The Numbered

Chapter Eight

Two weeks had passed by since Mary and her children had been taken. The routine of life refused to stop and now people were going about their days as if nothing had happened. The ruins of the house had smouldered for two days and while the charred and broken evidence of the tragedy was still in plain sight, residents had stopped gathering for small vigils for the departed. Only the small handmade tributes had remained on what was left of the front door step.

After a long day, Hannah returned from work, her hands raw from scrubbing the floors of the local school. As she turned down the street, she stopped suddenly. The site where Mary's house had been, was gone, the earth scraped clean of burnt debris. Rubbed out like it had never existed. Not a day went by when Hannah didn't think about that night, endlessly questioning her sanity. Had she seen and heard what she thought she had? What if she'd hallucinated due to lack of oxygen? What if she'd hit her head as she fell by the door? Too many unanswered questions and what ifs. But it was the memory of Zach's piercing scream that haunted her and when she doubted herself she focused on that.

On the morning after the fire, her father had spoken briefly to her to check she was okay. She had wanted to tell him what had really happened, but he'd looked so tired and seemed worried about something, so she decided not to burden him. Lately, he'd been working long hours, on mostly night-shifts and when he wasn't working, he was sleeping upstairs. Her mother on the other hand was trying her best to buoy up Hannah's spirits by not mentioning what she had said that night and actively avoiding talking about it.

Hannah loved her family dearly. She had always known they were not her birth parents and she didn't care one bit. They had only ever shown her a fierce love which she reciprocated equally fierce. She rarely thought about who her birth parents were. Why bother, they sure as hell didn't care about her? Those in the upper echelons of society might consider the life of the Flawed as being desperate, empty and tough. And they were right; it was all those things and more. Things were hard and at times impossible. Food and supplies where scarce. People lived in constant fear of losing points. Life expectancy was low, infant mortality rates where high. The list of problems was endless. But what the pampered, self-absorbed elite didn't see or understand was the pride, the comradeship and the sheer strength in human spirit amongst the Flawed. One of the best things about being classified Flawed was that you never really questioned the fairness of life. Life was unfair. Fact. Get over it! In Hannah's mind there were no real divisions as a flawed. Everyone was classed as faulty and that was all you needed to know.

Hannah was lucky that her SPR score was so high. At 72, it meant that she had a work permit and that she given to a loving and hard-working family. She had also been given access to some education and limited medical care, at a price. But what puzzled others more than it did Hannah, was what her flaw was. Hannah was too plain to be beautiful, but she had no blemishes, no disfigurements or disabilities. She was healthy, was told she had average intelligence and Shane said he liked the way she could talk to anyone and they would instantly smile when hearing her voice. Some people thought her to be different, less flawed somehow, but her self- deprecating manner meant she fit in. As a child she sometimes wondered why she had been classified as Flawed, but nowadays she never questioned her SPR. She was just grateful for what she had and just got on with life.

Ever since that night, the night of the fire and the kiss, Hannah and Shane had spent most of what little free time they had together. Having lost her job as childminder to Mary's children, Hannah had taken on more cleaning shifts. Working for the Sanitation department was dirty work, but it was regular and brought in a much needed third income into her family. Shane also worked for the Sanitation department which meant they sometimes got to work together too.

Hannah had met Shane at school when they were barely six. He'd stopped another kid pulling on Hannah's pony tail in the dinner queue and from that day on they were the best of friends. When she was fourteen and her female friends started to look at boys, Hannah hadn't been bothered. She already had Shane and while it wasn't a romantic relationship, Shane was everything to her. When her friend's little relationships inevitably broke up after a few days, Hannah would feel grateful that her relationship with Shane was different. They would be friends forever.

After seeing the empty lot where Mary's house had once been, she couldn't bring herself to go home. Instead, she called for Shane and asked him to go for a walk with her. As the made their way along a muddy path, she told him about the plot having been cleared and her continued worry for Mary and her family.

After a while, when they realised they were not closer to the knowing what really happened, Shane gestured to Hannah to sit down on a rusty bench overlooking the river.

"Hannah, why did you kiss me the other night?" he asked tentatively while looking at the murky river before them. Debris littered the river bank and an oily sheen glistened on the surface of the barely moving water. On the opposite river bank, was the abattoir and meat packing plant where Shane also worked. Their view was bleak, but the sun was unseasonably warm and the yellow glow seemed to soften the harshness of their surroundings.

This was the first time the kiss had been spoken about out loud, yet Hannah thought of it often.

"Was it to thank me for saving you?" he pressed gently.

Hannah bit her lip and pondered the very question she had been asking herself.

"No, it wasn't for that reason, although I am very grateful you did save my life."

"Oh, so did you kiss me because you felt sorry for me then?"

Hannah shook her head vigorously. "No, not at all. I guess I kissed you because... I ...I wanted to."

"Oh."

"Didn't you like the kiss?" she asked, biting her lip again.

"The kiss was great," he replied in a hurry, "really great."

"Oh," it was her turn to reply. Her cheeks grew hotter.

"Do you think, we might...maybe...you know... have another one?"

Hannah lifted her eyes up from the murky water and turned to face him. In eleven years they had talked about everything. Or nearly everything she now realised. Shane was her best friend and would always be her best friend, but could he be more? She already knew the answer.

"I guess that would be...nice, but only if you really want to."

Shane laughed with relief. "Of course, that's what I want Hannah. You must have realised by now how I feel about you?"

Hannah smiled shyly. She did know and had known for a long time now, but had never dared say anything in case she was wrong. She knew, because she felt exactly the same.

Shane shuffled closer to Hannah along the bench.

"Can I kiss you now?" he asked.

Hannah nervously looked around in case anyone else was close by. She turned back to him and her eyes gave him his answer. Shane smiled, leant in and kissed her so gently she could barely feel his lips on hers. He kissed her again and she responded by opening her mouth a little. The third kiss was different. No longer chaste, his lips found hers and he kissed her with the beginnings of a passion that made heart race, her head swoon and allowed her to temporarily forget about the fire, Zach's cries and her missing friends. She also didn't notice the man in the distance pointing a camera toward her.