Chapter 8
The sound of my name being called is like a quick jolt to the chest, waking me from my sleep.
“Mitchell!” They call out again.
Laying on my bed, I sit up in seconds and for the first time ever I can honestly say I’ve never been happier to be waking from a night terror. To have my lungs struggle for breath and my heart racing is nothing short of a gift, ensuring it was all just a dream. And this is where I remain for the next few minutes, afraid to move or even blink in case it isn’t real and I’ll be thrown back to Matthew’s bedroom. The thought alone sends a shiver quaking down my spine.
Breathing deeply, I catch the scent of freshly cut grass that blows in from the outside world, an unusual smell for the middle of winter, but relaxing nonetheless. “Mitchell!” That voice! I recognise it, but cannot match it to its owner. And it’s if whoever calls to me, does at a great distance, with power, yet faint.
Letting out a giant yawn, I rise from the bed and walk to the window. The road is empty, not even a single person in sight. It’s quiet, peaceful and only the sound of birds soaring through the sky can be heard. I feel almost docile, staring out at the world in front of me. All colour is so vibrant, almost illuminating. Red, blues and yellows all mixing together to create new colours in a bid to catch my attention. Even the sight of my neighbour’s garden is inviting, covered in a lush and healthy green, making me wonder how I’d missed it all this time. Have I been too preoccupied with other things; maybe too busy staring into my mobile to care.
Time passes me by, but I do not worry, I let it. It’s hard not to feel so calm in such tranquillity. I haven’t felt this good in such a long time, and an unstoppable smile creeps onto my face, melting away all my anxieties.
“Mitchell!”
Matthew!? I’d completely forgotten about him.
Dashing to his room, I stop myself short of his door, scared of what I might find. Last time this happen my brother was levitating off the ground, covered in glorious lights. Pushing the door, it creaks as it opens slowly. Everything is normal, his furniture is in its usual place and there're no scorch or burn marks anywhere. Just his normal messy room. Minus him. He must have gotten up early for a gym session as his bed is empty and unmade; another display confirming the normality of his bedroom.
Back to my room and I try and locate my mobile for some indication as to what the time is, but it’s nowhere to be seen. Even my alarm clock is no help, as it flashes random numbers. But none of this worries me, even if I have overslept, it’s just my body catching up on the sleep I’ve missed out on over the past few weeks.
Running my frictionless socks across the laminate flooring, I slide the length of the hallways, only to be stopped in my tracks by a flash of light, followed by a vision of my crumpled body landing at my feet, as it was after being thrown from Matthew’s bedroom. The image is quick, too fast to make out any details, but long enough to send a shock to my system. “It was just a dream.” I calmly tell myself.
Music travels upstairs, some old band from the eighties, which means mum is home and it must still be early morning. Met by a sweet aroma as I bound into the kitchen, I’m greeted by a plate full of freshly made pancakes stacked atop of each other, smothered in maple syrup – my favourite – all accompanied by a steaming pot of tea. “Good morning.” I cheer, taking one of two places set at the table.
Stood by the sink, dressed in a summer dress and humming along to the radio, mum flinches slightly nearly dropping a plate she’s holding, caught out in a daydream. “Someone’s in a good mood today.” She notes with a smile.
“Of course! I have a feeling today’s going to be a good day.”
“And it only gets better,” she beams, walking towards the table with a spring in her step. “I’ve made your favourite!” she adds, waving her hands over the food to display her culinary skills, before taking a seat beside me.
“I noticed. What’s brought this on?” I ask, eyeing up the mountain of food before me.
Stabbing at the stack of pancakes with a fork, mum lifts three from the pile before shaking them free onto my plate. “Just thought you deserved a treat. More syrup?”
“No thanks.”
Wasting no time, I begin to tuck into the soft spongey pancakes, wanting my fair share as Matthew will be home soon and probably demolish the lot in seconds. So I’m sure he won’t mind too much, at least that’s what I tell myself as I wash down a large mouthful with a gulp of tea.
Catching mum staring at me out the corner of my eye, I’m put off slightly, as she continues to smile with her head tilted in awe. She must be caught in another daydream. “No business suit today?” I ask, breaking her gaze.
“Not today, I’ve decided to work from home instead. It’s such a lovely day, would be a shame to waste it stuck inside an office.” She says as she begins to eat, only starting with a stack of two, but we both know she’ll have more.
We then chat aimlessly while we finish all the food, an in-depth conversation, something we hardly ever do since I’ve gotten older. Basically catching up on my whole life since I was about thirteen; how I am getting on at college, how Riley is and that he should come round more often as he’s “such a lovely boy.” She even asks whether there’s a “girl in my life.” For a moment, I consider telling her about the dark haired girl – as she is a girl in my life – but decide against it, I wouldn’t know where to begin. And even though parts of the conversation were kind of awkward, I’m glad we had the opportunity to catch up, just me and her.
