Voids

by Jeffreys, Tim

  If I can get off at this exit, I can maybe follow the westbound and hit the Maple Turnpike before it gets too rammed. The driver in the next lane hits his horn in fury as I cut him off and head for the off-ramp. He gives me the finger and I politely wave back. I make it to the ramp and descend onto the westbound underpass. Relief washes over me. I just have to make the turnpike in the next fifteen minutes or I’ll find myself in the same situation there. I look around for the signs for the Maple, but then—oh shit!—I realize where I am. Not until I see the great wide silhouette of The Farm looming at the end of the road do I realize I might have been better off stuck back there in the tailback. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else.

  ~

  By the time I get home it’s gone eight, and I know I’m in trouble. I can hear Emily talking as I enter the apartment. For a moment, to my relief, I think we have company; which I imagine will save me from an evening of silent treatment. But then I realize Emily’s talking over the comms hub in the kitchen. Her voice is soft and low. She laughs under her breath, the way she does when someone’s paying her a compliment.

  “Em! I’m back!”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Em? I’m so sorry…”

  By the time I reach the kitchen, the screen on the comms hub has gone blank and Emily’s sitting at the table, staring at the Virtual OfficeCore that illuminates her face. She lifts her head.

  “Hey,” she says dully.

  I walk over to kiss her on the lips, but since she doesn’t look up again I kiss the top of her head instead.

  “I’m really sorry, Em. I finished my last job right at rush hour. It’s been hell getting home.”

  “No worries,” Emily says, still not looking up.

  “You eaten already?”

  “I couldn’t wait. There’s a protein pack in the Thermomax.”

  “Thanks. I might just freshen up first. Hey, who were you talking to?”

  “Talking?”

  “Just now.”

  “Oh. No one. It was just work.”

  “They’re bothering you at home now?”

  “It’s a busy office.”

  “Yeah. I know. Just…nowadays you always seem to be working.”

  She lifts her head and fixes me with a cold stare. Her face is full of irritation and challenge. “What else have I got in my life?”

  “I…you’ve got me.”

  “You?” She gives a little bark of laughter. “Sure, when you’re not out being the avenging angel.”

  I know where this is going and I haven’t the energy for it, not tonight, so instead of letting myself be drawn into an argument I decide to change the subject.

  “Guess what I ended up driving past on the way home.”

  “I’m not in the mood for guessing games, Danny. You’re just going to have to tell me.”

  “The Farm.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but her expression becomes softer, more sympathetic.

  “The prison?”

  “Seeing that place. It’s hard to imagine Zack locked up inside there. It got me thinking about him, you know. How he might be coping.”

  Emily draws in her breath and lets it out slowly. “You know you can go and visit him, don’t you? In fact, I think you should.”

  “I couldn’t face him after what he did to land himself in there.”

  “But he’s your brother. You’ve always tried to do best for him. It’s not your fault he’s there, is it?”

  “Isn’t it? After Mom died, who else was there to look out for him?”

  Emily remains silent for a few moments. When she speaks it’s almost a whisper.

  “It wasn’t your fault he ended up in Juvenile Care. You had problems of your own to deal with. You’d have looked after him if you could, if you’d had the strength.” Emily taps the OfficeCore screen and the illumination on her face dulls. She rubs the caruncles of her eyes, which I notice look dry and inflamed.

  “You were like that with everyone; that’s just how you are. Were. You used to look out for me as well, remember? You looked out for all those kids we knew growing up in Ashfields.”

  “I must have been a real pain in the butt for everyone.”

  Emily looks up and holds my gaze for a long moment. “No, Danny. You weren’t a pain in the butt at all. It was actually that side of you that I first…” She shakes her head.

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, tell me. I’m interested. First what?”

  “Well…first fell in love with, I suppose.”

  This revelation stuns me to silence for a moment, and Emily returns her attention to her work screen. Regaining my senses, I walk over to her chair, slip an arm around her shoulders and rest my chin on the top of her head.

  “I might just skip dinner. I’m not very hungry. Think I’ll just head off to bed.”

  “Do whatever you like.”

  “Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t you ditch this stuff and come with me. Eh? Sound good?”

  She lets out a long sigh. “Danny…”

  “What? Is work so important?”

  She shrugs my arm from around her shoulders. “It is tonight. I’m pitching for a brief next week.”

  “Oh. Okay. I get it. Pitching for a brief.”

  “I am.”

  “Yes, and that’s wonderful. Just wonderful. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “I’m being a jerk.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  With a huff, I move off towards the doorway. Her voice stops me.

  “Danny. Think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  “About going to visit Zack. I think it’d be good for you.”

  “Now you know what’s good for me all of a sudden?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, Zack made his bed. Speaking of which, I’m going to mine. Night-night, eh?”

  I leave the room without looking back. All I hear from Emily is another long sigh.

  ~

  I have a recurring dream.

