The Whispers Series book 1,2,3

By Joanna Mazurkiewicz

Book 1 The Whispers of the Sprite
When Ania moves from London to Swansea city in Wales she is hoping that her life will get a bit more exciting, after all she is running away from her controlling mother to taste more freedom and feel more independent. Everything seems to be going the way she wanted until she almost dies while taking a quiet walk around the beach in the late evening.

When she opens her eyes, nothing seems the same...

She starts seeing people that no one else is able to notice. An enchanting looking man keeps following her and Ania’s life seems to getting more exciting than she ever wished for.

After the attack something changes inside her, she has been blessed with the new frightening gift of seeing and hearing sprites all around her... the magical creatures that only existed in folklore, myths and legends of Britain.

Gabriel is attractive and handsome but no ... he is not a vampire. He keeps coming back and Ania feels an instant connection between them but this might get her into more trouble. Supernatural romance is not on her mind right now.

Because he is forbidden to even touch her ... the line between the death and love has never been so thin and the sprites won’t stop whispering until ... she will choose to love or abandon Gabriel

Book 2 The Dark Night Whispers

This year Ania is hoping to snap out of her depressed mood. She spends her summer locked up in her room, thinking about Gabriel who is somewhere between life and death.

So when Adam, Gabriel’s best friend, turns up on her doorstep and tells her that he can take her to him, Ania refuses because she can’t go through the same hell again. Her heart has already been ripped out of her chest.

She returns to Swansea to start another year at University, but her education is not the most important thing – she ends up getting more involved in the new and dangerous world of the Sprites. This year doesn’t seem to be any easier than the last one, and on top of everything else, she has to find the cure for the Iron curse before Gabriel’s life will end forever.

All at once, Ania is juggling her University work, investigating the kidnapping of a young girl from America for the University paper and trying to fight with the attraction to a handsome blond-haired Sprite who has appeared in her life so unexpectedly.

To confuse Ania even more, she is finding well-known fairy tales in her pocket. They don’t seem to make any sense until she makes a decision to follow her emotions and start looking for her real family.

Will she ever get to the end of this emotional rollercoaster?

Book 3 Her Secret Whisper

When Niamh McDonald opened her eyes in the dark cave, she didn’t expect to be a prisoner so far away from home. She didn’t expect to be rescued either.

Niamh was kept in the darkness, not knowing what creature has captured her. Then her life spins out of further control as she discovers her family from California have been lying to her all this time – she’s adopted.

Niamh returns to California, shocked and traumatised. She cannot forget that she is adopted. And then, out of nowhere, a stranger visits her to tell her she isn’t human.

Niamh cannot take any more surprises, so she decides to go back to her place of birth – Wales. She needs her questions answered. Her life transforms further as she finds that Sprites have existed throughout centuries and she is not the only one who can see them.

So why is she connected to Ania, the scrawny Russian girl who rescued her from the dark cave?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joanna Mazurkiewicz
• Release date: Mar 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301879755

Book preview

1

‘I need to get going,’ I say to Gosia when I look at my watch. When I finally realise how late it really is my heart starts racing.

‘Come on, just one more,’ insists my friend, grinning. She is already tipsy, rolling her blue eyes, as she sips her pink cocktail.

‘You know my mother. She is probably already freaking out,’ I respond and look through the messages on my phone; I received five up to eleven o’clock asking me where the hell I am, but since then nothing else. It’s odd; my mother wouldn’t usually just stop texting, she would start calling until she got through to me. If she knew the name of the bar, she would probably call here just to make sure that I am still alive. Gosia’s ears are ruby red. She is gazing at me looking amused.

‘Whatever, I am staying. That bloke at the bar can’t take his eyes off me.’

‘Well, take care of yourself then. You have to visit me in Swansea when I get settled,’ I say and kiss her on the cheeks, glancing at the man that she is talking about. She’s right, he is looking at her. Around five foot seven, dressed smart with polished leather shoes. He’s her type.

‘I will,’ she nods and hugs me tightly.

When I leave the South London bar, it’s nearly one in the morning. I glance at the taxi for a long moment but then I change my mind. I don’t manage my money well and I am leaving to start my new life tomorrow, so it’s necessary for me to save the cash. I pass through the familiar roads, calculating how long it will take to get to my street. It’s a rather warm September night, although the dark clouds in the sky indicate that it might start raining soon. After half an hour of intensive walking I leave behind the traffic, taking my usual shortcut. These parts of city seem to be asleep. Complete darkness surrounds me. The roads are clear and the unnatural silence fills the air.

I stop and look at my phone again, wondering why Mum hasn't called me yet. She always calls me, even if she knows that I will be home within minutes, just to check. I feel slightly anxious walking alone at this late hour. The streets are so silent; there is no one around, not even cars passing through, which is odd. It seems as though the city has collapsed into a winter’s sleep, instantly forgetting that it's still summer, like some lost soul trying to make its way to Heaven but getting to Hell instead. I think about the enjoyable evening that I had with Gosia. She was excited for me finally gaining a new independence and a new life in another city.

I shiver when the wind starts howling and look around, hoping to spot any living soul near me, but I am alone. I take another shortcut and then feel horribly lost. The silence seems different and I cannot understand why there are no cars around. I stop for a moment to wrap myself in a light cardigan that I find in my rucksack. Only a few seconds pass, but during this short period of time I feel like I am being watched. My subconscious is laughing out loud. I look around but the streets are uninhabited and silent. No one is around but my mind is playing tricks on me. I inhale the thick air filled with my own fear and a cold shiver flows down my spine. A harsh, bitter wind starts to blow again and simultaneously a few streetlights go out, enveloping the street in an unexpected dimness. The tar-black darkness that surrounds me obscures my senses; I can't see anything and my eyes focus, trying to get used to the gloom.

