitra.”

No reaction.

“Kami!” A voice startled him and he jumped around. It was his Aunt Beatrice; her nurse’s uniform was slightly creased in places suggesting a late night shift. “Ah.” She smiled. “I was going to bring you here. Looks like you beat me to it.” She tapped him on the nose then beckoned him into the room.

“This is Uta.” Beatrice directed Kami to the sofa and pressed pause on the iPod. “She’s one of our newest patients. She’s been here about a month now.”

Wide eyed, Kami watched Uta. Fascination and childish wonder morphed into the same expression. She looked so much like a porcelain doll with her blank expression and large staring eyes. “What’s wrong with her?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence that had fallen on the room.

Eyes on her nephew, Beatrice replied, “We don’t really know. She received some kind of psychological trauma and she’s been unresponsive to nearly everything ever since. She can eat and wash herself but she doesn’t speak or show reactions to anything. With the exception of Japanese rock music,” she amended as an afterthought.

“So what do you want me to do, Auntie?” he asked dragging his eyes away from Uta.

“What you do best.” She smiled. “Spreading joy. I just want you to talk to her. It doesn’t matter what it’s about. We think that having prolonged human interaction will be good therapy for her, but we’re extremely busy with the latest influx of patients. We just don’t have time to do it ourselves. So now that’s your job and a job for your friends, if they want.”

Eagerly, he nodded and looked back at Uta. “You can leave it up to us, Auntie!”

Appeased that his interest had been caught, she laughed and turned towards the door. “I’m glad to hear it. Now if you need anything just go back to the games room. But remember.” She gave him a stern look; “If you get into any trouble you must press the panic button straight away.” She gestured to a small black button covered by a plastic cap on the wall beside the sofa. “You got that?” He nodded. With another smile, she left.

For a long moment, there was silence. Uta didn’t seemed bothered she simply sat where she was, staring off into space, lost somewhere in her own mind.

“So.” Kami looked about the room, taking in the spotless surroundings. “You’re Uta. My name’s Kami like I said at the door.” Smiling, he got to his feet and switched on the iPod bringing up the menu. Her eyes shot to him, taking in his movements as he scrolled through the songs. Moving away, he observed her closely, especially the way her eyes watched him as he crossed back to the sofa.

“Hmm...” he thought aloud, “What should I talk about?”

Those that recall the past (1)

Lying back on the sofa, he stared at the ceiling, finally inspiration hit him. While trying to work out this mysterious girl’s story, maybe he should tell his own. It couldn’t be that bad to talk about the past. Just because neither he nor the others had mentioned the events that had brought them together since their first telling, two years previously at a sleep over, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t talk about it.

“I've got three friends,” he told her, “Satra, Ren and Terone. We weren't always friends; at first we were really different. I was really different. I barely spoke at all. I guess it changed about... two years ago, before I started being called Kami...”

Kami's story: Those that watch the world go by...

Like an exotic cockerel that had been involved in an accident with a microwave and a nutcracker, the alarm clock intruded on what had been a peaceful sleep. One eye cracking open, thirteen year-old Kamitra groaned and reached out his hand to silence the infernal alarm. Unwillingly, he flipped the covers over, letting the cold morning air refresh his skin. Sleepy mutterings spilling from his lips, he stretched and got to his feet, eyes down cast.

School today.

Why did he go to school?

It was a question that he presented himself with every morning; hoping that maybe another night’s sleep would have dredged up an answer. It never did.

There was definitely something though. Some small illusive detail that always escaped him yet enticed him further.

Dressed, he stepped outside into the hall and knocked softly on his father’s door.

“Hmm?” came the sleepy reply.

“I’m going to school now,” Kamitra said.

“Want me to drive you?” his father yawned. There was a series of clicks as he stretched.

Stiffening, Kamitra swallowed. “No. It’s alright. I’ll walk.”

“Make sure you’re home before dark,” his father called as Kamitra set off down the stairs.

The walk to school was normal. There were calls and greetings but not one of them were directed at him. Head hanging, he hunched his shoulders and watched his breath turn to mist in the crisp spring air. Someone knocked into him, panicking he glanced upwards. It was a tall boy with scars on his face and silver studded into his eyebrows and ears: Ren, the school delinquent. Ren's eyes were filled with promises of violence as he shot Kamitra a customary menacing glower. But then he was looking back towards the front and continuing on his way. Everyone veered away from him. You didn’t cross paths with Ren if you wanted to live. It was well known that he was part of a large and dangerous street gang. According to the rumours, he was a runner, ferrying illegal drugs and stolen goods all across London. He could strike you dead with his bare hands, according to the rumours.

Tentatively, Kamitra allowed his eyes to follow Ren as he cut a path through the throng. His stride was confident and powerful but there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his hands and boots were scuffed and scraped. At the hinge of his jaw a fresh bruise was blossoming. He’d been up all night, fighting.

Kamitra sped up and was soon in front of the school. Instead of following the crowd, Ren stopped at the railings and rested against them, shooting glares at anyone who looked at him directly.

