Sombre Read online

  “Sorry to do this to you, Halliday, but no, you are to stay. I’ll clean you up and give Wilder an oil bath … she likes those.”

  “What’s this transformation you’re all talking about?” Parker asked, eyes darting between the two, “What’s going on? When am I going to wake up from this crazy shit?”

  Hamish ignored her and continued to stare at his Gatherer. “Hope’s Halliday, this is Parker Wright. You’re about to become quite a big part of Parker’s existence here in Sombre.”

  Halliday lowered her eyes and her tone, “Whatever do you mean, Hamish. I’m not a damned babysitter!”

  “If you recall, the last time we met, we spoke of a higher calling for you. Parker here is where it starts.”

  He placed a hand at the middle of Parker’s back, “come with me please.”

  “Get your hands off me, leech!” the cheerleader threw an elbow out. Hamish caught it and held it tight – Parker’s face paled. A business-like Hamish turned to Halliday. “Follow me, please.”

  With a gulp, Halliday followed the Mender.

  S

  Eyes wild, Parker was swearing like a petulant foul-mouthed child as Hamish jabbed a needle into the enlarged vein in her jugular. The girl shut her eyes and fell limp.

  “Thank Sombre for that!” Halliday said as she watched on. “So, what is this all about, Hamish? Why do I need to watch?”

  Hamish rifled under the bench for implements. “You are Hope Kelley’s Halliday Knight. You know this much. You have probably never thought about what it truly means, though … I’m sure this girl has appeared familiar to you?”

  “Yes, this cheerleader uniform – the red and white. I had wondered if it had something to do with Hope of the waking world.”

  “Well, you wondered correctly,” Hamish concurred.

  Laying his leather tool pouch out along the bench, he pulled a four-inch blade. What followed could only be described as professional surgical sadism. Halliday looked on in horrified wonder as skin was stripped from the chest, peeled away like a jacket. Parker’s ribcage was incised, the Mender cut skillfully through vital ventricles and arteries and the perfectly healthy heart was dropped into a ‘wet’ bag. Her ribcage was then cut open wider still. A Beating Clock was slid across the bench by a fellow Mender.

  “Thank you, Iris.”

  Hamish placed the gold timepiece in the centre of Parker’s chest with practiced precision. The Beating Clock emanated light and the cavity was suddenly glowing.

  “The witchery!” Halliday exclaimed as valves and arteries to the left and right began to fuse with the device, crawling like electrically animated worms - the lightest of beating could be heard. Hamish leant down and put his ear on the face of the glass. “That’s working well.”

  “This is quite appalling to watch, Hamish. Again, why is it that I need to see this?”

  “Sombre would like you to understand the significance of the work that goes into a citizen - particularly this citizen. This is Parker from Centurion High – Hope Kelley’s school in the waking world. You are to be her guardian here in Sombre.”

  “What? You are kidding me! I told you before, I am not a babysitter!” Halliday backed away from the table. “No, no sir! I’m a bloody Gatherer, Hamish! This is an injustice of the highest order!”

  “No one said you would have to stop gathering, Halliday,” Hamish said evenly as he dealt with the lightshow going on in Parker’s chest. “Now please come here and watch. This is what you really need to see. I have to close this chest up.”

  Halliday peered over Hamish’s shoulder. She gasped. Wet miniature bodies inside the cavity were shaking like gelatine, creepily looking around – all clutching the rim of The Beating Clock.

  One was Parker.

  She saw herself.

  She saw Hope.

  Halliday had never seen Hope before, but she knew it was her. The facial features were that of her own. She seemed pitiful, blinking meekly behind her glasses.

  Halliday turned to the Mender and looked at him accusingly, “What is all this voodoo, Hamish?! I had no idea!”

  “Nor would you, Halliday, this is knowledge only a Mender knows. Sombre wants you to see this.”

  “Why, Hamish? Why this nasty girl?”

  “I was only given this as a directive, Halliday. You know this is how Sombre works. The instructions just come to you. They come to me in the same way. This citizen has you inside of her, has Hope Kelley as well.”

  Halliday stood leaning on the bench, feeling very heavy all of a sudden. “So, what does this mean? How involved am I to be with this person? I work alone, well, with Wilder of course. Who is the bleeding child even to be in Sombre?”