I stop abruptly and for a moment hear only my shallow breaths, then I hear someone’s movements and my heart starts racing while my mouth gets unpleasantly dry. I stop breathing, trying to pinpoint the noise, but everything is still again. The silence buzzes in my ears. My heartbeat quickens, making my mind spin. Suddenly, one of the streetlights comes back on again. I blink rapidly and continue walking while looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. The houses and streets seem to be under a spell. There is not a human being anywhere around me.

I continue walking, but I don’t hear any more odd movements. Soon I locate a familiar path and reach my street within minutes. I begin to wonder if I actually heard anything and my rational side keeps telling me that it's only my imagination. I approach the house, wondering if my mother will be waiting at the window for me, but all the lights are off.

I exhale, still feeling slightly apprehensive, staring at the round of semi-detached houses in the cul-de-sac. I stop and put my rucksack on the floor to find the keys, and then I hear that movement again and lift my head. The dark figure is walking towards me slowly. This time I am fully aware that it’s not my imagination.

‘Peaceful night?’ says the stranger walking by when I finally have a key in my hand. I smile weakly, dismissing her statement.

In the light from the street I glance at the stranger one more time. The strong fragrance of her perfume reaches my nose and I inhale, recognising lavender. I manage to get a look at her face. She is an older lady with short, silver hair and big, wide, dark eyes, but it's too dark to tell if I have seen her before. As she starts to disappear into the dark alley, the rain starts drizzling. For a moment I wonder what she is doing here. I toy with the idea of her visiting anyone I know. I shake my head, thinking it’s been a rather strange night.

My thoughts are still on the odd noise that I thought I heard in the alleyway. While walking upstairs to my bedroom, I look in to make sure that Mum is still asleep and I quietly close the door. Normally she would wait for me to tell me off. It’s not like her; she always makes sure that I am at home at a reasonable time. I take off my clothes and soon drift off into a dream, forgetting about the woman on the street.

In the morning I have to nag my mother to get up earlier than usual, then a few hours later she still isn’t ready to let me go.

‘Mum, hurry up!’ I shout, walking downstairs with my large suitcases. ‘I have to leave in five minutes!’

‘There is no rush. For heaven's sake, you have all day,’ snarls my mother, appearing from the kitchen still polishing the glasses. Her short, dark hair is untidy. I had wished she would work today; I would have enough time to get to Swansea without delays.

I purse my lips together. Why does she have to be so frustrating?

‘I don’t want to be stuck in traffic. I told you that yesterday,’ I shrug.

‘Don’t talk to me in that kind of tone,’ she barks, pursing her lips. ‘I remember everything you told me, young lady.’

I roll my eyes and then smile. I completely forgot about yesterday. When I woke up this morning I was expecting to have a massive lecture about my late escapade with Gosia, but my mother didn’t say anything, as if she forgot.

She wrinkles her forehead with effort and vanishes back into the kitchen. I head back to the living room, wondering if there is anything else that I have to take.

She appears shortly after me, scanning the suitcases with her brown eyes. She isn’t happy that I am leaving. My mother would love me to start university somewhere close to London, at least so I could still live at home, so when she heard that I had chosen Swansea she was devastated.

‘Are you sure that you want to stay in Swansea? It’s too far if you ask me,’ she adds, helping me with the suitcases.

I sigh. She is still dwelling on the fact that I will be three hours away. However, I can’t wait to be alone.

‘Don’t worry, I will be home often,’ I insist.

When we step outside we walk in silence and the sky is cloudy, but I can feel the excitement in the air along with her tension. I try but I can't read her expression. We put both my suitcases in the car. Mum seems to be lost in her thoughts while I set up my sat-nav. I’ve got everything ready now to leave. I stand in front of her wondering what to say. I shift my body to the side scratching my head nervously. Finally, I look at her and she starts crying. My stomach clenches uncomfortably. I was never good at saying goodbyes.

‘Oh, Ania,’ she whimpers.

I smile weakly, trying to comfort her. I hate that she has to bring up all her emotions at once, but I manage to say, ‘C’mon Mum, I will be fine,’ I say, ‘You have to start going out more. Start thinking about yourself.’

‘I still have to look after you. I haven’t got time for this nonsense,’ she says, blowing her nose.

She stops crying and hugs me for a long while. I hold back my tears. I look at her for a long moment, wondering if I said enough. I swallow a giant lump in my throat and get into the car.

When I am on the road, I can't hold the tears back any longer, wondering if I had made the right decision to leave Mum all alone. I know that this will be tough for me in the beginning, considering the fact that I have never lived alone, but I am twenty-two-years old; I have to start living my own independent life. Mum raised me the best she could and now she has to do something for herself and change her life. It takes me a while to stop thinking about her and my conscience reminds me to stop being a wimp and focus on the road. The life ahead of me is more exciting and I have three hours of constant driving ahead of me to concentrate on.

A new city and new surroundings would bring fresh company. Student life is never boring and George won’t distract me. I keep calling him my informal boyfriend, but he is far from that. He is studying drama in London and our relationship has always been complicated. We often see each other to fulfill our needs of being with someone.

I didn’t intend to move to Wales just to forget about George. I am hoping to start a new and exciting life; the independence is very important. I don’t expect handsome blokes to just fall at my feet. I am nearly six feet tall and this often brings uncomfortable attention from others, especially shorter men. My hair colour doesn’t appear natural – it's bright red. All my friends back home love my red hair, but I always used to hate it. I would love to have long blonde hair and look just like a typical Eastern European girl.

I am very skinny and although I eat constantly, I never seem to put on any weight. My mother, on the other hand, is short and overweight, and her character is very different from mine. Looking at my father's photographs I have a slight resemblance to him; I may recognise my own long nose from him, but he has dark hair. No one on my Mum’s side of the family has bright red hair, but I have never met anyone from my Father's side, so the colour could be from there.

