Shadow Soul (Narun Book 1) Read online

  SHADOW SOUL

  by M.J. Bavis

  Copyright © 2019 M.J. Bavis

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Front cover image by Tereza Ghatt at Tereza Ghatt Photography.

  Book design by M.J. Bavis.

  First edition 2019

  www.mjbavis.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I’m not dead.

  A familiar haze wrapped around me, acting as a restraint. I focused on connecting my mind with my body to find a path out of the cloud bank—and regretted it. How long had I dwelt in the bliss of unconsciousness? Could I go back to it? I cracked open an eye, and then the other.

  Yup, too late. I was awake. Awake in my thoughts and aware of the reality I didn’t want to belong to. Of course, dreams couldn’t last forever.

  “You’re awake!”

  My eyes darted around for the source of the startled voice and found the ample figure of a woman, standing by the window. Masses of wild, burgundy curls surrounded her face, the colour striking against her pale green uniform.

  “I’ll get the doctor. Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay. You’re safe,” she assured me, hurrying out of the room.

  Safe? I rocked my head from side to side against the pillow, loosening my neck. I wondered which eye-catcher of a story they had cooked up this time: ‘Mystery girl in a coma,’ ‘When Beauty met Beast,’ ‘Girl found battered—who is she?’ The headlines rarely changed.

  Too soon, the redhead was back, trailed by a bearded man in a white coat.

  I prepared for the standard questions as the doctor rushed to my side and placed his hand on top of mine.

  “Can you hear me, miss? I’m Dr Wood and you’re at the Bridleton Royal Infirmary.” The doctor glanced at the monitors, his fingertips seeking confirmation of my steady pulse. “And this is Shona.” He pointed a light into one eye, and then the other. “She’s one of our Healthcare Assistants. You’ve been in a coma for two months.”

  Blimey, that was a record. I’d have to play this carefully. They’d be expecting some brain damage.

  I followed the doctor’s finger from left to right, and back again. Shona stood at the end of the bed, analysing each blink.

  “Do you think she can hear us?” she whispered a tad too loud, in her thick, northern accent. “She might not speak English. Je-maa-appel Sho-naa.”

  My mouth twitched. Don’t quit your day job, Shona.

  What was a Healthcare Assistant, anyway? You’d think I’d have my head wrapped around all these hospital titles by now.

  “Or, um—” Shona carried on. “How does it go again… Ick been Shooonaaa.”

  Even the good doctor had to find that amusing.

  “Okay, Shona, give her a moment.” The doctor chuckled and sent her off on a task. Clever man. He waited for the door to close before turning to me. “There we go, peace and quiet. You must feel very confused—this is normal. Miss,” he narrowed his eyes, “do you understand me? Blink twice if you do.”

  Right, decision time. I wasn’t going to venture down the “blinking” road—last time the lash-fluttering only attracted a migraine. Let them class this as a medical miracle if need be.

  I cleared my throat and mumbled a “Yes” in a dry, cracked voice. I rubbed my temple for effect. Neither my hand nor my forehead felt like my own.

  The doctor’s jaw dropped. With the length of the coma, he would’ve diagnosed me as a lost cause. Which was fair enough: how was he to know my body didn’t quite function like everyone else’s?

  “Well, hello. Nice to finally talk to you…uh…?”

  I waited several seconds on purpose, eyes wide open. “Ca…milla. Camilla.”

  “Camilla. That’s a beautiful name. And how are you feeling, Camilla?” Dr Wood stared intently, his faded brown eyes catching new life.

  “I feel…fine. I don’t—I don’t remember. How did I get here?”

  “We hoped you could tell us that.” The doctor lowered his brow. “One of our nurses found you outside the hospital. You were unconscious with swelling in your brain. We had to induce a medical coma. Unfortunately, your brain decided to stay under longer than we would’ve liked.”

  Now that was interesting. Who took me to the hospital?

  The doctor read the confusion on my face and continued, “Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”

  I angled my head to the side, staring at the light blue walls. The room’s décor screamed hospital—clinical and unimaginative. The air was thick with the smell of plastic and detergent.

  “I’m not sure,” I started. “I remember a park and then…I don’t know.” It always helped to add a bit of hesitation.

  “All right, dear. Not to worry. That’s perfectly normal. Mild amnesia and disorientation come with this stage. You suffered quite a blow to your head. It’s a miracle you’re alive, let alone coherent! Let’s take it a day at a time.”

  The door flew open. The Return of the Redhead.

  Shona handed a piece of paper to the doctor and he inhaled deeply, his chest puffing. He nodded to Shona who retreated a few steps.

  “Camilla,” the doctor frowned, “is there—”

  “Camilla?” Shona repeated loudly. “Your name is Camilla? I knew it’d be something exotic!”

