by David James
Cynthia stood at the door and said 'If we could leave it a period of time until she is rested. But I assure you I will let you see her. Now that we understand each other Ben.’
Her expression dared him to challenge her.
And what choice did he really have? He would just have to trust her.
Chapter Seventy Nine
Dear Ben,
We thank you for your patience in this matter. I'm sure you realise how sensitive the situation has been.
But I am very pleased to announce that the children have made a complete recovery. Through very careful treatment our therapists have been able to establish that they were involved in an unfortunate accident and the trauma induced a temporary form of selective mutism.
But they have made a full recovery now. Indeed they left the institute some time ago and we have placed them in suitable situations where they can resume their lives.
Due to the considerable interest in them it was decided that they would assume new identities.
I'm sure you understand that it is in their interests to allow them to resume their lives and that you would like to join me in wishing them well.
We will gladly honour our previous agreement with you, and with that we would like to invite you to attend the institute this coming Thursday. If that is okay with you.
We will arrange for someone to meet you.
Kind regards
Robert Sherman
Director
This wasn't the first time Ben had read this email from the institute, but it still made him groan a little when he did.
Life had settled down into an uneasy normality for Ben since he had returned from the village. He had been tempted to return there on several occasions; but he hadn’t. He didn’t want to jeopardise his chances of being allowed to see Sarah.
He had been sorely tempted to just announce to the world that he knew what had really happened. What the institute had really been up to, especially after a drink or two.
But he hadn’t.
But neither had he seen Sarah and it had been a matter of several weeks now. He hadn't been sure how long he would be able to resist. Especially after the grief he had received from the editor that had wanted his story. When he had explained that it had all been a mistake, a wild goose chase, she had all but exploded.
And the upshot was that he was still here. Still sitting at his desk waiting for his big break. Still waiting to see Sarah.
But as he had begun to reconsider his pact with Cynthia, this email had dutifully arrived.
It was carefully worded as if the sender fully expected that someone else would read it. But the meaning was clear, he was being invited to visit Sarah this Thursday. If that was okay with him.
Chapter Eighty
The flat was the usual hive of disorganised chaos in the morning. Breakfasts were hurriedly half eaten, tempers were frayed as items mysteriously disappeared and reappeared. Fights nearly broke out over who had eaten the last slice of bread.
But as ever, somehow, everyone managed to get off to work or classes on time.
And as ever, everyone stopped talking and moving about as soon as he came down. It was only for a split second. Almost imperceptible; but it was there.
And it was difficult to put your finger on why.
To look at he was fairly ordinary; tall, but not exceptionally so. But what you remembered were his eyes. If they fixed you in a stare then you just wanted to be anywhere but there.
But since he had arrived so suddenly, the atmosphere had changed.
Everyone was polite to him. Almost too polite, as if they were afraid to upset him.
No one was quite sure what he had done to deserve this treatment. He was quiet for sure, but he was polite as well. It was just something, something about him.
''Morning Nathan.'
'Good morning Joe.'
And with that everyone who had been standing still as mannequins for a second, resumed their frenetic movement.
He had arrived here a month ago and as far as anyone could tell he was doing a course at the local college. As far as they could tell it had something to do with psychology. Everything was ‘as far as they could tell’ because he wasn't exactly forthcoming. But he left the house at the same time every morning and returned at the same time every day.
Except Thursday. Thursday was different. But no one knew why.
They had asked him once and he had smiled. But the smile seemed as if it had been practised. And no one felt comfortable in its presence.
So they didn't ask again.
And he spent a lot of time in his room on the computer. He was doing some research apparently. Someone once asked him what he was researching, but the stare was deployed and no one asked again.
Oh, and he had some occasional visitors. Not really friends. They ranged from middle aged people in suits to the occasional younger person. All in all, everyone preferred the older people. The other children looked too much like Nathan, and that didn't make anyone relaxed. Someone joked that they thought he was starting a revolution and only recruiting scary looking children.
Some of us laughed, but most didn't.
'You could set your clock by her', thought the supervisor. He looked at the door, at the clock, and back at the door. And there she was. Bouncing in as normal, replete with the customary smile.
'Morning Peter.'
'Morning Emily.'
'What have you got for us today then Peter?'
She was always enthusiastic, always keen, even when he wasn't exactly giving her the best jobs. He couldn't really, what with her lack of experience and her age. But she never complained. Not in the weeks since she began. Not once.
He outlined some menial task to her and she reacted as if she had been given the job of reorganising the whole building.
'Great, I'll get right on it,' said Emily.
And with that she picked up the job sheet and headed down the hallway and round the corner.
