Dark Portal 1/Dark Portal 1.adf/TEXT/Freedom's Edge

Text File | 1992-09-02 | 40KB | 772 lines

@"FREEDOM'S EDGE" (Part One) By Andrew Campbell 1992/3

#This story is for Jenny, where ever you are, with love.


?                              JULY 1981

 The antique vase that thunderously exploded against the bedroom wall
had been a twenty first birthday gift to Jessie Mills. After six years
of gathering dust on the windowsil, it's fate had been decided by
Vincent Gregory, Jessie's enormous new boy friend.
 He was a rugby player for the local team, built like a German tank,
mouth like a roaring lion. To Jessie Mills, nothing mattered about
the man she attracted just so long as he scored highly in the looks
department and was good in bed. Vincent was a fine catch for her, yet
after just two weeks of dating him, she had become tired of his mental
loonacy and sought after another, more ordinary bloke.
 And when Vincent had discovered that Jessie loathed him, he had
become more dangerous than a rabied cobra - and set about destroying
her home. And so Jessie had fled, leaving Vincent to ravage the house,
and Nicola, her eleven-year-old daughter, to fend for herself.
 Nicola was trapped in her mother's bedroom, knelt shivering and crying
against the cuddly feather pillows on the matress. All around her,
objects of all shapes and kinds flew through the air and came to
catastrophic ends against the walls.
 Pictures exploded and flopped to one side, then tottered and crashed
to the floor. Perfumes, lipsticks and make-up accessories from
Jessie's dressing table clattered onto the carpet creating immovable
stains, and wardrobes were gutted of their contents by huge talon-like
hands.
 After a nightmarish wave of destruction, Vincent turned to the young
girl who was sat trembling on the bed in her banana-yellow pyjamas. He
wiped a long drooling thread of saliva from his chin and kicked the bed
posts. Nicola emmited a muffled scream under the sheets and curled up
into a tiny ball of goose-pimpled arms and legs.
 "Your mum's a BITCH!" Vincent yelled at her and she wailed.
 He scanned the room, darting his eyes across every shattered ornament
with a maniac grin. He was happy with his work. When that two-timing
slut returned from her outing she would sink to her knees with sorrow
and wish, oh so dearly wish, that she hadn't cheated on him.
 Yet that wasn't enough for Vincent. He wanted to hurt her more, he
wanted to inflict something painful and long lasting into Jessie's
mind, some horrific event that would burn and torture her soul for the
rest of her miserable days.
 His eyes narrowed cunningly. He hesitated, staring at Nicola with
cold eyes that failed to mask an evil, twisted mind.
 "Yes," he whispered. "You'll do as extra payment."
 And he walked slowly towards her, skimming his fingers across the
quilt, feet crunching and cracking on broken debre. He leaned over the
bed and ran his hand down the shuddering girl's back. Nicola tensed
and buried her head deep into the pillows, clasping at the sheets
around her.
 "Come on, little girl," Vincent coaxed, "Let me look at you."
 She did nothing but cry.
 Vincent, drained of all patience, gritted his teeth and snatched
Nicola's hair, wrenching her up from the pillows in a shower of
feathers. Nicola screamed, but fell silent after a blow to the face.
Her fragile body bounced to the matress and stiffened with terror.
 "Thats a good girl." Vincent said softly and grinned to himself.
 He climbed onto the bed, his presence over-shadowing Nicola's body
like a dark thunder-cloud. Nicola did not struggle any longer, for
her pain was utterly overwhelming and had destroyed her self control.
 "Mummy..." she whimpered inside her head. "Mummy help me..."
 But her mummy did not.

                                * * *

 It was too far to the biscuit tin, much too far.
 Michael knew that if he attempted to reach it, he would be caught and
punished. But he was starving, if he didn't eat soon, the burning
acids inside his stomach would transform and intensify in pain from
the unbearable to the agonising, and he was not willing to suffer that
extremity, not for the sake of taking a petite risk.
 He tip-toed along the dust-coated floor boards that lined the hall-
way and paused when he reached the slightly ajar kitchen door. He
peered inside, sweating and wheezing. Everywhere, the darkness
lingered like a ghastly presence, and beams of blue moonlight trans-
formed the harmless kitchen apparatus into creatures from the pit. As
far as Michael could tell, apart from the imaginary monsters, the room
was unoccupied.
 He strode forward.
 The floor boards protested like screaming souls beneath his feet and
instantly triggered off the horrifying but recognisable thumping foot-
steps of his grandfather rushing down the stairs.
 It was a sound that instilled fear into Michael to the very brink of
madness. And he could never find the courage to run. His grandfather
would always catch him, frozen to the spot like a transfixed rabbit,
eyes round and sparkling with tears. His tiny, pale hands would be
fidgeting to the point of hysteria.
 Those footsteps meant capture and punishment.
 Through fear, Michael was drawn into a deep hypnotic state, frozen
ice-like in a walking gesture. He shivered and convulsed when his
grandfather appeared from the stair case like a demon from hell, his
huge, wrinkled hands out-stretched like hooked claws.
 Michael was grabbed ferociously.
 The old man's fingernails were as long as pocket blades, and sculpted
into daggers at the ends. Blood ran from the deep cuts they inflicted
into Michael's upper arms and neck, but the boy did not scream or cry,
for he had learned to ignore this repetitive pain.
 "You little ratcunt!" his grandfather bellowed, releasing clouds
ofcold, stenching breath.
 "Trying to steal my food!" he went on, "I'll teach you never to pinch
my food you little thieving shit-for-brains bastard!"

