Harlequin Faux Chapter Three The Safe Haven Amelia’s eyes snapped open, her heart lurching in her chest. She was lying, face up, gasping for air. She could still feel the cold mud all over her face and in her throat, drowning her. Her body trembled with fear and everything hurt. She needed to get up as quick as she could, but she couldn’t move. Fear overwhelmed her, and she snapped her eyes shut again, worried that she would begin to see things. For all she knew, she was in sleep paralysis and visions of that figure would sneak up on her while she was vulnerable. It took a few seconds of her panting to realise that she could actually move. She twitched her feet and wiggled her toes, breathing a sigh of relief when her arms and legs stretched out with ease. No paralysis. Flexing her fingers, she heard her knuckles crack, and she touched something soft under her fingertips. A soft, but quite scratchy material. Seat cushions. I’m still on the bus. Amelia’s eyes tingled behind her eyelids. When she eased them open, a tear dripped down the side of her face, trickling onto her ear. It was all just a nightmare; one long and horribly vivid nightmare. It’s over now. None of it was real. Bright sunlight came through the window. Amelia squinted and turned her head towards it, noticing that her sweater had ruffled upwards in her sleep, her exposed skin pleasantly warmed in the daylight. Pulling her clothes back down, she turned her aching head left, seeing the navy blue, and heavily patterned seat cover under her nose. It smelt musty and it reminded her of the carpet in the arcade back in Shorewood. It was always the same base colour, a navy blue faded with time, then many different coloured patterns and shapes on top. It seemed to be designed to hide any amount of gross stains and dirt, so much so that Amelia could even remember the smell from when she tripped carrying her winnings when she was seven. She didn’t want to think about if it was ever cleaned. It was hard to tell, since the pattern acted as a distraction from how disgusting it was. Probably why they used it on bus seats. …and I’m lying on it. Great. Sitting up, her left side feeling incredibly stiff and bruised, Amelia looked down at the seats. She’d slept across two, something sharp explaining the indent her fingertips could feel in her skin just underneath her ribs. The same place she’d injured in the dream. Amelia’s heartbeat had risen significantly, her body shaking as memories of the dream flashed through her mind, playing out like a flipbook of horror. She remembered everything; the figure, the storm, the fall, the… Oh god, the faces. She clenched her eyes shut tight, her hands scrunching the foam seat beside her. Lowering her head, she watched the seat bulge between her fingers, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. It wasn’t real. Calm down. Amelia released her grip and gently massaged her forehead with her fingertips. She could already feel the throbbing of another migraine just thinking about the nightmare. It was difficult to shake away the images in the back of her mind. She needed a distraction. Clearing her mind, she focused on the next step of the plan; arrive in the city.
Looking out of the window, Amelia tried to gauge how long she’d been asleep. The sky was a light grey, overcast and bright. She couldn’t even see the sun to judge the time, or the clouds moving because of how closely knitted together they were. A blank canvas. Glancing over at the other seats to ask someone, Amelia found them all empty. She couldn’t feel any movement from the bus either. It had stopped. Haven was their destination, so either nobody had got on at any of the previous stops, or they had arrived. Amelia started to smile, her stomach filling with fluttering butterflies. “I’m here.” After retrieving her bag from the footwell, Amelia stood up, slightly weak at the knees. It was time to go. She pulled a strap over her shoulder and held it tight as she headed down the aisle to the front of the bus. As she neared the driver, she noticed someone sat on her left, someone resting against the window. A woman, her brimmed hat squashing up against the glass, purple and made of material that looked like heavily pilled felt. Respectfully, Amelia passed as quietly as she could, reaching the driver’s cabin. She briefly looked back, curiosity getting the best of her. Time hadn’t been kind to the woman. Her wrinkled face, partially shadowed by the hat, looked older and paler than it should. She seemed early sixties, and her brown hair, threaded with a stressful white, stayed tucked up underneath her hat, a pearl pin barely holding it up as she stared ahead at the back of the seat in front of her. Amelia briefly wondered if the woman had passed away. Her eyes, likely brown, were clouded over and vacant, and her mouth was open slightly. “Don’t worry about ‘er.” Amelia turned toward the voice, seeing the driver thumbing over his shoulder in the woman’s direction. “Excuse me?” “I said, don’t worry about ‘er,” he repeated, rustling his newspaper. Amelia resisted a glare. This woman didn’t look well, and he didn’t look concerned enough for her liking. “Maybe you should be worried about her,” she whispered, a biting edge to her voice. The man turned in his seat, crossing his arms over his cabin door. “She’s used my bus every week for a decade and I’ve never got a word out of ‘er. She’s fine.” Amelia turned her head; the woman hadn’t moved, but under the thick brown fur coat, her shoulders moved. Thank, God, she’s alive. “Years?” she asked. “I’ve heard stories about her. Husband died a decade ago, the cloak got ‘im.” He looked at her for a moment, evaluatively, before seeming to come to some internal decision. His shoulders relaxed and he held out his hand. “Name’s Ted.” They shook hands. “Amelia,” she said, before frowning, “I’m sorry, the what got him?” Ted looked at her blankly, waving a hand vaguely towards the window. “You never heard of the cloak?” he asked, incredulously. Amelia shook her head. Ted’s eyebrows raised, then he laughed. “Blimey, even in a boring little place like Shorewood they’ve heard about it!” he cackled, before barking a nasty wet cough into his elbow “Well I haven’t.” said Amelia, crossing her arms in frustration. Ted shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what to tell ya’,” he said. “I assumed you knew. Have a look for yourself.” He pointed a rugged finger at the windscreen. Amelia stepped curiously up to the glass and gazed outside.
