The Janus Cycle

by Tej Turner

  “There you are!” Patrick said. “I was thinking you’d backed out on us.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I muttered as Ellen passed me my flute case and I opened it.

  “That girl’s got a flute!” one of the audience members yelled out. I looked for the speaker but swiftly remembered that it would be hard to spot him out because most of them looked the same anyway.

  So far this evening the crowd had shown a marked preference for sub-standard heavy metal and I suddenly became conscious of the fact we were about to play a fusion of softer styles they had probably never listened to before. I had a terrible feeling that this was going to go horribly wrong and feared a bad reaction from the crowd. It almost made me want to turn and run but then I looked at the band-members who were relying on me and realised that they were the people I truly respected, and I didn’t want to let them down.

  Why should I care what these strangers thought of me? I knew that we were good, and it was time to show them that.

  “Are you ready?” Ellen whispered.

  I nodded.

  Ellen turned her microphone on and brought it to her mouth. “We are Sunset Haze.”

  Amelia let out a yell and smacked her sticks together a few times before pounding them into a rhythm on her drum set, Jack soon joined her with the opening tune on his guitar, and I readied myself for my cue.

  We wisely began with one of our rockier songs, and, in my opinion, we had never sounded better, but it was also clear that the garish crowd in front of us were mostly unimpressed. Some of them lightly nodded their heads in time with our music, so I could tell that on some level they were enjoying it, but it was like they were afraid to let themselves go while others around them didn’t. At the end of the first song there was a brief silence. I heard a few distasteful mutters from the crowd and I looked over to where my friends were sitting to catch Amy looking at us with a stony expression as she whispered something into Harriet’s ear.

  Jack replaced his electric guitar for an acoustic and we began the next song.

  The crowd were even less impressed by one of our more folk-inspired tracks, but the song itself was uplifting so I concentrated on playing it well. Patrick swayed back and forth as he played the violin, like he usually did, enjoying being a part of the music even though it was being underappreciated. I admired him for his carefree spirit.

  Something odd happened during the third song. The crowd got bigger. The area by the front of the stage was still filled with a mostly disinterested nest of teenagers coated in black but around the fringes of the main bar, an assortment of people filtered into the room. I turned my eyes to the stairs to see that they were all coming out from their hiding places in the upper rooms. The edges of the crowd were suddenly filled with people dressed in clothes of all colours and styles. A girl wearing a purple blouse and red skirt began to dance, twirling around to our song with a smile on her face of pure, uncomplicated joy.

  Many gave her scathing looks but she carried on, without caring, and was soon joined by others. My spirits were lifted, and by the end of the fourth song we had generated a fairly good buzz of people.

  Then, after the fifth song drew to an end, something extraordinary happened.

  Ellen started dancing around the stage in a state of catatonia. Twirling her body around as her arms jerked and twisted like a pair of angered snakes. There were several gasps from the audience and I stared at her in concern. Everything about the movements she was making was unnatural and completely different to the calm, collected, and graceful girl I knew. By the end of the song she was shaking so violently I thought she was having a seizure. She fell to the floor.

  I dropped my flute and ran to her side, grabbing her shoulders.

  “Ellen!” I said, shaking her. “What’s the matter?”

  Her eyes shot open and a wild grin spread across her face. Her features were the same but it was like she was possessed. I looked her in the eyes and then realised I recognised the essence behind them from somewhere else, but not anywhere in the waking world.

  The girl I was holding wasn’t Ellen anymore. It was Jessica.

  “This is it,” Patrick whispered, appearing at our side. “It’s time to play those songs we told you about. Yes, Jessica?”

  Jessica nodded excitedly.

  “You learned them, right, Faye?”

  “She knows them well enough,” Jessica answered, winking at me devilishly as she pushed herself back onto her feet. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  At first I was too shocked to even move. I just stared at her as she readied the microphone. I then remembered that there was a whole audience watching me and composed myself. I picked up my flute, trying to hide my entwined state of shock, excitement, and confusion.

  Jack plugged his electric guitar back in and pushed one of the buttons on the switch-amplifier. He began to flick the chords and a distorted haze of sound filled the room. I held the flute to my lips and readied myself. I had never played this song with the others before but Jessica’s presence was electrifying and filled me with confidence. I was determined to do it right.

  I blew my first note, and the rest of the band members joined in with their instruments. The noise we created together was ominous and hauntingly beautiful. The startled crowd before us (even the ones who didn’t like us) were immediately drawn to the sudden change in our sound and fixed their eyes on the stage, silently hypnotised by our music.

  Ellen – or rather, Jessica, I should say – then let out a wail just as the song reached the first verse. She sang an indecipherable mouth-music, just as indistinguishable as her twin’s, but even more enticing and moving. I found myself dancing around on the spot as we played, feeling elated despite the arcane and dark tones of the sound we were generating. I didn’t even understand why the music was so mesmerising but that didn’t even matter. It was as if Jessica had brought a piece of the otherworld with her and was channelling it into our music.

  I played and played, losing myself, and it was only when the last song was over that I became aware again.

