Voids

by Jeffreys, Tim

  I can hear a piercing tone reverberating inside my skull, steady and intense. Maybe it was the slap from Emily, one that had years of anguish and bitterness behind its delivery. Despite the shock, her blow reminded me of a truth I had forgotten. Where there is so much bitterness, so much anger, there must once have been an equal intensity of love. She hit me, not out of anger, but of disappointment. I take a breath and speak without looking at her.

  “I’m not sure I can do this, Emily.”

  I’m looking at the wretched synthetic flowers lying limp on the floor in a puddle of brackish water. I think about Emily, about how she just can’t resist her urge to nurture. Even if that includes things that inherently have no life. Under normal circumstances, I’m a man who exhibits grace under pressure; my life has often depended on it. But this—this is a whole different ball game.

  An idea enters my head, setting off an unstoppable chain-reaction of thoughts, and like a man in a trance, I walk towards the door. Emily stiffens and as I exit the front room and enter the hallway I turn to her. She deserves that, at least. She stares at me; her eyes are wide. Again, I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure I have formulated the sentence correctly and so I say nothing and leave.

  Outside on the landing, I can see it there, to the right of the doorway opposite, as if it’s waiting for me. I stare at it, but my eyes are shifting all over the place. What is this, a fucking heart attack?

  After a few moments I manage to bring it into focus. Whenever I’ve seen it before. It’s appeared like an abstract shape you might perceive in your peripheral vision, a vestige of a dream that barely lingers as you awaken.

  Right now, it coalesces into something solid, something recognizable. This small shape, this three foot high floating void that I’ve seen so many times, is right there next to me but isn’t hovering anymore, it’s standing there. I see it for what it actually is.

  Finally, I make the decision. I walk towards the stairway, passing right through it.

  ~

  My FSA badge enables me, for now at least, to forgo the usual penitentiary procedures. In no time I’m standing on the platform of the Virtualscan in the central guardhouse of the Farm, my body enclosed by three circular diaphragms that hover in mid-air, steadily rising and falling from my head to my feet. Their dull drone accompanies the almost ethereal glow that bathes me. A formidable-looking guard stands in the hub to my left, examining the screens before him. After a minute, he turns to a speaker and makes a circular motion with his finger.

  “C-16. Clear.”

  The light fades as the diaphragms open and I step down. Another guard nods to me and I follow him through three locked gates and into the interrogation room. Inside, the room is nothing but a bare metal box, except one wall is a smoked-glass window that, I guess, allows one-way viewing within an adjoining room. There’s a table in the centre of the floor with two chairs facing each other. In each corner of the ceiling I notice mic-ed monitors. There is music of a kind too, the style that was once referred to as “elevator music”; the kind of stuff that is supposed to be sympathetic to a mood of calmness and wellbeing.

  “Turn that shit off, please.”

  The guard nods and leaves me alone. The music clicks off abruptly and I remain standing. The only sound now is me tapping my foot against the floor, which I stop doing when I become aware of it. The door grinds open again and a man enters, flanked by two guards. He has graphene restraints on his wrists and an electronic boot which lends him the gait of a man with a clubfoot.

  “You can remove the bracelets.”

  The guards look at me.

  “Seriously. Do it. It’s fine.”

  One of them detaches the restraints and they both exit the room. I follow them outside into the corridor.

  “Whatever happens in there, you don’t come back in. Not without my say so. Okay?”

  The guards turn and head back towards the secure gate. I watch until they are through it, then re-enter the interrogation room. The door squeals closed behind me. Zack turns his face from me, so I study his profile. This is still my kid brother, but a leaner, meaner version. His physiognomy seems to have altered, probably by numerous beatings and his nose looks like it’s been broken more than once. He wears a short scruffy beard. I notice that his hair is starting to recede at the temples, just like Dad’s did.

  He lets his gaze wander around the room as if there’s something faintly exotic about the bare steel-plated walls. There’s a raw scrape across his forehead and the corner of his left eye is bloodshot. I guess Zack can handle himself. Still, it isn’t a nice thing to contemplate, his life inside here.

