 
Heartache High

Jon Jacks
Other New Adult and Children's books by Jon Jacks

The Caught

The Rules

Chapter One

The Changes

Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency

The Healing

The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom

Charity

The Most Beautiful Things

The Last Train

The Dream Swallowers

Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night

Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens

Dr Jekyll's Maid

The 500-Year Circus

P

The Endless Game

DoriaN A

Wyrd Girl

Coming Soon

Heartache High: The Primer

Heartache High: The Wakening

Text copyright © 2013 Jon Jacks

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

# Chapter 1

Wow, what a dream!

I'd just dreamt that, at last, Iain Sinclair had finally started to take an interest me!

One of those dreams you could almost have sworn was real!

But no; unfortunately, it wasn't real after all.

Because here I am, waking up in bed.

Damn!

Back to reality.

The reality where Iain doesn't even know I exist.

Unless, that is, I get in his way in the school corridor.

Or make a fool of myself right in front of him. Dropping my bag and spilling its contents all across the floor,

He must think I'm the dumbest girl he's ever come across.

But I can't help it; not when I'm around him.

All my coordination goes out of the window – suddenly, I'm the gawkiest, most inept girl in school.

Stumbling over my feet.

Stumbling over my words

Like I'm tongue tied with the thickest rope anyone could manage to find.

I'm not like that normally; honest.

Normally, I'm okay.

Like any regular girl.

Yeah, that's the problem I suppose.

Like any _regular_ girl.

Not like the pretty, popular girls that hang around Iain like he's got them all on strings and they'll dance to any tune he'll play.

Yeah, he plays the guitar too.

No chance; I've got no chance of getting off with Iain Sinclair.

*

Before I get around to opening my eyes, I go for a lazy stretching of my arms and legs, preparing my body for the rigors of the day ahead.

Yeah, that's my morning exercise regime, see?

Hey, if it works for a cat. Why not me?

How many unfit cats do you see?

(Come to think of it, don't answer that; next door's cat looks like it overdoses on Katomeat every hour of the day.)

Trouble is, my strenuous workout is running in to problems; mum must have made the bed like she's aiming on joining the navy, the quilt tucked in amazingly tight into the bed's sides.

What's she gone and done that for?

My legs and arms only get so far before they're wedged tightly between quilt and mattress.

It feels like the bed's only half size.

I finally get around to opening my eyes to see just what the heck is going on.

What?

It's not a quilt; it's sheets and a scraggy old whatever those things are called that the Amish like making out of bits of old material.

And the bed really is half the size, going by what I'm used to.

Has someone played a joke on me?

Moved my bed out, and somehow slipped me into this one without even waking me?

Still groggily half asleep, I look around my room.

This is _my_ room?

No, it's _not_ my room!

I jerk upright into a sitting position, giving my dozy head a shake. Thinking, Hey, am I still dreaming?

The bed's small and simple, like it's just enough to stop you falling out provided you only move as much as an Egyptian mummy.

The room's hardly better; tiny, and with only the most basic things.

Small bedside locker. Closet hardly much bigger. Couple of armchairs, long past their best.

Tiny window. Curtains little better than dishcloths.

Bared light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Painted walls.

Paint left over from camouflaging a few army trucks.

Yeah, that's it; it's like an army barracks.

Either that, or it's the world's worst hotel.

*

# Chapter 2

I can't remember coming here.

I can't think _how_ I could have got here.

Where _is_ here anyway?

I'll phone mum and – my mobile's not by my bedside, where I'd usually put it.

I glance around the room again, looking for where it might be.

The clothes I was wearing yesterday have been carelessly thrown over a simple wooden chair placed against the wall.

(Yeah, that _would_ be me who did that!)

I skip out of bed, realising for the first time that I'm wearing a long, plain-white nightdress, like I'm some sort of patient in a–

_Please_ tell me this isn't an asylum!

_Please_ tell me I haven't been committed, mum and dad finally despairing of my endless moping over Iain-bloody-Sinclair!

Where's that phone?

My bag isn't underneath my clothes, where I was expecting it to be.

I search through my jean pockets.

Nope, not there either.

Great!

Thing is, they take things like that off you in an asylum, don't they?

Sharp things too.

Oh come on! I wasn't _that_ crazy!

What _am_ I thinking here?

Well, I'm thinking I'm in a weird place and I can't remember how I ended up here!

I search through my clothes again, a little more frantically this time.

Yep, still no phone.

There's no landline phone by the bed, or on the wall either.

If this _is_ a hotel, I hope we're not paying much for the rooms.

I open and peer out of the door.

It's a corridor, long and thin with lots of doors similar to this one.

Same job lot of paint used for the walls.

Same basic decoration too; no pictures hanging on the walls, no flowers.

So no phone either.

Bleaksville.

There's no one around.

There's not even any noise hinting that someone might be close.

No clanking of a chambermaid's cleaning buckets, or fresh bed sheet trolley.

No yelling kids, no dad bawling at them to be quiet.

No music playing or dreary presenters droning away on a TV.

That figures, I realise looking back into my room; there's no TV, nothing to play any music on.

Come to think of it, there isn't any electrical equipment in here, apart from that lonely looking light bulb.

I can't even see a plug socket.

How's a girl supposed to manage without a hairdryer?

I could knock on a door and ask where I am. First, though, I need to put some clothes on, spruce myself up a bit.

I slip my clothes back on as fast as I can. Give my hair a quick shake. Run my hands through it to flounce it up a bit.

I hate putting on clothes I've warn the previous day, but it's hardly like I have any choice. At least there's a towel, soap and a toothbrush and paste, all neatly stacked on the seat of one of the armchairs. But that can wait.

I run a tongue against my teeth, just checking that there aren't any tell-tale signs that maybe I had something to drink last night that might have been best avoided.

Nope.

All seems fine.

Thing is, though, there goes another explanation as to how I could have ended up here without remembering a single thing about it.

*

I think, Forget knocking on a door.

How's it going to look?

'Oh hi; er, could you tell me where we are please?'

Yeah, that'll go down well.

All I need to do is find mum and dad and have a minor rant at them for bringing us to the Dreary Hotel, Drearyland.

As run and decorated by your friendly proprietors, Mr and Mrs Dreary.

While I'm at it, I can ask mum and dad what sort of travel sickness pill they slipped me to knock me out for the entire journey.

Both the corridor and the bedrooms leading off it are still eerily silent.

Sometimes, I get this weird impression that doors are opening and closing behind me. Movement I think I'm seeing out of the corner of my eye.

But I must be imagining it, just a little freaked. Because when I turn to make sure, there's never anyone there.

Perhaps we're the only ones staying here.

Not that _that_ would be too much of a surprise.

Near the end of the corridor, I at last find what I'm looking for; double doors, opening up onto a landing connected to wide stairs, leading both up and down.

Before using the stairs, however, I take a look out of the large window at the end of the corridor.

(Why hadn't I thought of this earlier? I could have looked out of my room's window.)

As soon as I look out, over smart lawns and imposing Victorian gothic buildings lying just beyond them, I immediately regret it.

It's a layout that just screams – _hospital_!

You're in a _hospital_ Steph!

*

# Chapter 3

No, no; I've got to stop torturing myself, trying to guess where I am.

Just how many Victorian hospitals are left? Most of them have been converted into business parks, or apartment complexes.

Mum and dad are probably downstairs, waiting for me in the hotel's breakfast room.

'Where have you been sleepy head?' they'll ask. 'We let you sleep in to recover from the journey.'

(The journey I can't remember, yeah?)

I step through the double doors onto the wide landing.

Once again, everything's bare and basic.

No signs. No directions.

Down; that's where a hotel's breakfast room usually is.

At the bottom of the stairs, either side opens up onto corridors similar to the one I've left behind upstairs; long, straight, lots of doors leading off. Every door the same, like it's all nothing but more bedrooms.

Wow, just how big is Hotel Dreary?

How many people do they expect to stay in a place like this?

There is another door, however; one leading to the outside.

In the circumstances, that seems my best bet.

I step outside, breathe in the fresh air like I'm clearing my lungs of all the dreariness I've been inhaling over the past few minutes.

Moving a little away from the building I've just come out of, and looking back up at it, I can see that it's of a similar style to the building facing it, only plainer, less decorative and elaborate.

A dormitory, that's what it reminds me of; a university's student dormitory.

I look back at the building standing across from me on the other side of the lawns.

No, not a university – a boarding school.

A school with only one student – me.

*

# Chapter 4

So, if this _is_ a school, where's mum and dad got to?

Where, for that matter, are all the other students?

I wander across the lawns, heading towards what I take is the main block of schoolrooms.

There are other buildings spreading out either side of me, like it's a large complex.

Could be the students – if this _is_ a school, of course – are in any of these other buildings. Could be the dormitory's empty because we're all supposed to be in class.

I check my wristwatch to see what time it is.

No watch.

Still, you'd think there would be somebody other than me wandering around between classes.

And I've still got to figure out _why_ and _how_ I happen to be here.

What, exactly, was I doing before I woke up here?

Dreaming of Iain.

Nothing unusual in that

And sure, as it's my dreams rather than reality, he totally responded to what I consider are my considerable charms rather than completely ignoring them.

Nothing unusual there either.

But obviously, it's not my dreams I should be focusing on; it's whatever happened before I ended up in that ridiculously small bed.

Know what? There I draw a complete blank.

Last thing I can remember is talking to Cherry and Mary at school. Letting our imaginations and envy run wild as we tried to work out how Yvonne Gresham had managed to land a date with Darren Claudes.

Normally, I try and keep a wide berth between myself and Iain, seeing as how just a glimpse of him at school is enough to transform me into whatever the female version of the Marx Brothers would be.

At one and the same time, it's both a blissful and an agonising experience.

I get all excited just hearing his name (making any excuse I can to bring him up in conversation, which is getting a bit irritating even for Cherry and Mary) let alone seeing him hanging around close by.

The agony comes from the way he's always surrounded by giggling girls, none of whom fall around in his presence like I tend to do.

Today, Iain comes nonchalantly sailing past Cherry, Mary and me, carrying a pile of books like he's on an errand for someone.

No giggling harem of girls in attendance.

No friends even.

My ears and brain immediately switch off whatever Cherry and Mary's saying.

My eyes swivel painfully in their sockets as I try and watch Iain pass without noticeably turning my head.

My smile remains fixed, in the hope that my friends don't notice they've no longer got my attention. (Yeah, some hope!)

When Iain finally passes out of view of eyeballs straining to see out of the side of my face, I've got no choice – I have to come up with some pathetic excuse to turn around.

Suddenly, I'm batting away at some non-existent fly that's obviously irritating me so much I have to spin around just a little bit to try and get away from it.

(Yeah, okay, so it really _is_ an unbelievably lame excuse; but I used up all the more believable ones _long_ ago!)

Fortunately, Iain doesn't seem to notice how pathetically I'm acting.

Unfortunately, that's because he isn't noticing me at all. As per usual.

He's just striding past me like I'm every bit as invisible as the kids at this school.

And this is where things get a bit odd, because I can't honestly recall what happened next.

Sure, I know what _probably_ happened, what _always_ happens; Iain kept on his merry way, heading off somewhere else where he'll end up having lots of fun with his friends and the ever-attendant gaggle of excited girls.

That's the rest of my day ruined.

I can't help but spend the next few hours trying to work out exactly where he's headed off to, who he might be meeting up with, which girl might be cunningly persuading him to take her out on a date.

Torture, yeah?

Then, later, when I've worked out nothing but the fact that I'm never going to figure it out, I retreat into a corner of my mind where I can wallow in my misery, or rant away at nobody but myself about how unfair life is.

School work ignored.

Friends ignored.

Yeah, that's undoubtedly the way it all panned out, going by my recent history of being one of life's failures.

But I don't know for sure, see? Because, weirdly, that's where my dream sort of seems to take over, blending reality with the sort of scenario I've wished for so many times.

Where Iain stops; rather than passing by.

Where he turns, notices me; rather than somehow managing to look straight through me, like I wasn't there.

Where I'm looking amazing; rather than falling over my feet, or sporting a massive spot on my nose.

Where his mouth almost hangs open in surprise at seeing this vision of loveliness, this Venus, who for some-unfathomably-crazy-reason he's never noticed before.

Where he smiles, grins stupidly, just a little nervous about approaching someone so indescribably beautiful.

But that's okay, because I smile back, letting him know it's fine for him to come closer.

So he does.

He gives me one of his grins that somehow seem to say, Hey, you don't know what fun is until you've hung around with me.

He walks over to me.

He says, 'Hi, you might not know me, but...'

And _that's_ when I wake up in a bed made for the world's thinnest person.

*

So, is _that_ it?

Am I _still_ in a dream?

Still not woken up yet?

I pinch myself.

Ouch!

Yeah, like _that's_ going to work, right?

If I'm in a dream, I've just pinched myself in my dream, haven't I?

The doorway to the main building is huge, a line of identical doors surrounded by a beautifully ornate porch.

The school's name is neatly carved into the stone above the porch entrance.

Heartache High.

I mean, what school calls itself _that_?

Yeah, it's _g_ _o_ _t_ to be a dream, right?

*

# Chapter 5

Inside, I at last begin to see things I'm more familiar with.

Corridors with doors that open onto classrooms.

There's even a room that could be some sort of laboratory.

I say _could_ be because, all though it's clean and well kept, it looks ancient.

Like it's still being used to discover how the wheel works.

The classrooms, too, look like they're from another age. One when kids sat behind rows of small wooden desks, and did exactly what teacher told them to do, including keeping deathly quiet as they scribbled down their times-tables.

Do I need to say that I still haven't seen anyone yet?

