Although I know my body’s in my bed, in my bedroom, in my house, I’m — well, how can I describe where I am? There’s solid darkness everywhere. It’s like being in a deep cave. Logically there’s only one place I can be: in my own head. In my brain.
This place is both real and unreal! I mean, it exists — it’s in my head, obviously, but it’s only inside my head. And this is where you’ll get your cast-iron, “call the guys with the straitjacket” proof of my madness: I can see walls and a door. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m locked in a room inside my own brain! And I say locked deliberately, because I put the lock there myself, soon after I came to. I’m pretty sure my kidnapper knows I’m here and means me no good. So, as soon as I realised where I was, I adapted the words of Beyoncé and put a lock on it!
Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Go to the shop, buy a lock, put it on your door. Easy peasy. However, this is an imaginary room with an entirely made-up door, so I had to focus really hard, but — if I say so myself — I’ve created a nifty lock with loads of levers, bolts and latches. And then I made (well, imagined) a huge, old-fashioned key which I’ve put in the equally imaginary pocket of my school blazer, which I still appear to be wearing. I chose a key rather than a combination lock, because I figured if whoever invaded me has enough access to my brain to walk and talk, they might have my memories too. Any random number I choose would be easy to figure out. But a great big key in my pocket — they won’t get that!
So I think I am safe … for the moment. And —
Hang on, I’m moving. Am I getting up? No, I think I just rolled over onto my side. And I can see little flickers of light — I think from the landing light that’s still left turned on for Luke. So I’m lying on my left side, facing the door of my bedroom. The flickering though, what’s that about? You know … I wonder if this is REM sleep; is that what it’s called when you dream? Am I dreaming? I wish this whole situation was just a dream! And if my body-snatcher is dreaming, I hope it’s a nightmare! A really terrible nightmare about a teenage girl who gets into their mind and sings mindless pop songs for hours and hours, without knowing all the words (“I liked it, so I put a lock on it, I liked it, so I put a lock on it … oh, oh, oh!!!”) — or being able to carry a tune. Or maybe a dream about some mindless Russian robot that steals their life, steals hugs from their mum and gives them a bad (well, even worse) reputation with their schoolmates.
Anyway, I’m in this imaginary room with a lock made of — what? Willpower, maybe? The room is bare, with grey walls, a black tile floor, no windows — and a sturdy door. It’s both a functional space and a manifestation of my stubborn determination not to surrender!
So, it’s me against … whatever or whoever is in control of my body. And even though I’ve only got this tiny bit of me left, I will not give in —
Wait! Now there is movement. My body is sitting up; hauling itself to my feet. Yes, I’m moving! This is so weird! My body moving, one foot in front of the other but I’m not doing anything. And although I don’t have control of my senses, I know the movement is awkward. I’m kind of rocking forward and backwards, like some kind of weird Frankenstein made from parts of other people’s bodies.
Awkward or not, I’ve made it to my bathroom.
My eyes dilate under the harsh glare of the overhead light. And, just like that, there I am in the mirror. Me, yet clearly not me. My vision’s blurred, but I’m looking in the mirror, through my own eyes at a face that’s mine, but not mine. The most disturbing thing is that I look … well, like me. I see no visible effects of this ... whatever it is. I look normal. It’s still upsetting that my family and friends don’t realise there’s anything seriously wrong, but maybe more understandable now I know I don’t have a second head on my shoulders or have broken out in boils or something.
But it’s so weird to see my face and not know what’s going on behind my own eyes! If I was in control of my tear ducts, I’d cry — with sheer frustration as much as anguish at my hopeless situation. If I was in charge of my voice, I’d scream. But I’m alone. And who can help me when I’m stuck in here?
“I think we are alone would be more accurate. More in keeping with the facts.”
Now, you might think walking around with no thought or control, or looking at my own face in the mirror without having the first notion of who or what is behind the blankness of my own eyes, is the strangest, scariest thing you can imagine. But hearing that disembodied voice — my voice — speak to me as though I’m a stranger, while reading the thoughts of my own mind, is almost enough to send me over the edge into the unfathomable depths of actual madness!
Any certainty, any unquestioning, unshakable, unassailable belief that non-panicky me might have had — feeling as though I actually was ever in control, and that everything might be solid, concrete, assured … that tentative, fragile security vanishes in an instant. This moment pulls the rug from under me and brings the foundations of my entire life tumbling down. Now, suddenly, mere existence is relative, intangible, uncertain.
“Can you hear me?” the voice continues. The shock is real. The voice — I repeat: my voice — is definitely speaking to me. It’s my voice, and although I’m not speaking, my voice is talking to me! In a very real sense, I’m talking to myself!
“Wh— Who— Eh?” I try to think, try to bring what’s happening into focus, but I can’t make any sense of it. And the voice inside my head makes as much sense as it did when I tried to speak to Connor before I fainted.
In the mirror, my eyebrows lift and my head tilts to the left. “Hello? Is anybody there? Daaaiisy?”
Well, now there really can’t be any doubt! I’m the object of the questioning.
“Coooo-eeee.”
Equally, there’s not a shred of a doubt that it’s my face that’s being pulled about into various grimaces. And my voice making the stupid noises.
