Djinn Read online

  I had to say, I did quite like this house. It was a lot nicer than some of the shacks we'd stayed in over the years with its two-storeys, windowpanes and locks; everything you need to live a happy normal life. Except my life wasn't exactly normal.

  Dad hobbled around the cramped kitchen fixing us some ham and cheese sandwiches while I put away the groceries in various cupboards. I took a seat at the small, Lino, fifties-style table and broke out the first aid kit. There wasn't much I could do for the bruises already coming up, but I also had some scratches and cuts. I dressed the wounds and stuck "Hello Kitty" band-aids all over my body.

  Dad only struck me in places that wouldn't show when I wore clothes, so people wouldn't get suspicious and think he was beating me or anything. That happened once in another town, and one of my teachers called child services. We had to leave in the middle of the night before they arrested Dad but, to be honest I was glad; I didn't like living in the crappy motel room, and the school library was almost non-existent.

  I cleared the first aid stuff off the table when Dad went to hand me the sandwich and glass of water. I bit into the bread like I'd been starved for a week. Training always made me hungry.

  "What's the plan for the rest of the day, kiddo?" Dad asked.

  "I have some homework to do," I replied. "But it's math."

  Dad chuckled. "Math isn't that hard."

  "Maybe back in your day, old man." I punched him playfully on the arm.

  Dad shook his head, smiling, as he swallowed the last of his sandwich. He placed both our plates in the sink.

  I couldn't help but smile looking at him; I couldn't have asked for a better father.

  "I'm going to take a shower," he said.

  "Shore fing," I replied, my mouth full of bread.

  He stroked the top of my head down to my cheek as I give him a wide open-mouthed grin, exposing all my chewed food.

  "That's my girl," he said, and headed out of the kitchen into the hallway. I heard his feet hit the creaky staircase, the eerie orchestra starting up.

  "Don't fall over in the shower or anything," I called after him. "I don't want to have to help you and see you all naked."

  "Very funny, Kyra." But I knew he was smiling.

  I picked up my school bag from the couch in the adjoining lounge area and sat it on the chair next to me, weighed down by all my books. I pulled out my math homework and spread it over the kitchen table until the flat surface was entirely covered and fiddled with the pen in my hand, staring blankly at the gibberish in front of me.

  I had never understood math. I mean, sure, I could put one and one together and get two, but anything the slightest bit complicated and my mind went blank. Teachers had tried to help me, and failed many times. My brain just wasn't wired to work out those kind of problems.

  Seconds later, the phone rang like a chirping bird.

  "Oh, thank god," I said and jumped to answer it. "Hello?"

  "Hey, Sally. Is Bill there?"

  "Hi, Kenny. Yep, I'll just go get him."

  I placed the phone on the bench and headed up stairs. Sally was not my idea for a name, but Dad said we had to change it every time we moved. The least he could do was let me pick my own. Once I was called Tiffany. I wanted to kill myself.

  I walked down the hallway to the bathroom door on the left. I knocked twice, watching the steam flow between the gap at the bottom and the floor, like mysterious fog in a horror movie.

  "Dad?" I called through the door.

  "Yeah, kiddo?"

  "Kenny's on the phone."

  "Give me a sec," he said. "Just got to put my contacts in."

  "You don't need to see. He's on the phone." I shook my head and smiled.

  "I'll be there soon."

  I shrugged and headed back downstairs. I jumped the last couple of steps and skidded along the kitchen floor, stopping in front of the phone.

  "Kenny?" I said into the receiver. "Dad will be down in a moment."

  "Thanks, Sally."

  I sat back at the table, flicking my pen between my fingers again. Dad stomped down the stairs and pulled his shirt over his head. I just caught a glimpse of some of the many scars on his chest as his shirt came over it. His brown hair stuck out in all directions—even as he patted it down, it sprung back up. He picked up the phone.

  "Hey, Kenny."

