by Em Bailey
‘It’s nothing to do with you, Lucille!’ I hurl at her as I scramble to my feet. ‘It’s just a late question from one of my followers. You’ve got no right to read it.’
But Lucille is staring at my screen. ‘It’s not from a follower,’ she says. Her voice has become strangely soft and she steps away from my screen, allowing me to read the message myself.
She’s right. It’s not from a follower. It’s from him. The room is suddenly way too bright for me to bear. I close my eyes and feel my pulse thrum in my ears.
Esther. Prepare for renewal.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For a moment neither Lucille nor I say a word. We stand together, staring at the screen in silence. Then finally Lucille turns to me and nods her head. ‘Congratulations,’ she says, stiffly. ‘You were due for it. Overdue.’
I don’t answer. I’m tingling from the news. It’s happening. The thing I’ve dreaded and tried so hard to prevent for two years. I always worried that if I got this message I’d collapse on the spot. But I don’t. All I keep thinking is that I’ll finally be walking through the front gate of this place. And of the small chance that Harry will be waiting for me on the other side.
For the moment I’m not even concerned about what will happen next. I shut down the screen and leave the room, vaguely aware that Lucille is trailing along behind me, talking nonstop. Her words float by unheard. I’m leaving, I think. I’m actually leaving.
That night, for the first time since Harry left, I fall asleep almost the moment I get into bed and sleep soundly, deeply, undreamingly until first light.
It’s not until I have to break the news to Felicity the next morning that I start to feel twinges of concern about what’s about to happen. She looks pale and drawn when she appears at the table and barely eats a thing. Later, when I change her bandages, I see with concern that the wound is slightly infected. I clean it up as best I can and then try to deliver my news softly, but the moment Felicity hears it she starts to cry.
‘Please don’t go,’ she begs.
I sit beside her, feeling awful. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I say, weakly.
Felicity shakes her head. ‘No, it won’t. Who’ll look after me?’
‘I’ll still be here, don’t forget,’ says Lucille, who is loitering in the doorway.
Felicity isn’t comforted by this and I’m not surprised. It’s hard to imagine Lucille telling her stories or jokes when she’s sad.
‘You won’t come back!’ sobs Felicity. ‘Harry hasn’t and I bet you won’t either.’
‘Of course she’ll come back,’ says Lucille, in a tone that is probably meant to sound reassuring. ‘And Harry will too. And they’ll be all fresh and full of energy.’
Felicity doesn’t say anything but a look comes over her face that makes me realise she doesn’t believe this. I feel bad for her, but I actually feel bad for Lucille too. It’s true that she did her best to get me renewed, but I suppose she was only doing what she thought she had to do. Life will be much harder for her once I’m gone – although she doesn’t yet realise it.
My renewal will almost certainly happen in just a few days and there’s a lot to do before then. I want to prepare things for Lucille and Felicity, stock up on supplies for them to use after I’ve gone.
Felicity brings me the last of the tomatoes – a huge effort, given that she can barely walk – and I make as much pasta sauce as I can, sealing it into glass jars and stacking them in the storage cupboard. After that, I bake – biscuits sweetened with dried berries and honey as well as hard, salty, rusk-like bread sticks. The rusks are not exactly tasty but they’ll be filling, at least, and it reassures me to know that I’ll be leaving behind enough food to keep Lucille and Felicity going for a while.
Whenever I can snatch a moment I write detailed notes, listing all my tasks and explaining how to carry them out. I record the sort of information that I would’ve found handy when I first arrived. I record most of the recipes I’ve developed, as well as explaining how to do battle with the stove. I make a detailed explanation of how to set up and shut down the chat room. The notes are for Lucille, as she’ll have to take over from me when I go, but they’re also for whoever eventually comes to replace me. It’s a strange thought – someone else filling my role, wearing my clothes, being the Esther. Maybe, I think ruefully, she’ll be better at it than me.
