Sleepwalkers

by Tom Grieves

  ‘You’ve been playing with me.’

  ‘My work has no time for games.’

  He held Ben’s stare, sitting straight-backed in the chair. He was not the same man at all.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Edward Clitheroe. The other Edward, Edward Groves, whose family are buried in the graveyard, he left here about four months before you turned up. His loss, his story is true, even if it isn’t mine. But I’m a bit of a magpie when it comes to stories. Like those other gravestones – the ones you thought were your parents’ until you visited the place for real.’

  ‘So where are my real parents?’

  ‘Dead. A cremation in Southend-on-Sea.’

  Ben tried to remember this. Nothing came, but somehow it felt true.

  ‘How did you know I would come here?’ he asked.

  ‘It was planned. We control you.’

  ‘If you control me, how come you have to tie me down? Let me up and let’s see how much control you’ve got.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be so angry. I saved you, Lee.’

  ‘That’s not me.’

  ‘Why not? Because Lee was a thug? Because he drank, screwed around, stole from his friends?’

  ‘I’m nothing like that.’

  ‘No, but you’re starting to feel more like it each day. Isn’t that right?’

  Again, Ben was silenced. The old man knew too much about him. Everything about this conversation was one-sided.

  ‘Who am I, really?’ Ben asked. ‘Tell me. Tell me what you’ve done to me.’

  Edward leaned back in the chair. His eyes were incredibly blue. His face seemed so alive, buzzing with thoughts and ideas.

  ‘You were a soldier, serving in Iraq, but you already know that. We had tabs on a number of men like you. Men who had no family, who had a penchant for violence. When your unit was attacked, you were badly injured and taken to a military hospital. We had contacts there and your records were changed. Dead on arrival. You were then transported to a private hospital and patched up. And then, when you were well enough, you were brought to me.’

  He stood and came closer.

  ‘My speciality is the mind.’

  ‘You’re the one who put all those dreams in my head.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘The ones where I … did stuff.’

  ‘I think you know that those aren’t dreams.’

  Ben was out of breath. He’d just remembered a woman in a hotel room, falling backwards from the door as he attacked her with a small hammer. He shuddered at its intensity.

  ‘What have you just seen?’ Edward asked, peering down at him.

  But Ben didn’t answer. He didn’t want to acknowledge that other part of himself that seemed to be swelling inside him, spreading like a cancer.

  ‘They upset you. I’m sorry. I could get rid of them, if you’d like.’

  ‘You talk like you’re God.’

  Edward ignored the jibe. ‘At least I gave you Carrie and the kids.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘But you were happy.’

  Ben suddenly remembered Emma, six months before, dancing to some pop group’s song. She danced so seriously that he and Carrie were left weeping with laughter.

  ‘I’m just an experiment, aren’t I?’

  ‘Everything is an experiment. We test, we learn, we improve. I’m just one of many.’

  ‘And there are more like me.’

  ‘Hundreds.’

  The number shocked Ben. Edward turned and walked to the window, opening it slightly, then digging into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette which he lit. He blew the smoke out of the small opening.

  ‘Control of the damaged mind,’ the old man said. ‘Removing the more dangerous elements and relieving it of unnecessary thoughts.’

  He blew a thin line of smoke through the window.

  ‘You made me kill people,’ Ben said. ‘Didn’t you?’

  Edward shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Sure? Fuck! How does that help my mind?’

  ‘It’s not just your mind. It’s everyone’s.’

  He gazed out of the window. Ben could hear the sea behind him.

  ‘Imagine, Ben, that you wanted to arm the police. The public, right now, would say no. They say this because they are sentimental about the good old British bobby. But you know that criminals are importing weapons into the country at a terrifying rate and that they regard our police service with increasing ridicule. You know that the police need to be armed. Fact. So you create an event, a shock, which helps change the public’s thinking.’

  He exhaled again, a low slow breath of absolute calm and confidence.

