21 CLASSIFIED
21
CLASSIFIED
I open my eyes. Rip off the headset.
I’m panting, gasping for air, the pillowcase still in my mouth.
I spit it out, saliva dribbling down my chin as I inhale. My head rages, full to bursting, brimming over with thoughts and questions that spin and spiral away from me. What the hell was that?
‘Eli?’ Nisha kneels in front of me.
I’m still under the desk. ‘Was I loud?’
She shakes her head. ‘You were thrashing around, but the pillowcase stifled your screams.’
‘OK,’ I say, relieved. Relief . She watches me as I catch my breath, her face riddled with concern. ‘I’m OK.’ I am. ‘It’s OK.’
She crawls underneath the table and sits next to me, crossing her legs. ‘What was it?’ she says. ‘What did you see?’
‘I was in a hospital. But not Royal Sussex County Hospital, like they said. There was no amnesia. No head injury.’ I pause. ‘I was in a psychiatric unit.’
‘A psychiatric unit? ’
‘If this is true, I…’ My head. It hurts. So much. ‘Jack was there too.’
She tilts her head. ‘Jack was in the hospital with you?’
‘Yes.’ I watch her eyes studying mine. ‘He was a patient.’ Beanie, broad shoulders, his eyes meeting mine through the small, square window. ‘He was there.’ My chest constricts. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Years ago,’ Nisha says. ‘Maybe three or four years…’
‘What the hell is happening?’ I hold up the headset and see it trembling between my fingers. ‘What are these stories? Is it real? ’ My voice cracks. ‘I was in a room, locked in a fucking room. They were using my name, so it was me – it was definitely me . They injected me. Said I was hearing voices. That I was unsafe to others and to myself.’ Dribble and snot begin to drip down my face again. I wipe it with the back of the sleeve of her hoodie, covering it in a slimy film. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Argh…’
I try to pull the hoodie off because I’m hot. It ’ s so hot . But it gets stuck on my head, digging into my neck, strangling me.
‘Hey, Eli – Eli . Just slow down…’ I feel Nisha’s hands on mine, stopping me, then gently lifting it over my head.
‘I can’t… I don’t… I’m sorry…’
‘It’s OK. It’s just a hoodie. Breathe, OK?’ I inhale through my nose heavily.
She picks the hoodie up from the floor and begins to wipe my face with it. ‘You can keep it,’ she says quietly. My head lolls forwards and I feel it meet her shoulder. I leave it there for a moment, continuing to inhale through my nose. Her hand presses firmly, securely, into the back of my head, holding it steady. ‘Jesus, Eli,’ she whispers.
My brain feels like it’s malfunctioning. ‘Is it a lie?’ I say into her shoulder. ‘Is it a deepfake? Some computer-generated – I don’t know – game ?’ She leaves her hand where it is. It feels nice. I hate that word, but it’s true. ‘What is Casimir, Nisha? Because he clearly isn’t a cleaner.’
‘Yeah,’ she whispers. ‘You were definitely right about that.’
I lift my head. ‘Promise me you’re telling me everything you know.’ I can hear the desperation in my voice.
‘I am. Of course I am,’ she says and I can hear the certainty in hers. ‘It used to be someone else who picked up the files. He worked behind the bar too. But one day he just wasn’t there any more. Casimir said he was “removed” from his role because he couldn’t be trusted. Then he asked me to start doing the pick-up. Said he could trust me to keep my mouth shut. And he knows…’ She shakes her head, dropping her eyes. ‘Look, I’ve not had the most perfect life. I’ve done some stuff. Bad stuff. I’ve done bad things and… Well, he knows about it. He said if I break his trust, he will make my life hell.’
‘So, he’s blackmailing you?’ She stares at her legs, crossed beneath her. Begins to pick at her DM boots. I notice they have holes in the bottom. I can see her socks through them. Purple. ‘And the reason he was so mad that I had your phone was because he wanted his file. He didn’t actually give a crap about you.’
‘Maybe,’ she mumbles.
‘He doesn’t seem to give a crap about many people.’
‘I don’t want you to think I’m a bad person. If you ever find out… If he ever—’
‘I don’t care what you’ve done, Nisha.’ I don’t. ‘We need to find out what Casimir’s doing and stop it.’
She nods. ‘I found something else. While you were watching it.’ She crawls out from under the table and I hear her lift something off the top of the desk. When she kneels back down, she has something in her hand. She places it on the floor between us.
Another box. Slightly smaller than the other one. It’s black with a sticker of a bunny on it just like the one on the back of her phone.
‘Where did you find it?’
‘It was hidden,’ she says, pointing. ‘In that bucket. Covered by an old mop.’
I take it from her and look down at the words written in marker pen in Casimir’s handwriting.
NEW PROJECT – classified
‘Have you opened it?’
‘No,’ she whispers. ‘I was waiting for you.’
I undo the clips, lift the lid and look down to see more compartments. But this time each one has a pair of names on the plastic.
