Imprint Read online

  Imprint Annmarie McQueen

  Imprint

  By Annmarie McQueen

  Copyright @ 2011 Annmarie McQueen

  All rights reserved

  Please do not reproduce, lend or copy this work without the author’s express permission

  Dedicated to all of my friends and family who have supported me,

  And in particular Rosie who has stuck with this book from the very beginning.

  Prologue

  He found himself drawn to the black parade.

  Maybe it was morbid to show interest at such a depressing event, but he couldn’t help his odd fascination with the way the men walked, one foot forward and then the other, all wearing those same black suits and grim expressions. They were like wind-up toy soldiers: uniform, with plastic faces and stony eyes, as if the fact that they were carrying a dead body on their shoulders didn’t even bother them.

  Few people had turned up for the funeral. He hadn’t expected them to, because they’d tried to keep the incident covered up. Even so the despair that festered in the air like an open wound was so strong it was almost tangible, a foul stench suffocating him. He hated hearing people cry, seeing their pathetic tears and sympathy, but he had to watch. They were crying for him. If he didn’t watch their tears would be for nothing. Did they really know anything about him, though? Did they care that that he couldn’t feel the sun on his skin anymore, or laugh with the friends he’d left behind? Sixty years worth of life he’d never get to experience. And right now, the only thing that felt real was the image of a young boy, unconscious in a hospital bed.

  That image stayed, stamped into him.

  The crowd massed around the casket like a flock of crows, and he stood among them, invisible. He wondered if he should mourn his own untimely death as well, but decided against it. That would be weird. He shouldn’t even be here, watching all these people paying their respects to him. He didn’t deserve respect. It was his own carelessness that had gotten him killed, and they shouldn’t be glorifying him as a hero he had never been. Searching the crowd, he picked out faces and reminded himself of how he knew each person. It all felt so far away, but each name embedded irrevocably into his memory was the last line that tethered him to his old life. He recognised the lady standing next to him, dabbing at her eyes discreetly with a tissue, to be his teacher. Mrs. Blackburn. He still owed her a piece of homework; it was sitting on his desk at home probably growing mould, but she would never get it now.

  “What are you crying for?” he asked, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to hear or see him. “You barely even knew me. I was just one of your students, the same as the twenty nine others in the class, and I never did anything for you. In fact I was the one who egged your car last Halloween. You shouldn’t care that I’m gone.” He knew it was probably crazy, having a one-sided conversation like this, but it put things into perspective when he spoke out loud. “But then this is pretty crazy too, isn’t it? Here I am, watching my own damn funeral, and I’m asking you why you’re crying. I should be the one who’s sad, shouldn’t I?” He sighed. It was no use. He would never get an answer.

  No clouds today. The sky, a monotone slate, the same colour as his favourite pair of jeans, was depressing. The weather was utterly boring. He didn’t even deserve a dramatic clap of lightning. It was as though despite everything he had given up, the world was still indifferent to him. Maybe the sky had a point though. He was just an insignificant human being after all, nothing worth throwing a thunder storm over. He could hardly muster the energy to feel anger at the world for ignoring him, or any emotional attachment to his dead body that would soon be underground. Why did it matter to him? It was nothing more than a shell, just an empty container past its use-by date.

  His parents were at the front of the crowd now, talking about him, something he’d always despised. He’d managed to tune out all of the priest’s prayers. That was okay, he didn’t believe in god. But his mother’s voice was shaking dangerously and he caught phrases like “so brave,”, “he was everything to us,” and “we’re so proud of him.” It was one of those typical soppy eulogy speeches. He tried to tune that out as well, because he didn’t want to think about what he was leaving behind. Would they still be saying these things in five years time? Maybe instead they’d be trying to remember what colour his eyes were. He would fade out of their lives gradually, one body part at a time, like wood being sanded down to nothing.

  They lowered the casket into the grave once the speech was over. His parents had requested specifically that he be buried instead of cremated. It was sad though, that after everything he’d gone through and done and suffered for, he would end up forgotten in a hole in the ground. He tried to crush the bitterness he felt because he knew he had no right self-pitying. People died all the time. He needed to stop whining and suck it up.

  “We now commit this body to the ground,” the Priest began in a solemn voice, hollow like an empty room. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”

  He scoffed at the irony. “Eternal life?” he muttered in derision as he walked away. “You really have no idea.”

  Chapter 1: There’s a 60% chance you’re mad already

  “Smile.” Click. Snap. “Next.”

  Sean Lane hated School Picture Day with a passion, which was strange for someone like him who rarely showed much interest in anything. As he slipped out of the uncomfortable chair and the next victim appeared, he wondered idly if anyone would notice if he took the rest of the day off. It felt like he hadn’t had a break in years.

  He stopped outside the Main Hall, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms with a sigh. ‘This is such a drag’ he thought dryly. Ali had insisted that he wait for her, so that they could go back to Biology together. He didn’t understand the attraction in being escorted back to lessons. Couldn’t she just walk down the corridor to the classroom herself? Females, go figure. He tapped his foot impatiently, scanning the students that were scattered in the corridor. Many of them were small year sevens, the girls with ridiculous ankle-length skirts. They seemed to multiply each year like a spreading infection. It was annoying how jubilant and chirpy they were, how naïve. What had happened to that sixth form authority they were supposed to have? Just last week he remembered being pushed out of the way – and nearly down the stairs – by a group of the little brats.

