Traumaland

23 MARKED ANONYMOUS

23

MARKED *ANONYMOUS*

Two adults sit at a dining table across from a teenager. The teenager is crying. Calming music plays, some kind of mellow flute. A well-spoken male voice begins to talk over it.

‘ You are watching this because you are worried about your child .’

The parents lean across the table to take the teenager’s hand, but she moves back in her chair. She looks out of the window, a single tear falling down her cheek.

‘ Your child has been through an unimaginable trauma and it seems to you that they will never pass through the pain of it .’

The mother gets up and walks around the table, but the teenager stands too, backing away from her. She storms out of the room, slamming the door in her mother’s face. The mother turns, her face taught with worry.

‘ You are desperate to help them .’

The father has his head in his hands and is rubbing his eyes.

‘ Here at TEAR Solutions, we have the answer .’

The parents look up as a woman enters the room from out of shot. Pinned to her knitted cardigan is a badge that says TEAR Solutions. She’s smiling. The parents smile back at her, relief flooding into their eyes.

‘ TEAR Solutions offer a fast, effective and painless way of removing life-altering trauma .’

The woman sits down at the table opposite them, where the teenager was. The mother hands her a cup of coffee and she sips it gratefully. The woman then opens her bag and takes out a brochure, placing it on top of the table. The front cover shows lots of smiling teenagers.

‘ Healthcare is rapidly changing . TEAR Solutions are at the forefront of that change . We have developed and harnessed the use of something called optogenetics .’

The camera zooms onto a page in the brochure. The voiceover continues as it scans over the words.

‘ By merging genetic engineering with the use of light, we at TEAR SOLUTIONS are able to control the activity of individual neurons using a process called optogenetics. This is achieved by using engineered viruses, which are transferred into a specific part of the brain . Through this, almost every human memory can be read and saved . Or erased . Simply put, we locate your child ’ s specific traumatic memory and remove it . And the whole process is swift and painless .’

The parents frown thoughtfully. The mother then glances sadly at the door her daughter slammed. She looks at her husband and nods. He takes her hand in his.

‘ Optogenetics is a cutting-edge neuro modulation that has been approved for its first clinical trials . Here at TEAR Solutions, we offer that trial to you .’

The woman in the cardigan hands the parents a pen and a slip of paper.

They sign it, smiling.

‘ Once the trauma has been removed, then comes the “replacement” period . This is done using therapy, which our skilled psychotherapists, Dr Melinda Parry and Dr Konstantinos Athanasiou …’

Melinda’s face appears on the screen. I squeeze Nisha’s hand, hard.

Oh my God. Melinda.

‘That’s my therapist…’ I whisper.

‘What?’

‘That’s Melinda, my fucking therapist. From floor four. I told you there are no coincidences.’

She’s standing next to Dr A, her arms folded, wearing her expensive-looking blazer, the one she wears when she means business. They’re both looking directly to camera: stern, professional, trustworthy.

‘… will undertake an intensive form of “replacement therapy” that will lead the patient to believe that something less traumatic – typically a car accident or a blow to the head – is the reason for the memory gap . In order to maintain this new narrative, they will work closely with the family and any others that are aware of the initial trauma to make sure the patient remains ignorant . Discretion is vital . As your child ’ s parent, only you can understand the importance of this .’

The parents look up, nodding like they understand the importance of this.

‘ Typically, traumatic events happen in very brief moments – sometimes a matter of minutes . Some, sadly, are more ongoing . But here, we can find the specific time periods and remove them . The prognosis suggests fantastic outcomes for patients . They will move forwards freed from their trauma and into a healthy and happy future in the absence of the memories that are causing deep, emotional pain .’

The well-spoken man stops speaking.

The teenager reappears on screen, hugging her parents, smiling. Everyone begins to laugh.

The woman in the cardigan is gone like she was never there.

The screen goes white. Words appear.

TEAR SOLUTIONS Trauma Extraction and Replacement

A quick, effective and innovatory new therapy, set to revolutionise mental healthcare.

No trauma, no pain. Only a bright future.

Cost of the treatment is dependent upon the length of the trauma and the amount of therapy the patient requires moving forwards. Terms and conditions apply.

The video ends. I stare at the blank screen. My brain crackles like static.

‘Shit,’ Nisha whispers. I can’t look at her. I can’t move. ‘Holy shit. You’ve had your memory wiped ?’

‘I don’t…’

‘This is so messed up, Eli…’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘And then that woman, Melinda, your therapist made you think you were in a car crash? A whole lie to cover for it? How is this legal ?’