Still, in the laboratory, the desktop opposite each seat is cluttered with what looks like equipment for an experiment.

There are a number of paper and even carved Mobius strips (you know, where you twist a strip of paper then tape the ends, so you end up with an object that's only got one side).

On a few of the desktops, some people have even tried to work out how a three dimensional version would work.

It all adds to the unnerving Mary Celeste atmosphere, only here it's the experiments everyone's suddenly left half-finished rather than their meals.

One wall is dominated by huge chalkboards on which a number of supposedly helpful diagrams have been drawn. Beyond how the basic strip works, however, the figures and angled lines and curves remain a mystery to me.

Now _that's_ really really really odd!

One of the desktop experiments seems to have changed while I had my back to it.

I could have sworn the three, different-sized carved strips had been separate. But now they've been joined to almost form a hemisphere.

I whirl around, glancing nervously at the other experiments.

There's no movement, but each one seems to have progressed slightly from how I can remember first seeing it.

And one of the diagrams on the chalkboard has been carelessly wiped, leaving a smudge of coloured chalk.

Uh oh – what is this?

A school for _ghosts_?

*

# Chapter 6

Have I died?

Did Iain come over to me, smiling (inanely?), because he'd noticed me after all, regarding me much the same way as a pop star sees a crazed fan as a stalker?

Had he had enough, strangling me in front of a quite frankly shocked Cherry and Mary?

Suddenly, the rooms full of excited whispering.

No, not whispering; just the sound of a classroom, but so heavily muted I can barely hear it.

But it's getting louder.

Around me, there are blurs of movement in the air,

Blurs that, as the sound of chatter increases, become wraith-like figures, moving from desk to desk.

Ghosts.

The ghosts of the kids who used to attend this school.

One of the figures stares back at me curiously.

'Oh, hi,' he says, offering me his hand to shake. 'You're new here aren't you?'

*

'Am I dead?' I ask blankly.

In a daze, I accept his hand.

It's much firmer than I expected; like a real hand.

Thing is, he no longer looks ghost-like either.

He looks just like a normal kid.

He's even got the mussed up hair, the geeky glasses.

'Dead?'

He grins, like this is the most amusing thing he's ever heard, some girl asking him if she's dead.

He nudges the girl sitting next to him with a gentle jab of his elbow.

'She thinks she's dead.'

The girl looks up at me, her face broadening into a friendly smile like she's only just noticed me.

'Oh, hello! I'm Jassy!

Like the other ghost, she offers me her hand. I shake it.

'Steph,' I say dazedly, keeping it sounding like I run through polite introductions with ghosts every day. 'Stephanie Johnson.'

'I'm Dave,' the boy says.

'Quite a lot of people who turn up here think they're dead.'

Jassy's still got her broad smile as she says this, but now it's more a pitying grin.

'So...am I dead or not?'

They shake their heads.

'We don't think so.'

'Don't _think_ so? You mean you don't know?'

'Well, it's not easy to figure out is it?' Jassy says, indicating the three dimensional Mobius strip (sphere?) she's been trying to fix together on her desk. 'That's the sort of thing we spend our lessons trying to work out, really.'

Dave must see the worry flashing across my face. He hurriedly blurts out, 'But, having said that, most of us have come to the conclusion that we're _not_ dead, right?'

Jassy happily nods in agreement.

'So we _are_ still in the real world?' I ask hopefully.

'Real enough,' Jassy chuckles, playfully tapping Dave on the head with her pencil.

'Ouch!' Dave laughs, then adds, 'But exactly _where_ in the real world it is, we're not sure.'

'But that's _impossible_!' I protest.

Other people have recognised my presence by now.

They observe me with either a concerned or an amused grin on their faces, like they're having to put up with the sort of person you hope isn't going to sit next to you on the bus.

'All we've got to do is walk out of here. And that'll at least give you an idea of where we are!'

Jassy and Dave swap amused glances.

'Steph,' Jassy says kindly, placing a consoling hand on mine, 'once you've enrolled at Heartache High, you can _never_ leave.'

*

# Chapter 7

'No one ever leaves? That's ridiculous; let's _all_ just walk out of here! How could anybody stop us?'

'Oh sure Steph,' Dave says, 'no one's _ever_ thought of _that_ before!'

'If a school this size is _somewhere_ , surely a plane or something has flown over it? Surely we get deliveries of food or...or whatever else we get delivered. Are the guys driving the trucks just going to think, Oh, that's really unusual; all these kids being kept trapped here as prisoners in a Victorian school!'

'Ah, that's interesting, the way you said _prisoner_.'

Dave says it like it's a profound insight I've made rather than a desperate cry for help.

'Did you ever see that old TV series, _The Prisoner_?'

'Nuh uh.' I shake my head

'There was this guy, an ex spy, who was kept trapped on this weird, dream-like island.'

'Portmeirion.'

'What?' Dave turns back towards Jassy.

'It was Portmeirion, in Wales. I once went on holiday there with my mum and dad,'

'It wasn't Portmeirion, Jassy; it was an island! If it was in Wales, how difficult would it be to leave there, eh? You'd just get on a bus wouldn't you, "Ticket to Cardiff please"?'

'Buses aren't allowed in Portmeirion.'

'Look, Jassy; it was _filmed_ there, right? But it was _supposed_ to be an _island_ , yeah?'

'Are you saying _we're_ on an island?' I ask.

I reckon it's a simple enough question, but both Dave and Jassy pull thoughtful frowns,

'Weellll,' says Dave eventually, 'I suppose that depends on what you mean by an island.'

'What I _mean_ by an island? Just how many types of island are there?'

'"No man is an island, entire of itself"; didn't John Donne say something like that?' Jassy says sagely. 'But, of course, he _is_ an island if he turns away from everybody else.'

'But I'm _not_ turning away from everybody else, am I?' I insist irately.

Why can't they just give me a straight answer, rather than trying to impress upon me just how much better education is at Heartache High?

'Look, it's difficult to explain just how it works here,' says Dave with an apologetic grimace. 'It's probably one of those things it's best to discover for yourself if you're ever going to accept it; I thought it was quite a profound experience, if I'm being honest.'

'Yeah, 'Jassy says, 'though _I'd_ change the word _profound_ to _terrifying_.'

'Ah, that's because you're not regarding it as the physical phenomenon I took it-;

Jassy tosses a balled up scrap of paper at his head.

'There's another physical phenomenon for you, Mr bloody Spock!'

How can these guys just take all this so light-heartedly?

We're _trapped_ here?

I don't believe it – I'm going to escape _right_ _now_!

*

I rush out of the laboratory, leaving Jassy, Dave and the rest of the class to stare after me with open mouths.

How could we be trapped here?

That's ridiculous!

It's just a school – and, as they more or less admitted, for all they know we could just be stuck somewhere in Wales for all they know.

Everywhere I look now, there are boys and girls, all teenagers from what I can tell.

They're hanging around in the corridors, chatting and giggling in groups like it's just a normal school after all.

Outside, the lawns I thought were neat but empty of life are meeting places for other groups, most of whom have laid out blankets so they can lie down on the grass.

There are sports fields too, a football match being energetically played on one of the pitches.

There are even bursts of music being played on what I soon realise are old-style CD players.

Carole King. The Walker Brothers. Bread.

Old songs, most of which no one plays anymore back in the real world.

Not unless you've suffered the pangs of heartache anyway. The kind of music that you can cry yourself to sleep listening to.

Yeah, I've been there too Carole.

I stride past all these groups of people, ignoring them, heading in a direction where the array of buildings seem to begin to peter out.

Beyond the last of the buildings, it looks like open parkland, then a thick patch of trees.

I can't see any walls or fences. It looks like you just have to be prepared to walk for a good while before you come to the nearest village or town.

I glance back, checking that no one is following me.

Thing is, even if someone sees me trying to leave and comes chasing after me, how long can they hold me for?

My mum and dad must have realised I've gone missing by now.

The police will be out searching for me.

Mum and dad will be out looking for me.

How hard can it be to leave this place?

Okay, so I could be miles away from where they're looking; but my pictures going to end up in the papers isn't it, perhaps even on the TV news?

Hey, who knows, when I get back, when I'm rescued, perhaps even Iain will notice me at last.

Like he did in my dream.

He'd stared at me like he'd noticed me for the first time.

His eyes wide. His expression one of surprise, perhaps even shock.

Normally, if he'd looked at me like this, I'd be wondering if I'd got some sort of embarrassing ink stain across my cheek. Or some horrendously large insect stuck in my hair.

Not this time though.

Okay, so it was in my dream, where you can always exude more confidence than you could ever hope to possess. Or perform amazing feats that would make Wonder Woman steam with envy.

But,see, when it came to Iain, a dose of reality would usually slip in, even in my dreams.

Sure, we'd be together, but it was still _me_ , not some impossibly wonderful super woman.

Otherwise, it wouldn't really be me with him, would it? It would be some other girl, a girl nothing like me.

Last night though – all that went out of the window.

I'd never ever felt more beautiful.

More seductive.

I was geisha, Venetian courtesan and Mata Hari all rolled into one.

How could Iain resist me?

How could any boy resist me?

Dreams, huh?

Don't you just love them?

And here, on the outskirts of Heartache High, a smaller wished-for dream of mine has just come true.

Buildings. Large ones too. The edges of a town.

I can see their tops appearing through the trees lying just ahead of me.

I break into a run, dashing through the last of the trees without any consideration for the odd branch that whips out at me as I hurtle past.

I can even hear people shouting now, the sounds of something like a fair or a sporting event taking place.

Freedom!

And it was all so easy.

What is it with Jassy and Dave and all the others?

Do they like it so much at Heartache High they can't be bothered to really make an effort to leave?

The trees give way to open parkland then, beyond that, neat lawns.

A football match is underway.

Groups of young people are lazing around in groups on the grass.

Music's playing.

Carole King. The Walker Brothers.

Welcome back to Heartache High.

*

# Chapter 8

As I walk across the lawn, past the groups sprawled across the grass on their blankets, I get the impression that seeing someone walk out of the woods isn't an unusual event here.

Some of the other students glance up at me.

Some are amused; Hey look, there goes another new kid, another dork who flattered herself she could do what we couldn't do and break out of here.

Some look at me sympathetically; Poor kid – how many of us made that mistake when we first arrived here?

How do I know they're thinking this?

I don't. But if I were one of the kids looking up at some new girl who had just walked out of the woods, I figure that's what I'd be thinking.

I realise I'm hungry.

I haven't had any breakfast.

From what I can remember, I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday afternoon.

Is that a good sign, that I'm hungry?

I mean, if I were dead, if I were a ghost, I wouldn't get hungry, would I?

I turn to one of the girls looking up at me with one of the more pitying looks.

'Excuse me; is there anywhere to eat round here?'

'Sure,' she says brightly, pointing off to yet another Victorian-gothic block, 'over there, in the refectory hall.'

'Yeah, figures,' I say. 'Although I wasn't quite expecting something so _normal_ around here.'

'Yeah, it takes us all by surprise, the normality of it all.'

'Thanks.' I continue on my way.

'It's not as bad here as you think it's going to be,' the girl shouts after me kindly. 'You get used to it.'

I spin around on my heels.

'Here?' I say. 'But where _is_ here? What are we all doing here? Why are we trapped here?'

One of the boys lying on the blanket by the girl's side looks my way.

'You'll find you've got plenty of time to try and figure that one out,' he says. 'If you ever come up with the answer, please make sure I'm the first to know.'

*

The refectory hall's busy.

Kids impatiently queuing up at the long food counters like they also haven't eaten since yesterday lunchtime.

I join the queue, picking up my tray, a large plate and cutlery.

No one's dishing the meals out; you just help yourself to the food piled up in large, heated compartments spread out across the counter top.

There's every type of meat you can think of too. You just have to carve off whatever you want from the large joints lined up beneath a row of heat lamps.

There's also fish, cheese, fruit, desserts.

Hot drinks pour out of small machines on the counter.

Cold drinks from large machines set against the wall, or glass-fronted refrigerators if you prefer bottled or canned.

I don't see anyone urgently refilling the machines, like I used to see back in my old school.

( _Old_ school? That's the school from _yesterday_ , yeah Steph?)

There aren't any white-clad serving staff, rushing back and forth behind the counter to ensure the food keeps on coming to feed the ravenous hoard that is a teenage student body.

There aren't any adults, come to think of it.

I haven't seen a single adult.

Anywhere.

No teachers.

Yet they have classes here

No cleaners, no janitors.

Yet everywhere looks spick and span.

No cooks.

Yet there's food. What looks like endless amounts of it.

Does it ever run out?

It doesn't seem to, going by the way everyone's scooping up massive portions onto their plates.

So, that's one thing you can figure out pretty quickly here; Heartache High isn't in the real world.

*

# Chapter 9

Some people nod at me as they pass, or even offer a friendly greeting as they carefully make their way to one of the long tables with their food.

'Hi there; saw you wandering around looking a bit lost earlier.'

'Hey, that's pretty quick you know; some kids wander around for days in a daze before noticing anything and realising we're all here.'

I spot Jassy and Dave seated at one of the tables, but turn to move farther away.

I don't really know them well enough to–

'Steph; over here!' Dave cries out, raising a hand to attract my attention.

Ah well; I sure as hell need someone round here I can talk to.

They make room for me to sit down next to them.

'How you settling in?' Jassy trills, like we're all on holiday at Portmeirion. 'It's different, huh?'

'How'd your walk go?' asks Dave with a knowing wink.

'I get it,' I say. 'The Mobius strips you were all playing around with; we're all caught in one huge Mobius strip, right?'

