Sidekick Read online

  “Hi Sammy. Hi Macy. Hi Dawid.”

  The kids don’t scream; they don’t seem shocked to see me. They don’t even seem curious. Instead, they cringe, making themselves small in their seats.

  “I’m here to help you,” I say.

  None of them makes eye contact with me. They all pretend to be watching the screen. Dawid is the first to break.

  “I don’t want more injections!” he cries.

  Oh dear lord.

  “I’m not here to give you injections, Dawid,” I say. “I’m here to take you home.”

  None of them responds. They won’t look at me. They don’t believe me, and really, who can blame them? I can totally see how being sold to an evil scientist by your parents can lead to all kinds of trust issues.

  “You must listen to me,” I tell them. “I’m taking you out of –”

  And that’s when two strong hands grip me from behind, pinning my arms against my body and lifting me helplessly off the floor. The pain in my ribs is breathtaking.

  For a moment I freeze in absolute panic, remembering my helplessness on that balcony in Higgovale. Suddenly I feel nauseous again, terrified.

  But this time I’m not drugged. This time they’re messing with the wrong girl.

  I relax, force myself to focus.

  All I need to get out of this mess is to press a few buttons on the Watch.

  So I fight the fear and calmly wait for whatever happens next.

  * * *

  The good news is that the guard doesn’t call for help. And he is young, hardly much older than me.

  The bad news is that he has the eyes of a killer. And he has a gun. And he’s pointing the gun at me, forcing me to keep my hands in the air on either side of my head, which means I can’t call for help just yet.

  I’m not too worried though. I’ll get my chance. The important thing is to stay calm. Not to get hurt.

  That’s what I keep telling myself.

  But then he kind of leers at me, like I’m nothing. Like I’m not even a person. Like I’m only there for him to hurt and abuse.

  A victim.

  So when he lowers his gun and steps towards me, I totally lose my cool. In some weird way last night’s assault (in real time it only happened last night!) fuses with this moment so that I stop thinking, start reacting.

  I see red, and I crack.

  This time I am not drugged. I am strong, my body’s pumped full of adrenalin, my reflexes fast as ever. And I’m so high on stress chemicals that I’m feeling no pain now. My mind is clear – somehow my anger, my rage at what happened to me, what’s happening to these kids, focuses my brain to a single, sharp point, brilliant as a diamond.

  I want to hurt this man.

  I want to hurt everybody who’s ever preyed on someone small and helpless.

  I want to hurt them all.

  Simon taught me that you never fight in rage. That rage leads to a loss of control, and that loss of control leads to bad decisions. But Simon is dead.

  So I fight.

  I leap at the guard, grab his wrist, wrench the gun out of his hold. I hear a loud snap as I dislocate his shoulder from its socket. The gun skitters over the floor, ends up in the corner of the room. He gives a short, sharp cry, not used to a victim fighting back. Not used to being a bully without a gun. I feel my mouth distorting into a grimace. I can’t believe how angry I am.

  I feel strong. Invincible.

  I am revenge.

  The guard tries a half-hearted punch, but he’s not trained. I dodge it easily, feel a snarl twisting my upper lip. I’m much faster, and I land three blows easily. Jaw, chest, high on his cheek.

  Another sloppy punch barely grazes me. I almost laugh. I’m not as strong as he is, but I know exactly how to use the strength I’ve got. I know how to make it hurt. And he is so ridiculously slow.

  He tries to shout for help, but I won’t allow that. I punch him in the throat, so that all that comes out is a hissing noise.

  The guard swings wildly at me, but when he does manage to hit me I hardly feel the blow. He knows nothing. He makes a dive for the gun in the corner. I fall to the floor, grab his hands, and for a few short moments we pull and push at each other like two kids fighting on the playground. I almost laugh. He is so slow. Pathetic.

  In the scuffle I feel something tearing from my arm, but I don’t care.

  When he touches the gun though, I tire of the game. So I stiffen my palm and punch straight up and under so that the hardened underside of my hand crushes into his nose, and he goes completely still.

  * * *

  Okay, so this might probably not be the best time to tell you about Simon.

  Still, there’s never going to be a good time, so I could just as well get it off my chest now. Goodness knows I’ve avoided it long enough.

  Simon thought that I was special. He believed that I was more than just a random abandoned girl, more than just Finn’s little sidekick. He began to work with me just after I turned thirteen.

  Simon said that he had never seen reflexes as fast as mine. And he didn’t mean, you know, for a girl – he meant for anyone, ever. In the couple of years before he died he worked with me even more than with Finn. He had this theory that I will, in time, develop powers as strong or even stronger than Finn’s, and that I will use them better.

  See, Simon believed that Finn was much, much older than he seemed, and that he had forgotten most of his own history because of the wild years when he lived so recklessly far away from the mountain. This wasn’t a bad theory, I guess, as I had seen Finn’s memory being eaten away even after short periods in untime. Anyway, Simon always thought that, like Finn, I will also be able to stop time once I get older, much older perhaps.

  He theorized that it’s because I’ve spent most of my life so close to the mountain that I’m so stable and so sane. He thought that was also why I experienced untime so differently from Finn, and that my way was the better, healthier way. He made me promise that I won’t leave, even for short periods, until I’m sure I can handle it.

