by S M Stuart
“Don’t fret so, ma petite,” he says. “I have more good news. I’ve been promoted to Deputy Research Director. They’ve given me a bonus of 3000 credits for my past year’s performance and my salary goes up by 250 credits per month.” He grabs me and spins me around, laughing and kissing me all over my cold face before we enter the welcome warmth of the restaurant.
We eat moules marinières; drink champagne; and share dessert with one spoon. We sit close to each other and kiss at every opportunity. The waiters smile, congratulating us. They can’t fail to notice me constantly admiring my ring. As we leave the restaurant we stumble a little – too much champagne! We bump into a man standing by the exit. He’s distributing roses to patrons as they leave.
“Excuse me,” he says and hands me a rose.
“No. Excuse us!” we giggle, as we both draw in the sweet, heavy scent of the flower.
We decide to walk home along the Avenue de Marigny. In our euphoria, we remain oblivious to the cold. The wintry weather has kept people indoors and it seems as though we are alone in the city. As we approach the junction with Avenue Gabriél, we lean against the wall and enjoy another long, passionate kiss. My hips are pressed up against Tomas’s and his hands are squeezing my buttocks. I sense his arousal and a groan escapes me as I anticipate our lovemaking. My rising passion makes my skin tingle. Now there’s a hand on my neck but both Tomas’s are still gripping my bum. I try to turn to see who is behind me. I can’t move. The hand on my neck is strong, keeping my mouth tight on Tomas’s. I open my eyes. Tomas has his open too and I see fear in them. What’s happening to us? I remember the man at Café Lenôtre – the rose – and I can smell the scent, not sweet now, but sickly, cloying.
“Don’t mind me.” I recognise that man’s voice, even though he is now speaking English. Stupidly, I want to tell him I can understand him, but I can’t break away from the kiss. This isn’t possible. How can one man hold two people so firmly with only his hands?
“The rose was a nice touch, don’t you think? I sprayed it with a truly wonderful drug. It breaks down the neurological connections for voluntary movements, only allowing eye activity and, of course, the involuntary mechanisms such as breathing. Naturally I anticipated your immobility and I brought transport along to help move you off the street. We can’t have any opportunistic voyeurs watching your passionate antics, now can we?”
He torments us with his snide comment. We’re well aware that there are no other people around. No chance of anyone coming to help us. What is he going to do? I’m so scared. Tears spill from my eyes and I can see the anguish in Tomas’s.
The man slides a rolling mat under our feet – one like the delivery men use for large parcels – and he pushes us through the darkened gateway into the grounds of the Théâtre Marigny. Tomas’s hands remain clasped around my buttocks and what started as a funny, sexy gesture now seems grotesque. Five minutes ago I would’ve given anything to be able to get in here and fulfil the desires Tomas aroused in me. Now I want to run as far away as possible.
Out of the corner of my eye I see that the clouds have cleared, the moon is bright in a star-filled sky. Such beauty amidst this horror. My gaze returns to Tomas’s face. His eyes are closed, possibly to shield me from his own terror.
Why is the Englishman doing this to us? He tapes our bodies together in an even tighter embrace than before, pulling our hips so close that I can feel Tomas’s pelvic bones grinding into mine. Oh, I’d wanted him so much but this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.
As the Englishman pushes us to the ground the cold creeps into my body from the frozen earth – strange that I can sense that when, otherwise, I’m so numb.
“Almost done,” the man says cheerfully. I begin to believe that, despite everything, it’s going to be okay after all. Maybe he’s just going to leave us here for a sick joke – to teach us that it’s not acceptable to make out on street corners. But now he puts a clip on my nose. NO! I scream though no sound emerges. I can’t breathe. Please unblock my nose. PLEASE. Tomas suffers the same fate and, eventually, we can’t help it – we’re trying to breathe through each other’s mouth. It won’t work. How can it? We have nothing left. I love you, Tomas. I need you to hear me, to read my mind.