 The cupboard door opened with a loud, eerie squeal. A mouse instantly
scuttled out of it's prison and became lost in the shadows.
 The old man threw Michael into the hot, cramped compartment so hard
the boy cracked his head painfully on the rough brick interior. The
door slammed shut, and Michael's entire life became a void of
pitch-blackness.
 As Michael had expected, his grandfather jangled a handful of keys,
then inserted one into the rusty lock of the cupboard. The latch
fastened and Michael slumped his head against the brickwork, drained
of all hope.
 His grandfather's booming footsteps faded away.
 The broom cupboard was located just in front of the heating system
and the old crumbling bricks that structured it were not capable of
resisting the boiling waves of hot air that gushed out from the
roaring gas flame. Michael broke out in an itchy sweat and started to
pant like a thirsty dog. He felt an insect of some kind run across his
bare hand, then another one ascend his trouser leg.
 He twitched and squirmed and called into the echoing blackness to be
let free. He cursed and swore and banged on the old, wooden door with
all his strength, but no one came to release him.

 An hour later, the digestive acids inside his aching belly rumbled
and thundered in demand of something to devour. It took Michael all his
courage to scoop up one of the fast-moving insects from the ground and
pop it into his mouth like he might consume a sweet. He swallowed the
creature alive and cringed with revolt when he felt it struggling
around in his throat.
 Starvation eased a little, then in its place, boredom washed in like
a black wave from the seas of hell. He whispered with his eyes closed,
counting the seconds.
 The seconds soon became minutes.
 And the minutes stretched painfully into hours.