‘I don’t know…’

She starts to root through the box, but I can’t compute what she’s doing.

How could my parents do this?

When was BUCKET – Jack’s story from TraumaLand? When were we in the hut in the forest behind the house in Lewes? After the psychiatric hospital? In those missing four days?

‘Look,’ Nisha says, holding something up in front of me.

‘What is it?’

‘Some kind of invoice, I think…’

I look down at the piece of paper.

MR G. AND MRS H. PEW

INVOICE

Transactions:

PAYMENT 1:

PEW, ELIAS GORDON

Time period of trauma removed: Feb 8 th – March 4 th : ￡26,000

Ongoing trauma replacement with Melinda Parry: ￡15,000

PAYMENT 2:

JQ – MARKED *ANONYMOUS* ON ALL DOCUMENTATION

Time period of trauma removed: Feb 8 th – March 4 th :

￡26,000

Plus one historical episode (1 day) a further ￡10,000

Ongoing trauma replacement with Melinda Parry: ￡15,000

Special requirements: EP and JQ to have nil contact under any circumstances.

Monitored by Melinda Parry.

Additional ￡5,000

Total: ￡92,000

‘ Oh my God …’ I breathe. ‘They did it to him too. Look.’

‘Fuck…’ Nisha says in a low voice. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

Yeah. It is.

‘It’s the exact same dates for both of us.’ I look up at her.

‘It’s like they’ve literally had you removed from each other’s brains and called it trauma.’ I remember what he said had happened to him. That he’d had a blow to the head. That he’d jumped off a bridge. Is that what Melinda’s been feeding him? That lie? This is sick. ‘But why ? Why would your parents do this?’

‘I have no idea…’

‘I don’t remember him being like this, but do you think Jack did something to you? That this was their way of protecting you from him?’ I remember the way I felt when I was in his story, in Jack’s mind, in the hut in the woods. As he cradled my smashed-open head.

‘No.’ I shake my head firmly. ‘It’s not that.’ It can’t be. My eyes return to the invoice. ‘They made an extra payment for Jack.’

‘Huh?’

‘They made an extra payment for him.’ I point to it. ‘It says plus one historical episode – one day . Why?’

Suddenly, a noise from below. My parents. I grab Nisha’s arm.

She goes deadly still.

Footsteps, then a door opening. More footsteps along the hallway. The click of the bathroom light.

My chest might spill out of my throat. Move , I mouth.

We silently place the papers back in the box, then gently close the lid. We pad across the carpet, holding our breaths, until we’re under the window. I can hear whoever it is, Mum or Dad, just a few metres below, running the tap.

I point up.

Nisha nods. She looks petrified. Go . Now .

We clamber through the skylight and steady ourselves on the roof. I feel myself sway, the cold air billowing into Nisha’s hoodie. Together we begin to edge back down the tiles.

I stop halfway down. ‘The skylight. Shit.’ I try to pull myself back up again.

‘It’s fine, Eli. Let’s just go.’

‘It’s not fine. It needs to be shut.’

‘You can come back later and shut it.’

‘You don’t know my parents.’

‘Yeah, well, neither do you.’

She’s right. I have no idea who they are.

‘Eli, we need to get off this roof.’

I follow as she half steps, half skids down the slates until she reaches the gutter. I watch her cling to the drainpipe and clamber down it, fast and agile as a cat.

I slowly turn, copying her. I feel strange. Thin. Barely here. I hardly notice my hands as I descend, my fingers automatically searching for the grooves in the pipe as I scramble down it. All I can think of is Jack—

My dad was there. That night. In the hut. He must’ve known Karl nearly drowned him.

And Melinda. Melinda knew all along too.

I hear Nisha’s feet hit the gravel beneath me, jolting me back into the moment.

I join her, collapsing into a heap on the ground. I pull myself to my feet and look up at my parents’ bathroom window. The light is still on behind the blinds. Nisha pulls my arm and we crouch, making our way towards the rhododendron bushes where we stashed our bags. She takes hers and turns towards the path. I stay where I am.

‘What are you doing, Eli? Let’s go .’

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere but here.’

I want to. I want to run. But…

‘No.’ I glance back at the bathroom window. I can see steam against the glass, hear the faint grumble of the shower cistern. It must be Dad. Sometimes he showers early when he can’t sleep. ‘I’m not leaving. They can’t know anything’s wrong.’