Through the school gate and past the first milestone. Congratulations, Kamitra, he thought, you made it to school. All around him were the average scenes of a normal school day. There were a group of boys muttering amongst themselves and glancing over at a tree in the middle of the courtyard. Beneath the tree sat Terone, the best-looking boy in the school. He smiled and laughed with the large group surrounding him but his bright eyes were distant. Jaded.

Underneath a different tree, sat a boy the same age as Terone. Dark hair unkempt, his skin was bruised and dirty. Satra. His angry, burning eyes drilled a hole into the ground, hand unconsciously scratching at his long sleeves.

A couple of years ago, it had become common knowledge that Satra lived in a children's home having been rejected by five different pairs of foster parents. Already marked as an outsider, with his lack of social skills and spiteful attitude, this new information had set a spiral of abuse and isolation into effect. No one spoke to Satra anymore, except to throw spiteful words and mark his skin with cuts and bruises.

Hunching his shoulders again, Kamitra sat down against the wall of the main school building, watching the people. With every look, the world shared its secrets with him; tiny details slipping into his brain, puzzle pieces building up an intricate design of what lay beneath the painted layer of an outward appearance. It always amazed him that everyone could be so blind, no one could see the things that lay so obviously in front of them.

A sudden shout broke through Kamitra’s thoughts, bringing his attention back to real life. Everyone who had heard the shout was now looking toward the gate.

“What did you say to me?” Ren was staring at a slightly taller boy from the year below him.

“I said,” the boy, Dean Lukason, replied, “that you need to move. If you’re not gonna go to school, don’t hang around here.” By now the hush had spread to the corners of the crowd, everyone was watching. Breath baited and eyes alert. Despite the ubiquitous fear of Ren, many, Kamitra along with them, flocked nearer for a better view.

“Yeah,” Ren drawled slowly, “That’s what I thought you said. Didn’t think you’d be saying it to me though.”

The challenger let out a bark of humourless laughter. “You think I’m scared of you?” he spat, “just because you wear black clothes and have some fancy jewellery, it doesn’t make you better than me.” From this distance, it was easy to see Ren repeatedly tensing and un-tensing his muscles, loosening himself up discretely and readying his body for a fight. “It’s time someone stood up to you, Ren, you ca-”

The punch came hard, fast and calculated, hitting Dean squarely in the jaw. Ren raised a glittering eyebrow as Dean blinked a little, staggering back. There was a pause as Ren’s dark eyes scanned his opponent before he began his attack again. This time, he led with a kick to the stomach that sent Dean reeling, winded.

“You little,” Dean gasped, before running at him. Ready and waiting, Ren kicked the younger boy’s legs out from under him, then his fist caught him beneath the chin with an uppercut. Dean’s head snapped back.

“Pathetic,” Ren sneered.

Dean’s friends, who, at first, had hung back, now stepped into the limelight. Bright eyed, Kamitra watched each movement intently.

The first one ran, aiming a fist towards the head. Ren fired a punch into the boy's stomach then a knee into his face. Next one came running as fast as he could, head down, trying to ram him. Smirking, Ren stepped to the side and stuck out a leg sending the boy crashing into the pavement. Numbers three and four ran ever so slightly in canon. Still smiling, Ren stepped to the left and then to the right, dodging both of them. They stumbled as they came to a halt. Without giving number three a chance to straighten, Ren's foot smacked him in the groin causing the unfortunate boy to crash down to the floor. Smile growing, Ren turned to face number four.

“Had enough?” he asked. Fearful, the boys scrambled away, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. “Anyone else?” Ren demanded, glaring at the assembled audience. They quickly dispersed. Kamitra, however, remained where he was. Almost immediately, Ren spotted him. “What? You got a problem, kid?”

The word ‘no’ stuck in his throat, blocked by the questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask. A single shake his head was all he gave before he turned and ran.

Somewhere inside the buildings bells rang. Everyone on the ground scrambled to their feet and the entirety of the students outside migrated to the entrance. Following a cluster of his peers, Kamitra made his way to his classroom. It was a brightly coloured room, with cheerful displays covered in diagrams the students had drawn. Placing his bag on the desk, Kamitra stared at the presentation on the opposite wall; it had recently been replaced and was covered in work about bees. There were quite a few details that he had yet to take in so he amused himself with familiarising himself with every tiny thing on the red papered board.

After a little while, the teacher walked in. Her mousy brown hair was braided into a plait which bounced on her back as she walked. From the bags under her eyes, the slight scruffiness of her plait and the green and red pen on her hands, Kamitra guessed that she’d spent most of the night marking.

“Morning class!” She smiled jovially as she reached her desk. “Let's see who's here then, shall we?” she asked, opening the register. Names were read out and answered either by a 'Yes Miss' or by silence. Still smiling, she reached the final name and then closed it with a snap.

“There's no assembly today due to the mock exams,” she informed them, sounding rather grateful herself, “so you can talk amongst yourselves till lessons starts.” A wave of talking immediately rose in the class room.

Uttering a mute sigh, Kamitra turned his head and stared out of the window beside him. Two squirrels were chattering to each other in the branches of an old oak, their silver fur sleek and their tails bristling as the chattering increased. One suddenly took chase and the pair whizzed off into the rest of the tree.

