by J. A. Baker
A part of him died the day they found him. He was supposed to feel grateful, to thank everybody who strapped him onto the stretcher, wrapping him up warm and inserting the cannula in his hand to fill him full of saline which would help keep him alive. But he didn’t feel like that at all.
Resentment and disappointment had coursed through him. He had been made to go back home, to face his family, to live amongst the gossips who simply wouldn’t let it go. As far as they were concerned, he was a cold-blooded killer. Despite the coroner’s findings, despite his own parents dismissing the gossip, they all still believed the words of his younger sister, the girl who wore a permanent scowl and refused to engage with him in a polite, civil manner. It was easier for them to go with her lies. It provided them with a story, something to chat about. It provided them with someone whose name they could blacken without a shred of evidence.
His makeshift den in the woods will probably be found by local kids, used and wrecked before he can get back to it. He has nothing now. People who don’t understand him took it from him; his own space, somewhere he could be alone and not be the young lad everyone believed had killed Lucy. They thought they were helping him when in fact, the opposite is true. His options are now limited. His life is being closed down.
School is impossible. Everyone stares, points, whispers behind his back. The first day back after being discharged from hospital was the hardest.
‘Look who’s back,’ Anthony Robbins snorted as he made his way into the classroom. ‘It’s that mad murdering twat who showed his guilt by running away.’
The lad did his utmost to ignore the jibes, to walk away from the shoves and pushes as he made his way from class to class. He did his best to take them all, the jeers and insults, but everybody has their breaking point, including him.
It wasn’t a particularly hard punch that he had aimed at Anthony Robbins, but the crack could be heard in all four corners of the room, even above the sound of thirty teenagers jostling and pushing their way into their desks. The blood spurted from Anthony’s nose, a fountain of scarlet that dripped onto the floor and soaked through his shirt in seconds. People who previously had feared and secretly despised Robbins, suddenly stood close by him, aiding him, muttering false platitudes about how much they pitied him, being attacked by a suspected murderer, a child murderer at that. They closed ranks, shut him out.
The lad left the classroom, making a surreptitious escape while they all fawned over the victim, their voices loaded with faux concern at his predicament. Nobody tried to stop him. Despite the jibes and toxic comments, he wasn’t really that important after all. His purported crime was forgotten and brushed aside, a non-event compared to the gushing and bloody nose of a notorious bully whose reputation was very possibly in tatters after being beaten by the surly quiet lad who always tried to keep himself to himself.
By the time he got to the reception area, word had already spread about the fight and the deputy head was waiting for him, arms crossed, a knowing look on his smug little face. ‘I think you and me need a word, young man,’ was all he said before turning and walking into his office, holding the door open for the lad to follow.
And that was when he made his decision. He wasn’t prepared to live his life that way, to be labelled as a troublemaker, as the boy who possibly murdered a small child. It wasn’t who he was and he definitely wasn’t prepared to live with it. They may have found him when he bolted into the woods but there was another way out of this mess. There is always another way.
He had sat, listening to the reproachful speech spewed out by the deputy head about how violence isn’t the answer and that he would have to learn to rise above the taunts and insults, not get drawn into fights as that way lay trouble.
The words bounced off him leaving no lasting impression.
By the time he left the office, he already felt lighter than he had in months, as if a great weight had been lifted, his decision about his future allowing him a reprieve from the hell that was currently his life. There was a way out, a way to escape from the hatred. Everywhere he went he received those stolen glances, heard the lies, had to listen to the vile words of people who were convinced they knew everything but in fact, knew nothing at all.
His parents were going to be informed about the fight apparently. Not that it mattered. Not anymore. Mr Warwick’s words were empty, pointless. He could tell his mum and dad anything he wanted. It wouldn’t make any difference to anything and it certainly wouldn’t affect the lad’s decision.
There was a spring in his step as he left the main entrance. Was it his imagination or was the sun brighter? The clouds whiter and the grass just that little bit greener?
Everything was going to be just perfect. He could feel it.
The pale blue sky led him to where he wanted to go, the shadows of the sun pointing him in the right direction as he smiled and fixed his eyes on the road ahead, his body as light as air.
14
Present day
‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. I’m here to help you. That’s all we need to focus on right now.’
Will watches Leah closely. She is feeling on edge today, more so than usual. Here she is, sitting in her usual seat opposite the man who seems to know so much about her when she knows so little about him.
‘How did I get here? That’s all I want to know. And why do I feel so confused and in so much pain?’
There are so many things she wants to ask him, a mass of jumbled words sitting there in the forefront of her mind, so many of them jostling for space that it’s proving difficult to put them into an intelligible sentence, to say them out loud without sounding like she is losing her mind.
She wants to tell him that she has lost her job. She wants to ask him why her landlady was demanding unpaid rent and banging on Leah’s door when the landlady wasn’t even in the house at the time. She wants to ask him why time seems to slip backwards and forwards, events muddled and chaotic, out of sequence, jumping in and out of her life with frightening clarity. There doesn’t seem to be any easy way to settle her fears without coming across as unhinged and it is starting to frighten her. Will claims he is trying to help her. So why does she feel so scared and alone, as if she is teetering on the edge of a yawning abyss with nobody around to stop her falling?