With empty plates and bloated stomachs, mum begins clearing the table, balancing all the cutlery in one hand. And although I offer, she refuses my help, leaving me to lean back into my chair exposing my bulging belly. “Matthew won’t be happy we didn’t leave him any,” I laugh.
A smash echoes through the kitchen, one so loud it nearly causes me to fall from the chair as I jump in sync with a startled beat of my heart. Obviously, mum’s balance isn’t what it used to be, as splintered plates lay at her feet. “Good thing we’ve got more,” I joke, bending down to clear the large pieces.
But she doesn’t answer, she doesn’t even move, her static face just remains empty, staring out the window overlooking the back garden.
“Are you ok?” I ask.
Slowly, her face begins to crumble as she looks down at me. “Why would you say that?” she replies.
Confused, I try and think back to what I could have said wrong. “Say what?”
Hurrying to the kitchen sink, as if to get away from me, mum remains silence as I clear the floor, staring longingly out the window. Until I approach her, still unaware as to what I’ve said or done wrong.
“I thought you’d forgotten, that it was probably for the best you didn’t remember.” She utters, her voice breaking as she tries to hold back tears.
“Forgotten what?” I ask.
She forces a smile which last no longer than a second, and unable to hold it back any longer, she sheds a tear, letting it stroll down her cheek. Hit in the chest by her sadness, I ask again. “Mum, please tell me. What have I forgotten?”
“You were just a child,” she recounts touching my face, her warm hand against my skin is a little comfort. “It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t help it.” She forces another smile as her gaze falls from mine to the floor.
“You and Matthew were playing in the garden” – she waves her hand effortlessly towards the window – “While I stood here, as I’ve always done, washing the dishes and watching you both play. I’d done it so many times before I didn’t think anything bad would ever have happened to either of you, as long as I kept watch.”
We’d always play out in the garden as children, normally something like cops and robbers – of course, Matthew was always the cop. But I can’t remember anything bad happening to us. Ever.
“Until that day… you were both eight years old, I know this because we’d just celebrated your eighth birthday party a week prior in London… we went to the z
oo. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” I reply. “We got to bring a friend. I brought Riley and he got so excited to see the monkeys that he wet himself.” I want to laugh, but nothing comes. Surely I’d remember something bad happening to us no longer than a week later.
“I had nearly finished all the washing up when I heard a terrible scream, filled with such a pain, I just knew something awful had happened before I’d even looked up.” Her hands begin to tremble and her bottom lip begins to quiver as she tries to hold back more tears. “The garden was covered in thick black smoke, I couldn’t see either of you. I was so scared. I ran as fast as I could into the smoke, choking on it as I tried to find you both. Then, there you were, stood frozen and unable to speak. I immediately scooped you into my arms and kept asking you where Matthew was, but you wouldn’t say anything. It was as if you weren’t there anymore; you’d become a blank slate staring up at me, stuck behind hollow eyes.” She stops talking, becoming lost in her thoughts like she’s been put into a trance.
“Mum! Please! What happened to Matthew?” I beg.
She blinks at the sound of my voice, and stutters as she tries to piece together words. “Matthew… Matthew died.” She blurts out.
Have I stumbled backwards? I wouldn’t know, all I do know is my back is tight to the counter tops, holding me up and saving me from falling to the floor. Her words were like a paralysing shot to the stomach, irradiating through my body until it overcrowded my mind with countless thoughts that robbed my limbs of natural movement. “You’re wrong!” I yell, my head twirling.
She hesitantly walks to me. “He’s dead Mitchell. On that day eight years ago your brother suffered terrible burns. I should know! I found his charred body myself,” – tears now streaming down her face – “I had to watch as my child lay dying, with the paramedics unable to save him.”
I slam my hands down on the kitchen counter, hard enough to make the bases of them throb with pain. “This can’t be true, it just can’t be!”
She reluctantly rests a hand on my shoulder. “The next day you woke as if nothing had happened, and you never spoke of him again. The doctors said you’d repressed it, unable to deal with the tragedy” – she hesitates – “the tragedy of killing your own brother.”
I fall to the floor as the world around me becomes nothing more than a blur and although I’m still able to sense my mum’s presence, I can no longer hear her, only a muffled mess of words instead. How can this be? My brother has been dead years, by my hands. Have I been trapped in a fantasy world for all those years; stuck in a world an eight-year-old had created to escape? Could this have been why I dreamt of fire bursting from my body, with him cowering in the corner of his room, a way of my mind finally catching up to me?
His room!