  The Mender gave her a quick glance, “Halliday, you know I don’t have all the answers. You will still be a Gatherer, but your Hope Kelley needs you in some way. Parker the cheerleader is a direct link to her. Sombre wants this. And what Sombre wants Sombre gets, as you know.” Hamish covered the cavity and face of The Beating Clock with a blood-soaked flap of chest flesh. “Anyway, you are about to get the answer to your last question, at least. This is why we prefer our Gatherer’s bring us whole Nightmarers. This part will be quick.”

  Hamish took a step back as Parker’s body began a transformation. Invisible fingers knitted the skin together from where Hamish had opened Parker’s frame. As if succumbing to a creeping flesh disease, the girl’s face and body lost all muscular definition; skin tightly compressed against skull and bone. Impossibly scrawny legs were covered in brown leather, torso dressed in a heavy aviator jacket over a thick navy coloured jumper. Hands were skeletal, chapped and weather beaten. Parker’s hair grew even longer, stayed blond and fell the length of her body. Her skull contorted, an unmistakably gaunt, tight, grisliness came over her face. Bloody pink skin, like freshly butchered meat, became her new complexion. Lips disappeared, thin skin around her gums forming a permanent monstrous smile. Eyeballs were set deep down in her eye sockets.

  Halliday threw her hands in the air in exasperation. She knew what this was. “Oh no, Hamish! Why a Hell Flyer?! They bleeding well crash their planes all the time!”

  The Mender gave her a doubtful shrug, “what do you want me to do about it, Halliday?”

  “Well, I won’t be able to keep her alive very often, if that’s what I’m supposed to do! She will fly through her strokes … so to speak,” Halliday continued to watch the transformation.

  A cursively embroidered, ‘Col. Em Contusion,’ appeared on her top right-hand pocket. Breaking through her flesh and the wool of her under jumper was The Beating Clock. It twisted and moved into place, dead centre, wet with blood. Hamish stepped to and gave the glass face a spray with a bottle of cleaner and a wipe. He rubbed her grisly forehead, ran his fingers over her permanently bared teeth.

  “Colonel Em Contusion, wake up please, you are ready for transportation.”

  Blinking her lash-less eyes, the girl who was once Parker Wright, woke up. In a voice full of gravel, Em Contusion peered up at Hamish and Halliday and spoke her first words. “In the air! Now! Fly! Fast!?”

  Halliday rolled her eyes, “Oh’ spare me!”

  S

  Halliday bent down and peered straight into the sunken eyes of Colonel Em Contusion, then recoiled, “Uh!” as the new Hell Flyer sat up straight on the bench and used her body for the first time. She swayed and almost toppled – Hamish caught her shoulder.

  Halliday wasn’t happy about this situation, not one bit, and she let her new cross to bear know it. She chastised the long-haired monster, “I told you Sombre would mend you darkly. Ugly people get an ugly transformation. You got what was coming to you! Ha! I said you would and here you have it!”

  Em Contusion just stared back at her and said blankly, “Me in the air! Fly up in the sky?”

  “My goodness what a dolt you are!” Halliday said scowling.

  Hamish put a gentle hand on Halliday’s shoulder, “Come on Halliday. She has no idea what you’re talking about. Em
won’t be much for conversation for a while. Imagine a fully grown, newborn adult. This is what you will be dealing with for at least the next few hours.”

  They left Em to gaze around ghoul-eyed at The Office of The Menders. Hamish garnered the attention of a fellow Mender and a new dress was brought over.

  “For the next few hours?” Halliday repeated the Mender’s statement from before.

  “Until you get her in the air,” Hamish smiled mischievously. “I best get you on your way. Your cuts are fairly superficial, this shouldn’t take long.”

  Hamish, with cloth and ointment in hand, dabbed and sealed Halliday’s wounds while she leered over at Colonel Em Contusion in silence. What did this mean now? Why now? What was Sombre playing at? She knew where she had to take her at least - to the 45th Hell Squadron’s base at the Terminal Air Strip. She sighed, “How am I to keep a hell-bent kamikaze pilot from using all of her strokes? What an implausible idea Sombre has with this.”

