by Martyn Ford
After a fast drive, which was windier than I’d have liked on account of the missing window shot out by the police, we were nearly there – according to the sat-nav we were two minutes away.
‘I must say, it is a relief to be able to relax,’ Francis said. ‘Pretending to be someone else is tiring.’
I nudged Amy. She frowned at me.
Turning sideways, Francis zoomed in on us.
‘Look at them,’ he said, speaking as though he was doing a voice-over for the show. ‘There was a certain poetry to all this. The gorilla, the animal within. Then the cautious, social Amy. And we were, of course, hot on the heels of Silent Cameraman, the mute observer. He was gone now. He had faded away like an illusion, like one’s very own sense of self.’
‘What about the rat?’ Amy asked.
‘Hmm, yes, perhaps the rat doesn’t fit.’
Carlos looked sad.
‘As the saga of Amy and Chester approached a conclusion, we reflected on the journey we’d had,’ Francis whispered in a grand, dramatic voice. ‘In a sense, it wasn’t just Chester’s search. It was our search. Maybe, just maybe, we all found ourselves that day. And now, driving towards—’
‘You don’t need to do a commentary,’ Amy said.
‘But I was—’
‘Just film – silently. You’re actually spoiling it.’
He frowned. I patted him on the leg.
‘I was about to compliment you on your driving,’ Francis said. ‘All these miles and you have not crashed even once …’
We came over a hill as he said that and, at the bottom of the long straight road, I saw a building with a large sign across the front of it. Red Rose Pictures, it read, with a bright flower logo. It looked like an office block surrounded by massive warehouses which all had big numbers above their grey shutter doors. Studio 1, Studio 2, Studio 3, and so on.
‘And there it was,’ Francis added. ‘We all saw it together. There was a strange camaraderie that morning – we had bonded, we had—’
‘Stop it,’ Amy said, accelerating.
Now going downhill, the animal-control van had picked up quite a bit of speed. We were hurtling towards the front gate which was, luckily, open. I watched the speedometer creep higher and higher. But when we were halfway down the road, someone appeared from behind a wall and started to shut it.
‘Loooohk,’ I said, pointing.
‘It’s him, it’s the Silent Cameraman,’ Amy whispered.
He dragged the gate from left to right, blocking our route into the studio grounds.
‘Uh … Amy?’ Francis said.
She was still accelerating, the engine roaring as she put her foot flat. I looked over – she was hunched at the steering wheel, leaning towards the windscreen like some kind of deranged rally driver who wanted to die ASAP. Snarling and panting.
‘Amy, slow down … Amy?’
‘GUURGH,’ I said, grabbing her arm.
Even Carlos was squeaking and pointing.
‘I’m gonna ram it!’ she yelled.
‘It’s made of metal.’
But she just kept driving, gripping the steering wheel harder and making this strange noise, which soon became a sort of scream. She looked over to us, then out of the windscreen, then back to us – by this point we were all shouting.
Then, at the very last moment, she changed her mind and slammed on the brakes. The animal-control van tilted forwards, juddering and skidding, skidding, skidding with steam and burnt rubber until, travelling at walking pace, it gently tapped the front gate.
Dink.
And we were still. I held Tito’s chest, felt his powerful heart hammering, and sighed.
There was a long, quiet pause. The engine cut out. Nothing moved. Nothing made a noise.
Nothing, except …
A creaking sound as the tall gate fell, slamming into the tarmac with a loud cracking thud which sent dust into the air.
‘Wow.’
‘That right there,’ Amy said, ‘that is a weak gate. Zero out of ten. Maybe the worst gate I’ve ever seen.’
Now we had arrived, I was filled with adrenaline. Raw gorilla-focus. It was like I was possessed (in a strange way I guess I was). Drums, BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. Everything happening quickly. I jumped out of the animal-control van and spotted Silent Cameraman running straight towards the main building. He glanced over his shoulder, panicked and so obviously guilty, then disappeared inside.
‘Hang on, let me just get a good shot of the scene,’ Francis said.