Dave chuckles elatedly.

'You picked that up pretty fast Steph; although it's just one of many theories circulating about how it all works.'

'It could be like time, bending back on itself; you've read Stephen Hawking, right?'

Jassy looks at me like she's asking about _Heat_ magazine and it's a given that I'll have read it.

'I don't get,' I say between shovelling in mouthfuls of pasta (I'm starving!), 'we're all trapped here, but you're all taking it all so coolly.'

Dave shrugs his shoulders. Jassy pouts.

'Well, what else are we supposed to do? Organise escape committees?'

'Digging tunnels. Watching out for the searchlights. _The Great Escape_!'

They both chuckle as they speak.

'So that's it?' I say despondently. 'There really is no way out of here?'

'Not that anybody's worked it out yet,' Dave admits.

'But why? _Why_ are we all here?'

'Well, we all have something in common, obviously.'

'Yeah? What? I didn't murder anyone. I wasn't particularly nasty to anyone, far as I can recall.'

'Ah, but let me guess,' Jassy says. 'There was a certain someone you told yourself you just couldn't face life without, right?'

'Well, it's personal–'

'Course it's personal!' Dave smiles. 'See, you asked earlier if you were dead, yeah?'

'Sure, what else was I supposed to think, what with all these ghostly figure – oh, sorry! But that's exactly what you looked like when I first–'

Dave raises a hand, pulls a couldn't-care-less expression that says that's all right by him.

'Yeah, to everybody who first arrives here too. But, think about it, Steph; when you were back in your regular school, right, suffering all these pangs of longing for this hunk or whatever he looked like – you were more or less dead to the world around you, right? You lost interest in all the things you used to enjoy doing, cos you began to think the only way you could enjoy your life anymore was if this guy was a part of it, right?'

'Well, yeah, okay, sure; but that's hardly like being _dead_ dead, is it?'

'Isn't it? When you next wander around here, take a look at the kids you see around you. Good looking kids, most of them. But take another good look and you'll know what you'll see?'

They both stare at me expectantly, like they're guessing I'm going to shout 'Eureka!' any moment now.

I shake my head.

'I haven't got a clue,' I confess.

Dave grins, like all along he knew I'd be stumped.

'No one's paring off with anyone else. Well, hardly anyone, anyway.'

'Sooo...'I say unsurely. 'And that's because...?'

'Because no one could possibly compare to whoever they've left behind.'

'Whether that's someone they never, ever managed to get off with,' Jassy says remarkably brightly, considering the subject, 'or someone who dumped them.'

Actually, she says the last words with the bitterness of experience.

'Wait. Are you saying everyone is – of course! How stupid could I be? _Heartache_ High!'

I almost give my forehead a theatrical slap for being so dumb.

Jassy and Dave regard me with all the joy of a trainer who's just got his favourite chimp to whistle Dixie while safely juggling three chainsaws.

'You mean everyone here has had their heart broken in some way? How unfair is that? As if we haven't suffered enough, we all end up here, at a school for complete losers?'

'How unfair is that?' Dave laughs. 'How many times have you asked yourself that very question, Steph?'

'Wait, wait a minute!'

Something's just dawned on me.

Something that, I think, blows a massive hole in whatever they told me earlier about Heartache High.

I look about me urgently, just checking that what I'm about to say is correct.

Jassy and Dave politely wait for me to gather my thoughts together.

'There aren't any adults here!'

They swap glances that say I'm stating the obvious.

'Sure, but we don't need them–'

'No, no, I don't mean that!' I rudely interrupt Dave in my urgency to explain. 'I mean if there aren't any adults, no one's _aging_! Which means they must leave here _somehow_!'

Jassy and Dave look at me like a mum and dad who have finally got around to telling their kid that the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny won't be visiting anymore.

'That's because we don't; we don't age,' Dave says.

He turns to Jassy.

'How long did you say you reckon you've been here?'

'Thirty years maybe; it's hard to tell, what with the way every day just seems to blend into another.'

'Thirty years?' I gasp. 'I thought you were about sixteen, seventeen at the most!'

'That's because she still is; me, I've only been here around fifteen years.'

'We don't age,' Jassy says with her sixteen-year-old's smile.

'So we stay like this? Stay at the age we arrived here?'

Once again they swap knowing, doubtful looks.

Jassy shakes her head sadly.

'No Steph. One day you'll be here one minute; the next you'll have just disappeared.'

*

# Chapter 10

The only thing that kept me going throughout the rest of the day was the thought that, once I was back in my bed (yes, even that minute bed) I'd be able to dream of Iain once more.

Who knows, I kept on telling myself, it might even be a wonderful dream like the previous night's.

I had a shower in the Girls communal bathroom. I brushed my teeth.

When I got back to my room, I slowly changed into the flimsy nightdress I'd woken up in, building my anticipation.

I'd told myself it wasn't any use thinking of my mum and dad; as Jassy and Dave had warned me, dwelling on things like that only brought you unimaginable pain.

'Oh,' they'd also added, almost as an afterthought, 'don't go kidding yourself they're going to send out the emergency services looking for you. It's just one of the many things we can't figure out about this place; how can so many kids go missing without it raising some questions in the press? Back in what some of us still mistakenly refer to as the real world – _this_ is your real world now, Steph – we can't remember anything like this appearing in the news, can you?'

To help me sleep, I'd brought a hot milk drink back to my room. Apparently, part of the refectory always remained open, more or less whatever you wanted being available from there at any time of the day.

As Dave had tried to explain before I'd interrupted him, adults weren't required at Heartache High. All the chores you'd expect the school staff to take care of were performed by unseen hands.

Thankfully, sleep came quickly.

The dreams seemed to come almost at once.

I was with Iain.

Boy, was I with Iain!

Yeah, we've still got our clothes on; but somehow I've managed to make what I recognise as my regular clothes look like something out of one of the catalogues Cherry had found under her mum's bed.

My voice has dropped an octave.

Iain gazes into my eyes like each one's a full moon about to transform him into a howling werewolf.

I stroke his neck with a hand that seems to be pushing buttons, putting him completely under my control.

Was this really me, doing all these things?

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but this wasn't love; it was unbridled lust!

If it were a movie, I'd be barred by mum and dad from seeing it.

Even Iain seems a bit amazed by it all.

He's the one holding back, saying, Steph, don't you think we're rushing into things here?

According to my dreams, Iain obviously doesn't live up to the reputation the school's gossip merchants had given him.

He's the one who's shy, nervous – inexperienced.

(Wow, says little miss innocence here!)

Where did I learn all this stuff I'm getting up to?

Not from any books I've read.

Not from any magazines or films either.

These are techniques any sensible girl would be taking notes of for future use.

*

When I wake up, I'm disappointed.

I'm still here.

Still in this pokey little room at Heartache High.

There was a part of me that was still hoping all this would turn out to be a prolonged dream and I'd wake up safe and warm back at home after all.

No such luck.

Yesterday, Jassy and Dave had told me I should just turn up for whichever class I fancied.

There was always a list in the main porch, detailing what each class would be dealing with.

It wouldn't say who was taking it of course; if you felt you had something important to say – either something you wanted to get off your chest, or something important you thought you might have figured out – you would effectively be the lecturer for the day.

I thought about seeking out Jassy and Dave.

I thought no; I still had a ridiculous amount of things whirling around in my head that I felt better dealing with myself.

I didn't feel like completely opening up my inner thoughts – let alone my inner turmoil – to anyone else just yet.

As I studied the list of classes, I noticed that a girl was standing just outside the porch, looking up at the carved lettering.

Chatting groups of people were passing her on either side, but she didn't seem to realise they were there. She just looked about herself blankly, like she was too tied up in her own misery to notice anything else going on around her.

How could she not see all these passing people? It didn't seem possible, but I'd missed them all too.

As Dave had more or less said, I'd been too wrapped up in my own sad little world to pay any interest to anyone else.

Odd people in the groups would briefly glance at her, giving her the amused or sorry looks that they'd given me in the laboratory when I'd first begun to realise they were there.

She walked right past me, like I wasn't there.

She opened the door to a classroom, looked in on what was a full class, then turned away with a puzzled, anxious frown.

Should I approach her, help her out?

Oh sure; like _I_ want to be the one who has to tell her, 'Hi, welcome to Heartache High; by the way, did you know that you can never leave?'

*

# Chapter 11

The class I choose is one where you just begin to pour out all your thoughts into a notebook.

It's supposed to work as a purging exercise, getting out of your system all the negative thoughts you have about yourself, trying to come to terms with your – ultimately – self-inflicted misery.

The aim is to come up with at least an essay or a discussion that can be used to help others deal with their own problems.

Now and again, someone stands up in front of the class, some more confidently than others, some quite shy and almost stuttering through their words.

They'll put forward an idea they've had about, say, what led them into stupidly falling in love with someone who was never going to return that love. Or explaining whatever selfish thing they did that ended up with them forever losing their soul mate.

Then it's open to discussion, no holds barred.

It's not until the third day here that I stand up in front of the class.

As soon as I get up there, I regret it.

I want to back down, to retire into my own little world once more.

But it's a class of people who perfectly understand what I'm going through.

They can read my nervousness in my faltering actions.

'That's okay Steph,' a guy called Billy says loudly yet kindly, 'chances are you won't be saying something we haven't all lived through. Spill it all out; for your own good.'

'It's this guy, this guy called Iain...Iain Sinclair...'

*

When I've finished describing my 'relationship' with Iain, I cry.

Everyone claps. Some of the girls, even some of the boys, are crying along with me.

Everyone seems affected by my tale.

Because they've all been affected, of course, in an almost similar way themselves.

As I make my way back to my seat, there are supportive cries of 'Well done Steph.'

They all appreciate my bravery in standing up there and letting all my agony pour out.

All apart from one boy.

He's wandering around the class, unable to see me, incapable of seeing any of us.

He's been wandering around like this now for just over two days.

Jassy says it's not unusual.

She knew one girl who continued to aimlessly wander around for almost a month before she began to realise anyone else was here.

'It's part of the condition,' Dave had said. 'The state we're in when we arrive here. So locked up in the little compartment of our brain we've retreated to, cutting ourselves off from the rest of the world because we prefer living in our dream world. A little, self-created compartment where we can think endlessly about whoever we've made the mistake of falling in love with.'

When one of these 'Wanderers' (as everyone calls them) finally wakes up to everything going on around them, it's quite an emotional experience, especially for anyone like me who only recently went through exactly the same thing.

Yesterday, the girl I'd seen reading the carved lettering above the porch had finally begun to see the rest of the students.

At first, she'd looked terrified.

Anyone close by quickly tried to reassure her that everything was okay. That she was amongst friends. Much as Jassy and Dave had kindly helped me adjust to the shock of seeing what originally appeared to be ghosts.

But she'd broken down in tears.

Then she'd become hysterical, moving away in terror from anyone attempting to console her.

She'd run out of the room. I could still hear her wailing screams as she'd hurtled down the corridor.

Later, I saw her coming out of the surrounding woods.

She walked across the lawns in a daze.

I even wondered if, somehow, she had returned to the oblivious state she'd been in when she'd first arrived here.

But no; I could tell by the way she moved to avoid people that she could still see them.

She just didn't want to know them.

She preferred living in her own little world.

*

# Chapter 12

My dreams of Iain have been getting wilder.

I'm even slipping into daydreams of him throughout the day.

When they start, they're so powerful, so intrusive, I have to walk out of whatever class I'm attending.

I can't control them.

I know I should be able to.

I know that's the whole point of the classes; to come to terms with what we've been suffering. To try and find a reason why we've clung onto nothing more than wishful thinking, rather than immersing ourselves in the real world.

To work out why we've been cursed in this way, simply because we've fallen in love.

We've each got our favourite classes.

Jassy, she likes comparing what we're going through with mythological and fairy tales. All of which she regards as being 'the collective consciousness of human emotions and conditions'.

Yeah, me too Jassy.

Dave loves trying to work out the physics of Heartache High; like how and where it exists in relation to the world we've left behind.

(Everything we study here comes from the collective knowledge of all the students. There aren't any reference books to be found anywhere.)

Me, I decide I prefer writing my thoughts down. Even though, when it comes to using the old typewriters we have here, I discover I have dyslexic fingers.

I have to retype each line about five times.

Each page is so thick with correction fluid, it cracks when I pick one up.

I call it my primer; my _Heartache High's Primer for Students._

Writing all my thoughts down, discussing what I've written with the others, trying to work out a way of helping others come to terms and resolve what they're going through – I find it all quite cathartic.

That's one of Jassy's words by the way, cathartic.

'It means cleansing, a purgative; from the Greek _kathartikos_.'

I even begin to flatter myself that I'm following my own advice and thinking less and less of Iain; but I'm kidding myself.

I can't let him go.

I don't want to let him go.

He's the only real pleasure I have; thinking of being with him, of loving him, of feeling his love for me.

My love.

My curse.

*

I can feel his touch.

I can feel his kisses.

It's torture.

It's bliss.

When I say I can feel his touch, I mean my skin tingles, it heats up.

My mouth responds to the sense of his lips against mine.

It's embarrassing if anyone's around to see me.

But I can't stop it.

I don't want it to stop.

I don't want it to ever stop.

I head off back to my room.

Where I can enjoy the sense of being alone with Iain.

*

# Chapter 13

'Steph; we're worried about you.'

It's Dave.

He and Jassy have 'accidently' run into me as I make my way back to my room from the refectory.

I'm not in the middle of a day dream.

But I'm hoping that, once I get back to my room, I can begin to experience one.

It's like a drug.

A drug I can't resist.

The most powerful drug known to man (and woman).

