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She sounds scared. I hear the scrape of her chain and know she’s backing away. Sad, really – and pretty pointless. If I intended to hurt her –which I would never do– she wouldn’t be able to escape. Ignoring Gretel’s lack of trust, I fetch therucksack and dig through it. Finding the notepad, I bend back the cover. Then I uncap a pen.
I can write in pitch-darkness, no problem.
‘Shoot,’ I say, thinking of the deer Kyle drilled, the calamity inside its head, the calamity inside mine, and what my brother would say if he were down here with us right now.
I flex my toes and wonder what happened to my shoes. Sometimes, life is so gosh-damned strange it hardly seems real.
V
It’s later. I’m outside the back door. My feet are so cold I can’t feel them. I stayed with Gretel far longer than I’d intended. By the time I snuck out, it was beginning to get light. I only came home because she was getting tired.
I’mnot. My head’s far too busy for sleep. Gretel’s words go round and round. I feel that wall inside my mind trembling, as if the whole thing’s about to come crashing down.
If you wanted to help me, you’d get me out of here. You’d tell someone. Someone who could do something. You’d tell the police.
I do want to help her. I do. And yet …
They’re going to kill me anyway unless you do something.
It doesn’t have to be like that.
But I know that’s how it is.
I want to help her so badly. But I’m terrified of what’ll happen if I try.
The wall shivers. I reach out invisible hands to brace it.
Am I losing my mind? Why did I leave the house without shoes? I’m starting to feel like an actor in a play where all the scenes have bled together. Annie calls itdéjà vu. Knowing the word doesn’t make it any less scary.
Opening the back door, I let myself into the darkened kitchen. Our cottage is unheated, but it’s warmer than outside. I wipe my frozen feet on the mat and tiptoe to the hall.
The staircase creaks as I climb it. I hear Papa’s snores and Mama’s soft breathing. Passing Kyle’s room, I enter my own and close the door. Only then do I turn on the light. Near the bed, I see my trainers and wet socks. The room smells strange – damp and unpleasant. There are no copper coins on my pillow, but that doesn’t mean no one’s visited. I can’t shift the feeling that something’s wrong.
I go to the bed and sit down. Pulling out the paper torn from Gretel’s notebook, I read the letter she dictated:
To Whom It May Concern,
I am writing in the hope that you’ll please send me a free introductory chess set. Even though I’ve learned the full rules, I currently have no board or pieces, and therefore no way of actually playing.
Dietmar Pfister is currently my favourite player. Caspian Alexandr is also very good. Often, they manage to turn the tables on what seem like hopeless situations. There’s something particularly exciting about Pfister’s game. The way he defeated Jacob Nyback in Tblisi last year was truly astonishing.
Although I’m a late starter, I hope that with a board and pieces of my own I’ll develop into a competent player. Grateful if you could send my set to the address at the top of this letter.
Ever your servant,
Kyle North
Gretel told me a bit about Dietmar Pfister, so that bit isn’t a lie. Whether there are other lies, I don’t know. The words aren’t my own, which means I can’t trust them.
But I do want that board, so badly I can think of nothing else. At the top of the page are two addresses. The one on the right is Leon Meunier’s, my brother’s name above it. The one on the left, I don’t recognize. It’s somewhere in England, which worried me, until Gretel explained that FIDE has member federations in every country. Luckily, I still remember the address she gave me when we first met:I’m thirteen years old, and my name’s Elissa Mirzoyan. M-I-R-Z-O-Y-A-N. I live at six, Cloisters Way.
The address on the letter isn’t that one. I hate to be suspicious, but I have to protect myself. Earlier, Gretel asked if she could trust me. The question I need to ask is whetherIcan trusther. She’s already tried to fool me once.
Again, I feel that dizzying sense of a wall beginning to topple. I sway on the bed, trying to keep my balance. Once I’ve recovered, I read the letter again, searching for traps.
All I need now is an envelope and a stamp. There’s a postbox a few miles down the road. If all goes well, I could have my new board within a week.
There are no pennies on my pillow, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe. The chess set, like everything else, is a fantasy. I have bad instincts, but thankfully not that bad. Going to the corner, I lift the loose floorboard and retrieve my Collection of Keepsakes and Weird Finds. I place the FIDE application letter inside. It can stay there until the morning, when I’ll destroy it.