  ‘It could be a massacre at a school, perhaps. Or the shooting of three unarmed police women in the middle of a park. A shock. Turning public opinion.’

  ‘And I would do this?’

  ‘One of you.’

  ‘It’s disgusting.’

  ‘It’s extreme, that’s all. Look at climate change. No one will agree to anything. The planet will boil and die unless we do something. Wouldn’t a small shock be worth saving the planet?’

  ‘There was a woman, in a hotel …’

  ‘Yes. She was having an affair with one of our patrons. And she was about to print some material that was damaging to the cause.’

  ‘That’s not saving the world.’

  ‘Did you care? No, you were happy with your son.’

  Ben imagined lying in bed with Joe, his son’s head nestled on his shoulder as he listened to a story being read to him.

  ‘But I hurt her, I …’

  Another memory flickered into focus. A man, his age, jogging along the towpath of a canal. The low winter sun lit his breath as he ran. Ben followed until he was sure that no one was following. And then he pulled a knife from his jacket and stabbed him. He left the man staring up at the perfect sky, trying to speak: stunned, scared, slowing fading. Another memory clattered into this one, a newspaper front page. The same man on the cover. Ben felt sick as he realised what he had done.

  Edward looked down at him as though he could read his mind.

  ‘A man, a politician.’

  ‘Yes. The housing minister. He was very unpopular before he died. But after that, people were clamouring to uphold his memory. A law was passed as a result, protecting working-class families in council homes. His death has benefited hundreds of thousands.’

  ‘How many have you made me kill?’ Ben gasped.

  ‘None that you can blame yourself for. You simply answered a phone call. Like all the others. One call, three questions and then whatever we asked. In the morning, you remembered nothing except the new memories we’d supplied: rugby games or drinks with friends.’

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut, scared that more memories, more grotesque violence would seep in. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Edward gazed calmly down at him.

  ‘I can make it go away. I can give you back Carrie.’

  The punch of her name nearly winded him.

  ‘If you want her, that is.’ Edward’s eyes gauged and scrutinised. Ben felt that there was nothing he could hide from him.

  ‘She misses you. So do the children.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Is she fading yet? It should start about now. We got rid of the clutter in your mind so you could be Ben. But the longer the gap between treatments, the more your old self and your old memories rise to the surface. There are two opposing personalities within you. We gave you Ben. Without us, Lee will take over.’

  ‘No. I’m Ben.’

  ‘Lee would spit on Ben if he passed him on the street.’

  ‘Lee’s dead.’

  ‘No, Lee is very much on the way back. You may have resisted it for now, but the feelings will overwhelm you. Unless you let me help.’

  He leaned forward, his fingers twitching again.

  ‘Carrie wouldn’t touch Lee with a bargepole,’ he added. ‘Without me, you’ve lost her forever.’

  ‘You’v
e got me strapped down, just do it if you want to.’

  ‘No. You must ask.’

  ‘What?’

  Edward’s hands were suddenly still. He stood up and moved with a speed that belied his age. He untied one of Ben’s arms and then the other. Ben sat up, undoing the restraints on his feet. He swung his legs over the table and now the two men faced each other. One lunge and Ben would have the man in his grip.

  ‘I want you to ask.’ Edward said. ‘Ask and I’ll wash it all away. You’ll wake with a start and there will be Carrie. And everything will be as it was.’

  ‘And the other bit?’

  ‘You’ll still do that. From time to time, when we require.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I thought you loved her.’

  Ben was silent. He was unbound, but scared to move.

  ‘Without us, she’ll fade away. You’ll remember her vaguely, but you won’t be interested in her. You’ll chase other women.’

  ‘I love her.’

  ‘I made you love her. Do you get that? I put love into your damaged mind. Without me, you are just another selfish, stupid man.’

  Ben’s eyes were red and he bit his lip to control his pain. ‘She’s my girl.’

  ‘No, she’s mine. You’re mine.’