“Who's that?” someone asked. Turning his head slightly, Kamitra saw an unfamiliar girl sitting with a few others looking at him. A new student judging from the fresh looking books peeking out the top of her bag. She must have arrived in the past few days ago while he wasn’t at school.

“Oh him?” One of her new friends glanced over. “That's Kamitra; you won't get much out of him though. Whenever he does come to school, he never talks to anyone. All he ever does is stare out of the window.”

“Maybe,” the new comer said slowly, “he's just shy? He could be lonely.” If he had a penny for every time he’d heard someone say that then… he still wouldn’t be particularly well off. Most people paid him little attention, it was like he was part of the background, not that he minded.

Laughing answered her words. “Yeah right! Everyone tries talking to him but he never responds just carries on staring out of the window.”

“Yeah,” someone else said, “I think he's retarded or something.” She made her voice deep and slow, “Can’t un-der-stand you!” More laughing.

Eyes down cast, Kamitra turned his head away. People thought he was stupid. Were they right? It was what his father always called him. Stupid, weak, runt, whelp, idiot, moron. That's what he was; there wasn't really any point in all of this. No point at all.

“I still think someone should be nice to him,” the new girl continued. Kamitra’s eyes widened slightly – he’d never heard someone’s voice fill with even the slightest concern when speaking about him.

There was a moment of silence then the other girls sighed. “You’re too soft,” one warned. “There’re people here who’ll take advantage of that.” She had a blue butterfly clip holding back her fringe.

As he listened, the others joined in, discussing possible dangers for the new comer. First Ren Trestan, violent and cruel, then Terone Davison, a heart-breaker who didn’t date at this school, Dean Lukason, a thuggish boy with a vicious temper, and even Satra. This last one wasn’t due to any direct threat but to the danger posed by his many bullies, namely Dean. Anyone that got close to him would suffer. Then they began to talk about a girl named Betty who spread extravagant rumours. Despite the fact he was no longer the topic of conversation, he continued to eavesdrop, drowning out the rest of registration.

The first half of the day passed without incident. Lessons flew past him and washed over him, without sinking in, morning break flashed by in a second. Finally, it was lunch. Stretching his sore legs, Kamitra retrieved his lunch from his bag and made his way outside. While they had been in lessons, the weather had warmed up. Piercing light shone down from the sun and trees offered the only shade. Head down, he took refuge beneath a large oak with splayed branches that stretched far into the air offering the largest shadow possible.

A few metres away, the group of boys from this morning’s fight were grumbling among themselves, still sore about the defeat.

“I’ll kill that cocky bastard,” Dean was saying, “He thinks he can just walk all over me. I’ll show him!”

This earned a titter from a couple of nearby girls. “Seriously?” one asked, pushing her fringe back from her face. “You’ve been saying the same thing for weeks and look what happened.” She gestured a hand toward his split lip. “I think you got off lightly.”

“Shut up!” he snapped back, embarrassed. “He just got lucky. I’ll wipe the floor with him next time!” Sulking, he whirled away from them and caught sight of Kamitra. “What you looking at?” he demanded. “You think this is funny? Huh?!”

Unable to so much as speak, Kamitra froze, breath clawing at the skin of his chest, refusing to be dragged out. Infuriated, Dean marched towards him. “You think I’m weak don’t you! You think you could take me? Huh? I’ll kill you and Ren and any other bastard who-”

“You know,” a voice interrupted, “the definition of insanity is someone repeating the same action and expecting a different result. The definition of an idiot is someone who acts in a self-defeating way. As you do both, what does that make you?” It was Satra.

While there was the possibility Dean hadn’t fully understood Satra’s words, even an imbecile would be able to ascertain the general meaning. Unsurprisingly, Dean didn’t appreciate the insult.

“Stay out of this,” he snapped, turning away from Kamitra. “I’ll deal with you later, you stinking homeless twat.”

Apparently fearless, Satra scoffed, “Aww, did I strike a nerve? Really doesn’t seem that difficult with you, Deany.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Dean snarled.

“Don’t like nicknames?” Satra sneered. “Deany.” With a yell, Dean threw himself at Satra. Burying his fist into Satra’s stomach, he grabbed the back of the other boy’s head and slammed it into his knee. Winded and dazed, Satra slumped, coughs hacking from his mouth. Dean locked his arm and launched him across the courtyard. Straight towards Kamitra, still frozen in fear. Kamitra was smashed into the tree beneath Satra’s weight with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded across Kamitra’s skull. Around him the suddenly dark tinged world was spinning wildly out of control. Gasping, he fell forwards, squeezing his eyes tight shut. When he opened them again, a crowd had gathered. Shouting, yelling. More people fighting. Kicks, punches, smacks.

Pressing himself against the tree, he curled up, attempting to hide from the chaos as his head pounded. Eventually, the noise began to die down. Mind racing, he sensed a chance to escape and sprang to his feet.

There was a strangled yelp as his head collided with someone’s stomach. Eyes snapping open, Kamitra glanced wildly around. At some point, Ren and Terone had gotten involved. Ren was holding Dean in a headlock while Satra leaned against the tree trying to catch his breath. On the ground was Terone, cheek bruised and now completely winded thanks to Kamitra’s head.

At that exact moment, there came the yell of “TEACHER!”

