Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,80
voices wash over and around me, while they got more and more frustrated. They brought in a doctor, too, but I didn’t talk to him, either. I was pretty sure once I started telling him about the numbers, he’d have me in the loony bin before I could blink — carted off to a secure ward somewhere, locked up, tranquilized.
There was the sound of movement outside. The door opened to let another woman in: Karen. To be honest, it took me a few seconds to remember where I’d seen her before. The last few days had been so intense, it was like I’d lived a whole different life since I’d left her house.
“Jem!” she said, and half walked, half ran across the room with her arms open. She gathered me to her, and all at once I was back in her kitchen on Sherwood Road, and I was who I used to be, before all this happened. She held me for a long time. There was a lot of emotion from her, in that hug; it surprised me, kind of repulsed me, too, but I didn’t pull away. It was like she’d really missed me — I would have thought she’d be glad for the peace and quiet of the past few days.
Eventually, she let go and moved away a little. “How are you? Are you alright? I’ve been so worried. If you’d only told me….” There was pain in her face, concern.
“I’m alright,” I said, but I was betrayed by the wobble in my voice.
“You look tired. You’re very pale.” She stroked my cheek with one of her pudgy hands. “It’s alright now, Jem. You can come home with me. I expect the police will want to question you again tomorrow, and I’ll be with you, but you can come home tonight.”
Home. The thought of Sherwood Road, the projects, the twins, everything back to normal.
“I’m not going, not without Spider.”
“Of course you must. Jem, you’ve been through a heck of a lot. Let me look after you for a bit. Give yourself a break.”
“I’m going to stay here.”
She frowned. “I don’t think you can, Jem. This is not a place where people live.”
“I can stay, and I’m going to. I’m going to stay until they bring Spider back to me. You’re not going to take me away. You can’t make me.”
She had her hand on my arm now. “No one’s going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go. I’m just asking you — asking, Jem — that you come home.”
I shrugged her arm away. Instantly her face crumpled with hurt feelings.
“I’m not going, Karen. I’m staying here.”
She sighed and shook her head. “You’re not so tough, Jem. One day you’ll realize that, and I’ll be there for you.”
She gathered up her handbag and went to join the others outside. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t care. They could talk about me all they liked. Whether he knew it or not, Simon had given me something precious, something powerful, a silver bullet to defend myself with. One word: “sanctuary.”
They came back in; Karen, Imogen — the social worker — Simon, and the rector.
“We can’t leave you here on your own,” said the rector wearily.
“Why not?”
“You’re a fifteen-year-old girl. It’s not appropriate.”
“I’ve been on my own for days.”
“Be reasonable, Jem,” Karen chipped in.
“I’m not moving. I can sleep right here. It’s safer than on the street.”
They looked at each other.
“I need to get back,” said Karen. “I’ve got a neighbor keeping an eye on the kids, but…I suppose I could see if she could sleep there.”
Karen looked at Simon and the rector, who nodded. “If you can stay, Karen, we’ll make up a couple of beds for you.”
Karen made a couple of phone calls and there was a bit more faffing about. They were doing that adult thing of talking like I wasn’t there. The rector started mouthing off about me vandalizing the place, but Karen stepped in.
“I’ll be here. I’ll vouch for her. Anyway, she’s not a violent kid at heart. She got into trouble at school, but I think there was provocation there. She wouldn’t be destructive here.”
I just sat still, picking at a flap of loose skin on the side of my thumb. I looked up and Karen caught my eye. She looked at me evenly, but I knew we were both thinking of my room back at her house, smashed to bits the night before I left.
The rector’s wife, Anne, had