I feel uneasy for the rest of the journey so I stop somewhere near Bristol to grab some lunch. By the time I reach Swansea it's after 5pm and the excitement flows through my body when I park the car in the street. The three-hour journey was exhausting. The sky in Wales is gloomy and cloudy as I expected. After reaching Swansea, I need to make sure that Mum knows that I am still alive, so I send her a quick text. She doesn’t understand that I grew up and am not a child and she still treats me as if I am.

The forecast for today said that it was going to rain. I switch off the engine and begin to stare at house No. 4. The streets are quiet, all the houses are detached and my new home doesn't look appealing. I came here a few weeks ago and everything looked different. Maybe it’s because of the weather or it's just me feeling homesick already.

I was adamant that this house would be perfect for me when I first saw it, so I am not sure why I am feeling this way. I didn't want to live on campus; the idea of living in a block with so many people frightened me. The house that I have chosen has four bedrooms and it is within walking distance from the university and the beach. Inside, I inhale the unfamiliar, dusty air. The windows haven't been opened for a while and I make the quick decision that if I am to live here, I will need to make it a lot more habitable than its current state.

My room is light and spacious and the furniture is almost at the stage where only a touch could break it apart, but that doesn't bother me. This is my new home. It’s a typical student house with a fair-sized kitchen, small living room and a tiny garden in the back. I had an idea what my new life would be like and I had always wanted to live somewhere by the sea. It is strange, but I love the smell of the sea in the air and the fact that I can get to the beach within minutes is very appealing.

I light a few candles to kill the musty smell in the room. It feels bizarre being away from my mother and knowing that I can do whatever I want. My suitcases need unpacking, but just when I am about to start unzipping one, I hear noises coming from the hall. I leave my luggage and rush downstairs.

‘I think I packed too many clothes,’ says a girl in a high-pitched tone trying to get through the door with the extra-large suitcases. She is talking to herself. I stare at her from upstairs, not sure how to react. I hesitate, wondering if I should help her.

‘Hey,’ I shout. My voice sounds unnatural but I walk downstairs, smiling. She notices me and looks relieved.

‘Oh thanks, I’m glad that someone is here! I’m Amy,’ she introduces herself, beaming.

‘My name is Ania,’ I say, helping her with her heavy belongings. She glances at me for a few seconds, analysing my red hair. I didn't expect anyone to be here so early; I thought that everyone was going to start arriving tomorrow.

When we manage to get her suitcase to the living room, surprisingly there’s more noise in the corridor. The doors are wide open and a boy walks in. He has short, spiky, chocolate hair and narrow eyes, dressed casually in jeans and jumper.

‘Hello,’ he says. ‘My name is Carl.’

‘Oh … hi, I just arrived. I’m Amy,’ chuckles Amy. She is blushing, gazing at him intensely underneath her long eyelashes. She is much shorter than me. Her light blonde curls clash with her intense red lipstick. She is pretty, but her heavy makeup makes her look older. The foundation is a few shades too dark. Carl runs his hand through his short hair and smiles, looking curiously at me.

‘My name is Ania,’ I barge in, wondering if we should move to the living room. I know that sooner or later they will start asking about my accent. Moreover, I should get used to the fact that I am the tallest. ‘I am originally from Russia and I moved here a few years ago.’

This isn’t quite true, because I moved to London with Mum suddenly and unexpectedly. Mum received a job offer in one of London’s hospitals and a few days later we were on the plane. I am still trying to find out why Mum decided to move to England so suddenly, but it remains a mystery. Our life in Russia wasn't bad at all, but one cold winter day when I came back from school all my bags were packed and Mum announced that we were leaving the country. I was sixteen when I had to leave all my friends behind and the place where I was born, without any explanation. I refused to leave and demanded to know why, but Mum wouldn't tell me anything. Her decision was final and it didn’t matter how much I screamed that I didn’t want to move.

‘Russia!’ roars Amy and her eyes widen. ‘That’s exciting. I never knew anyone from Russia.’

‘Well, me neither. I am sure it will be fun living together,’ chuckles Carl, staring at Amy who still seems bewildered.

‘So, where are you from?’ I ask her.

‘Not far from Swansea, it’s a small village called Pontyclun.’

I nod, although I have no idea where Pontyclun is. During a moment of awkward silence, Amy takes an opportunity to reapply her makeup. After a few minutes of intense searching through her large suitcase, she takes out a small bag and starts powdering her nose.

‘Well, I am from Birmingham and this is my second time in Wales,’ Carl states, shifting his weight to the side. ‘I came a few weeks ago to see if I like this place and decided to stay.’

‘I just wanted to get away from London.’

‘I love shopping in London; there are so many bargains there. Me and my sister always take a cheap coach and we come back to tonnes of designer clothes,’ declares Amy.

I exchange looks with Carl who looks confused. Finally he says, ‘Okay, cool. I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here with our cases. I’m going upstairs to check out my room.’

‘Good idea,’ I say.

Before we leave, we help Amy with her luggage while she opens up her room. All the rooms are similar in size, although Amy got the biggest bedroom. She starts clapping when she walks through it looking very excited.

I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone today. The term doesn’t start until next week and most of the students will be arriving in the next few days. My life is taking a new turn and I am convinced that I will make the most of my time in Swansea.

2

‘This room is fantastic. I was going to come here and look at it beforehand, but then I changed my mind and just went ahead and reserved it,’ she says while I leave her suitcase on the floor. ‘You know, I couldn’t wait to start living on my own. The parties will be amazing. My friend used to study here and she used to party five days a week!’

I smile, trying to catch my breath. Her luggage is very heavy, probably filled with tonnes of clothes and makeup. I wipe the sweat off my forehead looking around her room.

‘I read that Swansea University has excellent social life,’ I point out.

‘I know, right?’ she beams. ‘My parents run a pub in the village, so at my house it’s always busy. They always ask me to help them out during the busy nights so I am glad that I am here now. Plus my sister just got married; she wants to get pregnant soon so my mother will have a lot on her hands.’