  “Been in a brawl, kiddo?”

  “Just some smartass. Not so smart no more.”

  I sigh, for want of anything else to do or say. I can imagine how it is: the way to avoid trouble in a place like this is not to hide but to go looking for it. To find it and stare it down and let it know you’ll take away far more than you’ll give. And then some.

  Zack says, “What do you care?”

  “I care.”

  He leans forward and I now see that a couple of his front teeth are missing.

  “Since when?”

  “Since always. You’re my little brother, kiddo.”

  “What’s with the kiddo shit? What am I, twelve years old again?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. Zack. It’s Zack from now on. Or bro. You like bro?”

  “Not really. Not from you.”

  “Look…I know I should’ve come sooner. I should have come to see you. But I was angry, I suppose. I was angry with myself as well. Seeing you in here kind of made me feel like…I’d failed.”

  I walk towards the huge one-way window and face it. I know there’s nobody watching from the adjoining room; it’s just me and my brother here now. Reflected back at me is a strange figure, barely human and with no defined edges. I think that’s me. Zack snorts and I turn back around.

  “So what brings you here now?”

  I don’t know what to tell him. I had reasons to come, lots of them, but I’d had reasons for a long time and they hadn’t brought me here before now. His question is a simple one, but for me it seems weighted with years of remorse. My main regret is that he has to ask me that in the first place.

  “Sit down?”

  I gesture towards the chair. Zack thinks for a moment, gives a nonchalant shrug and hauls his meaty frame into the chair. He places his hands on the table top, and I see that his knuckles are scraped raw.

  “Listen, do you still think about the past, Zack? About our childhood?”

  “You bring any bullets?”

  I pause for a second, then take out a pack of Maelstrom50 capsules. Each one contains a benzodiazepine analog. They aren’t exactly legal but they help to reduce anxiety and so the authorities often turn a blind eye, especially in places like the Farm. I’d planned to give them to Zack when we parted, but now seems as good a time as any. I slide the pack over to Zack and he takes one out, opens his mouth and places a capsule inside his left jowl. For the first time, I see him smile. Just a little.

  “Childhood…childhood…?” He whispers the word to himself and mulls the concept over in his head like it’s some kind of scientific equation. “Nope. I don’t hardly think on it at all.”

  Zack leans back and stretches his arms high in the air. The capsule taking effect perhaps. Something catches my peripheral vision: the camera to my left shifting to follow Zack’s movements, small lights flickering below the lens. He shifts forwards again and places his scabbed fists back onto the table’s surface. I look at them, wondering if this is what they’d looked like after he’d finished beating that dealer’s head into a bloody pulp.

  “I’m supposed to believe that?” I say.

  “I don’t really care if you do or not.”

  I realise the truth of that and it angers me. Now I lean forward, my face approaching the centre of the table but before I let loose a tirade of sibling rage, I catch m
yself and sit back. Zack looks at me and smiles again.

  ‘That’s it Danny-boy, you calm down now. Always in control, yeah? Can’t let go of that fucking hurricane inside.” He thumps his chest. “Man, that must be sooo fucking hard to do, brother.”

  I bite my lip hard, but I don’t even sense the pain. Zack rubs a gnarled hand across his eyes.

  “Hey, you still sucking the jizz from all those fucking reprobates?”

  “If you mean do I still work for the agency, then yes. How do you think I arranged this? Because you’re inmate of the fucking month?”

  Zack laughs and claps his hands together.

  “Inmate of the month. I like that. I fucking love that!”

  There’s a long silence during which I realise the monumental mistake I’ve made in coming here. Strangely, it’s Zack who casts me a rope.

  “Bro, you know who’s in here? You know who I saw in the yard yesterday?”

  I shrug.

  “Madina.”

  “Madina?”

