by A J Rushby
Walk over people like Steen, beside me.
Walk over them and leave them behind without so much as a backward glance.
I hate myself.
I hate that person on that screen.
I want to slap her almost as much as I wanted to slap Ryan before. Maybe even more.
I don’t trust her at all. Because I know that if Steen hadn’t been here with me throughout this journey, perhaps I wouldn’t have made the same choices I’ve made. Maybe Lauren would have swayed my decision as I believe she swayed Andrew’s. I see now how much of us is defined by the people we let share our lives—by who we let in.
The recording continues. In Vienna, Marcus gives us some time to move to separate corners of the room and to think by ourselves, jot down some notes. And then, when we all agree we’re ready, we move back to the boardroom table again. Despite the fact that I know what I’m going to say, my heart is in my mouth.
Lauren speaks first. ‘I agree,’ she says. ‘To the second experiment. On the condition that I may attempt my own at the same time, and if it is affected by the second experiment, that I be allowed to repeat it at a later date.’
On the screen, Marcus nods.
Andrew is next.
‘I’d like to speak to the psychiatrist involved with the process of altering our remembrance of time and removing the memory of this offer in order to discuss how it might affect my experiment. But other than this I also agree to the second experiment with the same conditions outlined by Lauren.’
On screen, Steen’s eyes look to mine. In real life, I squeeze his hand, worried about viewing what’s to come, my heart rate accelerating with every second that passes by.
‘Miri?’ Marcus asks in the Vienna boardroom, looking for my answer.
I barely even hesitate. That’s how sure of myself I am. How sure of myself I was. Not any more. I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure of anything ever again. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I want to participate in the second experiment.’ I don’t even glance at Steen. But on screen, I see Steen shift in his seat. He’s so ready to get up and leave that boardroom.
And yet he doesn’t.
His eyes remain on me for a moment and I can tell I know he’s looking at me, but I ignore him anyway.
‘Fine, I’ll do it.’ He gives his reply. And now, in the present, I see so much in his gaze. He’s saying that for me. Only for me. Because he knows I’m stupid and selfish and have no idea what I’m doing. But he agrees anyway. Because if he says no, like he wants to, he won’t be there to pick up the pieces when it all falls apart as it surely must. Despite everything—my running away to England, leaving him behind without a word—he’s worried about what will happen to me.
‘Steen, if you’re not sure—’ Marcus begins.
Steen turns then, his expression fierce. ‘No. I’m sure. I’ll do it.’
Suddenly, in the bunker, there’s no air in my chest.
No air in the room.
Steen squeezes my hand, knowing I’ve seen what I needed to see. Seen everything I ever needed to see.
Just like that I can breathe again. Because he’s here. Still. Always.
And now I know I was wrong before. I thought I’d never be sure about anything again.
But I am sure about something.
One thing.
The person beside me.
I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.
FIFTY AND A HALF HOURS POST-EXPERIMENTATION
When the recording ends, it’s all I can do to stare at the blank screen before me for some time. It’s a surreal experience—watching something playing out before you that you have absolutely no recollection of.
‘There’s more,’ Marcus says, pulling me back from my thoughts. ‘If you’d like to see the recording of your meeting with the psychiatrist, of the ECT and so on …’
I shake my head quickly. No. No, I don’t want to see that. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to see that. This has been more than enough. For now.
Lauren mutters something. I get the feeling she was hoping I’d say this—that I didn’t want to see more. My attention whips over to her across the table. ‘So sorry to be wasting your time,’ I tell her. ‘I’m guessing I’m lucky you and your minion didn’t carve me up when you found out there wasn’t a real body for you to experiment on.’