  Dad walked off to his room upstairs. He worked as a builder for construction companies wherever we were. It was the type of job where people were always looking for help, so he could easily get a contract in whatever town we stayed.

  I wondered what Kenny wanted with Dad; work didn't usually call on weekends, but I tried to ignore my curiosity and turned back to the first math problem that barely looked like it was written in English.

  Chapter Two

  I sat at the kitchen table staring blankly at my homework until the sun had set and Dad came in to turn on a light. I squinted, not realising just how dark it had become. Out the window I could already see the moon rising over the treetops, like a great orb.

  "You can't study in the dark," he said, ruffling my hair. His action would have annoyed me if didn't know it was one of the few ways he showed affection.

  "I can't study at all," I replied, putting down my pen and fixing my hair back into place. Despite the hours I'd spent on the math homework I'd barely done any of the questions. The borders of my page were filled with little doodles of stars and dogs.

  "Time for a break, I think." Dad closed my books and kissed my forehead. "How about some dinner and then we can watch The Karate Kid?"

  "I'd like that." I smiled, thinking how well he knew me.

  "Right!" He smacked his hands together and rubbed them. "Chicken wraps for dinner?"

  "Sounds great." I stacked my books back in my backpack.

  I helped Dad make the chicken wraps. We worked as a team in the kitchen, as we did in almost everything. Dad chopped and I placed the food in the wraps—we moved like a well-oiled machine. I loved that we always seemed to know what the other was doing, there was no awkward bumping into each other.

  We sat on the couch and Dad put The Karate Kid, original version, into the DVD player. It was one of the few DVDs we owned, and it was my favourite. I used to stand in front of the TV as a kid and copy every lesson the Karate Kid learned.

  Our lounge room was cramped with room for only a double-seater couch, a small coffee table and a TV. The couch was an ugly orange, squishy thing from, like, the 80s.

  Dad liked to get all our furniture from op shops; because we moved so much we only really had room for personal possessions and clothes in Dad's Ute, meaning our big furniture items had to come at a cut-price.

  Dad and I sat together on the couch and I leaned my head on his shoulder as the movie begun. It was funny to think I once hadn't realised how different my life was. For such a long time I'd thought this was what all people's lives were like. They simply moved around the country all the time. It wasn't until I was seven that Dad told me the truth.

  The truth was, we were on the run from people who wanted to hurt Dad any way they could, including by coming after me. That was all I knew.

  Dad had two things he never talked about: why the people were after us, and Mum. I'd asked a lot of questions over the years about who my mother was and why she wasn't with us, but it always seemed to make Dad angry so I just ended up dropping it. I still hoped he would tell me one day. Maybe when I was eighteen.

  Being on the run really wasn't that bad; I suppose I was used to it, though. I always saw new things and met different people. Dad said I was born curious and I always wanted to discover things, no matter what. He was right, of course, I always seemed to stick my nose where it didn't belong, but there was just so much to know. I suppose that was one of the reasons Dad couldn't keep home-schooling me. He didn't have all the answers to my endless questions.

  I actually didn't go to a proper school until I was nine. I'd spent years begging Dad to let me. I wanted to live like a normal kid a
nd socialise, but he always thought it was too dangerous. It's not like I can blame him, though. Not when they'd do anything to get to me.

  I remember when I was seven, just before Dad told me the truth. He took me to a playground a few blocks away from the apartment we'd been staying in. I was playing hide-and-seek with some other kids. It's funny, how easy it was to make friends when I was that young.

  I was determined to find the best hiding place and beat everyone; competitiveness was a strong part of my personality then, too.

  I ran as one kid started to count. The others picked the usual spots around the playground, in the enclosed slides and behind parents. I decided to go hide on the far side of the park in a group of thick bushes.

  My hiding spot was so good no one found me, not even Dad. He went crazy looking for me, calling my name and searching every spot I'd hidden in before. I could hear him shouting, but I only giggled, because he couldn't find me. At seven, I could never understand the fear Dad must have felt in that moment.