‘Right,’ I say, because I don’t know what else to say, but she continues talking.

‘The girl that studied here, she said that Wine Street has the best clubs ...’

She carries on talking, but I kind of switch off and think about Mum for a second, wondering if she will continue calling me every hour just to check if I am all right. I usually turn off my phone when I am out; she gets mad but I normally handle it when I get home. In certain situations, she learnt that she didn’t need to be so overprotective, but it's impossible to change her character. My teenage years were tough, as Mum never allowed to me go out to socialise with friends. She is focused on her work and on bringing me up right with her orthodox values. Her social life is non-existent and I am the most important person in her life. She abandoned men after my father left; I asked her to go out with friends from work but she never seems interested. She created a routine and didn’t want to change it. My move from London will allow her to acknowledge that there is more to life than the household and me. I hope she will start socialising and changing her routine because she won't need to control me anymore and she won’t have to worry about me all the time.

‘... I especially like Latino music. You know that I used to go to Salsa Lessons? But then I had to stop because of school. What about you? What music do you like?’

After several seconds I realise that she’s gone quiet, so I stop day-dreaming and look at her. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘I was talking about music. What’s your favourite?’ she asks, checking her reflection in the mirror.

I am so glad that she didn’t notice that I wasn’t listening. ‘I don’t have a favourite genre. I don’t listen to music that much.’

‘Well, I like a bit of everything: rock, punk and pop but ...’

‘So ladies, as it's our first day in Swansea,’ says Carl standing in the doorway, cutting her off, ‘I think we should leave the unpacking and go and explore. I am starving.’

I smile, thinking that he came at the right time.

‘I think that’s great,’ I reply quickly. ‘I am quite hungry too, actually.’

‘Fab!’ confirms Amy. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.’

It turns out that Amy needs at least half an hour to get ready before she emerges from upstairs. We leave the house shortly after debating the choice of food. The university is only seven minutes away so we quickly reach the centre and relax in one of the many Chinese restaurants. I hope in this first outing that I will get to know my new housemates a bit better.

‘I am going to study law,’ announces Carl after we order the meal. ‘My father is a solicitor you see, and he wants me to become one.’

‘I chose American studies. One of my friends mentioned that I would be able to go to the States for a year,’ interrupts Amy, stroking her blond curls.

My jaw drops. ‘American studies? That’s exactly what I decided to study,’ I say, now feeling apprehensive about my choice. I didn’t expect to have Amy as my class partner.

‘That’s amazing!’ she giggles and starts bouncing up and down in her chair. Carl can’t help but roll his eyes and I just give her a faint smile.

‘So you only chose this course because you could spend a year in the U.S.?’ asks Carl, still looking fairly amused.

‘Yes, I’d love to stay in Hollywood and meet all those famous actors,’ she continues.

The rest of the conversation moves to slightly safer ground, when we start discussing traditional Russian food. Amy can’t help but talk about her ambitions of partying as often as possible. Studying the same subject as her worries me slightly because Amy’s personality is already overwhelming, but I vow to stay open-minded. We just have different priorities.

After the Chinese, Carl and Amy decide to go back home, but I can’t miss out on a walk along the coastline. I assure them that I will be absolutely fine on my own. This is the perfect opportunity for me to explore the beach; it’s great that I can just go out here as often as I like.

The light warms a quiet city and is consumed by the looming arrival of darkness. I say goodbye to Amy and Carl and walk with them until I get to the beach. The noise of the sea nearby calms me down; the cool breeze caresses my skin. I should be here in the daytime to admire the view, but the sound of waves splashing against the shore makes me want to forget about the world around me.

It's after 9pm when I cross the street and enter the sandy seaside, inhaling the air deep into my lungs. I take off my shoes and socks; the sensation isn’t unpleasant when my bare feet touch the cold sand. The temperature noticeably decreases so I decide to zip up my jacket. The cold air hits me so suddenly. I gasp as the saltiness of the sea air catches in my throat. It suddenly feels too thick and somehow intimidating. But the deafening sound of the waves against the shore soon relaxes me. The sea always makes me feel better, more peaceful. The beach is enclosed by gloom. The light from the streetlamps shines on the pathways, but the light doesn't reach the sand.

I think about my new life and my mother back in London. Everything is going as I imagined it. My close friend, Gosia, promised to visit me shortly and I am hoping to make a few more friends. Gosia only recently started a PhD in Environmental Science. She still lives a very hectic life in London.

Shockingly my phone hasn’t rung; normally my mother would call me to check to see if I am all right. It's strange not to feel controlled by her. I walk towards the sea, the air is stimulating, yet I am enclosed by absolute darkness. For some reason everything seems to be bizarrely similar to that late night in London when I heard the noises on the street, but I quickly tune out those memories. My feet reach the water and I shiver; the sea is freezing cold but I enjoy how free it makes me feel, as I don’t have to worry about anything else.

I start to feel unbearably cold. The thought of going home flashes through my mind, but my next step is regrettable. Suddenly I feel a rending pain in my right leg. I stop and search for my mobile as a source of light to find out what has just happened. I am in agony and then the screen of my phone indicates that there is broken glass embedded in my skin. A thick, dark red fluid covers the sand. I gasp, feeling surrounded by the electrifying, thick air as the pain shoots through me like a bullet.

I suddenly notice someone else standing close to me, which makes me jerk back. I lose my balance and fall on the ground, blinded by the darkness and pain. In a moment I reach for my phone, I grind my teeth together and point the light from my phone on the person standing in front of me. It’s a man, but I can't see his face clearly. My breathing changes, his closeness frightens me and my mind is screaming to get out of here but I can't move. Then he is right next to me and within a few seconds I am lying on the sand. I feel pain spreading all over my body, sand in my mouth and then more penetrating pain so suddenly that I pass out.

***

Someone is speaking to me; I hear voices and whispers around me but everything sounds faint, as though from a broken radio. The pain in my head keeps mounting. My lips part. I feel as though my body has gone through a series of gunshots. I move slightly, but my eyelids are heavy.