                                * * *



?                             AUGUST 1981

 Twenty six new first year kids gathered up outside the door of the
English room and dared each other to knock.
 A fluster of whispers and giggles ran through the group before some
incredibly daring young man tapped three times on the glass, then
briskly vanished to the back of the crowd.
 Mrs Hill, the lower school language tutor swung the door open wide and
beamed at the army of children assembled before her. They stared back,
scrutinising her old wrinkled face and secretly giggling and
whispering to their friends about the hilarity of the her small
golden-rimmed spectacles. She stood like a monument above them all,
towering even the tallest boy by three feet. She was as immense in
build as she was in height, and had an enormous bust hidden behind a
white flower-patterned dress. Her legs were as thick as oak branches,
but narrowed down at the ankles into bony twigs, supported upon bright
red, flat heels.
 "Single file children!" she ordered with a false smile that revealed
a secret hatred for eleven-year-olds.
 Shuffling like termites in a crammed nest, the boys and girls divided
up into two seperate lines running adjacent to each other. When the
chatting died down into silence, Mrs Hill allowed them to walk
"sensibly" into the room.
 There were fifteen school desks in the class room, channelled into
three rows of five, and each providing two chairs for the children to
sit on. The walls were decorated by previous pupils' examination essays
and other uninteresting pages of bold, hand-written text. On the right
hand side, three massive windows allowed bright sun beams to illuminate
the room.
 Using her many years of experience as a strict and successful teacher,
Mrs Hill carefully positioned each of the boys next to a girl, thus
reducing the chances of any pointless blabbering.
 When each child was located and the room was as silent as a dungeon,
Mrs Hill manuvered to her desk at the front, opposite the black board,
and planted her hefty buttocks onto a flimsy plastic chair. The seat
squealed amusingly under her weight and a flutter of harmless giggles
echoed around the room.
 When Mrs Hill looked up, every child's grin vanished immediately.
Her eyes bobbed from one innocent face to another, searching for a
signature of guilt. But she found nothing: they looked as sharp and
alert as a pack of healthy young kittens.
 "My name is Missus Hill." she announced in a shrill voice that amused
the kids no end. She paused between every ear-piercing burst of
speech, some times leaving time-elapses of over thirty seconds.
 "I want to get to know you all a little better."
 All twenty six faces waited patiently for her to continue. She picked
up her poster-sized black register and flopped it open with a bang that
echoed the length of the class. Drowsy kids became stiff and alert.
 She pointed to the nearest table with a huge, fat hand, and clicked
her sausage-like fingers, hoping to attract the attention of a pale-
faced boy who was lazily slumped down on his desk with his head
clasped in his hands.
 "You!" she snapped. "What's your name?"
 The boy yawned. The girl sat beside him delivered a painful nudge. He
fired up in alarm and focused his eyes on to the teacher's accusing
finger.
 "Michael Brown." he muttered.
 Mrs Hill paused. "I beg your pardon?"
 "Michael Brown... missus Hill." the boy appended.
 "That's better." she made a quick note in her register.
 Michael nervously glanced at the girl beside him, then held his gaze,
blinking with surprise. She had the most enormous scratch down her
left cheek, horribly framed by purplish-brown bruises. He stared at
her as though she were an alien, until he realised that Mrs Hill was
angrily addressing him again.
 "Pay attention child!" growled the teacher. "I asked you a question!"
 "I'm sorry." Michael whispered, dragging his eyes away from the
girl's scarred cheek.
 "Too busy looking at the pretty lady beside you, Michael?" the teacher
said sarcastically, slyly indicating her obvious preference in
charming, sweet little girls rather than smelly, obnoxious boys.
 Michael fidgeted with his hands, fighting with his curiosity to avoid
looking at the girl beside him, for she was now facing him fully,
watching him like the rest of the amused class.
 Mrs Hill said, "I asked you about your hobbies. Do you have any?"
 "Oh," Michael said.
 He breathed out and thought about that question for a few seconds. He
pondered with one finger eased against his lips before finally coming
to a conclusion.
 "I like to draw things." he announced. "With my pencil."
 "Very interesting." Mrs Hill nodded, glancing at the rest of the
kids, who were snorting and giggling with laughter. "Is that all?"
 "Yes missus Hill." Michael said and relaxed a little when the
teacher's sharp green eyes rolled away from his own and arrived at the
girl sitting beside him. All attention focused on her, giving Michael
an excuse to examine her injured face again.
 'Those bruises,' he thought, 'I have some just like those where
Grandfather thumped me.'
 He studied the girl's bruising with great interest and came to the
firm conclusion that, who ever she was, she had been brutally attacked
by some one much bigger, stronger... and older than her.
 "What is your name my dear?" Mrs Hill said with a broad smile.
 "Nicola Mills." the girl answered in a clear, confident voice that
made Michael's coarse whisper seem feeble and pathetic in comparison.
 "And what are your hobbies?"
 Nicola folded her arms.
 "Well, let me see..." she said, head cocked to one side. "I enjoy
killing spiders by plucking off their legs. And I quite get a kick out
of beating the shit out of old grannies that hobble along at a snails
pace-" by now the whole class was roaring with hysteric laughter, but
Nicola went on as though unaware of the joke. "-and I delight in
smashing peoples faces in just for the fun of it, to see the blood
spurt, you know, and I also enjoy a bit of mud wrestling, caber-
tossing, fox hunting, that kinda thing."
 Mrs Hill snapped her lips back together and cleared her throat (which
had become rather clogged as a result of shock).
 She scribbled down the words, "CHEEKY LITTLE BITCH" beside Nicola's
name in the register.