  Eventually I came out, having proved I was the best, and headed back to find Dad. I was so pleased with myself that I didn't notice the man in the trench coat with the funny moustache until after I'd run into him. I wasn't afraid, it was an accident, and I looked up to apologise.

  "You're lost," he said, looking down at me.

  "No, I'm not," I replied. "My Dad is just there." I pointed off toward the playground where Dad was taking to another parent. The man followed my finger and his face scrunched up, like he'd smelled something bad. He knelt down to my eye height, causing me to look away from Dad.

  "Come with me," he said, in a reassuring voice, and offered his hand.

  Dad had always said not to trust strangers and I didn't like the look of the man at all. I stepped back a few paces, ready to call out.

  "Come on, Kyra!" His voice had lost its fake sweetness. I had no idea how he knew my name. I felt my heart pounding, every beat pulsating through my body, and yet I couldn't move.

  "No!" I stumbled backwards fighting the fear, but the man grabbed my arm and dragged me toward him.

  "DAD!" I screamed.

  Dad heard me and came running. Parents just seem to be able to hear their children anywhere. The man lifted me up, holding me sideways under his arm, and ran toward a parked car at the edge of the park.

  Dad caught up to him within seconds and tackled him to the ground like a football player. They threw some punches until one of the mothers Dad had talked to earlier announced that she'd called the police. The man fled—and so did we.

  Dad told me the truth after the incident. There had been other attempts over the years, but that was the closest they'd ever come. I learned to pick them from a crowd: quiet, watchful, about Dad's age. As soon as someone became suspicious, we moved straight on.

  We usually didn't stay long in one place unless we needed money. The Ute had broken down about a kilometre outside of this town and we'd used a good deal of our savings fixing it. Dad decided we would set up here for a while, and so far it had been two months. I'd been going to school, which, despite the math, I was enjoying.

  "Kenny wants me in for the later shift tomorrow," Dad said, bringing me back to reality. I hadn't even realised I'd missed almost half of the movie.

  "So you can drive me to school then," I replied, scooping some leftover lettuce into my mouth.

  "Of course. I shouldn't be too late. Call me after school so I know you're all right."

  I shifted to a more comfortable position on Dad's shoulder and concentrated on the movie.

  "I know the drill," I said.

  "All settled then," Dad said, putting an arm around my shoulders. It was warm and comforting. There was no safer place than with my dad. I snuggled closer to his chest and settled in for the rest of the movie.

  Chapter Three

  It was far later than it should have been when I trudged up the stairs to bed. I pushed open the door and shuffled inside like a zombie from The Walking Dead, but with less moaning.

  My room consisted of a single bed that I was too tall for. It was designed for someone much younger than me, and I was much taller than normal people my age anyway. It was comfy though, and I tended to sleep in the fetal position, so I didn't have to worry about my feet hanging over the edge.

  The rest of the room was empty space except for two boxes: one full of clothes, the other turned over for use as a bedside table. It held two photo frames, one with a picture of Dad and I last year at a carnival, and the other a picture of me as a baby.

  I was maybe one year old, wearing a pink dress; something I would never be caught wearing now. The reason I loved it so much was because my mother was holding me. You couldn't see her face or anything, but I could see her arms around me, and the purple silk dress she was wearing. On her left hand was a ring, which made me believe Dad and Mum were married, though I'd never seen him with a ring. Maybe he hid it because it reminded him of an unbearable pain he couldn't live with. I really wish I knew more about her. Who was she? Did she love me? Why wasn't she with us now?

  That photo was the one connection I had to my mother, and was by far my most prized possession. Everything else in my life was disposable; that photo was not.

  I threw my school bag into a corner and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I felt tired and sore from training and it didn't take long for sleep to take me.

