by C. L. Taylor
I stare at her profile photo. She’s smiling into the camera, her brown hair long and glossy, her blue eyes sparkling. She looks so happy. So alive. And then she’s not. She’s lying crumpled and broken at the side of the road, staring unseeingly at the sky as blood dribbles from her mouth to her chin. I shut down the browser but the image of her lifeless face is burned into my brain. I have to find out if she’s still alive.
***
I ring the hospitals first, asking if they’ve admitted anyone by the name of Dr Rebecca Cobey. The first receptionist I speak to tells me she can only release patient information to next of kin. I wait a couple of minutes then I ring back, using a different voice, and say I’m Dr Cobey’s daughter. This time the receptionist tells me there’s no Rebecca Cobey listed. I try the other hospital in town but they claim they don’t have her either. Finally, I ring the police who confirm that there was a motor vehicle accident on the high street but they can’t tell me what happened to the victim.
‘I was there,’ I tell the female police officer. ‘The car sped up. It deliberately knocked her over.’
‘Can I ask how old you are?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘OK,’ she says and then pauses. This is the bit where she laughs at me or puts the phone down. But she doesn’t. Instead, she says, ‘What’s your name and address? I’ll need a contact number for your parents so I can arrange for someone to come to your home to interview you.’
‘Of course. My name is Drew Finch and I live at —’
‘Drew,’ Mum says from the doorway, making me jump. ‘Is everything OK?’
Chapter Four
Mum frowns as she reads Mason’s note. Tony, sitting beside her on the sofa, reads over her shoulder.
‘Who did you say gave this to you?’ Mum says, looking up.
‘I told you, a stranger.’
‘Did she tell you her name?’
‘Well, she …’ I tail off. I don’t like the weird way Tony’s looking at me. It’s like he’s too interested in what I’m saying.
Mum glances at Tony. I hate how she does that – deferring to him as though she’s incapable of making a decision without his opinion. She was never like that with Dad. She made all the decisions in our house back then. Dad used to joke that, ever since the motorbike accident where he lost his right leg from the knee down, Mum wore the trousers because they didn’t look right on him any more.
Tony runs his hands up and down his thighs as though he’s trying to iron out invisible creases in his suit trousers. ‘Have you spoken to the police about what you saw?’
‘I rang them earlier. They said they’d send someone round to take a statement from me.’
‘I see.’ He glances back at Mum but she’s looking at Mason’s note again. It quivers in her fingers like a pinned butterfly. She’s rereading the bit where Mason says how scared he is. I can just tell.
‘Jane.’ Tony places his hand over the note, blocking her view. ‘We talked about this. Remember? About Mason trying to avoid facing up to his responsibilities. We both know how manipulative he can be.’
‘He’s not manipulative!’ Mum shifts away from him so sharply his hand flops onto the sofa. ‘My son might be a lot of things but he’s not that.’
‘He’s a liar, Jane. And a thief. Or have you already forgotten that he stole from you.’
‘Tony!’ Mum glares at him. ‘Not in front of Drew. Please.’
It’s not like I don’t know all this already. They sent me upstairs when we got home from school but I didn’t go into my room. I sat cross-legged on the landing instead and listened to Mum lay into Mason about nicking twenty quid from her bag. She told him how disappointed she was. How Tony was at the end of his tether. How they knew Mason had been smoking weed out of his bedroom window. ‘And now you’re stealing!’ she cried. ‘From your own mother. What did I do to deserve that, Mason? What did I do wrong?’ She started crying then. I heard Mason try to comfort her but she wasn’t having any of it. She told him that he’d pushed her to the edge and she had no choice but to agree with Tony and send him to the Residential Reform Academy.
Mason wasn’t the only one who gasped. I did too. When Tony had first mentioned sending Mason away (another conversation I’d eavesdropped) Mum was really against the idea. I wasn’t. Mason might be my brother but he can also be a prize dick. He wasn’t always a dick. He was pretty cool when we were kids but he changed after Dad disappeared. He stopped watching TV in the living room with me and Mum and holed himself away in his room instead. And if he wasn’t in his room he was out with his mates on their bikes or skateboarding in the park. He started finding fault in everything – in me, in Mum, at school. He talked back to his teachers, he started fights and he smashed stuff up if he lost his temper. After he was excluded, I barely saw him. When I did he’d make snidey comments about me being the favourite and accuse me of sucking up to Tony.
‘You’ve got no personality,’ he’d shout at me. ‘That’s why Tony likes you.’
He really bloody hated Tony. He made no secret of that.
‘Drew,’ Tony says now. ‘If this woman told you her name you need to tell us what it is.’
‘I know but …’ I pause. Tony’s the National Head of Academies which means he knows the people who run the RRA. If he contacts them, Mason will get into trouble. He’s not supposed to have any contact with the outside world while he’s away. He wasn’t even allowed to take his phone or iPad with him. I shouldn’t have said anything about this in front of Tony but I was so freaked out by what had happened it all came spilling out before I knew what I was doing.
‘But what?’ He sits forward so he’s perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Just tell us her name, Drew.’