Wait – where’s Simone? What’s happened to our connection? She’s only the other side of the river. SIMONE! Phone the police, please. We’re … we’re … I can’t see anything. It’s gone dark. My ears buzz. I’m so tired.
***
“Dez. Dez! Wake up, sweetheart. It’s only a bad dream. Come on. Deep breath now. That’s it.”
Dad was gently shaking me to rouse me. I was fighting his grip trying to get free, panting and sweating as though I’d run a marathon. My head was fuzzy, I had flashes of light blurring my vision and my chest ached with each breath I pulled in. Finally my vision cleared and I realised where I was. I licked my dry lips, tasting a residual drop of champagne. Don’t be daft! It’s just your imagination.
“S … Sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to disturb you. What time is it?” I looked at my bedside monitor. Only eleven-thirty. It felt like I’d been out for much longer.
“Do you want a drink or something to eat? You didn’t have much at dinner.”
“A drink would be nice, thanks. My mouth tastes like a badger’s arse!” Where did that come from?
Dad looked at me with a mixture of shock and bewilderment. I shrugged and put on my ‘really sorry’ face.
“Oops!”
“I wonder at you sometimes, young lady,” he said, shaking his head as he went to get my drink. He still looked puzzled when he returned with a glass of chilled water for me.
“I am sure I have never shared that particular expression of Claude’s with you,” he said, referring to his own PT. “I am surprised you have heard it at all. It is not one of the more common phrases for today’s young people, is it?” He was using his official voice. I wasn’t in big trouble yet but he was concerned.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where it came from. Maybe I’m just going frikkin’ psycho.”
“Desirée this is not funny at all and I suggest you moderate your language before you say anything else.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I protested, crying with frustration, “but I don’t know what’s going on. The voices in my head – they keep nagging at me. It’s so bloody noisy in there I can’t think straight any more.”
“Voices? What voices? When did this start? Was it before your … accident?”
He sounded angry or was it fear? Whatever it was, I couldn’t handle it.
“Can we talk in the morning, please? I’ve got an awful headache and I’m really tired.”
“All right, Desirée. We shall try to get to the bottom of this tomorrow. Good-night.”
And, my normally forgiving, understanding father left my room without even a good-night kiss. He’d never done that before. I could see Mum hovering outside my bedroom door. She sighed and shook her head sadly before turning to follow Dad back to their room. Were we ever going to get back to normal – and what is normal these days anyway?
I drank the water to try and swill away the choking sensation that lingered in my throat. The noise in my head was subdued but still present – as though it also felt cowed by the seriousness of the situation. That had been more than a dream brought on by reading the news report in Elizabeth’s Handi. I’d felt every emotion, every sensation. I’d suffocated trying to breathe through the mouth of my lover – well not technically my lover, but that’s beside the point. It was a memory. It was so real. It had to be a memory.
It’s fine promising to talk about it. But how do I explain all that?
CHAPTER 17
Ellingham: 1 August 2110
I’d rather have nothing than this constant babble.
A few days ago I was worried that I’d never hook-up with my PT – this morning it felt like I had the whole world chattering in my head. This wasn’t the connection that I’d expected from the lessons we
’d had with Ms Thorogood.
I sent a message to Seth telling him I was still feeling washed out so needed to stay home – alone. I also managed to avoid further discussions with the ’rents. Dad was called into a big meeting in London and Mum seemed happy to leave me undisturbed in my room all day. I needed the space as I hadn’t slept at all for the remainder of that night. I was barely coherent and just lay in bed, restlessly tossing and turning, trying to relax. My head felt as though hundreds of tiny miners were trying to excavate the inside of my skull. I could hardly see through my swollen eyelids, having cried into my pillow for most of the night. It occurred to me that I’d done more crying over this last week than through the entire past year. The peace I’d briefly found during the first hypnotherapy session and afterwards in Seth’s arms, was a quickly fading memory. I needed to find it again if I was going to keep my sanity.