The crowd scattered. Bemused and blinking, the five boys remained where they were. With a loud and condescending voice, the Deputy Head descended upon them. As patronisingly as possible, he berated each of them in turn. First Ren, then Satra and Dean. His voice was tinged with disappointment when he turned to Terone. That vanished when he came to Kamitra. He sneered. Kamitra felt his face burn with shame. “Little kid trying to play with the big boys, hm?” When Kamitra just stared at him, petrified, he snorted. “All of you are in isolation for the rest of the day. Follow me.”

Thankfully, they were sent to the medical detention room. With multiple fights breaking out around the school each week, it only made sense that at least one of the isolation rooms had some form of basic medical equipment. Ears ringing again, Kamitra collapsed onto one of the two beds, watching numbly as the others filed in.

Dean and Satra seated themselves at opposite ends while Terone lounged across the other bed. Ren was just holding a phone up to his ear. When the Deputy gave him a look from the door, he just waved.

“Hey, Snigger, shut up,” Ren snapped into his mobile. “I know, but you were going to. Where’s Theodore?” From the bed, Terone smiled slightly. Amused at some memory. “Yeah, yeah. Oh, hey. Listen can you tell Kingsley I’m in detention? I would do it myself but I really can’t be fucked to deal with his shit today.” The double swear made the Deputy roll his eyes in disgust and leave. “Fighting,” Ren continued. “Shut up. I was actually trying to break it up… Yeah. I was. See, I was gonna stay out of it but then a certain pretty red head persuaded me to help out… Dude, you sound like you ate a frog.”

From the bed, Terone chuckled. “Tell him I said hi.”

After a moment, Ren passed on the reply. “He says go fuck yourself.”

Apparently, the two were on better terms than was to be expected. Not enough clues though. Nothing obvious to lead Kamitra to the cause of this surprising relationship. Not enough data.

Mind moving away from them, he turned his attention onto the other two. Dean and Satra. Their relationship was much simpler. No, not simple just… much more discernible. They hated each other. Yet they also saw something more in the other and that made the hate grow stronger.

What that something was, Kamitra didn’t quite know yet.

Sitting up, he winced as pain spiked through the back of his skull again. Trees hurt a lot. Undoubtedly, there would be a bruise. Which his father would-

They were going to call his father. It was a school policy. They were going to tell him Kamitra had been in trouble. There was no way he could escape this, no way to lie, to-

For a second time, his thought track was cut off, this time by the school nurse entering the room. Instantly, his eyes locked onto her. Wedding ring, curly hair bound back with pins and bands, the slightest of smudges in her eye liner. Tiny things, tiny details. Enough to drown out the rising panic.

“Are you alright?”

Startled, Kamitra looked up into the dark green eyes of Terone. Mutely, Kamitra nodded and fixed his gaze on the floor.

“It seemed like a pretty nasty knock,” Terone continued, sitting beside him. “Though, your head seems perfectly solid to me,” he laughed.

Glancing back at him for a second, Kamitra murmured, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Terone assured him. “No lasting damage. Actually I blame Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for not being able to sort out their differences in a more peaceful way. Oh and Ren for being a terrible peace maker.”

“You dragged me into it,” Ren snapped with only a little venom. For once, the usual tense promise of violence was absent from his limbs. As the nurse approached him, he stretched his arms up letting out several resounding clicks much like Kamitra’s father-

Cracked tiles around the skirting board, peeling sellotape barely managing to keep first aid advice posters attached to the walls. Little things. Little details.

Terone was watching him. It was an odd and new experience that he wasn’t sure he liked. Close observation from this side was a lot more uncomfortable. A piercing ring tone broke the rising tension. It was Terone’s. With an apologetic smile toward the disapproving Nurse, Terone dug the phone from his pocket.

“Darling!” he chirped. “I know, I’m sorry. I woke up late and had to rush off to school. No phone calls during lessons… Yes, I’m sorry, love.” While his voice was tender and compassionate, his face was nothing but bored. “Tonight, yes, don’t worry… I love you too.” With a sigh, he hung up and looked back towards Kamitra.

Pointedly avoiding his stare, Kamitra fixed his eyes on Satra who the Nurse was tending to. Having turfed Ren from the bed, she had removed his shirt and was inspecting the blue-black splodges blossoming across his ribcage. Every once in a while, she shot a judgmental glance towards Dean who scowled in reply.

“No broken ribs,” she said at last. The stiff tension of Dean’s shoulders subsided ever so slightly. It was quickly compensated for by his fists tightly clenching and his jaw tightening.

Intrigued, Kamitra moved his attention to the other boy.

“You noticed too then?” murmured a voice beside his ear. Flinching violently, Kamitra found Terone leaning towards him.

“N-notice?” Kamitra’s voice was squeaky and wavering.

“That there’s more than animosity between those two,” Terone continued, oblivious to Kamitra’s inability to express words in a normal way.

Shrugging, Kamitra tucked his hands beneath his thighs. “Maybe.”

“It’s obvious to me,” Terone said. “I’m an expert at relationships. However, for you to notice is something else. You’re surprisingly observant.” There was a pause for Kamitra to thank him. Kamitra was too busy goggling at him to say anything. “What do you think their deal is?”

