Hunted

Forty-Seven: Fire

Charlotte paused at the door for a moment, anger at herself blooming inside her chest. They were busy discussing plans on stopping Elmhirst, but she was done with this, this world she no longer knew. She needed space to clear her head, to adjust to being back on the island, to get her head around Matt's absence and James' presence.

She turned on her heel, not looking back as she left them, striding down the corridor and back up the stairs. She knew they had probably noticed her absence by now and Ian would have easily tracked her down if he felt the need, but they didn't seem too worried about where she was going, and either was she. All she knew was that she needed space.

The academy was steeped in silence as Charlotte emerged into the Old School, suddenly unnerved by being back at Kingston. She followed the corridor to the east wing, using the back staircase to climb to her old room. It was exactly as she remembered it.

The blinds were still drawn, the bed unmade. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe, the blue, head-girl pinafore, her training gear, and the beautiful dresses she had had to wear to the balls held for the patrons. She ran her fingers along the sweeping skirts of the navy dress she had worn to the final ball before she had left. That evening had been wonderful despite having to socialise with the aging patrons, because she had spent it with James, laughing and joking, believing that they had had months stretching out before them before they were to be torn apart. Little did she know...

Charlotte closed the wardrobe door and took a steadying breath, trying to banish those memories now. They only hurt. They were of a different time, a different Charlotte.

She strolled through to the study, the darkened, book-filled room she had rarely ever used. Her backpack was slung over the back of her chair, the zipper half-open. Her notebooks had been spread across the desk, her own precise writing filling the pages, all of that unneeded now.

In the bathroom her toothbrush still sat where she had last used it, the toothpaste uncapped and dried out. The tap dripped steadily, staining the porcelain bowl beneath it. Charlotte reached forward turning it off with a heavy sigh, wondering how things had changed so quickly.

The anger coursing through her veins, and the distress at not knowing what was going on, was overwhelming her. They all seemed to have plans and schemes, things to do, but she was just the inconvenient extra, tagging along, but completely unsure of where her place was.

She was angry too, because she had more than likely cost Matt his life and now she felt too guilty to even be kind to James. It was stupid, irrational, infuriating, but she couldn't seem to help it. Charlotte knew she was stupid, irrational and infuriating at the best of times, and sometimes she liked to be.

Until this was over she needed to worry about herself and herself alone. Elmhirst wanted her dead. She was his main target and if she got caught up with James or Matt, she would hardly stand a chance against him. She needed to be strong and determined, not moody and petulant.

Charlotte forced herself to push all her worries to the back of her mind and glanced at herself in the mirror. She was still in her dark grey dress and dark tights, her shoes were missing and her hair was a frightful mess. She looked like anything, other the soldier she was meant to be. She didn't look like something that was supposed to be feared; she just looked plain fearful.

She gritted her teeth and strode back into her bedroom, pulling open her wardrobe and grabbing her training gear. She locked her bedroom door before returning to the bathroom, determined to clean herself, to wash away her doubts and fears.

Charlotte ran the shower until it was scalding hot, wanting to rid herself of all the badness and the worries that clung to her. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw, an angry red shining from beneath her fading tan. Once satisfied she was as clean as she possibly could be, she meticulously dried herself, before brushing her teeth, and dragging a comb through her hair. She watched half mesmerised as her deft fingers braided her long, dark waves. She pulled on the clean training gear, smoothing down the material and pulling on her trainers.