‘I’m going to ring Norton House,’ Mum says, before I can reply. She reaches into her handbag for her phone and swipes at the screen.
‘Jane.’ Tony touches her arm. ‘Let me deal with this. If you get in touch, Mason will be getting exactly the reaction he was hoping for when he smuggled the note out. He –’
‘Yes, hello.’ Mum twists away from Tony. ‘I’m calling to enquire about my son, Mason Finch.’
‘Mum!’ I jump out of my seat. ‘Mum, please! Don’t tell them about –’
She waves me away.
‘Yes, that’s right. I just wanted to check that he’s OK.’ She covers the mouthpiece with her hand and gestures for me to sit back down. ‘They’re just going to find out how he’s doing.’
‘Honestly, Jane …’ Tony gets up from the sofa. He walks over the window and stares out into the street with his arms crossed over his chest. A bead of sweat trickles out of his hairline and runs down the side of his face. He swipes it away sharply, as though brushing away an annoying fly. The toe of his right shoe tap, tap, taps on the carpet as Mum continues to hold. I’ve never seen him took this unsettled before.
‘OK,’ Mum says into the phone. ‘Right, OK. I understand. No, there’s nothing else. Thank you for your time.’ She removes the phone from her ear and ends the call. ‘He’s in pre-treatment and can’t be disturbed, but they’re going to WhatsApp me some video footage so I can see that he’s OK.’
Tony doesn’t react. He continues to stare out into the street. A new bead of sweat runs down the side of his face. He doesn’t swipe it away.
‘Mum,’ I say, but I’m interrupted by the sound of her phone pinging.
‘Here we go. They’ve sent the video.’ She taps the empty seat next to her, gesturing for me to join her on the sofa. Tony doesn’t move a muscle as I cross the living room.
Mum touches the screen as I sit down next to her. An image of Mason, sitting in a beanbag chair with a PS4 controller in his hands, jumps to life. There are two boys sitting either side of my brother, both on beanbags, both holding controllers. All three boys are laughing their heads off. They look like mates, kicking back in one of their bedrooms rather than three kids who’ve been sent away to overcome their ‘behavioural problems’.
‘Can I
look at that for a second?’
Mum doesn’t resist as I take the phone from her hand and click on the video details.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘Checking the date the video was taken. They might have sent you footage of when he first arrived.’
‘And?’
I stare at it in disbelief. ‘It was taken today.’
‘There you go, then.’ Tony swivels around so he’s facing us. ‘And you still claim your son wasn’t trying to manipulate you, Jane?’
Mum sighs heavily and looks at me. ‘What do you think, Drew? He looks fine, in the video, doesn’t he?’
There’s desperation in her eyes. She wants me to tell her there’s nothing to worry about.
‘No one’s being brainwashed,’ Tony says. He’s not sweating any more and his foot has stopped pounding the carpet. If anything he looks ever so slightly smug. ‘All the kids get a couple of weeks to settle in followed by an intensive course of therapeutic treatment to help them overcome their behavioural issues. If Mason passed a note to someone – and I’m of the belief it was written before he left – it was done because he’s still resistant to the idea that he needs to make some positive changes in his life.’
Waffle, waffle, waffle. Tony might be convincing Mum with his pseudo psycho-babble but I’m not so sure.
‘What kind of therapeutic treatment?’ I ask.
‘Um.’ Tony runs a hand over his thinning hair. ‘It’s … er … cognitive behavioural therapy, modelled especially for adolescence.’
He’s right. Cognitive behavioural therapy isn’t brainwashing. It helps you change the way you think and behave. But if it’s all so innocent why has he started sweating again?
Chapter Five
Mum and Tony didn’t say a word when I left the living room, claiming I needed to do some homework, but I heard Mum hiss at Tony as I climbed the stairs to my room.
‘I won’t have you talk about Mason like that in front of Drew. Whatever he’s done he’s still her brother and, as soon as he’s completed his treatment, he’ll be coming back home.’
She might have bought Tony’s crap about CBT but I haven’t. Dr Cobey wouldn’t have risked her life to pass me Mason’s note if that was what was going on.
I open my laptop lid and type ‘RRA’ into Google. A bunch of links for architects, relative risk aversion and the Rahanweyn Resistance Army appear on the screen. That’s not what I’m after so I try again, entering Residential Reform Academy into the search box. This time, when I click return, a website for the school appears.
I’ve looked at it before. I checked it out after Mum and Tony told Mason that’s where they were sending him. On the first page it says it’s, a therapeutic boarding school for troubled adolescents that provides a safe, secure and structured environment to allow them to overcome their issues. Established four years ago, the RRA has seen a huge leap in student intake over the last twelve months due to strong support from the current Government, but there’s not much more information; a few photos of the huge mansion-sized building and a bit of history about it being a psychiatric hospital in the Eighties. And that’s it. Dr Rothwell is named as the director but there’s no staff list. No photos of the inside or the kids. No contact information. No directions. Nothing. A residential school in the heart of Northumberland, it says. That could be anywhere.
I try another search.
Residential Reform Academy review.
