by Nikki Dudley
“What?”
“The night I arrived, I took over his bedroom. And you were always giving me all this special attention. He must’ve sensed it all along and when he found out… no wonder he left me all this shit to figure out”. Thom crushes his hair in his fists, his brain unfreezing.
“What stuff did he leave?” Val asks.
“Nothing, nothing…” Thom dismisses her. “He must’ve always known something but I guess he didn’t really believe it. He just couldn’t deal with it”.
“Stop it, Thom. We couldn’t have changed things. People take things how they want to”, she says, resigned.
“You’re actually blaming him now?” Thom advances on her.
“I’m not blaming him”.
“You’ve ruined us”. Thom starts to sob. He moans and attempts to bury himself in the wall. Yet he can’t push himself inside and hide. She can still see him; she can still claw at him and try to comfort him.
“I love you, Thom. I love you so much”, she cries. Her sobbing and her words seem fake to him. She is a lying bitch who has torn his heart out, who has watched them grow up in her lie, who has taken away his parents forever.
Before he can stop himself, he swings around. The first thing he knows about what he has done, she is leaning against the worktop holding her lip. The blood doesn’t appear until a few seconds later. Thom watches it swell out between her fingers.
Thom tries to speak but all he can do is howl.
“It’s okay, Thom. I know you didn’t mean it”. She lowers her hand, the blood spotting her hand and lip. Yet she doesn’t wipe it away. He stares at it until it appears to spread across her face, turning her entire face into a red mess. This is the blood that made him. This is the blood that runs through his DNA.
“I’m so confused. I can’t work out… I don’t know how… Please tell me…” The words get lost inside the avalanche steadily blocking exit points through his synapses, his mouth.
“It can be different this time”, she says hopefully.
Thom hears her words but can only think of how everything isn’t different at all. Like Daniel, no one really understands him anymore. Like Daniel, he feels angry and betrayed. Like Daniel, he has found out his whole life has been a lie. He has hurt her too. He has kissed the same woman Daniel had.
Thom begins to back away into the darkness of the hallway. She reaches out, tries to speak but realises it is useless. Her lip quivers hopefully, like a person still clinging onto the faith that after everything, it can’t possibly be over. Yet Thom feels like a full stop has been stamped on his heart.
He is swallowed by the darkness, becomes an outline and flashes briefly in the light from the street lights outside, before disappearing completely.
47 The Bloodied Scarf
The air covers me like a hot flannel. My skin feels numb so I can’t feel the sweat dribbling down my face. I only feel it when it gathers above my eyebrows and I have to wipe it away with my sleeve.
I guess I knew I would end up here at some point. After all the confrontations with my past lately, it seems apt and only fitting that I face up to the location of my crime. Yet, it doesn’t stop me shivering in the muggy cavern.
After sitting outside the Mansen house yesterday, I realised that I had to come back. This station, the trains, the smells, those oversized posters and the silence of death – they have all been haunting me since that day. I can’t run forever.
The scarf trails behind me, darkened with my brother’s blood. I slowly approach the place where I stood on that day. It seems wrong when I see the clock says 13:45. I am early. Yet I won’t be meeting anyone here. No one knows where I am and the people around me are all strangers, with no inkling that I’m a murderer returning to the scene.
I wonder if any of the others on this platform were here that day. If as they watched helplessly; they screamed in horror, had been unable to tear their gaze away from the broken body crushed and flung by the train, the spray of blood marking them forever. Am I the only one who walked out of the station on that day unable to remove the image of that falling man caught by the train in mid-air?
I am standing on the spot. Nothing about it distinguishes it from the rest of the platform. There are no marks, no blood, and no red tape prohibiting others from stamping all over it. It sickens me how life continues so easily. How many people have stood here since that day? How many trains have passed through the tunnel? How many people have seen the clock at 15:32?
I look down at the tracks and see nothing but dirty metal and a few pieces of rubbish. When I try to imagine Daniel’s face, I can’t even remember how he looked. All I see now is Thom. I wish then that Thom could be here, holding my hand tightly to stop me jumping into the escalating wind. Yet how could I explain to him why I need him here in this spot?
The wind begins to thrash against me until I nearly topple, the scarf fluttering madly beside me. Others begin moving forward and I look back at them, wondering if one of them will push me in front of the train. It would be fitting after all. The tunnel is lightening, the spotlight approaching, honing in on me – the culprit.
I am sure I am a beacon, a firework spinning in circles. I am certain I am screaming out loud but it is only inside my mind. This is the scream I didn’t give Daniel on that day. I killed him without surprise, without emotion, without my eyes rolling in water. I believed that I knew exactly what I’d been doing but I’d been miles from reality, standing in a bubble where the only thing that could reach me was Daniel.
The air seems clogged with dirt, thick with the sweat pouring from me. I try to breathe but the opening seems blocked. The train’s nose is poking out of the tunnel and within moments, rushes past me, without hesitation. I realise how quick the transition is, how I must have taken the precise split second to kill him. He must’ve been proud of his work. He must’ve loved saying those words to me. Right on time…
I suddenly realise I am standing in the way of the doors and people are barging their way past me. I move aside. When the last person has exited, a man waves me to go ahead of him, but I shake my head and tell him, “I’m in the wrong place”. He frowns gently but I turn away and make my way off the platform.
