(2014) Deep Inside

by Jack Parker

  Rebound. Press.

  "Get us some more goddamn pressure!"

  "Tell him –"

  Press…beep…

  "Just tell him already –"

  Beep…beep…

  "Fuck's sake, she's going to die!"

  A white chord hung from the lady's hand and she walked, slowly, resolutely, to the nine-year old. There was something soft, pitying, in her expression, which sparked hatred in his chest. Why was she looking at him like that? He couldn't stand the pity…

  "She wants to see you."

  Hope rekindled and all thoughts were lost as he ran, sprinted, to the bedside and leaned over the figure, clasping her hand in his. It was cold, clammy even. His voice was choked, "Mom –"

  A ghost of a smile played over her features. "Cal, honey –"

  Honey? And the words seemed so foreign. He wrinkled up his nose. "Mom, what's –"

  "Did you have a nice time at Andy's?"

  He wavered, confused. "You were with me."

  Something sparked. "No duh." She softened again. "But I didn't get to ask you whether you had fun."

  "You don't usually…"

  "But this time I am."

  There was command in her tone. He shrugged. "It was cool."

  "He likes you and he's normally such a solitary old man. Always been like a father to me, but he's on his own. Especially these past few years after Becca died." She stopped, took in a few breaths. "You should visit him more in the future."

  "We will." The defiance was there.

  "No, Cal. You will."

  Cal blinked, confused. "Did you guys have some sort of fight? Was it something to do with dad? Was it –"

  "No." She cut him off. "Andy and I are on perfect terms and your father. I just –" She looked like she was desperate, desperate to get something out, but felt pushed, jolted, by some unknown force which wavered at the peak of her subconscious. "Cal, I want you to listen to me."

  His eyes were on the wires and things were flooding through his mind, short glimpses that added together and fuelled him with some sort of overriding passion, fire, hate. Faces…hoods…laughter and a tumult of fire that scorched across snow and illuminated a figure, stark features, for only a moment before he ran and the fire spread.

  "Cal, I don't think I have much time left."

  He held her hand tighter. "It's not even morning yet."

  She offered him a ghost of a smile and something formulated, was brought to life and lingered on her lips before release. "I'd love to see the sun-rise, Cal. Could you open the window for me?"

  He nodded, slowly, and made to the shutters. All of the other people had left now and the only sound was shouting from outside –from the man on the phone. He wondered why they had left. Probably because she was okay and there was nothing else they needed to do? He stuck to this resolution, fumbled with the shutters and managed to pull them open, then returned to his mum and held her hand.

  "Did you want to tell me something?" His curiosity was peaked and there was a displeasure lurking in the back of his mind. A displeasure at the room, at the surroundings. Was this the best they could find for his mother? Considering her health, her state, weren't they meant to be trying a little harder?

  "Yes." Her grip on his hand tightened. "I did. I – Cal, I was thinking. About your father, that is."

  Cal interjected. "The guy outside's ringing him. He'll come and then we can take you out of here."

  The ghostly smile formed again, filled him with dread. "Your father has this thing about him, this fascination with analyzing and picking at things, trying to figure things out, especially when it comes to people. He loves to do that, figure out people. Have you noticed that, Cal?"

  "It's why Andy gets so annoyed at him…"

  "Yes," she agreed. "It is. But there's a major flaw in what your father does."

  Cal waited.

  "He's always so busy trying to analyze other people that he fails to notice those closest to him. He fails to notice that they're suffering. And then he thinks he notices it all, strides away with his head high and does things, does things which he thinks are so hidden when they're just –" She stopped, took a breath. "Not." She looked to him, longingly. "You understand what I mean, don't you, Cal?"

  He didn't and he couldn't fully hear her words, only watch her mouth moving and the sounds coming out and nod, attempting to listen but some words, some phrases stuck and rang clear in his mind. "I do, sort of, mom."

  "People aren't a game, Cal. You've probably heard this so many times and it's been repeated over and over again at such a rate that it's lost all meaning –it's become redundant but it's just so true. Everyone is an individual; everyone hurts and it hurts so much more when those who are closest to you are so wrapped up in themselves that they fail to notice your pain, but instead do things to just build on it. They don't realize that what they're doing and their every action affects someone near them. It's like a big cycle."

  Something he had learnt in school flickered through his mind and begged for attention, maybe to make it clearer, more understandable. "Like the water cycle?"

  She smiled. "Which goes round and round."

  "A never-ending cycle."

  A soft nod and a bird chirped in the distance. "The sun's rising." Her voice was quieter now, more strained.

  Light pooled through. Cal nodded. "Can you see it, mom?"

