(2014) Deep Inside

by Jack Parker

  Lia nodded in affirmation and Cal turned his attention to her, putting down his food. He indicated the television. "Want to watch the news?"

  Memories of last night suddenly washed through her and she suppressed them, dwelling only on those more tangible moments –everything happy, right – because she didn't care anymore. She couldn't care anymore. She was too far in to move back.

  He budged up and she sat beside him, then he changed the channel. The news reader said something and a girl flickered on the screen, a pretty, Cadlian girl. She knew she had met her somewhere, somewhere at the back of her mind and as the name was spoken recognition sparked but she suppressed it. These people in the car were alien to her; she didn't know them and that's what made this, made everything, so much easier because as long as she didn't know them she couldn't let herself feel any remorse.

  Lia made to get up and turned, but a name caught her attention.

  "Jack Harlton, Head of Sector four, LAFFAT…" She pivoted, abruptly, telling herself it was only a name.

  A picture flickered on the screen, and then everything came crashing down.

  The newsreader continued, but she heard nothing, saw nothing, only that one picture as it danced across the screen, then disappeared.

  -

  "Are you coming too, then?" she asked, slipping on her trainers and a jacket.

  "Yeah, I guess. I haven't got anything better to do," he replied. "Hurry up, Li! Are you coming or not?"

  -

  The face stayed in the corner, flickering again and again and again and something choked up, caught, clenched. Ice formed, shattered, and glass cracked beneath a tumult of waves, diminishing and flying out to a burning sunset.

  -

  "I never said that I wanted to go to Elonsica," said Lia, gazing pointedly at Jack.

  Jack frowned.

  "When I said I wanted to go to Elonsica, I didn't mean in this way. When Aaron went a couple of years ago they stayed in a luxury hotel with its own swimming pool."

  -

  Lia stepped back and the details were announced over and over again, a burning, searing reminder.

  -

  …I feel so alone, Lia. I feel so alone…

  -

  A sense of urgency overcame her. "I have to go, now."

  It couldn't be…

  Cal's gaze flitted towards her and she saw something, some sort of half-understanding, then he pulled himself off of the sofa. "Lia, what –"

  But he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence, because she was gone.

  * * *

  Beep…beep…beep…

  "You're going to have to fill in these forms." The lady wavered.

  A white storm; it gathered, tinged red, wavered, coagulated.

  "Just let me in, please." The patience was barely there.

  The nurse shook her head placidly. "Excuse me, but standard procedu–"

  Lia grabbed the papers, scrunched them up and thrust them onto the table. Her voice was cold, icy. "Why don't you just take your fucking standard procedures and shove them up your ass, bitch."

  The lady had whitened. Indignation sparked. "Excuse me. But –"

  "Where the hell is my brother!"

  Her lips were pursed but she was visibly shaking. "I'll call security."

  A few people lingered on a bench, watching, wide eyed. Lia took in a few deep breaths. "Just tell me where he is –" She breathed in, out "–and then you won't have to."

  "You have to fill in the –"

  But Lia had already peered over. A name was flashing on the screen and a number. "Never mind."

  She walked away and the lady watched her, awed. Confusion marred her features.

  As soon as she had left the room, Lia took the opposite direction to the exit and made for the lift. The number pounded in her mind and she knew she had to get there. She had to get there and prove to herself, affirm that it wasn't her brother, because that's all she had left now, hope.

  But if it was him…

  She followed the numbers, reached a white door and stopped. This was it. Lia looked from side to side. There was no one and a silence had descended, an eerie, inhuman silence. She pushed open the door, then blinked.

  Wires…

  Tubes…

  Beep…beep…beep…

  Two figures…white…

  Something clenched.

  Jack.

  She stood, immobilized, and watched.

  And she felt sick, physically sick.

  A hand grabbed her arm and she pivoted, abruptly, ready to lash out. The grip softened and she let out a breath. Her eyes felt cloudy and all she wanted to do was scream.

  Cal let go of her wrist, then indicated the corridor. "Come on, let's go."

  She nodded, numbly, because she knew there was nothing that she could do. A glance over her shoulder; a figure, covered in a white blanket, but she could see his face, that face that she had suppressed, kept locked up in the deepest chasms of her mind, for so many years.

  And now it was all coming back; everything was coming back.

  She walked away.

  * * *

  Everything was frozen.

  She kicked and made the swing go higher, ignoring the awesome chill which beat against her form.

  Cal watched. "Do you want me to push you?"

  She continued to kick. Back and forth and back and forth. "No." The kicking intensified. "I might fall."