The bus had stopped at the side of the road, by the railings of a rusty old suspension bridge. A line of orange traffic cones and a ‘Bridge ahead closed’ sign blocked the road ahead. No traffic allowed. Over the railings, the waves grew and rolled downstream in a large river, the muddy grey water reaching the shoreline and lapping at the silt on the other side. Thick cloud cover concealed what was beyond the closure. “I can’t see anything,” said Amelia, trying to peer past it. “Just clouds.” “Smog,” Ted corrected. Amelia turned to face him, breaking out into a disbelieved grin. “Excuse me?” “It’s smog,” he said, matter of factly, “you know, pollution an all tha’? Not clouds.” An anxious weight dropped into Amelia’s stomach. She stared out at the road, seeing the bridge spreading out a few hundred yards in front of the bus, before stopping at the barrier. Behind that, the road continued on, until it faded into the thick curtain of greenish clouds. Amelia watched the smog around the bottom swirl, pale green translucent tendrils rising and falling on the wind, dancing on the tarmac. The rest seemed impenetrable. Not even a strong coastal breeze from the river could blew through it. A solid looking wall surrounding the riverbank. No wonder it’s called the cloak. “That killed her husband?” Amelia asked quietly, turning to check on the woman. She’d not moved. “It’s toxic,” Ted said, “he worked in construction. Spent all day working outside and breathing it in, then they couldn’t afford the med bills. Happens all the time. Poverty’s the biggest killer of them all. Some can’t even afford masks, let alone medicine. Then there are those that can afford it. They are why the pollution has grown out of control. A lot more than the government is letting on.” Amelia frowned. “It’s a bit hard for the public not to notice.” “They don’t see through the propaganda crap they pump out,” he grumbled back. “It’s all a big cover up if you ask me. I don’t think the residents creating heavy traffic is the problem. It’s all pumped out from those factories, and all the big wealthy corporations are doing crazy experiments. I just know it, and the Elites have always-” he trailed off as he caught himself, looking up at Amelia sheepishly. “Sorry...” “It’s fine,” she said politely. Staying pensive for a moment, Amelia wondered where they would go from here. Would they be able to turn around and head to Haven another way? Could they follow a diversion around the cloak? “Is there another way around?” she asked, trying to see how they could get the bus turned around. It was tight, but they could manage it. “Another way around what?” Ted said, frowning. Amelia gestured to the window. “The cloak?” Ted shook his head. “No way round I’m afraid, just gotta turn around and head back now. End of the line. Hopefully, by the time I get back to Shorewood, my shift will be over, and I can go ‘ome.” Home? Amelia blinked. “But what about Haven? How am I meant to get there now?” “It’s not far to walk,” said Ted, “you just gotta head over the bridge. I would take ya straight to the centre, but they shut the bridge off a while back. To control the cloak, ya know?” She looked out at the smog, her stomach twisting with nausea as she saw the tip of a tall building claw up through the green tinted smoke desperate for fresh air. It can’t be… “That-” she said, her throat thick with emotion, “-is Haven?”