  No answer. Cal tugged at her hand. It was limp. Panic overrode his senses. "Mom –Mom!" He shook her hand; it fell, toppled beside her.

  The room was flooded with light and the figure was bathed, dressed in silver.

  The sun had risen.

  "MOM!"

  * * *

  The doctor rattled on and something pounded, craned at the back of his mind. Jack nodded in affirmation, massaging his temples, but his mind was elsewhere. As soon as the doctor was done, he interjected.

  "But Melan – will she be –" He left the sentence unfinished.

  The doctor knitted his brows, pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. "Son –"

  I'm not your son.

  "There's a fifty-fifty chance. We can't be too sure of the situation right now. She took the full brunt of the crash and right now all you can do is pray –"

  The rest of his words were lost except for those six which wavered, balanced on a chord, tightened, teetered to the side but refused to let go.

  …all you can do now is pray…

  She was as good as dead.

  A weight dropped on his chest and he nodded, numbly. Jack stood up, about to leave, when a voice cut through.

  "Harlton, I'm so glad to see that you're okay." He turned, pivoted, and she threw him a cold smile, leaned against the doorframe. "I came to see Doctor Flore." She supplied, "And I didn't think I would run into you."

  "Miss Coles." He kept his tone passive.

  She moved from the doorframe and he made his way past her, desperate to get out, but her voice stopped him, again. "You had a visitor, by the way."

  His pace slackened and he turned to face her, unconcerned. It had probably been Seb. After all, who else would visit him? "Who?"

  Jessica examined her nails, tossed her next words casually, "Your sister, apparently."

  His breath caught. "What?"

  She looked up, tilted her head to the side. "I said –" Her words were slow, as if talking to a small child. "She called herself your sister. Gave the secretary a real scare she did. Quite a fiery girl." Her tone was joking, mocking even.

  That couldn't be Lia. He shook his head. "My sister's dead." The words were ice on his tongue.

  "She looked alive to the nurse."

  The foundations were cracking, swaying from side to side and the walls began to crumble. "Where is she now?" He didn't believe it. It had to be one of her tricks.

  "LAFFAT prison," she tossed, flippantly.

  He nearly choked. "Wha – Why?"

  "Because –" She stopped examining her nails, moved towards the doctor and took a seat,
then threw the rest over her shoulder as if bored. "She tried to kill you."

  And the walls toppled.

  * * *

  She was walking through darkness and something soft trailed behind her, something soft yet so heavy.

  Lia tugged, roughly, and a light beamed before her. She raced forward, reached for it, but it held back, tugged again.

  Then the light went out.

  "Relanne." The voice was gruff, jolted her from her sleep. "You have a visitor."

  She rubbed her eyes, peered out. Light pooled through and the guard let someone through, then left. "You have ten minutes."

  Lia squinted, trying to make out the figure. His step was timid and he held a wooden torch, fire flickering over its surface. "Lia?"

  The voice was soft, quiet, like that of a child, but she caught it and her stomach clenched. It couldn't be.

  "Who –" She wavered. "Who is it?"

  The torch moved, came near his face and light shone over his features. Everything crashed. He offered her a grin, a dry, humourless grin. "Has it really been that long?"

  Her breath caught, choked her. "Jack?"

  Something flickered in his gaze and he stepped back, shook his head. "No, you –" He shook his head again and there was some sort of turmoil. "You can't –" He took in a breath. "I can't believe it." There was disbelief. "I thought she was lying but this is just – You tried to kill me."

  She was at a loss for words. "I didn't know it was you."

  "You tried to kill me." He was speaking more to himself –to affirm something? –than her.

  Anger sparked. "Five years and that's the best you can come out with."

  He looked to her and his eyes flickered. "The best I can come out with? Fuck's sake, Lia, I nearly died because of you."

  Pent-up frustration escaped in turbulence. "You don't know anything, Jack, so don't pretend to be the victim here."

  "You tried to kill me."

  "Oh, wow, big deal." The words sounded stupid even to her.

  He looked hurt, like a little child again. "Why are you being such a bitch?"

  It cut. Something melted. Lia massaged her temples. "Why are you here?"

  "I wanted to see if it –" He shuffled his feet. "If it was really you because I thought you – I thought you were dead."

  There was something else to his words, something deeper and at that moment she felt the guilt cut through her chest, like a knife through human flesh. All of that time she had known that he was alive, so why hadn't she tried to find him? Why had she pushed it all to the back of her mind, locked it away, forgotten? And here he was, standing before her now after five-years of hell.

  The bars screamed out, mocked her.

  But he was still so unreachable.

  She repeated her words. "Why are you here?"

  He laughed, dryly, catching her off guard. "It's funny, ironic even, don't you think?"

