by J. A. Baker
He shivers, steps up his pace, aware that pretty soon search parties will be out looking for him. He needs to hurry up. Newspaper headlines will scream out about the lad who was recently accused of killing a young girl and that although nobody can prove anything, doubts still remain. His disappearance will cement the idea in everybody’s heads that he did it. The guilt weighed too heavily, they will say. He has fled to escape justice. His skin prickles at the thought of it. Let them think whatever they want to think. He no longer has to look into their faces, to see the mistrust and malice there or to listen to their idle gossip, to the lies peddled about him: that he was always a disaffected troublemaker, that he has committed the ultimate crime and that everybody will be better off without him. Perhaps they’ll even hunt him down, an army of vigilantes with their metaphorical pitchforks meting out their own form of justice.
The fact of the matter is, he is just an ordinary lad, a teenager who enjoys football, fancies girls in his class and isn’t too struck on being holed up in a classroom all day long and being made to learn about the life cycle of insects and rotational farming methods. He isn’t bad, he isn’t evil and he most certainly isn’t a killer.
It takes him half an hour to make his way deep into the woods, the traffic no more than a distant hiss as he climbs up the side of the steep bank. It’s damp, the ground underfoot soft and spongy, but it’s manageable. His boots grip the soil as he pushes his way up under the shelter of the trees. He tips his head up, closes his eyes and smiles, letting out a satisfied sigh. It’s perfect, just as he’d hoped it would be. Nobody knows where he is. Nobody can get to him. He’s completely alone.
Sitting cross-legged, he opens his backpack, takes out an apple and bites into it, miniscule sweet pulpy flecks bursting out and running down his chin. He looks around at the piles of twigs, the low-lying shrubbery and carpet of rotting leaves. This is his new home. For now. He isn’t so naïve as to think he can camp out here permanently, but for now it’s just what he needs. He is shut away in his own little enclave of anonymity, away from the gossip mongers, the haters, the white noise that has been his life for the last few months. He only wishes he had done it before now. He could have saved himself a whole lot of misery. A sudden gust of wind whirls above him. Leaves quiver, a metallic susurration that pierces his dark musings, gives him pause for thought. He has always enjoyed experiencing different kinds of weather, keen to expose himself to all that the natural world has to offer. He’s never been one for sitting indoors playing computer games the way many of his pals do, preferring instead the rugged outdoors and its many challenges, preferring to sit on the loam, feel the beat of the earth beneath his skin and marvel at its resilience, its capacity for change, season after season, year after year, decade after decade, often taking pictures for posterity, recording life as it happens.
Tears flow as he sits, clearing his thoughts, enjoying the moment. The pent-up emotion he has kept at bay for so long now eventually breaks down and spills out of him. It’s not misery that is driving this outburst; it’s relief. He’s away from it all. For how long, he doesn’t know, but for now he is alone, and it feels good. He closes his eyes and attempts to put it behind him – the clacking tongues, the knowing looks, the accusation that started it all in the first place.
He doesn’t want to think about her; the sister he would sooner forget. The sister, who it seems, hates him with every fibre of her being. There’s no good reason for her actions. It’s just how she is. It’s who she is. Hatred comes effortlessly to her, a smooth fluid emotion that oozes out of her. He doesn’t hate her back. He’s not entirely sure how to hate. He has seen hate in action and would rather leave it alone, let it contaminate those who lack basic compassion and take pleasure in seeing other people suffering. All he wants is to be left alone.
This is all her doing, however. His current anguish, his sullied name and reputation, it’s all down to her. It is entirely her fault. His own sister. She did this to him. She owns this.
And although he doesn’t hate her, there is one thing he does know for sure: he can’t ever forgive her. People talk about forgiveness like it’s an easy thing to do, a throwaway word that means nothing to those who have never been wronged. In reality, forgiveness is one of the most difficult things to dole out. So although he may not hate her, he feels an element of bitterness towards her. Perhaps it’s because, although they are not particularly close, he hoped for some sort of sibling bond, something that would keep them connected to one another. But she broke any chains that linked them together after she said those words. And he doesn’t think they can ever be repaired.
