“Close your eyes, Alex,” Ruen whispered.
I shook my head. I was scared of the shadow.
“Don’t you trust me?” he said.
“Not anymore,” I said without thinking, and our faces fell at exactly the same time because we both realized it was true. Ruen frowned at me.
“Do you want your mum to live?” he said in a cruel voice.
I gasped and squeezed my eyes tight. “Look,” I heard Ruen say, and right away there was this big cinema screen in my head filled with an image of Mum. It was clearer than a Wakeful Dream or a memory. It was even clearer than a film at the cinema because it was like I was right there in front of her when I closed my eyes. I could see her sitting in the common room in a red chair at the adult unit and she was watching TV. She was wearing a long white T-shirt and her hair was tied back and her face looked blank. She kept changing position in her chair like she couldn’t get comfortable.
“Is this real?” I asked Ruen, opening my eyes.
“Of course it is,” he said, and I closed my eyes again and kept watching.
Mum turned to the lady in the chair next to her and said do you have any smokes? The lady looked at her as if she was stupid and shook her head. Mum said thanks in a voice that sounded annoyed and she left the room.
Then the image changed to Mum walking into her bedroom at the hospital. She looked upset and her hands were flapping and she walked up and down, talking to herself. She was saying things like, “said I was no good, he was right” and then she lay down on the bed. At first I thought she was going to sleep, and then I noticed she was reaching under her mattress for something.
I opened my eyes. “What’s she doing?” I asked Ruen.
“You’ll see,” he said.
Part of me wanted to run out of here all the way to Mum and the other part needed to stay and see what happened.
But I already knew what was going to happen.
Mum reached her hand underneath the mattress and slowly pulled out a fat book. When she opened it I could see she had ripped out holes in the pages and hidden round white pills inside, lots of them. She sat with the book on her lap for a moment and she looked at the door, which was open, and then back at the book, and I shouted “Mum, don’t!” because I knew exactly what she was thinking. I opened my eyes but the image was gone and all I could see was the orange toilet door with black scribbles on it and a rusting handle. So I closed my eyes again and instantly I saw Mum again, but this time there were no round white pills in the book and she was drinking a glass of water and crying. She rubbed her face and gave a big sigh.
“I love you, Alex. You’ll be so much happier without me.”
I yelled and yelled and then I opened my eyes and scrambled to my feet and I felt my fingers fumble with the lock on the toilet door and then I raced out into the corridor, though I couldn’t move fast enough. I needed to get to her, I needed to get to her. Every time now I’d been able to stop her, but this time might be too late. I started to run but it felt like my legs wouldn’t move fast enough, like they were made of LEGO bricks and I had to drag them after me.
I was outside the toilets now and in the long white corridor with the long white lights in the ceiling like lightsabers. There was nobody around, not a single person. “Help!” I shouted, but my voice sounded so small. Suddenly the lights flickered off and it became very dark. It was raining outside but the rain against the glass sounded like a hiss and I felt so, so scared. There was no one to help me. I closed my eyes and I saw Mum asleep in her red chair. I started to cry.
When I opened my eyes again I saw a dark shadow at the very end of the corridor. It started off like a big black balloon hanging in the air, and then it grew and grew until it sank and splatted like a puddle of black oil that spread across the floor. I couldn’t move. I was just standing there frozen to the spot. Even if the building had exploded I probably would have just stood there. All I could think about was Mum. I watched the puddle as it spread to both sides of the wall and then it started to creep up the wall and I knew what it was.
The black liquid crept up both sides and then they both floated into midair and joined and spread down to the floor to form a person. It was Ruen as Monster. He was almost as tall as the ceiling and as wide as the corridor and his eyes were tiny and yellow, his skin was a cross between black and purple. He had no ears or nose or hair and his mouth was big and full of sharp yellow teeth.
Then I heard his voice in my head, and it was soft and kind and gentle.
“Alex,” he said. “Your mother is very, very ill. What will you do to help her?”
I turned and tried to run away toward the other end of the hall, but my legs wouldn’t work. I made it about four doors along, but Ruen was there again, right in front of me. This time he was the Old Man, and his arms were tucked behind his back and I could see the black thread hanging from his jacket and snaking up the floor.
“Alex,” he said, “Your mother is going to die.” He said it like I was making it happen, like it was my fault.
I started to cry. “Help me, someone!” I shouted.
Ruen reached out to me. “I’m here, I’m helping you,” he said, but I just wanted to run. I felt trapped. I turned to run again but this time I tripped and fell down with my hands outstretched and I hit my head on the floor. I wanted to get up but I didn’t have the strength. I put my cheek on the ground and it was cold and I felt numb.
Then I felt Ruen stand over me.
“There is still time, Alex, but you must act quickly. Get up, get up.”
I rolled over onto my back and looked up at him. “You’re a demon,” I told him. “Demons really do hurt people, not help people.”
Ruen grinned. “It appears I’m the only one helping you right now, isn’t that so?”
I looked at the ceiling. I could see the light flickering, trying to work. I wondered if there were angels up there.
“Help me,” I whispered.
