Moon Read online

  Moon

  A Rachel Valentine Story

  Samantha Allard

  Published by CHBB Publishing

  The right of Samantha Allard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, or organization is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Samantha Allard

  Edited by CLS Editing

  Published by CHBB Publishing

  For my dad. I miss you every day.

  Chapter One

  I used to be the perfect daughter, but I grew up. My world changed. The first therapist my parents sent me to said I was acting out, it was my way of dealing with loss, and I would grow out of it eventually. Weeks turned into months and then years, but I was still considered the black sheep of the family, and I had the skills to match. The result of a misspent youth.

  I’d been thrown out of three perfectly good high schools. The headmasters had said that I was a disruptive influence, but I considered myself someone who didn’t like injustice and who lacked the ability to sit down and watch it play out in front of me.

  The school hamster I’d let loose in the first school had decided to run amok instead of out of the door to freedom. In the second, I had ended up in a fight with Kevin Atwell after he’d thought I’d be an easy target to bully. He’d ended up in the nurse’s room with a broken nose, and I’d ended up in the headmaster’s room, again.

  In my last school, I’d blown up a large part of one of the science labs.

  That had been my fault. I’d poured the chemicals from phial one into phial two, not knowing that neither had been cleaned properly. Smoke had flooded the small lab, followed by a loud boom and a flash of light. One minute, the headmaster had been yelling at me, and the next, my dad had whisked me into the car and had driven me all the way to Scotland.

  Those six hours had been the longest of my life. He hadn’t even talked to me—not even when we got on and off the boat. When we’d finally arrived at our destination, he’d silently collected my boxes and suitcase from the truck.

  I’d crossed my arms and studied my latest school, and my first impression was that it was old. The moss had moss on it. Through a gap, I spied a courtyard, a massive tree in the centre of it. It looked like the school was built around it. Well, at the time, I thought it was a school. Then I noticed the women in long black smocks and realized it was a nunnery. My things had ended up locked away in Mother Superior’s office, and I’d left the office with an itchy uniform and a stern talking to still ringing in my ears. Everything had happened so fast that I’d gotten the distinct impression my father had been planning to dump me there for a while.

  Dear old dad certainly liked to think three moves ahead.

  I had never considered myself to be a very social person, so being surrounded by nuns and other girls as odd as me wasn’t exactly a hardship. I kept to myself, and they left me alone. It didn't stop the rumor mill. Why had I been escorted by a man dressed in an army uniform? No one was ever transferred to St. Mary's School for Wayward Souls in the middle of the year for being a good girl.

  A part of me actually liked the theories they came up with. A thief. A delinquent. The daughter of someone important being spirited away because she embarrassed her family. I was all three to one extent or another. I could have told them. It wasn't some big secret that I didn’t fit in with my family—and I was the one who had gone off the rails when her brother had disappeared.

  That was me.

  Dad hadn't mentioned how long I'd be a resident in a place so remote it didn't have an internet connection. I knew if he had his way, I'd have grey hair before I saw any signs of civilization. He’d packed a few books for me, but they were kept in the office.

  I kept a lot of things hidden between the pages of my books. Spare money. A fake ID. I was just lucky that dad had packed them for me. He hadn’t known what was in them, he’d just picked up the ones I’d kept on my bedside desk.

  I had ways to get out.

  I might not have been very forthcoming about myself, but I'd picked up some information about the girls. A lesson handed down by dad—be aware of your surroundings. The blonde, Alison, was a makeup artist. She'd brought her things with her, but like my stuff, Mother Superior had pinched them. The tall brunette with a nose like a pig had a drug problem, and the little redhead had a case of the light fingers.

  I'd actually watched her in action. Her technique was good, and she used distraction. I could still show her a thing or two. Not that I planned too. I'd serve my time and leave at the end of the term. My parents couldn't keep me there forever.

  I fidgeted on the sofa as the heavy fabric of my skirt rubbed against my legs, making them itch. The white blouse, with its rounded collar, wasn't much better. The knee-high socks with blue and white stripes were the only redeeming part of the entire outfit. If the nuns found out I liked them, they'd probably take them away from me. God forbid I found anything fun or interesting in that place.

  I curled up on the sofa with my arm on the armrest and my hand resting underneath my chin. The volume on the television was just loud enough for me to listen to the news broadcasting live from London, but the reporter was wearing too much lip gloss for me to take her seriously.

  "The people behind me are taking part in a monthly event. An emotional plea for runaways to get in contact with their parents. This month the number of people reported missing has doubled. People are worried and demanding answers. The police are also discussing the enforcement of a curfew and a city-wide search for the missing children, all between the ages of sixteen and eighteen." There were people standing behind her holding photographs and candles. It was a solemn sight and I sympathized with them. It was terrible losing someone and not knowing if they were alive or dead. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  "Rachel, can you turn the television down? You might have finished the Math's assignment, but we haven't."

