As soon as he arrived home, Remel fell onto his sofa and turned on the TV. The news, which Remel despised with a passion, was on. All sorts of multi-million pound companies presented depressing stories of terrorism, war, illness and failing economies. Remel hated the way the media constantly portrayed different groups of people so that they could subtly create stereotypes of all types of cultures. In spite of himself and his passionate hatred, he left the news on due to post-flight fatigue and an un-rooted, erratically born interest in the woes of the world. The woman on the news looked just like the one who had presented the death of Remel’s father: cold and unsympathetic to the news she was presenting.
After ten minutes of short reports on many international tragedies, another woman, with a smile on her face and bright white teeth, introduced her two interviewees: Regina Mutombo and Esther Seko. Remel was dumbfounded by the coverage of the work of the ‘Super Charity for All: The Change Makers’ Charity’. Esther and Regina started off by telling some personal anecdotes and their cause for creating the charity before announcing the venue and date of their big event. Remel called his mother urgently. She took her time coming down the stairs, and she only made it into the living room to hear the two women talk about their ‘young and talented guest speaker: Remel Brathwaite from London’.
“When is it?” asked Adira.
“The 29th November. 27 days from now,” replied the young and talented guest speaker of the ‘Change Maker’s Event’.
Remel had an excellent tailor from the Ivory Coast who made clothes for him on special occasions. Adira was on the phone to him as soon as his line was free. She sent him a white and black floral fabric and aurally designed a slim fit grandad collar shirt for her son. The tailor had Remel’s measurements. The next free day they had, they did some mother-son shopping. Remel chose some tassel loafers and a black, slim fit suit to match before collecting their order from the tailor. Adira saw it as one of her duties to make sure Remel looked stylish 24/7 along with her duty to make sure he had the best education and always had food on his plate.
The Sunday after the shopping spree was spent by Remel locked inside his en suite bedroom for almost a full day. He memorised his speech, recited it in front of the mirror and made a few tweaks. The three-part routine was repeated over 100 times. Remel was an introvert who was in constant need of privacy but knew how to convey ideas for the benefit of the world. It was an ability he had lost as he tried to be someone he wasn’t over the years. He was being reintroduced to his intrinsic gift. Another note however flew onto his room’s floor to remind him that everything he was doing was a waste of time. Keys’ illusion in Westminster had stood as a minor testament to the note, but Remel tried his best to ignore it.
The Monday before the Tuesday bank holiday 29th was split into a repetition of the Sunday before, lectures and a visit to the poet’s room. Remel was still trying to evaluate the reality of the third. As soon as Remel walked into the poet’s room, he was hit by the sight of bookshelves. The only two titles Remel could make out were: ‘Hidden Metaphysics’ by Roy Lan and ‘Hallucinations vs. Sanity’ by Le Kay. The poet was getting ready for something other than the big charity event and acted as if Remel was a bystander, watching him through one-way windows, completely oblivious to his presence.
Keys went to a bag behind his would’ve-been-and-almost-was-a teacher’s desk. He took out a book other than the abundance of literature on his shelves. The book was titled ‘Dealing with INFJ’s’. He flicked through the pages and put it back in his bag. Keys then brought out another thick book called ‘Honey Theory: The Illusion of Freedom’. He did the same to this book, but the second time a paper fell out of the pages. Keys pointed his finger at the paper and lifted it up using telekinesis before handing it to Remel—whom he hadn’t previously acknowledged—before going to dust the shelves. Remel read through the paper which served as an ordered plan for the ‘Change Maker’s Event’. ‘Remel’s entry’ just after ‘Mayor of London, Marguerite Garcia, tea and coffee with staff @9:20’. The sight of such an important name listed next to his own was nauseating for him. Substantiality and great significance were two features that attached him to the event after reading the piece of paper. He was grateful for the fact that his mother had gone all out to make sure he looked stylish for the event. It was definitely compulsory for him to be presentable. No one not even King Keys could afford not to do so. He began to ponder…
“Are you going to take your mask off for the event?” asked the inquisitive Remel.
“What mask?” asked and answered the poet simultaneously.