  In the dream I’m walking home after work. I never walk home. I’ve got the agency hybrid after all, but in the dream I’m walking. It’s a beautiful summer evening, the red disc of sun had sunk behind a line of houses to my left and dusk had begun to gather in a pale pink sky. The streets are quiet in a way that real streets never are these days. No people. The only sounds are the chirrup of birds in the trees as they settle down for the evening. A distant engine whines. A dog barks somewhere far away. I feel quietly content, at peace, for some reason proud of myself. I hold my head up and smile as I walk. My sterilization gun sits snugly on my hip. There’s something reassuring about the feel of it, the weight nestling against my thigh as I pass along the empty streets.

  Then, and it always happens the same way, I feel a sting against the back of my right ear. Turning, I see a boy, about five or six years old, standing in the middle of the road. One of his arms is raised as if he’s just thrown something, and I realize that’s what I’d felt—a pebble or a shard of glass. I dab a finger to my ear and there’s a smear of blood on the tip. I’m just about to say something, confront the boy, when I notice the expression on his face. It’s an expression of pure misery and hate, and he directs his ire straight at me. I can almost feel it, as if he’s hitting me with beams of negative emotion. As I stand there, squinting into the gathering darkness, I notice more children appearing behind him. They don’t come from the houses; they seem to peel right out of the dusk, like ghosts. They are all ages, all colours, all sizes. As they approach, I see one of them stop to pluck something from the ground. Then another does the same. Then another. Before I can shake myself into awareness, there’s a barrage of stones and sticks like a sudden rain shower. Something stings my face just above my left eye, something else strikes me hard in the ankle and I wince in pain. Dumbstruck, I begin to shift backwards, limping now, as they move towards me. There’s so many of them, mate
rializing right out of the evening air. All their faces are etched with the same combination of wretched sorrow and intense hatred.

  “Why are you doing this?” I plead with them. “What have I done?”

  None of them speak. They just keep advancing. There’s a scurry of hands to the ground for stones, garbage, stiff dog turds, and dropped cola cans. They drag up mounds of sod from the front lawns of the nearby houses. Anything they can find, they hurl at me. At the front of the crowd is that first boy, the one who had thrown the pebble or whatever it was that hit my ear and caused me to turn around. His eyes burn with accusation, more intense than that of the others. The other kids just appear to despise me, but he seems to want something from me.

  I turn and run as another volley of missiles falls from the sky. Throwing a glance over my shoulder, I see the mass of small bodies give chase. Something tells me they won’t stop; they’ll pursue me into exhaustion like hyenas chasing a gazelle, only stopping when I can’t run anymore. Then, as I crawl on the tarmac, bloodied and pleading, they pelt me with whatever is lying around. They find planks to beat me insensible, paving stones to bash in my skull.

  “Why?” I ask all the while, my voice turning to a sob. “What have I done?”

  Thankfully, before they strike their final blows, I always wake up.

  Some people believe that if you die in your dreams, you die in real life. I’m not sure if I believe that, but I’d rather not find out.

  Emily is interested in my dream, especially as it concerns children. She thinks it’s about my fear of parenthood, but then she would. I know it’s about something else. I know why all those children hate me. They aren’t real children, real people. They are just souls waiting to become, waiting to be born.

  “And that boy at the head of the crowd, who do you think he is?”

  I look at Emily when she asks me this question. Her eyes shine, a fire having been lit there all of a sudden, and even though I want to answer her, something inside of me won’t allow it.

  ~

  Sunday, Emily and I set out for a walk on the Orcadas Skypark, a lush, verdant pleasure garden set onto an elevated concrete magastructure that spans a quarter of the 7th District. The park is packed with every kind of synthetic botany the budget would allow. It’s beautiful, but has the precise pattern of a golf course, bereft of wild copses, parched grass or rocky brooks. There is a dearth of weeds or anything that might be considered disordered or surprising. Strong winds during the night had cleared some of the smog, allowing the sun to shine on us. The heat prickles and feels almost acidic on my skin, but the sensation is not unpleasant so I bask in it whilst I have the chance. The walk was my idea, a chance to recalibrate the both of us, perhaps.

  On the way we pass a fruit stall, and Emily stops. Though frugally stocked, the stall displays a rare, delicious-looking treasure-trove of natural produce. I know it’s natural because some of it has over-ripened in the searing heat and the agitated vendor swats away flies.

  “Can we…?” Emily doesn’t even look at me as she speaks, her attention being fixed on the array of fruits on display.

  “I think we’re going to have to, aren’t we? What shall we go for?”

  I look at the sweating vendor and he catches my eye then looks at Emily with a paternal smile that can’t disguise the inner opportunist. I know for a fact that he’s hiked up his prices twice in the past month alone.

  “We should buy some strawberries!” Emily claps her hands together and the tip of her tongue traces a path across her top lip. The vendor nods appreciatively and begins to scoop a handful into a Jennafoil bag.

  “All imported from the Caliphate,” says the vendor. “Derived of finest Fragaria, so they are sweet and tangy!”

  I hand over a small fortune and Emily grabs the bag of strawberries, popping one into her mouth and trapping it between her teeth to savour the taste before biting down. She shields her eyes from the low sun, wiping juice off her chin with the back of her other hand. She closes her eyes and chews for a minute, and I watch her in silence until she opens her eyes again.