  “Madina, fucking Madina…From West Heights…”

  I lean back in towards him. “Gino? Gino Madina? Wasn’t he the guy who…”

  Zack nods. “Who torched fucking Want-O! Gino Madina! I just happened to look out my window yesterday and he’s right there below me in the fucking yard.”

  Zack laughs again, but it’s genuine.

  I shake my head in dismay. “That crazy fuck. What’s he here for?”

  Zack presses one finger to close his right nostril, leans sideways and blows a wad of snot onto the floor.

  “What d’you think? He burned some fucking rat-hole hotel down in the 14th. Killed three people. Some guys never change.”

  I hadn’t heard about the incident, but we were a long way from the 14th District and so many places burn down these days. Slum landlords looking for an insurance pay-out; some squatter making a fire to keep himself warm at night; or just retards like Madina who get off on watching things burn. Zack gazed at his scarred knuckles.

  “He was rolling a joint in the yard, so I shouts out, ‘Get the goddamn fire hose or he’ll fucking kill us all!’ and that psycho prick looks up, and you know what he says?”

  “What?”

  “He looks up at me—I’m like, three storeys up—and he sees me in the window and this dumb fucking grin comes across his stupid face and he shouts up to me, ‘Hey Zack. You got a light?’”

  My brother laughs again, but this time I detect an air of sadness about him. His whole demeanour crumples slightly. He looks half the size.

  “You remember his cousin was in the band awhile.” I say.

  “Trey, yeah, yeah I do. He played rhythm, didn’t he?

  “Yeah, and he could do keyboards too, but we hardly used keyboards, did we? We could never hear them over your drumming.”

  Zack grins wide. “Fuck, yeah! What was it you used to say about my drumming? How did you describe it?”

  “Like a million stampeding buffalo…”

  Zack takes up the quote and finishes it.

  “…chased by rolling thunder! Yeah, I remember, I remember that.”

  I stand up and walk across the room. I lean against the left-hand wall, feeling lighter. It is so good to hear at least a modicum of joy in Zack’s voice, even if it is still tinged with bitterness.

  “How’s Emily?”

  That caught me off guard. “She’s…uh…fine. Just fine.”

  Zack meets my eye, grinning. “That bad, huh? What happened?”

  “Just stuff. I walked. I don’t know if I’m going back.”

  Zack shakes his head, laughing now under his breath.

  “You really are a dumb fuck, Danny.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “Don’t I? Oh, yeah, I forgot, I’m the dumb fuck, right? The one who ended up in Juvie. The psycho in the family.”

  “Don’t start on that please, Zack. You know I couldn’t do anything about that. When I think back…”

  “Dan, you need to stop dwelling on that shit. Dad didn’t ever give a fuck and neither did Mom, right? If she had she wouldn’t have checked herself out like she did. I’ve told you before, what’s done is done.” He waves his hand in the air, gesturing at the stark surroundings. “But it’s not your fault, man, you can’t save everyone. This ain’t the old neighbourhood no more. I’m here now. I put myself here, yeah? So let me go and go back home to your wife.”

  This shocks me. I stand up straight from the wall, my fists clenched.

  “No.”

  Zack sucks air through his teeth. “Just forget about me.”

  “No, Zack. No fucking way. We’re brothers. I’m sorry for what happened, right. I’m fucking sorry.”

  “I don’t need you to be sorry. I just need you to leave me alone. Just fuck off out of this place right now, and don’t come back.”

  The levees inside me break and I can’t hold back the torrent any longer. I stride across the room with such aggression that every camera arcs to follow my course. Gripping the back of my chair, I lift it and hurl it across the room. I lean right into Zack’s face, but he doesn’t budge, not even a fraction. He doesn’t even blink.

  “Listen to me, you fucking bleeding heart. If I could have dragged myself from that fucking hospital bed, do you think I wouldn’t have done? You think for one fucking moment I wouldn’t have torn down the walls at Juvie Hall with my bare hands and carried you out of there?

  Zack seethes. When he speaks, I feel his spittle on my face.