Mum would normally have been in the room trying to get me to buck up my ideas and get some chores done to show how sorry I was, but she kept her distance throughout the day then surprised me with a significant change in her behaviour. She brought some supper on a tray and put it on my bedside table – I was never allowed food in my room!
“Here you are, love,” she said. “Try to eat. You need something to keep up your strength.”
I turned to look at her. She reached forward and stroked the hair away from my damp face. Her expression of concern was so unexpected I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again. When would I run dry? She gathered me in her arms and I’m sure I could feel her sobbing too.
“There, there. We’ll sort this out. Don’t worry, Dizzy.” Mum hadn’t used her own, private, pet name for me since I’d started at the Academy. I took a little comfort from the sense that my mum was feeling affectionate towards me for once.
I was exhausted but afraid to sleep. Mum looked intently at me and knew that I was struggling.
“I appreciate that you didn’t want to take these when you came home from the clinic,” she said, producing a couple of sleeping pills, “but one night’s dose won’t do you any harm. You need the rest.”
Maybe she was right. I swallowed the pills in the hope that they would knock me out so completely that I wouldn’t hear the clamouring in my head nor have any more frightening dreams – although I still wasn’t convinced that it had been simply a nightmare. I just wanted oblivion for a few hours.
Mum waited with me until I’d eaten enough supper to satisfy her that I wasn’t going to fade away through lack of food. Then she picked up the tray, straightened the duvet where she’d been sitting, lightly kissed my forehead and went to the bedroom door.
“We’ll talk in the morning. Let’s see if Mr Grey can explain things for us tomorrow, shall we?”
“Yes. Thanks, Mum.” I held back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm me. This rollercoaster of emotions was exhausting. I had to get myself back under control. Maybe Alvin did have some answers. The drugs began to kick in and I finally managed to slip into a dreamless sleep.
If only it had lasted. I woke in the early hours of the morning, sure that someone had been calling to me. Although I was still slightly groggy, I was convinced I hadn’t dreamed the voice. The noise in my head was at a tolerable level, maybe I was getting accustomed to it, but it felt like there was an echo of something above the normal buzz. I was reluctant to chase it while the chatter was manageable. I didn’t want to turn up the volume, so I lay still and consciously tried to relax using the breathing technique from my hypno session, thinking about a time when I was truly happy.
***
We’d been at the Wallis house for a barbeque the Saturday of Seth’s eleventh birthday. Mum and Elizabeth were chatting and laughing as they prepared salads and desserts, while Dad and Samuel continued the centuries-old tradition of the men burning sausages on the grill. I don’t know how they managed it on the thermasensor-spit, but they did! Summer had started early that year and it was a warm afternoon filled with buzzing insects pollinating the flowers, and twittering birds as they fed their fledglings. Seth and I sat on the bench that surrounded the big oak tree at the bottom of the garden. I nervously gave him my present and a quick peck on the cheek.
“Happy birthday, Seth. Hope you like it.”
He carefully unwrapped the gift, smoothing the paper before opening the box I’d retrieved from our recycling. I was pleased with myself for finding one just the right size for the antique binoculars that I’d bought at a house clearance sale. They were the sort that had a focussing wheel and lenses – not the modern satellite enhanced digital-sights.
“Jeez, thanks, Dez. They’re genuine Leica Ultravids – look there’s an old receipt in the bottom of the case: £1,210 – pre-credits! Hang-on, I can just make out the date, 15th April 2009. They were state-of-the-art back then.”
I’d never seen Seth so excited. I knew he was keen on old-fashioned stuff, and binoculars, telescopes and the like were particular favourites. But I hadn’t realised how much these would mean to him. He hugged me tightly and gave me a huge, sloppy kiss – on the mouth! – then pulled away embarrassed at his outburst, though still grinning from ear-to-ear. I felt like I’d just received the best birthday present of my life, instead of being the giver. It wasn’t the kiss – still too young to really appreciate that – it was the sheer joy in Seth’s face. His boisterous mood was infectious and soon, at his insistence, everyone was taking turns to look at birds, trees, even the neighbour’s washing, through his new prized possession.