Love.

It's probably the most destructive drug too.

'It's not unusual; we've seen it before,' Jassy says, giving me the kindest smile she can muster.

'A regression,' Dave adds, like he's Heartache High's resident psychiatrist. 'A retreating back into your imagination, where you feel most secure, most rewarded.'

I'm a bit irritated by their way of talking down to me, like I'm some idiot who needs their help.

But I'm also flattered that they like me enough to notice that I'm not working things out as well as I've been making out in the classes I've attended.

Flattered, too, that they want to try and help.

I am an idiot, after all, aren't I?

'I can't control it anymore' I admit. 'I know it's crazy, just living in my imagination like this rather than getting out and enjoying myself. But it just seems so incredibly real to me. It doesn't seem like a dream; it feels like I'm really there with him.'

Jassy slips a friendly arm around my waist.

'Don't go beating yourself up about it girl! You'd be surprised how many people here still hold a candle for the person they've left behind.'

'Yet we don't think of our parents, our brother and sisters – how crazy is that, eh?'

As soon as Dave says it, I realise he's right; I've hardly spent a moment thinking of how I miss mum and dad.

Yet when it comes to Iain – a man who never returned my love, someone who always ignored me – I can't stop thinking of him.

'It's like it's part of our curse,' Jassy says. 'Like Prometheus, having to eternally endure having his liver torn out day after day.'

'And there, I think, Jassy has hit upon something.'

Dave touches the edges of his glasses, the mark of the professor deep in thought.

'Some people actually quite enjoy being here, regarding it as a punishment for their inability to secure their love. For others, it's like a form of self-harm; you know, where someone deliberately cuts themselves, as it's a pain they feel to be in more control of.'

'I can hardly say I'm in control of _my_ pain. It's controlling _me_. And I enjoy it; that's why I don't _want_ to control it.'

'We all still suffer it to some extent Steph,' Jassy confesses. 'Our world can never be perfect, if our loved one can't be a part of it. Therefore we can only create a semblance of the perfect world we desire in our imaginations.'

'Wow,' I chuckle, 'trust me to make friends with Mr and Mrs Freud here, eh?'

They smile, laugh.

'Me and Jassy, we're friends,' Dave says. 'Amazingly good friends; I've never met anyone as wonderful as Jassy. Even the girl I still pine for can't compare to her.'

Jassy looks at him. She nods in agreement, like she knows where he's going with this.

'But we could never be lovers, Steph,' she says.

'Let alone Mr and Mrs,' Dave adds bleakly.

*

Jassy and Dave's talk should have warned me to at least try and bring my daydreams under more control.

But, truth is, I don't want to.

At last, I'm with Iain.

Okay, okay; so I know I'm not _really_ with him.

But it _feels_ like I am.

It's the nearest I'm ever going to get to being with him.

I can't give that up.

I still love him.

I'm an idiot.

But when I'm dreaming of him, I'm a _happy_ idiot.

*

Iain's shocked.

I can see it in his face.

The way he's embarrassed.

He's embarrassed for _me_.

The way I'm acting.

Coming on to him like...like, well, I don't know how to describe it!

This just isn't _me_!

Why am I acting like this?

Why can't I control the way I'm acting?

Even in my dreams, shouldn't I be able to say, No, that's enough!

Calm down Steph!

Don't do this!

*

# Chapter 14

Once I've finished my primer, I have to make copies of it to ensure it's circulated.

Normally, of course, that would mean running off a few extra copies on the computer printer. Or making a few by scanning it in.

Nothing's that simple at Heartache High, where technology has yet to find its way here.

There's a printing room, where all the type has to be set by hand. That means each individual letter has to be fixed into a block. All back to front too, so that when it prints, it's the right way round.

Then I have to mix the ink, making sure it's the right consistency; not so thin that it runs, not so thick that it makes the type block stick to the paper.

Using a large roller, I apply the ink to the block of type.

Or rather, that should be _blocks_ of type, as I've had to make one up for each page.

The machine I use to press the blocks against the paper is like something out of a western movie. It has this huge lever I have to throw all my weight against to bring the block down hard enough on the paper to create a clean image.

After I've got half way through printing the pages, my arms ache. My back feels like it's never, ever going to be straight again.

When I see the primer printed out, I realise I've made countless mistakes in the way I've set out the type.

I move things around, put new letters in, remove ones that are in the wrong place.

I have to do this six times before everything's as it should be.

'Hey, that was pretty quick,' the guy in charge of the printing room says.

I almost tear his head off when he says this, mistakenly thinking that he's being sarcastic.

Thankfully, he notices that I'm so cranky because I'm worn out.

He promises me that he'll round up some other students to help me print off the five hundred copies I'll need for the first circulation.

They'll also help with binding it.

If I'd known creating this primer was going to be so torturous, I would never have started it.

When I circulate the first copies to the classes I've been attending, however, everyone's impressed.

'This is great Steph,' Billy says. 'Who knows, if I'd had this to read earlier, maybe I wouldn't be here.'

I smile.

I feel such a fraud.

*

'I love you Steph.'

How long have I wanted to hear Iain say that?

Now, when he finally says it, it hurts.

It hurts because it isn't _me_ he loves.

It's this _other_ girl in my dreams, who isn't me at all.

Look, I know this is really crazy, getting upset about it in this way.

He's only said it, after all, in my dreams, right?

He hasn't _really_ said it to me.

But, as I've said, they no longer feel like dreams.

They feel real.

See, these aren't like the dreams I used to have, where it's bit like watching myself in a TV show; you know, where I'm watching myself and Iain as if I'm somebody creepy nearby making a video of it all.

I'm seeing Iain through my _eyes_ , as if I'm really there.

When we touch, when we kiss; it's as if I'm right there, inside my body.

Yet, of course, it's _not_ my body.

It's not even my mouth; because, when I finally get to hear Iain's long-awaited declaration of love, do you know what I do?

I laugh.

I say, 'Jeez Iain; _love_? How _pathetic_!'

At school, our positions have been perfectly reversed.

Iain's lacking in confidence, fumbling.

Everyone laughs at him, the way he comes running after me as soon as I call him.

_I_ laugh at him, whenever he's not around. Letting everyone else know how pathetic I think he is.

(Sure, my dreams have so taken over my life at Heartache High that they don't even have to involve Iain anymore for me to become completely absorbed in them.)

Even Cherry and Mary are shocked by the way I treat him. They no longer hang around with me.

Huh, like _I_ care!

But the thing is, I _do_ care!

It's this girl who isn't really me who doesn't care.

I've gone from being shy and innocent to easily being the most outrageous girl in school, if not the entire district.

If there's any guy around, I flirt with him.

Even if Iain's there.

_Particularly_ if Iain's there.

If they end up in a fight over me, that's all the better.

Usually, Iain wins.

Sometimes, though, he loses.

Not that I ever go off with the other guy.

I sneer at him.

Let him know how pathetic I think he is, thinking he can win me by showing how macho he is.

Iain, he's covered in bruises.

He's hardly ever without a swollen black eye.

After a fight, he's always angry with me.

But I hear myself whispering things to him, things I never thought I'd hear myself saying.

'Hah, he always comes crawling back,' I boast to my new and ever growing group of admiring friends afterwards.

*

# Chapter 15

'Maybe it's a way of getting back at him for all the suffering he's caused you.'

Dave, as ever, makes an effort to understand what I'm going through.

'Well, he didn't _really_ cause it to be honest,' I say to Dave. 'That's what some of my primer deals with; how, really, we're the ones responsible for our suffering. Because we're not prepared to let go of even the most hopeless cause.'

'True, when you sit down and reason it all out,' Jassy says. 'But when it comes to love, we rarely let reason get in the way, do we?'

'More's the pity,' Dave sighs.

'I'm torturing myself even now,' I admit. 'These dreams; they've become the worst form of self-torture I've ever put myself through.'

'There's probably some Greek myth that deals with something like this, but I can't think of one,' Jassy says, her eyes raised as she tries to recall anything she regards as relevant information from the vast library of her mind. 'Morpheus; he was the god of dreams. That's where we get the word morphine from, by the way. Then there's the incubi of course, but they hardly apply in your case.'

'Incubi?'

'An incubus was a demon who appeared in your dreams as a beautiful man, as a way of drawing off your spiritual energy, or even your blood. But in your case – although I'm sure Iain _is_ a beautiful man – he's hardly the one in control here.'

'Plus, of course,' Dave says light-heartedly, 'there's the problem that incubi don't actually exist; they're just a myth.'

'Whereas Heartache High is something that all our well known scientists had stipulated must exist somewhere in the universe.'

'Touché!' Dave says.

I chuckle.

'Thanks Jassy, but I don't think I'm going to find any answer to my problem in Greek myth!'

'Babylonian then? Aztec?'

She laughs.

'Sure Steph; only joking. I know what you mean!'

'Excuse me. Are you Stephanie Johnson?'

It's the girl I'd seen wandering around the school when I'd first checked the list of classes pinned up in the porch.

She still refuses to become involved in the school's activities.

She's an even worse case than I am.

She's holding a copy of my primer.

'You're the one who wrote this, yes?'

'Yes; I, er, hope you think it was okay.'

She gives me an agonised, hopeful smile.

'You say we can leave here? That we can leave Heartache High, as long as we do all this?'

'I would hope so,' I admit. 'I would hope that if we come to terms with what we're going through, there might be a chance of leaving.'

'Thank you! Thank you so much!'

She leans forward, kisses me on the cheek warmly.

Then she heads out across the lawns, heading towards the school rooms.

'You believe that do you?' Dave eyes me curiously. 'That we can leave if we only manage to bring our emotions under control?'

I shake my head.

'I think that once you've enrolled here, it's too late.'

*

# Chapter 16

'Why do you treat me like this Steph? You know how much I love you! I don't deserve to be treated like this!'

Iain is pleading with me.

I sneer at him.

'Don't you Iain?'

'I deserve to suffer because I love you?'

'The way you made me suffer when I loved you!'

Iain looks surprised.

'I made _you_ suffer? How did I ever make _you_ suffer?'

'You just did, that's all.'

'Steph, believe me; I would _never_ make you suffer. How could I, when I love you so much?'

'Hah, _now_ you love me! But how do you think it used to be for me when you used to ignore me?'

_'Ignore_ you?' He laughs, bewildered. 'How could I ignore someone like _you_? Only if I thought I was out of your league!'

'Of course you're out of my league! But I put up with you anyway.'

Why am I saying these things?

It's _my_ dream; at last he's saying all the things I always wanted him to say.

So why I can't I just simply say all the things _I've_ always wanted to say?

Wouldn't that make more sense that acting like I'm the sort of girl even I can't stand?

I mean, if I'm treating him like this, why's he's staying with me?

Oh yeah, because it's a dream, right?

It's _not_ real, is it?

I've got to keep on telling myself that.

'You know, you're not the girl I'd always imagined you to be Steph.'

'Oh; just what sort of girl _did_ you imagine me to be then Iain?'

'Well, I'd always thought you'd be, well...you know. Kinder, for a start.'

'Kinder?' I laugh. 'But if I were kinder, Iain, I wouldn't be the girl I am, would I? I wouldn't be the girl you're madly, deeply in love with, would I?'

'You know what, Steph? I don't think that's right; I'd think I'd love you even more!'

'Ah, but see; you just admitted it anyway, didn't you? You love me anyway, despite what I'm like.'

'Yes, I love you; I can't resist you. But I just wish I could change you back to who you were.'

'Oh dear dear dear! You poor poor dear!'

I stretch out a hand, caress his cheek and neck like he's some poorly pet.

'Here you are, with the most fabulous woman you've ever known, and you're _still_ not satisfied. Are you ill, do you think? Is that it? I mean, how many other boys would be glad to be seen–'

'Stop it Steph! I've had it with all this! You don't miss an opportunity to make a fool of me in front of the other guys! Yes, they fancy you, fancy you big time; I get that! What I don't get is why you think you've got to keep on proving it!'

'Why?' I put on a lost little girl voice. 'Why, because, deep down Iain, I'm this poor, pathetic insecure little mouse you always thought I was.'

'Insecure? _You_? Hah!'

I laugh. I reach out the pitying hand once more.

'I think it's _you_ that's insecure, isn't it darling?'

_Darling_? Since when did I use words like that?

'There _is_ a cure for it, you know.'

'Cure? Cure for what?'

'Why, your insecurity of course! Untreated, it's going to tear us apart you know, can't you see that? Your jealously is already getting way out of control! All those silly fights!'

'I don't need a cure, I–'

'Then it's over, Iain! It's over between us!'

'Over? But I–'

'But you won't get your jealousy treated! That _shows_ you don't really love me!'

'Huh, how can I get what _I'm_ suffering from treated?'

'There's a woman I read about, a woman in Soho; a woman called Lamia!'

*

Lamia?

Where did I get _that_ name from?

I mean, is it _really_ a name?

Perhaps I really did read about it, in a magazine or somewhere.

Yeah, yeah; come to think of it, I think I can remember reading something about some woman in Soho who promised to...

Promised to what?

I can't remember.

Perhaps I didn't read it anywhere after all.

Wow, now I'm trying to put some sort of interpretation to something as trivial as a name that crops up in my dreams?

How _real_ was that dream though?

I could have _been_ there.

I _was_ there.

*

'I really really don't think these are dreams anymore. I think that, somehow, they're a contact with the real world.'

As I say this to Jassy and Dave, they glance at each other sceptically.

'Think about what you're saying here Steph,' Dave says. 'Even if it were possible to form some sort of contact with the world we've left behind, how could it possibly be through any of us here at Heartache High? We're _here_ , not _there_.'