“I can hear you!” Dean snapped from the other end of the room.

“Sames,” Satra said, wincing as the Nurse poked his arms. “If you’re that desperate to discuss us, please do it somewhere else or at least keep your voices down. Ow!” Pain flickered across his face as she touched his hand.

Alarm lit up in Dean’s face. It was quickly suppressed when he caught sight of Terone and Kamitra looking at him.

“Sprained wrist,” the Nurse announced. “Go and get some ice on that.” Beyond grateful, Satra all but fled the room. Turning toward Kamitra, she pointed at him. “You next. Please move Mister Davison.” With an ever gracious smile, he complied. A few moments later, Kamitra was sent off to fetch an icepack as well.

They were kept in a freezer outside the staff room that anyone could access. A lot of kids used it to store drinks during Summer or ingredients for Food Tech. Once someone stored snowballs in a plastic box till June. They’d terrorised other students attempting to enjoy the thick heat. Since then the freezer was regularly checked and any undesirable items were binned.

Satra was leaning against the wall beside the freezer when Kamitra arrived. Glancing up, he quickly dug another icepack out and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Kamitra murmured. It felt amazing against his head. “For earlier too.”

“It’s nothing,” Satra replied. “I don’t really care how he acts but I had at least presumed he was above bullying little kids.”

Sitting down beside him, Kamitra pressed the icepack harder against his skin, desperate for that shock of relief again. After several moments, he asked, “Why?”

Apparently, Satra’s thoughts had wandered off in those few seconds as he just stared bemusedly at him. “Why what?”

“Why is Dean above it?”

Expression clearing, Satra turned his gaze away again. “Oh…” He shrugged. “I guess I expected better of him.”

Another pause.

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” Satra snapped, temper flaring. “Because I thought he was like me? I mean, I thought I understood him! I thought he only acted like this because we’ve got the same problems. But then he goes and does the most ridiculous things and suddenly-” Voice cutting off with a slight squeak, he froze, eyes locked on Dean. The younger boy was also immobilised, mid-step, shock written across his face. “Shit,” Satra whispered. “Shit, shit.” Still swearing, he whirled around and raced up the corridor.

“Satra, wait!” Dean yelled after him, giving chase. Their footsteps quickly fade and they were gone.

*

Kamitra’s father picked him up from outside the school an hour later. As expected, the Deputy had called to alert him of the incident. In addition to being excluded for the rest of the day, Kamitra was not to return to school till next Monday. Only Terone had gotten off lighter than him, though. A flutter of eyelashes and sweet smile had seen to it that Terone would return the day after next. Satra and Dean were both off for two weeks and Ren was banished for the rest of the half-term. None of them seemed too bothered with their punishments.

It was only Kamitra who was at all concerned. Despite himself, he’d begun to panic as he waited for his father’s car.

“Calm down,” Terone had said, spotting his shaking hands. “It’s only a few days. Besides it’s your first incident so they won’t put it on your record.” At that moment, Kamitra had spotted the old red fiesta trundling up the road and he stopped listening.

Face completely blank, Kamitra’s father climbed out the car. He walked around, eyes fixed on his son. “Are you hurt?” he asked briskly. Automatically, Kamitra mutely denied it.

“His got a nasty knock on the back of his head,” Terone corrected him. He frowned when he saw the way Kamitra froze. “Satra got thrown into him.”

“I threw him,” Dean admitted, glancing at Satra who was very quiet for once.

Eyes flicking over them, Kamitra’s father nodded slowly. “I see. Get in the car, boy.” Almost tripping over himself in his haste, Kamitra bolted in. A moment later, his father joined him and they were driving home.

Silence reigned the entire time. Huddled up with his bag, Kamitra stared out of the window, eyes snagging the little details they passed. Teenagers lounging in alleys, an old woman with a bag stuffed trolley, a toddler holding a cat, a woman with blue beads in her hair. Little things, little details.

The house was cold and grey when they entered. Tall buildings all around blocked out a lot of the sun, preventing its rays from brightening the rooms all that much. Dull light glinted off pots and pans stacked up on the kitchen shelves. The spice rack rattled slightly as Kamitra’s bag was slung onto the hook beneath it.

“You lied to me,” Kamitra’s father said stiffly, the first words in ten minutes. “You said you weren’t hurt. Hit to the head could’ve left you with brain damage. You ought to be grateful that boy told the truth.” Disgust morphed his face. “I thought I taught you better. Fighting. I told you, never fight. You’re too weak and pathetic to stand a chance. A maggot like you has no place standing your ground.” A pause. “What do you say?”

Breath catching thickly in his throat, Kamitra whispered, “I- I- I’m sorry.”

Hand smacking down on the sideboard, Kamitra’s father leaned in close. “What was that?”

“Sorry!” Kamitra squeaked.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, boy. And look at me when I talk to you. I said look at me, you stinking brat.” Slowly, Kamitra raised his eyes. “Now was that so difficult? No, it wasn’t. So why did I need to ask you twice, hm? Are you deaf or just stupid?” No reply earned a sharp, “Well?”

“St-stupid,” Kamitra whispered.