  That’s exotic?

  My attention shifted back to the doctor as he enquired of family members to contact. I hadn’t matched any of the police’s missing person files, and they presumed the perpetrator had stolen all forms of identification. I simply shook my head, confusion stamped on my forehead. Inwardly, I sighed in relief that I had thoroughly covered my tracks.

  Disappointment spread on Shona’s face like a knocked-over tub of paint as my supposed amnesia dawned on her. People always wanted the gossip. Regardless, she held her tongue while the doctor scribbled notes in his folder. He clicked his pen on and off between each glance at the monitors.

&nb
sp; “We’ll leave you to rest for now. You must feel overwhelmed. I’ll be back to do a full check-up. Unless, of course, there’s anything I can do for you?” Like most doctors, Dr Wood wasn’t one to loiter.

  I cleared my throat, feeling like my mouth was full of cotton balls. “Did I have any other injuries?” As if I couldn’t feel the two fractured ribs healing, the torn tendons and ligaments of my ankle, and the tender shoulder after it’d been set back into place. Of course, there was the blow to the head that drove me down to coma alley. The bruises would’ve faded by now. And the swelling was long gone.

  As expected, the doctor recounted the same. “…but you’ve made a remarkable recovery. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

  If it was down to luck I would’ve been dead a long time ago.

  “And no one has been to see me?” I had to be sure.

  “No one, love, not a soul,” Shona blurted, and the doctor threw her a stern look. “Other than the police, of course,” she added hastily.

  “All right, then.” The doctor clicked his pen one last time and placed it in the breast pocket of his coat. “Camilla, do use your call button if you need anything. I’ll be back to run some tests, and the police are eager to talk to you. Our in-house psychiatrist will also be popping down to introduce herself, in case you feel like talking to someone.”

  And to assess if I’m a nut job. Then again, maybe I am.

  I offered a thankful smile as the doctor literally pushed Shona out of the room.

  I inhaled deeply, finally able to lower my defences. The vivid images, the memories—all of it—came crashing down on me. The intolerable anguish swelled inside, devouring everything in its path. I exhaled, taking control.

  No more.

  I focused meticulously on the paintbrush strokes on the ceiling until my thoughts were back in line.

  So. Two months in the hospital, unconscious, no unexpected injuries. Nothing unusual there, except for the long hospitalisation; must have been a statistical error. The only question was, how was I found outside the hospital? Someone found me at Cumber Park, drove me over and…left me outside?

  A crease formed between my eyebrows as my fingers pressed gentle circles on my temples; the first touches always felt a little like stroking a doll.

  Either the standard for helping a fellow human out was seriously slipping, or my Good Samaritan was acting bashful for a reason.

  Neither option filled me with confidence.

  Chapter 2

  “Good morning, beautiful!” A nurse dressed in a royal-blue uniform burst into my room. Guess the knock was only out of courtesy.

  “Morning.” The plastic cover on the mattress rustled as I wriggled to straighten up on the bed.

  “Ah, that’s more like it.” The nurse smiled. “I was growing rather tired of one-way conversations.”

  “Yes, well, I got tired of listening,” I muttered with the beginnings of a smile.

  The nurse laughed heartily. Her face was heart-shaped, eyes a rich shade of brown, contrasting her blonde hair well.

  “I’m Anita, by the way.” She stepped to the window, pulling the heavy, cream-coloured curtain to one side, and opened the blinds. The grey sky hardly brightened the room. I was beginning to realise seasons in England only worked in theory.

  “Camilla.” I pointed a finger to my chest. “But I’m assuming you already know that.”

  “Indeed, you’re quite the celebrity around here.”

  I grimaced inside. The last thing I wanted was attention.

  Anita walked to my side. “How are you feeling today?” She busied herself, tucking a loose corner of the sheet under the mattress.

  “It’s nice to see the light of day again,” I said, bending the truth.

  Her lips curved to a genuine smile as she checked the drip stand at the head of the bed.

  “You were the one who found me, weren’t you?” I took a wild guess.

  She halted, her hands dropping to fidget near the hem of her tunic. “Um, yes, that’s right.” Her slight blush intrigued me. Why was she embarrassed about it?

  Without thinking about it, I shifted my legs to hang off the edge of the bed. I needed a stretch. A two-month lie-in sure could make a person stiff.

  Suddenly, a firm grip came to circle my arm. “Don’t be getting any ideas, now. The physio needs to assess your ankle before you—”

  “Don’t worry.” I lifted a hand, changing my mind. “I’ll just sit for a bit.” The ankle was strong enough, but I guessed I’d better wait until Anita wasn’t present.