  The voice pulled my attention away from the report. Daisy—a girl that wore her dark hair cut into a bob—glared at me from the desk. She broke the stare first. I reached for the remote to turn it off when I notice something—or rather someone. A man who stood a few feet behind the reporter.

  For a second, I couldn't breathe. I leaned forward to get a better look at him and saw that he had dark hair and seemed a little rough around the edges. His startling blue eyes stared at me through the screen. As if he could see me.

  "Michael?"

  ***

  With only ten minutes left before I needed to be back in my room, I ran.

  "No running in the corridors."

  I skidded to a stop near the phone and glanced over my shoulder. Sister Constance taught math, and it had never been my favorite subject. The disapproval on her face made it clear that she was far from impressed.

  "Just need to call my parents."

  She sighed and tapped her watch. "Do it quickly."

  I jab in the numbers as I restlessly tapped my foot against the stone tile floor. Pick up, pick up, Mum.

  "Hello?" She sounded confused.

  "I've just seen Michael on the news." The words left me in a wild rush.

  Empty silence. Has she fainted?

&nbs
p; "Rachel?"

  Probably should have opened with that. "Yes, it's the daughter you've hidden away in a boarding school run by nuns. Thanks for that by the way." Pent-up issues? Yeah, I’ve been known to have a few.

  "Rachel..." The disappointment in her voice travelled down the phone line.

  "Didn’t you hear me? I've seen Michael. He's in London." For the first time in a long time, I was excited. Why the hell wasn’t she? After five long years of nothing, I'd seen him with my own eyes, and my mum wasn’t listening.

  "You know you couldn't have. Michael died."

  I hated it when she talked to me like I was stupid. There's one very good reason why I'd never believed Michael was dead.

  "They never found a body." There, I'd said it. How could they believe he'd died? How could they believe anything without proof?

  Her breath caught.

  Why were we still discussing it? We needed a plan. They needed to get me out of the stupid place they’d left me in. Then, maybe, our family could start acting a little more normal.

  "I'm putting your dad on the phone."

  "He's there?" I don’t hang up the phone, though I’m tempted. The conversation was about to end. I’d never been able to win an argument with my dad. Never.

  "Isn't it your bedtime?"

  It didn't seem possible someone could fill one simple sentence with so much annoyance in. I'd never been the daughter he’d wanted me to be. In all honesty, I’d gotten tired of trying. He’d decided a long time before then that I needed to be fixed. I wasn’t broken.

  I'm sixteen, not six. "I've got a few minutes. I've seen Michael. He's in London."

  Come on, Dad, believe me. I need you to believe me. I held my breath. I didn’t need to be able to see them to know they were sharing a look—probably rolling their eyes at the thought of me seeing things. They didn't approve of anything I did. Nothing made an impact. Even the hot pink streak in the front of my hair, vibrant against the blonde, had turned out to be another thing they’d ignored. Their troubled daughter acting out, again.

  "That isn't possible Rachel, and you know it. Every time you mention Michael, it upsets your mum.” He let out a sigh. “We'll see you in a few weeks."

  The phone went quiet in my hand, and I stared at it in shock. He'd hung up on me. I smashed the phone back into its cradle. Idiot.

  ***

  My room at the boarding school was small and had just enough space to fit a single bed next to a bedside cabinet. A wardrobe took up the wall opposite the door. The walls are plain. The few posters dad had packed had been taken.

  “An uncluttered room, Miss Valentine, is an uncluttered mind.” Mother Superior’s words rang in my head.

  All the clothes and well-worn books had been put into a cupboard in the Mother Superior's office. The money and the fake ID I’d gotten when I was fifteen was hidden in my copy of Stephen King’s IT. I’d glued the pages together and hollowed out the middle. It worked out as a brilliant hiding space because my parents wouldn’t think about opening it. My mum didn’t do much reading, and my dad wouldn’t open a book unless it was about ancient Rome.

  I’d learned a lot of things from my dad, and it annoyed the hell out of him. He’d tried to hide all the government stuff from us, but I’d still managed to pick up a thing or two. Life lessons. Leaving the nunnery, travelling from Scotland to London was probably the stupidest thing I'd ever considered, and I'd done a lot of stupid things.

  There were at least five ways to sneak out of the nunnery, but first I needed to break into Mother Superior’s office and then find a way off the island without being caught.

  I opened the wardrobe and ignored the clean uniforms that hung from a bar at the top. I knelt down and got to work. I’d managed to hide a few things that I’d had on me when I’d arrived from the nuns. One of which was a thin piece of metal that I’d stashed at the back of the wardrobe. I picked it up and wedged it between a small gap between slats of wood. When I applied pressure the top came off with an audible pop. The space underneath was small, about the size of a shoe box. I kept my most precious things in it.