Over the next couple of days I veer from emotion to emotion – nervousness, excitement, terror. The strangest part is how sad I feel. I find myself looking around at the all-too-familiar details of the house and wanting to cry, although that’s so stupid. How can I feel unhappy about leaving a place I’ve felt trapped in for so long? I’ll miss Felicity, of course, and I’ll worry about her. Her wound seems to be getting worse, no matter how often I wash it or how much herbal ointment I apply. But it’s not just that. I’ve been playing the role of Esther for so long that I’m not sure I’ll remember how to be me again – should I even manage to survive the renewal process. But I don’t allow myself to think about that.
Time disappears rapidly. Each day evaporates, rising in a cloud of smoke around me. I float along – not yet free, but not the prisoner I was before, either. There are no messages from Piper. I spend the first couple of days hoping Harry will burst through the door and that together we’ll get the other two to safety. But as the days pass, I have to admit to myself that this is very unlikely. He’ll be there when you leave the farm, I tell myself. It’s the easiest way to rescue you.
Lucille is clearly struggling to finish my renewal dress, so I begin working on it with her. I don’t ask her if she needs my help and she doesn’t tell me not to. We sit across from each other in the changing room, for hours at a time, heads bent. Lucille has barely spoken to me since my renewal notice arrived but I’m glad for the silence. It gives me a chance to think about what still needs to be done and to continue the silent conversation with Harry I’ve been holding in my head.
I tell him about my worries. Felicity is getting weaker and weaker. She needs to see a doctor, take some antibiotics. What will happen once I’m not here? How will Lucille manage? She thinks she knows it all, but she really doesn’t.
One time, as I’m deep in conversation with Harry, I’m startled by a loud sound from Lucille. I look up to see she’s burst into tears. ‘Lucille! What’s wrong?’
She shows me the piece she’s been working on – one of the sleeves. ‘It’s much shorter than the other one,’ she sobs. ‘And I don’t know how to fix it.’
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ I say, coming to sit down beside her. ‘We’ll just shorten the other one.’ For some reason this makes her cry even more.
Later that day, Felicity becomes feverish and I put her to bed, even though I know that he would not approve. But I don’t care. She can barely stand. There’s no question of her working, even though this means the animals will not be fed. I am not at all surprised when I log on that evening to find a message from him.
Esther. Your time in your current bodily form is over. Leave the house at dusk tomorrow evening. Walk through the garden and the farm until you arrive at the main gate. Open it and pass through.
That’s it. There’s no thanks for the last two years, or I’ll miss you. But then, there wouldn’t be. I’m not scared, as I thought I might be. I’m relieved. Felicity can’t get out of bed, and Lucille can’t go into the farm to tend to the animals or collect the vegetables. If there’s to be any chance of any of them surviving beyond the next couple of days, I have to get out of here.
I stay in Felicity’s room that last night, trying to keep her fever down. In the morning she seems a little better – or, at least, she’s exhausted enough to sleep – and I rush around tidying up, removing all traces of myself from the farmhouse. I strip my bed and boil the sheets and all my clothes except the things I’m wearing, and then hang everything out to dry on the verandah. I scrub my bedroom floor, the walls and the window. I give my ‘things’ – my bristle toothbrush, my apron, my ribb
ons – to Lucille. I only keep one thing for myself: the comb from Harry.
For my last meal I prepare a vegetable soup, hoping that I can tempt Felicity to eat some. She insists on sitting up at the table and valiantly swallows a couple of mouthfuls before shaking her head apologetically.
None of us eat much. I put the remaining soup in a jug and leave it covered, in the coolest corner of the cupboard. With luck it will still be fine to eat tomorrow.
Lucille helps me into my leaving dress. ‘Is it okay?’ she asks as she fusses over the layers of heavy skirts.
The sleeves are a little on the short side and the waist is roomy, but it’s wearable. ‘It’s wonderful, Lucille, thanks.’ Any anger I once felt towards her has gone now. It seems pointless.
