Chapter 1

A shortish introduction.

I’m standing on the Serpentine Bridge, looking out onto the lake between Hyde Park and Kensington Park. It’s where I was found, abandoned by the side of the road when I was barely a few days old. I was abandoned, in the middle of a blizzard, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a necklace, the initials, ‘J.C.’ embossed on the back. That’s where I got my name from. J.C. Jacey. My surname came from Hyde Park.

 

I stopped wondering if my parents actually cared about me a long time ago. When I was younger, I used to make up all these scenarios in my head to offer some explanation for me being unceremoniously dumped like so much rubbish. But then I realised it was stupid. They didn’t want me. They abandoned me. That was the end of it.

 

Someone found me and took me to Social Services, who placed me in foster care. And that’s my story. Shuttled from foster home to foster home all my life. No real family to speak of. No one to notice me. No one to care.

 

I suppose that’s why I’ve been invisible all my life. I just blend into the background, unnoticed. See, I’m not like other kids. I’m different. I guess you could say I’m strange. I’ve never really had a proper friend my age; most people give me a wide berth, as if I emanate weirdness and no one wants to get close in case it’s contagious. Others mock and ridicule me, but fortunately, they’re few and far between. It’s almost like they’re scared of me. Either way, no one’s ever gotten close enough to be my friend.

 

I look out over the bridge, at the moonlight glittering on the surface of the lake. Not for the first time, I consider jumping. It would be so simple to climb up onto the ledge and step off. The moment in between where you're just hovering in mid-air, and then the drop, the air rushing past and roaring in your ears as you collide with the surface of the midnight-blue water with a great big-

 

Shuddering, I draw away from the side and make my way down the bridge, past the thundering cars and the businessman yakking on his mobile phone. I have a brief thought about him; is he wondering what a seventeen-year-old girl is doing out on her own a shade before midnight? But then, no one else gives a damn about me. Why should he?

 

I sit at my favourite bench, under the brightest lamppost in the park, resting my worn messenger bag on my knees. Looking up, I give a start. There, standing under the lamppost opposite, is a man. A man I could've sworn wasn't there when I sat down.

 

Scrutinising him surreptitiously, I take in his wavy, raven-black hair that just brushes the collar of his starched white shirt, and his pale, youthful face, pointed and angular, shadowed eerily by the lamppost above. 

 

But the thing that I notice instantly about him is his eyes. Twin emerald orbs, reflecting the burning, artificial light in all its intensity. But there's something else. Though he doesn't look a day over twenty-one, his eyes are horribly, hauntingly old.

 

Suddenly, he turns and looks straight at me with a piercing gaze that almost burns in its ferocity. I blink, startled, and when I open my eyes he's gone. Disappeared into thin air.

 

Shuddering, I get to my feet, hugging my jacket closer to me. I think I've been out late enough for one night.

 

As I trudge down the deserted path, branches curl down and scrape a line across my cheek. The slightest touch is enough to set me on edge. Something isn't right. The hairs prickle on the back of my neck. I freeze as soles slap on the pavement behind me. There's the sound of distant, mocking laughter. I whirl round, but there's no one there. Frantically, I pivot on my heels, scanning my surroundings for signs of life.

 

As I do so, someone collides with me and crashes to the floor, coughing and wheezing for breath. My eyes widen; it's the man I passed on the bridge. His previously pristine suit is slashed in several different places, crimson blood soaking his shirt. He coughs violently, sending blood spattering on his clothes and the pavement.  

 

I crouch down to his level, racking my brains desperately for the first aid course I went on in Year Nine. I come up blank.

 

"Help," he rasps, his voice scratchy and filled with terror.

 

"Sir? What happened?" I curse my stupidity; he can't tell me in his state. "Never mind." I jump to my feet, scanning my surroundings, but no one's there. "Help! HELP!"

 

But no matter how loudly I scream, no one comes. Digging in my bag, I pull out my mobile and dial 999.

 

"Hello? I need an ambulance. I'm in Hyde Park. There's a man, he's badly injured. He's lost a lot of blood. You have to hurry; I think he's dying," I beseech whoever's on the other end.

 

I slam my phone shut and return to the dying man. He grabs my arm in a remarkably firm grip and pulls me down to him. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, his body convulses violently, blood spurting out of him in an incessant gush.

 

Suddenly, he freezes up and his eyes glaze over, staring at something I cannot see.

 

"Sir? Sir? SIR!" I yell desperately, shaking him furiously.

 

But it's no use. He's already dead. 

 

 

Reviews

Really liked it!!! Please post the next chapter, already hooked :)