Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
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With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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Light explodes behind my eyelids. A scream pierces through the silence of sleep, dragging me awake. My eyes shoot open. On the bedside table, my phone glows, bathing the room in silvery light. Time is a mystery. When I'd dragged myself to bed, the sun had just dipped below the horizon. The grey slicing through my curtains makes me suspect it's early morning.
The scream returns, the shock pulling the breath from my lungs. The sound is guttural and raw. A scream of anguish. Of a world shifted.
I shoot upright, the movement quick, too quick for my fragile limbs. I pivot till my feet are on the floor and stumble out of bed. A cable tugs from my chest, reminding me I'm not free to do something as simple as climb out of bed. I unplug the plastic and metal device keeping me alive from the wall, quickly attaching it to a power pack. I secure it loosely around my waist, my arms slipping through the straps of the harness. It sits awkwardly on top of my nightdress.
My body feels untethered from my mind as I walk from my room, feeling the wrongness carrying on the air. A tuneless note still ringing long after it had been plucked. The hallway is fully lit, the stark white scolding my sleepy eyes. I lean against the wall, my nails digging into the wallpaper as I make my way to the source of the noise. To the source of the pain.
I draw closer to the top of the staircase, the antique chandelier sending shards of light shooting around the reception room below it. My hands grip the bannister as I peer down. There were two strangers standing by the door, a man and a woman, and though they weren't in uniform, I recognise them instantly for what they were - police. A few feet away, my older sister Alice is crouched on the floor, the pearls of her spine shuddering as she sobs. Her face is hidden from view, but her whimpering breaks up the swollen silence in the vast space. The pain there is raw and fresh. My body freezes and my limbs lock at the sight of the ever-poised, ever-graceful Alice curled up like a broken doll. Mum has her arms wrapped around her. Her skin, the same shade of pale gold as Alice's, is blotchy and red, her brown eyes glowing against watery tears. Mari is by their side, her face as smooth as marble. Unreadable and still, as always. She glances up at me and calmly stands, brushing the dust off her pyjama bottoms. With a subtlety that would have been missed by anyone else, Mari shakes her head at me. I'm not needed here. And it stings.
I sink down on the top stair, breathless. The infection in my lungs has them clenched in its painful grip. I watch the scene below. Mari climbs the stairs, heading in my direction. She sits down next to me, close enough that our shoulders touch.
"What's going on?" My voice is faint, thick with sleep. For a moment, Mari says nothing, and I can see a rare flash of vulnerability break across her face. She swallows it down and turns to me.
"It's Damien. He died last night."
The world seems to still and I clutch at the thick carpet, fighting the sensation of falling, of the ground plummeting from under my feet. Damien Steele, the perpetually laughing, long-limbed pale-skinned boy who could never stop moving, forever brushing blonde curls out of his eyes, is dead. The Damien who'd been a fixture in my house since I was small, running around teasing Alice and showing Mari how to kick her first football. Alice makes another loud burst of tears, making the police officers flinch. Mum mumbles words of comfort as she rubs her my sister's back.