  ‘Carrie!’ Ben screamed. Rage burst out of him and he overturned the table, sending it crashing to the floor. ‘Carrie!’ He screamed her name over and over as though he could summon her there and then, as though her name proved that his love was real and permanent.

  Edward was unmoved.

  ‘Ask me.’

  ‘I’ll run away.’

  ‘You’ll forget her.’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘How did it feel when you attacked those men?’

  ‘They attacked me.’

  ‘Was it exciting? Did it bring it all back?’

  ‘I’ll stop you.’

  Edward’s contempt was all too visible.

  ‘I will!’

  ‘What are you going to do? Go to the police? Join a student march? A riot?’

  ‘I’ll hurt you. I’ll fucking torture you till you give her to me.’

  Edward’s eyes narrowed, but there was still no fear.

  ‘Is that you, Lee? Are you back already?’

  Ben shrank from him. He really could feel those old cruel emotions. He could taste it in his mouth. And he hated it. The old man watched him with his relentless gaze. Ben couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight him. He couldn’t outwit him. He had nothing.

  ‘Just close your eyes and nod if that makes it easier. Think about your wife, Ben.’

  Ben closed his eyes. He could see Carrie smiling, waiting. All he had to do was nod.

  ‘Ask me.’

  If he refused, he would lose her forever.

  ‘You’ll be so much happier.’

  Little Emma would grow into a fine young lady. And he’d never see it.

  Joe, his best boy, needed his dad.

  ‘Come on now. Nod your head.’

  That was all he had to do. That tiny gesture. Just be ignorant. Close the door again, ignore what he’d seen and heard. Just do what everyone else did.

  ‘You have been scared of us for so long. But there is no need. We are not interested in forcing people to do our will. We’ve learned this over time. We control their damaged minds and help them see things as we do. So they want it. The whole world, Ben. Just like you. Asking us to control them. Asking not to think, not to question. Now. Ask me.’

  Maybe it was the blatant arrogance or the slip of cruelty in his words, but it forced Ben’s eyes open.

  Edward barely had time to react as Ben charged past him and threw himself at the patio doors on the far side of the room. The glass shattered as he barged against the wooden frame, breaking the doors open. He smashed his way out and ran. He heard a call from behind, but he was too far away too quickly. He felt stinging pain on his face and hands, but he didn’t stop running.

  He didn’t know where he was heading. He didn’t know if they were following him.

  Carrie’s voice whispered in his ear.

  Run.

  His legs burned and his lungs begged for oxygen, but on he charged into the darkness.

  He finally stopped at the peak of a long hill and he turned and looked down. He could see the lights of the town far below and the moonlight which glistened on the sea’s swelling waves.

  He was all alone. The cage was broken. He stared out and wondered where he could go next. He waited for images of Carrie and his children to come back and haunt him. He expected to hear her whisper on the night’s cold breeze, a taunt at his stupidity for running away from her arms.

  I love you.

  But nothing came.

  The night seemed so much colder in the silence.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Terry never saw any of them again. He waited at the squat all day, then began wandering the halls, pestering Daz and the other militants, but no one knew anything. He stayed for another night and then, spooked, moved to a room on the other side of the building, in case they’d been rumbled. After a week he gave up and returned home. As he turned the key, he wondered if there might be someone waiting for him but the flat was just the same. His mother sat watching the TV, muttering about unpaid bills, and his room was untouched. He checked his computer, but there were no images of intruders on the secret camera that he’d set up. He felt oddly disappointed.

  Each day he wondered if Anna would appear. Or maybe it would be Toby, panicked and wide-eyed, banging on the door, begging for his help. He posted his experiences on various blogs and conspiracy websites, but even there no one seemed to take him seriously. He wandered the streets again, trying to find the lab. He couldn’t remember the exact street, however, and although he was sure he’d found the right place, there was a different set of metal shutters at the back, so he wasn’t entirely certain. He stood outside and waved his arms, swore, even threw stones at the windows. But he got no reaction. Everything, it seemed, had been turned off.