Ted gave her a look. “Course it is, like I said, with all the factories and experiments and such, the cloak grew. Haven’s where it all started. You must ‘ave done about this in school?” Amelia didn’t turn away from the window but shook her head. “I was home-schooled.” “You’re telling me your parents never even taught ya’ about it?” Ted asked. Amelia’s free hand clenched by her side and she turned her glossy eyes in Ted’s direction, seeing his moustache twitch as he watched her reconsidering the universe. “My father schooled me,” she replied, the threat of tears building. “He passed away before I finished my lessons. He… worked out here in the city.” Ted’s face dropped and he cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I shouldn’t have mentioned all tha’ with the cloak before…I’m sorry.” “It was a long time ago,” said Amelia, rubbing her arm, “and the cloak didn’t kill him. He took his own life.” Ted nodded, a solemn expression crossing his face as he looked out the window. Amelia didn’t even need to see it. It was the same face everyone did when she told them how her father died. Many people asked questions, but not Ted. He said nothing. Amelia was thankful. Her father had lived alone out here in the hidden Haven, the city barely visible through the cloak, shrouded and smothered with a blanket of toxic fog, containing everything and everyone within. No wonder he was always late home. After a moments silence, Ted cleared his throat. “I can always take ya’ back to Shorewood. If ya’ wanna go home that is?” “Um…” Whether it was the rumbling of the engine, the stale smell of the fumes getting to her, or the thought of going back to Shorewood, nausea swirled the contents of Amelia’s stomach. There was nothing there for her anymore. She closed her eyes. *** William Jackson was an actor and he spent all his time either on stage or in his study writing music for his musicals with Amelia as his muse. He loved working at the theatre, and he was always smiling. In his spare time away from the theatre, be built a wine cellar in their home. He collected vintage wine, most of them were aged, and expensive. He built large shelves specifically for the older bottles that gathered dust on their faded, fancy labels. He worked on it for a year, with Amelia helping him where she could, until his mother went into a care home. Gloria, Amelia’s grandmother, had Alzheimer’s and William dedicated a lot of his time off work visiting her and he’d take Amelia with him. Nanna Gloria was the main reason Amelia was grateful for the memories of her father, since the disease took away any she had of her own son. Amelia was there the day that she forgot who he was. She’d watched the glazed look in Nanna Gloria's warm brown eyes when they both walked into her room, then saw the recognition bloom on her rosy face when she ran to give her a hug. “Hi mother,” William said, greeting her with a kiss. Frown lines grew like weeds. "Who is this lovely young man?" she’d asked Amelia, bouncing her on her knee. Amelia saw the difference on her father’s face but didn’t fully understand. "It's Will, mother," he'd said, putting the roses he bought for her on the table and crouching by her side. "Your son?"
"Oh yes, of course!" she said after a while. "Put those in a vase would you, Bill, while Amelia and I catch up?" After they got home, Amelia was sent to bed, but she snuck downstairs, overhearing her father tell his wife what happened. It was the first time Amelia saw her father cry. Catherine wasn’t helpful, she was angry at Gloria. Amelia wasn’t sure why, but she thought that maybe it was because it made her father sad. But Nanna couldn’t help it, and still her mum got angry. Amelia and her parents never spoke about what happened at the care home after that, but all she knew was that her father was never the same. William spent less time at the theatre, choosing to work from home in his study. Amelia would sit outside his door waiting for him to let her sit in his rocking chair while he worked, just like he used to. But he never did. At dinner, Amelia would trudge downstairs and sit at the table waiting with her mother, but he rarely came down. She once caught her mother taking a tray of leftovers upstairs for him while she was meant to be asleep. She hovered by her bedroom door and peered out when her mother was gone, watching the food on the tray go cold on the floor, the door staying shut. On the weekends, Amelia would often find herself sitting in her treehouse coming up with plans to catch him and give him a hug. She only saw him a handful of times, mainly when he went out to get more special paper for his music. Then one day, she found him downstairs, all dressed for work in his smart trousers and white shirt, a folder filled with music sheets under his arm. "You be a good girl, alright?" he said quietly, gently ruffling her auburn curls. "Do what your mother says and stay out of trouble." For Amelia, it was the best day ever, and she nodded so hard she thought her head would fall off. This was the first time she'd seen him in a week, and she was so excited that she never realised how pale he looked. But he gave her a smile and a wave, leaving for work on Saturday just like normal. Amelia was happy, and she eagerly waited for him to return. He was due back late, nine o’ clock at night that Sunday, and she sat on the stairs in front of the door at eight, just in case he was early. Fiddling with her beads, Amelia never took her eyes away from the window, waiting to see his car pull up. Amelia fell asleep around nine-thirty. and Catherine carried her to bed “Where’s dad?” she asked sleepily, as her mother hurriedly tucked her in. "Go to sleep, Amelia," her mother said, brushing her hair back, "I need to call your father, you wait right here." She sounded different. "Is nanna Gloria, okay?" Amelia asked. She understood that her nanna wasn't well, and when adults sounded different, she knew that something was wrong. "I don't know,” she said truthfully. Catherine leant down to kiss her daughter and the phone rang. “I'll be right back, stay here.” Amelia succumbed to sleep almost instantly, only hearing the ringing stop. A still silence followed. Then her mother’s scream shook the walls of the house.