She felt she had settled in okay at the job; she knew it wasn’t much of a job, but she enjoyed the routine initially. She enjoyed having normal things to think about for a change. It kept her other thoughts at bay, for a while at least.
After they had been smuggled back to the institute they had been put under an intense treatment regime. It had almost felt as if the institute had been trying to trip them up at times; to test them somehow. The sessions had felt like an interrogation. The gentle sessions that Sarah had administered seemed an age ago.
But they had persevered, they had stuck to their stories.
The village seemed to be a distant memory; the things that happened seemed to have happened to someone else, not them.
But they had ‘passed’ whatever tests had been thrown at them and eventually the institute had assessed them as being able to return to a normal life. Under supervision of course.
If Emily was honest, the test had been easy to pass. It was clear that the institute wanted the experiment to be a success. All you had to do was work out what they wanted to hear and tell them that.
And they had decided to keep their names, Nathan and Emily, they had become so used to them by now that it felt like second nature to use them.
Ethan and Emma were officially dead now and they wouldn’t be mourned by many.
Emily finished her day and left work. It was a reasonable length walk to her flat, she usually enjoyed the time to clear her head. She started to walk across the park, she had grown to like the feeling of open spaces, maybe the effect of the village was still there. The evening was getting dark now and she just had to go along the path and through a small gap in the trees before she would be home.
As she entered the trees what little light there had been was lost and she was plunged into near darkness under the tree canopy. She felt a moment of near panic but knew it wasn’t far. The darkness had never been her friend.
And then suddenly ahead of her she saw a flash of light. She stopped walking.
The light
ahead looked like a torch of some sort and seemed to be bobbing up and down; and it was moving towards her.
And she was back at the village. She was back with them.
She panicked and flung herself off the path and started to run into the undergrowth; anything to get away from it.
But now it seemed to be following her. Every time she looked over her shoulder it seemed to be nearer to her.
She desperately wanted to scream out loud. But it would only alert them.
She kept running, she had no idea where to.
And then she tripped and was pitched forward. She put her hands forward to break her fall and expected to feel leaves and undergrowth, but she felt hard gravel. As she looked up she could see that somehow she had managed to emerge from the trees and onto the path. She looked quickly behind her, but it was all dark, but as she turned round again she let out a scream.
In front of her face was the brightness from a torch and she was looking into a face with its features cruelly highlighted by the torch light.
She cowered on the floor. How had they tracked her down here? They shouldn't be around anymore should they?
She waited for the inevitable pain.
‘Are you alright?’
‘I think she must have fallen.’
‘Well help her up then!’
A hand was held out to Emily, but she was too frightened to reach out.
‘Do you live around here?’
Emily was fighting to regain her wits and she forced herself to look up.
She had been expecting the faces she had seen at the village. The faces that she had seen in her nightmares.
But this face looked normal. It just looked like a face.
She fought to slow her breathing down and to focus her mind.
Eventually she managed to mumble ‘Must have stumbled and fallen.’
‘Not surprised, that’s why we always carry a torch with us. Won’t you let us help you up?’
Emily accepted the hand and felt herself being hoisted upwards. As she stood she looked over her shoulder and back into the woods. There was no sight of the light she had seen.
‘I just live nearby,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you are okay?’ said a concerned voice.
‘Yes, I’m fine now. Just need to get back home,’ said Emily, trying to sound as normal as possible.
‘If you are sure then?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Thanks,’ said Emily as she started to walk down the path and towards a building she recognised.
‘Thanks again,’ she managed to say as she left them behind.
She walked as fast as she could manage, looking over her shoulder at regular intervals.
Her flat was approaching and with a last burst of speed and using up all her remaining energy, she ran up the steps, opened the door and burst into the safety of the flat.
‘Are you okay Emily? You look like you have seen a ghost?’ said her flatmate.
Emily hadn’t the energy to say anything. She needed to speak to Nathan.
She wanted to speak to Sarah; but she knew that wasn't possible anymore.
Chapter Eighty One
Ben pulled the car into the long driveway of the institute. As he drove along he was half expecting the throngs of the world media; trucks, camera hoists and a collection of various journalists thrusting their microphones at anything that moved. Part of him missed that.
But they were long gone. The story had moved along and had been replaced.
They had been there for a few weeks after they had all returned from the village. The story had continued. But the institute had done such a good job of convincing everyone that it had all been a misunderstanding. Feeding them the line that the children had in fact been playing a game, and that they were now very sorry for what they had done, but were now fully recovered.
Nothing to see here.
They had been returned to their parents and could everyone just please leave them alone now.
Just a prank.
And they were so terribly sorry about it all.