  He got a job in computer programming, something to pass the time and pay the bills. In the evenings he’d go to the pub where he’d argue angrily about mind control and the faceless men that watched and controlled our lives. But people rarely argued back. They just turned away and talked about something else until the landlord finally gave him a hard tap on the shoulder and showed him the door.

  Every day he read the papers, circling stories that might prove his theories right. A shooting here, a bomb there. Wide-eyed suspects who claimed their innocence; a haunted stare for the camera. Every night he returned home a little drunk and swore at the news on the television. His mother would groan and put the kettle on.

  Sometimes he woke in the night with a start. The room was empty and there was no noise. But still, the lights against the window and shadows under the door made him wonder. Were they still watching? Deep down, he knew that their punishment for helping Toby, Ben and Anna was that he would never know. And even if he did discover the truth one day, no one would ever believe him.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Carrie’s friends might have been awkward when it came to mentioning Ben’s disappearance, but she was sure that as long as the Company let her keep Emma and Joe, there was hope. So she did what she was told, waited and focused on the children.

  She and Emma became zealous bakers. They started with biscuits, but were soon making elaborate cakes which Emma would deliver to school with a proud grin. So popular were the cakes that soon Emma was bringing friends home and the house would be transformed into some sort of créche-cumbakery, where mothers would pick up their daughters with more than a little envy, taking home the goodies and wondering why Carrie hadn’t become fat and spotty.

  Joe was a harder nut to crack. He missed his father and would sulk and smash monsters to bits on his computer. So Carrie joined him, buying a massive television so they could play together once Emma had gone to bed. It was their time alone and each cherished it a
s much as the other. Joe started smiling again, even began talking at breakfast. Comments from school percolated back that an improvement was noticed and Carrie began to feel that she was putting her family back together.

  All that was missing was Ben, and during those long, cold nights when she couldn’t sleep, Carrie would feel the emptiness of the double bed and angrily tell herself that he would never come back. As she lay there, she remembered the click of the door when they brought him back, unconscious. She’d help them settle him in the bed, then follow one of them downstairs to go through a checklist of expected injuries, strains and pains that he’d suffer. Once they were gone, she’d go to the secret stash of medicines in her hidden draw and then tend his wounds, listening to his quiet, gentle breathing while she ran her finger over his newly acquired scars and bruises. My poor brown bear, she would whisper. Poor, poor brown bear. And then finally, in the morning, he would open his eyes and see her. And he would always smile.

  David would come to the house and check on this and that while awkwardly attempting small-talk. But his visits became less regular and, while she never believed that they weren’t always watching her, Carrie began to think that they were becoming less interested. And she wasn’t sure why.

  She continued to be the obedient, compliant employee that they desired. But when she was outside of the house and she felt safer, she would tell the children stories about Ben. She’d remind them about the time he carried both of them on his shoulders across a muddy lake, nearly making it to the end before slipping and all three of them fell into the slime. The children screamed with laughter as Carrie described Ben pulling himself to his feet, covered in green gunk from head to toe, laughing at his own ridiculousness. She told them about the time they went camping in Cornwall and Ben tried to put up the tent in the middle of the night, making such a hash of it that they all had to sleep in the car. Joe called him a ‘dufus’ when he heard this, but Carrie reprimanded him.

  ‘Your father’s an amazing man. Most men can only be strong or soft. Your dad could be both. He’s my champion. And you must be my champion until he returns.’

  Joe grew three inches that day.

  At night, alone, she’d remember his laugh and his touch. She’d roll onto his side of the bed and pull the odourless sheets close to her, trying to imagine him there next to her, gazing at her. She might lie here alone forever. It seemed a just punishment for her infidelities. And not knowing, never being sure beyond the faint hope that the children provided, was cruel yet utterly deserved.