But I ignored him and ran, thudding hard on my feet and fists, right up to the building’s front door. Bolted from the other side. Not a problem. BAM, a single straight punch sent the door flying, sliding flat across the wide reception.
I chased Silent Cameraman up the stairs to the third floor. He went through another door, stumbling and terrified. Again, he slammed it shut in my face, but I turned it to splinters with my shoulder.
Turning my head, I surveyed the room. It was early, the office was empty – there were just computers and swivel chairs and a few cameras and tripods dotted about the place. TV stuff. Searching, scanning, scanning—
There he was under a desk. More drums – BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, he took off running again, crossed the full length of the room and disappeared around a corner. Following fast, I found him in the doorway of another huge office, catching his breath.
‘It’s them!’ he yelled (ah, so he can speak). ‘They broke through the gate.’
I shoved him out of my way and stormed past.
And there, in that office, I saw a boy – fast asleep on the sofa.
It was me.
A man wearing a suit stood by the desk, looking out of the window. This was the person who had taken my body. This was the mind behind it all. Slowly, he turned to face me. Slowly, I showed him my teeth. Slowly, I realised the man was Brian.
‘Chest-o,’ he said with a perfect white smile. ‘You’re here. Fabulous.’
My body looked ill – my face was pale and my eyelids were darker than usual. Purple. For a moment I thought they had put make-up on me and I got really angry. What absolute freaks would do a makeover on an unconscious eleven-year-old boy? WHAT KIND OF SICK NONSENSE HAVE THESE GUYS BEEN—
But then I realised I just had tired eyes. Fair enough.
Well, no, not fair enough. Still quite bad.
Brian, all fake-tanned and smart in his suit, stepped over, tucked his arms under my neck and legs, then picked my body up.
He turned around with me floppy and asleep in his arms. I tried to mind jump back into myself straight away but, because I wasn’t still, because my body wasn’t relaxed, I couldn’t do it.
So, standing there in the doorway, breathing carefully, I concentrated on Tito’s vocal chords – I had to speak quietly, but I managed three clear words.
‘Put. Me. Down,’ I whispered.
Amy, with Carlos in her top pocket, barged into the room. Francis was right behind her, filming the situation. I was glad he was there – catching Brian on camera, red-handed, meant there was no way he could wriggle out of it.
The office was huge, with tall windows and a wide polished wood desk. Everything looked expensive and modern, and there were floor plants in each corner behind his table. I could tell they were fake.
A smell made me frown.
It was a strong chemical smell, a bit like petrol. On the left-hand side of the room I noticed a small store cupboard. Inside was a sofa, food, drink and one of those hospital drip things. That’s where he had been keeping me. Seeing the effort he had gone through made it seem somehow worse. Brian must have planned all of this from the start. He must have arranged for someone to take me from the van that day at the zoo. I wanted answers, but first he needed to:
‘PUT MEEH DAAAAAAWWWWHHHN!’ I yelled.
Brian carefully placed my body on the ground, right in the centre of his office.
‘Please stop recording,’ he said to Francis, standing up straight again. Then he turned to
me. ‘Chest-o, darling, listen. We need to take your body somewhere, OK, yah, yah?’
I felt my face twitch with anger.
‘I’m thinking maybe near the Whispered Manor?’ he added. ‘Somewhere far from here. We’ll hide it, then we can film you finding yourself, does that sound good? It’ll make a great finale. But first, we need to burn everything here.’
It was petrol I could smell. I saw a jerry can on its side – the carpet around his desk was stained with the dark liquid. Behind me, in the main office, I counted two, three, four, five other cans – the whole place was covered in the stuff.
Brian was nodding like crazy, his eyes wide and wired up. The guy had gone, it’s safe to say, totally nuts.
‘You can carry yourself,’ he said, looking at me, nodding almost in excitement. ‘You’re strong.’ He sniffed. ‘We’ll stage it perfectly. No one will know. Oh, it’ll look fabulous. The fire here, we’ll say that was the star swimmers too. It’ll all fit wonderfully.’
‘Stop,’ Amy said. ‘It’s over.’