‘She’s moving.’

I tense my body, but every inch of my skin is on fire. I wished that someone would ease the pain. There are more voices around me but I don’t recognise them. I drift into dreams.

My eyes are dry as I blink myself awake. I turn my head around trying to get used to the illuminating bright light. My body is still sore, but the pain is more bearable than before. I am not in my own bed, as everything seems to be white. The smell is different as well.

Recognising my mother, I realise that I can't recall what happened. For some bizarre reason I feel drained as if I have just run a marathon. I can’t feel the lower part of my body. The headache keeps mounting and my throat is dry.

It takes me a moment to understand that I must be in hospital. All at once, my memories rush back to me. There are a few people in the room: a woman that just injected something into my left side; she must be a nurse. There is also an older bald man with a triangular face, narrow eyes and a long thin nose. I blink rapidly, trying to move my sore body, but my effort is worthless. Mum’s eyes are red and swollen. She isn't wearing any makeup and her hair is tangled. Had she been she crying?

‘How are you feeling, Ania?’ she asks, softly touching my hand.

‘Not sure. Drained,’ I reply, feeling uneasy. ‘Some water, please.’

The nurse gives me a glass with a straw and smiles sympathetically. The atmosphere in the room is tense, something is wrong and I feel as if everyone around me is hesitant to speak. As if they are afraid to tell me what’s happened. Mum shoots furious glances at the doctor as she is hoping that he won’t say anything to me.

‘What happened?’ I ask, looking around. I try to make myself comfortable, but every movement worsens my pulsing headache. I wish that I could see the rest of my body but I am feeling dreadful.

‘We will be back in a second, Miss Petrova,’ says the bald man who I assume is the doctor and he leaves the room with Mum and a nurse.

They completely disregarded my question and I suddenly want to punch someone. I hate when people treat me as though I’m not there. My memories go back as far as the late walk across the beach and I am sure that might have something to do with me being here. My mind is completely blank and I feel frustration shoot through me. I close my eyes, feeling anger pressing against me. My mind is going through the worst possible scenarios.

The hospital room is small and next to me there are greeting cards that are probably from my housemates or Gosia. There is a carton of juice on the small table. I turn my head towards the left side, trying to see the view from the window, but instead I realise that there is someone else standing there. It looks like I have more visitors than I expected, but the man by the window isn't looking at me.

‘I am sorry for this lack of introduction. So far I have been completely ignored,’ I say loudly, not recognising my own high-pitched tone. The man has black hair and seems to be completely lost in his thoughts because he isn't responding.

I can only assume that he is rude, pretending he hasn’t heard me. I have no idea what he is doing here; he can't belong to the hospital staff because he isn't wearing any uniform. He seems to be isolated from present reality. His dark hair is tangled and untidy. I notice his broad shoulders and gaze at him intensely for a several seconds trying to guess if he is taller than six foot.

‘Excuse me,’ I press, speaking louder than before. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit rude not to even look at me?’

He shifts his perfectly shaped body to the side and turns around, searching for my voice. I feel like an idiot losing my temper, flushing. The curtain of long black hair is covering his forehead. He narrows his prominent blue eyes and raises his left eyebrow with surprise. He has the most amazing eyes that I have ever seen; large, azure, like crystal-blue water in the sea. I am jolted when my mother suddenly enters, talking loudly, almost shouting at the doctor who is right behind her, looking irritated. She folds her arms and stands by my bed.

‘Ania, I wanted to wait to tell you, but Dr Roberts here insisted that you should know what happened,’ says Mum, crinkling her eyebrows.

Dr Roberts gives her a stiff nod and shifts uncomfortably to the side. ‘Well, Miss Petrova, you were stabbed a few days ago.’

All my memories flood back to the cold night on the beach. I stare at my mother, trying to recall the man that I saw that evening. I hurt my foot. I stopped, trying to search for my mobile, but then everything happened so fast. This man was right next to me …

‘Stabbed?’ I repeat, gasping.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ adds Dr Roberts.

‘A runner found you in the early hours of the morning and she called an ambulance. You were very lucky – a few more hours and you wouldn’t be here with us,’ interrupts Mum.

‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Petrova. You were given strong painkillers. We have been able to patch your stomach together, but you will have to stay here for a couple of weeks to recover. The worst is over now, but you will be in a lot of pain,’ continues Dr Roberts.

After a few seconds, I stop trying to recall anything else from the fateful evening because my mind is blank and I feel a cold plunging sensation in my stomach.

‘The police want to see you,’ announces a nurse facing me. Her green eyes flash with anxiety.

‘Yes, Ania, try to tell them as much as you remember,’ says Mum sharply.

I exhale, realising that I stopped breathing for a moment while taking in all this information.

‘I need to see other patients, Miss Petrova, but I will be back shortly to check on you,’ says Dr Roberts, smiling, and he leaves the room along with the nurse.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Mother sits on the chair next to my bed. Then I realise that they have completely distracted me from the stranger by the window.

‘Mum, who is ...?’ I begin, but when I turn to my left, the space by the window is empty. It seems that the man has vanished, but how is this even possible? Apart from the doctor and nurse no one else left my room.

‘Yes darling?’

‘Never mind,’ I tell her, keeping my eyes at the empty space for a while. I am not sure if what I had just seen was a hallucination, but the man was definitely standing there before they all barged back into my room. I begin to wonder if I also might have a fever that could affect the other parts of my brain. The intensifying feeling of anxiety spreads throughout my veins.

‘Ania, I won't shout at you right now, but can you imagine what I was going through?’

I knew that sooner or later my mother would start this awkward conversation. I sigh and look at her. I was hoping that she might just let me rest, but she is going to tell me off.

‘Well ... I am sorry. It's not as if I planned to get stabbed, Mum,’ I say, not able to let go of the sarcasm. ‘I am really tired, Mum. Just let me rest and we can talk about this later.’

