Joan II

  In a small classroom, me and the other students sat on chairs—while the younger kids sat cross-legged on the carpet floor. On the wooden walls were maps of Old Earth and New Earth both—and strange as it was, both of them were gone. Lost.

  Sister Juliana, a twenty-something year old, walked about the front of the class as she told us about Joan of Arc and the Siege of Calais. Her dirty-brown hair was straight and long, dropping all the way to her bum.

  “Joan!”

  I looked around for who called me, but no one was looking. They were all paying attention to Sister Juliana.

  “Did you hear someone call my name?” I whispered to Eloise, my friend.

  She shook her head. “No. Why?”

  I’d been hearing it since two nights ago. ‘Joan!’ Over and over and over again. But there was never anyone there. And I could never describe the voice. It was like… melted butter. It had no shape.

  “I don’t know… I just heard—”

  The whole class was interrupted by three knocks on the door.

  Sister Juliana hummed to herself as she walked over and opened it. Standing on the other side was my dad, dressed in his blue uniform.

  “Sister Juliana,” he smiled, taking off his hat and holding it on his chest.

  “Mr. Francis,” she… blushed?

  “Please,” he held a hand up. “Richard’s fine. I was wondering whether I could take Joan out of class for a bit? It’ll only be for a half-hour or so.”

  She glanced back at me with those pearly-pink eyes. “Of course.”

  Pouncing at the invitation, I grabbed my bag, got up from the chair and shifted through the crowd of students on the floor.

  When I finally got to Daddy’s side, I bowed to Sister Juliana. “See you later, Sister.”

  “And you, young lady.”

  We left the class and burst onto the bustling streets of New Troy. Everywhere you looked, street vendors sang the tune of some great new delicacy to a dozen passerbys; crowds of plebeians practically ran through the copper streets of the district; the smell of steam, from both machine and man’s sustenance, clung upon the air; and around every corner was a vigil, wearing the same blue uniform as Daddy’s.

  “Where are we going?”

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  “I thought we’d have lunch,” Daddy replied, smirking. “We’ve got the money now.”

  Wait. “Does that—”

  “Yep,” he buzzed. “You’re looking at Captain Richard.”

  I wrapped my hands around his waist and hugged him tight, and in return he stroked my hair. Daddy had been passed over for a promotion too many times—apparently due to his age—but now they had finally given him it. My dad was a captain now. Now mum will be happier.

  “Come on,” he let go of me. “Sit on that chair there, I’ll get you a wrap.”

  I followed his instructions and sat on a bench next to a small vendor. The smell of crisp imp was especially strong here, alongside hundreds of spices of rosemary, thyme and basil. After a bit, Daddy came back with two wraps, filled to the brim with lettuce, imp meat, sauce, onions and cucumbers.

  Taking a seat beside me, he took a massive chunk out of his wrap and hummed to himself. “That’s pretty good.”

  “Hey Joan?” a voice called out.

  I looked at Daddy, but he was absorbed in his wrap. In the street, everyone was occupied with each other. No one was looking at me. No one was talking to me.

  “Hey Daddy,” I whispered.

  He took the wrap away from his mouth, swallowed a gulp, and looked at my lap. “Are you not gonna eat yours?”

  “I… um, I keep hearing someone call out my name.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Daddy looked around the street. Licking sauce off the side of his mouth, he turned back to me. “It happens when you’re in crowds, sweety. You hear words and names that sound similar—or maybe even the same—and your brain makes that connection.”

  “You like being Daddy’s little girl, don’t ya?”

  My eyes darted around. I heard that. I heard that clearly. That voice sounded… perverse.

  “I’ve been hearing it,” I told him as my voice began to crack. “In places where there aren’t people. My room.”

  He threw an arm around my shoulder. “Hey, hey,” he comforted, “it’s alright. It’s alright. I’ll take you to a sister after school. I’m sure it’s nothing, alright.”

  “But Sister Juliana couldn’t tell there was anything wrong?” I didn’t mean to do so, but I’d begun sobbing.

  “Hey!” Daddy said with a stern voice. “It’s alright, okay? It’s gonna be alright. I’m here.”

  As the tears seemed to fade as quickly as they came, I felt a faint hand trail up my spine; it was feeling each bump, each bone.

  I looked behind the bench, over Daddy’s shoulder, but no one was there. It was too narrow anyway.

  “JOAN!”

  I screamed and screeched as I woke up in my room, my pajamas sticking to my sweaty body. Gagging, I fell off my bed and crawled through the dark to my door, desperately trying to open it. But it wouldn’t turn. It couldn’t turn.

  And I knew… I just knew.

  In the dark. Behind me, in the dark. There was something laying on my bed. It was laying there, trailing fingers up its red belly. It was laying there, and its tail coiled around its head like a crown. It was laying there… and I knew it wanted me to look back at it.

  “DADDY!”