Fated

As I walked, I heard whispers at the edge of hearing. The house was the same, but different. Doors that should have been there were missing, walls were bare or blurred, tables the wrong shape or size. This was the mansion my mind had rebuilt in my dreams. One part, though, was perfect: the door at the end of the first-floor corridor, the entrance to Richard’s study.

I nearly stopped then. Even though I’d been awaiting it, that simple wooden door sent a stab of fear through me that made my limbs grow heavy, and I stumbled. Only the memories of Luna and Shireen kept me going. A little bit of me screamed and ran. The rest kept walking. I pushed the door open.

The room inside was different from the rest of the mansion – it was clear and detailed, a perfect replica. A fire burned low in the fireplace, merging with the dim lights to shroud the room in gloom. The floor was covered in a thick, soft carpet, muffling sound so that it took me a second to realise that the fire made no noise. Books on shelves lined the walls. To the left was an oaken desk, covered with papers. My eyes flicked to the armchair behind the desk, but it was empty. A pen was laid upon a scattering of papers, its cap still off. Although the room was silent, it didn’t feel empty. It felt as though something was waiting for me.

On the opposite wall, ten paces away, was another door. It was ajar just a crack, and a sliver of light spilled through. It was swallowed quickly in the gloom, but that patch before the door was the only light in the darkness. The sense of something watching was stronger, but the door was right there in front of me.

I stepped forward, and—

The schoolyard was damp and cold, grey skies a reminder of the rain already fallen and a sign of more to come. Despite the damp a scattering of teenagers were in the yard, boys bragging and laughing while girls looked on and giggled. One boy was standing apart, leaning against the wall, arms folded as he stared. He was in his mid-teens, with spiky black hair … and he was familiar, too familiar. Looking at him made me pause, confused. I knew him, but—

Then all of a sudden it clicked into place. I was looking at myself, eleven years ago. The boy leaning against the wall was me, and the building looming into the grey sky was my last school. With a rush the memory came back. I remembered this day.

Muffled footsteps on the concrete made my younger self look up. A man was approaching, an ordinary-looking man with an ordinary, forgettable face. The kind of man your eyes flick over without ever really noticing. ‘Hello, Alex.’

‘What do you want?’ my younger self said.

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to be somewhere else instead of in a school I hate with a bunch of bastards like them.’ The younger me jerked his head towards the children in the yard.

‘Is that all?’

‘It’s a start.’

‘And then?’ The man tilted his head slightly. ‘What if you could have anything at all? What do you really want?’

My younger self looked up in surprise. He’d been play-acting, not expecting to be taken seriously. ‘Okay,’ he said, and I knew he was paying attention. ‘What I really want? I want to be so powerful that I don’t have to care about idiots like them. I want to be so far above them they can’t even touch me. Can you get me that?’

The man looked back at him, and then suddenly smiled, an amused smile that didn’t touch his eyes. ‘Yes, I can.’

The younger Alex stared at him. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Richard Drakh.’ He kept smiling as he looked down. ‘But you can call me master.’

—my foot sank into the carpet. I looked from side to side, confused. The room was empty, quiet. But I hadn’t imagined it. That had been the day I’d met Richard for the first time, as real as when I’d been there. To one side, the fire burned; to the other, the chair sat empty. Cautiously, I took another step—

The living room was warm and still. Richard was sitting in an armchair by the fire, and around him four children made a semicircle. The two girls were on the sofa, side by side. Shireen had been braiding Rachel’s hair and now was watching with a frown, while Rachel was wide-eyed and curious. The younger me was in a smaller armchair to one side. It was only a few weeks after that first meeting with Richard and I looked much the same. I was sitting with my feet curled up underneath me, and the position gave me an oddly child-like look that was out of place with my sharp eyes. And leaning against the mantlepiece, slightly apart from the others, was Tobruk, the firelight catching his whimsical smile.