It is only when I reach the surface that I feel I can breathe again. I gulp in so much air that I feel dizzy. At the same time, I feel so alive. Although I believed killing Daniel brought me to life, I know now that facing up to everything has made me alive again. No matter how hard this all is, I am living a normal emotional and complicated life. My feelings are more realistic now.
I am aware now that I am connected to only some things in this giant maze of a city, not connected to everything. I can’t see emotions in the air anymore. I can’t save that family from implosion. I can’t make up for the murder by joining their lives. I can’t blame anyone but myself.
In a sense, I am limiting my world again but it feels good. By realising my limitations, I am setting myself free again. I am putting the objects and people and thoughts back in the ’right’ places. When I look at the street now, I am fascinated by the shop signs, the signs telling people what to do and what not to do, the traffic lights, the paving slabs set in lines – how controlled everything is and how everything is there to warn and instruct.
This is the world I left behind several years ago. It is coming back to me like a lover I rejected, still enthralled by me. I am remembering its beauty, the way it merges together and functions. Having imagined my own messages for so long, I realise they are naturally here all around me. Yet, I have ignored them. Now their messages are like kind words sent to a recovering relative.
I can never rewind time and take back my actions. It is too late to save Daniel but I can save myself. I can feel regret. I could go as far as to report myself to the police but I am not brave enough and I can’t see the benefit. After all, what I did is exactly what Daniel planned. Can you be a real murderer if someone led you to do it?
Beginning to shiver, I’m suddenly aware there is
a sharp wind whipping at my face. I pull my coat around myself and begin to walk away from the station. Looking back a few times, I see the cars continuing to jam and crawl and argue. I see the people passing but not noticing one another. I decide that life is continuing for them so it should continue for me. He is gone. Not even the platform remembers him.
48 The Beginning
Thom misses Sarah by only moments. He may not have seen her anyway, as he is in a trance, his feet leading him to the one place he hasn’t allowed himself to investigate.
The first time he is aware of anything, he is standing in front of the barriers, which won’t open. Thom thinks for a moment and decides it’s money he needs. Digging a few coins from his pocket, he slots them into the machine, buying the first option he sees. He hasn’t come here to travel; he’s come to see the place where his ‘brother’ died. The brother he never owned, the brother he has lost before he even had him. Can this all be true? Can the woman who saved him after his parents’ death really be half of what made him?
Thom feels nauseated whenever he even tries to think about it. He had spent the entire night walking through the city, darting through the backstreets, believing he could hide from himself.
He shakes the thought of his ‘Aunty’ away and gets through the barrier. The world can’t get through though. In the station, it is only he and Daniel. This is what Daniel wanted, to show him the truth, to punish them all for their lies.
He follows the signs for the platform. He remembers reading the platform direction in the paper and thinking it an odd addition. It was probably just to explain to everyone why the tube service was disrupted that day…
As Thom takes each step, he begins to shiver. He thinks it’s the wind but he realises it’s his legs softening and failing him. He feels humiliated, letting some people pass while he recovers himself. Was Daniel afraid? Did he clutch onto the banister with sweaty hands? Did he consider changing his mind?
Thom decides that he must move quickly or he won’t get there at all. He almost runs down the last ten steps and lands on the platform he has been running from since the day of Daniel’s funeral. He hasn’t been in a station for a long time. Yet it looks the same as most others. There are people dotted along it, a countdown machine reporting on the train destinations and times, large posters faded by dust and soot, an empty track.
The track is a snake that can sliver to life at any moment. It can take him into its dark mouth. It seems to wrap its chain-like body around his chest and leave him gulping for air. He leans against the wall and tells himself to breathe. When he finally feels calmer, his hand comes back to him covered in dirt. Like the lock up, he will leave dirtier and more damaged than when he came.
“Are you okay?” a woman, who is standing several feet away, asks. Thom nods hastily and moves hurriedly past her, further down the platform. Thom realises then that he doesn’t have a clue where Daniel jumped. Was it that end nearer the entrance? Or this end nearer where the train comes from? Thom wishes there is some kind of marking, or a sign: This is where he jumped! Yet, there is nothing that can tell him anything about that day.
This is useless, he spits in his mind. He stamps his foot so hard that some people give him a sideways look, too afraid to stare in case he becomes vicious.
The wind begins to increase and Thom hears a faint roar. If he really concentrates, he can already feel the platform vibrating. The increasing rush revives the crowded air. He closes his eyes and thinks about the lights of the train, the people inside who don’t know what awaits them, the driver thinking about his dinner plans, and Daniel.
The roar gathers momentum, the sound making Thom’s heart bang to its rhythm. He is no longer a person; he is a beat, a heart standing alone with its scars and holes. The train is speaking to him in a language that only he can hear.
Thom is hypnotised by the train. Thom is captured by the track. He doesn’t realise how enthralled he is until he feels the train whip just past his nose, a fraction of a millimetre away. He is being dragged back by something. He tries to pull forward but he can’t escape. He has a knot in the middle of his back and it won’t release him.