‘So, what? You’re just going to pretend everything’s fine?’

‘Yes.’ That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

‘Don’t you want to tell…’ She trails off.

‘Who?’

‘I dunno… Maybe someone who will help?’

‘You mean the police? And say what?’

‘Um … maybe that you got your mind messed with – against your will ?’ She stresses that last bit like I’m not aware. Like I’m unclear what has happened to me.

But I’m not. I’m very clear.

‘I was sectioned, Nisha. They’re not going to believe a word I say. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was unwell. It was treatment.’

She looks back at the house. ‘So, what are you going to do?’ she whispers. Scared. She’s scared of them.

So am I.

‘Make a plan.’ Because that’s what I’m good at. I start to feel oddly calm, because I know what I have to do. ‘They think I’m working today. I’ll say I’m going in like normal. I’ll make them think everything is normal. And then I’ll go and find Jack.’

‘Eli, are you serious?’ She shakes her head.

‘Yes.’

‘But … what if he chose this? You can’t—’

‘It doesn’t seem like he chose this , does it? According to the invoice—’

‘OK, well, what if he’s turned into a complete nutter? Maybe that’s why your parents did this. To keep you safe from him?’ She steps towards me, but I’ve made up my mind. ‘When bad things happen to people, it can change them. Maybe it’s good you don’t remember—’

‘What bad things happened to him, Nisha?’

‘I don’t know. But I remember he was very angry.’

‘Angry?’

‘Yes.’

I pause. ‘How well did you know him? He’s had months of his life erased by my parents. I feel responsible for that. Even if he is a complete nutter , he deserves to know.’

‘Just listen, Eli—’

‘ No, Nisha .’ I cut her off, my voice louder than I intended. We wait for a moment, watching the bathroom window. ‘I’d think he’d want to know the truth.’ I can hear the certainty in my voice. ‘Do you have any idea where he lives now?’

She shrugs. ‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘I’ll find him.’ I will. ‘And then I need to go back to TraumaLand. Tonight.’ Tonight . ‘I need to watch the rest of BUCKET to see what my dad was doing. And so does Jack. He needs to see the truth.’ My breath mists in front of us. ‘I can’t trust anyone else.’ My parents did this. Melinda helped them. Lucas has their card in his wallet. There is no one else. ‘I need your help .’

She nods slowly. ‘OK.’

‘OK?’

‘Yeah.’

Good. Good . ‘Are you working tonight?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can you make sure I get back in?’

‘The bouncers already think you’re mental—’

‘Everyone in that place is mental.’

‘That’s true.’ She pauses. ‘If I make sure you get in, Casimir can’t know anything.’ Casimir. I think of the chip and headset in my bag. ‘ Eli? Do you hear me? He can ’ t know , or we – both of us – are screwed. I told you what happened to the last guy.’

Disappeared . Gone .

‘Of course. Will you come with me? To find Jack?’

‘I can’t…’

‘Why not?’

‘I live with…’

Hold on. ‘You live with Casimir?’

‘Not like that ,’ she says, but a darkness descends. ‘He’s been helping me.’

‘Helping you?’

‘It’s complicated. After the foster placement in Brighton, where I met Jack,’ she says, her voice flat. ‘I came up to London. I wanted to get out. Fell into some bad habits… I was just trying to get what I needed. Survive, I guess. It was all … chaos. I don’t really remember much of it.’

‘Drugs?’ I need to work on my delivery.

She ignores me. Fair enough.

‘But then I met Casimir,’ she continues. ‘He was friendly. He took pity on me. Said he’d help me. He gave me a job. Had a spare room. Took me in. Said he’d help me get my A levels done, apply to uni. Get back on my feet. In return, I’d work for him at the club. Then eventually he asked me to do the pick-ups, the drops.’

‘Keep his secrets.’

She turns to me. ‘I swear I didn’t know about any of this, Eli.’

‘Is he blackmailing you?’ Her eyes move to the ground. I place my hand on her sleeve. ‘Well, it seems to me you’ve got it figured out. You’re doing good, aren’t you? Life is better than it was before?’

‘I guess so, yeah.’ Her eyes narrow.

She’s tough. I can see that. This world has toughened her.

I feel weak, incapable, in comparison. Look, if you find out anything … text me, OK?’

She hesitates, then takes her phone out and unlocks it, hands it to me. I punch in my digits and add my name.

TRAUMA BOY

I hand it back. ‘So you don’t forget.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be forgetting you any time soon, Eli,’ she says. Her eyes land on the bird tattoo on my wrist. ‘Did you do that?’

