Hurricane Heart

Hurricane

I awoke early the following morning to the first rays of sunlight rising up above the concrete jungle we faced out towards, streaming straight into my face and almost blinding me the moment I opened my eyes. Why had I decided to stop on the eastern side of the car park, directly opposite the rising sun?

Holding an arm up and squinting against the colossal golden-white light, I peered out through the window that ran all around this floor of the car park, watching the city wake up, watching a new dawn shine, watching a new day begin.

I felt groggy from a lack of sleep, and in such an uncomfortable position too, so I quietly opened the door, somehow managing not to wake Arjan, and began to walk round the back.
I had taken my jacket off to lay over me like a blanket, but had left it in the car, and the cold hit me like a knife, biting into my bare skin, freshly bruised and webbed with small, fading scratches.

Nevertheless, the freezing air was refreshing, and I woke up properly in an instant. I used the back of the car like a shield from the blinding sun, opening the boot and turning to sit in it, facing the opposite direction, into the empty car park. It crossed my mind that it was probably locked at some point overnight, and we’d have to wait before being able to get out again, but it wouldn’t be long, especially by the time Arjan was awake and we’d eaten.

I ran a hand through my hair, realising that I needed to straighten it again, and feeling conscious that I was not going to have a chance for a shower or a wash until we got to our next destination, wherever that may be. I was not even going to be able to change into any clean clothes, and I would have to go around with blood spattered down my white top all day.

I looked at the putrid stairwell hidden behind a red plastic door with a large number 3 on it. Making a decision, I grabbed some clothes, ran in there—holding my breath all the time—and changed into a new top. I didn’t dare go any further—I didn’t know how early this car park opened—but at least I wasn’t covered in beads of blood anymore.

When I went back, my still bare arms turning increasingly numb and icy in the freezing morning, the quiet opening and shutting of my car door woke Arjan. He groaned slightly, turning his head, and his eyes flickered open.

The sun was a better stimulant than I’d thought. Within an instant, he jumped up, shielding his eyes from the powerful beams, shouting and complaining loudly.

‘You couldn’t have parked round the other side?’ he asked, squinting at me, his voice still showing his tiredness.

‘I wasn’t exactly thinking about that when we came up here last night, was I?’ I retorted.

He grunted. ‘If you say so. Can we move now?’

‘Sure,’ I agreed, turning the key in the ignition and reversing back, driving speedily round the other side of the concrete building in the middle and parking facing the opposite direction. The angle that we could now see out of the western side meant that the sun was not really visible anymore, and this half of the car park was shrouded in deep shadows.

Arjan still looked confused.

‘Did last night really happen?’ he asked sleepily. ‘Or was it all the most vivid dream I’ve ever had—oops, I can’t talk about dreams, can I?’

I laughed at his bewilderment.

‘You can talk about dreams with me; not that I suppose you have them often. I think you forget who I am,’ I said. ‘But last night did happen anyway.’

He still managed to look perplexed, and it made me laugh more. The mystified look in his eyes made me realise suddenly that he had probably never seen me laugh before. At least, that was excluding last night, when I’d been something resembling high on an adrenaline rush.

‘So, I jumped out of a building to escape a masked guy trying to kill me?’ he confirmed.

‘Yes, you did,’ I said curtly, forcing myself back to my normal ways. ‘You sorted yet?’

He withered slightly under my abrupt tone, and I felt a little remorseful for it. Even so, he carried on.

‘This whole trip kind of feels like a dream,’ he admitted. ‘Ever since you appeared in my hotel room in Hamburg.’

I gave him a deep look. ‘But is it a dream, Arjan, or a nightmare?’

He seemed to ponder the thought, before replying uncertainly; ‘I’m not sure. I guess I don’t know enough about dreams yet.’

‘You’ll learn,’ I said casually.

I looked away, gazing out over the awakening city that was still in shadow; concealed by the great, ugly, concrete slab that we now sat in, hidden from the golden light of the late spring sun.

Getting out of the car, I rummaged through the boot to find some food and chucked it through for Arjan to take his pick. I ate mine standing out in the fresh cold, leaning against the back of the car before discarding anything I didn’t want. People were right; I didn’t eat a lot.

Shortly after, I got back in and silently turned the key in the ignition again, ready to leave. As we drove round to the far side, which we needed to do in order to descend, the blinding light shot back through the opening. Today, though, it felt not just like sunlight, but like hope as well.

***

Sadly, as the day progressed, the weather closed in, and thick raindrops lashing down from steel clouds began to slice at the windscreen, their pounding growing heavier. Arjan and I talked less than I’d expected to today, but the rain soon made it impossible to hear anything without shouting. In the end, I even had to turn the music off.