  "What?"

  "We finally meet again. Five goddamn years and the only reason we do meet is because you tried to kill me. Hilarious."

  It sparked again. "It wasn't my fault."

  "Did you shoot the tyres?"

  "Yes, but –"

  "Then how the hell can you say it wasn't your fault?"

  "You don't know anything, Jack."

  His gaze was cold. "I can't believe you actually think this is going to solve something? Come on, Lia, kill off all of LAFFAT and the world'll be at peace? Yeah. Right."

  He made it sound so childish, so trivial. He didn't know half of what had happened, so what right did he have to judge? "They killed our parents and you're working for them." Indignation sparked.

  Jack moved the torch to his other hand and the fire rose, danced. "The best way to solve something is to attack from the inside."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Like the inside of Jessica Coles? Great way to go."

  His face burned. "Everyone makes mistakes."

  "Look at where your LAFFAT ass-kissing's got you, Jack. They all hate you; I watch the news. No-one trusts you."

  "At least I'm not rotting in a prison cell."

  She stood up, leaned against the wall. "Your situation's no better."

  Jack looked up, cast torch-light over the ceiling. "Do you want to get out?"

  The words caught her off guard. "What? Of course I, but –"

  Jack moved to the door. "Ten minutes are nearly up." He offered her a light grin, then whispered, his tone hushed. "Tomorrow, at dawn, be ready."

  Lia blinked, nodded. "I will be." He opened the door. "And, Jack –"

  He stopped. "Yeah."

  A light smile. "I'm sorry."

  Jack nodded. "Yeah, me too." Then left.

  She leaned against the back of the cell, watched snow hit the glass pane and sighed. They had fought, again, just like old times.

  It was nice to know some things never changed.

  There was a heavy smell, a rancid odor. The fruit had only been there a day or so, yet it was already rotting. Lia's stomach rumbled and she leaned against the back of the cell, praying for morning. How many hours must have passed by now?

  The door opened, suddenly, and for a moment she thought it was Jack come back to tell her something. It wasn't. Cal leaned against the doorframe.

  "Having fun?"

  "The smell's bad enough already without you adding to it."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Your insults never fail to amuse me."

  "So glad to be of service." She kicked her legs up, wrapped her arms over them for warmth. "What do you want?"

  "Got bored."

  Lia looked up; cast her gaze over his form. Looking at him made her stomach twist, coil and something else tore and stung like a fresh, bloody wound exposed to cold water. "Who exactly are you?" She kept her tone firm, casual.

  "Cal."

  "No." She stood up, made to the bars and ran her fingers over the cold metal. "You know what I mean."

  "And why," he tossed. "Should I tell you that?"

  Lia shrugged. "You have nothing to lose."

  "My name is Cal Lawken. Mother died when I was nine, father's a general for LAFFAT. I work undercover most of the time for whoever pays me the most. Anything else you'd like to know?" There was a mocking, offhandedness to his voice that set her on edge.

  Memories of a past conversation stilled themselves in her mind, refused to let go. "Who's Leelam?"

  "My half sister."

  "And –" The name was at the tip of her tongue. "Elenna?"

  "Elaine." He corrected her. "The same." His answers were short, curt.

  Lia tapped her fingers against the bar, desperate to be doing something. A thick cloud hung in the air, suffocated them. "You said to Andy that Leelam's getting married, though. For that to make sense she'd either have to be getting married really young or not be your biological half-sister." She couldn't imagine someone younger then her getting married.

  "She's twenty-one and she's from my father's second wife, so it's biological."

  But for that to make sense she'd have to have been born when his parents had still been – unless they had been divorced, but he hadn't mentioned that.

  Cal noticed her look of confusion, regarded her with placidity. "He was still married to my mom when he fucked her, if that's what you're wondering."

  The bluntness of his statement made it sound crude, harsh. "I'm sorry." The words came instinctively, from lack of knowing what else to say, and knowing that she had to say something, anything at all.

  He pulled himself up from the doorframe and a fire burned. "Number one: I don't want your pity." His voice was colder, harsher. "And number two you're not sorry and I'm so sick of hearing those goddamn words so don't bullshit me, Lia."

  Memories of past experience sparked and the hatred, the condescension, that had come upon hearing those same two words from others rekindled. She felt incredibly stupid. "Fine," she bit. "I'm not sorry. Better?"

  "Yeah, much. Done with the questions, now?" His tone was contemptuous.

  S
he didn't let it faze her – pushed back the building anger –not this time. "No, I'm not."

  He made to the bars, walking slowly, casually, and she stepped back. He ran his fingers over the metal, flicked it. "That's tough then, isn't it, because it's about time for me to leave."