                                * * *

 Michael watched with incredible envy as Nicola scooped a handful of
ready-salted potato crisps from the packet and crammed them into her
mouth. She munched noisily and then tilted her head at him, an
expression of annoyance on her face.
 "Whats up?" she gagged, bright yellow crumbs spraying from her lips.
 Michael discreetly rubbed his aching stomach.
 "Nothing."
 Nicola slowed down her chewing as she stared ever deeper into his
eyes, then at last offered him the remaining crisps in the packet.
 "Eat." she demanded, then using her tongue, began to rumage out bits
of soggy potato from her teeth, spitting little yellow bullets onto
the playground. Several passing snobs gave her disgusted glances, but
she simply ignored them.
 Michael snatched at the food and forced it into his mouth with speed,
barely chewing before he swallowed.
 "Hey! Hey, take it easy!" Nicola gasped and lowered Michael's hands.
The boy let out a soft moan of protest when she took the bag from him
and peered into it. She looked up at his face again and blinked.
 "Fuckin' hell, do you want perminent indigestion or what?"
 Michael greedily licked every last crumb from around his lips.
 Nicola frowned, "No one eats like that at this side of Etheopia."
 "I'm hungry." Michael said, eyes still on the bag of crisps.
 "Hungry," Nicola repeated and then cautiously re-handed him the food.
This time Michael ate more casually. He took a few seconds to examine
Nicola more closely.
 She was a thin girl with a light-golden skin that was heavily bruised
and scratched where ever exposed. She had blondish-brown hair, bushed
back into a long pony tail that swung like a pendulum as she walked.
 Her white summer skirt was short and flimsy, and Michael found his
eyes wandering to it regularly.
 "Do you really beat up grannies?" he asked, sucking his salty fingers
and glancing at Nicola every few seconds.
 Nicola chuckled and began to pace around the yard, kicking stones
and empty Coke cans at random. Like a sheep, Michael followed her,
eagerly licking the inside of the crisp packet with his tongue.
 "I don't do any of the things I said." Nicola admitted.
 "How come you said you did then?"
 She shrugged, hands in pockets, eyes searching the ground.
 Michael pocketed his litter and caught up with Nicola. He assumed
their friendship had been formed unavoidably, since they had been sat
beside each other in the classroom for the past few hours.
 He was glad, because he had no friends at all.
 As they crept around the playground, Michael found his attention
averting to Nicola's legs. Not only because they were extremely nice
legs, but because they had been bruised in a similar manner to her
face. He was in the middle of scrutinising her injuries when he
realised she had stopped walking altogether and was watching him.
 "Do you mind?" she said raised her eye brows at him askingly.
 Michael blushed.
 "Oh, I'm sorry, I was looking at-"
 "My legs, I know. You're supposed to do it secretly, Michael."
 "But those bruises!" Michael whimpered, desperate to prove his
innocence. "Somebody has been hurting you, I know because I have
bruises just like those."
 Nicola was mute for a few seconds. She carefully analysed Michael's
face. He lifted a smile to show that he did not mean in any way to
offend her.
 Eventually she said, "Have you been hurt too?"
 Michael nodded and looked at the ground.
 "Lots of times."
 Nicola moved closer to him and glanced around in search of possible
eaves-droppers.
 "You don't have to put up with it." she whispered harshly, still
swinging her head from side to side. "I'm leaving this fuckin' dump.
I'm splittin'. Gettin' right the fuck outa here."
 "You are?" Michael said in a slightly puzzled tone, but one that
failed to hide great interest. Nicola observed how his little blue eyes
became as wide as saucers. She whispered more excitedly, "I know of
a secret place."
 "You do?" Michael's curiosity was burning. "Where?"
 "I can't tell you here." Nicola said, "But it's a place where you can
live in freedom, you don't have to go to school, your parents don't
hassle you... it's a place far away, but I know how to get there."
 Michael was entranced. He stepped up to Nicola and looked around in
the same suspicious manner as she had done before. Nicola watched him,
innocently realising his admiration for her. She smiled broadly when
his nose almost made contact with her own.
 "When are you going?" he whispered.
 "Soon," Nicola said, leaning close. "Maybe this week, I'm not sure."
 Michael hesitated. "Are... are you going... on your own?"
 "I'm the only one who knows the way, silly." she said and grinned.
 "Oh." he drew back a little.
 Knowing she had raised his hopes very high, and in order to prevent
disappointing him, Nicola whispered, "You can come with me if you
want."
 And Michael's eyes lit up like catherine-wheels.

                                * * *

 The bell rang at four o'clock and all six hundred home-bound children
violently emptied across the yard.
 The majority of them ran for the chaotic bus queue into town, whilst
a small portion divided off into numerous groups and headed into the
district of Stone Bridge.
 Michael and Nicola strolled together along Weathercock Drive, heading
for Harriot Place. The late afternoon sun had fallen in the sky and
was now exploding at regular intervals through the jagged silhuettes
of semi-detatched houses.
 Several cars carrying the more wealthy school kids droned away
towards Brensefield, and the two packed school buses heading for town
thundered past at a ridiculous speed.
 When at last there was peace, Nicola turned to Michael and asked him
where he lived.
 "Number six, Manning Road." he replied morbidly. "Scruff town."
 "Is it hell." Nicola encouraged him with a smile.
 "I live with my grandfather." he told her. "He's really nasty."
 "My mum is pretty horrid." Nicola said softly. "I live with her."
 "No brothers or sisters?" Michael inquired.
 "Nope." She shook her head. "You?"
 "No."
 They were silent for a while as they paced ever nearer to their
dreaded abodes. When they reached Charlotte's View at the top of
Weathercock, Nicola faced Michael one last time before she left him.
 "Do you know the reservoir?"
 Michael nodded. "Sure."
 "I'll meet you there at six."
 "I can't." he said quickly, looking away from her. "I can't go out."
 "Are you grounded or something?"
 He shrugged, "I just can't go out."
 "Not EVER?" gasped Nicola and took a step backwards.
 Michael looked back at her and said, "I'll TRY. But don't be cross if
I can't make it. Grandfather locks me up most of the time."
 "Ohhhhh maaaaan." Nicola wheezed. "That's fuckin' bad. My mum's a
bitch but she doesn't lock me up."
 "You're lucky." Michael murmoured, gave a little smile, then set off
towards his home.
 Nicola watched him as he trailed away without so much as a wave of
good bye. She observed his swishing, baggy trousers and his cheap old
wooly jumper.
 He was a poor kid, he smelt too, but Nicola knew better than to
insult him, for it was not his own fault. She also knew that under his
huge, blanketing clothes, he was small, fragile and malnourished.
 He had a cute face. Nicola was particularly fond of his gentle,
pleasing smile, and those eyes, those big blue eyes, were really
captivating.
 She smiled to herself and took an hour or so to walk home.