'In my defence, I'd like to point out that when I'd first asked you both for your advice, I'd said I know this isn't going to seem to make much sense, but...'

'Sure, sure you did Steph,' Jassy says sympathetically. 'But Dave's right – how could you make contact like that when _you're_ here?'

'Yeah, I know; it was just that when this name Lamia came up I–'

'Lamia? That _does_ seem to ring a bell.'

'Yeah, such an unusual name,' Dave agrees. 'Yet there's something right at the back of my mind trying to scream at me that it means something.'

'You've both heard of it? I thought so too.'

Dave shrugs.

'Could be it's just a brand name; you know, not quite so famous we can figure out what it is, but something we've heard of so it sticks in the back of mind until someone mentions it. Tyres, maybe? Lamia lingerie, anybody?'

Jassy gives him a playful shove to pay him back for his cheek.

'I think I might have heard of it simply because it's a Greek legend–'

'Just how many legends did the Greeks have, eh?' Dave sighs. 'They seem to have a legend for anything. Is there one about someone who gets fed up hearing about legends?'

'Nope, but there's plenty about idiot men mistakenly putting their faith in their own powers of thought!' Jassy retorts with a giggle. 'Lamia, as I was saying, was renowned for devouring children. So I don't think – I hope – it's not the one Steph's talking about. Curiously though, her children, the lamiae, were succubae, the female equivalent of the incubi I mentioned earlier whe–'

'Yes, thank you very much the History Channel – ouch.'

Jassy gives Dave another playful punch, but harder this time.

'The thing is,' I persist, 'this Lamia supposedly lives in Soho. And when I heard that, I suddenly remembered making a trip to Soho for some important reason – but I can't remember what that reason was, or much of what I did there.'

'Doesn't really mean anything,' Dave insists. 'When we end up here at Heartache High, there are all sorts of things about our past lives we file somewhere in the back of our minds, like they're no longer important to us. As far as any student here is concerned, the only important thing in their past lives was the loved one they still lust after. Despite every possibly reason not to being thrown at them.'

'If there were some contact with the world we've left behind,' Jassy says brightly, 'that _would_ be amazing Steph – but I really can't see that it's possible.'

'The longer you've been at Heartache High,' Dave adds sadly, 'the more you realise we're cut off from what you're calling the real world.'

*

# Chapter 17

Despite Jassy and Dave's assurances, its less than a day before I'm back talking to them again, insisting once more that my dreams are...well, something _more_ than dreams.

Everything taking place is consistent, like it's a well plotted story at the very least.

There is a steady, slowly running sequence of events. One happens after another in a perfectly logical order.

Unlike a story, sometimes the 'dreams' dwell on the really boring bits – such as when I'm in the school canteen picking at an unappetising meal (in that dimension, Heartache High's refectory is light years ahead). Or I'm spending ages in front of a mirror, expertly putting on delicate layers of makeup that transform even the flaws in my face into enviable features.

We've booked, purchased and picked up the railway tickets for London.

We've even got ourselves a map of London, to work out the quickest tube trip to Soho's China Town, where Lamia is apparently based.

And, see, her name still keeps cropping up in the dreams.

'How many dreams do you know,' I say to a perplexed and intrigued Jassy and Dave, 'where you don't just, say, fly off to where you're supposed to be next? Why is it all taking place so slowly, over days, rather than just happening?'

'So okay,' Dave says with a nod of agreement, 'so where are you up to now in this sequence of dreams – sorry, Steph, that word just crept up on me. I didn't use it because I'm still sceptical.'

'Last time I slipped into a daydream – I don't really have any control over when they're going to happen – was just a couple of hours ago. We were on the train, travelling down to London. We were getting some sandwiches from the bar; see what I mean about these hardly being dream-like? Oh, and things are a bit cold between us at the moment. Iain's a bit moody.'

'A man that's moody?' says Jassy with fake incredulity. ' _That_ doesn't seem like reality at all Steph!'

'So,' says Dave, coolly ignoring Jassy's little barb, 'why do you think you're seeing all these uninteresting bits? As you say, it's hardly like a dream at all. Even the most boring film director would leave bits like these out.'

'Yep, that's what I've been saying; that's why I think there's something odd going on here. Perhaps they're not dreams, but flashbacks to things that happened in my life; but things I've somehow and for some reason managed to completely forget.'

'Could be,' Dave nods.

'But that would mean you really did behave like this with Iain, Steph,' Jassy points out. 'And, if you don't mind me saying, it doesn't seem like you at all; you're far too nice.'

I chuckle bitterly.

'Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence Jassy. But I've got to face up to the fact that this might be my past; what other explanation could there be? Perhaps I've forgotten it all because I want to wipe out the memory of how badly I behaved.'

'Well, if all this _is_ a logical sequence, Steph,' Dave says, 'then you're saying you reckon you'll soon be seeing this Lamia, yes?'

I nod.

'So far, everything's happened in the order it should; I can't see why we shouldn't be meeting this mysterious Lamia, whoever she is, pretty soon.'

'Soon? How soon?' Jassy asks.

'Going by how long we've been on the train, we should be London within the hour.'

'You've seen the _whole_ journey?' gasps Dave.

I shake my head.

'Nuh uh; just odd bits. Like with any other scenes, I can't just tap into the sequences I want to; they just suddenly start appearing, or just disappear. But time seems to follow the same passage of time as here. So once we hit London, there's whatever time it takes to get down to Soho – plus, of course, we might stop off for a coffee.'

'But if you can't control what you're seeing – does that mean we might not get to see this Lamia after all?'

'Possibly,' I agree. 'But I noticed you said we; just a slip of the tongue, yeah?'

'No way!' says Dave firmly. 'I said _we_ because when you get to meet her, I want to be there too! What about you Jassy?'

He turns to Jassy, his eyebrows quizzically raised behind his glasses.

'Wouldn't miss it – as long as you're okay giving us a running commentary Steph?'

'Sure; if it helps you begin to realise I'm telling the truth about these so-called dreams.'

'Okay,' says Dave, turning away from us. 'I'll get us some sandwiches – coffee anyone?'

*

We've finished the sandwiches.

We've drunk the coffee.

And still nothing.

'Perhaps the dream's not going to tap into the visit to Lamia,' I say apologetically.

'Maybe they stopped off for more than a coffee...' Jassy says hopefully.

'Or, maybe, they have an appointment, so they can't just turn up just like that.'

'Ah, at least you're beginning to talk about these dreams like they really are connected with the real world Dave!'

He shrugs.

'They're odd, I've got to admit to that.'

'They might have already seen her of course,' I point out. 'In which case, we're all waiting around here for nothing.'

'The sandwiches were nice.' Dave balls up the sandwich wrappers and tosses them into a nearby waste basket.

'Perhaps it's because we're here, preventing you drifting off into a day dream.'

'Jassy,' I laugh, 'I've slipped into a dream while amongst a full class of people.'

'Ah, but you haven't been asked to give a running commentary; it might not be possible to dream and let someone else know what's going on.'

'Maybe,' I agree.

'Let's give it another hour,' Dave says, turning to urgently wave at a group of student's languidly making their way to the refectory.

'Oi, Ben; could you fetch us back coffee and sandwiches for three?'

*

It's China Town in Soho right enough; I recognise it from pictures I've seen in magazines.

Paved streets.

Elaborately carved decorations, painted bright red.

Oddly flattened chickens roasting in the windows.

Flags and banners hanging from the buildings, fluttering and snapping in the breeze.

Iain's very subdued, like he's angry, holding all his emotions in check in case he'll explode if he begins to say anything.

I don't seem particularly bothered by this. Somehow, I get the impression I'm just a little tired with his childish behaviour.

It looks like we're stepping through the door into one of the larger restaurants. But once we're inside, instead of taking the glass door to one side leading into the restaurant itself, we head up a narrow flight of stairs.

A few more flights follow, until we must be at least five floors up.

I seem to remember clambering up a similar set of stairs, but if I ever did, it must have been in some other building.

'Unless this really is your past,' Dave points out. 'In which case it's just something you've filed to the back of your mind. But now your conscience is gradually – _very_ gradually – forcing you to remember it.'

I knock on a small door decorated with whirling images of dark green and red.

'Please come in!'

Inside, it's the same dark greens and reds, giving a vague impression that we're underwater.

The mainly dim lighting seems to have been designed to add to this watery grave effect. The only bright spots are sharp beams highlighting a collection of samurai-style arms and armour spread around the edges of the room.

A woman comes across to greet us, smiling, her hand out in readiness to be shaken.

'I've been expecting you,' she says gaily.

*

# Chapter 18

'She's Chinese?' Dave asks.

'No, I don't think so,' I answer honestly. 'Mixed race, probably. Very beautiful. Incredibly glamorous.'

Iain's taken aback by her beauty. Lamia notices his unease.

'Let me guess, Mr Sinclair; you were expecting an older woman, yes?'

'Well, yes,' Iain admits uncertainly. 'I'm sorry; I don't know why.'

She smiles brightly as she indicates that we should take the two chairs placed in front of a large oak desk.

'Everyone does. When it comes to helping those in love, people always expect potions to be involved, or at least some form of magic; and they always have to be administered by some old crone, don't they?'

Ian nods his agreement as we take our seats.

'I suppose so; yeah, I'd never really figured out what you might look like. But whenever I did try and conjure up some image of you, I suppose it did fit into some sort of idea of you being a...well, witch-like character.'

Lamia elegantly slips behind the desk, easing into a high-backed, heavily carved wood and leather chair.

'Witch-like?' She laughs gaily. 'I hope you don't think I'm in any way witch-like now, Mr Sinclair!'

'Oh no no, of course not! You're very...very...'

'Very very? I'm very very?' she teases. 'A compliment indeed, Mr Sinclair! But, you know, I never can work out why people come here expecting this wizened old woman doling out her love potions. I can't say that _I'd_ have much confidence in any love potion handed to me by such a woman, would you Mr Sinclair?'

'No, no; I suppose not.'

She's holding Iain's gaze like he's almost hypnotised.

She's hardly looked my way, I realise.

Have there been conversations over the phone, other than one just arranging the appointment? Or does she instinctively realise that Iain is the one perceived to have the problem that needs resolving.

Or is it just that she realises she has an incredible power over men?

Her eyes sparkle in the room's dim light like they're the brightly lit waters of an aquarium. I could almost imagine luminously coloured fish floating by in there.

Thing is, I don't think I've seen her blink yet.

They're just holding Iain's gaze like a snake would entrance the rabbit it's about to strike out at.

'That figures,' Jassy says quietly in my ear, as if the people sitting around the desk might be able to hear, 'Lamia couldn't shut her eyes; a punishment of the gods, so she would always have to dwell on the death of her own children.'

'This would be the _mythical_ Lamia, yeah?' Dave says sceptically. 'As opposed to the Lamia living in Soho.'

'The Lamia appearing in Steph's visions or flashbacks or whatever they are, actually.'

'Semantics.'

'Shush you too; I need to concentrate, remember?'

'So, what can I do for you Mr Sinclair?' Lamia turns towards me, smiles. 'I hope I'm right in presuming that it is Mr Sinclair who needs my help, rather than you, Stephanie dear?'

'Stephanie?'

Iain, like me, notices the familiarity in the way Lamia uses my name.

As if she knows me.

It could just be the phone calls I made to her, of course, but...there's something more to it than that, I'm sure.

Not that I can think what it could be. I've never met her before.

Never heard of her before, until I heard her name come up my visions.

'Oh, I'm sorry Mr Sinclair; didn't Stephanie tell you?'

'Tell me? Tell me what?'

'Stephanie?' Lamia glares at me admonishingly. But she uses a jocular tone, not a serious one. 'You haven't told him?'

I reach across from the chair I'm sitting in. I clasp one of Iain's hands in mine.

'Sorry, Iain; I should have told you, shouldn't I? But I was far too embarrassed.'

I don't sound embarrassed. I sound amused.

I leave it to Lamia to explain.

'You see, Iain, Stephanie has visited here before, requesting my help.'

*

# Chapter 19

'Is that true? Have you been here before?' Dave asks.

'I'd never heard of her until all these dreams.'

'Though it might be something else you've forgotten,' Jassy reminds me.

The way they're now both talking, they seem to accept that I'm experiencing something other than a mere dream.

Are they flashbacks?

Like when you've placed things that hurt you deep down in your subconscious, but at some point they can come back to haunt you, to confuse you.

'Please don't be angry with her Iain,' Lamia says to a shocked, betrayed looking Iain. 'Oh, you don't mind me calling you Iain do you, Mr Sinclair? Stephanie came because of you, of course.'

'Me? Why did she come here because of me?'

'Why, because she _loved_ you of course!'

_'Loved_ me?'

Iain says it with a bitter laugh, like it's the most ridiculous thing he's heard. He turns to look at me, bewilderment painfully etched across his face.

I hang my head, but not in shame.

It's an act; I'm _acting_ as if I'm ashamed.

I don't know how I know this. I just do.

Hanging my head like this hides my wicked smile.

'You sound surprised Iain,' Lamia continues. 'Surely you must have realised? When Stephanie came to see me, the pain she was suffering was quite obvious to me, even before she even began to explain her situation.'

'Pain?'

All this is confusing to Iain, I can see that.

But I'm surprised he's so confused.

No, I don't mean the girl sitting there, pretending to be me.

I mean me, the real me.

Why wouldn't the pain of my unrequited love be obvious to him?

If he hadn't noticed, if he was too busy doing other things to notice or to care, it was common knowledge amongst most people at school that I was besotted with him.

Surely his friends would have told him?