‘That one wasn’t too bad,’ Arjan muttered. ‘Well, it was the best lot of your rubbish I’ve heard so far.’

I gave him a look and he suddenly bit his tongue, afraid that he’d said too much. I decided not to pursue matters. I would still listen to ‘my rubbish’ regardless of whether he liked it or not.

Darkness closed in as we drove into the grey wilderness of Russia, further away from home than ever before, and towards St Petersburg where I planned to find another hotel.

The rain still poured when we pulled up outside a multi-storey, brick hotel. Hurriedly, I jumped out of the car, taking shelter underneath the open boot door as Arjan waited until the last moment possible before coming out. I grabbed the first lot of food and clothes that I could find, fully realising that we were going to have to stop off tomorrow to buy something, threw it all into my bag, and hurried inside, using the bag like a shield from the water.

Despite our best efforts, we were both drenched and shivering when we got inside the quiet foyer, where the sound of the raging weather could not be heard or seen. I left a trail of water behind me, dripping on the shiny floor as I hurried to the reception desk.

Eventually, in the best Russian I could manage—which really wasn’t very commendable—I booked us a twin room. After last night, I had to secretly admit that I was a little cautious of being up on the sixth floor, especially with the rain and the fact—which I’d checked before we came inside—that there was no ledge running around each floor this time, but we would have to manage. It was a tall, fairly narrow building, with only a few rooms on each floor, so we didn’t have the biggest choice.

Arjan

After another typically long, boring and arduous day, made only very slightly unique by the pounding rain, I was glad to see a room with a bed and a bathroom. After our hasty escape last night, I hadn’t been able to shower or even change my clothes all day, and I was glad of a second chance at relaxation.

The room looked nearly the same as last night’s, but the beds were on the opposite side, and the TV was smaller and the lamps were different. Still, I took the bed closer to the window, not knowing and not really caring which one Hurricane would prefer; just glad to fall down somewhere.

As usual, Hurricane refused to switch off properly, staring out of the window—though I didn’t know how she could see anything as it was so steamed up and drenched in raindrops—and placed the chair meant for the desk up against the door in case of extreme circumstances. Although I doubted it would do much to barricade us in if anyone tried to get through, I didn’t dare argue.

‘Do you ever switch off?’ I asked, watching her move back and forth between the door and the window; check her phone; check the bathroom; check the window again.

She shrugged. ‘Staying alert is what keeps me alive. Why should I change?’

A flash of lightning set the night on fire somewhere outside in the dense sky. Hurricane’s eyes were wide and she was instantly back at the window again, leaning as close to the glass as she could without pressing her nose against it, waiting for the thunder.

‘Twelve seconds,’ she murmured when the thunder finally cackled maliciously, rolling across the city towards us.

I had really hoped that, after last night, she would loosen up a bit and become a bit friendlier and easier to talk to. Now, though, whilst she didn’t shout at me or chain me up anymore, I still felt uncomfortable asking her anything, and she still wore that distant, stern mask all day. In fact, she seemed to be pretty much devoid of any kind of emotion. Last night, when she’d been ‘high’ had been a brief moment of relief, but every day was the same to her.

I watched as she finally sat down, only perching, but at least she had stopped for the moment.

‘Do you think they’re going to come after us again?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know; that’s why I’m staying aware. I need to make sure they’re not around, and I was really hoping from a call from Berlin by now, but...’ she trailed off, lost in thought.

‘But what?’ I persisted gently.

‘But nothing,’ she said, her tone cold and hard, even if she wasn’t strictly shouting at me.

She got up again, disappearing into the bathroom, and it was a while before I heard anything more from her. In that time, I kicked my shoes off, and my mind began to wonder.

The first question, before I could go any further, was where did the lines between reality end, and imagination begin? What was I allowed to think and to ask?

But she was a rebel, or a Dreamer as they called themselves. I could essentially relax with her more than with anyone else. Because I had to admit, I’d come far too close to using my imagination in the past, and to use it freely now lifted a great burden from my shoulders.

I began to think about Hurricane. Who was she, really? Yes, she was a Dreamer, but there was so much more to her as well. Where did she come from? Why did she hide so much from me? Why did she cower even from her own life, running, afraid to feel, afraid to love, even if she wasn’t afraid to dream?

But the question that followed on from this was, simply, which was more important in being human: imagination or emotion?

I did not know the answer, and I suspected that no one did. Of course, many would have their theories; the government would say that imagination was dangerous, but emotions were part of staying healthy.

And yet, emotions could be dangerous too. Because with happiness came depression. With love came hatred. With friendship came jealousy. None could survive without their equal pairing. It was the very basis of life. But was that not the greatest danger of all? It was emotion that could send people insane; not imagination.

And perhaps Hurricane was simply the first person on earth to figure that out.