by Paul Teague
Sometimes parents seem to make life so difficult. All Dad had to do was get the packing done and pick Mum up from hospital on the way out in the morning. When he got home, Dad put Mum’s briefcase in its customary place by the front door, David and Harriet went to bed, and Dad got me to help with the packing.
I liked it since I’d been at home, Dad treated me differently. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was like I was an adult at last, he just chatted to me like he did Mum, he didn’t use that kind of talk you reserve for kids, like you’re over-acting in a bad TV series. That’s why I was still up when there was a knock at the door. It’s funny that a knock at the door means nothing at all during the day time, but at night or in darkness, it can take on such a different meaning. At night it can be threatening - or it takes on new urgency, like important news has to be delivered that cannot wait until morning. So when the knock came, at shortly after 11 o’clock, not only did it make me jump, we also just looked at each other while we registered what had just happened.
Dad told me to get ready for bed and to stay upstairs, and I felt a sharp change from his easiness in the minutes just before the night time interruption. I wasn’t much the wiser for what was said at the front door, it was just a series of mumbles preceded and followed by greetings and farewells. But there was something about the conversation that registered with me, not words, but a tone and style of speaking. It was only while I was lying awake in bed long after Dad had retired for the night that I finally realised what it was that had registered with me. That was Doctor Pierce talking to Dad at the door. So why had Dad said, after closing the door and re-joining me, that it was a 'wrong address'?
In The Darkness
I’m trying to stay calm but it’s really difficult. None of this makes sense to me at all, it’s like somebody just turned all the lights out and now they refuse to tell me what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. If I try to move in this darkness, I might fall. Even worse I might get lost.
I’m desperately trying to remember the layout of the bunker beyond the heavy doors, but I can’t, and anyway it’s complete darkness, I have no light or sound to help me navigate. I’ve called for help until I’m hoarse and my water is gone now. I’m scared, hungry and alone. It’s ridiculous, but in spite of this I can think of no better strategy than to stay where I am. If somebody comes, they will either enter via the doors or try to leave using this route.
The thing is, I know there are lots of people still in there. So why can’t they hear me? And what happened to Dad and Harriet, they were pretty close when the darkness fell but now I can’t see or hear them? It seems crazy to just stay here, but I can’t think of anything better to do for now. And if death comes? Well, I was at Nat’s side when life ended, so I know what it's like.
Loss
The black car didn’t stop when it struck Nat at the roadside. Nobody even thought about the car at the time, everybody’s attention was focused on the bloody body that lay lifeless in front of us. It could have been invisible, a brutal force that came out of nowhere and took the life away from my twin without a care. It was only once the ambulance had been called - as Mum cradled Nat in her arms and a crowd of passers had gathered - that the question was asked about the driver.
All those people around, yet the only information that we could get about the driver was that he was in a large, black vehicle. Make unknown. Driver appeared to be a male. And it didn’t have number plates.
On Our Way
We finally set off on our journey to Scotland. Needless to say, we did win the competition in the end. We weren’t used to having that type of luck, but in this case it was pretty quick. It must have been less than a week between Dad sending off our entry and his announcement at breakfast that we’d won, and in no time at all, it was the day of the holiday. So, after a chaotic breakfast and a hasty packing of the car, Dad locked up the house, we all got in the car, picked up Mum from the hospital and we were on our way.
Mum seemed fine after her night in hospital. None of us needed any medical detail, so long as Mum was back in sight and we could see her, and tell that she was okay, the whole incident was forgotten. Or at least for a while. When I asked her to show me where they’d taken the blood from her arm there was no mark. ‘I must be a quick healer,’ Mum had joked. But I didn’t think injections healed that fast.
Chapter Four
The Grey Office
She can’t really feel the device but she knows it’s there. It must be microscopic to have been able to enter her bloodstream so easily and painlessly, and she is clearly uneasy about its presence in her body. But the man is blunt and dismissive, he has the manner of an impatient doctor.
The woman seems to be wary of him, so holds back the questions that she wants to ask. When he stands up, it is clear that she is supposed to follow him. He takes her through a long corridor, this whole building feels military - or governmental at least.
Nothing is there for decoration or pleasure, it feels like things are only there because there is a job to be done. Charmless functionality. She is taken to an office which instantly looks out of place in this building. A name plate indicates that this is the man’s office and it is full of high tech equipment. Still the office is grey and without character. It is as if the man has no need to show his personality here. There are no family pictures, no artwork, no attempt to create any life in this room.
This office is like nothing you’d see at home - these are not laptops and screens that you would buy in your High Street store. This is something completely different - almost as if they came from a different world.
It is clear that this visit is not yet over for the woman. But in three hours’ time she will wake up in her local hospital with no memory of these events. Her husband will be on his way to see her after she passed out when giving blood. That doesn’t feel strange to her at all, she has no memory of what took place earlier. Except there’s a lingering feeling that makes her feel uneasy. She can’t remember having given blood in the past 12 years.