If she mentions any of these things, she will get told that it’s all down to suffering a massive trauma and that her brain is struggling to comprehend what took place. That may well be so, but something about recent events has left her feeling unnerved, particularly these visits to Will. She has no memory of getting here.
She doesn’t even know where here is.
Panic wells up inside her at not knowing her location, at not really knowing this man who delves inside her head and tells her over and over that he’s trying to help her, to ease her suffering and assuage her many fears. The panic and dread expand in her chest, swelling and augmenting until breathing is no longer a natural process but a laboured effort that leaves her gasping for air.
Something changes in the room – a sudden shift in temperature, colours swimming and swirling. A movement close by, shadows dancing, flitting above her, next to her. Then a greyness, a body close by. It’s Will. He is near, leaning over her, his bulk blocking out all the light, his eyes piercing, full of fire. She feels his hands on her sternum, pressing down on her ribcage, his face close to hers, his breath hot on her skin. She listens to him counting with each consecutive push, feels blood, slick and metallic gather in her throat, in her mouth, covering her teeth, coating her tongue. Choking her.
Breathe, breathe.
She blinks rapidly, rubs at her eyes and exhales, pockets of air punching at her lungs and bouncing in her throat as she widens her eyes and looks around the room.
It’s back to normal. Everything back to how it was.
Will is still sitting in his seat, observing her like bacteria under a microscope, his eyes narrowed in fascination. Hot and frantic, she straightens her hair and at
tempts to regain some sort of semblance of normality. She is buying herself some time to clear her head, to work out what just happened. She stems the rising panic, telling herself it’s just another unexplained occurrence in her upside-down life, the life that is rapidly spiralling out of control.
Will’s body is rigid with what appears to be keen interest. His elbows are perched on the desk, his hands spread out over the mottled, grainy wood. The top half of his body is leaning forwards toward Leah as if he is waiting for her to move or say something of great importance.
She wonders if he knows what she has just experienced, if she unknowingly acted it out right here in front of him. The thought of it makes her skin burn, a wave of humiliation washing over her. She feels like a small child caught doing something reprehensible. Perhaps it’s Will’s unreadable expression or his permanently professional conduct, but she always ends up feeling foolish in his presence. It’s as if he can read her thoughts and see right through to her soul.
She shivers and hopes not. He might not like what he finds there.
‘As I said earlier, we just need to make sure you’re safe. I want to help stop your pain.’ His voice is calm. Always calm, always smooth, always measured. Will the rescuer, the helper of lost souls.
She is torn between feeling at ease, lulled into a hypnotic state by his ingratiating manner, and feeling angry at his lack of concern. She has just experienced a hallucinatory episode and yet Will remains unmoved, more concerned about her safety than her decaying cognitive state. Feeling safe isn’t her priority. Making sure she isn’t losing her mind is. She wants reassurances that all of this is if not normal then at least explicable, that there is a logical reason behind it all. She doesn’t want to hear any more about trauma. She doesn’t want to hear any more about the crash and its after-effects and how her conscious self is trying to adapt to what she endured. She wants tangible proof that she isn’t going insane. And if he can’t give her that, then she will go elsewhere for it.
Leah tries to stand up, to make a point that she no longer needs his services – services she can’t remember requesting – but her legs are too heavy, a deadweight pinioning her in place. She stares at Will, trying to hold his gaze but her head spins and her vision mists over. The pressure on her body becomes unbearable. She closes her eyes, clenches her teeth together. The absurdity of it all makes her want to weep.
Thoughts of the past bleed into her brain, droplets of poison darkening her thoughts, seeping into the murkiest corners of her mind until she is saturated with them. It’s impossible to shake them away. She is back there, back in her childhood home. It’s all so clear to her now, so frighteningly clear.
Sitting on her bed, she is listening to her parents talking downstairs. Ellis is in his room. Ellis, the favoured one, their special child. The child who lived. Leah was simply Maria’s replacement and yet never quite lived up to their expectations of her. She could never say she felt unloved, but neither did she feel particularly favoured either, not in the way Ellis was. He was the good boy, you see, the quiet boy. The one everybody fawned over. Ellis was good looking whereas Leah could at best be described as average looking. With her long mousy hair, poor eyesight and a dull complexion, she was the polar opposite of her brother. The Brownes were a handsome family. She knew from an early age that she wasn’t one of them. And it stung. My God, did it sting.
The chattering continues below her, echoing up through the floor of her bedroom. Her parents have been to visit Maria’s grave, something they do every couple of months. Ellis went along but she, in her spitefulness, refused to accompany them, staying at home instead even though she was only twelve years old. They had relented and given in to her pouting and sulkiness. Had they not, the visit couldn’t have gone ahead. And they never missed a visit. Ever. She knew that, played on it, wielded it in front of them, tapped into their misery and endless longing for their firstborn and used it to her advantage.