  Simon taught me just about everything I know. I loved him like a father.

  I don’t know how Simon died. He was working with Finn on a project that I wasn’t allowed in on. It was the first time they shut me out like that, and he died. Finn won’t talk about it.

  What I regret about the way Simon died is that we had a huge fight the last time I saw him.

  See, Simon thought I was special. Pure in a way that Finn wasn’t. He knew I was in love with Finn, obviously, but he ignored it. He told me that I have to be strong. Independent. That one day I might have to do really important things, and that there isn’t room for all kinds of messy female emotions. Not while I was so young. Not while there was so much to learn.

  Yes, well.

  I kissed Finn, just once, one afternoon just more than a year ago. I longed to do it for years and years, and I did it, and I liked it. I remember the sweetness of that kiss, how his entire body went so absolutely still. I remember the way Finn’s mouth was so surprisingly soft against mine, and so hot.

  And then Simon was standing there, and a lot of hurtful, awful words were said.

  That was the last time I saw him.

  Simon taught me to fight. He taught me that hope was important, and kindness, and that the strong must protect the weak. He taught me to be decent. He taught me that there is a big difference between good and evil, but that one can slip from the one to the other in the wink of an eye.

  Simon taught me never to fight when you’re blinded by rage.

  Well, today I broke that rule.

  And now I’ll have to deal with the consequences.

  * * *

  I broke the Watch.

  In my stupid, unnecessary fight with the guard I broke the Watch.

  I destroyed my only means of communicating with Finn. The only way I have of telling him that I’m in trouble. That we need to get back into untime now.

  A.S.A. fricken P.

  S
o here I am, stuck slap bang right in the middle of the enemy camp, with three big-eyed children, a half-dead guard and no more secret tricks.

  Man, I so wish that I had listened to Simon, and not for the first time either.

  Chapter 22

  At first I decide to wait it out. Finn knows I’m in a compromised situation; he’ll call untime soon enough.

  This kind of reasoning, of course, ignores the fact that Finn would expect me to stay safely hidden while we’re in real time. That he would expect me to be sensible. And sane.

  Well, I wasn’t sensible, and I certainly wasn’t terribly sane. The trauma I so hastily buried after being drugged and assaulted last night just kind of exploded out of me at the worst possible moment, and now I’ll have to deal with it.

  I’m weighing my options when I hear a new set of footsteps coming down the corridor.

  Okay. So that complicates things.

  I wait behind the door. The children are deathly quiet, staring at the guard lying in a bloodied heap in the corner.

  I take deep breaths, the way I’ve been taught to. I concentrate. My body is stretched like an arrow, taut with tension. I have the unconscious guard’s gun in my hand.

  My rage is gone. I am in control. I am going to handle this.

  When the door opens I wait a split second, then I put all my weight behind a kick that I aim at the door. It swings back, smashing into the person like a club.

  There’s a loud whuff sound as the man loses his balance and falls. I’m on him like a flash, and before he can even raise his hand I’ve knocked the base of the gun against his skull, in the exact right spot. He never knew what hit him.

  It’s only when I drag the second unconscious guy into the room that the children decide to trust me. Kids today. Go figure.

  Anyway, they help me to tie up the two men with some of the bandages from the makeshift operating theatre, and then they crowd around asking questions. Like how we’re getting out of here. What I’m going to do now.

  Truth is, I don’t know. I’m still kind of hoping – praying, actually – that Finn will call untime. I’m stalling, waiting for the cold stillness to hit any time now.

  That’s the plan.

  But I’m also beginning to realise that I can’t really count on it. It’s up to me to get us out of this mess.

  It’s up to me now.

  * * *

  I decide to carry only one of the guns that I’ve taken off the guards. The compact 12-gauge pump-action shotgun is foolproof, but I know if I shoot it at close range, I’ll definitely kill someone. Which is not necessarily something I want to do.

  The other is a semi-automatic handgun with double action. I take this one. I’m a good shot and will most likely be able to neutralise someone without killing them. (Most likely.)

  I keep the gun in my hand, get used to its weight, its feel, its balance. Then I take the safety catch off and lead the children out of the room.

  “Stay still,” I tell them as we walk down the short corridor to the outer office. “Don’t say a word. And stay behind me all the time.” I repeat it in Afrikaans, for Dawid’s benefit.

  All three nod. They understand only too well.

  When I open the door to the outside office there’s only one guard in the room. But this guy is big. Kobus Wiese big. You can tell by his stance that he knows how to move though – there’s muscle under all that fat.

  I point the gun straight at him.

  “Shut up,” I say. “Lie flat on the floor and put your hands behind your head.”

  He stares at me, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His mouth is literally hanging open, gaping at me.

  “What, you’ve never seen a gun before?” I ask him. I hope I sound meaner than I feel. Inside I feel sick.

  The big guy smiles. Then he laughs.

  “I’m counting to three,” I say. “And then I’m going to shoot you.”

  He laughs harder.

  “One …”

  He’s walking towards me, not worried.

