Only a Monster(Monsters #1)(39)

On the street, monsters continued to appear and disappear. They ran from the rain in their top hats and hooped skirts, in their nineties grunge and eighties hair.

As Joan watched, Aaron’s expression came back to her. She remembered how he’d looked at her as they’d stood in the rain—with that awful, old, weary expression.

‘Joan!’ Aaron whispered in her ear.

Joan startled awake. It took her a second to get her bearings. She hadn’t even realised she was falling asleep. She was curled up on the window seat. There was a blanket over her now. It was night outside. The only light in the room was the jumping colours of a television.

‘What’s that noise?’ Aaron whispered.

Joan tried to gather her thoughts. She was disoriented and confused. Something was playing on the TV. Music. ‘Totoro?’

‘No. I mean, yes, but—’ Aaron stalked away and pressed a button on the remote. The music continued. Aaron mashed at the remote. ‘Urgh—’ He bent down and wrenched the plug from the back of the television.

The room was suddenly silent and dark.

And then Joan heard it too—a click-click-click of someone picking a lock. In the moonlight, the doorknob bobbled. And then Joan was awake. She was very awake.

She scrambled up, pointing at the wobbling doorknob. Aaron’s eyes widened in understanding.

There was a heavy vase by the door. Joan lifted it, tensed and ready. Aaron picked up a cushion from the sofa and positioned himself on the other side of the door.

What the—? Joan mouthed at him. What was he going to do with a cushion? Smother the intruder?

Aaron mimed an I don’t know. He looked around for something to replace it with.

But it was too late. The lock snicked. The door opened. Joan hurled the vase.

‘Whoa!’ The person dodged and the porcelain smashed against the corridor wall. ‘Well, hello to you too, Joan.’

Joan stared at familiar green eyes. A familiar cloud of dark hair. ‘Ruth?’





TEN




‘We should probably hug,’ Ruth said, in her wry way.

Joan threw herself at her, and then she just lost it for a while. When she finally drew back, she’d left a damp patch on Ruth’s shoulder bigger than her whole face. Ruth looked at it and wrinkled her nose.

Joan laughed shakily. ‘Shut up.’

Ruth examined the room, stopping as she reached Aaron. ‘Why are you here with an Oliver?’ she said to Joan. There was a funny note in her voice.

‘Oh.’ Joan found Aaron staring back at Ruth, narrow-eyed as a cat. ‘Aaron, this is my cousin Ruth,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘Aaron and I escaped together,’ she said to Ruth. ‘And you. I thought . . .’ She couldn’t say it. She’d seen the knife thrust into Ruth’s gut.

‘I know.’ Ruth loosened up slightly. ‘You just went all tragedy over my jacket.’

Joan felt like she was a kind word from going all tragedy again. She butted her head into Ruth’s shoulder. She was alive. ‘How’d you find us?’ Joan managed.

‘Couple of people owed me.’ Ruth touched Joan’s hair with her fingertips—gently, the way you might touch a painting. ‘God, look at you. I heard rumours you’d escaped. I hoped.’

‘You found us so quickly, though.’

‘Quickly?’ Ruth said. Her forehead creased. ‘Joan, I’ve been searching for you for nearly two years.’

There was a puckered scar at the base of Ruth’s rib cage where she’d been stabbed. Her hair was longer than it had been yesterday. And there were other differences, now that Joan knew to look. She seemed tired, and there was a jadedness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She’d been in this time long enough to look the part: black jacket and black jeans, a slash of bright red lipstick.

‘Two years . . .’ Joan said. The crevasse of Ruth’s scar was deep; she must have been so close to death. ‘But how—’

‘We can talk later,’ Ruth said. ‘Right now, we need to go.’

‘Go?’ Joan said. From downstairs, voices rose, raucous and drunk. Ruth’s eyes flicked to the door. That was different too. Ruth was usually brazenly confident, but this version of her seemed as watchful as an animal. ‘Go where?’ Joan said.

‘Somewhere with fewer eyes and ears. Get your things.’

‘I don’t have things.’ Joan let Ruth tug her into the corridor.

Ruth put up her arm to bar Aaron from following. ‘Not you,’ she said.

Aaron seemed more resigned than surprised. ‘Goodbye, Joan.’

Joan pushed Ruth’s arm down. ‘He has to come with us!’

Ruth shook her head. ‘I know you escaped together, but you don’t know the Olivers. They’re all ruthless. This one would throw you to the wolves if he thought it would please his family to see you torn apart.’

But Joan thought about how watchful Ruth seemed. ‘Why are you worried about eyes and ears?’ she said. ‘What are you afraid of?’ When Ruth didn’t answer, she said: ‘If you don’t think this place is safe, then he has to come with us.’

From downstairs, voices rose again. Ruth flinched, head turning toward the staircase.

As Joan turned too, she caught Aaron watching her with the same wary, uncomprehending expression he’d had in the maze. As if he couldn’t understand her at all.