Remel laughed and pointed at the poet’s face. Keys was a man of sarcastic humour. To Remel’s surprise, Keys placed his palm over his face and grabbed the mask. The inquisitive one caught a glimpse of Keys’ nose before he blinked and found himself alone in ‘the poet’s room’ with bookshelves towering over him. The plan was still in Remel’s hand, but there was writing that hadn’t been there before across the back. It read: ‘Curiosity is the murderer of its owner. Wait for your time’. Remel, the inquisitive, was oblivious to the meaning behind the cryptic message, but he chose not to prod further. He escaped Keys’ lair.
Chapter 20
The long awaited day of ‘The Change Maker’s Event’ arrives and graces Remel with sickness and little sleep.
The Brathwaite’s woke up early the next morning and clothed themselves in their most stylish possessions. Remel was in a terrible state, but he made sure he didn’t look as if he was. His heart pounded violently. Remel needed flight, the literal means of escapism from his obligations on the ground, whilst he soared through the stars during the day. He dreamt of doing so. King Keys, the missing component of Remel’s need had disappeared. Thus his feet were firmly on the ground. Contrarily, Remel had a reliable means of figurative flight. There was a playlist on his phone consisting of ‘David Bowie’s Blackstar’, ‘Lance Skiiiwalker’s Introverted Intuition’ and ‘Vic Mensa’s Innanetape’ along with some other loose tracks titled: ‘Death awaits the lonely rebel’. Remel had his own concealed reason for the odd and rather dark title. There were only a handful of people who knew that the playlist existed (not including Adira). The reason for his secrecy was that all of Remel’s friends listened to generic trap and drill music. They saw music that lay outside of their preference as weird and inferior.
‘Death awaits the lonely rebel’ was a miracle cure to Remel’s worries: it worked wonders. He sat in the taxi, but in reality he had gone to a universe of his own where he recited his speech repeatedly in perfect solitude.
“You were the boy that came to that horrible thing in the neighbourhood, aren’t you?” asked Dennissa Cole, the taxi driver.
She was an extremely muscular woman with a silk voice that contrasted her appearance. Remel, who had left his private universe to investigate the external noise, recognised the driver as one of the twins who had stopped Hastings from fleeing his arson attempt. Remel nodded but didn’t reply verbally to avoid conversation. Adira was in another world herself. Once she had gone into the taxi, she put her headphones on, listened to her favourite Jorja Smith and Laura Mvula songs. She then closed her eyes and took in deep breaths. It was a routine she called musical breathing meditation. Remel called it snoring with headphones on. Remel was, for the first time, grateful for Adira’s snoring/meditation because he hadn’t informed her about the incident. He chose to not do so for fears that he would have to tell her that he flew to the scene with the masked man who she nicknamed the facetious locksmith.
“It’s a shame for the mothers and dads. Don’t you think? It’s a shame for people like you as well. You are friends with them, weren’t you?” the driver recommenced relentlessly, in pursuit of conversation, whilst looking back at Remel through her rear-view mirror.
Remel shook his head, at her question and her grammar, cautiously avoiding speech. The tone of her voice and the direction of the conversation seemed well mannered, but Remel, the inquisitive and intuitive, could
see the connotations of the question which served as the intention of the driver. He felt as if she had put him in a class of delinquency along with Rasharn and Hastings and all the other supposed trouble making teenage boys in London. Remel shook his head for the third time in the vain hope that the taxi driver would get the message. She didn’t. The answer however had surprised her. She was ready to condemn Remel for not advising them away from their destructive nature. Instead she reformulated her response to suit Remel’s head-shaking.
“You seem like a smart boy. It’s a shame that they didn’t have someone like you to speak to them and show them the right things to do.”