  “Two …”

  He’s getting uncomfortably close now. There’s no time to count to three. He’s still laughing.

  I shoot his right arm first to neutralise his gun hand. Then I shoot him in the thigh. But he keeps on coming, his face now murderous, going for his gun with his left hand. I’m forced to shoot him through his left shoulder too.

  I don’t want to kill him, honestly, but this is a big guy, and I’ve got a small gun.

  By now he’s swearing, crying, clutching clumsily at his wounds with his useless hands. He is not laughing any more.

  “Shut up.” I press the gun against his head and he goes absolutely quiet.

  Dawid’s giggle sounds eerie in the sudden silence of the room.

  We leave the big guy handcuffed to the security door in the little room. We stuff one of my gloves into his mouth. Then we walk out into the factory, cool as anything, the gun hidden in the folds of my coat.

  The gamble pays off. Just as I expected, the normal noise of the factory floor must have masked the gunshots. Also, the workers obviously have no idea that they’re employed by a company that steals body fluids from children, because nobody even tries to stop us. If anything, the men seem mildly surprised to see a teenager and three kids on the shop floor. A few women wave at us, smiling.

  Dawid and Sammy wave back. Macy is staring ahead of her like a zombie. Unlike the other two, she’s old enough to understand exactly what’s happened to her, how thoroughly she’s been betrayed. But she’s putting one foot in front of the other, and I get the feeling that she’s going to make it. This girl is one tough cookie.

  We get to the car without any hassle, and I pile all three of them in the back. It makes me feel like some kind of soccer mom. As I drive towards the exit I tell them to keep their heads as low as they can, and pray that the guards won’t know anything about the children either.

  No such luck.

  When the first guard sees us his face distorts in shock. He grabs his phone, decides against it, reaches for his gun. In my rear view mirror I see him take aim at the car as I crash through the red and white boom. The Hilux jerks sharply to one side as a bullet hits a tire, but I manage to correct the wheels and keep on driving. The second guard jumps up and takes aim, but when he sees that the car is full of children he frowns.

  Then he lowers his gun.

  As my tires screech away from that evil place, I try to tell myself that there are still some good people left in the world.

  And then, at last, everything goes very cold and very still.

  Chapter 23

  After that it was all over really.

  Finn found Mandi. She’d spent the last two days locked up in a dark room with only a bucket and a small bottle of water. She was totally freaked out, obviously, but physically unharmed. I knew she was going to be fine when she insisted, after the cops had left, on studying for her calculus test. We later had a long talk, the two of us, and although I didn’t come completely clean she now knows a lot more about my life than she used to.

  She did brilliantly in all her exams.

  Samantha’s aunt and her Nigerian fiancée had already left the country and disappeared without a trace. They have still not been found. Skeletor, Dr Bowers and his wife, and Dawid’s dad were all arrested over the course of the next week. They were denied bail and are currently awaiting trial in Pollsmoor Prison. Finn tells me that the case against them is water-tight and they ought to spend years and years in jail.

  Ruth finally confessed everything to my mom, which was as big a relief for her as it was for me. Mom then spoke to Ruth’s mom, who apparently flipped out completely when she heard the story. The good news is that the shock jolted her out of her coma of grief to such an extent that she hired Finn to deal with her husband. The pastor has since disappeared (I don’t know what Finn did with him and, quite frankly, I don’t want to know), and Finn has assured me that he won’t be hurting young girls again, ever.

&nbs
p; Call me easily pleased, but that’s good enough for me.

  Ruth is back living with her mom and she’s also now seeing Mona, my therapist, on a regular basis. I’m still in contact with her, mostly through Facebook and Twitter.

  Dawid was re-united with his mother, while Sammy was placed with a foster family. We checked that family out personally, and I’m sure she’ll be happy enough there. Macy and her two brothers were taken in by their grandparents. They seemed like pretty decent people, although I guess you can never really tell.

  It’s not a fairytale ending, I realise that.

  Still, I believe that it turned out a lot better than it could have. After all, we all lived to see another day, [37] we all got another opportunity to grow and to change and to dream and to face the consequences of our actions.

  I guess in the end that’s about as much as any of us can hope for.

  Epilogue

  When I peer through the curtains I’m satisfied to see that the school hall is packed. In fact, there are even students sitting squished in the aisles because of the great parent turnout. Two weeks ago, Finn casually told the principal’s secretary that he’d be attending the play tonight. Obviously word got out.

  The soft buzz from the audience has the entire cast giggling and overexcited, although poor Jason Fairweather, the boy playing King Duncan, is on the verge of puking with nerves.

  I am completely calm.

  As soon as the lights dim and the music starts playing, Finn takes us into untime. The two of us work fast and methodically, the way we discussed. After my little I-am-revenge psycho episode a month ago, I have decided that violence is not the answer.

  Anyway, I’ve heard it said that revenge is a dish best served cold.

  I go back to my position, from where I’ll have a clear view, and nod to Finn. The music starts playing and the curtains open.

  It takes a moment for the audience to register what they are seeing. Daniel, Willem and Jamal are standing on stage, holding hands. They are wearing nothing but very high pink stilettos and tiny frilly G-strings that hide absolutely nothing.