  “That’s quite a defeated tone you have there, Halliday. I have never seen a union for any Gatherer or citizen before. It will be interesting to see how it will work, but in the end, you are doing it for Hope. You will have to do your best.” Hamish finished up, giving her a wipe on her mouth. He looked her face over once more. “Okay, that will do, the wounds will smart for a bit, but they’ll heal nicely. Get changed, I’ll give you your privacy.”

  S

  Dressed and clean, Halliday managed something that resembled a confident swagger as she walked toward Colonel Em Contusion. Parker the cheerleader’s new Sombre-citizen sat staring straight ahead at the wall. Had she moved at all? Halliday wondered. She didn’t think so. She waved her hand in front of her face. “Em Contusion, we need to get you out of here.”

  The Hell Flyer turned her head slightly and registered Halliday. “In the air?” She pointed a knobbly looking index finger skyward.

  Halliday took a deep breath; this was going to call for all sorts of patience. “Yes. Can you please move now? I require you to move. The catatonic bit you have going on will wear very thin with me, I’m warning you. Now get up.”

  Em continued to sit.

  “Do you not know how to move?” Halliday said and poked at her arm. She turned and pleaded to Hamish who was now attending to another patient nearby. “Oh, she’s pathetic, Hamish! How long will this go on for?”

  The chief Mender was smiling, clearly enjoying her new misfortune; he called over, “Just use a bit of force. You’ll have to guide her along for a bit. She’ll get a sense of herself as time goes on.”

  Halliday huffed, grabbed Em by the arm and pulled her off the bench. Thankfully she didn’t just fall in a heap, her legs were strong. The new Hell Flyer was ready for travel. Holding her by the arm, she guided Em through the office.

  “Think happy thoughts, Halliday!” Hamish said unable to stifle a laugh.

  “I feel like I’m walking my geriatric aunt!” Halliday snapped back.

  Wilder awaited her at the doorway. Looking every bit majestic, the machanihorse appeared brand new. Her coat shone. The saddle was well oiled. Halliday checked for her sword and Remington – both where they should be.

  Invading her head, Halliday heard the laughter from her Other-selves as she pushed the doors open.

  She sighed, “Wilder, we will not be our usual effective persons for some time I’m afraid. Meet Colonel Em Contusion. Don’t expect her to speak often. She seems quite dim. She just wants to fly her planes. Isn’t that right Em?”

  Em Contusion didn’t answer.

  CHAPTER 11

  Daylight Voyeurism

  Hope wasn’t really one for parties.

  Lately, the Kelley’s seemed to be getting invited to them all the time. Saturday afternoon in Terra Vista, at one of her father’s customers. The Wachinsky’s house was stark white and monstrous. Three storied balconies and tinted windows. To Hope, it looked like a very unimaginative, larger than life Lego model. The garden was nice, she supposed, lots of green grass and old shady trees that gave much needed relief from the early afternoon sun. Caterers walked around with trays of drinks and finger food. There was an outdoor bar with champagne on ice and a fridge full of Becks and Heineken.

  The Kelley offspring stood side by side under one of the shady trees.

  Hope played with the light fabric of her pale floral shirt. Her outfit for the day was completed with denim shorts and trainers. This was her mother’s choice. The shorts rode up her backside a bit, but she felt she looked presentable overall.

  Kate wore a denim skirt and lemon singlet, looking every bit the California poster-child, mirrored sunglasses glinting in the sunlight.

  “Plenty of rich bitches at this place aren’t there?” Kate stated too loudly, as she balanced a plastic plate in her hand, a half-eaten Vietnamese roll lying in a pool of sauce in the centre. “I saw a cute guy before, but I think he was working.”

  “Ha! If he was working, he’d be too old for you anyway,” Hope said realizing she sounded at least forty.

  She held real fear for her sister. She was so reactive, wanted to try everything, needed to jump on every trend. They were sisters, yet so completely opposite to one another. It wasn’t just a stage she was going through; Kate had always been this way. Hope was probably being a doom merchant, but she couldn’t see anything but drink, drugs and bad guys in Kate’s future.

  The Kelley’s had been at the party now for about twenty minutes. Their strained conversation inevitably lulled, and Kate placed a hand on her sister’s lower arm.

  “Well, you’re boring. I’m off to get another soda from that cute guy at the bar,” she announced and walked off.