  And she couldn't fall, not yet.

  He was leaning against the fence, its criss-crossing shadows dancing over his arms. "It's really cold out here." He looked unaffected.

  Back and forth, and back and forth. "I know."

  Silence, then a statement. "You haven't had breakfast."

  "I know."

  She continued to kick. He added. "You can eat, then we'll come back." Lia jumped off of the swing, too tired to argue.

  Something flickered in his gaze for a faint second, but she was too tired to pay any attention. The pavement was slippery; it was hard to keep balance. They walked from the park, out to paths which crossed and further towards where the shops were. Lia felt no inclination to use the car; she wanted air, fresh air, and she was glad that Cal shared the same sentiment.

  Cal's hands were dug into his pockets –for warmth? And no one was speaking. Why were they both so quiet? Her foot-steps made no sound against tarmac as they turned across the road, into an alleyway.

  The ground was whiter here, less tame, so it was more difficult to keep her balance, even though she was wearing trainers. Lia watched her feet, each step. One, two, three, four…

  She looked up. A bird circled overhead.

  Cal stopped, suddenly, as did she.

  "What?"

  He put a finger to his lips and looked around, from side to side. Lia stood there, confused, and then he turned to face her. Frost glittered. He stepped forward and took her hand, kissed her knuckles and took two steps back.

  Lia raised an eyebrow. "Cal, what –"

  Gunshots filled the air. Heavy footsteps, hands, she stumbled; something grabbed her. Lia kicked.

  Three words. "I'm sorry, Lia." Heavy shouts; something gripped. "But it had to be done."

  The bird fell, shot dead, from the sky.

  A harsh pain through her head, then darkness.

  CHAPTER 19

  Pain will collect and kill you…

  Sing to me

  Sing to me

  Sing to me…

  La. La. La. La. La. La…

  "Stop the –

  La la la la lal alaa

  "I can sing, mommy."

  "Good boy."

  La. La. La. La. La. La.

  "But where are you?"

  Lala lala lalala.

  "Where are you?"

  Lalalalalalalaaaaaaaaaa

  "WHERE ARE YOU?"

  Scream.

  -

  It reminded her of cotton, loads of little balls of cotton and fluff, fragile, whisked into the air by a fan that had been
left on overnight. Light pooled from that single shaft of glass, lit up the dim cell, and highlighted dust that had settled, congealed, over a coarse surface.

  Lia pulled her legs to her chest, tightened her grip, and gazed up at the glass. Even if she could, somehow, figure out how to reach it, it was far too small for anything but her head to fit through. Any attempts of escape through it would be futile.

  A door creaked, something far away, and more light pooled in. She squinted, adjusted her vision and watched the figure as he leaned against the door, casually, a bowl of some sort propped in his hand.

  The words came of their own accord. "Decided to visit?"

  "I got bored."

  She inclined her head, every word laced in venom. Did that come of its own accord, too, or was she forcing it? The thought was pushed to the back of her mind. "And the bowl?"

  "How long has it been since you ate?" There was no concern in his words.

  It made her fume. "It's been longer since you had a bath, shit-head."

  Cal clicked his tongue. "Petty insults won't get you anywhere."

  "They'll make me feel better."

  "And that's all that matters, right? Your feelings?" His voice was contemptuous.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He dug his hands into his pockets, didn't answer, and something clicked.

  "Whenever we talked –" The words came, formulated, released into something tangible, "–you used to dig your hands into your pockets." She let out a dry laugh. "You asshole."

  Cal raised an eyebrow. "Finally figured it out?"

  "You recorded me."

  "Every. Single. Word."

  Lia massaged her forehead. "I can't believe you –" She stopped, shook her head.

  He pulled something from his pocket, tossed it into the air, pressed a button. A voice pealed out, "Only you would say something that sadistic…"

  "You had time to even when you fainted." The memories flooded back.

  He switched it off, clicked his tongue. "I'm a professional, Lia. I don't make mistakes."

  "Even when you fainted." She repeated the words, felt them reverberate through her mind. Even when he had been unwell, when he could have died, he had took the time to record her?

  Something cut through her chest, seared, clenched, and didn't let go.

  She looked up, met his gaze. It was cool, hard, just like it had been at the beginning, before…before the truce…before everything. Or hadn't there really been anything to begin with? What had it all been?

  Lia massaged her temples. "I can't believe you…"

  "You've said that already."

  His coolness, the solidity of his words, made her burn. "You're such an –"

  "Asshole? You've said that one, too."