The Holiday Highlight
David and Harriet didn’t really care what we did on holiday, they were just happy that we were all together, Mum was not at work and the garden seemed to be a place for great adventures, even in this terrible weather.
As part of the holiday prize we had a special visit organised. We didn’t have to pay for it, but we did have to turn up at a special time, so that they were expecting us. Mum and Dad were really excited about it, I wasn’t really sure what to expect and David and Harriet really didn’t care anyway. We were going to an old nuclear bunker which lay hidden in the Scottish countryside. According to Mum and Dad, it was a relic from something called the Cold War, when countries didn’t get on as well as they do now. From what I could see in the news, countries still didn’t get on that well.
Apparently, it was a huge concrete warren of tunnels buried under the ground, the size of a football pitch. At one time it would have been used as a shelter in a nuclear attack. These days, we didn’t need it any more.
A Glimpse in The Darkness
I wish I wore a watch, because I have no idea how long I’ve been here now. Never in my life have I known such impenetrable blackness. I used to be scared in my bedroom at night after Nat died, but even then, I could clearly see the objects in my bedroom, even though you’d describe the room as ‘dark’.
Something has been bothering me. I’ve been distracted by fear, hunger and the silence. But I keep thinking back to those last moments before the huge iron doors swung shut. David was right at the end of the long, concrete corridor, behind as always. Dad had propelled Harriet along the dimly lit concrete tunnel when he’d seen what was happening outside. And as I stood in the mouth of the doorway, glancing up towards Mum who was rushing towards the closing doors, I’m sure I saw something else. I’m doubting myself because I know I’m exhausted. But I’m certain she was with a child. The child was my kind of age and height, and had a familiar look. Like I’d known them on
ce, but we hadn’t seen each other for a while. I’m sure it was Nat.
Chapter Five
The Unusual Holiday
Looking back, the holiday in Scotland was a bit suspicious from Day One. But things always look clearer when you know how they turned out. It’s like flicking to the end of a book to see what the ending is. It all seems so obvious when you know how the story finishes - but when you’re there, in the thick of real life events, it’s not always so clear.
That’s how it was with our free holiday to Scotland. I think the fact that we’d won it out of the blue, rather than having to pay for it ourselves, made us much more willing to go along with what they said. After we’d got the ‘Congratulations’ email, we just took it as a fact we’d won a holiday and we’d soon be on our way.
It’s amazing what we accept on the strength of an email. If it looks official, has a nice logo and comes from an address that looks okay, we’ll just happily embrace it as we would a phone call or a faceto-face conversation. But all sorts of deceptions can lie behind an email and a fancy website and we’re all too willing to be fooled. And so it was with our family. I think I was probably the only one to notice it, and I can’t even remember if I pointed it out to Dad at the time. He called me over to take a look at the email on the morning that it arrived. Mum was at work already, David at school and Harriet at playgroup. Just me and Dad. It looked just like you’d expect any holiday company email to look. A big banner packed with images of wonderful scenery and happy people. A signature at the bottom of the email that looked like it was real, but which was really an image. A big, red ‘Congratulations’ sign at the top of the message. An 0800 ‘Call us if you have any queries’ telephone number in case of problems. Why would anybody be suspicious about that?
Except that company logo was troubling me. Where had I seen something like that before? It wasn’t a perfect match, mind you, but it was almost as if it had been copied from somewhere. It took me a day or two before I figured it out. I’m sure that with some problems your mind works away on it in the background and then - at a completely random moment - you just get the answer. My moment of realisation came while I was cleaning my teeth with my electric toothbrush, my mind idly skipping from thought to thought. I realised where I’d seen that logo before. Not exactly the same, but not far off it. It was just like the metallic logo on Dr Pierce’s tie.
Remembering Nat
Memory is a funny thing. Sometimes I can remember thoughts, events and feelings with absolute precision, like all five senses captured and recorded every aspect of an event. Other times I wonder if I was even there, my recall is so hazy. Even though I was only nine at the time, I can remember certain elements of Nat’s accident with remarkable clarity.
Bear in mind that I was processing the world through the eyes of younger child, not a twelve year old. So many of the things that happened, although I didn’t fully understand them at the time, have taken on a new significance as I get older. Three things happened that day that I still remember very clearly. On the day itself, and in the weeks and months that followed Nat’s death, these didn’t seem to have much significance. But now, when I re-run those events in my mind, things don’t seem to quite add up.
It’s a bit like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. You can know where the corner pieces go, where all the straight edges line up and how colours, lines and shapes need to cluster together to create some sense of the main body. But until that final part slots into place, there is no standing back and seeing what you’ve got, the picture is incomplete until you have that last piece in place.
There were three pieces of this puzzle that I was unable to slot into place - like they belonged to a different jigsaw. First of all, I’m pretty sure that black car was coming for me and Nat. It was only because I stepped back to look at a bug on the floor that it missed me. Secondly, Mum had been distracted by somebody talking to her, so she wasn’t watching Nat and I as carefully as she would normally. That’s the only reason that the car got anywhere near us, Mum’s attention was completely elsewhere at the time. And last of all, I’m pretty certain that I saw Nat moving as the ambulance doors closed and we were parted for the last time.