Lauren only rolls her eyes at my outburst while Andrew’s gaze remains fixed on the table. I don’t think he’s feeling so great about himself lately. And I don’t care. All I remember about Andrew is his voice when he spotted me with his camera on that grassy hill. His pointing me out and directing everyone to me. Then him standing over me as I lay there trying to get up and failing. Scared. Helpless. Not knowing what might happen to me. I don’t know how much he knew then about what was really going on. Had they told him already? I don’t want to know. He makes me sick. Lauren makes me sick. This whole putrid business makes me sick to my very core.
‘Now, now, children,’ Ryan chimes in. ‘No squabbling.’
I turn to him. ‘You are one of the children. In case you’d forgotten.’
Steen squeezes my hand and I sit back in my chair. It’s not worth it, another squeeze tells me. They’re not worth it. I know he’s right, but I can’t help lashing out.
‘Can I go now?’ I look over at Marcus. ‘I just … I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be here any more.’
‘Of course,’ Marcus replies. ‘There are just two more things. Firstly, the research prize.’
I laugh. ‘You can’t seriously be going to tell me you’re awarding a prize.’
‘I was about to say the Society has decided not to award a prize this round in light of my poor leadership and the fact that there was an assault …’
‘I really don’t want to hear it. Though I hope you’re not thinking of throwing Lauren out. The Society could do with more students like Lauren. I’m sure she’s just what you’re looking for.’ I push back my chair.
‘And one more thing,’ Marcus says quickly. ‘It will only take a minute. A message came in this morning from the President of the Society. If you’d all like to listen to it?’ He’s not telling. He’s not asking. If anything, he’s kind of close to begging for my time now.
I shrug. Whatever. I never thought I’d say it, but I don’t care about the Society. I don’t care what the President has to say to us. I just want to go home.
Marcus takes this as my agreement and turns and presses another few buttons on the remote. The Society’s insignia appears on the screen. No recording. Just the insignia. And a voice. A woman’s voice. The one I’d heard on the phone as I hid on top of the bunker.
‘Youth experimenters,’ her voice begins. ‘The Society and I are very grateful for your contribution over the past two weeks, which will not be forgotten in years to come. Your help has been invaluable in enabling us to look further into the ethical considerations of our organisation—your organisation—for you are our future. I know this has not been an easy journey for any of you, but rest assured it has furthered our cause immensely, and please accept my personal thanks for your efforts and the thanks of all our members besides.’
As I listen to her words, I begin to frown, and my gaze flicks between Marcus and Ryan again, something flagged in my mind. There’s something odd about this. Something not right. Missing. It’s as if everything doesn’t quite fit together and I just need that one last, small piece of the jigsaw puzzle to slide into its spot and the picture will be clear. I so desperately want to know more—were my dad and I being watched that day we had lunch? What happened to the Argentinian journalist? Did the Society have a hand in keeping Ryan in the Thirty? Is there more to the story of my mother’s and the youth experimenter’s deaths? But I won’t believe anything I’m told, so know I might as well not ask.
Marcus turns the TV off. The message is over. We’re done.
Silence fills the room.
After some time, Steen sits back in his seat. ‘So, what did we all learn?’ He
spreads his arms wide across the table, his voice slightly mocking. He looks particularly at Marcus.
Lauren looks as if she can’t get out of here fast enough. Andrew still can’t bear to lift his gaze from his hands upon the table.
‘Well …’ Ryan starts.
‘Oh, shut up, Matthew.’ Steen turns to him. ‘It was a rhetorical question.’
‘And one that we will be answering in depth in due course,’ Marcus adds quickly, ‘through Matthew’s report and an extensive report of our own. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire structure of the Society changes after what we’ve seen happen here. You must understand this experiment went all the way to the top. Everyone’s decisions will be evaluated and scrutinised. It’s not only the four of you who were being tested, it was me, the support staff. All of us.’
But I barely hear them, because I’m staring at the table as well, thinking about that question of Steen’s. I’ve already started a list in my head of what I’ve learned. What we’ve learned. All of us. I think we’ve all learned a lot about ourselves. About our limits. What we’ll do to achieve. How far we’ll go for knowledge. About our true personalities. And me, personally … I learned everything I could ever need to know about the most important thing of all. Ryan’s experiment was far more valuable than he realises. And that I’ll never tell him.