‘Yeah. I mean … I think I did.’

She half smiles. ‘I like it.’

I can still hear the water of the shower running in the bathroom. ‘You want one?’ I grab my bag, rooting through it – careful that she doesn’t see the headset – until I find my marker pen. The one I used to draw my eyeliner with. ‘Lift up your sleeve.’

‘Um…’

‘Go on. Kindred spirits now.’

She doesn’t laugh.

As she slowly rolls up the sleeve of her checked shirt, I see a scar.

‘What’s that?’ I ask before I can stop myself.

‘Cigarette burn,’ she says. ‘From the … before.’

‘Before you met Casimir?’

‘No. Before before.’

Oh, I see. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK.’

She exhales. ‘Go on, then. Hurry up.’ I start to scribble away. ‘Jesus, what are you doing? I didn’t ask for your whole life story.’

‘Well, lucky for you I couldn’t give it, even if I wanted to. Done.’

I look at my handiwork.

The truth is out there

And it’s not what you think.

Signed,

Elias Pew

Property of TEAR Solutions, Floor 1, Harper House

‘Funny.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Then I remember. ‘Oh, wait.’ I draw the bird, like the one on my wrist, in the exact same place on hers.

She pulls her sleeve back down. ‘Will that ever come off?’

‘Probably not. We are now bonded for life.’

I hear the low grumble of water pipes suddenly stop. My dad has finished his shower. I look up and see the bathroom light is now off.

‘OK, I’m out of here—’

I take her arm. ‘Listen, thank you, Nisha. I like you. You’re very kind.’

She frowns at me and I think she’s about to tell me I’m the weirdest person she’s ever met – again. Instead, she says, ‘I like you too.’

I suddenly panic. ‘I’m gay, by the way.’

She laughs. ‘I wasn’t going to suggest we start shagging in the bushes.’

‘Oh.’

She shrugs. ‘And your mind seems elsewhere.’

She gives me a knowing look, then turns and heads down the path and out of sight.

My stomach twinges. Jack .

I grab my bag, the headset and chip inside it. Shit. I feel bad now – guilty that I haven’t told Nisha. Guilt, there you are and you are not fun at all .

Then I creep towards my cellar window. I pull it open, duck down, shove my bag through and climb into my bedroom.

The room feels so still.

It’s like it’s been years since I was last here. My face-paint sponges still sitting on the dressing table. The pile of clothes, the scissors, the paints. All exactly where I left them. Nothing’s changed.

Except everything.

I get my washbag and take out a handful of face wipes, then stand in front of the dressing table and stare at myself in the small, oval mirror. I begin to scrub my face, harder and harder, until all the paint, the grime, the eyeliner, every trace of the night, is gone. Erased.

But I can still see the scar on my forehead, clear as day. A shiny streak. A reminder that will never go.

I feel a well open up inside me, and with it, an emotion runs deep into the core of me. I know this one immediately. Anger . My hands begin to shake as it seeps into my blood, as it poisons me with its bitterness. I can taste it at the back of my throat.

How could he do this? What is he trying to hide?

I turn to my bed, sit on it and pull out my phone. Three per cent battery. I fumble for the charger, shove it in and open Google.

I think back to the Zoom call. His beanie, his broad shoulders. What did he say? Think .

Nothing. Blank.

Wait. Hold on. There was something in his room. Something behind him, on the wall. A poster.

What did it say? There was a symbol of a wave. Something about water…

And then I remember. I type in the words TURNING TIDES TOGETHER. And hit enter.

The top search result shows a link.

COUNCIL SUPPORT – ADOLESCENTS IN NEED

He’s definitely an adolescent in need. I click on it.

It takes me to a page with a photograph of a rundown house, with peeling paint and dirty walls, on some kind of back street. There’s a broken sign above the door, with the wave painted on it and the words:

TURNING TIDES TOGETHER

SUPPORTED HOUSING

brIXTON

Supported Housing? Brixton? I’ve never been to Brixton, south of the river. That I know of.

I scroll down to see a series of pictures. Adolescents eating cereal together in a little kitchen, standing around bunk beds, smiling. Wait . Bunk beds. Just like the one behind Jack in his square. And the poster.

It’s right there. Pinned to the wall behind the teenagers.

This is where he was…

There’s a knock at my door. I spin round.

‘Eli?’ Dad’s voice echoes down the concrete steps. ‘Can I have a word?’