  Anita nodded in approval, her jaw endearingly firm. “Good.” She patted my arm as she let go, grabbed the jug on my bedside table, and walked to the door. “I’ll get you some more water.”

  “Wait, Anita… I want to ask you something.” Anita paused at the doorway, hand resting on the door handle. “When you found me outside the hospital…did you see anyone?”

  She sighed, a shadow of disappointment crossing her face. “No, there was no one around and the police said the surveillance cameras were disabled.”

  The security cameras being out was admittedly convenient—a little too convenient.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Anita hesitated, her thumb rubbing along her wedding ring. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about what happened to you.”

  I was glad she didn’t wait for a reply. Guilt covered me like a sheet of lead. Her face—radiating the kind of empathy a mother would have for her own—said enough. I imagined she checked up on me daily. I bet she had brushed my long, sable hair, bathed me and spent hours scrolling through the missing people’s website. She probably went the extra mile because she thought I was alone, a victim of a heinous crime.

  If only she knew the truth.

  *

  It took the doctors a week to accept I really was something of a medical miracle with my quick recovery. During my time at the hospital, Anita became the only person who made the days bearable. She went from caregiver to friend in record time. To me, she was a distraction, and I reminded her of someone she wished she’d had a second chance in helping.

  But I let things go too far.

  We pulled into the drive of a stone-built, semi-detached house that looked the part of a family home: an outdoor trampoline with a safety net, a kid’s bike resting against the garage door, a slightly deflated ball weathered by the outdoors.

  How had I let this happen? Accepting Anita’s invitation to stay at her house while I “adjusted back to society” and regained my memory was not only idiotic but verged on unethical. Yet her kindness had melted something inside me.

  Evidently, my common sense.

  “Your house looks lovely.” I forced a smile as I dragged my feet down the path to the door.

  “Come on,” she beckoned. “David will bring in your luggage.”

  David, Anita’s husband, had picked us up from the hospital. He’d barely spoken two words to me during the drive, clearly wary of letting a stranger bunk at their home. It seemed we had both fallen victim to Anita’s persuasion.

  I threw David a quick glance as he rubbed his bald head and picked up my “luggage”—a plastic bag— and followed Anita inside.

  The hallway was deceptively spacious, with a lounge on the left and kitchen on the right, and a staircase leading to the second floor. The wooden floorboards were brightened by a colourful rug. A large family photo hung on the wall.

  Anita gave me the tour, drawing attention to framed photos of their five-year-old son, Aaron, who was visiting his grandmother during the school summer holiday.

  My room, the attic guest room—wallpapered with natural colours, kept sparsely furnished and free of clutter—was small, but had its own bathroom. A pile of spring-scented towels lay on the bed.

  Anita left me to get acquainted with my new living quarters. I dug into the carrier bag and placed my basic hospital toiletries by the sink. My change of clothes looked lonesome hanging in the wardrobe. And that was me unpacked. Sig
hing, I finally turned to the large box with a red ribbon laying on the bed. My name was written on a white tag in bold, black capitals.

  The gift was another one of Anita’s acts of kindness: pyjamas, makeup, underwear, moisturiser, T-shirts, a hooded jumper and a box of chocolates.

  She is too generous.

  My pounding conscience was getting harder to tame. Anita had showered me with support to get me back on my feet and to deal with my supposed amnesia, yet I repaid her by lying to her and her family.

  I shifted the box to the floor.

  Was this really the kind of person I had become? Would it matter that the goal was the same? Yes, I did have it all in my head—the memories, the people, the terrible things I had done—but I wanted nothing to do with the past.

  Anita would never have to know that everything about me was a lie.

  Chapter 3

  “Yo, Camilla! Wait up!”

  “Walk faster, Tony,” I called back and kept my pace. The indistinct grumble behind me made me smirk. Tony, the only friend I’d made since moving in with Anita nearly three months ago, changed his long stride into a jog.

  “What’s the rush, Milla?” Tony caught up with me as I marched across the stone-paved grounds of Bridleton University. His short bronze hair was flat on one side, the result of leaning on his palm for an entire lecture.

  “I’ve somewhere to be,” I said, zipping up my jumper.

  “Oh. I was gonna ask if you wanted to get a bite to eat. I’m starving.”

  I laughed lightly. “Lunch was less than two hours ago, Tony.”

  “I’m a growing man.”

  “Width-wise yes…” Truth was, Tony could eat a cow a day and it wouldn’t make a difference to his physique thanks to the sheer amount of sports he played.

  He adjusted his hold on his bag strap, now at ease with my brisk step. “Where are you going, anyway?”

  “I told you. Somewhere.” I picked up speed. I was running late for the appointment as it was.

  “Can’t it wait?” Tony grumbled. “I need company. I’m bored!”

  “I thought you were hungry?”