*** “…If ya’ wanna go home that is?” Amelia opened her eyes. Ted was looking at her. “Are ya’ okay?” he asked. “Um…” Amelia already knew her answer, but she couldn’t find the words. She couldn’t stop seeing the front page of the newspaper that day after her father died. It burned like a branding iron in her brain, the body of the article detailing her father's success and triumphs,
but she could never get past the headline: Admired actor and composer, William Jackson, dead at forty-six. Even after what Amelia and her mother saw and all the nights he didn’t eat or speak, no one saw his death coming. She inhaled slowly, her eyes blurring slightly. Inconspicuously wiping them away, Amelia pretended to scratch her face. “I’m fine, just thinking.” She said finally. “Take ya’ time,” Ted said with a wave of his hand, before grinning, “I can wait a bit longer. At least my shift will be done when I get back, so take as much time as you need.” Amelia smiled and then laughed. At least Ted was happy waiting. He was being a lot nicer to her than he was earlier this morning. He’d seemed quite stern and angry. Amelia assumed it was because he had to drive her out here, and now that he was soon heading back to Shorewood, the thought of the seaside was cheering him up. If she was honest, she could see why he was happy to leave. Amelia glanced out of the window at the foggy skyline, watching the tiny wakes in the river create foam and carry it to the shore. It reminded her of home. Shorewood’s glittering blue sea and watercolour skies were far behind her now, and here, Haven’s sky was an empty canvas, waiting for the sun to paint it. Though, she had a feeling the sun didn’t come out much here. The edge of the river had some weeds clustered around, all brown and brittle, just enough light to keep them alive, but barely. They were the resilient ones, and even they were struggling. This city is sick, but it’s either this or going home. Amelia could work with pollution, but her mother was a different story. She’d not exactly left their relationship on the best footing. *** Catherine refused to acknowledge her husband’s death for three days. Amelia was young and didn’t know what was going on. She probed her mother with questions. About what happened and where her father was and when he was coming back, but her mother said nothing, spending all her time in the cellar. Then one night, Amelia heard her screaming. Running downstairs as fast as she could, and heading down to the cellar, she found her mother grabbing every last bottle of wine she could, her pale hair flying as she ripped them free from the shelves, smashing them on the ground. “They never hold enough!” Catherine screamed. Amelia smelt the priceless wine trickling down the cracks in the pale stone floor, and watched the huge maroon puddles growing and staining, shards of curved glass floating on top of them. “Stop!” Amelia cried; she’d never been so scared. “They’re dad’s!” Catherine took more bottles, hurling them to the ground. “But he’s not here, is he?” she yelled, “So I can do whatever I want with them!” Another bottle shattered. The sound was too loud for Amelia’s ears and she cried out over the noise. “Dad won’t be happy!” Catherine stopped, another bottle in her hand ready to be destroyed, her eyes dark. She stepped over to her daughter, slapped her across the face before screaming: “He’s not coming back!” Instantly bursting into tears, Amelia ran up to her room, locking herself inside. She didn’t leave her room for days. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her mother but knew she didn’t do anything wrong. Yet it still happened, her mom had hit her. She couldn’t forget it, and she blamed herself anyway. She was too young to know what an alcoholic was.