  “You know what happens to a kid in those places? You have any idea…?”

  “I can make an educated fucking guess, Zack. But you didn’t find her, did you? It was me, and I have to live with that image of her hanging there in that room for the rest of my miserable fucking life. I know bad shit happened to you afterwards and I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay!”

  Then Zack says something that knocks the wind out of me. He hisses it through gritted teeth. “I’m not sorry. I fucking welcomed it.”

  Zack sits there as I stare at him, bewildered. He holds my stare just long enough and, suddenly, it all becomes clear. This is the perfect environment for him. The volcanic eruptions that boil inside him need an outlet, perhaps forever, and this is the perfect place to exorcise that cycle of destruction. Here, he can find some form of solace. It’s a kind of hell, but one he’s chosen and whilst he’s doing the pounding, or even when he’s the one being crushed beneath boot and fist, it means he doesn’t have to think about the other things. It must have been something he discovered as he submitted to the horrors being inflicted upon him at Juvenile Hall. He needs the pain. He needs it because it cauterizes those other feelings, those wounds far more unbearable. He doesn’t want me here, not because he doesn’t love me, but because he knows I don’t belong.

  “You know your problem, Danny?”

  I hardly answer, just look at him through half-closed eyes.

  “You think it’s all about you, you always have. You’ve spent most of your life trying to be the good guy, trying to make others feel better about their lives, but really it was you that you were trying to make happy. It made you feel good. You want my happiness, not so much for me, but so that you can feel good about yourself and go back to your own satisfied existence.”

  I stand up straight but never move my eyes from his. I’m practically mesmerized by him.

  “If you really want to help me, Danny, then you can do something for me. I mean, really do something for me.”

  “Leave here and never come back.” I say. I can almost feel my heart shattering. It’s a physical sensation. I can feel it.

  “Get the fuck out of here and go back to that beautiful woman you’ve got at home. She’s the best thing that ever happened to the both of us, Dan.”

  “Both of us? What do you mean, both of us?”

  My face must belie something because Zack smiles. “What do you imagine I think about in here, in this fucking cesspit? I feel good just thinking there
are two people I know out there looking out for each other, two people who’ve got some kind of normal loving fucking relationship. Not that I’d know one of those if I fell over it, get me?”

  I feel like I’m recovering from a blow to the head. The room begins to turn on its axis, the dull metallic sheen of the walls resembles bright water swirling down a plughole.

  “I…I can’t. I can’t go back. Everything’s fucked.”

  “Nothing’s fucked until you want it to be. Look at me. I’m fucked. You, Danny, you can fix anything. When I’m not gouging some fucker’s eyeballs out, I’m thinking of you and her. You and Emily, the one good thing in my entire fucked-up universe. The ones that made it out. Are you going to take that away from me as well?”

  Zack stands up and I look at him, I take all of him in because I imagine it might be the last time. Zack lifts his arm, like he’s calling over a waiter, and motions to one of the monitors. I look into my brother’s eyes, but Zack stares back at me with nothing, like I’m just a stranger sitting opposite him on a bus. I wait, but it’s clear he’s done with me. Finally I lift my arm and wave at the second monitor on the opposite wall. The buzzer sounds and the door squeals open to reveal two waiting guards. Zack leaves without another glance at me. As my gaze follows him, it feels like I’m watching him crossing over into some other plane of existence, one from which there’s no return.

  “See you next week,” I shout after him. “Hey, you hear me, kiddo? I’m coming back next week. Maybe you could shave next time, eh? How about that?”

  Zack doesn’t turn, or answer, but I think I hear him laugh before he vanishes from my sight.

  ~

  An hour later I’m standing in the lobby of our apartment block. I climb the concrete steps, all the time keeping my eyes on the space ahead of me, but there’s nothing there.

  Nothing.

  I stand outside the door of our apartment, Emily’s and mine. I reach for the door but then spin around to look behind me.

  Nothing.

  I put my key in the lock and open the door. Emily’s standing in the front room.