That blissful afternoon and evening were a cherished memory. Elizabeth was able to ignore her ‘moody-blues’, as Seth labelled them, and she chased around the garden with us as though she hadn’t a care in the world. Mum was slightly less exuberant but happily joined in with the more sedate activities. When they got tired of the party games, Samuel and Dad sat on the tree-bench and enjoyed a glass or two of vintage Chivas Scotch Whisky. Finally, Seth and I stretched out on the grass and watched the day fade to night as the sun set in a peach-coloured sky. The powerful binoculars seemed to bring the glittering stars within reach and we giggled as we tried to grab them. In our little world all was well and we were comfortable and happy in each other’s company.
***
Try as I might I couldn’t stop the darkness welling up and obliterating the happy scene. What had happened to make Elizabeth so sad – so desperately miserable that she felt she had to leave her family and friends? She always called Samuel and Seth her ‘darling boys’ and it didn’t sound naff when she said it – it sounded just right. How could she turn away from that much love? The thought reminded me of something I’d seen in her diary and I reached for my bag hanging from my bed-frame. To save time, I opened the Handi’s index page and entered ‘darling boys’ in the search box. There it was, an entry in the results for Tuesday 26th October 2106, the day Elizabeth disappeared:
For my darling boys; ‘Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.’
As I read the quotation, I tapped my finger against the screen, a habit of mine when concentrating. The connection brought the cursor back into action and I began to doodle, dragging my finger randomly around the page whilst trying to recall the last few times I’d seen Elizabeth. Had she seemed depressed, preoccupied, distant? No, I didn’t remember noticing any of those things or maybe she hid her feelings too well. I wasn’t really focussing on the Handi screen when, by chance, I noticed the cursor temporarily changed shape in one particular area. I carefully traced over that patch and, so briefly that I nearly missed it, the cursor became a teardrop shape. My gut reaction made me click the enter button on the side of the Handi and a new handwritten page came into focus:
My darling boys,
If you’re reading this then I’m no longer with you and I hope that you can forgive me. I’d give anything for this not to be the case. It’s so much harder when I can’t even explain why I left this evening. Please believe that if I could have ended the nightmare any other way,
I would have done so.
Writing this hurts – physically, as well as emotionally. I’m struggling against barriers that nobody fully understands yet. I know my vagueness is frustrating, but the answers are here if you can find them. This isn’t a cruel riddle to hurt you. Please believe me. It’s the only way I can get the message to you.
Read my journal. Remember the REAL me. I need you to do this, please. I need you to see why it had to be this way. MOST IMPORTANTLY – REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART AND I HATE LEAVING YOU LIKE THIS.
Sam, my love, be brave for our son. Be strong knowing that I’ve always loved you and that your love has comforted me through my darkest hours. Although I’m envious that I won’t be with you, I want you to find love again when this is over. Share your generous heart with someone new. You’ll know when you find her and I give you my blessing.
Seth, how can a mother leave such a wonderful son? It’s breaking my heart. But I’ll be with you in spirit throughout your life. I’ll watch you grow into the caring, supportive and warm man that I can already see in you. I’ll laugh with you when you’re happy – yes, you will be happy again. Dez will help you, she’s a wonderful girl and a good friend. I’ll cry with you and share your pain and hope that if you feel I’m with you it’ll heal quicker. I’ll support all your hopes and dreams so don’t you dare lose sight of them! I’m already so very proud of you, my dear, sweet boy.
I must go now. I so want to turn back and stay with you but I can’t allow the horror to infect our family any longer.
Take care of each other, my darling boys and forgive me, please forgive me. I wish I could have found another way.