A day later, she'd tried to talk to her mom about her dad through the door, but she never wanted to talk, she just spent more time downstairs. Even more after the newspaper hit the welcome mat. That was when Amelia learned about her father’s passing. Her mother was right. He wasn’t coming back. Also, the media were detailing her mother’s addiction with horrific detail. Since William Jackson was respectably famous, everyone knew about it. It took three days for it all to sink in, and when it did, Amelia ran away, retreating to her sanctuary out in the woods to collect her things, including her father’s music. She planned to catch bus from town and head to Haven. She knew her father’s friends at the Harlequin theatre would welcome her with open arms. After packing everything she needed, Amelia lay on the couch bed in her treehouse, staring at the hole in the treehouse ceiling, the blue tarp she’d covered it with flapping with each breeze. She’d breathed in each trembling breath through her mouth, her blocked nose making a small noise with each exhale; a gloomy, sombre sound. It was finally sinking in. She would never see her father again. She held her bracelet tight on her wrist, fingers repetitively rolling her beads back and forward. Finding her smooth rosewood bead, she caressed it, tears instantly forming in the corners of her eyes. It was all she had left of him. Now she was about to leave her mother with nothing. She hit you, remember? It’s not safe. You can’t go back. *** Amelia’s couldn’t remember much of what happened after that. All she could recall was standing outside the treehouse door looking out at the thunder, and then waking up on the ground by the ladder soaking wet and cold, the pain still fresh, and the lightning bright…the faceless figure, her hair turning white with terror.. Amelia’s head began to throb violently. “Not again….” Why now? “Are ya’ alright?” said Ted, standing up and reaching for his bottled water. Amelia looked up as he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, opening it. “Bad headache.” She took a drink of the luke-warm spring water and replaced the lid before handed it back to him gratefully. “Better?” “Yes, much.” Amelia did feel better, but the headache left her forehead tense. The visions of the nightmare had gone again, but she knew they wouldn’t fade completely until Shorewood and its memories were put behind her. For good this time. You can do this. No more looking back. “I’d better get going,” she said, adjusting her shoulder and looking out at the bridge. “It seems like a long walk to Haven.” “You’re staying then?” “I am. It’s time for a new start.” Ted smiled and nodded. “Good on ya’. Just make sure you cover ya’ mouth and nose with something, then find a mask as soon as you can. Alright?” Amelia nodded and put her bag on the floor to look for something she could use. Kneeling on the floor beside the driver’s cabin, she opened the zip. There was an old scarf that had fairly thick material that could offer some protection. It was one of her mother’s she had taken before leaving, not having one of her own. Pulling the pale blue bundle out, Amelia unfolded it, ignoring the reminiscences it offered and put it around her neck and the lower half of her face as securely as she could. I felt strange and confining, but it was time to go. Ted reach down to the release lever and pulled it, the doors opening like a concertina.
Warm air immediately wafted Amelia’s face. Even with the city at some distance, she could tell the difference in the quality. It smelt…strange. She could almost taste it in the back of her throat. Metallic and industrial. Anxiety twisted in her gut, her hands clenching on the strap of her bag. “I guess I’ll see you around, Ted,” she said, lifting her bag back up onto her shoulder. “Make sure you look after yourself in there,” he replied. “and give ‘em hell.” Amelia laughed. “I will, you too.” He seemed a far cry now, from the grumpy irritable man she had met that morning. She found herself liking him. She climbed down the steps and onto the road, the doors shutting behind her. Amelia stood near the railing and saw Ted raise a hand. She returned it, watching him rev the engine and pull forward, turning the bus around before heading slowly off into the distance. Her hand fell to her side as she sighed, unwillingly recalling the clear skies of the harbour, the watercolour sunrises and the quaint shops and tourists. Emotion choked her briefly, but the smell distracted her, the thicker, dirtier air penetrating through her scarf, its scent diverse. Petroleum and diesel fumes dominated with rotten undertones and hints of cleaning chemicals mixing and condensing it all together into an atrocity of toxins. It was absolutely foul. Holding the scarf against her face tight, she checked for any traffic, before walking down the middle of the road towards the barricade, the wall of fog tall and intimidating behind it. From there, it was a shorter walk to the edge of the street that lead into the cloudy heart of the city. Feeling her breath warm her face behind the mask, Amelia put Shorewood behind her with every step, and Haven and the cloak even closer. No turning back now. *** Walking across the bridge was incredible. High over the river, Amelia could see just how big it was. It stretched for miles; and was at least half a mile wide. Haven was still invisible behind the cloak, but excitement still brewed in Amelia’s stomach. In a way, it was magnificent. It was like a velvet curtain on stage at the theatre; heavy and dense, made of smoke just hanging in the air, towering from top to bottom and concealing the mysteries of the theatre district and life on the stage behind it. Soon enough she would be stepping through it, seeing the sharp edges of skyscrapers come into view through the mist. Her own sneak peek backstage. Other than the obvious difference, Amelia’s plan hadn’t changed much. She just needed to avoid being outside for too long, and that wasn’t a problem, since she’d be in the theatre working all the time. Or she would be at home. She had money, so that wasn’t a problem, she just had to find a decent place first. It’s finally happening! Amelia smiled as she walked, reimagining her future self, walking down the street wearing her dream dress with everyone watching her and envying her. Her vision was closer than ever. Walking with confidence, she passed the barrier. The air was definitely getting dustier, and it was getting harder to see in front of her. She pulled her sweater hood up, letting it hang far over her face. It helped keep her scarf on more than anything, but it also partially protected her face from debris in the air, which was gradually increasing.