  "Prick."

  "Cow."

  "Pleb."

  "Skank."

  "Dickhead."

  Cal folded his arms. "Scatological bitch."

  "Fuck you, and fuck your thesaurus, shit-head."

  He clicked his tongue, again. "You don't know what to say, so you're swearing."

  "I know exactly what I want to say, shit-brain."

  "Your defiance: sign number one."

  "What are you, my shrink?" she commented, dryly.

  The conversation felt familiar.

  "Your sarcasm just proves that I'm right." He balanced the bowl, tipped it to the side slightly and watched the contents roll, then stop.

  "No, it doesn't, shit-face."

  Cal raised an eyebrow. "That insult applies more to you than me."

  Red hot fire burned, tore. "Petty insults won't get you anywhere, Cal." She threw as much venom into the words, into his name, as possible.

  "Don't –" He stopped, drew out the words for more effect "–try and use my own words against me, because you'll find that you'll lose."

  The power, the self-assurance, of his words affirmed what he said. That unbeatable condescension that had irked her so much upon their first meeting was back, like a single bird swooping up into the sky, scouring for predators then returning to its nest to fester, build, stay. Or maybe it had never gone to begin with; maybe she had failed to notice it? The possibilities were endless.

  Silence descended and in those few moments, something gathered, rose, and crashed to the floor in a myriad of color. Lia stood up and a sharp pain jolted through her head, rocking her to the side. It took her a moment to regain her balance. Cal was fiddling with the bowl, but he looked up and watched her as she made to the bars, ran her fingers over the steely metal.

  She inclined her head to the window. "Some sort of sick joke?"

  He leaned back against the wall, regarded her contemplatively. "Most people would be happy to have light."

  She scoffed. "Light? It's barely even big enough to fit my head through. Are you trying to make me wistful –rub it in my face that I can't escape?"

  "You're so paranoid."

  "No." Her gaze was cold. "I only see what's there."

  Cal shrugged. "Take it however you like."

  The color swirled, clotted, fogged up, twisted over and coiled, choked her. It needed release. "I–" The words wouldn't come, would not formulate, seeped out from a gashing, bloodless wound that tore through a vacuum, begging congestion. "I don't get it. I mean, I don't get why –" She sounded like a child, asking why the world wasn't fair. Maybe that's how she felt. "Why did you – I mean, what –"

  The stumbling seemed to irk him, or heighten something cold and discordant that, until now had remained locked up, bound in chains that had festered, rusted, and awaited release. Vociferation; chains tore, ravaged. He said nothing, but lifted up the tape, pressed a button, waited, then pressed again. A voice rang through.

  "I do and I don't. I mean, it depends what sort of love you mean. I mean, I believe in the whole family love thing, but with a guy and a girl I reckon it only goes as far as liking a lot…"

  Memories of that sun-set after the mission –the cinema – washed through. The words hung in the air and she opened her mouth to speak, confused, but he cut her off, his gaze cold, mocking.

  "I may like you, Lia, but that doesn't mean I'd give it all up for you."

  The words had been tossed back, flailed, and a knife cut through her chest. He put the bowl down, turned to the door, then added, "It's an old torture tactic. Quite funny, really. Starve the prisoner but put the food in front of them, too far away to reach yet still so –" he stopped, drew out the silence, "tangible."

  And then he left, closing the door behind him. Darkness flooded the cell.

  * * *

  White. Pristine, stark white and something pushed, scraped across tiles. Shouts echoed, rebounded against walls and dim lights swung under a soft breeze. The snow had settled.

  It was wheeled across and their footsteps clacked, clicked, a heavy, precipitous beat.

  "Emergency –"

  "––but they told us ––"

  "––have to get her––"

  A main voice was cutting through, panting, racing above the others and screaming into a flashing object, a phone which beeped. "I don't give a shit about the motives. Just tell him to get down here –No. No? Why the HELL –"

  The nine-year old raced after white-clad figures, sweeping conjectures his only salvation from ignorance and a static reminiscence of events that played, over and over again, to form a single, resolute picture.

  They wheeled her into a room and doors clanged. He slipped through the gap, waited by the wall and watched, just watched. The figures crowded and something was pressed, a heavy sound, then again.

  "We need more pressure!"

  The man was still screaming into the phone. "Tell him that he needs to get his fucking ass down here because – "

  Press.

  "We need more pressure here!"

  "–a business meeting? He can get his fucking ass out of a goddamn business meeting, for fuck's sake. No, I will not calm down you fucking –"