Brian was still acting as though everything was OK – like we were still on the same side. I couldn’t tell if he was just bluffing because he’d been caught out, or if he was actually mad enough to believe this was all cool.
‘No, no, no. It’s just begun. Amy and Chester, season three, I can see it now.’ He spread his hands out in front of him. Then he seemed to realise that we weren’t exactly happy. ‘I know … I know it’s a little unorthodox, darlings,’ he said. ‘But trust me, yah, trust me. This needs to be good. My career is on the line here, guys. It can still work.’ He nodded with too much eye contact. ‘Please, please help me. I need this job. I need this show to be a hit. Don’t you understand? Millions of pounds are at stake.’
Oh Brian, Brian, Brian, I thought. He hadn’t been worried about my well-being – all that concern was something else. No, he was worried the show wouldn’t be a success.
I remembered what Dr Vladovski said during our last therapy session: ‘As you grow older, you will find it astonishing what people are willing to do for money.’
And look at me. Standing here, stuck in a gorilla, performing on camera for cash. I never even wanted to do the show. Why did I finally say yes? The answer was simple. Money.
‘You planned it all,’ Amy said. ‘You got the Sword of Steel and Stone people to reject Chester, so we would agree.’
Yeah. Of course, I thought. I knew that was a good audition. That role should have been mine. I felt a wave of relief, a warm fuzzy feeling in my—
‘Ah, no,’ Brian said. ‘He actually didn’t get the part. I had no hand in that.’
Damn. Never mind.
‘And you,’ Brian pointed at Francis. ‘You had one job. You’re fired.’
‘I suspected that might be the case.’
‘I said it was a risk – I knew you’d be a liability. But focus groups tend to respond well to exuberant personalities. Particularly if they’re stupid. Red Rose know best.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘Your bosses are OK with you burning the office down?’ Amy asked, eyebrow raised, looking at all the petrol.
‘No, of course not. This is my idea,’ Brian said. ‘I always hated this company – they only care about making money, about big ratings. They’ve got no appreciation of the craft. We’re making art, darlings. The show must go on.’
‘Brian … this … this is not all right,’ Amy whispered.
‘Oh yah, yah, no, no, come on. How naïve can you get? I thought you youngsters were supposed to be savvy. This is showbiz. You’re going to get exploited from time to time. You can get all bitter and jaded, or you can roll with it. Need I remind you of your contract, yah? OK, great. Now come on, let’s go frame those star swimmers for kidnap – then hit the editing suite.’ He clapped his hands, then pointed with his index fingers like they were a pair of guns. ‘We have ourselves a TV show.’
‘You knew all about the star swimmers too?’
‘I’ve been trying to make a documentary about them for a long, long time. Cold Rain OK, OK … Oh yah, he said he knows good television and wouldn’t dream of working with the likes of me. He laughed in my face when I proposed an exposé. He said if I wasn’t so pathetic he’d have me killed. Spiteful man. But the last laugh is all mine.’
‘I bet you couldn’t believe your luck,’ Amy said, ‘when you found Chester.’
‘Oh yah, yah, that day on the webcam – a mind jumper the star swimmers don’t know about? A gift. A sign that I was destined to make this show. Chest-o, you are an angel from above. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And to take the limelight to the Whispered Manor.’ He pressed his hands together as though he was praying and made a quick ‘ah’ noise. ‘An organic, elegant narrative – yah, yah, just fabulous. It has honestly gone better than I had ever dreamed. Now, can we please put all this silliness behind us and pick up where we left off?’ He held his arm out for a handshake and shrugged. ‘Let bygones be bygones. No one died, OK? All’s well that ends—’
Something landed on my silver back. A person. ‘I’ve got him!’ I heard a voice yell. It was the Now Not So Silent Cameraman. He was trying to wrestle me to the ground. He actually thought he could tackle a gorilla. A gorilla. These people were ambitious – I’ll give them that.
‘Simon, stop it,’ Brian said. (Funny, I never would have had him down as a Simon. I kind of thought he was called Alan for some reason. Alan the cameraman. Weird.)
Sadly ‘Simon’ didn’t listen to Brian’s sensible advice and, instead, started clawing at my face.