‘You need gloves, of course,’ says Lucille and it’s while she’s searching for some that I notice a pair of scissors on a chair behind her. Shielding the chair from whatever cameras may be watching, I quietly pick them up. I’m not sure what makes me do it. It’s just reassuring to slip my hand deep into my pocket to feel the smooth, cold metal.
Felicity is exhausted from being up for dinner and doesn’t protest too much when I insist that she go back to bed. Even Lucille says nothing. Maybe it’s dawned on her that if Felicity were to die, she’d be completely alone in here.
Felicity starts to sniffle when I say goodbye and covers her face with her pillow. I kneel beside the bed, my own tears rising as I give her the only hug Esther is allowed to give – the one that means goodbye. I can feel the heat of her feverish skin through the fabric of my leaving dress. ‘Just hold on a bit longer, Felicity,’ I whisper into her ear. ‘I’ll come back for you.’
She uncovers her face. ‘Really?’
I wish I could tell her what I’m hoping will happen. Harry is waiting for me on the other side of the front gate. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible, I swear.
But I can’t say any of this so instead I simply nod and wipe her sweaty forehead with a damp cloth one more time.
The late summer sun is already half-set when Lucille and I walk out onto the verandah. I feel her watching as I take off my slippers and place them near the door. Esther doesn’t have any boots – she’s never needed them – so I will make the journey to the gate bare-footed. Then I turn to Lucille and smile. ‘Shall we?’
Lucille nods. She looks tense.
Together we walk down the steps. My legs tremble – maybe from excitement. The steps have been the edge of my territory for so long that I half-expect to feel some invisible barrier rise up. But nothing happens, and a moment later I’m standing on the ground, the earth pushing up against my feet.
Almost immediately, I topple over. The ground is uneven and spongy and my legs, already wobbly with nerves, fail me. Lucille bursts out laughing as I pick myself up, and I laugh too. The mood changes.
The evening air brushes across my bare arms and face like silk. The smell of the plants and the soil, the colour and height of the sky, the sound of my own breathing: everything seems brighter, stronger, more intense than I ever remember it being.
At the wall that separates the kitchen garden from the farm, Lucille stops. It’s as far as she can go. ‘Come back soon,’ she says, all stiff and formal and Lucille-ish again, but then her lip quivers.
I hug her, probably a little too tightly for an official hug. ‘Take care of Felicity,’ I say and Lucille nods. ‘Everything will be fine,’ I promise, before giving her one last smile. Then I walk past the eucalyptus trees, leaving her, and the house, behind.
I look around curiously as I make my way through the farm. It’s simultaneously familiar to me and completely unknown. There are the vegetable beds where the Felicities pick the tomatoes, radishes and beans. Behind them are the beehives, five of them, lined up side by side like dolls’ houses. In the distance, straight and golden, are the few stalks of wheat and oats that survived the storm. I see where the peach tree once was, the stump still pale and fresh. There is where the one remaining goat sleeps and, over there, the empty chicken coop.
And suddenly there’s the gate – its metallic surface gleaming, loops of wire at the top. I’ve only seen it once before but it’s somehow very familiar. It’s appeared in a lot of my dreams, especially recently, although in them it always remains closed, no matter how hard I push. It’s hard to believe that soon it will be unlocked and I’ll be able to walk through and find out whatever it is that’s waiting for me on the other side.
I turn to look back in the direction I’ve come. Lucille is standing between the sentinel trees, still as a statue, although when I wave, her hand flutters back at me. Behind her, catching the sunset on its shingled roof, is the farmhouse. It’s been my prison for the last two years, but it’s also been my home and, while I haven’t felt safe there for a long time, in this moment it seems far more secure than what’s out there.
Fear seizes me – a kind of panic. I can’t go. Harry might not be there waiting for me. It’s likely – very likely – that I’m about to die. I should stay. Stay here, where he is always watching over me, protecting me, suffocating me. Except that he doesn’t want me here any more.
