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Eleven : Smash

I wake up, crushed between crates sliding to a stop. The white noise of rushing steel wheels fades into silence, shortly replaced by a long, loud blast. The train has reached its destination. I am in Lovethorn.

I wonder how long I have slept, how long –or short- the journey was, as I shove the claustrophobically close crates away with the soles of my boots. 

Am I the first person to stow away on a freight train, the first to illegally see the sights of a different city, breathe different air? My tongue tastes bitter, metallic, fear and excitement mingling to create a tangible taste. For some reason I think of my mother. Did she suffer this flavor in her mouth when she heard someone else in her mind for the first time, knowing what it would mean for our family, for me? 

I can picture her beneath the sash window in the library room, sitting in her favorite velvet armchair – it was murky green, the colour of wet moss – her gaze sweeping absently across the topiary garden below. I would lie on my stomach on the soft cream carpet, supposedly doing homework, watching expressions ripple across her features. She would catch me looking and jolt as if waking from a daydream. Then she would rise to her feet, plant a kiss on the top of my head, and remark, "I'll love you always, sweetheart."

I scoot around a large wooden crate and press my ear to the cold iron of the door. Harsh scraping, slamming, the rhythmic beeping of reversing vehicles. All faint, though it's hard to tell whether that's due to distance or the thickness of the train car door.

Now or never, I tell myself, swinging my bag to my chest, extracting Dr Frenchwood's notepad to unlock the way out. The overhead lights flicker weakly, protesting their exertion. I have to hold the notebook up toward the dim greenish rays to see that the darkened screen is requesting a fingerprint. Shit. Of course it shut itself down to save power, during the period of inactivity shoved in my backpack. My heartbeat speeds as if trying to batter its way out. I push my index finger to the screen.

Incorrect Print. Access Denied.

Pointlessly, I jab at it again and again, as if it will give in like a frazzled parent, admitting defeat with a "FINE, okay, go on then." Eventually, the notepad gets fed up repeating itself and declares that it is shutting down. Rage bubbles within, rising with every frantic beat of my heart, still hammering away. To get so far, all the way to Lovethorn, only to be trapped here in this chugging iron coffin! Dr Frenchwood's notepad shatters as I hurl it into the far side of the carriage. The clang echoes, tolling like a bell, followed by a clatter as pieces of what were technology rain down on the crates stacked by the wall.

I wipe cold sweat from my hairline, panting, trying to calm myself with deep breathing, as I wait for someone to haul open the door. To discover me.

My mind opens simultaneously. Corin's thoughts barge in as I am confronted with stabbing light pouring into my eyes, the silhouette of two men barely visible through the shade of my eyelashes.

What the hell was that? Corin demands. I just felt this surge of something bitter, like... anger, seeping into our Link.

I hold my arm above my face, using it as a shield as my vision slowly adjusts to the light. There is mottled pink in the sky. It must be somewhere around sunset. The journey took nearly a whole day. I have no idea if that's cross-country, but surely it means I've gone far enough. Beyond my father's direct sphere of influence. Trouble is, there is no way of knowing for certain. 

The men wear matching grey overalls, and are staring at me in surprise.

It was anger, you dunce. I think at Corin. And then, Oh great, apparently we're sharing emotions now, too?