Part 2 (1/2)

'It's what kids do.'

Raj rubbed his jaw. 'Then you figure there's nothing behind it?'

'Raj, it's some graffiti artist who's just trying to work up five minutes of fame for themselves.'

'What if you dig deeper?'

'You're asking me to investigate this?'

Raj nodded.

Ben laughed. 'Then you can't handle the heat, old son. You've flipped. This is just some joker with a crate full of spray paint and a big ego.'

'I disagree. So, this is me, your editor, giving you, Ben Ashton, a valuable commission. Five thousand words by the end of next week. Premium word rate. Expenses. Front cover credit.'

Ben breathed in deeply. This was a good offer. No bones about it, the best a.s.signment all year. His old sofa at home had become a pain in the backside - literally. The fee for writing the article would buy something smart in black. He shot Raj a glance.

'Vampire Sharkz,' Ben said as he rubbed his jaw. 'You've got word on this, haven't you?'

'I was hoping you'd uncover that for me when you take the a.s.signment.'

'Thisa Vampire Sharkz? What is it? A film? A rock band? A new type of cocaine? And: ”They're going to get you.” Why are they going to get us?'

Raj shrugged.

Ben let out a low whistle as a more disturbing thought struck home. 'Or is it a new street gang? Or a drug franchise marking out their territory?'

'Find out for me, Ben. You've got eleven days.'

'Photography?'

'Jenny's got the graffiti covered with beautiful art shots. Anything else, you've got your camera, haven't you? Okay, what's so funny, Ben?'

'I met a girl in Soho House on Friday night.'

'Congratulations.'

'No, I had toa you know, make my excuses. Well, I told her I was a writer, and she asked what I wrote about. Because I needed to leave in a hurry I told her the first thing that came into my head.'

Raj invited Ben to continue with a lift of an eyebrow.

Ben laughed louder. 'I told her that I wrote about vampires.'

'Vampires? Then the G.o.ds must have heard you. Now they've made it your destiny. It's become your sacred quest.' He handed Ben a sheet of green paper. 'Expenses form. Receipts please. Now do it. Go vampire hunting.'

FOUR.

That moment of wakinga which sense comes alive first?

This time smell. Wet soil.

Second: Sound. A rustle. Paper? Leaves? A dry whisper.

Third: Touch. A pressure on the side of her jaw.

Another sound; this one liquid in motion. A bath?

Where is this? Am I in bed? Have I forgotten to empty the bath?

Look for yourself.

For a moment she willed her eyelids to slide back. She tried again. For some reason she couldn't open her eyes. Come to that, she couldn't move her arms. She sensed she was lying on her stomach with her head to one side.

Why can I hear water, and smell wet soil, if I'm in bed?

Then without planning to say it she asked out loud: 'What's your name?'

The question blazed through her like lightning. This time her eyelids flew back. A light of such brilliance shone into her face she gasped. Even though she couldn't move her head her eyes darted in panic trying to see her surroundings, but all they did tell her was that a retina-searing light filled her world. Only now she couldn't close her eyes again. All she could do was stare into what seemed the heart of the sun.

'What's your name?' she whispered. Vertigo tugged at her because the only fact she was certain of was this: I don't know my own namea Noises, sensations, smells jostled for attention. There were more of them. The pungent tang of oil. A subtler odour of pond water. She heard her own breathing. It suddenly seemed over-loud; its rhythm all wrong. Abrupt intakes of breath followed by a long exhale. What's more she realized that she whispered as she breathed out, yet she couldn't make sense of what she was saying. With an effort she managed to move her tongue. Particles of grit scratched against her teeth. Her mouth tasted bitter, as if she'd taken a mouthful of mouldy bread.

'What's happened to me?'

Reaching deep inside of herself, she clutched at the strength to close her eyes. They slid shut blocking out the awful intensity of daylight. For ten seconds she kept them closed. Her lungs sounded like some weird pneumatic apparatus. Spasmodic inhalations followed by a long whispering release. Overlying that, a persistent rustling alongside liquid notes. Strange musica The next time she opened her eyes it was easier. The violent blaze of light had gone. It had been replaced with a flood of tungsten brilliance. Okay, still very bright but no longer painfully so.

'What happened to mea what's my name?'