                                 * * *

 It was half past six when Nicola slumped down on the embankment of
the rippling blue waters of Stone Bridge reservoir.
 The diminishing sunlight danced and sparkled over gently bobbing
waves, and about five hundred metres away, the distant hillside had
transformed from a rich green to a hazy purple.
 A chilling wind had crept in from the north, causing her hair to
lash out behind her like a golden-brown flame. Whilst moving currents
of air whistled past her, she watched jiggling patterns of light dance
across the water.
 A while later, Michael sat down by her side.
 Nicola laughed with surprise. "Mike! You came!"
 "Sorry I'm late." Michael apologised.
 "Don't be silly." said Nicola cheerfuly, "How did you get out?"
 "The window." he told her. "I climbed out."
 "But I thought you were locked up-"
 He engaged her eyes. "I was. Until six, then I was let free."
 "Fuck shhhhhit." Nicola hissed. "I thought I had it bad."
 "I'm alright." he assured her and grinned. "What did we come here for
anyway?"
 "To talk." Nicola said and began to pluck tufts of grass from the
patch of ground between her legs. Michael watched her every move with
great intrigue.
 "This place I said," she began. "It's a really long way. Maybe a
hundred miles... but I know a man, he's an old friend of my father's,
if we pay him enough he might take us most of the way. But after that,
we would be walking."
 "I'm not bothered." Michael said confidently.
 "We would have to set off very early, can you sneak out of the house
at night? Say at about... three o'clock in the morning?"
 "I suppose so." Michael nodded. "As long as I'm very careful."
 "Good." said Nicola and filtered the dead grass between her fingers.
"This place, it's called 'Freedom's Edge', my dad told me about it a
long time ago, he told me that it was the gateway to heaven itself."
 Michael breathed with amazement.
 "My father told me that if anything happened, anything really bad,
that I should go there, just me, on my own, and he promised me that I
would be safe there. For ever and ever."
 "Just you?" Michael asked in a quiet, disappointed voice.
 "Yeah, that's what he said, but you deserve to come too."
 "But-"
 "No buts Michael, I said you could come and I meant it."
 "How come you want to go now though? Is your life really bad?"
 Nicola nodded, thinking deeply. "Very bad, Michael. Believe me."
 "Can't your dad take us to this place then?" Michael asked.
 Nicola dropped her head. "No... my dad died a long time ago."
 Michael sighed. "I'm sorry, I never thought-"
 "It's okay." Nicola smiled, "What about your parents?"
 "Killed in a car crash when I was a little baby."
 The two kids were quiet for a few seconds, vague memories of their
beloved parents washing like waves of sorrow though their minds.
 "We'll leave this place on friday." Nicola said quietly and glanced
at Michael.
 "Alright." said the boy. His eyes were bloodshot and glistening. "Do
we take anything? Like belongings and stuff?"
 "Fill your school bag and take that." Nicola advised. "But don't over
pack it. We'll need a lot of food..." she fumbled around in her skirt
pocket. "...which reminds me, I have something for you."
 She took out a semi-squashed Mars Bar and a packet of Wine Gums and
offered them to Michael. Michael looked at the sweets with wide eyes.
 "Take em." Nicola smiled warmly. "I know it's not much."
 "Nick..." Michael whispered, easing the valuable gifts from her palms
with gentle care. It was the first present anyone had ever given him
and he felt a great river of tears build up behind his eyes. "I should
pay you for them." he muttered. "I should... I should pay..."
 "Fuck that." Nicola shuffled closer to him, lowering her face to the
level of his. "Hey, hey..." she touched his chin. He looked up, nose
running, tears leaking. "Tommorow at school, I'll buy you the entire
fuckin' tuck shop." she promised with a small laugh, though his sobs
had infected her with the want to cry too.
 She sniffed the air and peered out over the reservoir whilst Michael
examined his gifts with overwhelmed delight. He glanced at Nicola
several times, and each time he longed to kiss her cheek more and
more. But he lacked the confidence to do that, so settled for admiring
her pretty face instead.
 "Can you swim?" she said suddenly and he jerked back as though stung
by a wasp.
 "No." he swallowed. "I-I never learned."
 "Do you want to?" she offered, nodding towards the rippling water.
The thought of plunging head first into a reservoir scared Michael
almost to death. He shook his head vigorously.
 "I can teach people quickly." Nicola boasted. "Honest."
 "I-I'm too scared." Michael admitted and blushed, expecting her to
laugh at his cowardice. Instead, she smiled and began to roll down her
bright white, school socks, uncovering milky-pale calfs and yet more
darkened bruises.
 "What're you doing?" Michael said, almost breathlessly.
 "I'm going to have a quick swim. Don't mind me."
 He shuffled back when her socks fell beside his hands. He could sense
that she was going to strip everything off right in front of his eyes,
and he became incredibly nervous.
 "Nick! You'll get wet!" he blurted, looking around worriedly.
 Nicola laughed and gave him a friendly shove. "That's the idea!"
 Michael watched with increasing tension as the buttons of her blouse
popped open one by one. He saw her smooth, pale stomach. Her bun-sized
breasts. His throat dried up completely and a strange aching sensation
began to throb in his stomach.
 Right in front of him, Nicola dragged off her skirt and knickers,
then hobbled, naked, onto the stony embankment and waded into the
reservoir.
 "Wow!" she yelled after a few moments paddling. "Its fuckin' ace
Michael! come on!"
 And she threw handfuls of water around playfully, repeatedly calling
the boy to join her.