“What are you doing?” a voice cries out by his ear. As the doors of the train slide open, Thom finds himself sagged against someone. The other people on the platform stare at him; the passengers coming off the train step over him and look back.
Thom pushes away from the person he is lying on and sits up. He turns to see a man, breathless and still clutching onto him. He is wearing a luminous waistcoat and Thom recognises the London Underground uniform beneath it. His face is wet with sweat. Thom is sweating himself, his t-shirt clinging to his body.
“What are you doing?” he cries again. The crowd of people who have got off the train have gone away, but some linger to watch the two men tangled on the floor; unaware they have just avoided screeching breaks and chaos. The doors of the train have snapped shut and the train is now moving off.
“I’m sorry”, Thom mumbles to the man. He can’t force himself to stand up. The man finally lets go of Thom’s coat, satisfied he can no longer harm himself, and gives him an encouraging pat instead.
“I’m Sam”, the man tells Thom and offers his clammy hand.
Thom thinks about refusing but decides he is just as sweaty, “Thom”.
“Let’s get you out of here”, Sam says, pulling Thom up. Thom leans on him, like an injured footballer limping from the pitch. Thom leans on this stranger because he feels like he hasn’t got anyone else.
Sam takes Thom to a door along the platform. Thom has never really noticed these doors before, or not properly anyway and experiences an odd stab of adrenaline thinking about what could be behind it. Yet when Sam struggles with the key and heaves it open, there seems to be nothing spectacular there. There is only a harshly lit corridor that Thom can’t quite see the end of. Sam carries Thom inside and locks them in.
Thom can now see the doorways lining the corridor. There is the sound of a television or a radio coming from one room, the smell of burning toast and the faint hint of smoke hanging in the air. Sam directs Thom to the second door on the left and deposits him on a rundown looking sofa. Thom feels quite comfortable on this, as though a new sofa would offend his state of mind.
“Tea?” Sam asks. Thom nods and watches the man disappear out of the room. Thom leans into the chair and seems to breathe for the first time since he entered the station. Perhaps for the first time today.
His whole life is irreversibly changed. There is no way to retrace the steps and go back, no sense in which his existence isn’t different. Everything he thought he was, he is now not. He is not a nephew, not a cousin, not a boyfriend, not an employee, not a detective, not a victim…
“Here”. Sam appears beside him and hands him a mug. Thom accepts it and wraps his hands around it, letting the warmth of the mug attempt to melt the icicle speared through his heart. Thom knows it is meant to be tea but he can’t taste anything. It could be blood or poison and he wouldn’t be able to distinguish it.
“Don’t people usually say thanks for saving their life?” Sam jokes, sitting on the arm of the chair. Thom looks up at him, almost amused, wondering why he doesn’t feel thankful.
“I guess they usually do”. Thom shrugs and rethinks, “thanks for doing that”.
“So were you going to do it?” Sam says quietly. Thom considers the question for a long time, staring into his tea.
“I don’t know”, Thom admits. “I didn’t even realise what I was doing”.
“Someone was hit by a train not long ago”.
“You saw it?” Thom jumps, spilling a few drops of his drink on his trousers.
Sam sits upright in his chair. “You sound like you know something about it”.
“It was my... brother”. Thom exercises the term. He has been an only child all his life, an orphan since twelve. Now he has a brother, a mother, and a half-brother. If only it didn’t all come from lies, he could feel happy about it all.
Yet he only feels betrayed and lost. He didn’t even know about him and Daniel being twins until it was too late...
“Your brother?” Sam gasps. “And what were you doing? Going to join him or something?” Sam’s heroic act is now undermined. Has he merely saved someone who is ready to die?
“I just came to see where he died. I didn’t plan on anything… like that”.
“But you were about to do it. You were about a millimetre away!” Sam wriggles, biting his lip hard.
“I’m a bit of a mess. I have no idea what I was doing”.
“But what if you’d died?”
“Then I guess we wouldn’t be here”. Thom shrugs. He even smiles, although it isn’t funny. Sam’s mouth also curls into a small smile in response, not knowing how else to put his face. They fall silent for a few minutes, the trains rumbling on the platforms, the smell of burnt toast weakening.
“Did you see him die? Were you on the platform?” Thom finally asks after the silence nags him into speech.
“I was in the surveillance room that day”, Sam tells him. The full stop on his sentence seems so final that Thom’s suspicions instantly swell out of him like a scab forming, forcing him to scratch.
“So you saw it happen?” Thom looks up at Sam, who is staring into his mug, with an expression as though he is falling into a black pit.
“I saw it, yes. That’s why I’ve been watching people even more”, Sam confesses. “I don’t want it to happen again”.
“What did you see, Sam?” Thom asks desperately, appealing to the stranger like he is an old friend. Yet, this man owes him nothing. And equally Thom knows nothing about this man except what he can see: a broad-shouldered man with a hint of a Jamaican accent, wearing a loose-fitting London Underground uniform, with a wedding ring that clatters against his mug. Does this add up to disclosure?
“I can’t believe I’m talking to that guy’s brother”. Sam shakes his head.