It was nearly three in the morning before Fran got back to the boarding house. She didn’t dare use the lift because it made too much noise, and struggling up the stairs with the crutch took a lot longer than she’d thought it would.
Whoever had been on night duty for the house had evidently forgotten about it: the curtains all along the corridor were open, but Fran was grateful. It meant that she could see her way around any obstacles without having to turn the light on or crashing into things and causing a ruckus. As quietly as possible, she made her way down to the end of the passage and was about to push her bedroom door open when she noticed light seeping out through the cracks.
Oh… crud. He’s still awake. Fran bit her lip. How was she supposed to explain her condition to him? He’s not going to leave me alone if I walk in with a crutch. He’ll probably already kill me for staying out after curfew. But what the hell is he doing still up at this time of night?
Brookie never stayed up that late. Midnight was the latest he went.
He’s probably keeping himself up until I get back, she realised with a sinking heart. It was the only explanation. The stuck-up little prig. If he hadn’t already busted her absence, he probably would in the morning. Or wanted to make some kind of slave-like deal with her so he wouldn’t bust her.
I can’t win this. I have to face him at some point. Swallowing, Fran gripped the handle and pushed the door open.
Brookie’s desk lamp was the one emitting light, and Brookie was sitting in his office chair, which he had moved to the side of Fran’s desk so that he was directly opposite the door. His arms were folded and Fran noticed that his phone was clutched in his right hand, backlight still bright.
Brookie pursed his lips when he saw her.
“Finally. You’re back.”
No comment about the crutch. Fran froze. Brookie didn’t look surprised in the remotest at her battered state. If anything, his expression was irritated. He nodded towards her bed.
“Well, sit down. Can’t believe you’re doing your leg any good like that.”
Blinking and with a niggling unease, Fran tried to control her shaking as she limped over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Brookie got to his feet and crossed to close the door. The click as he dropped the latch confirmed her sneaking suspicion that Brookie somehow knew something about what had happened. Frightened, she drew her good leg up to her chest and hugged it tightly, unable to look at him.
Brookie lingered with his fingers at the catch for several seconds before coming to stand in front of her. Fran managed to glance up as far as his chest. His arms were crossed again, and his phone was visibly shaking from some kind of tremor in his fingers.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
Fran remained motionless. That tone…. Godd*mn, the fury he was supressing was like a pressure cooker reaching its absolute pressure limit. He tapped his foot impatiently.
“Tell you what?” It came out as a whisper.
Brookie’s reply was cold and coated with irony. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps your name would be a good start. Or should we begin with the fact that you’re a girl masquerading as a boy in a co-ed school? What’s up with that, huh?”
Fran’s mind went numb and her vision seemed to fade as she stared at her foot. Girl… as a boy… in a co-ed school. He knew. He knew. Her entire body started to tremble. How did he find out? Oh, God, how did he find out…? She tried to breathe calmly to soothe her nerves, but it came out ragged, almost as if she were crying. What do I tell him? What do I tell him?
“Look,” said Brookie flatly, uncrossing his arms and showing her his phone. “I’ve got the police on speed dial, and if you don’t say anything within the next ten seconds, I’m ringing them. Do you have any idea how freaked out I was when the ambulance crew said you were a girl? What kind of girl does this sort of thing? It’s messed up—”
Something deep inside Fran cracked. Scalding tears in her eyes, she raised her head.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you! Just please don’t ring the police! Please!”
Brookie lowered his phone fractionally and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll decide after you talk.”
Shoulders slumping, Fran rested her chin on her knee and closed her eyes. Two tears were dislodged, and she could almost feel them burning their way down her cheeks.
“My name’s still Frances, okay?” she said in barely more than a whisper. “Just spelt with an ‘e’ and not an ‘i’. Grey’s my aunt’s maiden name.”
“And your surname?” Nothing about Brookie’s expression or posture changed.
“I was getting to that,” Fran sobbed. “Give me a chance, will you?”
Brookie cleared his throat.
“Pelham. My surname’s Pelham. Frances Pelham. I’m—”
Staring, Brookie fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it from shock, and then started frantically tapping numbers into it. “You’re that girl everybody’s looking for? Holy—!”
“No! Please!” Fran lunged for the phone. “You said you wouldn’t—!”
She overreached and toppled into Brookie, knocking him to the floor. Fran landed heavily on top of him. The phone went skittering away across the carpet.
They both realised at exactly the same time that they were nose to nose, and Fran hastily jerked off him. Wincing, Brookie sat up.
“Why are you freaking out?” he demanded as he massaged his back. “And why are you running from the police? What have you done?” His eyes were shrewd and searching as he narrowed them at her. “Unless you’re really that kid mur—”
Fran couldn’t take it anymore: she started crying in earnest. “It’s none of your business! Please, just leave me alone and don’t call the police!”