Even this didn’t satisfy him. “So you’re smart enough to admit you're stupid but too dumb to stay out of fights. Maybe you’re not as stupid as I thought, maybe you’re insolent too. An insolent little shit who doesn’t do what he’s told. I know what’s best, not you. I make the rules, not you. You do what you’re told. You obey. Got it?” A nod from Kamitra was all he needed this time. “So how to punish you… Because you do need to be punished, it’s the only way you’ll learn. Hm.” He stepped back, looking Kamitra up and down. “You’re getting fat. You’d do well to skip a few meals.”

Slowly, Kamitra nodded. “I… I’ll miss dinner.”

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” Kamitra’s father snapped. “And stand up straight. You’ve got something like a spine, use it.” Instantly, Kamitra sprang to attention. “I’ve been spoiling you, that’s it. You take all this for granted. Kids would kill to have a life like yours. Sheltered, protected. Do you understand how ungrateful you are? Maybe I need to teach you.” He considered the possibility for a long moment. “Take off your shoes and socks. Now. I said now.”

Fingers shaking so badly, Kamitra couldn’t even gain on a grip on the laces long enough to untie them. When his father gave a warning glare, he tore them from his feet, flinging them away from him.

“Good. Now follow me.”

*

Cold.

So cold.

So very cold.

Dark too.

Thin shoulders hunched over, Kamitra looked up to where he knew the window was. A large square of chipboard had been nailed over it, blocking out any hint of the sun.

Some kids don’t have light.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since his father had torn apart his room? Sent him inside? Closed the door and left?

How long since those last words had echoed through the empty space? Stay in there. Don’t even think about leaving ‘til I say so.

“Won’t leave.” Leaving would be ungrateful.

Learn to be grateful.

“I’m grateful,” Kamitra whispered, lowering his head again.

It didn’t matter that he was hungry. It didn’t matter that he was cold. At least he was safe. At least he was loved. At least he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you, Dad. Thank you so much.”

*

It might have been days or maybe weeks later. His hazy mind could not tell, it had been shifting in and out of consciousness for a while now. Sounds were echoing from somewhere below him. Footsteps, voices, the creaking of floorboards.

“All clear, sir.” Footsteps. Walking. People walking. “No one down here.” More sound, more steps. Babbling, talking.

“You two, upstairs. You, outside with me.” Stairs squeaking. Heavy steps, light steps. People walking up the hall.

“Hey, this door’s unlocked.”

Light. The door was open. That was wrong. That was wrong, it should be closed. His father had told him not to open it. His father would be angry. Close it. Close it.

Despite his weakened limbs, he scrambled away from the opening. “Close it. Close it. Close it.” The words rattled out from his parched throat, little more than a whisper.

“He’s up here!” shouting, someone shouting. Warm hands touched his cold filthy skin. He flinched away. “Someone call an ambulance!” Hands again, this time on his back and his legs. Arms, cradling. A sense of weightlessness. Eyes flickering open he caught glimpse of blurred colours. Blue vests and a flash of amber beads. “Got him… I’ve got him.”

No, he had to stay. Had to… stay… but the sounds were already beginning to fade as his mind slipped under once more.

 

“I spent a month in hospital,” Kami reported, stretched out on the sofa, eyes distant, “I was very… uh… malnourished, yeah, that’s the word… Turns out Dad had just… gone. I’d been in there for days and sometime during that, Dad had just got up and left.” There was a pause. “When I was discharged, they sent me to the local Children’s Home. The same one that Satra lived in. They found my Aunt after that.” His eyes became more focussed. “She's lovely my Aunt. Better than any mum I could ever have asked for.” He grinned. “But… it’s strange. I mean, I understand that I’m happy and I’m not ungrateful for that but… at the same time… I don’t really feel anything at all. I know I like my Aunt and my friends. I know I adore them. But it’s more a piece of knowledge, the same way you know that the sun makes your skin brown. It’s not the same as feeling the sun’s warmth on your skin and watching it tan.” He paused and looked down at his hands. The smile was still in place, just as sunny and as bright as ever. To the untrained eye it looked entirely genuine. To a fellow actor, it looked extremely well-rehearsed. “It’s like there’s this huge glass wall between me and everything else. I’m looking in but I’m not really there. Do you understand?” He glanced up hopefully.

There was a very long silence. Nothing happened, no one moved. Then, slowly, oh so slowly, she nodded.

His eyes widened in unexpected delight. “Really?”

Another nod.

“I’m glad. I’ve never really explained it to anyone. I tried with Satra once but he didn’t really get it. I don’t think any of them really would. I mean, how could they? Their lives were ruled and ruined by feelings. Satra felt too much, Ren too strongly, Terone only enough to hurt. Sometimes it doesn’t matter but sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m all alone.” He was snapped out of his reverie by a thump.

While he had zoned out, Uta had been leaning towards her desk, reaching for the sketch pad. It now lay on the floor, the pencil rolling toward him.

Slipping off the sofa and onto the floor, he caught it and held it out to her. Instead of taking it, she clasped his hand. Her grip was weak, unable to do much more than guide him in the direction she wished him to go.

Curious, he allowed her to lead him to the sketch pad. She knelt on the floor beside him, dark hair falling like a veil between them. It masked her face and the look of intense concentration that moulded its features.