Steen turns in his seat to look at me, still and quiet in my chair. ‘Are you okay?’ he says.
I look over at him, finally seeing him for everything he is.
And in that moment, I just don’t care any more. I get up out of my seat and walk over to Marcus. ‘Do you mind if I watch some of the recording again?’ I ask him.
‘Of course not,’ he says. He switches the TV back on and locates the recording, handing me the remote when it starts playing, close to the end.
I rewind to the section I want to watch, which isn’t too far back.
Standing right in front of the TV, I watch Steen’s gaze up close on the recording as he looks at me in that Vienna boardroom as I make my decision and he makes his.
I’ll never forget it, that look of his.
Never.
‘Steen, if you’re not sure …’ Marcus says, again.
‘No. I’m sure. I’ll do it,’ Steen replies.
Now, in the bunker, I take one last, long look. I switch the recording off and pass the remote back to Marcus.
Then I round the table to Steen. I lean over and bring his face to mine, my hair swinging forward to shield us. From them. From the world.
And then I kiss him.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper, pulling back. ‘For everything.’
I give him my hand.
‘Let’s go.’
HOME
Rather than using the Society’s private jet, Steen and I opt for a different mode of travelling home. A local driver takes us to Copenhagen and we catch a plane to Frankfurt. There, I call both my dad and Emily and make arrangements. Despite the fact that Steen had spoken to them both the minute he’d found out I’d called them before I ran off, they are both still pretty frantic. It takes some time to talk them out of taking the first plane over to come and get me. Steen and I stay overnight in Frankfurt and then catch another plane back to my family home. I try to convince Steen to go and visit his own parents, but he’s intent on delivering me to my father.
‘I’ve got plans to meet them in New York in less than a week. They’d think it was strange if I suddenly turned up on their doorstep now. They’d ask questions,’ he tells me.
The truth is, I’m grateful for his company. Grateful for him watching over me when I wake up in the middle of the night on the plane, out of breath like I’m still running. Grateful that he’s able to anchor me in the present just by holding my hand. By telling me that everything’s all right.
And it is. It is. I know I’m safe. That Steen and I … that we’re all right too.
But still there’s something …
That missing piece of the puzzle.
I can’t work it out. Is it something to do with what happened in Vienna? That I lost time that I now can’t account for? I’m not sure.
But it’s always there—in the back of my mind—and my brain ticks over constantly, distracted, attempting to remember what it is.
Finally we’re home.
Our plane lands. And as we walk down the gangway, I know he’ll be there—my dad.
At first, surrounded by the people exiting the plane, I don’t see him. And then someone steps aside and he’s there. Really there. Larger than life. In a strange combination of brown vest and scarlet tie. But there.
I really should have taken him to buy that suit in London, I think, smiling to myself.
I stand quite still.
What I want to do is run into his arms and cry.
But I can’t.
I’m not five years old any more. He warned me and I made my choices regardless of his advice. So I stand there instead.
That is, until Steen gives me a push in the small of my back, forcing me into action and making me do all of it at once. I run over to my dad. His arms envelop me without hesitation. And then the two of us stand there for some time, Steen looking on, surrounded by curious onlookers, wondering what’s wrong as I gulp and snort and make wet patches on that tie that already had enough problems to be going on with.
Finally my dad holds me at arm’s length. ‘Well, it looks like you’re in one piece.’ He glances over at Steen. ‘Anything I can’t see that I should know about?’
Steen looks to me to answer this and I shake my head. ‘Nothing that a week mooching around town with Emily won’t fix,’ I say, not knowing if this is true or not, but hoping it is. ‘She’ll be here in a couple of days’ time.’