I stumbled to the left, bouncing into a wall, groaning and trying to throw him off. Then I got a firm grip on his leg. Laters, Simon, I thought as, with a grunt, I threw him across the office like an annoying toy. GAH, STUPID THING. He went spinning and smashed upside down into the desk, knocking it over. All of Brian’s stuff – computer, phone, folders and some cheap-looking award statue spread on to the floor.
This pushed the swivel chair back.
It bumped a tall metal lamp.
We all watched in horror as the lamp tilted, tilted, tilted and fell. When it landed, the bulb shattered and a tiny spark flickered – BZZH – as the trip switch cut the power to the building.
But it was too late. For a split second it was gloomy and grey – then the floor glowed blue and orange as flames crawled across the carpet, slow at first but then, with a sudden whumpf sound, roared up the walls and over the ceiling.
Panicking, I turned, left, then right, behind me – everywhere was yellow and hot with quick flames and fresh smoke as all the flammable liquid ignited. Within a few moments, we were surrounded by fire.
‘We have to get out!’ Amy coughed, then screamed as flames lit up on her sleeve. She whacked at them and crouched lower. ‘Chester, let’s go.’
My body was right in the middle of Brian’s wide office, still asleep on the floor.
When I stepped towards it, one of the petrol cans erupted nearby, liquid fire spreading at our feet, cutting us off.
The way we’d entered was now a tunnel of flames, thick black smoke filling the air. Without thinking, I grabbed the desk, which was completely alight, and drove it hard through a plasterboard wall.
Now I could hardly see. I heard coughing – Amy was choking, holding her mouth and shielding her face from the heat.
I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. Then I turned and grabbed Francis too. I carried them downstairs, out of the front door and dropped them on the tarmac.
They were coughing on their hands and knees, smoke still wispy on their scorched clothes. But they were safe here in the car park.
Again I turned to go back inside.
‘Chester, wait,’ Amy spluttered. I ignored her.
By now the building was completely engulfed. Angry fire roaring out of the windows, spiralling into the sky. I ran back through the broken front door, back upstairs and into the main room. Embers were glowing on ceiling beams, which crumpled and fell around me as I made my
way towards Brian’s office. I could smell burning hair – Tito’s hair. Coughing, I held my hand against my mouth and went back through the hole in the wall I’d made. In the thick smoke, I could see three shapes on the ground – Brian, Simon and Chester Parsons, all surrounded by fire.
I knew I couldn’t carry them all. But I also knew that, even though they were absolutely not-cool and perhaps my least favourite people of all time, I couldn’t let them burn to death. So I picked Simon up and threw him over my shoulder, then grabbed Brian by the scruff of his neck. I looked back at my sleeping body – toxic smoke and heat now screaming up the walls and out of the broken windows.
Again I went stumbling through the main office, falling into the stairwell, coughing and wheezing and struggling to move. I dragged them both outside where I heaved in cold, clean air and dropped them on the ground. Then, with a sigh, I turned around and faced the burning building once more. The red rose on the sign was melting, bleeding down the bricks as the letters fell, one by one, smashing into the tarmac.
My fur was hot to touch, scorched and smoky. My eyes stung and my lungs ached.
‘Chester,’ Amy whispered from the ground, looking back at the blaze. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘The … the fire brigade …’ Francis coughed. ‘They’re … on their way.’
Brian and Simon were unconscious. But they were alive. Amy rolled them on to their sides, into the recovery position.
But what about me? My body was still in there, fast asleep in that inferno.
I felt something strange. Tito relaxed. The flames weren’t scaring us any more. There was no panic. No fear. I was calm, peaceful. Maybe even happy. Everything was OK.
And before anyone could say another word, I was running. I looked down at my thick, hairy tree-trunk arms, knuckles hitting the tarmac, left then right, left then right. Inside again, now almost impossible to see. The air was blisteringly hot, like an oven – every time I opened my eyes I grunted and winced. I could hear Tito’s throat struggling to breathe, his heart thudding in his chest and the fire louder than I thought possible. It sounded like constant thunder, rumbling everywhere, even inside me.