Without explanation I jump to my feet and bolt for the stairs, leaving mum behind in the kitchen calling out my name. I know I saw his room this morning, the mess he’d left it in. His unmade bed, piles of sports magazines and even that stupid lamp he loves so much. It was all there. Bursting through his door, I expect to find these things, only I find myself stood in the middle of mum’s old study, exactly how it was before she changed it into a bedroom. Her desk centred where Matthew’s bed should be, bookshelves of computer books lining the wall where his wardrobe and chest of drawers were. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, not more than thirty minutes ago this was a bedroom. Maybe it’s a hallucination? I’ve seen some pretty shocking things in my short life, this could be one of them. Closing my eyes tight, I begin to count to three, hoping that when I open them again it’ll be back to normal and I won’t have to admit I’m going crazy. Three seconds pass yet my eyes remain closed, I already know what room I’m stood in and this is confirmed when I open them. It’s the study.
Hurrying back into the hallway I notice it seems darker than it was before, now dull, dingy and grey. The once blue sky has been replaced with blackened clouds, covering the sun completely and syphoning all the colour from the once beautiful world I’d awoken to. Doubts are now able to pollute my mind the more the light fades as if it was acting as a protective barrier, guarding my inner thoughts. My openly exposed mind is now prey to every anxious thought, panic and worry I’ve ever had. My entire being submerged in a darkness that infects every inch of my being.
Stumbling down the stairs, dazed, I somehow make it to the bottom step. I now know my brother is dead, has been for years, and by my hand. But how? She said she found his charred body. What was it I’d done to him? My mind thinks up countless scenarios, but none makes any sense. I need more answers.
Back in the kitchen, an orange hue now rebounds off the white walls, like the sun is setting in the distance. Mum, with her back to me, stands motionless in her summer dress, which is now devoid of all colour, looking more like a surgical robe. She hums to herself, running her hand along the countertop, back and forth.
“Mum!” I call out.
An eerie feeling sits deep within me, as mum’s presence becomes that of a stranger. “Mum!” I yell, this time, louder.
A beam of orange light then begins to flickers from either side of her, like it’s trying to pour in through the window to reach me, but she is blocking its path. “Mum!” I roar in a voice that isn’t my own.
“That’s my boy,” she lures, her words calmed and slow. “Let the anger out, just like you did when you were eight.” She turns to face me at such a speed that if I’d have blinked I would have missed it.
“You know now?” she asks, her face empty of all emotion. “What you are?”
Pain suddenly erupts within me and I crumble to my knees, unable to take the strain.
She laughs. “Look at you! Still so weak.”
“Stop it,” I mumble.
“Even with all your power, you’re nothing!”
“Please, just stop…”
“What!? Did you say something?” she yells mockingly in a high pitched voice.
Crouching at my level, silent, I try to avoid her gaze, too afraid to look into her lifeless eyes. And now inches from my face, she whispers. “Murderer.”
Overcome by a power that ignites from within, I tumble as an energy rushes throughout my body, the profound feeling paralysing me, yet I want more.
“There he is.” She boasts, jumping back.
“What’s happening to me?” I plead through breaths.
Erupting into a ball of fire, I fit on the floor, desperately trying to stifle the flames. And it’s at this moment I realise I feel no pain, and my body doesn’t burn but creates the fire itself. “Help me!” I beg.
But she’s no longer here. The kitchen is empty and I’m left alone.
“NOW!”
The stalking voice returns, filling me with fear.
“NOW!”
Urged to let go, I throw my arms out and release the built-up power I’d been holding back in a flourish of flames that shoot from every inch of my body outward. Pulling at me, I send all my anger, anxieties and doubts with it, discharging them all in the form of fire. Windows shatter first, throwing glass out into the garden, followed by cracks that form in the walls, growing larger as the bricks pull away from each other.
Crying out, drained and with nothing more to give, I wish for it would just end. And as a cloud of dust begins to fall from the fractured ceiling, I remain still as the roof above gives way and comes crashing down upon me.
Darkness. I am surrounded by nothing but darkness. Only my thoughts and I reside here. Am I dead? Is this it for eternity?
“Mitchell!” a breathy voice says.
“Yes?” I answer.
“This has gone on too long, you have to come back to us now.” She speaks in quick bursts like she is being rushed.
“Who are you?” I ask, unsure whether I’m speaking or thinking aloud.
“That doesn’t matter yet. You know something is wrong with you, don’t you? You’ve always known it. Well, now it’s finally time for answers. Meet me in Shellbourne gardens at sunset.�
� Her voice is monotone and every word is to the point.
“Yes, I want answers, but I don’t know where I am? I’m trapped here”
“All you need to do is wake up.” Her voice begins to fade. “Oh. And Mitchell?”
“Yes?”
“Bring your brother.”
Light begins to shine through, breaking up the darkness and expelling it from my vision. In front of me, a figure of someone comes into focus. They speak. “Mitchell?”
… Matthew?
Half-Breed Page 8