Brookie leant back on his elbows, his expression swiftly becoming incredulous. “None of my business? The police— you— I mean… no. No, sorry. I could be sitting in this room opposite a serial killer right now, or I could be prosecuted for keeping you hidden away, no matter why they’re looking for you. If you’ve been killing, then I could be done for collusion or impeachment of justice. Now I know who you are, you’re telling me everything. I’m not going to prison because of you.”
Fran stared at the floor as she considered. Brookie was older than her and probably knew more about legal procedures than she did. With a sigh, she leant back against her bed.
“It’s really… complicated—”
“Doesn’t get you off the hook, Pelham. Spill. Now.”
“And it’ll probably seem ultra-weird.”
“Stop. Time-wasting,” he growled, propping himself up into a sitting position. Fran took a deep breath.
“My parents don’t get on very well—”
“For God’s sake, what do you hope to accomplish by telling me a sob story? Just get on with it.”
“Will you shut up and give me a chance to speak?!”
Brookie wilted slightly at Fran’s outburst, muttering something about being unable to see how it was connected. The heated silence that followed was broken by their annoyed next-door neighbour pounding on the wall in irritation at the noise. Fran glanced at the wall and continued in a lower voice. Normally Piers and Owen were heavy enough sleepers not to be disturbed by anything quieter than a fire alarm during the night.
“My dad’s a druggie; my mum’s fed up. They’ve been arguing for years. I’m pretty sure Dad’s cheated several times. Mum used to vanish for weeks at a time because she can’t stand him no more. Anyway, they’re getting divorced.”
From Brookie’s grimace, he was plainly impatient for the point of the story.
“I also have a brother a year younger than me,” Fran continued. “We’re very close. He got embroiled in the gang culture—”
Brookie let out an exasperated expletive and rolled his eyes.
“—And… I don’t know exactly how to explain this part, but… I wasn’t a member of the gang as such… more like an associate, I suppose… but I did have a reputation on the streets – not that kind of reputation!” Fran hastily added on seeing Brookie’s disgusted expression. “I was just… people knew who I was. I was nicknamed the Runaway Honeytrap.”
This time, Brookie took interest and interrupted. “Honeytrap? But you’re….” He raised an eyebrow and ran his eyes over Fran, unsure of how she’d take it if he said what he was thinking out loud.
“I didn’t look like this then,” Fran retorted. “And I had character. It’s not necessarily how you look, though that helps, and makeup can make a big difference. It’s how you act. I was the most seductive flirt in my secondary school.”
“But….” Brookie looked pointedly at her chest. Fran’s arms had crossed protectively over it before she’d even registered his point. She flushed deeply.
“You can get padding, you know!”
Brookie’s mouth twitched and he chewed the corner of his lips. Fran glared. Seconds later, Brookie covered his mouth with his hands and started laughing. Hurt, Fran threw her crutch at him. He didn’t even bother to dodge, and it smacked him in the side of the head.
“Sorry,” he smirked, “but I can’t see you as a flirt. You’re more that angry midget girl that people find really funny and hold back at arm’s length while she tries to attack you.”
“And you’re a pretentious *rsehole,” she snapped back, pushing herself to her feet. Brookie’s expression changed like lightning just as the bolt of pain in her leg registered and she crumpled.
“Idiot.” The word was somewhere between a growl and a sigh of exasperation, but he caught her before she hit the floor. A faint whimper curled in Fran’s throat as he hefted her into his arms, taking care to avoid her damaged knee. He lifted her back onto the bed.
“Stay,” he ordered, and Fran thought there was a touch of concern in his voice. “I’ll shut up and you can finish talking. What were you planning to do when you stood up, attack me? You know you can’t walk at the moment.”
Applying pressure to her wrist to take her mind off her burning leg, Fran considered, nodded, and then continued. Brookie knew her slightly better than she’d originally thought.
“I make a lot of enemies. I don’t know if it has something to do with a rival gang or because I was too open with pictures and stuff on the internet, but about ten months ago, these two men started stalking me. First, they were just hanging around outside the school gates. Then I noticed them several times when I was out in town shopping with friends. I got freaked out when they followed me home a couple of times. After a month, I got so paranoid I went to the police. They gave the guys a warning, but they still followed me. Then they got a restraining order, but that didn’t do anything either. One of them tried to make off with me in the streets. He was arrested.
“Five weeks later, he’d escaped from prison. The police gave me a personal bodyguard, but each time he chased off the first man, the second one would reappear, and if he didn’t chase them off, they’d just follow, and then some of their friends started up on it too. The police suggested I go live with my grandma up north for a while, but those guys followed me there too. I went into care for a couple of months. Still followed. We even moved out into a rented home for a bit, but they still came. It was like… whatever we did, wherever we went… they always knew and they still came after me. They tried to kidnap me more than once. The police have been so helpful, but they’ve been foiled at every turn. We moved back into our family home at the end of August. The police have been working on this secret project for a while to put me into a safe house, so that my family can continue as normal because it’s unfair to drag them all over the place with me. I’d have been alone in the safe house. Only the police team working with me would’ve known where it was, and while I was there, they were going to hunt down these guys and get rid of them.”