JONNY AND EMILY
TERRY AND JOAN
SIERRA AND JASPER
ELIAS AND JACK
Elias and Jack . A single chip inside our compartment.
‘Nisha…’
Suddenly the door clicks. I whip my head round to see the handle moving.
Nisha is up, already flicking the light off. As we’re plunged into darkness, adrenaline sears into me. I push myself back against the wall beneath the desk, still clutching the headset and the box.
A crack of light spills through the partly open door and a man’s head emerges. Nisha grabs the handle from the inside, stopping it from opening any further.
‘ Jesus ,’ the man says, startled.
‘Hi,’ Nisha says, suddenly warm. Friendly. ‘Security?’
‘Yes.’ The wrinkles in his forehead deepen. ‘Who let you in here?’ He’s sceptical. Very.
‘I’m covering the weekend shift,’ Nisha says casually.
He nods, still frowning. ‘I’ve not seen you before. Paul didn’t mention you.’ He’s still uncertain. ‘We vet all our staff. What’s your name?’
I see the muscles in Nisha’s neck flicker. Shit .
‘Oh, d’you know what,’ she says, her voice remaining casual. ‘I’m an idiot. I must be on the wrong floor. Is this QuickTaxi?’
‘You need the fifth for that…’ He pauses. ‘How did you get in?’
‘The door was ajar.’
His eyes flash into the room. ‘Are you with someone?’
I hold my breath.
‘No, just me.’ Nisha remains where she is, blocking the man from entering. ‘Oh my God, would you look at me, stumbling into your lovely offices. I’m so sorry. I get confused with all these floors.’
His eyes move to her face. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘So, floor five?’ she says, smiling.
‘Floor five.’
‘Oh, brilliant. Thanks.’ She laughs, a little gormlessly. He steps back, about to turn away.
‘Wait,’ Nisha says, opening the door a fraction. ‘What is this place? Looks posh.’ She laughs again like she’s stupid. Like she’s too stupid to worry about.
But this girl is not stupid. Quite the opposite.
I hold myself completely still in the pause that follows, waiting for his answer.
‘Data collection,’ he says. ‘Nothing interesting.’ Then, ‘I’ll see you out. I’ll just get the keys.’
‘Sure!’ she says brightly. As his footsteps fade away, she turns to me. ‘Quick. Put everything back. Casimir can’t know we’ve been here. Now, Eli .’ She turns back to the corridor, loitering in the half-open door.
I pull myself out from beneath the desk, placing the black box and headset on top of it, next to the box marked USABLE. I quickly make sure all the chips are in their correct places and shove it back into the washing machine. I then pick up my bag.
‘Hurry up, Eli.’
When I return to the desk, I glance down at the second box. NEW PROJECT – CLASSIFIED. I stare at the compartment labelled ELIAS AND JACK. The single chip inside it.
I have an idea. One Nisha won’t like.
I check to see that she’s still looking through the gap in the door. And I take my opportunity.
I grab the chip between my fingers, stuff it inside my bag along with the headset, then zip it shut. I turn to the tumble dryer, shove the pillowcase back inside and put the black box in the bucket beneath the mop.
Nisha glances back. ‘Everything where it should be?’
I nod. ‘Yep.’
I sling my bag over my back and join her in the doorway.
She peers out once more. ‘OK. He’s in the office. Let’s go.’
I feel her hand take mine and then she’s pulling me out the door and back down the corridor, in the direction we came. I glance over my shoulder to see the security guard put his head round the office door. ‘Wait! Who’s that with you? Stop!’
We hurtle past the golden plaques, one after the other. As we run, as the man shouts after us, my blood feels electric. Something chemical courses through it – terrible and charged and fantastic all at once.
We dart out the front door and back down the concrete steps, smashing the delivery door open. As we’re met with the bite of the early-morning air, my skin prickles awake.
‘ Keep going! ’ Nisha screams up ahead and I follow, charging through the McDonald’s wrappers and Starbucks cups, rounding the corner and sprinting down the street. Tears streak down my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s the cold, or something else – it doesn’t matter because I’m momentarily weightless.
Nisha stops in front of me, doubling forwards, catching her breath, and I have to stop myself from flying over her. I suddenly laugh, an explosion of relief forcing its way out of me. I’m fizzing with life. I can hear it in my ears. Taste it on my tongue. Exhilaration and terror, confusion and hurt and…
‘What’s so funny?’ she says.
I don’t know.
None of this is funny. It’s fucking awful.
But I can’t help it. I laugh and laugh. She stares at me like I’m a complete and utter nutcase.
But I’m not. What I am is this: I am living. I feel alive. I guess TraumaLand achieved something.
‘What now, Eli?’ she says and my laughter subsides.
That’s a good question. I inhale the cold, sharp air and with it comes the reality of the night ahead.
‘I have an idea,’ I say. ‘But I could do with a hand.’ And the company. I like her company, but I won’t tell her that. There’s something about her, her separateness from everything I’ve known – or know – that makes me feel safe. Because I now see that it’s the people I’m closest to that I should be most afraid of. ‘You want to come with me or not?’