That's what had always made me so angry with him. Well, when I wasn't wasting my life sighing over him, anyway. He _must_ have known; yet he continued to ignore me, without making even the slightest effort to help me get over him, to let me down gently.

'Such a beautiful girl, Iain! A girl, I think, who could have had almost any man she wanted – yet it was _you_ she wanted, Iain. And yet you refused to return that love, or even give her the courtesies of a friend.'

'But...but I didn't _know_!'

He manages to sound genuinely surprised.

He _must_ have known!

How _couldn't_ he see it?

The way I always made a fool of myself whenever he was around!

The way I couldn't get two words out without managing to mangle them.

'You didn't _know_?'

Yes, Lamia says it exactly the way I'd have said it!

Hard and disbelieving.

'Were you blind?'

Yes! She hits the spot yet again.

'You know, this Lamia could be your subconscious,' Dave whispers. 'Only you're getting your own back on Iain.'

'I'm sure Stephanie tried to give you every clue she could think of. At least, without putting herself in a position where you could openly humiliate her by turning her down.'

I'm still hanging my head. Still secretly grinning.

'Is that right dear?'

I give a shy nod.

'Yes,' I say quietly, the hurt little girl voice again, 'but he _always_ ignored me.'

Iain's mouth drops open in surprise.

He reaches out for me.

'But Steph, I–'

'Reaching out for her now is easy Iain; but when she needed you most, you ignored her! She was in agony, Iain! In agony because you refused to return or even recognise her love for you!'

'This _does_ sound like your subconscious Steph,' Jassy says, agreeing with Dave.

'I didn't _know_ ,' Iain insists again, more forcefully this time. 'If I had, of _course_ I would have returned her love!'

He holds my hand tightly.

'Ah, well of course you say that _now_ , Iain! But _then_ , Iain, _then_ you let her suffer. You let her cut herself off from her friends, and all because she preferred to retreat into her mind, where she could imagine being with you.'

'Yeah, yeah, subconscious,' Dave and Jassy hiss as they nod in full agreement with each other.

'She cut herself off from life, was incapable of concentrating on her schoolwork – and all because she chose instead to spend her time thinking only of you.'

'I never knew; I'm _so_ sorry Steph!'

'And you never would have known, Iain, if poor, lovelorn Stephanie here hadn't decided to come and see me.'

She pauses, letting Iain fully absorb what she's saying.

Yes, he's sorry now; but only because I made the first move.

Only, I suppose, because Lamia provided me with something like a love potion. Or, at least, something that gave me the confidence to approach him.

'You're analysing all this as if it's really happening,' Dave warns me with a reproachful frown.

'Now, I must admit,' Lamia says, her voice suddenly more conciliatory, 'I _am_ a little confused as to why you're both here. Because of, course, you are _both_ here. And, as my potion obviously worked, Iain, I can only assume that it's _you_ who's suffering the problem you've come to see me about.'

Iain opens his mouth, as if about to say something.

He closes it, unsure, ashamed.

'Iain?' Lamia says it with an unmistakable undertone of, 'You have something you wish to say?'

Iain still sits there, not wanting to speak.

'You're a beautiful couple,' Lamia persists cajolingly.

'That's some subconscious you've got there,' Dave whispers.

'Why should there be any problems between you? Problems you obviously think I might be able to help you with.'

'Because...because she's not who I thought she was!' Iain blurts it out like it's an unfortunate, uncontrollable sneeze.

'Not who you _thought_ she was?'

Lamia pretends to study me closely.

'Well, I'm _sure_ that's the Stephanie who came to see me, Iain,' she says archly.

Leaning across the desk towards me, she adds in a theatrical whisper, 'You _are_ Stephanie, aren't you?'

No no! It's not me, I want to scream.

'Yes, yes, of course it's me,' I say.

'There you are Iain; it _is_ Stephanie! How can there _possibly_ be a problem?'

'She...she _humiliates_ me. Makes me fight for her.'

Iain forces it out as if it's a humiliating admission in its own right.

'Humiliates you? _Makes_ you fight? I can't see how she could _make_ you fight, Iain.'

'She's good, oh yes she's good,' Dave whispers to me in admiration of Lamia's way with words.

'Only you can make yourself fight, Iain! As for humiliating you; I'm sure you're the envy of many a boy for having such a _beautiful_ girlfriend.'

'Wow, Steph, I wish _my_ subconscious was so flattering,' Jassy giggles.

'Yes,' Iain says, 'everything _seems_ perfect.'

'Seems?'

Iain withdraws his hand from mine.

He clasps his hands together in his lap. He droops his head, like he's preparing himself to say something.

'On the _outside_ , it all seems perfect.'

'Outside?'

Iain doesn't notice, but Lamia glances at me anxiously.

'There's something not right...like there's something nasty _inside_ her.'

Inside her?

Does he mean _me_?

Am _I_ the nasty thing he can sense inside her?

*

# Chapter 20

'You're _not_ inside her, Steph!' Jassy points out.

'You _are_ her,' Dave adds helpfully.

'But I _feel_ like I'm _inside_ her!'

'It's a dream, remember?'

'You weren't talking about it like that a moment ago!'

'We were coming to the conclusion, I think, that's it's just an admonishing subconscious!'

'With lashings of flattery thrown in to make the pill easier to swallow.'

I'm crying – not _me_ , the girl on the seat.

'I should think so too,' says Jassy. 'Poor girl!'

Lamia has rushed round from behind her desk to comfort me – the me on the seat.

'Iain, how can you _say_ such a thing? This poor, poor girl, who suffered so long waiting for you! Who took the trouble to visit me to help her win you around! And this is how you repay her; by calling her a nasty person inside?'

An embarrassed Iain sidles across his chair, moving closer to me, putting a caring arm around me.

I lean against him, weeping.

'Sorry, sorry!' Iain's almost weeping himself. 'I don't know why I said that, I really don't. I don't know why I think that!'

Lamia steps back slightly.

'Mr Sinclair, perhaps it's not my help you require, but a psychiatrist's!'

'No no,' I say, weeping in my chair, in Iain's comforting arms. 'I don't think a psychiatrist's the answer. I think it's that Iain doesn't really love me–'

'Steph, that's not true, I d–'

'He just likes to show me off! He _lusts_ after me!'

'Steph! Of _course_ I love you!'

'I must admit, Iain,' Lamia says sternly, 'from what I've heard today, it doesn't seem as if you _do_ love her.'

'But I _do_ love her! I've _always_ loved her!'

_Always_ loved her?

He's _always_ loved me?

'Always loved her?' Lamia asks suspiciously.

Iain's head ashamedly droops low once more.

He didn't notice, once again, that Lamia and I swap strangely conspiratorial looks.

How can he have _always_ loved me?

He never said anything.

'Why didn't you ever say anything, Iain,' I ask from my chair, 'if you'd _always_ loved me?'

Iain grimaces. Like even now, he still wants to hold back from finally admitting something he's kept hidden for so long.

'Yes, Iain,' Lamia coaxes, 'why didn't you say _anything_?'

'I loved her, loved her so much it hurt. I wanted to tell her, to ask her out; but I never knew what to say whenever I was around her. I always made a fool of myself, I was so nervous. I'd blurt it out all wrong, I knew I would, and she'd laugh, and everyone would laugh!'

How long have I wanted to hear Iain say that?

But what am I saying?

This is just a dream isn't it?

'Or a flashback.'

'Or your subconscious.'

Jassy and Dave grin supportively.

'Then how did you ever expect to be together, Iain,' Lamia asks, 'if you weren't prepared to say anything?'

'Can't you imagine how much it would have hurt me if she'd turned me down?' Iain says. 'Better, I thought, to live in hope that she also secretly loved me, than to suddenly have everything all dashed to pieces. I just hoped that, somehow, we'd just sort of be almost naturally drawn together; that that's how it would work out if we both loved each other.'

'Seems like you didn't need that love potion after all,' Jassy says, nudging me playfully. 'A foregone conclusion eh?'

'That's if Steph actually _did_ visit our Miss Morticia here,' Dave adds, somewhat breaking the magic of what I'm hearing.

'But you would never have come together, would you Iain,' Lamia points out, 'if you were both just relying on things happening by chance? So, ironically, even though you were both in love with each other, you could never realise that love until Stephanie here came to me for my love potion? I don't suppose you've heard of Tristian and Isolde? No?'

'Hmn, moot point,' Jassy hisses defensively. 'Tristian and Isolde blamed their doomed love on the potion they'd both mistakenly taken. But they were really naturally drawn to each other.'

'So,' Iain says hopefully, 'your potions _do_ work? They _are_ potions?'

Even as he spoke, Lamia had been making her way over to a large cabinet that, when pulled open, revealed a multitude of old-style stoppered medicine bottles.

'Yes, they _are_ potions.'

'Are they safe?'

Iain watches nervously as Lamia deftly pours out and mixes a number of both crystalline and liquid ingredients.

'Does Stephanie look in any way ill to you?'

Iain glances at me. His smile is uncertain, yet he shakes his head, says, 'No, she _looks_ fine.'

There a hint of doubt in the word _looks_.

'She seems different,' he adds.

'Only to you Iain, only to you.'

Lamia still has her back to them as she continues her swift, skilful mixing of the potion.

'And that's because she's now confident, assured. How is she regarded at school now; is she more popular, or less?'

'More; much more.'

He says it, I think, with bitterness.

'I couldn't fail to notice the bitterness there Iain,' Lamia says with a low chuckle. 'As I suspected, it's jealously you're suffering from; the resentment, too, that power has slipped out of your hands into Stephanie's.'

She gracefully walks back from the cabinet, holding a glass of the potion in her hand.

I'm a little disappointed that it isn't steaming, as you'd expect a magical potion to be. It isn't even fizzing.

It looks like milk.

'I can cure you; I can make you happy one more.'

She hands Iain the potion.

'Drink,' she orders.

Iain gives me an edgy glance.

'You're sure it's safe?' he asks me.

I nod, smile.

'Course it's safe; I wouldn't bring you here, would I, if I didn't think it was?'

Iain still hesitates. The glass shakes slightly in his hand.

'Please Iain,' I plead. 'It's the only way we can be _truly_ happy!'

He brings the glass up to his lips.

He tries it with a sip.

I smile, urging him on.

He drinks more.

He drains the glass.

Lamia takes the empty glass from him.

'It will make you feel drowsy for a while, perhaps even send you briefly to sleep; but don't worry, this is all perfectly natural.'

'Sleep?'

Iain already sounds dazed. Anxious too.

'It's all perfectly normal.' Lamia's voice is professional, reassuring.

'I'm tired, very tir...'

He's slouching slightly in his seat.

He smiles, a child-like smile, a sleepy smile.

He drifts off, mumbling as if a little drunk.

He slumps limply in his chair.

'He's asleep?' Lamia asks me.

I nod.

And then we both laugh.

*

# Chapter 21

Why are we laughing?

Poor Iain!

As I rise up from my seat, Lamia throws her arms around me and hugs me closely, lovingly.

'It's so _good_ to see you again Panthia!'

_Panthia_?

'Mother!' I say.

_Mother_?

'Wow, your subconscious is _really_ playing games now Steph,' Dave says with an amused chuckle. 'Just how many deep-rooted problems have you got circulating around in that mind of yours?'

Lamia and I pull apart with affectionate smiles.

Lamia glares at Iain with obvious disgust.

'It's a good thing you worked out he'd been in love with her after all,' she says, taking my hand tenderly. 'It could have caused complications.'

'I haven't felt anything odd though,' I say. 'I don't think it's had any effect.'

Lamia draws me close again, standing directly in front of me.

She taller than me. It could be the killer high heels she's wearing.

'It's still wiser to check,' she says, locking eyes with mine.

Wow!

Seeing her eyes like this is really unnerving.

They're wide, unblinking.

They really are like deep pools of sparkling water.

'Are you there Stephanie?' She says it kindly. 'I _know_ you're in there somewhere dear; so please make yourself known to me!'

*

What's going on?

How does she know I'm here?

'She doesn't really know you're here, because she doesn't _really_ exist, remember Steph?' Dave explains.

'If it really is your subconscious we're tapping into here, it obviously knows you're watching everything,' Jassy agrees. 'Although what Freud would make of it, I've no idea.'

'Come out, come out, wherever you are,' Lamia trills creepily.

Thankfully, she pulls away from me once more.

Those eyes were weirdly hypnotic, like they really were capable of drawing me out.

Like you skewer out a winkle from its shell!

'Are you sure you haven't felt her trying to regain some form of control?' Lamia asks me.

'I'm sure of it,' I reply. 'She's still safely locked away where she should be. Well, ever since lover boy here was ensnared of course.'

I giggle wickedly.

'Hmn, not as ensnared as he should have been, obviously.'

Lamia observes the sleeping Iain intently, a new sense of admiration in her voice.

'He was not only in love with the real Stephanie, but he's retained that love for her despite your undoubted charms my dear.'

She turns back to me, looking me up and down with undisguised approval.

'You've made _so_ much more of her too! He's a fool to want the old Stephanie back.'

'Hmn, but we know men can be like that, unfortunately. Completely predictable normally; but obtuse when you least expect it!'

'An obtuseness that, in this case, could mean our poor little Stephanie isn't as self-contained as she should be.'

She takes me by the arms, pulls me back towards her yet again.

'Now, let's try it again shall we?'

Her eyes lock on mine once more.

'Stephanie; I know where you are,' she says. 'You're a student at Heartache High, aren't you dear?'

*

# Chapter 22

She knows about Heartache High!

'Sure she would, if she's a construct of your subconscious!' Dave says. 'You're reading too much into a lot of this.'