  I retrieved my brother's graduation picture and placed it on the floor by my feet. It was the only picture my brother had liked of himself. He’d told me once that the photographer had asked him to at least pretend to be serious, but that hadn’t been what Michael was known for.

  The grin, the photographer's camera had captured infectious. I smiled back at the image of him. Hidden underneath the picture, there was the faintest glitter of gold. Picking it up by the chain, I gently brushed my fingers at the small heart necklace before clipping it behind my neck. I wouldn’t have taken it off, but I’d known they would have tried to take it from me if they’d seen it. I put the lid back on and closed the doors.

  There was no way I planned on leaving them there.

  I needed to make a run for it first thing the next morning when the nuns expected us in morning mass. Mother Superior led the sermon, which meant the office would be empty. I needed to find a disguise as well. It wouldn't be a good idea to be walking around in the boarding school uniform.

  I'm going to find you, Michael. I promise.

  Chapter Two

  The screaming woke me. It wasn’t the first time I’d been woken in the middle of the night. I rolled onto my side, glanced at the alarm clock, and groaned. Three in the morning?

  He'd come home late again. I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed he’d changed over the last few months. He didn’t wear clean clothes anymore. His blue eyes were always wide, pupils large and black. My parents thought that it was drugs.

  My mother yelled something that was muffled by the practically closed doors. Michael yelled something back. I pushed my bedsheets off and silently got to my feet. I crept to my bedroom door, being careful where I placed my feet. I held my breath as I hooked my finger through the gap and pulled it open. I crouched down and listened in. If anyone caught me, I’d be in a world of trouble. Unfortunately, being the youngest meant I didn’t learn anything unless I eavesdropped.

  "It's not drugs, Mum."

  "Then tell us what it is. You come in at all hours. You don't tell us where you've been. What else are we supposed to think?" The last part sounded like a desperate plea.

  My mum was usually quiet, and to hear her shout was out of character. The only person I didn’t hear was Dad.

  I couldn’t see into the living room, but I could imagine it. Michael probably stood at the bottom of the stairs with his hands dug into the pocket of his jeans and bags underneath his eyes—looking tired and worn out. The sound of the rhythmic fall of footsteps on the wooden floorboards told me that mum was pacing, and Dad was sitting in his favorite chair, watching his family fall apart.

  "He said you wouldn't understand."

  "Who said?"

  The unexpected sound of my dad’s voice made me jump. It was a good question, and I wanted to know the answer as well.

  Michael yawned. "Can I go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow."

  I would have pressed him for answers, but Dad ended the little chat.

  “Go to bed.”

  Soft footsteps on the carpeted staircase as Michael headed straight for his room were the only warning I had. His path would give him a clear view of me eavesdropping. I quickly and quietly closed my door before half running to my bed with my heart in my throat before I dove under the cover. With my eyes tightly shut, I pretended to be asleep.

  My bedroom door opened, but he didn’t enter. "Night, Rachel."

  I paused for a second then sat up. "Michael?" The light from the hallway created a glow around him, and I couldn’t make out his blue eyes—the same shade of blue eyes as mine—or the grin that usually lit up his face.

  He edged a little further into my room. "Yes?"

  "Are you okay? Really, you can tell me if you're not." I whispered the words not wanting our parents to overhear us.

  He chuckled, but the sound lacked any of its light. "Are you listening to co
nversations you shouldn't be? I'm fine, Rachel.” He stepped back towards the door. “I’ll see you in the morning."

  My younger self had believed him, but the part of me that knew it’s was a dream, a memory, knew it would be the last time I'd see him.

  ***

  I should have been scared, but excitement bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I woke up to darkness outside of my window. The light from the setting moon helped me to slip into the uniform that made my skin itch. Hopefully, I wouldn’t bump into anyone in the hallways. I might be able to talk my way out of most situations, but lying to a nun? I would probably end up in hell for that one. If I did get caught walking around, I planned to say I needed to talk to the Mother Superior before Mass. That wouldn't work if they caught me in her office without her though.

  The squeak from my door broke the silence that existed at stupid o’clock in the morning. A thin layer of fog settled across the courtyard. It looked like the perfect setting for a ghost story.

  I’d only been in the main office once—the day I had been dropped off there—but I wasn’t worried about getting lost. The nunnery was small enough that losing my way was impossible. The dark hallways were the only problem I faced because I didn’t have much experience in walking around essentially blind. Still, I didn't have much time to get it wrong.

  The door to the office was unlocked. Apparently, the Mother Superior didn’t worry much about burglars since we were in the middle of nowhere. I stepped into a darkness much deeper than the one I’d left outside. I closed the door behind me and switched the light on.

  The office was twice the size of my dorm room. Mother Superior kept it clean and tiny. A large desk sat in front of a curtained window that looked out onto the sea. A computer, a printer with sheets of paper in it, a pencil holder, and an empty coffee cup stood on the top of the desk.

  I needed to be quick. The light would attract attention if I wasn’t careful.