10
Present day
Once again, Leah is standing outside Chloe’s flat with no recollection of how she got here. Her nerves are jangling, her flesh burning with the dread she feels at her lack of control. Her seething anxieties are growing and multiplying by the day, a nest of vipers coiling themselves around her internal organs, slowly crushing her. She takes a deep breath and presses her nails into her palms until a soothing wave of pain scratches against her skin. She can’t continue like this, unable to keep track of her movements, moving through each day like a fallen leaf on the wind, directionless, following the breeze with no idea of where she is going, or why.
Leah looks over towards the window, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Why is she so damn tired all the time? Fatigue follows her around, trailing in her shadow, dragging her lower and lower until she feels so close to the ground she can barely stay upright. She can’t remember the last time she felt energetic or positive or anything remotely resembling happiness. Everything is such an effort. Even breathing feels like a chore.
The lights are on in Chloe’s flat. She’s in there, doing mundane things. Leah stares at the small square of light, wondering if she’s alone or if Jacob is in there with her. Jealousy and resentment build in her chest, ballooning and expanding until she feels as if she is about to explode. The thought of the two of them in there together, locked in an embrace or worse still, in bed making mad passionate love, makes her feel physically sick. She is dizzy with envy and rage. A rock sits at the base of her belly. She sways on her tiptoes, balls her hands into tight fists, locks her jaw together and stands watching, waiting for a flicker of a movement, a darting shadow, anything to let her know who is in there and what they are up to. Not knowing is the worst thing. It’s so insulting to be ignored by someone you used to be so close to. There was a time she knew all of Jacob’s movements, was able to track him and account for his whereabouts. But not anymore. Not since Chloe came along.
Only when her teeth begin to ache does she release everything, unfurling her fingers, unclamping her jaw before looking away, disappointment rippling through her at the lack of movement inside the place. Surely somebody must be in there? Why would the lights be on if nobody is home? What the fuck is she up to in that flat?
A crow caws in the distance, a car passes by, footsteps echo down a nearby alleyway. Still she waits and watches, feeling the pulsing of her skin, the beating of her own heart. She counts to twenty, takes a deep breath. Wishes she were somewhere else. Except she isn’t. She’s here, and she has to know. She has to see them, to speak about her relationship with Jacob. She has been put in an impossible situation. Her life is an uphill struggle. Surely they can see that? She isn’t asking a lot. All Leah wants to do is talk to Chloe, to reason with her, let her know how desperate she is feeling. If only they would listen. If only Chloe or Jacob would act like reasonable human beings and hear her side of the story.
And then it happens. She appears. She is there – Chloe’s outline at the window, staring out into the street, a solitary figure. And she is alone. Leah waits, her body tensed, ready for Jacob to appear, for his arms to wrap themselves around Chloe’s slim shoulders, for their eyes to meet, their loving gaze, easy manner and relaxed body language displaying to the world just how much they adore each other, how much in love they are. Except they’re not. They can’t be. It’s too soon f
or either of them to have developed such deep feelings for one another. Too soon after Leah for Jacob to transfer his affections elsewhere. It’s all too much. It’s all far too soon.
Vomit rises in Leah’s throat, burning her gullet, a reflux of hot bile that almost tumbles into her mouth. She swallows and rubs at her eyes. It should be her who is up there with him. They should be staring into one another’s eyes, his hands trailing down her back, his fingers slowly slipping under her blouse and unfastening the hooks on her bra. Her skin tingles at the thought of it. She imagines his scent, heady and musky with overtones of magnolia, thinks about the texture of his naked flesh as he strips off in front of her and pushes her backwards onto the bed. Her body pulses, waves of pleasure rippling through her as she stands, staring at the woman who stole her life right from under her nose.