  Finally, Ali appeared, chewing on her lip and gripping her bag protectively. “I don’t think it went very well,” she frowned, brown eyes darting to him anxiously. “I really hate picture days. I always feel like they’re focusing on my giant forehead. I’d rather just have the extra lesson instead.”

  “I can imagine,” he drawled, refraining from rolling his eyes in exasperation.

  “Anyway, let’s go back to biology. We’ve wasted enough time standing around here.”

  “Do you always have to be so eager to get back to lessons?”

  “Well,” she cocked an eyebrow. “I do have to learn for both of us, after all.”

  “I study,” he lied, defensive. “Most of the time. Sometimes. Okay, occasionally.”

  “I think you’re using the term ‘occasionally’ pretty loosely there.”

  “Have a little faith in me.”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “Are you coming or not? Because if not, then you can’t share my notes.” Sean knew it was no use trying to stall for anymore time. Damn, he needed those notes, otherwise he would never graduate. With a scowl, he followed her to the classroom.

  They managed to make it just in time for a riveting lecture about metabolism, bursting through the door and causing the teacher to glare. However as they took their seats in the second row, Sean couldn’t help but feel slightly une
asy. It was a strange sensation and it felt like someone was watching him. Subconsciously, he glanced behind him only to see a group of girls whispering in the back row. Nothing unusual; it was just him and his overactive senses, he concluded. He’d had that feeling a lot lately, but maybe he just needed more sleep.

  “Hey, Sean, are you okay?”

  He quickly snapped out of his musings to meet a pair of worried, chestnut eyes. Ali was biting her lip again, small frown lines creasing her forehead and wisps of pale hair escaping to frame her face. She looked kind of cute when she was worried. Then he realised what he had just thought. Cute? He frowned. “Yeah, sure,” he murmured absently. She accepted the answer and returned her attention to her notes.

  After that the lesson quickly declined into day-dreams, note passing and whispered conversation. Sometime during the ‘properties of fat cells’ he caught a muttered rumour about Laura Herthford and Daniel Johnson getting together. More relationships than usual were always started or ended on picture day. It was September; the start of a new year and of new beginnings. Maybe this year, he should try boosting his withering reputation a little. But socialising required work, and work required effort. Being slightly more popular probably wasn’t worth it anyway. He liked the freedom of doing whatever he wanted, and if he was around people too much he would get sick of them eventually.

  He turned his attention back to the whiteboard and the droning teacher intending to put on an act of concentrating, but something caught his eye: the date hidden in the right corner of the board. It read 19/11/2005. That wasn’t right. It was the first of September, not November, and also it was 2009. But there was something familiar about that date. There was a heavy feeling in his chest that he couldn’t place, as though he’d seen that date somewhere before, as if that date was somehow significant to him.

  “Mrs. Blackburn,” he called, raising his hand and stopping the teacher mid-lecture. “I think you wrote the wrong date.”

  The old lady stared at the whiteboard for a second, and then gave him a strange look. “What do you mean, Sean?” she asked. “Today is the first of September 2009.” Confused, he glanced back at the date. But this time, it definitely read 01/09/2009.

  “Sean.”

  The voice came from nowhere. At first he thought Ali had spoken, but it sounded nothing like her. Blinking dazedly, he turned back to the teacher. “Sorry, did you say something?” he asked.

  She shook her head, a worried look on her face. “No, I didn’t say anything. Are you feeling alright?”

  “I have a headache,” he admitted, not really aware of what he was saying. “Can I go to the medical room?”

  Mrs. Blackburn nodded in agreement, frowning. “Yes, that would be a good idea. But you are still expected to copy up the notes on pages 274 by next lesson without fail.”

  “Can I go with him?” he distantly heard Ali ask.

  “Okay, make sure he gets there safely.”

  Sean didn’t stay to hear the rest. He was feeling sick and dizzy. It felt like the room was closing in on him and there wasn’t enough air. Grabbing his bag he darted out of the door as quickly as possible and made for the school field. He was breaking plenty of rules by doing this, but he just needed to breathe.

  He didn’t notice that Ali had followed him out until he’d collapsed, sitting slumped against a tree and holding his head. “Are you okay?” she asked, even though it was obvious he wasn’t. How many people had asked him that today?

  “Fine,” he gritted out nevertheless. “I just need some fresh air. You should go back to class.”

  “You look sick,” she persisted, sitting down next to him. “Does your head hurt?”

  “I’m just a little dizzy, it’ll go away soon.”

  “I’ll stay with you for a while. Mrs. Blackburn even told me to after you ran out like that. It’s funny, she’s the strictest teacher in the school and yet she has a soft spot for you.”

  “It’s obviously my charm,” he joked, although the accompanying grin was forced. It was quiet after that, and Sean relished in the silence. The buzzing in his head was slowing down gradually and the cold air felt nice. Ali still hadn’t moved and was watching him with a strange expression, caught halfway between concern and something else.