“Now that is just rude.”
“What?”
“Calling me stupid. That is not a nice way to talk.”
“Am I — are you — talking to me?”
My face looks around the small bathroom, shrugging my shoulders and pulling my face in a kind of ”duh” expression. “Yes, you are and yes, I am!”
“Pardon?”
“There is no one else here, is there?” My hands indicate the empty space in which my body stands. “I am Quark. And I am now Daisy Jacobs. Please be so kind as to vacate your body.”
“What?!” I seriously hope this is an hallucination. Because, if I wasn’t already totally mad, I’d be truly certifiable now!
“Leave. Go. Depart. Shoo!” My own hand waves in my face in a ‘be off with you’ kind of motion.
“I don’t understand. What is Quark? And why is Quark in my body?”
“Quark is me and you are Quark! You were chosen. You need to go so you can become.”
“I need to go so I can come?”
“Be-come.”
“Yeah? And exactly what am I going to be-come?”
“You will become one with the universe.”
“Er — thanks, but no thanks. I’m already a fully paid-up member of the human race and I think that counts as being ‘one’ with the universe.”
I can hear its voice. I can’t see whoever or whatever’s running the show, because it’s inside me and right now it looks like me. But my lips move when this Quark speaks, and the words are audible. However, my own voice is internal. I’m not speaking aloud. All in all, it’s like two different parts of my brain are speaking to each other!
I scrutinise the familiar face. The face I obviously know better than any other. I search for recognition. For me. My own eyes stare back. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. My grey-green eyes are colder than usual, cool Atlantic, rather than coastal Pacific, as they glower fixedly, as if peering deep into my very soul. I rein in an increasing sense of panic and try for nonchalance. “What sort of name is Quark, anyway?”
“I am an elementary part
icle.”
“You don’t say.”
There’s confusion in my reflected face. “I do say. You asked, and I answered.”
“I mean — I don’t know what that is.”
“You don’t? But it is straightforward! I am a fundamental constituent of matter.”
“Mmmmm … ”
“Daisy Jacobs, I know this happened quickly. For a simple form like yourself, it must have come as a bit of a surprise when I appeared like that, with no warning. Things are very different where I come from.”
“Where do you come from?”
“A long way away.”
I smile (inwardly, obviously). “Kettering?”
“Further.”
I thought of the drone controller I’d imagined. “Russia? North Korea?”
“No — further.”
“Australia? No. They’re our friends down there. They wouldn’t pull a trick like this.”
“No, you are right, I am not from Australia,” Quark says.
“Well, there is no further than Australia.”
“Are you sure … ?”
“Yes. Unless … ”
“Yes … ?”
“Are you saying you are from — ?”
“Yes … ?” He’s leading me towards the unthinkable.
“From — like from a different planet or something?” I don’t want to believe it!
“Or something, yes — exactly.”
“So not a different planet? You’re not an alien?”
“I am a singularity. Or rather the singularity.”
I guffaw. “A black hole? I have a black hole inside of me? Come on! I may be a bit lacking, but even my worst enemy wouldn’t say I had a black hole for a personality!”
“Well, you do!” In the mirror, my lips form what, in dim lighting, could pass for a smile. Or a smirk, maybe. Or an evil grin…
“A black hole with a personality disorder, more like.” I try to think-whisper, but I’m new to this whole thinking aloud way of communicating and Quark hears me.
“Well — it is your personality,” he says, crabbily.
Hang on! I’m being insulted by an alien-singularity-particle! A thing with my face that speaks with my voice! In my own bathroom! In my own head! I heave another inward sigh and let that pass for the moment. I’ll return to trying to get my personality back once I sort out who or what I’m dealing with. “And what’s this ‘becoming’ you talk of?”
In the mirror, my lips curve into another smile and my head nods sagely as if I’ve asked exactly the right question. “Daisy, you are the universe. Your blood, your bones, your DNA. You are made of the universe. You are made of star stuff!” Quark clearly thinks I should be super impressed by this.
“Okaaaaay … ” Under different, less kidnappy circumstances, I might have been.
“So when you become, you are you are set free! You become one with the universe. It is like going home!”
“Does it hurt?”
“No, Daisy, not at all. It really is painless; it is like closing your eyes and going to sleep.”
He speaks of becoming with real reverence, but I need him to make clear what I begin to suspect he means. “Okay. It’s like sleep. And then I wake up, or … ?”
“Well, sort of … not,” he hedges.
“How can I sort of not wake up?” I’m now officially narked at this Quark creature-entity-thing. “Isn’t there a term for ‘sort of’ not waking up?”
“Well — ” In the mirror my face looks almost abashed.
“Isn’t sort of not waking up in fact better known as being dead?”
This is like the most ridiculous internet hoax or the most far-fetched alien-abduction, cosmic conspiracy theory. Except it truly is cosmic: Quark is an alien creature thing. He’s in my head. And he wants to kill me!