I have to go.
My hand is trembling as I push against the gate – so much so that I’m not sure I’ll be able to open it. There’s a noise too, like a distant drum, but then I realise it’s the sound of my pulse in my ears. My breath comes in short, jagged bursts, catching in my throat with each inhalation. The gate swings open easily.
I think for a moment I might fall again, my legs are shaking so much. But I force myself to take a step. And another. And then another until I am through.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Esther stands just outside the front gate, no more than a few arm lengths from where I am crouching in the shadows, balaclava on, blanket in hand. Tucked in my back pocket is the gun. I watch her carefully, noting every little detail. The way she holds her body suggests that she’s somewhere between fear and excitement. This is not surprising. She knows that she is about to come face to face with me.
As I stare at her, I notice something that makes my heart race. Usually the ones who come through the gate look grey and empty, their souls already detached and off searching for their next bodily form. But Esther doesn’t look like that. She glows just as brightly now as she did the first day I laid eyes on her.
She has always been the perfect one. The one who was the most like me. Which is why her recent behaviour has been so difficult to fathom.
A single glance and I know whether someone is good or bad, whether their life will mean anything or if their existence is pointless. When my brother was born, for instance, I remember leaning over his crib and sensing how weak he was. I wanted to help but my parents didn’t understand, and wouldn’t let me do what was needed to make him strong.
The first time I saw Esther, I understood everything about her. Anyone who shone like that must be truly good, truly pure. But she’s made so many mistakes lately. Broken so many rules. I have been tolerant, but there must be a limit.
I inch a little closer to her, put my hand on the grip of the gun, just in case. I only ever have one bullet in it, and even that is not really necessary. They always obey me without question. They practically climb into the boot of the car without me needing to do a thing.
It’s tempting to step from the shadows right now. Reveal myself. But waiting is an important part of renewal. It’s best if they relax, just a little.
Esther is still very tense. Her breathing is shallow and her head swivels constantly from side to side, inclined slightly in that bird-like way of hers. I know every detail about her, every mannerism. Some nights I’ve examined her sleeping face so intensely that her skin and bone have melted away and I’ve been able to look straight into the thoughts flickering in her mind. My favourite places to watch are the hollows on each side of her head, where the flesh dips inwards. How often have I imagined pressing a finger against those indentations, to feel the thoughts pulsing beneath the
surface. Esther: the only person I can think about touching without feeling repulsed. The only person I’ve ever wanted to touch.
Not that I need to make physical contact to tell what she’s thinking about. I know that already. I shape her everything, her days and her nights. I am the negative space around her. The air. The molecules. When she moves, she moves through me. I am unavoidable. Inevitable.
Each time she turns her head it’s as if a stream of tiny stars is released, billowing out around her. She looks so beautiful in her white renewal dress, the final traces of daylight in her hair. An urge comes over me – strong and raw. It’s like the one I had that Christmas when my brother and I were given a puppy. My father placed it directly into my arms. ‘It’s your responsibility.’ I remember the feeling inside me so clearly – the scrabbling and scratching sensation, like something was trying to free itself, feelings that were so much like the puppy’s own movements. It was so confusing that I squeezed and squeezed, trying to control it all until the puppy finally stopped moving.
My heart is beating so rapidly that it takes considerable effort to slow everything down. Leave her standing there for one more minute, I tell myself. Wait until your breathing has calmed.
Like everything, renewal is about control and timing. These were difficult things for me when I was younger. Even now I still feel impatience flare sometimes. There’s so much stupidity and ignorance in the world. So many people sleepwalking through their lives. Sometimes I long to scream at them to wake up. But I’ve trained myself to wait, to hold back.
The secret is breathing, and I take a deep inhalation now. Focus my energies on the task ahead. It’s disappointing and inconvenient that things have come to this with Esther. I’ve enjoyed watching her in this current form. But it’s just a body, after all, a non-permanent shell. It is, like everything else, only temporary.