They had visited a café while they were out, spent time together as one big happy family. Without her. Ellis had told her this when they arrived back home, that he had had chocolate cake and a raspberry milkshake, that they had chatted, laughed, enjoyed themselves. Something else to feel aggrieved about. Something else to widen the chasm she felt between herself and the rest of her family. So she and Ellis had fought. She had called him a spoilt brat and he had responded by pushing her backwards onto the bed, reiterating how calm and peaceful it had been without her around to spoil it.
That’s when the seed was planted. It took root in her brain, an unwavering idea that grew and grew, exciting her with its possibilities, firing up her senses. Making her feel in control. She could be charming when she wanted to be. She would use it to her gain, to get people on her side.
‘Stay with me, Leah.’ Will’s words cut through her thoughts, his voice crisp and clean, authoritative. Solid.
She turns to him, somewhat alarmed by the look on his face. ‘I’m here. Just thinking about things.’
He smiles, his eyes creasing as he gazes at her. Is she imagining it or is there a look of fondness in his expression? Or maybe it’s just her madness, tricking her, fooling her into believing that he cares when in reality, Will is just another stranger, going through the motions, being perfectly polite and civil when in actual fact he couldn’t care less about her. ‘That’s okay. Thought I’d lost you there for a minute.’
‘Remembering things, that’s all.’
‘What sort of things?’ He’s interested now, his posture more relaxed. He leans back, twirls a silver pen between his fingers.
‘My childhood. My parents.’ Leah’s face burns, her skin hot with anger and sorrow and shame. ‘My brother.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Will says, his voice now quiet with just the tiniest flicker of interest that is also tinged with sadness, ‘your brother. Do you want to talk about him?’
Leah shakes her head, a lone tear traversing down her face. She dips her head then looks up at him. ‘Yes and no.’
‘Why is that? Is it because he was so young when he died?’
She shrugs, sits for a few seconds, enjoying the silence in the room. It’s too difficult a question to answer, too complex. Where would she start with her story about what happened to Ellis?
‘How did he die?’
Blackness descends as she closes her eyes and lowers her head to block out that day. She can’t go through it again. She just can’t.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I can’t. I cannot bring myself to talk about it.’ Her throat closes as she tries to speak. ‘It’s too difficult. Too awful.’ She takes a couple of seconds to push away the dread that is closing in on her. She focuses on regulating her breathing, on quashing the buzzing that has settled in her brain, a deep desperate hum that knocks against her skull and fills her head. A thousand angry wasps rattling around in there.
‘Why is that, Leah? Sometimes we need to face the things that frighten us, to look inward and start opening up about our past. Especially somebody like you who has something to hide, a guilty person who needs to unburden herself.’
Leah’s head snaps up, a quick reflexive action that skews her vision, making her feel queasy and dizzy. She looks around, a thick pulse hammering in her neck. Will is nowhere to be seen. His place is empty. Those words. Did he say them or, like the other unexplainable things that happen in her life, were they only in her head?
She watches, her heart thudding as Will appears in her peripheral vision, floating ghostlike towards her. He gives her a warm smile, his eyes creasing at the corners as he speaks. ‘Sorry about that. I needed to go and see a colleague. I thought it might give you some thinking time. Anyway, I asked you if you wanted to talk about your brother.’
Leah shakes her head. ‘You said that we need to face the things that frighten us, didn’t you?’
Will looks at her perplexed, bites his lip. A crease has set in between his eyebrows as he shakes his head. ‘I think perhaps we’ve done enough for now. You’re looking tired.’
<
br /> She pushes the heel of her hands into her eyes until stars burst and a dull ache sets in. Will is right about one thing. She is worn out. Too tired to think straight.
‘I need to go home, have a lie down. I’m not feeling too well,’ she says feebly, her voice croaky with fatigue and humiliation. Ellis seems to be permeating her thoughts on a regular basis lately. She counts back. Fourteen years since he died. Fourteen long painful years of being haunted by his face, fourteen long years without hearing his voice. They were just teenagers for God’s sake. It should never have happened. She was a bitter young girl and he – well he was just an ordinary kid. In her more lucid moments, she finds herself wondering why she hated him so much. If she is being perfectly honest, he didn’t deserve her anger and wrath. He didn’t deserve to die. Neither of them did. Poor Ellis and poor little Lucy. They were children for God’s sake. Just children.
Sometimes we need to face the things that frighten us, to look inward and start opening up about our past. Especially somebody like you who has something to hide, a guilty person who needs to unburden herself.
Leah nips at the skin on her arms with her ragged nails, wishing she was in her room, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Anywhere but here. A shooting pain spreads over her abdomen knocking the breath right out of her. She stands up, her legs weak, her head light. The room spins, the brightly coloured artwork swirling and flickering like a sinister entity in the room, its vibrant colours taking on an ominous form. The devil. It makes her think of the devil and how hot it must be in the pit of hell with its raging fires, the air too hot to breathe as it scorches your lungs and strips your skin away leaving nothing but a pile of wet, blood-covered bones.
Leah lowers her eyes, watches as the ground comes up to meet her. Except it’s not the floor in Will’s neat office. It’s a dark coloured carpet. She knows it, recognises it, thinks perhaps she is back in the carriage of the train, being tipped backwards, forwards, her body thrown about by a force too great to fight.