Traumaland

16 WONKY

16

WONKY

Hands take hold of my wrists and pull me along the concrete. ‘You can’t be in here any longer.’

I lift my head and peel open my eyes. Ajax, Mohawk Man. He lets me go, then pushes open the door. ‘Vomiter in BUCKET!’ he shouts.

I can feel my sick, a layer of it seeping into the bed sheet, between my fingers, my teeth. Wet and lumpy. When I see the strobes through the doorway, they stab into my retinas, making the nausea swell.

Ajax turns back and the door swings shut, bringing with it darkness and quiet. He begins to pull at my arms again to lift me, but I’m a dead weight.

The story. Jack’s story.

I’m in his story.

I know him. I know him from before.

I retch.

‘Get up,’ Ajax says. ‘You can’t do that in here. You can sort yourself out in the bathroom.’

‘Wait,’ I manage. ‘Please. Just…’ My dad. What was my dad doing there? ‘Wait.’

Ajax sighs, looking at his watch under the low light of the bulb above his head. ‘The countdown is almost over. We need to clean up your mess before the stories go again.’

Go again. I need to see what happened.

‘I’m staying here. I need to watch this story again. I need to watch more .’ Dribble runs down my chin.

‘You have to pay if you want to watch more,’ Ajax says as he struggles with my arms, trying to lift me. ‘You can’t just lie here.’

‘I…’ I don’t have any more money. ‘No. No . I’m not leaving.’

‘You have to pay .’

‘ I have to stay here! ’ My voice is so shrill that I hardly recognise it, but it makes Ajax stop. He lets go of my arms and takes a step back.

‘ For fuck ’ s sake ,’ he hisses. I hear the click of static as he steps into the corner and speaks into something in his hand. ‘ Hi, Cas . Ajax here . Can you send security down to BUCKET . We ’ ve got a wonky one …’ A walkie-talkie. ‘ He ’ s fine – just the usual . Doesn ’ t want to leave .’ A voice mumbles back to him. ‘ No, he only did two minutes … I know … Yeah … He ’ s harmless, just needs a breather . Right … Yes, boss .’

Cas . Boss. Casimir is Boss.

I knew I recognised him. He’s the man who was driving the Nissan Micra, who came to my house with Nisha.

Nisha . Where is she? Where the fuck is she? I push myself up on to my knees. ‘Where is she? Where ’ s Nisha? ’

Ajax clicks the walkie-talkie and the static stops. He turns to me, scowling. ‘Where’s who ?’

‘ Nisha .’

‘Who the hell is Nisha?’

My brain. It hurts. It hurts .

‘The bartender. Your colleague.’ Her name badge. What did it say? ‘ Violet .’ That’s it. ‘Where’s Violet?’

He clips the walkie-talkie back on to his belt. ‘Listen, you have one minute to get out of here, or you’ll have to be taken by force.’

‘I’m not leaving until you tell me what this place is. You have to tell me! ’ I’m yelling again. ‘ I won ’ t leave .’

‘Jesus, these people,’ he says under his breath. ‘Security are coming and you will be removed.’

‘No.’ I crawl away from him, towards the back wall. ‘You can’t. I’m in this story. I am in this story! ’ I slam my finger into the floor like it’ll make him understand. ‘How did this happen? Why am I in it?’

He watches, staring blankly like he’s seen it all before. ‘OK, mate. You need some fresh air.’

What’s wrong with him?

The headset. Where’s the headset?

I scan the room and see it on the floor in the pool of light beneath the hanging bulb. I scramble forwards, grab it, fumble with the strap, desperately trying to pull it back over my head. But Ajax’s hand is on it too, trying to wrestle it from my grip.

We pull the headset back and forth, slipping on my sick. ‘ Lunatic ,’ he mumbles. ‘Where do these people come from? I can’t be arsed with this.’

Then someone steps into the room. Nisha. Clutching her mop.

‘What’s going on?’ she shouts over the music.

‘Close the door,’ Ajax says, letting go so I fall backwards with a thud. ‘We’ve got a wonky one.’

‘Stop calling me wonky .’

He wipes his forehead and turns to her. ‘Security are coming. This one has completely lost it.’

I pull myself up, using the wall to support me, the headset still in my hand. I point it at her, my hand shaking. ‘Nisha. Tell me what the hell is going on here. Tell me right now! ’

She looks back at me, completely impassive. ‘Who’s Nisha?’

My head. My head . ‘ Violet! ’ I shout. ‘Whatever your name is I don ’ t care . Just please, please … If this is some game, or some joke, I need to know. I need…’ But I can’t finish. I’m sobbing again, buckling forwards on to my knees. I heave.