The only reply was the dry rustling close by. She found she could blink easily now. As she did so, what she gazed at swiftly resolved itself into sharp focus. There, in front of her, just inches away, was a ruffled expanse of little stones. The area had been formed into ridges, each one no more than an inch high at the most. Beyond those, moving in an eerie dance, were slender green limbs.

'I know what you are,' she murmured at the green dancers. 'Just need the right word.' She licked her lips. They tasted bitter, too. 'You area' The effort of remembering ran through her with all the force of a painful cramp. 'Reedsa. you are reeds.' She sighed with relief at recalling the word. The relief was brutally short-lived.

Reeds? Stones? With another supreme effort she moved her head so she could look down along her body. She was wearing her black dress. The bottom half of her body lay in water. In this light the water resembled liquid platinum. What had been a numb sense of bewilderment backed off before savage jabs of panic hit her.

'Oh, please, G.o.da what's happened to me?'

Panic threatened to become a deluge of horror. Her mind swam with vertigo once more. At that moment it seemed preferable to retreat back into unconsciousness in the hope that when she awoke again all this would turn out to be a dream. But anxiety nagged her. Why can't I remember? Something terrible happened? Why don't I know my own name?

Her breathing grew more erratic. Crimson sparks flew out from the reeds at her. She knew she was starting to disintegrate mentally.

'You've got to keep it togethera you're in dangera you've got to save yourself.' She took a deep breath; when she asked that question again her voice exploded weirdly from her lips. 'What isa your name?' She tried so hard to remember her body convulsed. 'Something else,' she gasped. 'Something easier.' Her lips pressed together as she made the effort to control her growing sense of terror. 'Listen. What's your favourite colour?' This time the answer came straight away. 'Green.' Another question: 'Chocolate or chips?' The answer came as part cry, part laughter. 'Chocolate!' Keep going. 'What are you afraid of?' This time it came as full-blooded cry. 'Thisa I'm afraid of this. I don't know my own name.' She took a deep breath. 'I'm also afraid of lonelinessa and going into a room at night without switching the light on firsta' More: 'What's your earliest memory? Don't knowa come on, thinka think!' She gasped. 'Bakkua the white kitten. Christmas in the house with red gates.' It was if a mechanism was freeing itself in her mind. Wheels turned. Gears made connections. She blinked at the reeds. They were so green they appeared to be luminous. On the gravel near her face were bits of flotsam - a gum wrapper, a triangle of green gla.s.s, probably a fragment from a beer bottle. 'Tell me about a happy memory,' she demanded. 'Tell me about a time you were happy.' On the s.h.i.+ngle just inches from her eye was a silver coin. It looked like a star against a dark sky it shone so brightly.

'Come on, tell me a good memory.' She swallowed a lungful of air. Her skin began to tingle. 'I'm little. There's a boy wading in the river. He calls to me, ”Don't come too close. It's dangerous. But you can watch me if you sit on the bank. Did you hear mea?” Then he speaks my name. But what is it?' She swallowed. 'Keep going. What happened next? The boy smiles at mea he's my brothera the sun's s.h.i.+ning. We're staying at Grandma's. My brother's annoyed that Dad won't buy him a metal detector so he can find coins, but he's found another waya what's the other way?' She closed her eyes. She pictured the twelve-year-old boy with his ma.s.s of frizzy hair. He's standing on a bank of s.h.i.+ngle midstream. The sun s.h.i.+nes. Not far away a horse drinks from the river. Her cousin flies a blue kite in the field. Then she saw the boy in her mind's eye again. He says a word that must be a name. But what name? 'Then Leo saysa that's my brother's name: Leoa and Leo says: ”I've been reading about treasure hunting. The book says just use your eyes. It's all about teaching your mind to see the right shape. You see this patch of s.h.i.+ngle? The river sorts stones into certain shapes and weights; it's all to do with current flows. See here? It's left stones that are the shape of coins. That means if coins fall into the water when the bank is eroded they'll be deposited in places like this. Treasure hunters call them Glory Holes.” Soa if I bend down and picture a coin in my minda 'Leo crouches to stare at the stones. I see the concentration on his face. Then he yells out, ”I've found onea I'm sure it's Roman!” I was so excited for him. He came splas.h.i.+ng through the water to me, and he's shoutinga ”It is Roman. Looka April!” '

In one convulsive moment she sat up. 'April. My name is April.'