  Hope pulled at her shirt fabric; a bit of sweat-stick creeping in. She wondered what the temperature was. She had been left tired as usual from her Halliday Knight experience, although not as sore, just heavy in the legs.

  Her sleep had been like a Sombre information night.

  Parker the cheerleader was now Colonel Em Contusion. Did Parker know this? Did she know who she now was in Sombre? And what’s more, did she know that Hope was Halliday Knight? School could get interesting. If Sombre wanted them to somehow come together as friends – ‘it’, if she could call Sombre an ‘it’ - was really barking up the wrong tree. To someone like Parker, Hope was like wet mud on her shoe, something to be wiped off on the grass and forgotten about. She gave a hard laugh under her breath. Sometimes she longed to be just like Halliday. A story book, cavalier type of personality that took no shit, had strength and smarm.

  “And no acne,” she muttered absently tracing her bumpy cheeks with her fingers. The acne was unnecessarily cruel. Other girls her age had it, sure, but not to the same degree. If it was just a hormonal thing, hopefully her mother’s idea of tablets would work. She caught sight of her in the crowd, wine in hand and dressed to the nines, laughing away like some sort of heiress to the kingdom of good health and great wealth. Hope wondered if Evelyn Kelley actually thought it was her party – she seemed to be jumping from one social group to the next as if she was the host. Hope spotted her father with a small group of men. All bigwigs, rich suppliers of the food and distribution industry. She grinned. Ludicrously, they all seemed to be wearing almost identical, collared sports shirts and knee length shorts – looking for all the world as if the local Lacoste outlet just had a 30% off sale. Men were much more guarded than women as a rule. In a group, chat didn’t flow as freely. The main topic was sport. Once sport was exhausted, it generally went to work. If it all got too forced and awkward a member of said group would ‘down’ the rest of his drink, usually beer, announce he needed another, and wander off. Hope observed others well - she just didn’t mix well.

  Gazing down at her near empty bottle of seltzer, she decided to go and get another from the bar. Crossing the garden, carefully dodging around each herd, she was aware of glances from a few kids around her age. She knew none of them. Didn’t think they went to Centurion’, although there was always a chance they could have, th
e school had around a thousand students. Avoiding any eye contact, she stood at the bar.

  “Hello, what can I get you?” said the broad chested bartender with a well-intended smile. He was a good-looking guy, blond, around twenty, with a nicely chiseled jaw - a look that wasn’t lost on Hope. Was this who her sister was talking about? She shook her head gently and snorted to herself. She cleared her throat. “Ah, just a seltzer please. Could I have a slice of lemon in it? Do you have any?”

  “No, sorry – I hear you though - fizzy water can be a bit dull on its own. Would you prefer soda? We’ve got Coke and Mountain Dew.”

  He was a nice bartender, thought Hope. They were usually pricks at these functions. She didn’t need the sugar, “No, seltzer will be fine, thanks.”

  He smiled and twisted the lid for her, “Have fun.”

  “Th-Thank … you,” she muttered, turned and walked away. That was way too much good-looking, nice bartender for her.

  Deciding to make toward the back of the yard, Hope sipped her drink and headed to the trees for some shade. The Wachinsky’s had so many of them! The swanky new house out front was obviously a result of a knockdown and rebuild, had to be – these trees were old - oaks and gums and full, leafy elms.

  Drifting into the foliage, the party seemed to slip away. This suited her. She shut her eyes gently and just felt her way – a blind girl shuffle. She did this sometimes. Tried to imagine what it would be like if she lost her sight completely. She probably wouldn’t, but there was always a chance.

  She stopped. Everything fell oddly quiet. There was a stillness here. Opening her eyes, she shivered as the sweat on her back turned cold. The temperature had dropped unnaturally.

  “Uh!” Hope staggered sideways as her head went into a spin. She held her brow and rode the giddiness. Of course, this wasn’t the first time she’d had a head spin - they were almost a common occurrence these days - but this one felt different. There was a metronomic tapping in her head – no, a ticking – it was a ticking.

  The pain and the tick were followed by a stabbing pain in her left temple. Her vision blurred. “Ow! Geez!” She lifted her glasses and rubbed her eyes with shaky hands. None of this felt right. It was time to leave. Heart racing, she turned then stopped dead.