it!’
‘Will one of you please tell me what just happened?’
‘I think we’ve told you enough for one night,’ Dad says, his voice unusually authoritative.
Mum blows her nose on a tissue, but the tears keep coming, quietly trickling from her eyes. I hate seeing her so upset. My intention is to uncover the truth, not to hurt my parents. I go and sit on the arm of her chair and hold her. ‘Don’t cry, Mum. Nothing is going to change.’
She forces a smile, the remainder of the truth lingering unsaid between us.
Suddenly Dad offers some advice. ‘If you plan to track this man down, Ebony, you should be very careful. He emanated what I can only describe as –’
‘John!’
‘It’s all right, Mum. You don’t have to shelter me any more. I’m sure Dad’s description is spot on. After all, my “uncle” is a criminal. And whether he is or isn’t my biological uncle, Mr Zavier buys and sells babies, while palming off sob stories to infertile, grief-stricken couples. He may even kidnap the infants himself! How much did he want for me?’
By their outraged reactions, I take it I came free. But nothing in this world is free. There was a price on my head all right. Mum and Dad probably just haven’t paid it yet.
12
Jordan
I’m on the operating table, plugged into machines beeping like the cockpit of a plane about to crash, while around me doctors and nurses are in a frenzy of activity.
Can someone please tell me what’s going on?
Stay calm, Jordan, it’s almost over
, the younger, soothing voice says close to my ear.
Meanwhile, in my other ear, the older voice says,
Ah, so you can hear us now, lad
.
You’ll understand soon
, the soothing voice says.
You’ll have many questions, Jordan, but I’m afraid we will only have time to answer a few, so please choose carefully
.
Right. Sure. Easy.
There’s just something we must do first. Ready?
Well, actually –
Now!
Suddenly two sets of strong arms wrap around me. I want to object to what feels like an invasion of privacy. Some answers first would be polite, answers the younger voice promised.
He reads my thoughts.
Trust us, Jordan, you can ask questions soon
.
‘Trust you? But who are you?’ I’m surprised to hear my own voice working.
Keep still, lad. We’re not going to harm you
.
Since we’re communicating now, maybe I’ll get my answers sooner. ‘What’s going on here?’
Hold on, Jordan. Your soul is almost free
.
‘Free? I don’t feel … Did you say my … ?’
The arms start pulling me out of my body, but a sticky film blocks my exit. My head pushes against it.
Hold still, Jordan. You’re almost through the membrane
.
The ‘membrane’ breaks, dissolving around me, and suddenly I can move and see everything really clearly, clearer than … I don’t know, but clearer than before.
What’s left of the membrane turns into a blue gas that drifts up to the ceiling, where it disintegrates into millions of bubbles. And suddenly I
am
‘free’ and it’s awesome! If not for the arms holding me, I reckon I could fly straight out of this room.
Stop squirming, lad!
the older voice snaps.
If you should slip from our grasp … This is serious, young man. You don’t
–
Now is not the time to test your new-found agility, Jordan
, the younger voice smoothly interrupts.
If you slip away from us here, we would find it difficult to return you to your body in due time
.
A chill slithers down my back. I’m not in my body? So where is my … ? I glance down and see it – my
real
,
living
,
breathing
body – lying on the operating table in the centre of the theatre, with lights blazing over it and doctors and nurses going nuts around it.
And then,
Whoahh!
My body lifts off the table ashigh-voltage electricity jolts into my chest. I don’t feel anything, but it looks terrible. And that’s when I get it – my body isn’t living and breathing.
I’m not breathing!
The two sets of smooth, strong arms glide me to the other side of
‘Will one of you please tell me what just happened?’
‘I think we’ve told you enough for one night,’ Dad says, his voice unusually authoritative.
Mum blows her nose on a tissue, but the tears keep coming, quietly trickling from her eyes. I hate seeing her so upset. My intention is to uncover the truth, not to hurt my parents. I go and sit on the arm of her chair and hold her. ‘Don’t cry, Mum. Nothing is going to change.’
She forces a smile, the remainder of the truth lingering unsaid between us.
Suddenly Dad offers some advice. ‘If you plan to track this man down, Ebony, you should be very careful. He emanated what I can only describe as –’
‘John!’
‘It’s all right, Mum. You don’t have to shelter me any more. I’m sure Dad’s description is spot on. After all, my “uncle” is a criminal. And whether he is or isn’t my biological uncle, Mr Zavier buys and sells babies, while palming off sob stories to infertile, grief-stricken couples. He may even kidnap the infants himself! How much did he want for me?’
By their outraged reactions, I take it I came free. But nothing in this world is free. There was a price on my head all right. Mum and Dad probably just haven’t paid it yet.
12
Jordan
I’m on the operating table, plugged into machines beeping like the cockpit of a plane about to crash, while around me doctors and nurses are in a frenzy of activity.
Can someone please tell me what’s going on?
Stay calm, Jordan, it’s almost over
, the younger, soothing voice says close to my ear.
Meanwhile, in my other ear, the older voice says,
Ah, so you can hear us now, lad
.
You’ll understand soon
, the soothing voice says.
You’ll have many questions, Jordan, but I’m afraid we will only have time to answer a few, so please choose carefully
.
Right. Sure. Easy.
There’s just something we must do first. Ready?
Well, actually –
Now!
Suddenly two sets of strong arms wrap around me. I want to object to what feels like an invasion of privacy. Some answers first would be polite, answers the younger voice promised.
He reads my thoughts.
Trust us, Jordan, you can ask questions soon
.
‘Trust you? But who are you?’ I’m surprised to hear my own voice working.
Keep still, lad. We’re not going to harm you
.
Since we’re communicating now, maybe I’ll get my answers sooner. ‘What’s going on here?’
Hold on, Jordan. Your soul is almost free
.
‘Free? I don’t feel … Did you say my … ?’
The arms start pulling me out of my body, but a sticky film blocks my exit. My head pushes against it.
Hold still, Jordan. You’re almost through the membrane
.
The ‘membrane’ breaks, dissolving around me, and suddenly I can move and see everything really clearly, clearer than … I don’t know, but clearer than before.
What’s left of the membrane turns into a blue gas that drifts up to the ceiling, where it disintegrates into millions of bubbles. And suddenly I
am
‘free’ and it’s awesome! If not for the arms holding me, I reckon I could fly straight out of this room.
Stop squirming, lad!
the older voice snaps.
If you should slip from our grasp … This is serious, young man. You don’t
–
Now is not the time to test your new-found agility, Jordan
, the younger voice smoothly interrupts.
If you slip away from us here, we would find it difficult to return you to your body in due time
.
A chill slithers down my back. I’m not in my body? So where is my … ? I glance down and see it – my
real
,
living
,
breathing
body – lying on the operating table in the centre of the theatre, with lights blazing over it and doctors and nurses going nuts around it.
And then,
Whoahh!
My body lifts off the table ashigh-voltage electricity jolts into my chest. I don’t feel anything, but it looks terrible. And that’s when I get it – my body isn’t living and breathing.
I’m not breathing!
The two sets of smooth, strong arms glide me to the other side of
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