                                * * *

 On Tuesday at break time, as she had promised, Nicola purchased a
huge collection of chocolate, sweets and soft drinks from the school
tuck-shop.
 She ran to where Michael was sitting on the grass at the edge of the
school playing field and collapsed beside him. It was a beautiful day,
even warmer in temperature than yesterday and the sky was an amazingly
deep shade of blue.
 "These are yum." Nicola waved a Turkish Delight in front of Michael's
eyes. He followed the bar of chocolate as though hypnotised. "And this
stuff is refreshing." she pointed to a can of orange flavoured soft-
drink, sitting temptingly in the grass. "And this-"
 "Nicola?" interrupted Michael.
 The girl looked up, squinting against the sun. "What?"
 He was smiling at her broadly. "You're my bestest friend ever."
 She bit her lip and gave him a gentle shove. "Don't get all soppy on
me Mike." But after saying that, she didn't take her eyes from his. He
was ever so cute, she decided promptly.
 "I can't take so much food from you." he told her, "You must have
payed loads of money for these sweets."
 "I did." Nicola admitted, "But I stole the money from my mum anyway."
 Michael gasped, "Then I can't-"
 "Shhh!" Nicola snapped. "My mum earns a king's ransom. And she never
notices the fiver I twock every week, so don't you dare wrinkle your
nose up at this fine loot."
 "I'm just in shock." Michael whispered, scanning the pile of food.
 Nicola burst out laughing. "You were shocked last night when I came
back from my swim! Your eyes were on fuckin stalks!" She rolled onto
the grass to releave herself of giggles.
 Michael blushed. "You're teasin' me again."
 Nicola calmed down and sat up. "I was just kidding." Then she quickly
added, in a voice that wouldn't accept a refusal, "Meet me again."
 "Where?" asked Michael.
 "Same place."
 "Alright. What time?"
 "Nine. Can you make it?"
 "Sure, I think so."
 "I'll bring a towel."
 "I'm not going in."
 "Yes you are."
 "Nicola-"
 "You ARE."

                                * * *

 "I'm not."
 "Michael, it's pitch dark, I can't see your body."
 "But its too co-old."
 "Not if you just jump IN! WAAAAAHEY!"
 Splashing.
 "Nicola! Oh damn it, I'm all wet now."
 More splashing and a sudden outburst of laugher.
 "Nick! I don't believe it! Its absolutley freezing!"
 "Trousers. Off. Now."
 "No WAY."
 "Michael, I'll come and drag them off-"
 "Alright. I'm coming in."
 "You are?"
 "No."
 Laughter and thudding footsteps swishing through long dry grass. A
shrill cry of protest followed by a ruffle of clothing. Manic whispers
and a soft promise of good behaviour.
 "Slowly..." gentle splashing.
 Teeth chattering.
 "Nuh-Nicol-la!"
 "Shhh!"
 More splashes and a loud moaning shiver.
 "There!" an excited call. "See! Its fantastic isnt it?"
 "Shuh-shuh-sure. It's alright."
 "Come on, let's go further out."
 "Nuh-not too fuh-far, Nicola"
 A wave of soft splashing.
 "Uh! What the hell?!"
 A giggle.
 "You're touchin' my tits, Michael."
 "Uh! Uh, sorry I didn't me-"
 "S'okay."
 More giggling.