Inside The Grey Office
Although she will be unable to recall these events, just like those who went before her, the woman is all too aware of what is going on before her memory is erased. To somebody watching from the outside, it would be clear that she is nervous, uneasy, concerned - but she is not being coerced or forced to be in this room.
She is here of her own free will, but she would rather not be. It is like she has had to make a choice, and this is the best of a series of bad options. Where there are no good options available, it’s amazing how the human mind can make the best of a bad thing. All of a sudden, a thing that in any other situation would look like madness, suddenly becomes the right thing to do. That’s how it was for this woman. Whatever the other options that she’d been given, it was better for her to be in this plain office.
It was a sensible thing to have been injected with a device that she didn’t understand, by a man she barely knew in a place she’d never heard of. If this was the best choice, somebody observing these events would be forgiven for asking how bad the alternatives were.
Holiday Arrangements
The logo on the holiday email didn’t trouble me so much at the time. I think I saw it more as a coincidence than a clue. With hindsight, it was a very strong clue. To be honest, it was a bit careless, almost like an in-joke that could have given the game away. But without being able to fast forward to the end, it didn’t seem significant.
How many times have you seen something or somebody that reminded you of something else? There’s nothing completely original in this world. So if one logo looks fairly similar to another, it’s not a big deal. Unless you get caught up in the events that we did of course.
Chapter Six
Connection
I can’t be sure if the sirens have stopped or if it’s just that the doors to the bunker are so heavy that I can no longer hear them. That last view of Mum running towards the doors is troubling me. That can’t have been Nat, I must be imagining it. Anyway, Nat would be completely different now, three years older, just like me. I’d certainly changed in the past three years.
I was much taller for a start, taller than Mum and almost as tall as Dad. This seemed to excite Mum and Dad beyond my comprehension. They’d always be saying things like ‘I’m sure you’ve grown overnight’ or ‘You’re almost as big as me now’. Personally, I didn’t really notice, nor did I particularly care. My hair had got darker and I wore it shorter than when I was a kid too. So, if the positions were reversed, would Nat recognise me now? It would be like one of those photo-fits that you see on the TV, where they age people who have gone missing. You take a look at the photo-fit and you can kind of recognise the original person in there. But if you saw them in a crowded place, would you really be able to spot them?
I couldn’t be sure, and anyway, it’s ridiculous, Nat died three years ago, I was there. It must be my mind playing tricks on me, I’ve been alone in this dark corridor too long. I’m scared, disorientated and exhausted. No, it wasn’t the sight of the person that was with Mum that made me think that it was Nat, it was not a visual recognition. Nat and I were twins and we’d always had a connection.
The day I saw Nat carried away in the ambulance, that connection had been broken, like a laptop losing a wireless signal and desperately trying to reconnect. When Nat died the signal died. I can’t be sure who it was outside those doors with Mum. One thing I do know with complete certainty though. When I spotted that person with Mum in the distance, something very strange happened. For the briefest moment, that connection came back online.
Twins
I can’t quite remember when I started having ‘difficulties’ at school. After Nat’s funeral, Mum and Dad were keen to get everything back to normal. Of course there was no ‘normal’ anymore, not without Nat. It hit me hardes
t I think. I may be wrong, but seen through my nine year old eyes, everybody else seemed to adjust quite quickly.
I suppose you can’t cry all the time, at some point, you have to get back to the things that you did before the death. Even though you carry that empty feeling inside you. I knew Mum and Dad were sad, but it was hidden by the routines of daily life. Piling dirty washing into the machine. Putting the used plates into the dishwasher. Cutting the grass and weeding the flower beds. Trivial, stupid things force grief aside and demand to be done. And so it was in our house.
But I was struggling. I don’t think we even had wireless broadband at the time, so I can only see this now, with the tech that I have as a twelve year old. But I can only describe it as ‘searching for a signal’. That’s how it felt without Nat. When Nat had been around I’d been fine, I felt perfectly okay. But when Nat died, it was like I was searching desperately for something that wasn’t there anymore.
I know all twins will tell you that. They’re incredibly close, they sometimes know what the other twin is thinking and feeling. Amazing how humans work. But this was different, it wasn’t just about closeness. I didn’t have the words to explain it at the time. Now I do. It really was like we were fused in some way, locked together, dependent. ‘Symbiotic’ is the word I found in the online dictionary, it describes it perfectly. And so when Nat died, it wasn’t so much one death, it was more like two.
Trouble at School
I had real trouble adjusting to life without Nat. They handled me with kid gloves at school. Or at least for a while they did. Just like washing, plates and grass, real life has a habit of getting in the way. In a class of thirty kids, there was only so long I had to get over Nat. The reality was that they needed me fully functioning as soon as possible, there’s only so long that you can put up with a problem child in a busy classroom. So all the time, I felt like I was desperately trying to re-establish this connection.