  Jessica finished the performance with a graceful bow and the rest of us followed suit. We failed to capture the hearts of many of the original audience, but the newcomers who ventured from upstairs were all cheering and that was good enough for me. I scanned my eyes across the crowd to see that Amy was now near the front with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “What the fuck was that?” Amy yelled, when I went to talk to her.

  “I’m sorry. I know I should have told you—” I began but I was interrupted.

  “We’re supposed to be in a band. A good band. Not that bullshit I just saw! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

  “Nothing is wrong with me!” I exclaimed. “And we’ll never be a band because you can’t be arsed to learn!”

  “Faye!” Harriet suddenly cut-in, appearing beside Amy. “You betrayed us! I can’t believe it! I’m never speaking to you ever again!”

  “Oh will you just grow up!” I yelled.

  “Is that why you’ve been dressing like that?” Amy yelled, flouncing a discarding wave at my outfit. “They made you dress like that, didn’t they? You’re such a loser!”

  “No one made my dress like this!” I screamed. “In fact, for the first time I am dressing how I want to dress, not how you make me.”

  “I never made you—”

  “Yes you did!” I interrupted. “You always do. You pressure people! You want them to be like you because you think it makes you cool and fashionable. Can’t you see that you are all just a bunch of fucking wannabes?” I exclaimed, waving an arm at the crowd of disgruntled, fake goths gathered around the stage, waiting for the results for the battle of the bands to be announced.

  I knew that what I said must have rang something deep within her, because Amy’s eyes widened and she gasped, covering a hand over her mouth.

  “Faye!” Harriet squealed, with tears in her eyes. “It’s okay. I know you don’t mean it... just come bac
k with us. We’ll talk...”

  I shook my head, which just caused more tears to pour from Harriet’s eyes. It made me feel guilty, but I knew this was something I had to do.

  Because I had just realised that I had spent my whole life until now being pulled by strings. I think most people are. Strings that your friends, parents, school, television, and other facets of society wrap around you, each of them pulling and grinding, wearing away at your essence as they play you to whatever tune suits their purpose.

  Once you become aware of these strings you realise that they have always been there. You didn’t even notice them before, but you suddenly see them all around you. You see that most people are tangled, and the worst thing is that most of them like it that way because it makes them feel secure.

  But I wasn’t happy. I only really began to find happiness recently when I starting stretching my limbs. I was miserable before then, and I didn’t even know it.

  It was time to pull myself free.

  It was time to cut the cords.

  “What’s going on here?” Ellen called as she shuffled her way through the crowd towards us. I turned to her and realised by her eyes and movements of her body that she was still possessed by Jessica. For some reason I assumed she would leave once the performance was over.

  She fought her way through until she was beside me, and put an arm around my shoulder. “Is there a problem here?” she said, looking at Amy and Harriet. They both seemed to be unnerved by her and neither of them said anything.

  The next thing I knew Jessica’s hand was on my neck, and she pulled me into her lips. We began kissing and it was heaven. I kissed her back, finally understanding what it was all about. Amy and Harriet were watching me kiss a girl, and I didn’t even care.

  By the time we pulled away from each other we had an audience of boys cheering at us. I blushed.

  “I don’t need your bullshit anymore,” I said. “This is the real me, Amy, and if you don’t like it you can screw yourself!”

  Amy was too overcome with shock to do anything at first. She just stared at Jessica and me with wide eyes. I didn’t even look to Harriet to see what her reaction was – because it didn’t concern me. Not anymore.

  Then Amy’s eyes suddenly went red with rage and she dived at me. I tried to jump away but I wasn’t quick enough and my cheek was stung with the impact of her hand slapping my face. I covered my head in my hands and backed away.

  “Get away from my friends!” someone screamed, stepping between us.

  I looked up and saw that it was Amelia, and she now had Amy held up in the air by her neck. I stared. Of all people, Amelia had stepped in to my defence.

  She turned to me for a quick moment to smile and give me a playful wink, before lowering a terrified looking Amy back to the floor, grabbing her by the shoulders and dragging her out of the club.

  This time, I knew it was a dream from the moment I opened my eyes. I was in the meadow again. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the animals were grazing, and Jessica lay beside me.

  “Oh... I’m back here again,” I said, smiling at her. “What is it this time?”

  “Nothing,” Jessica said, positioning herself behind me and placing her hands on my back. “This is purely a pleasure visit.”

  “Oh,” I said, blushing. “Well... that’s nice. Thank you.”

  “Well... actually, there was one other thing,” she said, as her fingers traced my spine. “Patrick has been bugging my sister to get a cellist for the band... and I hate to admit it but he is right... and I also think you know the right person.”

  “Steve,” I realised. “Really? You want him?”

  “Why not?” Jessica said. “He stuck up for you when you were playing that night, you know. Amy and Harriet were bitching, but he defended you and said the music was great. I saw it just before I took Ellen’s body. I think he’s had enough of Amy’s crap as well.”