“You want me to draw?” he asked but received no response. Instead she pushed against his hand, pressing the pencil tip against the paper. With slow and shaky movements, she dragged his hand up then diagonally then up again. N. After that was a wobbly circle. O. Then a T.

1. O. T. A. L. O. N. E.

“Not alone?” He tilted his head, eyebrows lowering. “Do you mean me?”

She gave no hint of a response as she fell back against the bed almost utterly exhausted.

“Uta?”

Very slowly, Uta shook her head. Her eyes drifted to the door where voices could be heard calling.

“Kami! Oh Ka~ami!” Satra.

“You sound like a paedo, dumbass.” Ren.

With an exuberant ‘Ah ha!’ Satra sung around the doorframe, grinning. “This is where you're hiding. And you have a girl with you. My word, you're taking after Terone.”

Smiling brightly again, Kami leaped to his feet. “Don’t be stupid.”

“He can’t help it,” Ren interjected.

“This is a task my Aunt set us,” Kami continued, “To h-”

“You'll have to tell us on the way,” Ren told him, as Satra shoved his watch in Ren’s face. “It's time to go. You know what Mum is like when we’re late for dinner.”

“I thought I was going to be brutally beaten with those avocados last week,” Satra said, voice a melodramatic whisper of terror. “So we’d better get moving!”

With a nod, Kami turned and waved. “Alright. See you, Uta.”

Those that return

"That was fun.” Satra grinned. “You'll have to introduce us to your friend.” He nudged Kami, winking.

Nodding, Kami beamed up at him, the innuendo lost on him. “Yep! We're going again, day after tomorrow. Auntie wants us to spend tomorrow doing homework or something. Though she said you three should do your UCAS.”

Ren scowled. “Seriously?”

With a laugh, Satra leaned an elbow on his shoulder. “How about we steal Terone, go over to Kami's and make it a party?”

“Whatever,” Ren muttered, rolling his eyes. “See you later, Kami.” The pair turned left up the street while Kami turned right. His Aunt wouldn't be home for another couple of hours so he would have the house to himself. Grinning, he deliberated what he should talk about next time he saw Uta. It seemed wrong to him to tell the other's parts of the story. Each of the four accounts that knitted together to create the story were deeply personal to each of them. They all had a lot of memories shut away in them, things they’d rather not face.

Still deep in thought, he unlocked the front door and went inside. The television was on. A frown creasing his brow, Kami walked over to turn it off; he was sure he had- In the reflection, he saw someone standing behind him.

Whipping around, Kami tried to throw a punch like Ren had shown him but it was caught, effortlessly, in the man's huge hand. Useless.

“A runt like you shouldn't even bother,” the man laughed. That voice.

“D- Dad?” Kami whispered, horror robbing his lungs of breath. An icy coldness crept along his spine, spilling into his veins.

“Why so tense?” his father asked, “no need to be worried. We are family.”

Terror flooded his brain, the pounding of his frantic heart beat against his ear drums. “Why- Why are you here?" Kami's throat was dry. His adrenalin swamped brain was firing random facts at him; his father had been traveling, tan lines adorned his skin making a gradient of skin tones, he’d been in several fights over his absence and hadn’t won all of them.

“To take you back,” his father told him, releasing his hand. “I need you again. Now grab your stuff and let's go.”

But Kami was frozen. “No.” His voice was barely louder than a breath.

For a moment there was silence, then: “What did you say to me?”

Back straightening, Kami forced himself to look his father in the eye. You are not alone.

That’s what Uta had told him. You will never be alone. Never again. There was no need to be afraid. He was no longer alone. Never again would he have to suffer in silence. Somehow... they would always be there.

“I said 'no',” he replied, blinking to subdue the stinging in his eyes. “I'm not going with you.”

There was a moment of intense silence. Taking advantage of the stillness, Kami looked up into his father’s face for the first time in what felt like forever. He looked terrible. Once healthy, vibrant skin had given way to a pallid, sickliness. His slate coloured eyes were exhausted and bloodshot, almost mad.

“The boy’s talking,” he muttered under his breath. “Boy’s talking back to me. THE BOY’S TALKING BACK TO ME!” he screamed. Shocked, Kami staggered back. Rarely had his father ever raised his voice beyond the necessary levels to be heard. “The boy’s talking back, the boy’s talking BACK!” A massive hand reached out and gripped Kami’s hair. “Boy doesn’t talk! The boy just comes with me!” He was unhinged. Whatever had happened to his father in his two year absence had robbed him of his mind. “Boy comes with ME!” He tugged harder, trying to pull Kami through the now open doorway.

Out into the fading light of day and uncut grass. Warm earth smacked into his knees as Kami stumbled and fell. Hair was ripped away, strands caught between the knuckles of his father’s fist. Scrambling to his feet, Kami began to run. Feet tripping in the tangled grass desperately running. Running.

Arms seized his waist and he was hoisted into the air. Flailing wildly, he struck out with his legs. Once, twice, three times. Each kick earned a slight grunt but that was all. Firm grip intact, Kami’s father staggered towards the car. It was the same from two years ago, if only more battered and travel worn.

“Get off me!” Kami shrieked. “Help! Somebody!”