  * * *

  I sat in the back of a black Commodore. Beside me, there's a child wrapped in a yellow blanket. Dad was driving the car in the rain, but he's much younger. Lightning flashed outside followed by the boom of thunder, but the child remained silent. She wasn't scared by the loud noises.

  Dad looked back at the child and smiled. He gazed at her with such loving eyes that I knew the child was me. I smiled and something caught my attention outside the car. I tilted my head to look through the windscreen in time to see a man in the middle of the road.

  "Dad, look out!" I said, but he couldn't hear me. He continued to stare at the child until finally he turned back. By then, it was too late, and Dad hit the brakes hard. I grabbed hold of the back seat with claw-like hands as the car swerved out of control. My heart raced as panic set in and I reached for the child, my fingers just scraping the edge of the yellow blanket. Dad spun the wheel, but there was no grip on the road with all the rain, and I knew before it happened that we were going to crash. I spotted the tree, knowing there was nothing Dad could do to stop it.

  "Dad!"

  * * *

  I bolted upright, drenched in sweat. My heart pounded like it would break free of my chest. I clutched at my tank top as I took a moment to realise it was just a dream.

  I focused on steadying my breathing and my heart slowed. I dropped my hand from my chest and groaned before slumping back onto the pillow.

  "Stupid dream," I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead, letting my hand drop like a sack of potatoes.

  I'd had the dream for as long as I could remember. I was pretty sure it was a memory, but when I told Dad he said it never happened. I just didn't understand why I could picture something so clearly it if it wasn't real. None of my other dreams felt the same.

  I picked up my phone to check the time. 5.15 am flashed bright on the screen. Too early to get up and too late to get any more sleep.

  I didn't want to be left with my thoughts. Instead, I swung my legs over the bed and sat up. I was still dressed in my training tracksuit from yesterday.

  I took my laziness as a sign from above that I needed a run to clear my head. My sneakers were still sitting by the front door downstairs, so I poked my head out of my room and looked down the still, dark hallway at Dad's bedroom door.

  It was closed and the hall was silent. Dad was a pretty heavy sleeper and I hoped he'd ignore the creaking floorboards as I stepped as lightly as possible into the hallway.

  Closing my bedroom door carefully, I stepped on the boards I knew would make the least amount of noise. One of Dad's lessons: always know your environment. I
was sure I knew this house better than any previous owner.

  I made my way down the stairs and through the kitchen and finally slipped out into the cold morning air. Sitting on the front steps of our house, I tied my shoelaces into bows and watched as my breath made little smoke clouds. I rubbed my bare shoulders, feeling the prickle of goosebumps. I'd left my jacket upstairs.

  I glanced at my bedroom window, but decided not to risk waking Dad. He wouldn't like me heading out by myself so early. I'd always followed almost all of the rules he'd set to keep me safe but, really, I could go into town on my own. Better to go and get yelled at when I got home than risk being caught now. What's the saying? Better to ask forgiveness than ask for permission.

  I set off down our driveway and onto the main road. For a town so small, the houses seemed to be so far away from one another. I'd jogged for almost ten minutes before I passed our neighbour's house.

  Dad liked this in a location. The further from civilization, the better, he thought. No nosy neighbours watching you, suspecting anything or giving us away. Dad liked privacy, high walls and locked doors.

  I jogged up the road until I reached the main shopping strip. The street was empty, it was too early for even shop owners, except at the gas station, but I made sure to jog out of view of it. I may not have agreed with all of Dad's rules, but I was still careful when I went out on my own. I never brought attention to myself, staying in the shadows and going unnoticed.

  Further down the road was the school but I didn't want to run all that way so I stopped for a drink at the park taps.

  I wasn't a fan of parks or playgrounds anymore. I hadn't been in ten years. It wasn't like I was scared of them, or anything, I just didn't feel safe. The hairs on my neck prickled, so I had a quick drink, and then I was gone.

  The sound of running feet came up behind me and I spun around, water flying off my face, ready to confront whoever was sneaking up on me.