Shattered Read Free

pale. In a flash they are gone. My eyes widen.
    That was Mum and Amy.
    The bus stops near the end of Mac’s long lane, and I rush up it on foot. Most of me is grappling with what I saw: whose funeral were they attending? A deep feeling of dread settles inside, while some other part of my mind is distracted, processing that the air and sky have that heavy chill about them that say snow , but I’ve never seen snow, and wonder why I feel this sense of expectation. While there must have been snow when I was Lucy, a child growing up in the Lake District, her memories were Slated away.
    Another bend and Mac’s house appears: a lone building on a lonely lane. From this vantage a small sliver of white over the high back gate says a van is there: Aiden’s?
    I’m expected. A curtain moves, and the door opens as I reach it: Mac.
    ‘Wow. Is that really you, Kyla?’
    ‘It’s Riley now,’ I say, going in and wincing as I take off my hat and scarf and chuck them on a chair.
    Aiden is there now and sees my face. ‘I told you I could have picked you up. Are you all right?’
    I shrug and go past them to the computer down the hall. Skye, Ben’s dog, tries to jump up and lick my face, but I give her a quick pat and push her back. Mac’s computer is an illegal; it isn’t government monitored. I meant to do a general search for local news on the off-chance that funeral was picked up, but something makes me go to MIA’s website first.
    Lucy Connor, missing from her home in Keswick since age ten. Recently reported found – I had pushed the button on the screen myself, hoping to find a way back to who I was all those years ago, through whoever reported me missing.
    Now clearly marked as ‘deceased’. I stare at the screen, unable to process the word.
    A hand touches my shoulder. ‘You’re looking well for a dead person. I like the new hair,’ Mac says.
    I turn; Aiden has followed and stands next to him. There is something in his face. ‘You knew ,’ I hiss.
    He says nothing, and that says it all.
    ‘Why deceased?’
    ‘You are. Officially,’ Aiden says. ‘According to government records, you died when a bomb exploded at your assigned home. Lorders have reported you as dead.’
    ‘But there was no body: Lorders wouldn’t be fooled. The bus went past a funeral procession on the way here; Mum and Amy were following the hearse. Was that my funeral?’
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was today.’
    ‘But you knew . That they think I’m dead.’ I’m angry, but I’m also confused. ‘Why would the Lorders say I died?’
    ‘Perhaps they don’t want to admit they don’t know what happened to you?’ Mac suggests.
    ‘I don’t understand why the Lorders would do that.’
    Aiden tilts his head to one side. He’s not sure, either: the uncertainty is in his eyes. ‘Perhaps they don’t want to admit they failed,’ he says. Aiden had assumed the bomb at our house had been Lorder, as payback for my role in helping Ben cut off his Levo, and I never set him straight. He doesn’t know the double, dangerous game I’d played, for Lorders and Nico’s AGT. Guilt twists inside at secrets kept; for help repaid by silence. But he keeps his secrets, too.
    My eyes fill with tears. ‘I can’t leave Mum and Amy thinking I died in that explosion. I can’t.’
    Aiden sits next to me and takes my hands in his. ‘You have to. It’s better this way: they can’t be made to tell what they don’t know.’
    I pull my hands away. ‘No. NO. I can’t leave it like this. I didn’t like it when I thought they thought I was missing, but this is far worse! I can’t leave with them thinking I’m dead.’
    ‘You can’t see them. They may be watched, in case you make contact. It’s too dangerous,’ Aiden says.
    ‘No one would recognise me any more.’
    Aiden shakes his head. ‘Think this through. You’ve got another life waiting for you in Keswick. Don’t throw it away now.’
    ‘But Mum—’
    ‘She wouldn’t want you to take