A sudden shout made Kami’s father freeze.

“Put him down!” Ren bellowed, charging towards them. Behind him, Terone and Satra had given up on keeping pace with their speedster friend and were jogging, looks of resignation scrawled across their features.

Despite Kami’s father not making a single move, Ren kept on going. He ploughed straight into him. Kami went flying backwards as he father was knocked off of his feet.

Winded and gasping, Kami stared up at the sky.  The sound of fists on flesh filled his ears, interrupted by the yelling and cursing of his father.

An out of breath Satra appeared above him and grabbed him, pulling him out of harm’s way. Once again vertical, Kami watched as Ren stalked closer to his father, ready to strike again. “Are you alright?” Satra demanded, grabbing his shoulders, face tight with worry. “Did he hurt you?”

Shaking his head, Kami smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Nah.” Satra waved his hand airily, relief surging through his every molecule. “You should thank Terone and his trillions of contacts. One of them saw your old man break in and told him.”

“I tried to contact you,” Terone told him. “But your phones were still turned off from being in the hospital. I didn't know exactly where the hospital was so I waited for Ren and Satra at their house.”

“Yeah.” Satra grinned. “Then we had to run all the way here. Why didn’t we remember our phones sooner?!”

“Yeah,” Ren growled, “I would’ve killed this bastard sooner.”

Shrugging, Terone slid his own phone into his pocket. “I’ve already called the Police. They’ll be here soon. I would have called them first but…” He trailed off, glancing toward Kami apologetically.

“Ren would’ve gotten himself in trouble trying to hurt him,” Kami realised. “It’s fine.”

Oblivious to them, Ren, who was crouched on Kami's father's back twisting the man's arms, put his head near the man's ear. “Hear that, you bastard?” he whispered, almost delighted. “You’re going away for a long time.”

*

“And you’re all safe?” Beatrice repeated. On the other end Kami assured her again that the only one that had been hurt was his father. “Alright, but I want you to stay over Satra and Ren’s tonight, I won’t be back till late. Okay? Good boy. Love you, see you in the morning.” Setting the phone on the hook, she stared at the opposite wall for a good few moments. She’d been worried this would happen. They all had. Picking up the phone again, she dialled.

It was answered on the second ring.

“Yes?” came the greeting.

“‘Locked up’,” she quoted. “‘Will never trouble you again’. That’s what you told me.”

“I’m sorry, Bea, but you’re going to have to be more specific. It’s been a long day. I’ve got paperwork five miles high and a cramp like you wouldn’t bel-”

“My brother-in-law just broke into my house and attempted to kidnap my nephew,” she snapped.

There was a long pause. “Ah.”

“Ah?” she hissed. “Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Sorry! There isn’t a lot I can do right now. Has he been arrested?”

Forcing herself to calm down, she nodded slightly as she spoke. “Yes, the police have him in a holding cell and all the boys are safe. A little shaken but safe.”

“We’ll get hold of him,” they assured her. “And we’ll put a stop to him.”

“That’s what you said last time!” she exclaimed.

Voice chilling considerably, the person replied, “My apologies, Miss Kennings, but I have many more responsibilities than ensuring the safety of four boys. I am not all powerful, my resources are stretched thin and I’m still building up my influence. I will do my best but that’s all I can promise. Is that understood?”

A hundred protests sprang into her mouth. After several moments, she reminded herself who she was speaking to. “I understand.”

“Anyway!” the person chirped. “How’s our princess?”

“Contact has been made,” she replied, face grim. “And she’s already showing improvement. This… this won’t get the boys hurt will it?”

“As long as everything goes according to plan, they shouldn’t even know she’s missing for a good for weeks. Just… make sure the boys don’t go talking about her. We don’t know who might be listening.”

There was a pause as Beatrice glanced down at her assessment notes. “How long do you think this will take?”

“I have no idea. No one’s ever attempted this before. It might not even work.”

“Trust me,” Beatrice assured the speaker. “If anyone can do it, they can.”

Another pause stretched across a thirty second gap before it was broken by the speaker again; “Just out of interest… what did you do to get her admitted?”

For a moment, she thought to herself. “Oh, nothing drastic, just the usual string pulling.”

“Metaphorical or literal?”

“Both.”

Taster

 Taster for the next chapter:

 

“What did you mean?” Dean demanded. “How am I like you?”

Satra stared at him. How much did he know? “Because we’re both…” Pausing, he shrugged. “Y’know.”

After a long silence, Dean’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, uh… How did you know?”

Another shrug. “I kinda guessed from the way you acted,” Satra admitted. The tense hold his anxiety had upon his muscles was beginning to be usurped by relief. He hadn’t exploded, hadn’t denied it, hadn’t…

“You can’t tell anyone,” Dean said, eyes fixing on him. “No one. I mean if my brother found out I’m adopted then he’d be devastated.

It took several seconds for comprehend what Dean had just said. Adopted? What?

“R-right.” Satra nodded with mock-understanding. Cold dread sprang up in his stomach. Have I completely misjudged this?

Imprint

Text: Me! It's mine!
Images: Google images
Editing: My Mum, Ian Baird
Publication Date: 06-25-2012

All Rights Reserved