                                * * *

 The week: a period of time the same length as every other that had
passed before, seemed to stretch out and become a year.
 On Monday and Tuesday it was spring, Wednesday was summer, Thursday
became autumn, leaving Friday as the dark and cold winterous season
during which the entire world became hostile.
 In the peak of summer - Wednesday dinner time - Nicola and Michael
began to plan their migration from the approaching winter.
 They made maps of Stone Bridge using stolen paper and pencils from
the art department. Jotters for scribbling down notes in Science
lessons became their survival manuals, the studious English sessions
allowed them enough time to exchange jokes and ideas, and best of all,
the lessons of physical education provided them with all the exercise
they needed for the long trek ahead.
 And so the short but intense training periods went on, each season
ending with a relaxing swim in the reservoir and a long discussion
about their past lives. Often they remained out in the dark until well
after midnight, chatting and joking and giggling like two long lost
cousins.
 On Thursday evening, Nicola insisted that they met at the reservoir at
an earlier time - five o'clock. This made Michael grow nervous: he
knew they would be swimming, but at five o'clock there would be a
great deal of daylight remaining.
 When they settled down that evening on the bank of the reservoir,
neither of them spoke for a long while. The looming presence of
Saturday, the cold winter, had frozen their minds numb with a mixture
of fear and excitement.
 At last Nicola said, "Ready for our last swim?"
 Though he didn't feel at all like undressing, Michael nodded, hoping
Nicola would peel her clothes of first.
 She began, but stopped at after discarding her first sock and ran her
hand across a purplish-yellow bruise that had tatooed her ankle.
 "Jesus," she whispered and grinned at Michael. "Beat that!"
 Michael rolled up his sleeve and stuck his elbow out at Nicola,
showing her the emmense blue patch of bruising he had aquired when his
arm had crashed against the wall of the broom cupboard.
 "Pretty cool huh?" he boasted. "It's bigger than yours."
 Nicola frowned and slid her skirt back until her upper leg was
uncovered. Michael observed a deep, red scratch.
 "A month ago," she told him. "I got that from a bully at school. We
had a big fight with tree-branches and he sliced my leg open."
 Michael squinted at her impressive cut and then pulled his T-shirt up
over his head. He threw it aside, stuck his chest out and held his
head high.
 Nicola's eyes twinkled. "Wow! A burn!"
 "Yeah. Gas cooker." Michael said, "Grandfather tried to cook me."
 "Jesus." Nicola said and ran her hands gently down the blistering red
patch, feeling it, whistling when she realised it's severity.
 "Beat that!" Michael said boldly with a smile and waited for Nicola's
response. Nicola thought for a moment then shuffled into kneeling
position with her back toward him.
 She tugged off her cardigan and tossed it aside, leaving her bare
skin at Michael's scrutinisation.
 "Left hand side, quite far down... a stab mark."
 He followed her vague instructions to an area of soft area of red
skin in the form of an ellipse.
 "This?" he asked, fingering the wound softly.
 "That's it." she said, "Not bad eh? A pen-knife stuck all the way in
and I didn't even call for an ambulance."
 Michael paused, scanning Nicola's bruised and battered skin with
blinking, watery eyes. He didn't know whether to laugh at her bravery
or cry for the pain she must have suffered.
 At last he slid his hand away from her and watched her turn slowly
around. They faced each other, topless and lost for words.
 "Are you sure we should run away?" Michael whispered.
 Nicola smiled at his uncertainty. "I won't leave with out you."
 Then, the boy's bottled emotions started to trickle free.
 "Nicola you're so brave, I don't know if I can risk it. What if the
police-"
 "The police'll come lookin' for us," she admitted softly. "But we
can avoid them until we reach Freedom's Edge. I shouldn't take us more
than two days to find it. Then we'll be free, for ever, me and you."
 "I'm scared." Michael whispered.
 Nicola ran a finger down his chest. "You're strong, Michael."