It did help obscure the view, since Amelia couldn’t take her gaze away from the wall of smoke towering over her. It reached even higher than the suspension bridge connecting the city to the mainland. With each new step, the more imposing it became, and Amelia kept her eyes down and tried not to think of what it would be like when she had to walk through it. The idea of it felt more like stepping through the curtain on opening night every minute. Breathing slowly, she calmed her anxious mind until the intrusive thoughts faded. It wasn’t worth worrying about yet and the warm breath on her face helped her focus. In and out. Now that she was off the bus, and even with the abysmal air quality, she felt like she could finally breathe. She was free. Free to start her life over, the way she wanted. Her shoulders lowered and each scratchy blink slowed as she took in her new reality. She could finally put the past behind her, one step at a time. Amelia allowed her mind to wander as she walked slowly, her thoughts travelling like the swirling mist around Haven; tendrils of ideas coming into focus before replacing each other. Ted’s weird suspicions came to mind. Who or what was the Elite? And was the government covering up a big conspiracy? Was the cloak caused by the chemical fallout of creepy experiments? Thoughts and questions ran amok, half of which she didn’t believe for a second, but Amelia didn’t try to contain them, since thinking helped her ignore the dreadful smell in her nostrils, and right now she would think of anything. Ted is one of those conspiracy nuts. Amelia smiled to herself; the idea of it making her wonder. He probably had more stories that he had been desperate to tell her when she was on the bus. He’d seemed like the type to be into conspiracies, especially with his khaki shorts and skin-tight polo neck shirt. Maybe he even had a club, one where they discussed tales of bigfoot, life on other planets and UFO abductions. Picturing Ted in high-tech camo gear, ready to stake out a place because they stole his ‘Watch the skies!’ magazines, made Amelia laugh out loud and her scarf slipped down onto her chin. Holding her breath, she replaced it quickly and told herself to be more careful. He probably collects stamps too. The mere thought of it made her grin, but she concentrated, focused on walking, pushing the thoughts of Haven’s conspiracies out of her mind. It was funny to think about, but Ted had seemed pretty adamant about some of them, and she couldn’t let his stories get into her head. The cloak had already been a bombshell and she didn’t want any more surprises or anything else to dishearten her. Haven was her new home, and she was going to bring some much-needed hope. Maybe this city needed a new face; someone friendly and ambitious. Someone with a dream.
*** The smog swirled in front of Amelia’s eyes as she stepped off the bridge, and she wondered if anyone actually lived in Haven. She secured her mask and her hood, looking up at the heavy drops of rain falling down hard, then watching it patter, soaking into the tarmac around her. It didn’t exactly look like anyone lived here, and the smog was so dense that she couldn’t have seen anybody even if they had been there, unless they were two feet from her. The streets ahead seemed lifeless, empty and abandoned, with burred outlines of silent skyscrapers and the road disappearing into the ghostly vapours. The smog didn’t even move much with the wind, only the edges by the river. The cloak hugged close to the perimeter of the riverbank before gradually dissipating at the water’s edge. Everything inside that border lived in a contaminated cloud, permanent, poisonous and unsafe.