‘See?’ I hear Ajax say, almost bored. ‘Lost it.’

‘Why am I in it?’ I cry. ‘Who’s Jack?’

‘Who is Jack?’ Nisha asks Ajax.

‘I guess the character in the story,’ Ajax replies. ‘He thinks it’s real.’

I push myself up. ‘ It was real – I was in it! ’ I’m smashing my finger into my chest. ‘Me!’ What don’t they understand? ‘You said they were actors, but I know these people. I am one of these people.’

Nisha takes a small step back, frowning, and I wonder if she might take pity on me. But she folds her arms. ‘You just need some fresh air,’ she says. ‘You’ve gone too deep. That happens, OK? You’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t need fresh air —’

The door opens again and I’m hit by the electrical storm of strobes and trance music. The pressure shifts behind my eyes. A stark white pain flickers. I feel weak and brittle like I’m adrift, a dead leaf in the wind about to crumple into nothing.

More people enter. Two heavyset men in white T-shirts and black trousers grab my arms. ‘ No! No – you don ’ t understand— ’ Somehow the headset is no longer in my hand. I try to squirm free, but the two men are strong – much stronger than Ajax, and bigger.

‘Come on, mate,’ one of them says. ‘Let’s get you out of here. You’re just a little confused.’

‘I’m not confused!’ I shout. But they aren’t listening. Together they lift me, a hand under each armpit, until my feet are no longer touching the floor.

I find myself moving out of the room, back into the vault, past the twisting melee of dancing bodies. The words above the doors flash past me: CRASH, AXE, KNIFE. We stop outside one.

SMOKERS.

Nisha opens it.

As we move through the doorway I see there isn’t a room on the other side, but a corridor, then a staircase with lots of steps – ‘ Get off me! Get off me! ’ – a fire-escape door at the top. ‘ Let — ’

Nisha bangs it open and the cold air smashes into my body, stealing my words.

Another alleyway. We must be at the back of the building now. The bouncers dump me down on to the cobbled ground, but I hardly feel it. I’m crying. I can’t stop. ‘Let me back in! I need to watch more!’

One of them turns to Nisha. ‘He can’t come back in. Not tonight. I’ll tell Cas it’s under control.’ He goes back through the fire-escape door. The other folds his arms and waits beside it.

Nisha stays in the open doorway.

‘Please, Nisha. You have to hear what I’m saying. I was in that story .’

‘Just stop!’ she snaps. As she steps towards me, her eyes scan the alley. I see small groups of people around me, some smoking, some crying, some crouched, retching, while others rub their backs.

‘Nisha, please—’

She leans down and grabs my arm. ‘Stop using my name,’ she hisses.

‘But—’

She shakes her head. ‘You’re bad news. I want nothing to do with you.’ I hear someone vomit behind me. ‘Listen. This is going to be quick. You’re keeping me from my work.’ She glances back at the bouncer, who is now in conversation with a zombie Mary Poppins. ‘You should never have come here and you must never come back. The experience can be very real for some people, especially if they’re vulnerable. It’s not for the faint-hearted. People watch the stories and can sometimes think it’s them. They typically just need a breather and then they’re fine. That’s what’s happened to you.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘I was in the story.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘I know.’ We stare at each other for a moment. ‘Have you watched it, Nisha?’

‘No.’

I grab her hand. Her eyes widen a fraction. ‘Watch it, Nisha. Just watch it. The first two minutes is all you need—’

She tries to pull away, but I don’t let her.

‘Are you on drugs?’

‘No. Why haven’t you watched it?’

‘ Because …’ She looks a little frightened now. Frightened of me. ‘I’m not allowed.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t need to explain.’

I squeeze her hand. ‘Yes, you do. You do need to explain.’

She turns back to the bouncer, but he’s still speaking with Zombie Mary Poppins. ‘I need you to leave.’

‘Answer my question first.’

She leans down so she’s crouched right in front of me. ‘Fine. If that’s what it takes. Because of the NDA.’ She keeps her voice low. ‘To keep it a surprise for the guests. To keep it special. Now will you go?’

Our faces are inches apart. ‘Special?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Not really.’

She sighs. ‘It’s an immersive experience for thrill-seekers. We don’t want the thrill to be ruined.’

‘The thrill ?’

‘Yes. You found it thrilling, didn’t you? From what I saw, you were loving it.’

‘That was before I found out they were not actors .’

She shakes her head. ‘No.’

‘No? You can’t just say no. Do you think I’m mental?’

