Nada's Escape

47- Keys.

Finley leans against the doorjamb of Alex's house as we return from the lavender field, stalks of fragrant flowers in our hands. His clothes are dark, making me to wonder if he's been training today.

"Does Finley know where we were going?" I whisper to Alex before we get in earshot.

"It's not for him." Alex replies quietly and I realise her quietness is mouse-like. We reach the edge of the tiny garden that separates the house from the path and Finley notices us, smiling.

"I didn't know you were going to keep her so late into the night," he says, smoothly stepping aside to allow Alex access to her door. Despite the joking tone to Finley's words Alex doesn't answer, merely hands out to Finley the bags of items we'd picked up from the marketplace. His mention of the time causes me to check my watch, alarmed that I may have been down under the earth for hours. But no, only half an hour.

"I hope you have a good night." Alex replies firmly and closes the door with a soft snick.

"How was your day?" Finley asks, barely missing a beat. I frown at Alex's manners, wondering if she's also feeling shaken by her trip to the sanctuary. I shake my head to dispel thoughts of the dank system of caves underneath the Huntsmen settlement and insist to carry one of the bags. Though he clings to them in mild protest at first, Finley hands over the lightest one. I roll my eyes; as if I'm too fragile to carry a few knick-knacks.

"Boring. My day was very boring." I reply into the silence as we start walking along the street, side-by-side. The pools of darkness cast by the flickering streetlamps are shallow and yet a chill runs down my back at the sight of them, reminding me of the hollows in the sanctuary wall.

I fiercely attempt to distract myself by pondering what I can tell Macie about the allies. If they're all the same as Alex, I don't think they'll help us escape but I'm convinced that the ribbons scheme is not a trick. After all I'd tested the ribbons myself. From what I've seen, at least it should be relatively easy to plan an escape from outside Seven, even without Huntsmen help.

Finley gestures down a gravel street I can't remember being down before, "I've sorted out some more appropriate accommodations. After all I'm no longer your sponsor..." I nod, still distracted with the first steps needed for our escape. If the stolen postings list is accurate it could be very useful in planning the best date for escape. If Finley truly helps us out we could wait until he's posted to a key position to help us.

A minute later I notice the crunch of Finley's steps beside me have ceased. I turn to find him stopped before the opening of a gravel cul-de-sac. His shoulders fall with a sigh and he sends a metallic bundle singing through the air. I catch the keys and, frowning, match the engraved number with the number painted on a fence post at the corner of the cul-de-sac.

I gravitate towards the bungalow. Though worn with age the little houses here all have quaint curlicues holding up awnings over the windows, peeping through the foliage of untended front gardens. The lamp in the middle of the cul-de-sac remains unlit, leaving the shapes colourless except where golden light creeps through from the main path.

"If you want you can stay here. It's yours." Finley explains. I nod, peering around the overgrown wattle to a baby blue cottage, paint peeling off the far corner. "In fact, the other bungalows in this loop are free for use by the rest of the girls, so you can be close by."

The key slides so perfectly into the lock that they must be new, although the door creaks like a poltergeist as I push it inwards. The darkness yawns at me, and the air is stuffy and dusty. I scuttle backwards involuntarily, beginning to smell undercurrents of sweat, rust and blood, stoking fear in my belly.

I turn back to check on Finley and his eyes are down, a shadow over his features. I hesitate for a moment to intrude on is thoughts, but I am trapped between a rock and darker, harder place.

"Why don't you come in?" I ask in a strangely calm voice. Finley's head pops up, surprise growing there, slowly mixing with fear. His body seems to grow taller on puppeteer's strings.

"What is it?" His eyes flick from my face to the open doorway. "It's alright." He presses, but his movements don't match the words. Urgently he moves around me, slips through the door, efficiently flicking switches as he goes. The yawning mouth flickers out of sight as I squint my eyes closed and open them again. Why am I such an idiot? It's just darkness.

I follow through the door sheepishly, hearing Finley flick more switches beyond the first room. It's small, lounge and a kitchen alcove, sheets turning the furniture alien. Instinct tells me that through the sliding door in the far wall lies the bedroom, and possibly an en suite. I hear the clatter of opening curtains within and move towards it, but Finley emerges like a bat out of hell, ripping open the curtains out here too. I sneeze in the ensuing dust storm, planting my feet so as not to stagger.

Finley marches up to stand before me like a regimental soldier and I can't help the dumb little smile that touches my lips. His face softens too then and he lets out a little laughing sigh. For some reason I think back to the first time we'd met, in Seven, right after my kidnapping when I had been confused for a weeper.

His eyes had been a multiplex of colour; green, blue, green, brown, yellow each in tiny flecks. I had felt as though we were connected by light. There had been something passing between us, a conversation beyond words

Jayne had told me all I had felt in that moment was enthralment, designed to lobotomise humans. Since then enthralment had always felt like a lobotomy, with little icy fingers stealing my resolve.

But when Finley had come to see me after failed plan number seventy-three, he'd accidentally enthralled me again and it had been totally different. More like that first time. And whatever had happened at the garden party with our hands had felt like that too. Warm. Golden. Light.

The brief period yesterday where I could converse with Finley in my mind was triply absurd, but no less so than his ability to read what I needed just now, in less than a second. There is some great mystery in whatever is going on between Finley and me. It's probably more than I can figure out and probably I shouldn't even try. But something drives me to get to the bottom of this. Tonight, if possible.