'Isn't that what a psychiatrist has to do with subconscious thoughts though Dave?' Jassy says. 'Read a meaning into them, interpret them?'

'I don't think _any_ psychiatrist could interpret _these_ thoughts accurately!'

I feel like Lamia can see me.

Feel like her never-wavering eyes are actually locked onto me, the student at Heartache High, rather than onto the eyes of the me back in that room.

'Don't you enjoy it there dear?' Lamia asks mischievously. 'I mean, all those people there, all just like you? All those things you have in common? All those things you can share and discuss? You're all of one mind, aren't you?'

She chuckles.

'Why are you looking at me like that Stephanie? That strange, bewildered stare! Shouldn't you be thanking me – and of course, my beautiful, irresistible daughter – for helping you enrol at the wonderful Heartache High?'

She raises a hand to her right eye, completely covering it.

Phew!

It's one heck of a relief not having both probing eyes staring at me.

She pulls her hand away; leaving behind nothing but a blank, blood-red socket.

*

# Chapter 23

'What?' gasps Jassy. 'She's pulled her _eye_ out?'

'There, see!' Dave announces triumphantly. 'It's _got_ to be all in your mind!'

'It _could_ still be a flashback,' Jassy insists, 'with dream-like touches _added_ by your mind.'

I'm not really listening to them.

Lamia has brought her hand up to her other eye.

When she pulls it way, she leaves another gaping eye socket.

It's even worse staring back at these than it was staring back at her mesmerising eyes.

I want to jump back in shock.

But the me in the room remains where I am, unperturbed by Lamia's cool removal of her eyes.

'Wait,' Jassy says, 'there was _something_ about Lamia being able to remove her eyes! Yes, it was a gift–'

'A _gift_?' Dave sounds aghast. 'Removing your eyes is a _gift_?'

'Something – I can't quite remember every detail – about it being a gift from Zeus.'

'Wow, remind me not to include Zeus on _my_ Christmas list, okay?'

'No, no; it _was_ a gift! She no longer had to endlessly see her children being killed, as she'd originally been condemned to do.'

'Oh well; that's all right then,' Dave says sarcastically.

'But why take them out now?' Jassy wonders. 'Why now, when Steph felt she was being drawn out by her probing eyes?'

'Hmn, are we making the mistake of trying to read too much into dreams and visions once again?'

Despite removing her eyes, Lamia is still standing directly opposite me, her eyeless sockets as locked onto my own eyes as they had ever been.

'Yes, she's definitely there, Panthia,' Lamia declares assuredly. 'Our precious little Stephanie is actually watching us right at this very moment.'

*

'Why not talk to her?' Dave suggests. 'It's your mind controlling all this, obviously; so you should be able to say something back.'

'I don't think it is; I don't think it _is_ my mind. It all seems so real. I don't think I have _any_ control over it.'

I say it to Dave hoping that, somehow, it comes out of my mouth in that Soho room.

Nothing comes out.

'I can help you, Stephanie.'

Lamia's tone is wheedling, yet somehow also untrustworthy.

'All this is just adding to your pain, being able to see all this, isn't it? Don't you want to retreat back into your comfort zone? Didn't you hide away there in the first place to avoid a painful reality?'

She brings both hands up to her face. When she removes them, her eyes are back in place.

They seem more intense, brighter, than ever.

'You're so lucky that we know you're still there dear. It could have been oh so painful for you, wouldn't it, to watch as my gorgeous, _ravenous_ Panthia slowly fed off Iain's love for her.'

She steps away at last.

A sense of relief floods through me, as if I'd been rooted to the spot under her penetrating gaze.

'Not to worry though, my dear.'

Lamia moves towards Iain, rubbing her hand through his tousled hair almost affectionately.

'Panthia can ensnare another target, so it's not so painful for you to watch.'

She bends down, lifts Iain's head up by his chin.

'As for your precious Iain, well, he's a good-looking man, isn't he? Plans can change, and we can use him in other ways.'

I can no longer see Lamia.

Freed from her mother's fixating gaze, Panthia has turned around, watching as a door at the darkened rear of the room opens.

At first, I think I'm seeing a plume of shimmering smoke slip into the room, as if the door opens up onto a busy kitchen.

But the misty cloud moves closer towards us, letting the door snap shut behind it.

It writhes.

It snakes sinuously through the air.

It wails quietly.

Happily.

I sense Panthia smiling in greeting.

As the wraith draws closer, I realise there's a mix of fluctuating forms to it; part human, part serpentine, part unrecognisable beast.

It closes in and hovers over Iain's sleeping body.

'Oh, Stephanie dear,' Lamia says, glancing Panthia's way once more, 'I should warn you that you may not want to watch this.'

*

# Chapter 24

'Incubi! Succubae! That's what we're dealing with here!' Jassy exclaims excitedly, urgently grabbing me by my arm.

'No, we're dealing with drea–'

'No, no, we're _not_!' Jassy angrily insists, interrupting Dave's nonchalant dismissal of her observation.

She whirls back on me.

'Steph, you have to help Iain! This _isn't_ a dream – this is happening _right_ _now_!'

*

'Let him go,' Panthia commands sternly.

'What?'

Lamia looks up at Panthia in surprise.

Even the wraith halts in its whirling, eddying motion around Iain's slumped body.

'I'm sorry mother; that wasn't me – obviously,' Panthia says.

'That's right – _I_ said it,' I say, using Panthia's mouth.

Lamia's mouth briefly hangs open in surprise.

Then she laughs.

'Remarkable! Truly remarkable!' she exclaims happily, moving closer towards me, her eyes locked on mine once more.

A shiver runs down through my entire body.

'How strange! I've never seen _this_ before!'

'Let him go,' I say. 'You've already got me.'

'Hmn, have we now?'

She draws back a little, swiftly running her eyes up and down my body.

'Panthia; I take it you're still in control of everything else?'

'Of course!' Panthia declares. 'I could regain full control if you wish; stop her using my mouth like this!'

_'My_ mouth actually.'

'Yes, yes; _your_ mouth,' Lamia says. 'But that's all you're controlling, I think you'll find.'

I try to prove her wrong by slapping her face.

My arm doesn't move.

'Panthia's a succubus; she's taken over your body,' Jassy hisses. 'That thing hovering over Iain is an incubus; the male equivalent.'

This time, Dave keeps quiet. He's awestruck.

Both Lamia and Panthia laugh derisively, as if they're fully aware of my futile attempt to wrest some form of control back.

'As you can see, my dear Stephanie, whenever anyone comes here for my help, I can't bear to see such gorgeous young bodies going to waste when my hungry sons and daughters can make so much better use of them. It's so much more efficient than working through dreams, as we used to. Not that we're so cruel as to completely eradicate you, of course; we just complete the process of helping you move into that little compartment of your mind you'd withdraw into to live a life of wishful thinking.'

'You trapped me here?' I say.

'Oh no, not _me_ – my dear Panthia really deserves the credit for that, when she so easily accomplished what you'd struggled so long to achieve. Your _wish_ had been realised, _you_ weren't required anymore; you were free to take up permanent residence where you'd always retired to whenever you'd felt hurt by life's unfairness.'

'It wasn't my _wish_ to live like _this_!'

She shrugs.

'Lovers! Are they _never_ satisfied?'

*

The incubus writhes.

It curls around Iain.

It's thickening, gaining in substance.

I can't move.

I can't help him.

All Panthia is allowing me to do is to watch.

*

# Chapter 25

All this is happening because _I'd_ withdrawn from the life around me.

I'd more or less ignored my friends, Cherry and Mary, preferring to spend most of my time dreaming of or pining over Iain.

Even at home, I was a misery, going about the house as if in a debilitating daze.

Cherry and Mary were both such great friends too.

Fun to be with.

Girls with a very similar mind to mine. Chatting and laughing over everything from movies we _used_ to go and see to music we _used_ to listen together.

Mum and dad, too, were wonderful, in their over-bearing, over-caring way.

Every effort they'd made to help me get over Iain, I'd shrugged off. Saying they didn't understand. Saying they were too old to know what I was going through.

Yeah, like they'd never, ever been young, right?

They'd never, ever suffered unrequited love like me, yeah?

'Steph, I don't know what it is you're doing; but _keep_ doing it!'

What?

What's Dave mean?

Keep doing what?

'You're opening up your mind!' Jassy explains. 'You're breaking out of the little compartment you'd retreated into.'

How?

How do you know?

'Because you'll never guess who we've got here with us!'

I drop out of my reverie.

While I've been giving Jassy and Dave a running commentary of my meeting with Lamia, other intrigued students have gathered around us on the lawn.

And amongst them all, struggling to break free of their many scrabbling, clinging arms and hands, is a stunningly beautiful, incredibly angry girl.

'Who's she?' I ask.

Jassy smiles up at me triumphantly.

'We reckon she's the delightful Panthia.'

*

'How's that possible?' I ask, bewildered. 'What's she doing here?'

'Well, we're getting some idea of how all this Heartache High thing works now, thanks to you!'

Jassy says it like she's figured out an easy way to sneak into the movies for free, rather than sitting amongst a group of boys and girls struggling to hold down a wailing banshee of a woman who's wildly lashing out at anyone nearby.

'See, we're each trapped in a little corner of our minds left to us by an occupying succubus.'

'But we're all emotionally the same,' Dave says excitedly, 'all focused on thinking about nothing but the same thing; so we've created an incredibly strong, sort of telepathic connection.'

'When you started breaking out of your little compartment though, Steph, you were spreading into areas of your mind Panthia had believed were hers for the keeping.'

'You forced enough of her out of those areas so that a part of her was briefly visible here; just alongside you, though you didn't know it. So we made a grab for her, and dragged her in here with us!'

'Is that possible?' It still doesn't make any sense to me. 'For her to be in here?'

'No, of course it isn't!'

'What do you mean? But she _is_ here!'

'Well, even the _you_ standing here, Steph,' Jassy explains, 'isn't the _complete_ you, is it?'

'Your body's still out there, for instance,' Dave adds helpfully. 'But what's here is just enough of you to fully represent the whole you.'

'And this is just a small part of Panthia; but enough of her to control her. The same way a brain surgeon can manipulate the whole body by tweaking a minute part of the brain.'

'When a hologram smashes, each fragment still contains a picture of the whole thing.'

'Try it, Steph!' Jassy urges. 'See if you can get back control of your body!'

I look through my eyes into the room once more.

Iain has his head tipped back.

The incubus is crouched over him, its hands holding him firmly as it gradually forces its writhing, serpentine tail into his mouth.

'Stop it! Let him go!' I say yet again.

Lamia laughs.

I tense my muscles, feeling them reacting to my thoughts at last.

Then I throw myself across the floor towards Iain.

*

# Chapter 26

I crash hard into Iain's seated, sleeping body.

It's enough to send him flying from the chair.

I follow after him, the chair tumbling across the floor with us.

The lighter, more insubstantial incubus hangs behind us in the air. Great lengths of its immensely long tail come spiralling out of Iain's gagging mouth, but its end is still deeply embedded within him.

Iain wakes up. His eyes widen in horror as he sees and feels the ghostly monstrosity snaking from his mouth.

I grasp the strangely wet coils, pulling hard at them to pull the tail free of Iain's mouth.

The wraith leaps on me from behind, wrapping its arms around me in an attempt to pull me away.

Iain's still shocked, terrified. But he also begins to wrench the winding coils from his mouth, until at last the tail's thinner ends are spooling out.

With a spluttering, gagging retch, Iain coughs the evilly barbed end free.

I've ignored the clawing hands of the incubus clasped around my shoulders long enough.

I try and reach up to pull him off, but he bats my arms away and shuffles to one side.

Unbalanced, I begin to topple over until Iain rushes to my aid, grabbing the writhing demon by what passes for its waist and fiercely tugging on it.

It screeches. It lashes out.

With a final, vigorous wrench, Iain pulls the demon away from me. Whirling around, drawing on the momentum of his hard wrench, Iain throws the incubus off to one side.

Almost weightless, it flies through the air. It crashes against an elaborate display of yard-long arrows, the shafts scattering, snapping, interlocking and entangling.

The incubus wails as the massed arrows pierce it, pinning it amongst the shattered display.

'Fortunately for you, my son can't be killed so easily.'

Lamia is calmly making her way back from the potion cabinet.

She's carrying a stoppered bottle of urine-coloured liquid, as if she's been coolly mixing a new potion as we fought the incubus.

'The amusements over, I think,' she declares firmly, pulling her arm back in readiness to throw the potion at us.

'No, stop!' I shout, raising a hand. 'Stop if you care for your daughter!'

'Panthia? Obviously, dear, you've managed to briefly wrest control off her; but she's a big girl now, and perfectly capable of looking after herself.'

She says it all completely nonchalantly, like she doesn't care.

But she hasn't just held back from throwing the potion; she's lowered her arm, giving me the impression that she's prepared to talk.

That she's not quite as confident about her daughter's wellbeing as she's trying to make out.

'We're holding her; back at Heartache High, we're holding her.'

Iain glances my way with a puzzled frown. Even so, he's had the sense to begin moving away from me, just as I'm moving away from him.

We're putting distance between us, slowly circling Lamia.

Lamia will have to choose who she targets with her potion if she ever gets around to throwing it.

'Unless you let us go,' I continue, 'she's staying there.'

'Hah! She's only inside one of you, don't forget!'

I'd guessed that, knowing Panthia is inside me, not Iain, she'd be more likely to target him.

So even as she spins on her heels to throw the potion at him, I'm reaching for a huge pike held in the flimsy hand of a suit of samurai armour.

There's no resistance from a hand that's only formed from the armour itself.