‘I know that you have to rest – I am a nurse for heaven's sake – but I don't think that you should stay in Swansea,’ she says, folding her arms together. The mad glare starts dancing in her eyes. ‘I will speak to Brighton University to see if they can transfer you.’

‘No!’ I shout and my heart starts racing. ‘I am not moving!’

I’m shaking, ready to have a long argument, but she looks worried. The pain in my forehead is sharp and makes me feel dizzy.

‘Calm down, you are not supposed to stress.’

‘Then don't try to change my life. I am a grown woman,’ I add through gritted teeth. She shifts her expression, realising that this conversation is making me agitated.

‘I can take care of myself,’ I say.

‘You are right, we can talk about this later,’ she agrees.

Fortunately for me, the nurse comes in and my mother instantly stops talking, as she hates arguing in front of other people. I am hoping that Mum will leave soon so I can get some rest and finally release this overwhelming tension. My body needs a long sleep and when the nurse underlines that visiting hours are over, I want to hug her. Mum isn't pleased, but she has to go back to London today. She has a twelve-hour shift tomorrow ahead of her, but she assures me that when she sorts out her annual leave she will be back shortly. She leaves the room, talking to herself in furious Russian.

I know that I might have scared her almost to death, but I am still alive. I am still trying to remember the man that attacked me. He couldn't have done it for money, as I didn't even have any cash on me. Perhaps he just decided to stab the first person that came along, for fun. I can't remember his face.

I am sure that I was hallucinating earlier about the odd individual in my room. He looked too perfect. I only saw him for a few minutes, but I am certain that my mind is playing tricks on me. I didn't even ask how long I was unconscious for. I am hoping that I won't have any more delusions. I can take a few weeks in hospital, but mental health problems are a different issue altogether. Before I start thinking about the enigmatic man, I close my eyes and drift into a dream.

The tearing pain in my stomach wakes me up late in the night. The clock on the wall is showing a few minutes past 2 am. The lower part of my body feels as though someone is tearing apart every inch of my skin, the excruciating sharp pulsing pain is penetrating my stomach. It's unbearable and I need to call for a nurse. I try to move a little but I am only making it worse. My room is separate, probably far from other wards, and I am alone. In the darkness, I try to find the switch to call for help, but I am not sure where it is or which button to press. I look around the room and I gasp in fear because I realise that I am not alone.

I see a tall figure by the window and my heart is in my throat. The searing pain slowly blinds me. My subconscious is telling me to scream; the shock mutes my words. I start sweating and shivering feverishly. I am in agony but my half-open eyes are gazing at the tall figure in the corner. I tell myself that he is only in my imagination and in a few seconds, the room will be empty. I close my eyes and start counting, ignoring the pain. In a moment I am going to be alone again.

Then I open my eyes. The man is standing just beside me. I part my lips, ready to scream, but my voice dies in my throat. In the darkness, the odd man looks real and if I had all my strength, I could reach out my hand and touch him. He places his palm on my forehead. His touch is warm and hypnotising. The pain slowly drifts out of my body and after a few seconds, I am dreaming about his thrilling azure eyes.

‘Breakfast,’ says someone, touching me gently.

I open my eyes, realising that it’s bright, early morning. I had slept for almost twenty-four hours straight. ‘Thank you.’

The nurse gives me a light smile. She comes back after a moment with more painkillers. ‘How are we feeling today?’ she asks, making sure that I start eating.

‘Better,’ I respond between mouthfuls.

After breakfast, I have another visit from Dr Roberts who looks surprised at seeing me with more energy. Then I remember the dream, which felt so real that I begin to wonder if I was actually dreaming at all. Delusions are pretty irrational and I wouldn't admit to anyone that I saw someone in my room in the middle of the night.

My bizarre dream is still on my mind. My mother doesn't mention the subject of university when she eats lunch with me; she knows that I shouldn’t stress. Instead, we talk about her work and Gosia, who already knows what happened. I had decided to talk to her that morning, reassuring her that I am fine despite the eight-inch wound across my stomach.

Before I fall asleep again, I ask for some sleeping tablets. I am afraid to wake up in the middle of the night with a new set of hallucinations. The nurse looks at me with concern, but she agrees after consulting with Dr Roberts. Luckily, my sleep isn't distracted during the night and when I wake up in the morning I genuinely feel better. The painkillers that I was given are successfully masking the pain around my stomach. I am still fragile, but I am hoping that I won’t stay in the hospital for much longer.

3

The loud knock stirs me out of my daydreams. Amy and Carl walk in from the hall to see me. My mood changes suddenly and I find myself smiling, looking at Carl. Amy is dressed in tight jeans and her blonde curls are nicely styled.

‘Ania, I am so sorry,’ she says and leans over, hugging me gently as if I am made of glass.

I clear my throat, shifting on the bed. ‘Don't be ridiculous, Amy, what are you saying sorry for?’ I ask, staring at her as a light blush colours her face.

‘We shouldn’t have left you alone that night,’ says Carl, looking uncomfortable. His eyes quickly wander down to his feet.

‘It’s not your fault,’ I say quickly, convincing him that I am right. Amy's expression softens. As usual she pasted too much foundation onto her skin, making her look older than she is.

‘Amy, what’s up with you?’ I ask.

‘Well, Carl is right. It is our fault that you were hurt,’ she continues, nodding.

I inhale, trying to stay calm. ‘Don’t be silly. I can’t get stressed, so if you both came here to blame yourselves, I want you guys to leave now,’ I reply in an annoyed tone and narrow my eyes. They both exchange nervous looks, but I ignore it and shift the subject quickly. ‘Have you met the other housemate yet?’

‘Well, it’s another bloke called Michael,’ answers Amy, folding her arms. ‘I have to tell you something, Ania. Two journalists came to the house today and they wanted to interview us.’