Remel was tired of hearing the word shame. He was tired of the taxi driver and her useless commentary. She didn’t know Remel at all, and she had no reason to engage in conversation with him. Nonetheless, the driver wasn’t completely wrong. Remel and Rasharn had been friends since primary school. They knew each other since Remel was a 4 foot, aspiring, human rights activist and Rasharn was a 3 foot 11, under 10’s rugby player. Both of them stayed dedicated to their future fields of work: Remel would try to convert everyone he saw into a ‘mother-Earth-loving-social-justice-warrior’; Rasharn tackled people spontaneously at all moments. At the young age of 10 when Rasharn learnt that he had a heart condition, his behaviour spiralled out of control. He had never been a model student, but the school’s rugby team had given him a reason to focus his attention away from the bad company he had outside of school. All sports were no-go areas after his diagnosis. Remel saw it as a chance to turn Rasharn into an existentialist who found something else to give meaning to his life. The retired rugby player saw Remel’s words as a fly buzzing around his ear, planning invasion. He always shook his head at Remel’s attempts and continued his life as a dilettante criminal. His activism and Rasharn’s delinquency didn’t mix. The incompatible attributes of their characters put a strain on their friendship. Remel gave up his dream of arguing with mayors, head teachers and pivotal figures in society so that he could stop being the annoying humanitarian kid. Rasharn’s defiance had become a sort of reverse conversion. The ‘Change Maker’s Event’ had given him the chance to become himself again.
Chapter 21
The taxi arrives in front of Westminster Methodist Central Hall at 8:40. Remel wakes his mother up, and they make their way in.
Remel’s size 10 tassel loafers touched the street in a stylish fashion. ‘The young and talented guest speaker’ and his mother were the ones to watch. All eyes were on them as they made their way in. People, regardless of whether they were aware of Remel’s importance to the event or not, admired the Brathwaite’s as they stepped out of the taxi. The plethora of peoples standing around the entrance was dressed in different styles. There were some men dressed in suits with the finest of ties and tailored shirts to match and women displaying the most elegant of designer dresses and exhibiting the most unique of heels that served as pieces of art in themselves. On the other hand, there were others dressed in smart shirts with jeans and some dressed in hoodies. The attendees of the event dressed according to their roles.
An iron-masked man stood at the centre of Remel’s vision and at the centre of the entrance of the church, dressed in a black suede overcoat, which sat perfectly on a light purple shirt embellished with a dark purple floral tie. The iron mask had been recently polished. Even from a few feet away, Remel could almost see his reflection in Keys’ mask. Remel left his mother’s side and walked urgently to the poet. Keys had been waiting for Remel. There was a sense of alarm conveyed by his body language.
“You still don’t see it,” Keys hit Remel verbally.
“Look at you. You’ve never been able to make friends with anyone. You hate speaking to people that have nothing in common with you. You have no idea who I am. You do not know me. Why do you make your way to the room each week without any consequential intentions? You barely go out to meet your friends. You hate company. Who meets flying men in iron masks in real life? You are naturally intuitive and inquisitive, yet in such an alarming situation you choose not to see past the veil and ask the crucial question,” Keys interrogated Remel with an energy and level of ferocity that had previously been unseen.
People kindly strolled by as if nothing unusual was occurring. Remel was searching for the words to defend himself in his interrogation. He looked around at the people making their way into the hall, but none of them held eye contact with him. Keys was suspended in his position, towering over Remel, gazing deep into his soul. He waited impatiently for an answer.
“You came to me,” muttered Remel without understanding exactly what was coming out of his mouth.
“And now I’m gone,” replied Keys whilst placing his index finger on Remel’s forehead, at the meeting of his eyebrows, before engaging in a vanishing act.
Keys’ words bothered Remel like an unseen wasp stinging his soul. The vanishing poet had been so accurate in his commentary on Remel, but he had been so vague and contradicting in the way he had put his words together. Remel felt confused. Keys wasn’t there to elaborate on his cryptic messages. Adira, who was a few seconds behind, caught up to Remel. The worried expression on Remel’s face was easily recognisable so Adira patted her son on the back and assured him that everything would be all right. She had not seen the masked man before his disappearance.
Remel and his mother were greeted in the hall on the bottom floor by the staff of the ‘Change Maker’s Charity’. The hall was full of intellectual men and women in deep—and occasionally braggadocious—conversations regarding their involvement in the work of the charity. The AV team darted around; occasionally disrupting the conversations of the individuals, making sure everyone understood the set-up of the event, how their mics worked and which cameras they should look into. A twenty-something year old young man, just about older than Remel, with acne that gave him a boyish appearance gave Remel an order of events paper. Remel refused the offer and showed the young man, who had a badge with the name Matthew on it, his own order of events paper from King Keys. Matthew was completely taken aback. He paused and stared at Remel’s paper unaware of how Remel had gotten hold of the order of events.
“Has anyone seen Leroy Kaylan?” shouted another member of the AV team from the centre of the hall.