“I am helping you,” Ruen said, walking around me with his arms behind his back. “Your mother will live. You just need to do one thing, Alex. Do you think you can do just one thing?”
I felt tears sliding down the sides of my face into my ears. I pressed both hands on my chest and felt myself taking breaths, in and out, and I wished I could give these breaths to my mum. There was nothing else, nothing nothing nothing that I wanted more than to stop her from dying.
Ruen bent down right beside me, so close I could smell him. It usually made me gag but it didn’t then. He pressed something cold and sharp into my hand.
“Do you remember swapping cards with the other boys in the old school, Alex?”
I heard myself say yes.
“This is just like swapping cards. For your mother to live, you need to send someone else in her place.”
I closed my eyes. I knew what he wanted. It was what Ruen had always wanted and even though he hadn’t said so I knew it because I knew Ruen.
“Don’t you want your mother to live, Alex?”
I rolled up slowly to a sitting position and looked down at what he had put into my hand. At first it looked like a knife made out of glass. I brought it close to my face and saw that it was a broken handle of a glass water jug. The end of it was so sharp that when I tapped it lightly with my finger a small red line of blood appeared above my nail a few seconds later. Ruen looked at me as I held the weapon and gave a big smile.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered, but then a new image of Mum flashed in my head, even though I had my eyes open. I saw her hand on the side of the chair, and even though she was asleep I saw her hand fall and I knew she was dying.
I looked up at Ruen. My mouth and eyes were sore and I felt like I was falling. I thought of my dad, my real dad, and what he said to Ruen: my son will pay my debt. And I thought of Mum, swinging beside me, going higher and higher and higher. She was laughing. When she laughed I felt like my heart would take off. I wanted to hear her laugh again.
Eventually I sat up and w
hispered:
“Who do you want me to kill?”
26
THE CALL
ANYA
Trudy Messenger phones me as I am at my flat, both hands filled with clothes and books that I didn’t quite know whether to put back into their boxes or into the cupboards. I hear my phone ring and expect it to be Michael. Trudy sounds both angry and relieved at the same time.
“Anya? I’ve been in touch with the secretaries at MacNeice House, they said you would be gone for some time …”
I take a breath, my heart still heavy. “What can I help you with, Trudy?”
Her voice softens. “It’s Alex’s mother, Cindy. She’s in intensive care.”
“Intensive care? What happened?” But somehow I knew.
“It’s so rare when this happens, usually security is so tight … Somehow she got hold of barbituates and …”
I can hear her rattle off the words suicide attempt and coma and brain damage, then times and procedures in a slightly shrill voice, but all at a great distance, as if a plane is taking off close by. Eventually, there is silence on the end of the line, and a terrible image unravels in my head: Ursula knocking on Alex’s bedroom door with this news held in her mouth like a concealed weapon.
“Has anyone told Alex?”
“Not yet.”
I sink down on the bed, my mind racing with the necessary steps. “I’m going over to see him now. When can I bring him to see Cindy?”
“That won’t be possible,” Trudy says. “They’re doing everything they can but I don’t know … Cindy’s sister’s here. She’s inconsolable. It would be really traumatic for Alex to be here right now. Let’s wait until things calm down and we have a better idea of Cindy’s condition.”
I nod at the phone, thinking hard about how I might get to see Alex without a confrontation with Ursula. Telling her about Cindy’s suicide attempt would only increase her efforts to prevent me from seeing him.
Michael’s green Volvo pulls into the parking lot at MacNeice House a few seconds ahead of me. Ursula appears at the top of the steps to the entrance, her arms folded. I get out of the car and walk quickly toward the steps with Michael behind, feeling Ursula’s stare.
It is Michael who speaks to her first. “I think it’s in the boy’s interests that he speak to Anya, don’t you?”
“The boy is asking for you,” she says, pursing her lips. I am at the bottom of the steps, looking up at her. “He’s extremely upset about his mother.”
“You told him?”
“Somehow he already knew. He even told us where she’d stashed the pills.”
I ignore her, taking the steps to the entrance two at a time. Just as I think she is going to tell me to leave or be forced to leave, she steps aside, letting us through.
“Don’t sign the register,” she tells Michael and me as we push through the front door. We follow quickly behind as she heads up the corridor. Michael stops at the vending machine by the doors that lead to staff offices; he fills two plastic cups, one with water, another with espresso, and hands the espresso to me.
“This is for Alex,” he says, nodding at the cup of water. “You look tired. The coffee will help.”
We catch up with Ursula, pushing through the heavy double doors that lead to the therapy room.
Ursula turns. “I won’t note that this interview took place,” she says candidly. “Looks bad to the trust if a member of staff on sick leave appears out of the blue.”
I glance past her and through the glass panels of the door see Alex. He is in the armchair facing us. He’s wearing a T-shirt with an image of Bart Simpson and new denim jeans, and I notice he has had a haircut. He looks different in kids’ clothes. He lowers his head into his hands, his fingers crawling through his hair as if he wants to pull his head off. He begins to rock. I nod at Ursula, waiting impatiently as she turns the key in the door and pushes it open. Michael starts to go inside first.
“No,” Alex says when he looks up. “You.” He points at me.