The cloak didn’t just disrupt Amelia’s sight, but it stifled her hearing as well. Her breathing sounded incredibly crisp and loud against her face and she couldn’t hear anything unless it was right next to her. The sound of the water lapping faded as she walked further down the street. The metallic smell had increased ten-fold, reminding Amelia of the time when she sipped a fizzy drink too quickly and the bubbles went up her nose. It tickled the tiny hairs in her nostrils the same way, brewing a sneeze in the back of her mouth and sinuses, before going down into her lungs. Where a fizzy drink would smell relatively divine, the metallic carbonation scent of the cloak combined with the odour of rotten eggs, made Amelia immediately grasp her scarf closer to her face; her chest tightening with every tense breath. She couldn’t decide if she was going to cough or be sick. It might be both. Amelia was forced to stop, and she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t anywhere open where she could buy a mask or get inside and off the streets either. Continuing to walk, she searched each building on both sides of the road when a stifling draft unexpectedly washed over her. It wasn’t refreshing but sickening instead, and she could feel the heat from it through her scarf. As it passed, a different scent overwhelmed her nose. The smoke of the city wasn't replaced by it, but there was an agreeable floral note making its tantalizing appearance. Mother’s perfume. It smelt like home; the scent must have lingered on the fabric while it was stuffed at the bottom of her bag. It shook her up more than Amelia had expected. She gripped her small frame, her arms wrapping around herself as tears dragged flecks of debris down her face, sticking to her damp skin. She closed her eyes and shut herself away for a moment. I can’t escape. After a minute, Amelia couldn’t stand to stay outside any longer. She had to find somewhere to go, so she could figure out what to do next. Looking up the street in front of her, Amelia thought she saw someone. Peering through the rain, the mist staining the true look of the city with either a diseased green or a cigarette smoke yellow, she realised it was a couple’s silhouette coming towards her. “Hello?” she called, waving slowly, her forehead tensing as an ache emerged behind her eyebrows. “Not now…” she groaned, massaging her temples. Both women were engaged in a lively conversation; musical laughter giving off an air of confidence Amelia wished she had. The pain throbbed, burning like a wildfire out of control as they came into view, dressed exceptionally. The short-haired brunette sported a strikingly bright orange cocktail dress, and the blond wore a magnificent deep purple floor length gown. Both young adults appeared to have come from a matinee, approaching Amelia not wearing masks. “Excuse me?” she asked politely, the women stopping two meters from her. “Do you know where I can find somewhere to rest for a while? I’m new in town.” They looked Amelia up and down, sharing nasty glances before speaking. “We can see that,” said the brunette, her friend laughing next to her obnoxiously. “You won’t find anywhere here that will let you in. This is New Haven. Elites only.” They held out their wrists, both tattooed with the same cursive ‘E’. “You should go to Old Haven,” said the blonde, thumbing vaguely behind her before folding her arms. “They might be able to help you,” she sneered. “Welcome to Haven!” The brunette laughed, before taking her friends arm and continuing on their way, both whispering and looking back, their laughter fading as they disappeared into the cloak.
Warm tears trickled down Amelia’s cheeks. Not a great first impression from the Elite that Ted rightly warned her about. Stuck-up cows. Headed in the direction that the brunette had pointed, Amelia hoped to find the way to Old Haven and find some shelter or even better, the theatre. . *** Amelia was lost and out of ideas. The brunette had lied to her. Every shop and office building she’d knocked on was closed. Though all doors had a large bio scanner. Amelia had never seen one before. Maybe she needed a code or something. It said, ‘Scan here’ and a panel underneath it flashed with a bright blue cursive ‘E’ logo. Just like the women’s tattoos. Elites only. Great. She was a good mile away from the bridge and couldn’t find her way back. Amelia didn’t know what to do. She pinched the corners of her clenched eyes through her scarf, groaning as the pressure built up inside her head. Another migraine was coming. Perhaps the pollution was triggering it this time? Her only option was to keep moving and find her way through this maze. The deserted streets reminded her of the misty woods around her treehouse. Amelia had gotten lost in there once; it was how she found the treehouse in the first place. During the day it was hard to keep going straight, and once you stepped around a few trees that were in the way it was easy to lose yourself and become lost. It was frustrating lesson, but she’d learnt to use the sun to make sure she kept going straight. At night, the moonlight had to do. And I can’t use either. They’d both be hidden behind the cloak. Looking up into the overdeveloped green, toxic clouds, Amelia never thought that she'd miss the grey skies over the murky beaches of Shorewood, or its turbulent stormy sky. A cloudless day was a rare gift in Shorewood, but here in Haven, it would be a miracle. *** After