All the occupants of the hall averted their attention to the member of the team before shaking their heads and resuming their conversations. Esther and Regina came to greet Remel with their usual affectionate smiles. They were both dressed stunningly. Esther had gone for a fun-but-formal look with a white, off-the-shoulder blouse; a black pencil skirt; and black high heels. Regina went for a more vibrantly colourful look with a green, purple and yellow, flared jumpsuit made from African fabric. She topped off the outfit with bright gold heels. Regina normally had weave on her hair, but she had decided to wear her natural hair, styled into big bold curls on the day of the event. They had started off by asking Remel how he felt and if he was ready for the speech. He replied positively for both questions. They tried to make small talk with him for a few minutes, but it was obvious that he wasn’t the type to indulge in conversation so they didn’t force the conversation to last. They asked him if he knew where Leroy Kaylan was and left him politely when he said he didn’t. As they left, Remel turned to speak to his mother who had seemingly followed the footsteps of the masked poet and vanished suddenly. Remel was alone.
Chapter 22
Adira has gone outside to make an important phone call. She is worried.
“Asa! Thank God you answered. It’s happening again. I can see it on his face and in the way he is acting. You’re going to need to come and collect him… Yes… At the end of the day… Yes. That would be lovely of you… Oh right… I don’t know if it has anything to do with his father… I don’t think so. I’ve got to go. I’ll send you our location. Thank you. Oh and there’s something else. Where we are at the event… They’re looking for Leroy Kaylan… Yes, it does… No. He hasn’t realised… I don’t know. I’m sure
it’s just a horrible coincidence, but I just want you to be prepared for anything… Yes. Thank you so much… Bye. Say hello to your new girlfriend for me.”
Adira got off the phone with her psychiatrist friend, Asa. She rushed to get back to Remel whom she hoped wasn’t feeling lonely, but she also wondered if he would’ve even realised that she had disappeared: sometimes Remel was in his own world, oblivious to his surroundings. When she got back to the main hall, Remel was alone and unmoved from his position, daydreaming just as she suspected he would be.
“Where were you?” asked Remel, with a look of worry growing on his face, as Adira fell into his line of sight.
“Someone called me. I just had to speak to them quickly,” replied Adira, altering the truth.
Adira was concerned about her son. He had been uncharacteristically paranoid in the past weeks, and he had been keeping to himself more than usual. Remel had worked hard on his speech, but it was obvious from the way he had been acting that something else had been preoccupying his attention. Adira presumed in fact that it was not a something but more likely someone that had been preoccupying his attention. Remel was an expert in getting himself mixed in with the wrong groups of people.
When it was time, the AV team and some other members of staff started to call people out in alphabetical order to their positions upstairs. It took a long time to get from the A’s to the R’s, but Remel’s name was eventually called. Adira reluctantly parted ways with her son before the start of the show.
She stayed outside as she waited for things to get going. Not far away from where she was, she saw a young hooded girl with old and (unintentionally) ripped jeans. The girl’s homelessness was apparent. She wore depression on her face just as she wore her clothes. It was an easily perceptible feature. What a coincidence? Adira thought, as the girl strolled across the road in the direction of a charity event. Adira was ready to approach her and offer her some money. The girl stood in the middle of the road waiting for her collision with an incoming car. She was embracing her death. It was an awful event to see. Adira threw her bag on the floor and leapt down the stairs of the entrance in order to stop the girl from perishing voluntarily. Sadly high heels were not made for such acts thus Adira’s shoes broke and twisted her ankle in the process. She fell on the floor and cried not only in pain but also in perturbation that she could have failed at saving a life. She looked up when she knew she shouldn’t have. She was expecting to see a flattened corpse in the middle of the road, but instead she saw the girl she was trying to save on the other side of the road, where she had walked from, held by a woman with a fabulous afro and a bass case at her back. It was a special moment. The car that had almost collided with the girl had frozen in the middle of the road. The car and its driver had expected to be involved in a fatal accident. The girl had opened her eyes expecting to see the vast nothingness that she believed existed in the afterlife, but instead she found herself in central London, unharmed. Ignoring the pain in her foot and the people trying to give her medical aid, Adira ran towards the girl. She was shocked to see the familiar face.
The Escape Page 8