So, if I’m not very, very careful, this Quark will be into my imaginary room in a flash and I’ll be gone. What’s truly me won’t exist anymore. I’m only fourteen, so this is not a happy thought. If I have to face the “there must be more to life than this” conversation, it should be when I am much, much older — like twenty-five, at least! But fourteen? Nah! I’m not giving in. I’m not going down without a fight. And I’m not coming out of my imaginary, but all too real to me, refuge!
I try distraction. “How do you know?”
“Sorry?”
“How do you know it’s painless?”
“Well —”
“Have you gone through it yourself?”
“I have done this countless times, Daisy.”
“But you haven’t ever had it done to you, have you?”
My face frowns, my lips purse. “No, of course not. I am the singularity. I am Quark.”
“So you’re the one who does it, aren’t you?”
“Yes — ”
I think-speak over him. “Always the predator, never the prey.”
“Well, yes, but it is quick and pain-free, I assure you. It is quite a harmless process.”
“Harmless! Yeah, right — except for the fact that I’ll die.”
“Daisy, you will join countless trillions of other molecules.”
“When did you start doing this?”
“At the very dawn of what you call time.”
“So you’ve done away with lots of beings? Not … whole planets?”
“Well …” If it’s possible to be both abashed and proud simultaneously, that’s the expression on my face right now.
“You’ve seriously done away with millions?!”
“Billions, I think you’ll find.” Quark shrugs, modestly.
“Used them up and spat them out.”
“Now that is not true!”
“Yes, it is! You crushed them and moved on, that’s right isn’t it? That’s what black holes do.”
“No, not at all. All those beings, those planets, those galaxies — they are all me now. All Quark. They are part of what I am. Part of the fundamental matter of the universe.”
“What? I just give in? Just roll over and die?”
And, just like that, reality hits me like a tidal wave of grief. My mind, or rather the little bit of my mind that is mine, suddenly floods with memories of Mum, Dad and my little brother Luke; of Amy and the friends I love; things I’ve done and so much — so much! — that I want to do with my life. My life which has barely started. These are the things I’ll lose. The chances and opportunities I’ll miss out on if I fail, or if I give in to this Quark-thing.
Well, my desire to live is stronger than my fear of dying. I want the chance to enjoy school, go to university, find love. Have a life. That trumps the terror I feel. Also, because I’m a teenager, it also triumphs over that thing called common sense — which fortunately hasn’t fully developed yet. If it had, it’d tell me I have no chance!
I’m probably the subject of current gossip for the whole freaky playground drooling/possession episode and if Quark gets his way I’ll end up as the infamous Girl Who Died in Secondary School.
I know the prospect of my ceasing to be is not a big deal to you. If I take the ultimate high-dive and surrender to the seemingly inevitable, then a few people will be really upset. For a while. A very short time. But admit it: things will move on. Humanity will, somehow, soldier on without me.
But, as of now, I’m alive — though I barely recognise the face in the mirror, with its deep frown of frustrated anger. It’s shocking to see this stranger — no, worse: this hollow version of myself looking back at me. My lips form a single, solid line as Quark spits out, “infuriating child! Come out now!”
“Nope.” Inside, deep inside, I smile. Despite what you may have heard to the contrary, I am still here. I’m faded around the edges. I can’t see very well. I can’t hear much. I can’t actually speak. I don’t have a body, as such. But I’m still fighting — against odds that didn’t seem too hot to begin with and which now look pretty overwhelming. But I’m still me.
I’m not it, not Quark.
My eyes, under the bright bathroom lights are like the eyes of a creature in the wild. Am I really in there? Inside that thing? Even Mum wouldn’t recognise those eyes, would she? But I sense the challenge and the danger behind that look, behind the intelligence that lurks within eyes that had never previously seen me harm anyone or anything. And the danger is no less real for coming from within my own mind.
How long am I going to be stuck in here like this? It may be one of those bad news/good news situations. Bad news: yes, I’m stuck here for the rest of my life. Good news: the rest of my life will be very short indeed!
But I refuse to give up. Refuse to surrender to it, to Quark.
I can stay where I am, hiding away in the dark recesses of my own mind and I’m pretty sure Quark will eventually find me. Or I can figure out some way to strike back and have at least a chance to survive. There’s no choice: I have to fight.
There’s no time for pathetic self-pity. A usurper — an alien usurper at that! — will not tease and torment me in my own body! I need a plan. And then I’ll fight back. Starting now.
Chapter 10
COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE
Daisy Jacobs is quiet. Brooding might be the word for what she’s doing.
Hiding is definitely a word for what she’s doing!
Quark longs to become, but he can be patient. In fact, he’s been patient for a long, long time. Of course, time doesn’t mean anything to him. But this is the longest he’s ever waited for the first becoming in any place. In this place’s puny timeframe, Quark’s last experience of even a momentary delay was when large reptiles roamed the neighbourhood, stomping on little rodents that would eventually evolve to become shes and humans and Daisy Jacobs. (He hasn’t quite pinned down the precise definition of this planet’s primary life form.) But even for a timeless, ageless, formless clump of primordial atoms, Quark’s patience is being stretched.
He has a tantalising sense of his goal. He looks down at the soft hands of the body he inhabits. He feels he can — almost — reach out and touch his goal. He’s close. So close to becoming.
Daisy Jacobs Saves the World Page 4