  “Oh, boy! Does that taste good…!” She offers me the bag, and even though I want her to enjoy them all, I can’t resist taking one. She’s right, it does taste good. It tastes wonderful.

  “This is nice.” She whispers it to herself, more than to me. She gives a half-smile and for some reason it fills me with sorrow.

  “I like seeing you happy,” I tell her.

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah.”

  We walk on and Emily stops and lowers her hand, squinting in the bright light.

  “Do you remember that song you wrote for me, Dan?”

  “That…? Oh yeah. What was it called? Sunblind or something?”

  We both laugh and it’s genuine, the first genuine joy we’ve felt in one another’s company for longer than I care to remember. Emily begins singing the song. In truth, I can’t remember the words but I do my best to join in.

  After the rain had fallen, and you’d blown all the storm clouds away,

  I stood soaking wet and searching for all the right words to say.

  Shielding my eyes from the sun until I realized it was simply your smile,

  And so I held both my arms out wide and allowed myself to be blinded…

  Now we laugh so much that people begin to glance our way, but I don’t care. I actually feel good.

  “Embarrassing, or what?”

  “No! You should write songs again, Danny. Perhaps you need the break. A distraction. God knows we need something.”

  There’s that edge in her voice that’s taken root lately. It’s a trait I find unpleasant, mainly because I know I helped plant it.

  “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I even…”

  Emily takes hold of my arm. There’s urgency in her actions that I remember from when we were younger. She confronts me, her eyes wide.

  “Please, Danny. You really should work on something. You’ve still got your dad’s old guitar, haven’t you?”

  I still have it, but it’s out of sight somewhere, up in the attic in some darkened corner, collecting dust.

  “I don’t know. Maybe…”

  “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

  “Writing a song…?”

  “Promise me…”

  “I’ll try to write something. If you really want.”

  “I do, Danny. And a promise is a promise, right?”

  Emily takes my hand and leads me onto the grass, away from the main path through the park. I think she has it in mind to find a quiet spot where we can fool around, and I’m pleasantly surprised, but after a few moments I realize she’s leading me towards the children’s play area—no surprise at all.

  “Em?”

  “Come on, I just want to look. I love watching little kids play.”

  “But you know it’ll make you all…”

  She lets go of my hand and rounds on me, her smile gone, replaced with a wounded expression. “What? Broody?”

  “Well, it will.”

  “And what’s wrong with that, Danny? Why can’t I be broody?”

  I pause for a second before I speak, aware that I’m straying into a potential minefield. I can hear the laughter of children in the play area in the distance and this just accentuates my unease. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to go there. The heat starts to irritate me and I feel like I’m staked out under desert skies.

  “We’ve been trying for a long time and it’s just not happening, is it? Why can’t you just accept that?”

  I know I’ve just stepped on a mine, but sometimes, it’s just as easy to move forward than to track backwards. Emily’s face—as she looks at me—seems to have become harsher, more angular.

  “I accept nothing! And if it’s not happening, there are all sorts of ways we can make it happen. There are a ton of options we can explore. If you’d just go and get the tests done, then we’d know for definite…”

  Now my efforts to
speak feels like nausea, when you want to stop throwing up, but you just can’t help it, you have no control, your body simply won’t cease retching.

  “What’s the point, Em? What exactly is the point of bringing another child into this world? What kind of father do you think I’d be after the upbringing I had?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Not this “poor-me-my-daddy-left-me” crap again. That’s just an excuse, Danny. Nobody’s parents are damned perfect. If everyone thought like you, the human race would die out.”

  “Little chance of that. This planet’s way overcrowded. Eleven billion and counting.”

  I glance to my right and see that people are gawking at us now, like we’re a couple of street entertainers going through our routine.

  “Then they won’t notice one more, will they? I’m thirty-four next month, Danny, thirty-four.”

  “Em…”

  I reach out to take her hand, but she turns from me and strides away. She’s headed for the children’s play area. I shuffle after her, calling her name.

  “Em, listen…”

  By the time I catch up, she’s standing by the short fence that surrounds the play area. Despite the solar health warnings on the municipal message boards, the sunshine has brought out lots of parents with their children. Two youngsters roll past me, encased in clear-latex gyroscopic Solarspheres. One of them has puked and is rolling around in a spin cycle of vomit that sloshes around the interior of the transparent ball. I’d like to get him out of there, but his parents don’t seem to care. The other child chortles as the spheres bounce off one another. Emily is watching a blonde-haired girl, around two years old, digging in the sand with an older child. As she watches them, she visibly calms. It actually seems therapeutic and I notice her face has regained its softness. In my peripheral vision I catch sight of a dark haired boy and, for a second, I think it’s the boy from my dream. Even though, when I look fully at him, I see that it’s not, I’m unnerved and it takes me a few moments to regain my senses.

  “Aren’t they beautiful,” Emily says under her breath.

  “Yeah. How many of them haven’t got a father around, do you imagine?”