‘Good,’ my dad says. ‘Then let’s go home and get busy doing nothing at all.’
He doesn’t ask any questions, not wanting to be told any more lies. Instead, he holds out his hand and, this time, I don’t hesitate to reach out to him. Because I see now, quite clearly, what Steen was always trying to tell me about him—that his presence by my side was never dragging me back, but simply encouraging me to walk forward slowly. Safely. One step at a time.
At home, Dad takes some time off work. I watch TV, go to the movies, shop, cook. We even go fishing (once). I also spend a lot of time lying on my bed and listening to the house. To the noises around me. To voices in both the present and in the past.
After a few days, Emily comes.
Of course, as soon as I’d got my phone back from Marcus, I’d seen the thirty-two voicemail messages from her and the fifty-eight texts. I’d called her back as soon as I could and told her everything was okay, that I’d speak to her soon and that she shouldn’t worry about me. But I could tell she was still freaking out. This was a girl who took the word ‘gingerbread’ very seriously indeed.
‘So, I need to know all about your phone call to me,’ is the first thing she says to me on arrival after giving me a hug, taking my hair out of its standard ponytail and fixing it into a more fashionable side braid. She pulls back to assess me as we stand on the front stairs of my house. ‘Better. You know you really scared me. I called your dad …’ Her eyes bore into mine, searching for any kind of information.
‘I know,’ I say, with a gulp. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you panic.’
Emily stands extremely still, waiting for my explanation. ‘He ended up telling me he’d spoken to Steen and that everything was okay. Then Steen called me as well.’
‘Yes.’
Still she waits.
‘I …’ I’ve been struggling with trying to come up with something to tell her. ‘I was … lost,’ I end up saying. ‘Really lost. I didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Who to turn to. I was just … lost.’
There’s a long silence in which she continues to look at me, but finally she blinks. Perhaps she sees the truth in my eyes, because she allows me to lead her up onto the porch. ‘Lost. And, yet, lost as you were on this trip, somehow
you found Steen along the way?’ She looks at me knowingly. ‘Now that you can tell me all about.’ She sits down in one of the comfy chairs, her suitcase beside her. ‘And don’t you worry. I have plenty of time for long and winding stories.’
Emily stays for a week and we continue my round of TV, movies, shopping and cooking. We forgo any more fishing—as Emily puts it, ‘No! The hooks in their little mouths!’
It takes me a few days, but I finally work up the courage to ask Emily about my replacement one afternoon when we’re grabbing a coffee (yes, with syrup—some things never change).
‘Oh,’ is her initial reply. ‘Her.’ She bites the edge of her cup. ‘They’re not together, if that’s what you want to know. It’s not like that.’
I can hear what she’s not saying. ‘But that’s what she’d like.’
Emily’s eyes immediately flick up to meet mine, challenging me. ‘Well, you can hardly blame her, can you?’
If only I could. It would be so much easier than blaming myself.
When Emily leaves for New York, she makes me promise I’ll come and visit in the last week of the summer break—before we return to college, where she’s already rented us an apartment just off campus.
As soon as she goes, I do something I’ve been thinking about for many days. I call the number I have for Marcus. I tell him I have questions about my time at the bunker and need to see a psychologist. Specifically a psychologist who might be able to help me with accessing memories. I don’t say what sort.
He flies one in and arranges for some temporary office space.
With the psychologist’s help, I begin to remember. I revisit arguments from the past. Voices. Voices reverberating around our family home.
The longer you leave it, the more she’ll remember you.
I want her to remember me. Why wouldn’t I? She’s like me. Just like me. You know she is.
Just go. Go! You’ve made your decision. Don’t make it harder on everyone else than it already is.
It takes most of a very long day. But by the time I’m done, I’ve got answers I think I’ve been searching for for a long time. There’s only one more thing I want to know. When I get home again, I locate my dad in his favourite reading chair and stand in front of him until he looks up at me over the top of his glasses.