A sheet of ice suddenly cuts her in two, settling deep in her gut at the thought of it. She feels as if cold water has been poured over her, the warm sensuous feelings now replaced by revulsion and hatred. Taking a clump of her own hair, Leah pulls at it, tugging and twisting, closing her eyes and sighing, enjoying the line of pain that screeches over her scalp. She would like Chloe to feel that pain, to know the agony of loss, the unbearable loneliness and fear that stabs at you when your life is ripped apart and trampled upon, ground into dust by those who think nothing of you, by people you thought loved you when all the while they had other plans. Plans for another life that didn’t involve you.
She leaves go of her hair, tossing a few beige strands to the floor where they sit strewn around her feet, dead pieces of her, just lying there on the ground. She knows what she has to do next. She’s just prevaricating. She has to challenge Chloe and tell her what she thinks of her presence in Jacob’s life. That’s why she’s here. Her mind may not be completely focused but there is a part of her brain that is acting on its own, her subconscious thoughts directing her, showing her what needs to be done. That’s how she has ended up here. Hiding away and licking her wounds hasn’t worked. It’s time to tell Chloe that she needs to leave Jacob alone or face the consequences.
With a thumping heart, she marches up the path to Chloe’s flat, her knuckles ready to rap on the big oak door. Her attention is focused on this point in time, this one act of revenge and retribution. There’s no way out of it now. Forget Chloe’s letters threatening her with police action, forget the risky situation she may be about to put herself in, this is something she has to do, an itch that has to be scratched.
She raises her hand, a breath suspended deep in the hollow of her diaphragm as she steels herself for the inevitable backlash, and is stopped by a noise behind her. She spins around, sees nothing, hears nothing else, and returns her attention to the door, to confronting the woman who has ruthlessly stampeded across her dreams with such recklessness and arrogance it takes her breath away. Today is the day when she will tell her to leave. Today is the day she will hopefully remove Chloe from Jacob’s life forever. She has no right being with him. She’s an imposter, an unwanted toxic presence, contaminating everything and everybody she comes into contact with and it’s about time somebody told her as much. This meeting is long overdue.
The noise comes again, then a movement, a sudden breeze that passes over her prickling flesh. She shivers, steps away from the door and catches sight of somebody walking down the street. It’s a male figure, a shadowy entity. His hands are slung deep in his pockets, his shoulders slumped, his head dipped. His gait is unsteady and wobbly as he heads in her direction.
Leah stands and watches him, something about his presence unnerving her, stopping her dead in her tracks. A sickness wells up inside her. She waits, hoping he deviates, takes another route, yet somehow knowing that he won’t. It isn’t him again, the guy from the train. Different size, different posture. She places a hand to her breastbone, trying to still her thumping heart. It bounces around her chest, fluttering and dancing under her ribcage as she watches him approach. She feels horribly sick. Stars burst behind her eyes. This is wrong. So very wrong.
There’s a sound; low, unexpected. A whisper. She hears it again; her name being called. Her pulse races, she swallows, holding on to the door frame for balance, doing her utmost to stay calm. This is ridiculous. She’s mistaken, has misheard it. It wasn’t her name being called at all. It’s just the breeze warping a distant conversation, twisting the words. Not everything is about her. She’s nervous, her muscles coiled tight, her senses heightened, her imagination in overdrive. Apart from Chloe, nobody knows her in this part of town. She is a stranger, an outsider. A nobody. So why does she feel so fucking nervous, as if her world is about to shatter into a million pieces?
And then it comes again, her name travelling up the street on the breeze. The voice is as real as she is, as familiar to her as her own skin. A voice from the past, one she recognises and knows all too well. A voice she never ever thought she would hear again. Her legs buckle as she turns to see him, her brother, Ellis. But it can’t be. This is all part of the trauma she has suffered. This is her brain playing tricks on her, putting her through yet more shit.