  “Any better?” she finally asked.

  He nodded. “It’s fine, just go inside. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

  “I know I don’t have to, but I can’t help it.”

  “Touching.”

  “If you really want to be alone though, I’ll leave.” She looked slightly disappointed, but hid it well.

  “Don’t take it personally,” he added, hoping not to offend her. “I just need some time to think.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’d better come, okay?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “Okay.”

  He let the mask of normalcy he’d been clinging onto fall as soon as she left. There was really nothing ‘fine’ or ‘okay’ about him at all. He was mad. Yes, that was the only real possibility. He was slowing going insane and losing his head, imagining things that weren’t there and hearing voices that didn’t exist. Maybe he was schizophrenic. Maybe he needed more sleep. The voice, though, had sounded so real and clear. He’d been having that feeling of being watched for months now too. He should have taken more note of it before.

  There was no one he could tell. His mother was not someone he trusted to confide in; he knew she would just tell him it was all in his head and to sleep it off. Ali would probably assume he was mentally ill and force him to the hospital. There were no teachers or other friends he was especially close to. His father had left a long time ago. Hayden, his older brother, was really the only possibility. He was the most likely to believe him. Yet even so, Sean was still reluctant to talk to him about it. He himself didn’t understand the problem, and he didn’t want to appear weak. He refused to admit to himself that he was scared, or apprehensive, or nervous. He wasn’t. It was just hallucinations, just him overreacting again, and he would not panic over something so minor. Sighing, he forced himself to stand: still one more class until lunch.

  He found Ali in the canteen and, as promised, sat with her half-heartedly. They were isolated from most of the other people. Neither of them were particularly social, and the few friends they did have were absent. Sean didn’t mind. By now he was comfortable around Ali and one friend was enough. More would be a pain.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, for what felt like the fiftieth time, as she unwrapped a ham sandwich. “You’re being even quieter than usual, and you’re not eating.”

  “I forgot money,” he admitted, shrugging. “I’m not hungry anyway.” Truthfully, he still felt sick.

  “Have mine,” she suggested, pushing the sandwich she’d been about to eat towards him.

  “Don’t you want it?”

  “I’d rather you have it,” she said, flushing a little. “And I’m going on a diet anyway. Today, in biology, after you left we worked out our BMIs…” she trailed off, looking a little upset. Sean barely noticed; he was finding it hard to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Right,” he said, standing up. “Sorry, I’m going to go back to my form room now. See you around.”

  “But you only just got here.”

  “I know, but I have work to catch up on.” Lie. Maybe in the back of his mind he felt bad for leaving her, but he was tired. He just wanted to go home and hibernate away a couple pointless years of his life.

  “Fine. See you tomorrow,” he heard her say as he turned his back on the table, not staying to see the hurt look flash in her eyes, or the other similar pair that watched guardedly from nearby.

  Chapter 2: The one with the door complex

  Dark. Everything was dark as he fumbled around blearily with half-closed eyes and unresponsive limbs searching for the blasted light switch. Finally, after what felt like hours, he found it and flicked it
on impatiently, regretting it a moment later when even his dim table lamp managed to blind him. Smart, real smart.

  He waited, allowing his eyes to adjust until he could see his cluttered bedroom properly again in all of its non-existent glory. There was some maths homework hidden under various comics and magazines on the desk in the corner, probably rotting away into shrivelled, yellow paper and illegible words. The small laptop that sat on another desk was presently drowning in a puddle of crumpled note paper that had been his many attempts at accurately sketching the dragon statue that now resided in the bin. And finally, clothes were strewn all over the floor. He figured his school uniform was also somewhere among that pile. It was no wonder he could never find it in the mornings.

  There was a clock, very small and dusty and chipped, hanging on the wall with wallpaper peeling on all sides. 4.09 am. He attempted to glare through hazy eyes. What was he supposed to do at this time in the morning? He threw himself back down onto the bed and sighed. It was those stupid, stupid nightmares he concluded. They seemed to be keeping him up a lot lately, more than usual. This hadn’t been the first night that he had woken up to the streetlamps outside still illuminating a darkened street. Honestly, it was starting to scare him. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? If it was, then it wasn’t doing a very good job.

  Tonight, the dream had been stranger than ever. He could still remember it vividly. There had been a door, old and worn and made of oak. Nothing else, just the oak door that didn’t fit in at all in the perfectly grey corridor. And then knocking had started, quiet at first but growing louder and louder until it echoed in his ears and rebounded throughout his head. Yet when he had finally opened the door, all he saw was a hazy figure with an indiscernible shape. It made no sense.

  He got up again, unable to stay still. He felt restless, agitated about something he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was stress playing with his mind and making him imagine things that weren’t there. The dreams, the almost constant feeling that someone was watching him, the voice; it was all just in his head. He let some of his anxiety simper away and settled by the window. He drew the curtains back. Outside, all was silent and calm. The orange street lights splayed soft ginger glows across the pavement, dormant cars sleeping in the driveways of houses.