“Then why didn’t you go to the safe house?”
Fran rocked backwards and forwards, still hugging her chest. “Because I think the police have been infiltrated. Everything they try to do for me, those guys still show up. It’s like… well, it’s like they’re part of a group or organisation or something. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Either those guys aren’t human or they’ve got themselves access to the police’s confidential stuff.”
“And….” Brookie fidgeted with the crutch, slipping in the button to change its height. He was frowning, apparently trying to figure something out. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought it would be best to completely disappear,” Fran admitted in a small voice. “I planned it with my mum and my little brother. One night, I was just going to vanish. Mum organised things with her sister-in-law, and my aunt agreed to be my guardian and enrol me here as a boy. They’re the only three who know anything about it. Since I arrived here, I’ve cut off all connections with home. I don’t ring anybody I used to know, except occasionally my brother to see if the police have anything new. I don’t go on social networking sites. I only use the school email. I only use cash. I’m making myself untraceable as best I can. If those guys manage to trace me to this school, they’re hopefully going to think I’m in the girls’ section and won’t bother to search the boys’ section.”
Brookie put the crutch down. “Then what happened tonight?”
Fran picked at the hem of her t-shirt. “My brother has my mobile number in case of emergencies. There was a gang fight and they needed a decoy. It had always been me in the past and it was just my brother’s automatic reaction to ring me.”
Brookie looked up sharply. “And you actually went?”
“He’s my brother!”
“You got shot.”
There was silence as Fran avoided looking at Brookie. She could feel the anger rolling off him, and her face reddened with shame. He kind of had a point.
“Are you… are you still going to ring the police?” she asked him when she could stand it no more. She heard Brookie let out a loud sigh.
“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know if I can. Your story’s completely crazy and I don’t know whether you’re telling the truth, but it would take a lot of nerve to come up with something like that on the spot. The way I see it, it’s either the truth or you’re the kid killer or some other kind of criminal, possibly both, but to go to these lengths, you’d have to be a dangerous genius of a criminal, and we aren’t being warned by the police to treat you with caution, so….” He sighed again and resumed fiddling with the crutch. When he continued, he spoke more slowly. “I honestly can’t tell. I’ve lived in the same room as you and you’ve fooled me for weeks. I genuinely don’t know if I can tell lies from truth with you, and I won’t deny it disturbs me. But… well, unless you’re dangerously psychotic and even smarter than I think you are, I’m going to trust you that you’re not the murderer for the moment because you didn’t try to kill me when I confronted you – and because all you’ve so far done to the people who’ve bullied you has been relatively tame.”
There was another awkward silence. Again, it was Fran who broke it.
“So what are you going to do with me?” She managed to pluck up the courage to peek at him. His head was tilted to one side and he stared at the ground as he stopped fiddling with the button on the crutch and considered. Fran could almost see the cogs whirring as he went through his options. Her teeth bit unconsciously into her lip while she waited for him to answer. What he chose could throw her back into the lion’s den or keep her safe.
After a few minutes, he nodded slowly, but his expression didn’t change.
“Well, I’m not going to rule out psychosis,” he said quietly. “I have no hesitation in saying that I don’t think you’re mentally all that well, but that could be explained either by the predicament you described to me or by being a killer. And it’s possible that—” He bit his lip suddenly. Fran wanted to ask him what he had been about to say, but he abruptly pushed himself to his feet. “I have my back covered if it turns out I can’t trust you, but for now, I’m willing to go with what you said. If you’re telling the truth, I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’ll keep an eye out for you, and I can promise that I won’t go to the police yet. So, at least for the moment, it’s probably best if you stay here.” Brookie paused. “Truthfully, I’m not entirely convinced you’re a killer, but your story just seems so… absurd. A group stalking a young girl wherever she….” His voice trailed off and he looked away briefly. “Nobody should be put in a situation like yours. I know I wouldn’t stand it if it happened to one of my siblings. New slate?”
He reached out with his fist. Initially, Fran recoiled from it before she realised that he wanted her to bump it to acknowledge the deal. She gently tapped her knuckles against his.
“Thanks,” she murmured. Brookie managed a faint smile.
“Well, at least the school part of this is going to be fun. Now I know why you freaked out when you got kissed by a girl.” He stretched. “I can’t believe this, though. All those rumours in the press and it turns out to be bloody true.”
“It doesn’t freak you out too much?” Fran asked anxiously.
He shot her a disparaging look. “Frankie, dear, you freak me out. Just remember to warn me when you’re getting changed and stuff.” He returned to his side of the room, pausing briefly to pick up his phone.
“Oh, and before I forget, who’s Freddie? You need to ring him. He was going frantic when I found you and answered your phone.”
“You fou—!” Fran’s eyes went wide. Brookie cocked an eyebrow at her.
She looked down. “Oh… he’s my brother.”
“That explains a lot.” He returned to his side of the room and flicked off the desk lamp. “Night, sunshine.”