ten minutes of walking, Amelia’s energy had drained. Taking even one breath was hard and her head tensed with pain. She came to a stop outside what looked like a coffee shop, and someone was inside. A blonde girl around eight years old was sitting at a table playing with a computer of sorts. She seemed to be alone. Amelia quickly tapped her knuckles on the glass window to get her attention and she looked up, her pale face smiling at her. Finally meeting a friendly face. Amelia did her best to communicate through the thick glass and pointed to the door, miming for her to open it. The girl hopped off her chair and ran to the coat stand. What a smart girl. Amelia held her scarf tight, she would be inside soon and as she turned back to the shop, she saw the girl pulling a yellow raincoat of the hook. Her heart raced, but she breathed slowly to calm herself. It’s just a young girl, it’s fine. As the child put her coat on, with the hood up, and wandered to the door, Amelia’s head burst in pain interrupting her reasoning, white-hot pokers stabbing her eye sockets, and speckling her vision with colourful spots. She took huge breaths, feeling the dusty and polluted air tickle her nose and throat as it headed for her lungs. She began to cough instantly, hard, a barking noise coming up from her raw throat, her head exploding in pain with each wheeze of
breath she took desperately. She had to calm down, or this would never stop. The pain had never been this bad before. Temples throbbing, Amelia tried to breath slowly, resisting the urge to cough again. The mask helped somewhat by filtering small pieces of debris that blew around in mini cyclones across the tarmac. The cyclone…It ripped the treehouse apart… Of the treehouse, white and bloody branches, the void in the sky… the faceless figure… Amelia’s chest burned and the migraine did not ease, throbbing hard as her brain recalled more moments of her nightmare; the faces, the odd floating colours, her reflection in the water…the white hair. She was blinded by agony. The girl watched in shock from behind the glass. Amelia couldn’t see her face under the hood. “Go away!” she screamed, “Make it stop!” She began gripping her hair as her body became unstable and dizzy and she heard a distant rumble above her. “Stop this!” she cried. Think of anything! Anything else other than this nightmare! She couldn’t be still dreaming, because she woke up on the bus. She would have known if she didn’t. Did she miss a glaring detail? Were the bus seats patterns changing while she laid on her seat? Maybe the woman on the bus wasn’t real! Reality was twisted and turning. Pulling back her left sleeve, Amelia had to double check. Her stomach sank, and her throat tightened. She was certain that her eyes were tricking her as she stared at her naked wrist. My beads…theyre gone. “No, no, no!” she cried, frantically slapping both wrists, looking for her missing bracelet. But it wasn’t there. Tears came fast and she sobbed, checking every corner and every pocket on her coat and jeans. With each failed attempt, Amelia became more desperate, barely able to see through her tears. She needed that bracelet. How was she supposed to tell whether she was dreaming or not?! It was her most treasured possession, her precious memories. Now it was gone. She yanked the yip on her duffel and turned it upside down, all of her clothes falling out onto the road. I’m not going anywhere without them! Amelia thought back to the bus stop. She couldn’t recall checking that they were there. She ran a hand through her hair and scratched at her scalp. The last time she saw them was in the dream, just before she fell. Reaching around her bag once more. Her fingers found something small and sharp. It poked her skin and she gently brought up what she found. She opened her hand. There was a shard of what looked like wood with a piece of something that looked like glass. They were beads. Amelia’s heart broke. Her bracelet must have got damaged. Maybe that’s why she dreamt of some going missing. Her heart broke further when she recognised which beads they were. The glass was from her ceramic bead, it was white with pink roses. Her nanna’s bead. The wood was a warm brown, slightly reddish. Rosewood. “No…” Amelia’s voice faltered. She clutched her hands around it and brought it to her chest, resting her head on top. She cried, kneeling on the pavement, the debris and litter cushioning her skin. She could hear a voice. It was the child from the coffee shop. But all she heard was her father’s voice: “Look after this one, Amelia. It’s special.” Guilt rinsed through her blood, making her angry with herself. “I’m sorry,” she cried, unfolding her hands and seeing the slither rest in her palm. It started to rain.
Amelia didn’t realise until the drops pooled on her hand, the wooden fragment damp and shining, and it darkened, its reddish colour brightening as the sunlight reflected in its shine. Her throat clenched as the water washed the piece of her father’s memory into the street and down the gutter. “Oh my god, Miss?” said a panicked woman’s voice, following her daughter outside to see what the commotion was. “Miss are you okay? What’s your name?” Amelia stayed silent, her hair slowly darkening in the rain, turning a darker goldenbrown, tones of red and orange shining through, matching the colour of the wood her father loved so much. She was the last piece of her father’s legacy. “Rose,” she breathed, “My name is Rose.”