‘Yes, and we are not sure if that would be okay with you?’ Carl asks quietly.

I know that Amy is dying to go ahead with the interview as her face lightened with excitement and her eyes twinkled as she told me about the journalists' visit. I don't mind if they talk to the press; by now everyone probably already knows what happened at the beach anyway.

‘I don’t mind at all. I hope I won’t be here for much longer. I am already missing our first week at university.’

‘Oh Ania, I would love them to interview me,’ blurts Amy, squirming with excitement.

Carl smiles.

They talk more about what was happening at university while I was lying here. It’s good to have them; at least I got some company. They leave after an hour and promise to visit me again.

It’s Thursday morning and by the end of the week, I will officially be behind at university as I failed to attend any lectures. I was looking forward to enjoying my first Fresher’s week – instead I am stuck in a hospital bed and I can’t even go outside.

During the night I can't sleep. I keep thinking about the almost-fatal evening on the beach, moreover the pulsing pain spreading around my stomach. Hours later, after tossing and turning I manage to drift into dreams for a while, but the sharp pains wake me up again. This time the pain is unbearable and a hot and cold flush of sweat is assaulting my body. I reach for the switch to call a nurse, but I freeze, sensing something shift further away in the darkness. I am in too much pain to react. My heart starts pounding faster while my mind is contemplating if I am still dreaming.

Then he appears next to me, clearly showing his full self in the dim light, which reflects in his blue eyes. I stare at him, unable to speak or breathe. His eyes are so beautiful: electrifying, sapphire, the most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen. He puts his hand on my forehead and soon I lose touch between reality and illusion.

The next morning Mum wakes me up. It’s after midday and once again I feel well-rested. I analyse the dream, worrying that I actually might be crazy. I try to distract myself by eating everything Mum brought. The incredible azure eyes are haunting me and Mum is talking the whole time. She is glad that I am feeling better. I try to pay attention but I can't concentrate. I think about talking to the doctor about my illusions, but I change my mind, in case he might make me stay in the hospital for longer than I already have to. My mother leaves an hour later after making sure I am well-fed.

The rest of my day passes quickly, while I do everything in my power not to think about the eyes from my dream. Two policemen enter my room, looking at each other uncomfortably. Their questions are standard and I tell them exactly what I saw that night. It appears, however, that I don't remember much at all about what happened. They are polite and formal; the older, grey-haired policeman looks unimpressed with my statement. They assure me that they will be in contact if they find the person that attacked me. The visit leaves me feeling very anxious and hopeless, as they clearly haven't a clue what exactly happened that night.

The days pass, and after a week Dr Roberts informs me that I will be released shortly. My every move is restricted because of the stitches. My absurd delusions have not come back which calms me down slightly. At least I don't have to worry about being mentally unstable.

A box of chocolate from the university lifts my bad mood and after a long argument with Mum, I persuade her that I am staying in Swansea. She looks like she won't give up and reveals that she has arranged an appointment with someone from Brighton, but I switch off when she starts talking about it. She can't force me to move and at the end of the day, I am an adult. Mum leaves for London disappointed, failing to achieve what she came here for.

After the morning visit, Dr Roberts announces that I can be discharged on Friday. With my date set I feel better. The doctor's orders are clear that I have to stay in my room and let the wound heal naturally.

In the meantime, I try to enjoy reading and the company of Carl and Amy, but the time is dragging on. I have already missed Fresher’s week and a bunch of lectures and I am eager to get sucked into university life.

Finally on Friday evening, after a series of tests and check-ups, my time in Singleton Hospital comes to an end. The instructions from Dr Roberts are clear: any kind of sports are out of the question. My mother is with me, grasping everything he says. Mum arrived this morning to help me get home. Her bus back home isn't leaving until 11 o'clock and it's only 9. I am counting the hours until I will be alone again. I do love her, but I just need to finally taste how it is to live by myself. She will be leaving soon so I keep quiet and allow her to talk, nodding.

‘Everything done?’ she asks, looking around the room to check that I haven't forgotten anything.

‘Yes, I am ready to go.’

‘Great. We need to fill out the paperwork at reception,’ she replies, pressing her lips together.

I exhale, but I don't want to spoil her mood today, so I don't comment and do as I am told. Standing in the door and looking back at my room, I am glad that I am alive.

When we step into a busy corridor, I start to think that the world around me has gone crazy. I see people that are more beautiful than anyone else, although they do mask themselves well in the drab surroundings. I try not to stare, admiring the tall, handsome men that pass me on the way.

My excitement dissolves all unnecessary thoughts about being out of this prison in a short while. We go straight to the taxi while Mum starts to lecture me about my daily routine. She is so overprotective, but I nod, acknowledging whatever she has to say. I keep quiet, as she will leave shortly and my life will soon go back to normal.

The house hasn't changed at all; it's just a bit untidier.

‘Right, you need to go to bed,’ she barks, shooting furtive glances as she steps into my room.

‘Yes, Mum, I know, but I feel –’ I murmur.

‘I don’t care. It’s bad enough that I won’t be here to look after you,’ she snarls, looking irritated. ‘C’mon – quickly.’

I obey and let her lecture me a bit more; I need to gain her trust again. Finally, she leaves after an hour to catch her bus. Relief spreads though my veins as I hear the door close downstairs. I am alone at last, and after looking out the window and confirming that Mum got to the taxi, I exhale with liberation.

I begin to check my emails; my mail box is full. Gosia is still nagging me about the fact that I was stabbed while out on my first day in Swansea, but I ignore her email, focusing on more important ones. I haven’t chosen any modules yet and that’s priority at the moment.

I subconsciously know that Mum is on her way to London, so the temptation to leave the house is growing. Despite feeling restless, my wound starts to hurt. I take a few painkillers and get to sleep, as I know that tomorrow I will be busy with paperwork in the university, so I abandon the idea of going there today.