                                * * *

 The last day EVER at Stone Bridge High arrived.
 Nicola walked through the main entrance with Michael at her side and
she felt a great soaring wave of energy blast through her veins. Her
smile grew, her confidence rocketed. All of a sudden she had the
desire to scream, shout and laugh.
 "ALRIGHT!" she exploded to anyone and every one. "MY LAST EVER DAY!"
 Michael stood gawping at her in the corridor, utterly amazed at her
bravery. Nicola took a deep breath of air whilst he watched her, then
noticed his stare and grinned.
 "Let's have some fun, Mike!" she cried, then pushed him backwards
through crowds of kids until he reached a solid wall.
 She slapped his arms above his head as though he were a prisoner of
war about to be executed, then gave him a whopping great kiss on the
lips.
 "Fun time!" she whispered to him whilst they both caught their
breath. She ran off down the corridor leaving Michael pressed against
the wall, recovering from shock.


                                * * *

 "Kelly Jenkins?"
 "Yeth mith."
 "Helen McNeilson?"
 "Uh? Oh, yes miss."
 "Patricia Landers?"
 "Yes Missus Hill."
 "Nicola Mills?"
 "Kiss my hairy backside, missus Fat Fuck."

                                * * *

 "Home work Mr Brown?"
 No answer.
 "Mr Brown, I asked you a question."
 Still no response.
 Mr Holdington slammed his hands down on the desk and leaned toward
Michael, his face holding an infuriated expression. Michael yawned
loudly and the rest of the class broke down into manic laughter.
 "Where is your mathematics home work?" Holdington snapped, his skin
gradually fading to colour of beetroot.
 Nicola slowly leaned into the angry teacher's field of view.
 "Ahem, excuse me sir?"
 "WHAT IS IT GIRL?!" roared the teacher.
 Nicola smiled. "Michael thinks you're a dumb fuckwit."

                                * * *

 They whistled cheerfully as they released the air from all four of Mr
Holdington's car tires. They repeated the procedure on the head-
master's dainty old rust-bucket, then ran from the teachers' car park
faster than rabbits from a building sight.
 Michael had been punished with seven detentions and Nicola had
attained just one less than twice that amount. Both of them sprinted
from the school building five minutes before the bell rang, laughing
and cheering across the yard and whistling with excitement.
 "WE DID IT!" Nicola bellowed and rolled around on the school playing
fields in estatic joy. Michael tripped and fell by her side, and for
a while, they indulged in an intimate play-fight. Nicola emerged as
the victor and stood with both her feet pressed down onto Michael's
arms (oblivious to the fact that he was enjoying a spectacular view of
her pink underwear).
 "No more school, Michael, never ever again." she told him happily.
 Michael nodded, unable to speak for obvious reasons.
 Nicola held one arm up into the air and peered into the sky as though
she were searching for the Lord himself.
 "Freedom's Edge!" she shouted, "We're comin' to find you!"

                                * * *

 At quarter past seven they were laid side by side along the bank of
the reservoir, fully clothed apart from their bare feet which were
dangling into the icey water.
 The weather had remained bright and warm throughout the day and the
wind had become nothing but a gentle, refreshing breeze.
 Michael scribbled down onto his growing check list: "SPARE CLOTHS".
 Nicola corrected his spelling to "CLOTHES" with her pencil, then
re-examined her own list thoughtfully.
 "Aha." she said, "Of course, a blanket."
 Michael gave her a puzzled glance, "What for?"
 "To sleep in, silly." she tutted and scribbled on her list. Michael
shrugged and wrote "BLANKIT"
 "Right, let's see..." Nicola held her piece of paper up into the
weakening rays of the sun and chanted out her list of essentials.
 "Food, drink, money, a wrist watch, compass, knife, first aid, a map,
stationary, personal stuff, spare clothes, blanket..."
 She looked at Michael for a further suggestion.
 The boy shrugged. "That's it I think."
 "Okay." she pocketed the list and stood up. Michael clambered to his
feet after her and they remained silent for a few seconds, searching
each others eyes curiously.
 "Will you be alright tonight?" Nicola said.
 "Yeah, sure." replied Michael with a smile.
 "The bottom window, at midnight?"
 "Yeah. I'll be there."
 "Okay."
 Another annoying pause.
 "Right, shall we go home then?" he asked, shivering all of a sudden.
 Nicola quickly reached forwards and gave the boy a cuddle, closing
her eyes when his arms locked around her back and became entangled in
her hair.
 Her lips brushed his ear, and kissed it softly. She hoped he wouldn't
notice, but he did. She could tell, because he kissed her ear in
return.
 "You be brave." she ordered him, her heart thumping.
 "I'll try." he whispered, "Just be there for me."
 "I promise I'll wait. Even if you don't make it tonight, we'll set off
another day. We have the weekend ahead."
 After a long while, they drew apart slowly, holding hands.
 "Good luck." Nicola said and kissed his cheek before finally turning
away and heading towards home. Michael watched her disappear entirely
out of sight before scooping up his socks and pacing slowly away
towards Manning Road.
 Neither of them ever returned to the reservoir again.


# Part two follows...