  “So you’re going to start messing around with his dreams?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No... part of all that was for my pleasure, you know. Steve can be your little project. He’s already on the right course.”

  “Good,” I said, smiling. “I hate to think of you playing with his ‘instrument’... makes me a little jealous.”

  Jessica laughed. “I only use that method with certain... special people,” she said, circling around me until we were face to face. “Steve already knows which way he swings.”

  She placed a hand on my breast. “I hope you don’t mind if I still make the occasional visit?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Good... so anyway,” she said, looking down. “How is your instrument? I believe it needs a little tuning...”

  “Oh for goodness sake!” I retorted. “Are the metaphors still necessary?”

  6

  Going Back

  I woke up that morning with only two things on my agenda; turn up to college for a lecture and then go visit my mother in the afternoon. It all sounds like a pretty lucrative and uneventful schedule. You really wouldn’t expect someone to complicate a day like that, would you?

  You obviously don’t know me yet.

  I arrived at college in the morning with great punctuality and sat myself near the back of the classroom. It was for my A Level in Religious Studies, and the topic that day was the Ontological Argument. I swiftly became extremely bored.

  It’s not that I don’t like philosophy – I mean, why the hell would I have enrolled myself in this class in the first place if I didn’t?

  I like talking about shit, and the beginning of the year was interesting enough. We explored the Cosmological Argument – a theory which follows a logical process: that everything in the cosmos is governed by a chain of cause and effect. Throw a brick at a window and the glass will break. A man and a woman having sex, can lead to a child being conceived. In a void of nothingness, before even time existed, a singularity appeared and created everything which exists in a massive explosion of elementary particles.

  But what caused this miraculous event to happen? The Universe must have a cause outside of itself, and for St Thomas Aquinas, it was God. It is a fairly interesting (if debatable) point. Even an agnosto-atheist like myself (the ‘agnosto’ bit is the scientist in me; I don’t believe in God but I will not completely discard the idea until it has been thoroughly disproven) left the room that day asking myself some questions.

  But today:

  “The Ontological Argument works on the premise that if we, as intelligent human beings, have conceived of the greatest possible being, then it must in fact exist,” the teacher began.

  What?

  I tried to listen for a while as the teacher droned on about the theory in more detail. There really wasn’t any more detail. I allocated ten more minutes of time for this ‘philosophical theory’ to materialise into something rational, but it failed to elevate itself from “God exists, because we say he does”.

  I would have stuck it out for the sake of the exam at the end of the year, but I am a girl of principle and I signed up to this course for philosophy.

  But it was okay; I am always prepared for such a situation. I kept my gaze turned towards the front of the room, pretending to be riveted by the lesson, while slipping my hand into my bag. When my fingers had successfully located the tub of Tiger Balm in there I pulled it out and unscrewed the cap.

  After a quick glance to make sure no one was looking, I dipped my finger in it and smothered it under my eyes.

  It usually takes about ten seconds to work, which gives me just enough time to hide the evidence. Once my secret contrivance was safely concealed, the tears began to flow. I didn’t even need to pretend to rub my eyes because they were stinging like crazy, but I did let out a few dramatic sobs to achieve the whole neurotic-teenage-girl effect which has never failed to get me out of a lesson.

  And then the eyes of the classroom were focussed on me. I looked down at my desk, feigning embarrassment. It was all a charade – I don’t do emb
arrassed.

  “Something wrong, Frelia?” Mr Harrison asked.

  I tore my hands away from my face to look up at him so he could see my red, wet, welted eyes.

  “I’m sorry Sir...” I sobbed. “It’s just... just...”

  His eyes widened, and I could tell he was starting to panic. If you try to tell a teacher that you must leave because of an emergency or appointment they scrutinise you with all kinds of questions, but as soon as you cry it’s like you are infected with a contagious disease and must leave before anyone else catches it. Sixth-form college is a centre of development for the adolescent, and is therefore no place for teenage angst or emotions.

  “It’s... o-ok if you want to leave, Frelia,” he stammered.

  “No, Sir,” I said, shaking my head and spilling tears on the desk. “It’s okay. I’m sorry! It’s just that I—”

  “Just go!” he said, pointing towards the door.

  Well, if you insist.

  I didn’t even need to proceed to phase two and make allusions to my menstrual cycle. Nothing freaks out a male teacher better than that one.

  I rubbed the remaining balm from my eyes as I left the buildings of the college and made my way towards town. I still had some time to burn before I could go see my mother so I wandered around the park, smoked a few fags, watched the ducks, and even convinced myself at one point that, maybe, there was some saving grace to the lesson I just walked out on. A quick read of the textbook reaffirmed my conviction that there wasn’t.

  I looked at my watch to judge if I had burned enough time and then made my way alongside the lake. There was a guy standing behind a table, trying to advertise something. I made a point of not making eye contact as I went past but he caught me with the words:

  “Free samples!”

  Did he just say free? I thought, realising that I was actually quite hungry. I walked over to him. He was a skinny man with a bald head, dressed in robes. Oh, wait – scratch that – orange robes. He was a monk.