Nothing. I look on Facebook to see if it’s listed there. Nothing. No images on Instagram. No hashtags on Twitter. If the treatment only lasts two months surely some of the kids who’d left would have mentioned it on social media? But there’s nothing. Other than the website it’s as though it doesn’t exist.
I try more searches:
RRA experience
RRA story
RRA nightmare
RRA scared
RRA brainwashed
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
I slump back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. Why am I even doing this? Mason looked fine in the video. Tony’s probably right. The note was his attempt to guilt trip mum into coming to get him. But even if he was, that doesn’t explain the things Dr Cobey said to me. Why all the secrecy and fear about this place? What are they hiding?
I jolt forward in my seat and put my fingers back on the keyboard.
RRA conspiracy
Nothing.
RRA secrecy
Nothing.
RRA truth
Bingo!
On the second page there’s a link to a blog on Tumblr. I click on the mouse button and the site loads. But there’s barely anything written on the page. Just fourteen words.
If you want to know the truth about RRA message me on Snapchat. ZedGreen.
***
I snatch up my phone and click on the Snapchat icon. As I do the landing floorboards creak loudly. Someone’s creeping about outside my bedroom door.
‘Mum?’ I peer outside but it’s Tony’s shadow that disappears into the master bedroom. I hear the deep, bassy rumble of his voice then the door clicks closed. He’s making a call. Mum must be in the kitchen. I can hear plates and dishes clinking and clanking as though they’re being loaded into the dishwasher. I close my bedroom door and return to my desk. I swivel my chair round so I can see the door then I add ZedGreen as a friend on Snapchat. The request is immediately accepted so I tap out a message.
ME
My brother is at RRA and I’m worried about him. Can you help?
I have no idea who ZedGreen is. For all I know he could be someone at the academy, an ex-pupil, or even a teacher.
A message flashes up on the screen:
ZEDGREEN
Send me a photo.
I type back.
ME
Of what?
ZEDGREEN
You, holding a sign with today’s date written on it.
ME
Why?
ZEDGREEN
So I know you are who you say you are.
ME
But I don’t know who you are.
ZEDGREEN
You’re the one who came knocking on my door, not the other way round.
I stare at the screen. I don’t share photos. Not in real life and particularly not online.
I type back:
ME
I can’t do that. Sorry.
ZEDGREEN
Then we can’t talk. Goodbye.
ME
Wait! I need your help.
Thirty seconds pass. ZedGreen doesn’t reply. I tap my feet on the carpet. C’mon. C’mon. I put my phone down and do a search on Reddit using all the terms that led me to ZedGreen’s blog but there’s nothing. He’s the only person in the world who can help me and if I don’t do what he asks is not going to play ball. But if I show him a photo that means LoneVoice isn’t anonymous any more. I won’t be anonymous any more. If ZedGreen screenshotted my photo and put it online I wouldn’t be able to be me. I wouldn’t feel safe.
I snatch up my phone again.
ME
Please,
I tap out.
ME
My brother sent me a message telling me that he’s being brainwashed. I need to know if it’s true or not.
ZedGreen doesn’t reply.
ME
PLEASE!
I feel sick as he continues to ignore me. What if he only gave me one chance to respond and I’ve blown it? I’ll never find out the truth. If Dr Cobey was killed just for trying to help Mason, God knows what kind of danger he’s in. Mum and Tony are convinced that he’s fine. But what if he’s not? I could never forgive myself if something awful happened to him.
‘This had better not be a wind-up, Mase,’ I mutter, as I rip a page out of my journal and write today’s date on it. I hold it under my chin, reach out my arm and snap a scowling selfie.
A couple of seconds later and I’ve sent it to ZedGreen.
ME
There,
I type.
ME
Happy now?
The message is delivered but nothing happens. Zed doesn’t respond.
ME
Hello? Are you still there?
A sick feeling grips my stomach. Some random stranger has got my photo and I’m still no closer to finding out what’s going on with my brother.
Ping! My phone vibrates in my hand. A message from ZedGreen:
ZEDGREEN
If you want to discover the truth about the RRA you need to meet me. Grab a pen. I will send you details in my next message. Do not screengrab it. Do not tell anyone where you’re going. Meet me alone. If you break any of these rules I will vanish. Do we understand each other?
ME
Yes
I type back.
ME
Tell me where and when and I’ll be there.
Chapter Six
I am waiting where Zed told me to meet him, under the horse chestnut tree in Redcatch Park. It’s seven o’clock and the park is almost pitch black. The only light is the amber glow from the houses on the edge of the park. It’s November and the ground is thick with fallen leaves. The red, orange, yellow leaves look gorgeous in the daytime but, at night, every crunch, every crackle, every skittering leaf makes me jump.
When Zed’s message flashed up on my phone.
ZEDGREEN
Horse chestnut tree, Redcatch Park, 7 p.m.
I actually laughed. Meet a total stranger in a deserted park in near darkness? What kind of idiot did he think I was?
ME
You need to show me a photo with today’s date. So I know who I’m meeting.
ZEDGREEN
You’ll find out who I am when we meet. This is as much of a risk for me as it is you.