And the press hates to be fooled; it hates to be made a fool of. So the children’s story had now been replaced by another story about some celebrity or other. And the press said that they had never really believed it for a minute and they knew there was something suspect right from the beginning. They had just camped outside the institute to catch them out.
And now Ben had returned to his former life as a minor, very minor, freelance journalist. And he didn't mind admitting that it hurt a little, and sometimes a lot.
Such is journalistic life. Such is the price of keeping a promise.
He pulled the car into the visitors car park; though after his experiences part of him felt almost like an employee.
He had picked up a bunch of flowers. He didn’t really know if it was appropriate, maybe he would ditch them in some bin before he got up there.
He closed the car door and went through the grand entrance. People were milling around, looking efficient and busy.
He approached the reception desk.
'I'm here to see Sarah Stevens.'
The receptionist was all cool efficiency as she handed over the visitors pass and gave him directions.
'The director will meet you,' she said.
Ben hadn't expected to just be able to wander around the place by himself. But he hadn’t expected to be met by the director of the institute. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or worried.
He started walking down the corridor, mentally preparing to meet the director.
His mind was elsewhere which is why he was surprised when someone spoke to him.
'Going to see Sarah are we?'
He turned round, unsure who was talking to him.
The figure that he saw was slightly out of place here. In amongst the neatness and sterility he appeared a little dishevelled. Though Ben noted that he was wearing an official pass, so he more belonged here than Ben.
'Yes, yes I am,' he managed to say.
As he leant forward towards Ben he could see that his name was Gary Carter.
His mouth was now within a few inches of Ben's ear as he said in a voice which contained more menace than Ben had been expecting.
'You be careful with her won't you. She is very important around here.'
His voice lowered in tone as he said 'And we look after our own around here. If you get my drift.'
Ben was taken aback. It was clearly meant as a threat of some sort.
He replied reassuringly 'I certainly will be careful. I'm just here to see how she is.'
Gary eyed him suspiciously, maintaining eye contact for an uncomfortable length of time.
But seemingly satisfied with Ben's answer, he stood back and said 'Very well, just don't forget what I said.' And with that he wandered off down the hallway.
Ben breathed a sigh of relief and turned around.
His relief didn't last long as he was immediately faced by someone who he recognised as the director.
'Ben isn't it?'
Ben nodded.
'It might be easier to talk in my office,' said the director.
Ben felt he didn't really have an option. As he began to follow the director he became slightly tense and found himself looking around for possible escape routes. Maybe he was getting too paranoid.
He was shown into the director's office and ushered into the seat opposite his large impressive desk. It reminded him of the desk he had seen in the village.
As he sat down he wondered how often Sarah had sat in the seat he was now sitting in? He wondered what they had discussed.
'I thought I would let you know how Sarah's treatment is coming along,' said the director pleasantly.
Ben couldn't see any problem with this. He had very little information of his own.
'Since she returned to us, I like to think she has progressed well. You may not know it, but when she first came here afterwards she couldn't speak for a while.'
Ben nodded, but
it was news to him.
'That was when we encouraged her to write things down in a journal.'
The director looked straight at Ben as if he was daring him to make some comment about the irony of Sarah writing in a journal.
But Ben resisted. He didn't want to give him any more information than he had to.
'And has that been helpful?' said Ben.
'We think so, certainly initially. But as you will see she is now fully able to talk to us.'
The director’s expression became more serious as he said. ‘But I warn you Ben, she has lucid moments but at times you may find the things she says strange and you shouldn’t believe everything she says to you. I’m sure she believes that what she says is true, it will feel true to her, but you should ignore anything that sounds particularly unusual.’
‘What sort of things?’ said Ben.
‘Oh, things to do with her time with you at the site. And things related to her father. You must be aware that she has a difficult time grasping that her father has gone.’
Ben thought about the village and Sarah and found himself nodding in agreement with the director.
He was amused that the director referred to the experiential village as a ‘site’, it seemed such an ordinary word for such an extraordinary place. But Ben supposed that was the point of using the word, if anyone overheard them using the word they wouldn’t think anything of it.
The director shuffled in his seat slightly before saying 'I'm so glad that you have decided to cooperate with us. And of course with your cooperation, then we could see our way to letting you see Sarah on something approaching a regular basis.'
The inference was clear to Ben, he had been in this type of situation before. If he didn't cooperate, then he would have no access to Sarah.
'Always glad to help,' said Ben.
The director sat back and smiled. 'Good, I was sure you would see things our way. For Sarah's benefit.'
‘And what about the, erm, village?’ said Ben.
‘We decided that it might be best if we dismantled that particular site. Just in case anyone might wander across it.’