It’s not real. It can’t be. Ellis is dead and has been for many years now. It’s an illusion, a hallucination. This is all a mirage cooked up by her deluded damaged brain to stop her from knocking on Chloe’s door. It’s a small part of her that’s frightened, that’s all it is. A small part of her that is worried about what will happen once this Pandora’s box is opened. And yet the terror she is feeling is real.
Ellis turns briefly and watches her, his eyes dark and disapproving, a brooding expression on his face. She attempts to speak, to say something, anything, but the words refuse to come. Her mind has frozen, her mouth remains stubbornly closed, glued together with fear and dread. She tries again, this time managing to prise her lips apart and say his name.
‘Ellis?’ Her voice is a murmur, barely audible, drowned out by the thrashing of her own heart as blood pushes through her veins, roaring in her ears.
The ground moves and sways beneath her feet, the air around her thins. He doesn’t answer, turning instead, away from her. She closes her eyes, prays to be somewhere else, anywhere but here, then opens them again to see nothing. Nobody is close by; nobody is in the distance. The street is empty. He’s gone, that is, if he was ever there to begin with. Leah lets out a ragged breath. What a fucking awful deluded state she is in. What a stupid sorry mess she has got herself into.
Delving into her pockets, she grasps a tissue, a handful of coins, a wad of old receipts. Anything to convince herself that she is real – that this situation is real, that it’s not one big nightmare. She leaves go of them and taps at her head, rubbing her fingers over the tiny bald strip of skin where she pulls at her hair with grasping desperate fingers. She circles her finger over the smooth, slightly ragged patch of skin. The sensation of touching the flesh where there should be hair, helps to soothe her and slow the racing pulse that is rattling away in her neck.
Another noise behind her makes her blood fizz. She whips around, her balance faltering, her vision blurred and misty. She is greeted by Chloe’s stern face, her piercing eyes. Her obvious palpable anger.
‘What do you want, Leah?’
She has been caught unawares, on the back foot, and once again struggles to find the right words, standing speechless, a useless lumbering being as she tries to calm herself down, to slow her pulse and keep herself upright on liquid legs.
‘I meant what I said, Leah,’ Chloe says curtly. ‘If you don’t stop this, we’ll have to call the police. Enough is enough.’
A rage builds in Leah’s chest, her initial fear subsiding, replaced by anger as it balloons deep within her. How dare she? How dare this woman speak to her like this – with such condescension and arrogance? Jacob was hers until Chloe came along. The pair of them were ticking along nicely until this conceited bitch strolled into their lives and tore them asunder. Chloe is a selfish cow but she is, however, right about one thing – enough is enough.
‘Look,’ Chloe says more softly now, an air of exasperation in her tone. ‘I really think you need help. I can give you the number of a friend of mine who can talk to you about what is going on in your life.’ She briefly moves away from the door, her head craned to one side as she peers over her shoulder back into the dark hallway behind her. She leans inside and reappears holding something. It’s a small card bearing a logo.
Leah doesn’t respond, staring instead at the small rectangular business card with dismay. She shakes her head and bites at the inside of her mouth roughly, hoping to draw blood, to feel the sharp tug of pain that will remind her that this isn’t an illusion, a figment of her imagination. This isn’t how she planned it. In her mind she was going to confront Chloe, be strong, be in control, to tell her to leave Jacob alone and then go on her merry way. And now look at her, a weak insipid creature who can barely string two words together. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. She had plans, big plans. Chloe was going to be terrified. She was going to listen to what Leah had to say, then she was going to apologise and promise to leave Jacob alone, but like everything in Leah’s life, it has turned out all wrong. She should be used to it by now but if anything, it gets harder to accept, each rejection, each failure chipping away at her self-esteem like a sculptor shaping their latest creation, chiselling away until only the very core is left. Leah wonders what is at her core, whether she is a work of art or whether a demon lives inside her, furled up, waiting for the day when it will be unleashed into the open.