I don't waste time grabbing the long shaft; I simply pull down hard on it, bringing the blade scything down on Lamia's head.

The blade slices through her hair, her skin, her skull.

Her legs buckle.

Her arms go limp, the stoppered bottle dropping from her hand only a few inches off the floor.

She collapses, her body splaying ungainly across the red carpet.

I rush to Iain's side, glancing down at Lamia.

Her eyes are still wide, still like deep, green pools.

Still sparkling.

'She's still looking at us!' Iain says, clasping me tightly against his body. 'She isn't dead!'

Cautiously, we draw nearer to her.

Giving her a swift kick, I immediately pull my foot back, expecting her to suddenly reach out and grab it.

There's no movement from her.

'Her eyes always remain open,' I say blankly to Iain. 'A punishment of the gods.'

*

# Chapter 27

Understandably, Iain's confused.

'The gods?'

He looks at me like I might be a little crazed.

Then, glancing over at the incubus still trying to struggle free of the pinioning arrows, he shakes his head, like he's wondering if he's caught up in a bad dream.

'No, it's not a nightmare you're having,' I chuckle, drawing him close.

Wow!

I've just realised; this is the first time _I've_ held him like this.

The first time, too, I've been held by him.

I wonder – what is it like to kiss him?

Why wonder anymore?

*

It's only as we finishing kissing that I remember I've got an audience back in Heartache High.

Later, they'll want me to fill in the details of the fight I've been way too busy to describe as it happened.

'Wow!' Iain says as we finally pull apart. ' _That's_ just as I'd always imagined it would be with you Steph!'

'That's became it _is_ me, Iain; the _real_ me!'

How will it happen for me now?

With Panthia as a prisoner, will I continue to exist in both worlds?

Can I say here, with Iain?

Will I also have to continue attending Heartache High?

Or have I achieved the impossible?

Have I _left_ Heartache High?

*

As I hold Iain's hand, he begins to rise into the air.

'What? Iain?'

But he can't reply.

His mouth is gagged with the end of a barbed tail.

Serpentine coils loop around his body, holding him fast.

He's rising higher into the air, his struggling useless.

'I did warn you my son wouldn't be killed so easily,' Lamia declares proudly.

*

# Chapter 28

Lamia looms over me.

Or rather, what had _been_ Lamia.

In part, she's still recognisable.

The beautiful face, untouched by the blade that had sliced the back of her head open.

The upper body, graceful and toned.

Below this, however, the body broadens, elongates immeasurably, transformed into the writhing coils of an impossibly large serpent that takes up the entire room.

Her arms, too, are long and lizard-like, as if taken from a dragon.

I glance over towards the shattered arrow display.

The incubus is no longer pinioned there.

'He's enjoined with me, Stephanie dear; to give my _body_ the energy surge it needed to swiftly recover. Not that _I_ was dead, of course.'

I haven't got time to listen to her.

I rush across the floor, half rolling, half ducking beneath Iain as he continues in his useless struggle to break free of Lamia's entrapping coils.

I grab the pike I'd used to split Lamia's head open, swinging it hard around in a sweeping arch towards her broad, unmissable torso.

The blade swishes through the air, directly on target – and clangs violently against scales as hard as stone.

'This is the bit where I should cackle wickedly,' Lamia casually declares.

Languidly slithering across the floor towards me, she effortlessly shifts the entrapped Iain behind her, moving him farther out of my reach.

'There's no need for me to chase you; if you don't stop now, I'll squeeze the life out of your precious Iain.'

Iain's eyes bulge as she tightens her entwining coils. He can't scream; the tail end still gags his mouth.

'No, no; please,' I plead – then remember we still hold her own precious Panthia back in Heartache High. 'Let's not forget poor little Panthia; I wouldn't hurt Iain if I were you.'

'If you were me? But you aren't me, are you Stephanie dear? In fact, you're not even _you_ , are you? Panthia will soon see to that once more.'

Suddenly, Lamia lurches down towards me, reaching out with an elongated, scaly arm.

I duck once more, throwing myself to one side yet again.

I almost somersault, almost tumble towards where the potion bottle had fallen to the floor.

Lifting the bottle up high, I hurl it with all my strength towards Lamia's upper, more human body.

It shatters with a tinkling crackle against skin every bit as hard as the tile-like scales.

I've no idea what kind of potion is in the bottle.

No idea what it might do.

But what choice do I have?

As soon as the glass cracks, the liquid inside instantly turns gaseous.

It spreads in a rapidly growing cloud, rising high up towards Lamia's face. It swiftly eddies throughout the room.

Iain coughs and splutters, unable to move away from the swirling mist as it worms its way towards him.

But the denser part of the cloud still chaotically whirls around Lamia's head.

Unseen within it, she screeches and howls.

Iain drops to the floor with a painful thump, the spiralling coils weakening, thinning, losing their substantiality and becoming mist-like themselves.

In the confusing haze of the vapours, the serpentine loops suddenly appear to be shrinking, retreating, like the tendrils of a poisoned plant filmed in superfast motion.

With a last lamenting wail from Lamia, she dissolves, disappearing as she rapidly merges and becomes as one with the billowing cloud.

Then the cloud turns in on itself, like a black hole sucking up a universe.

It's incredibly quiet in the room.

Iain rewards me with a weary yet thankful smile.

I grin back at him.

'You did it Steph, you did it!' he says happily.

But he's exhausted.

He drifts off into a restful, child-like sleep.

Moving closer, I lie down beside him.

_I'm_ exhausted too!

I need to sleep, just a quick sleep before we head off bac–

*

# Chapter 29

'Steph? You okay?'

I slowly open my eyes, still in a bit of a daze.

Even so, I recognise Iain's caring voice.

He's leaning over me, stroking my hair tenderly.

He's smiling down at me.

'Iain?'

I reach up for him uncertainly. Touch his cheek.

'This isn't a dream is it? You _are_ here, aren't you?'

He leans down, kisses me delicately on the lips.

Yes, he's here.

'We did it? I'm back?'

'Yes, you're back,' another voice I recognise declares confidently.

I twist my head slightly.

Dave and Jassy are alongside me, grinning like a couple of Anime cartoon characters.

'Dave? Jassy? You're here too? You're sure this isn't a dream?'

'We're _sure_ this isn't a dream,' Jassy assures me.

'You've been asleep for a while, sleepy head!' Iain chuckles. 'We left you; we thought you deserved it after everything you've been through.'

'But how did you get here?' I ask Jassy dully.

'How did _I_ get here?' Jassy repeats with a puzzled laugh.

Dave leans closer towards me.

'You're here, Steph,' he says. 'Back at Heartache High.'

*

Iain had woken up in his own room, just down the hall from mine.

He'd been bewildered at first, just as I had been.

When he'd walked out onto the lawns, however, he'd seen me, fast asleep on the grass.

Once he'd seen me, it didn't take him long to see the others worriedly clustered around me.

It should have surprised him, of course; but after all he'd been through, what was so odd about ghostly students appearing and solidifying before him?

I laugh as he finishes explaining why we're all still out on the lawn.

I reach up with my arms, curl them around his head, draw him close, kiss him.

'Wait!' I say, suddenly letting him go. 'That _doesn't_ explain what we're doing _here_ , does it?'

I look about me urgently.

'Panthia! Where's Panthia?'

They were no longer holding her prisoner, like they had been when I'd last seen them all.

'We couldn't hold her,' Jassy apologises.

'We think, now, that it was all a trick; that she let herself be captured.'

Dave pulls a disheartened face.

'A trick?' I sit up on the grass, reaching for Iain's hand, grasping it tightly. 'How could it be a trick?'

'Well she suddenly threw us all off, no problem at all, saying, "Mother's finished". Then she vanished.'

'Mother's _finished_? Lamia's dead, you mean?'

They all shake their heads sadly.

'We don't think so,' Dave says. 'We think she meant it as in finishing whatever it was she set out to do.

'I remembered another gift that Zeus had granted Lamia, see,' Jassy adds ashamedly. 'When she takes her eyes out? It's the gift of prophesy.'

'So we figure she more or less knew how things would eventually pan out, even if the details were sketchy. The main thing is, they wanted to draw you out; to see want you were capable of.'

'With Iain being so in love with you, he could see Panthia wasn't the real deal.' Jassy adds to Dave's explanation. 'They needed to see how much of a threat you both were.'

'Which wasn't much of a threat at all, seeing as we're both here now,' Iain says with an incongruous grin.

'But how? Why _is_ Iain here?'

'Ah, well, see,' Jassy says unsurely, 'we reckon Lamia took over Iain's body.'

Before I can say that's ridiculous, Dave jumps in.

'See, one of the girls here, Lizzy Harding, she vanished. After being here over forty years.'

'And she was mixed race.'

'And very beautiful.'

'And, in the real world, almost sixty, no matter how well Lamia had managed to hold everything together for so long.'

'So she gets a young, handsome boy as a new body.'

'And,' Jassy says with a poor attempt at a smile, 'wipes out a potential threat at the same time.'

*

# Chapter 30

It was tempting to start a new series of classes setting out everything we now knew about Heartache High's relationship with the real world.

But how would everyone take being told that the people they loved were probably being slowly devoured by succubae and incubi?

Only a carefully chosen few were initiated into the new findings.

Even so, rumours will always circulate.

'Excuse me; Stephanie?'

'Yes?'

It was the girl I'd seen wandering around outside the school's porch when I'd first studied the list of classes.

I hadn't realised then just how beautiful she was.

She had been in a bewildered, miserable daze.

Now, when she smiled, she looked as if she could be posing for a Vogue cover.

How could a girl like this have her heartbroken?

How could any boy resist someone so impossibly gorgeous?

'I'm Gillian,' she says, offering me a perfectly formed hand. 'I wondered if you knew any way I could help my boyfriend – the boy I'd _wanted_ to be my boyfriend – as I think he's in trouble.'

'Gillian,' I say firmly, resolutely determined to tell her the truth.

Then I relent, saying instead, 'Sure, let's have a chat shall we?'

How can I tell her the truth?

How can I tell that no one _ever_ leaves Heartache High?

*

Thing is, I'm luckier than most students at Heartache High.

Because at least I now have Iain here with me.

And sometimes, you know, as we walk hand in hand across the lawns, or kiss beneath the shade of the trees, I wonder if I could wish for anything more.

Was that against the rules of Heartache High?

That you should find happiness here after all?

You know what?

I don't think there _is_ a rule against it.

End

Available soon!

Be sure to read:

Heartache High: The Primer

Heartache High's Primer for Students,

as written by Stephanie Johnson,

Heartache High Permanent Student
Chapter 1

At some point in their lives, most people enrol at Heartache High.

But anyone who enrols can never leave.
Chapter 2

You know how it is; you fall for a guy, you work out the wonderful times, the amazing future you're going to have together.

You know; nights out at the movies. Or staying in, watching that sitcom you both fall about laughing at. Weekends spent down the mall together, or out with a group of friends who think, wow, are they the real item or what?

Oh yeah, but you forgot one thing, didn't you?

You forgot to check it out with this guy if all this was all right with him.

The big flaw in your plan, yeah?

Don't worry; we've all been there.

We all understand.

Sure, we get it; you just sort of haven't got around to asking him yet.

But you're meaning to ask him, right?

Any time now, in fact.

Or maybe you'll just drop him a few hints.

Hoping he'll pick them up.

Knowing he won't.

But then, why should _you_ be the one doing the running?

Why is it _you_ that has to drop the hints?

That's not how it's supposed to work, is it?

The _girl_ asking the _boy_.

It's gotta be the _boy_ asking the _girl_!

We can't just go turning that old tradition around now can we?

Ah, but there's the problem, see?

What's a girl got to do if a guy's too shy to get around to asking?

Or worse, what's she gotta do if a guy's way too _confident_?

_That's_ far far worse, yeah?

Because, let's face it, he's not _really_ shy, is he?

Not when it comes to other girls, anyway.

Thing is, you're not really getting the vibes that he's in too much of a hurry to ask you out, are you?

Fact is, he's not really even talking to you on the sort of level that might mean he'll even get around to it.

No, it's more on the level of, 'Hey, you; you seen Jemma/Chrissie/Kassy around?'

Thing is – we're sure you've noticed – is that when it comes to these other girls, he doesn't even seem to have to actually ask them anything, right?

You can't quite work out how it works, but, hey, what do you know, it just seems to happen between this guy and these other girls perfectly naturally.

Ouch!

You just wish it would work that way for you too, yeah?
Chapter 3

You'd be surprised just how many girls who enrol for Heartache High actually enjoy being here.

They don't think they do, of course.

The think they'd rather be anywhere else but here.

But really, they'll accept the agony just so they can enjoy those odd flashes of joy when, their imaginations working overtime, they dream of how it all might have been if only, if only...

They enjoy feeling sorry for themselves sometimes, too.

So you see, Heartache High is a very happy place, in its way.

How else do you explain all these people who leave each semester, only to come back the next?

Excerpt End

If you enjoyed reading this book, please remember to click that you liked it on the Kindle Rating icon.

You may also enjoy (or you may know someone else who might enjoy) these other books by Jon Jacks.

The Caught

The Rules

Chapter One

The Changes

Sleeping Ugly

The Barking Detective Agency

The Healing

The Lost Fairy Tale

A Horse for a Kingdom

Charity

The Most Beautiful Things

The Last Train

The Dream Swallowers

Nyx; Granddaughter of the Night

Jonah and the Alligator

Glastonbury Sirens

Dr Jekyll's Maid

The 500-Year Circus

P

The Endless Game

DoriaN A

Wyrd Girl

Coming Soon

Heartache High: The Primer

Heartache High: The Wakening