The prescribed painkillers are strong, so I don’t wake up until next morning, feeling strangely numb – but I can no longer stay in bed as my dream of becoming a journalist will be a non-starter if I don’t get to university today. Before I leave the house, I unpack my new clothes that I purchased in London, style my hair and put on a bit of makeup. The soaring sensation flows through my stomach when I think about being so close to death. Breakfast is out of the question today; I am not hungry at all. I pick up my bag and leave the room, wondering if the academic registry office will understand that I wasn't able to enrol at the right time.

The rain is pouring from the sky when I step out from the porch; the weather is definitely not on my side. While I am outside, I spot Amy and I curse. I try to think of an excuse as to why I am leaving the house. She knows as well as I do that I should be resting.

‘Hey! I thought you weren't supposed to be out until tomorrow?’ she says, approaching me smiling. She is wearing orange trousers, black nail varnish and holding a bright umbrella.

I should be more cheerful; Mum has left and I'm still alive. ‘Yes, I couldn’t stand to stay in bed any longer. Mum left yesterday, thank God,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

‘So where are you going? Your mum was pretty clear that you should stay in bed until you are feeling better,’ she says, folding her arms together. I sense seriousness in her tone.

‘Let's just say that Mum is a bit overprotective,’ I clarify, giving her a reassuring nod.

Amy offers to go with me and mentions a recent party that she went to. When we start walking through the rain and cross the road, I notice two individuals on the other side of the street. I gasp with fear as I recognise the tall, handsome stranger. My breathing speeds up while my palms begin to sweat. I panic because I don’t know if it’s just delusion or if I am really seeing him. I am going to risk it and decide to ask Amy about them.

‘Amy,’ I say, interrupting her monologue about the party. ‘Do you know those two guys?’ I don't want to point at them to attract their attention.

‘What guys?’ she asks, surprised.

‘Two freaks at twelve o 'clock,’ I whisper.

‘I can’t see anyone. Who are you talking about?’ she asks. She looks confused, staring at the exact spot that I am looking at and clearly not understanding what I mean.

‘The two guys across the road, tall and handsome, who are blatantly staring at us,’ I say, irritated. They are definitely there.

‘Are you okay, Ania? There is no one there!’

I stare at my housemate. Perhaps she is trying to make fun of me. My mind is slowly trying to process what is happening. Across the road, I am undoubtedly seeing two good-looking men plainly staring at Amy and me and I am certain that I know one of them. It's the stranger who I had been dreaming about for the past few nights and his astonishing eyes are still fresh in my memory, so I know that I am not wrong. The blood drains from my face and the street begin to spin as I realise that this is my worst nightmare: I am hallucinating again. In my eyes, the man from my dreams is standing on the other side of the street next to someone else, but Amy can't see them. Flushes of cold sweat cover my body.

‘Sorry Amy, I don't know what I am talking about – let's go!’

The adrenaline starts pumping through me. I manage to grab Amy's hand and start walking. I keep repeating to myself that there is no one there across the road.

‘Are you sure that you're okay?’ Amy questions, while trying to keep up with my fast pace.

She looks deeply confused, which doesn't surprise me. I feel as if I am on the verge of passing out, but I don't slow down. The reality hits me; I am hallucinating or I am going mad. Maybe it’s post traumatic stress.

‘I am fine. I thought I saw someone there,’ I explain in an uneasy tone and I try to change the subject by asking her a safe question. ‘Tell me again about this party that you attended?’

Luckily for me, Amy grasps the new topic and begins rambling about the latest social events that she attended. When my stomach starts aching, I slow down, but don't dare to turn around to check to see if the handsome strangers are following us. Fear creeps over me when I imagine myself locked up in a mental institution due to uncontrollable delusions. The sun appears from the thick clouds, fighting with the rain. Amy is at that stage of conversation where I am not following her anymore. The pain in my stomach warns me that I am not supposed to walk this fast, but the situation is out of my control. Dr Roberts was right; I should have stayed in hospital for a bit longer.

We walk across the park, the rain stops drizzling and my tension eases when we get closer to the university. I am just about to smile when something else strikes me. I see them again, tall and beautiful looking people. They don’t fit in these ordinary surroundings. Once again, I begin to sweat and promise myself when I get back home I will have to call Dr Roberts and reveal that I am suffering from constant delusions. Walking uphill is harder than I thought. I am trying to control what I am seeing, trying to keep up with Amy's conversation and attempting not to notice these mystical individuals all at the same time.

We enter through the back gate to the campus and pass a few university buildings. Amy explains where we should go first so I can fill out all the paperwork for the modules. Physically and mentally I am not well at all, and the growing, pulsing pain in my stomach is more than uncomfortable. The American Studies department is situated in the James Callaghan building, Amy explains. We arrive on the third floor and pass through to reception. I am by now feeling very dizzy and sick. The reception area is small and we have to wait until a few more people leave before we can speak with the secretary. Her name is Mrs Lawrence, which I read from the sign on the door.

‘How may I help you?’ she asks, not lifting her gaze from the laptop and looking slightly irritated. She is wearing large, thick glasses.

I am just about to explain why I am here, when I notice someone else in the office that I haven't seen before. A tall, dark-haired man with bright olive eyes glances at me, then at Amy. I know instantly that he doesn’t fit here. He is too perfect to be a normal human being. The cold shiver travels through my body. I am 100 percent sure that when we walked in there was no one in the room apart from the secretary and the other students. I suddenly feel dizzy and the uncomfortable pulsing pain in my stomach shifts. I decide to ignore him and keep repeating to myself that he isn't really there.

‘How can I help you?’ repeats Mrs Lawrence more abruptly, finally lifting her eyes to look at me. I breathe deeply and the uneasy sensation passes.

‘I need to choose my modules,’ I say finally, my voice shaky and unnatural. The woman is staring at me in silence for a moment, narrowing her amber eyes.

‘You’re too late. There are hardly any spaces left in any American Studies modules for a first year,’ she answers, taking