Michael and I share looks. I turn back to Alex. “You just want to speak to me, Alex?”
He nods. Michael shrugs and hands me the cup of water. “I’ll wait down the hall,” he tells me, lifting a hand to my shoulder, then dropping it. I wait until he is out of sight before I close the door behind me. Then I sit in the chair opposite Alex. He watches me, his face pale and flat.
“What’s that you’re drinking?” are his first words.
I set my cup on the floor by my chair. “Espresso.” I pass him the cup of water. He takes it but he doesn’t drink it, nor does he say thank you, which is unusual for Alex.
“How are you today, Alex?” I ask him gently.
“Scared,” he whispers.
Despite the relative stillness of his appearance, I know that his mind will be a tempest of questions and scenarios. I want to reach out to him, to fold my arms around him.
“I don’t think I want to do this,” he says suddenly, standing up and starting to pace.
“You don’t want to speak to me?”
“No,” he says, a little frantically, shaking his head. He glances at my cup of espresso, then stops pacing. “When can I see my mum?”
“As soon as the doctors say it’s okay,” I answer calmly. “I promise, as soon as I hear—”
“… but it will be too late!” he screeches.
There is a knock on the door before I can reply. I open it and find Michael there, slightly breathless. He lays a hand on my shoulder and leans close.
“Bev’s on her way here now,” he whispers. “She just left a voicemail on my phone.”
“Any word on Cindy?” I say quietly. He shakes his head. Nonetheless, I’m glad to hear that Bev is coming. Alex needs all the support he can get right now.
When I close the door and turn, I see that Alex is back in his seat.
“Are you okay, Alex? Is there anything I can do for you?”
He flicks his eyes from the corner to me, then nods nervously.
As he drains his cup of water I notice his hand is trembling. I recognize a familiar jittery energy beneath his attempt at composure, the kind I have come to associate with Ruen’s visitations. I think of my meeting with Karen Holland and the YouTube footage I’d viewed. Alex watches me intently and I am careful not to let my comforting expression slip. I want to ask him about his father and the shooting, but I have already decided that today is not the day for such a discussion. I pick up my cup and drain the espresso to show I’m at ease, relaxed. It tastes terrible. I make a mental note never to get espresso from a vending machine.
Alex sits forward in his chair, wringing his hands. “I remembered some things about my dad …” he says.
“You did?”
He looks uncertain now, and I notice he has yet to make full eye contact. Accordingly, I get up and sit next to him instead of directly opposite. I need to show him I’m on his side, not confronting him.
“I mean, it’s nothing important.”
“I think it is important. Can you tell me?”
His eyes drift back to the corner. I resist asking if he can see Ruen.
“It happened one Saturday morning,” he says slowly, his eyes gradually rising to my face. “Maybe a Sunday morning. Dad didn’t talk to any of our neighbors. He’d usually come through the back door when he visited or he’d keep his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. I was sitting on the sofa watching something on TV and I remember Dad was looking straight out the front window and then he stood up and walked to the front door. I didn’t hear anyone knock. When I went after him I saw he was talking to Mrs. Beaker from three doors up. She’s like a hundred years old and when she walked she was bent so far over she was staring at her feet. It was raining really heavy outside but she couldn’t hold up an umbrella. So my dad says to her, ‘Where are you going?’ And she said, ‘To do some shopping,’ and Dad shook his head and smiled and told her to give him her shopping list and he’d do her shopping. Mrs. Beaker went back into her house
and me and Dad went and bought all her groceries. Dad wouldn’t even take any money from her. She was so happy she kissed him on both cheeks.”
His voice has risen several decibels and he is sitting upright. Seconds pass. Suddenly his face crumples. His smile turns into a deep scowl. I notice he is holding something in his hand, hiding it between his legs.
“It’s okay, Alex,” I say gently. “It’s good to remember nice things about your dad. It shows you are forgiving him.”
He struggles to speak, his lips trembling. “But … but what would she have done … I mean, if she’d known …”
He doesn’t finish. I glance out the glass panels of the door, hopeful that we will see Bev soon. When I turn back to Alex I see he has covered his face with his hands and I instinctively reach out to him.
“Alex,” I begin. But I stop short, overwhelmed by a wave of nausea so powerful that I cover my mouth in case I throw up.
“Are you all right?” Alex says, sniffling.
“I think so. You were saying about your dad—”
“Are you feeling sleepy?” he whispers, and I shake my head, fighting nausea.
“My dad could be really kind,” he says, his teeth still chattering.
Just like you, I want to say, but I feel a tingling in my mouth. I reach for my talisman on instinct, then realize with a stunned sense of horror that, for the first time ever, I’m not wearing it. I’ve left it at home. But the queasiness has passed. It’s just anxiety, I scold myself.
“But what about when someone is also a murderer?” Alex is saying. “How can they really be kind if they’re evil? How can anything that they did be true? It was all a lie, wasn’t it?”
As I open my mouth to respond my throat tightens, and I’m choking. I lean forward to take a ragged breath, but without warning I have fallen to my hands and knees, gasping for air.
Boy Who Could See Demons Page 25