‘You’re not exactly the definition of sanity.’

Fine. That’s a fair point. ‘I know what I saw.’

She scrunches her face and I watch her studying mine for a moment. ‘How old even are you?’

‘That’s not important.’ I pause. I need to know more. ‘Where do they get the stories from?’

‘It’s actors.’

‘Stop. Stop lying .’ Why does everyone keep lying to me?

‘I’m not.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You don’t seem to believe anything .’

‘How can I? Who is Jack?’

‘I said I don’t know .’ She yanks her hand from my grip and moves back towards the door. ‘Don’t let him back in,’ she shouts to the bouncer. He nods as she passes him. ‘I need to deal with his mess.’

She disappears, the door slamming shut behind her.

I stare at it for a moment.

It’s a blur. Everything is. Like I’m swimming underwater.

The graffiti on the door slowly comes into focus. But there’s no rabbit on this one. Just a star. A butterfly. An alien with a speech bubble that reads the truth is out there .

I lift myself up from the ground and make my way towards the bouncer. ‘Please—’

He holds up his hand. No .

‘Skinhead Regan!’ a voice calls from behind me. I turn. ‘Whoa, what happened?’ Roadkill Man, holding a can of Red Bull in one hand.

Maybe he can help. ‘I just… I need to get back inside.’

‘Whoa, fella.’ He takes a step back, scrunching his nose. ‘Wow.’ He wafts the air with his hand. ‘You don’t smell great, bro.’ He looks at me and smiles sympathetically. ‘Oh, shit,’ he says softly. ‘Skinhead Regan went in too deep. Got a case of the wonks.’

‘Why do people keep saying that?’

‘You’ll feel better in a minute.’ He keeps his distance. ‘Sit down, fella. Take some deep breaths.’ I feel my body sink back down into the ground. ‘That’s it.’ I cross my legs, pulling my arms around my chest. ‘I’ll give you a minute.’ And then he’s gone.

As I sit on the cobbles, I stare at the back of the door. The star, the butterfly, the alien. The truth is out there .

The truth. I need it. I need it now. How do I get back in?

I try to think but my brain feels like it’s unravelling. Like it’s a piece of string and someone is pulling at one end. I fight desperately to gather it up, to bring it back in to me. But the more I do, the faster it moves, hurtling out of my grasp.

Wait. My hair was blue in Jack’s story.

My hair was only blue around the time of the crash. I dyed it three days before it happened. It wasn’t blue when I remember arriving at the new house in London from the hospital.

So, what happened in the hut must have happened around the time of the crash. Did it happen?

I put my head in my hands and look down at the ground. The noise of people talking around me mixes with the sound of retching. I can see my body is trembling, but I don’t feel cold.

I sit and wait. I wait for it to make sense, but it doesn’t.

Suddenly there’s a bang. I look up to see the door being smashed open. Nisha steps out, heading straight towards me.

I bolt upright, swaying from the rush of blood to my head. ‘Nisha—’

Her face is different. It’s so harsh – so intent – that it stops me dead. She grabs my arm. ‘Listen to me,’ she says quietly. ‘Go to Polly’s Diner in Soho. They know me there. Go straight there, right now. It’s open till three. I finish in an hour. I’ll meet you there.’

‘Did you watch it?’

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she throws something at me – a balled-up hoodie and a tatty pair of joggers. ‘Put these on.’ Then she turns and disappears back into TraumaLand.

Did she watch it?

Fuck . My head .

I try to lodge what she’s said into my unravelling brain. Polly’s Diner. Soho. Now.

‘I like your tattoo.’ I turn to see Roadkill Man standing behind me again, a cigarette hanging between his lips, the prosthetics coming loose from his sweaty face.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘I said I like your tattoo.’

‘What tattoo?’

He points to my head. ‘The one on the back of your head. Behind your ear?’

‘Wait , what ?’

‘Did you stick and poke it?’

‘What are you—?’

‘It’s hard to do words.’

Oh my God. Shave your head .

I step towards him. He steps back.

‘What does it say?’ I can hear the panic in my voice.

He laughs like I’m completely mental. ‘You really need to chill – and have a wash, fella. Splash some water on yourself. You’re talking crazy. You don’t even remember what your own tattoo says?’

‘Tell me! What does it say? ’ I scream. Everyone’s looking at me, even the ones mid-vomit. I grab the collar of his trench coat. ‘If you don’t tell me now, I swear to God—’

‘OK. OK.’ He backs away from me, hands in the air like I’m about to hit him. ‘It says remember Jack .’