Hunted

Seven: Unwelcome

The car turned from the smooth, tree-lined road, on to a long curving drive, wandering towards the eastern skyline. The sun had just descended below the horizon in the west, sending the sky up in flames of red and orange. The wintry world beyond the window was now shrouded in shadow, unknown shapes looming against the side of the car, tall and menacing in the quickening dark.

Yet as Charlotte sat with her head pressed against the cold glass, she found she did not care. She did not care about any of it, where they were going, who was waiting for them, whether she was safe or not; it all seemed so trivial, so pointless. Her hot breath caught on the window, fogging her view of the darkening world.

Matt seemed irritated. He had tried to coax her into a conversation in the beginning, but her one syllable answers had soured his enthusiasm. He had spent most of the journey checking and rechecking his mirrors, his body tense, his eyes darting suspiciously, as one car or another drove behind them. In such a small space his anxiety was a persistent temptation for Charlotte, tormenting her. She felt like yelling at him to stop - to stop worrying and panicking. She wanted to tell him how hard it was to be anywhere near him, how she wanted to...

She sighed, deliberately thumping her head off the window, trying to distract herself from her evil thoughts.

"Are you okay?" he asked, glancing at her, a fresh wave of apprehension filling the car.

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying to pretend he wasn't there.

"We're nearly there," he said, trying to sound positive.

"Oh great," she muttered sarcastically. At least we'll be out of this bloody car, she thought angrily. Matt thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel and whistled distractedly to himself, trying to fill the silence. "Could you stop that?" she snapped, refusing to look at him.

"Oh - sorry," he muttered, his fingers quietening, the last uneven note hanging painfully in the air. Instead he reached for the radio, switching it on and messing with the dials, before he came to something he approved of. He settled on a classical station, the sounds of violins filling the car.

Charlotte glared at the radio, as if hoping she could melt it with her stare. The music reminded her of the banquets at Kingston. She switched off the radio.

"I have a headache," she grunted, looking back out the window. There was a pause, before Matt said anything.

"I thought you didn't get sick?" he questioned, a dry bitterness to his words.

"I didn't say I was sick - I said I had a headache," she whispered, lifting a finger and pulling it through her breath on the window.

"Right - sorry for showing concern," he replied, following a sweeping bend in the drive.

"I don't need your concern. I never needed it - if you hadn't..." she muttered, clenching her fists hidden in the folds of her jumper.

"If I hadn't what? If I hadn't shown concern you would still be there? Well Charlotte that's not true - if it wasn't for me you'd be dead right now," he snapped, his tone hard.

"I would not," she growled, turning from the window to face him. "I am designed to kill, not to be killed. I would have killed them first!"

"Bullshit, Charlotte," Matt said glancing from the road to her and back again. "You wouldn't have been able to defend yourself if they had knocked you out. And that's not all they have..."

"James would have done something - there are others," she spat, refusing to allow him be right.

"It was Alexander's idea! Not mine! He was the one who suggested hiding you on the ship. He was the one who told me to get the injection off Ashley Porter. It was your precious James, who built the space for you to hide in on the ship, unknown and unseen by the patrons. And it was Alexander who convinced Freya Baak to cover for you". The ferocity behind his words, his sudden anger drowned out his fear, giving Charlotte a moment's relief.