Traumaland

27 DECEPTIVE AND UNRELIABLE

27

DECEPTIVE AND UNRELIABLE

‘You all right, mate?’

I look up from my phone to see Jack standing shivering in front of me, water dripping from his hair and swim shorts, making a pool at his feet.

I don’t know how to start. Where to start. But first we need to get out of here.

‘Jack,’ I say. My voice is shaking. ‘Jack Quinn?’

He raises his eyebrows slightly. ‘Yeah?’ he says. ‘Can I help you?’

He doesn’t recognise me. Not at all.

‘My name’s Elias. Elias Pew.’ He frowns, confused. ‘Well, Eli.’

I thought he might have some faint memory, but there’s nothing.

‘OK,’ he says. ‘Do you mind?’ He motions to my feet.

‘Huh?’

‘My stuff.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ I step sideways as he reaches down to pick up his towel. When he straightens back up, drying his hair, then his torso, I realise how different he looks to the Jack in the memory montage. The Jack I knew. He’s a shadow of that person – gaunter in his face, his chest – but what’s most noticeable is that there’s no light. No light in his eyes. They are black.

He’s a shell. Numb. Blank.

Ping .

Shit.

Dad:

Stay exactly where you are.

I nearly drop the phone. I’m trembling. My whole body is—

‘Mate, is everything all right?’ I glance up to see Jack pulling down his T-shirt, the rose pendant now hanging round his neck. ‘You seem a bit—’

‘I need to talk to you. It’s really important.’

‘Right…’ he says.

As he starts to pull his hoodie over his head, an urgency propels me. ‘Something happened. Something happened to both of us and we need to get out of here. We need to talk…’ I can’t keep the panic out of my voice. I sound crazy.

Danger? Did Jack do something? Or is this another one of Dad’s lies?

‘Eli, did you say?’ He’s looking at me, arm mid-sleeve.

I nod.

He smiles politely. ‘Yeah. I’m not sure you’ve got the right person, Eli.’

‘I do. You have to listen to me. Look, can we just find somewhere quiet, private?’

He frowns like I’m some random nutcase, but I don’t know how else to…

‘Wait…’ He narrows his eyes like he’s taking me in properly for the first time. ‘Have we met?’

‘Yes, we have.’ I glance over my shoulder at the entrance. ‘We know each other. Well, we knew each other.’

‘What do you mean, knew each other?’

Ping .

Oh, God. It’s Mum this time.

Eli, stay where you are.

You’re in danger. Don’t worry.

Be with you soon.

‘Hold on,’ Jack says. ‘You’re that guy from the online support group.’

‘That’s right,’ I say. Yes. Yes, that’s right.

His body relaxes a fraction. ‘Oh, so that ’ s how we know each other.’

‘Yes. Well, no. We knew each other before.’

‘Huh? Before? ’

Ping . ‘Yes.’ Ping . ‘I just need a minute to explain—’

Ping . Ping .

Fuck’s sake.

I look down.

Lucas.

Lucas …

Eli

I quickly type a reply:

Lucas – what happened?

What have they done?

It’s so messed up.

I’m so sorry little bro.

Lucas – please tell me.

I wait for the text to send. Come on, come on…

A notification pops up, next to a red exclamation mark.

! MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED

I check my signal. Full bars. I text again.

Lucas – answer me

The same notification pops up.

! MESSAGE NOT DELIVERED

Damn it. I shove my phone in my pocket.

Ignore it. Ignore them. They’re lying.

I can’t stop shaking.

‘You seem a little stressed, mate,’ Jack says. He forces a smile, less polite this time. ‘I’m gonna leave you to it.’ He starts to pick up his trousers, socks and shoes.

‘Wait. Jack—’

‘I’ve got to get going.’

‘No. You can ’ t .’ My voice trembles. ‘Listen, there are things I know. Things about you that even you don’t know.’

He stops. Tilts his head. ‘Excuse me?’

I don’t want to do this here, but I’m running out of time.

‘When you did your share in the support group – all that longing, that blankness you were talking about, there’s a reason for it. There’s a reason you’re not feeling anything, Jack. There’s a reason you’re not scared of water any more. That you’re here, trying to feel alive again.’

His face scrunches up. ‘Sorry, what did you just say?’

Keep going. ‘I know that since last year, you’ve become numb. I know that nothing you’re being told makes sense to you. That you’re questioning everything that’s happened. Because it was the same for me.’

He stares at me. He understands. He does .

A ringtone chimes through the air. It takes me a moment to realise it’s coming from the jeans he’s holding in his hands. He reaches into the pocket and takes out his phone.

Panic sears into my blood. I can taste it. Toxic.

‘Who is it?’ I say. ‘Who’s calling you?’

‘Huh?’

‘ Who is it? ’

‘Hold on.’

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and try to snatch the phone from his hand.

‘Whoa!’ He dodges me. ‘Mate, seriously.’ He looks at me like I’m completely deranged.

I see the name flashing on the screen.

Melinda

‘Don’t answer that!’ I cry. ‘ Please, Jack – don’t answer. Let me explain first.’ I try to grab for the phone again.

‘Jesus!’ he says, gripping it tight. ‘What are you doing?’ He begins to walk away, hovering his finger over the screen, about to answer.

‘ Don ’ t! ’ I shout, so loudly that he stops dead. I see people glaring at us, but I don’t care. We need to get out of here.

Jack turns to face me. ‘Leave me alone—’

‘There was no bridge, Jack. There was no amnesia. You weren’t found on a riverbank. That’s why you have absolutely no recollection of it – because it didn’t happen. They’re lying to you. Last year you had your memories removed and it was arranged by my parents. I know how crazy this sounds, but it’s true. They used a company who use a new experimental treatment which is designed to remove people’s trauma, but that’s not why they did it to us. Something happened – something bad – and you’re involved. I think my parents are trying to silence you – us – by having us removed from each other’s minds. Melinda is part of it too. They’re trying to keep us apart.’

His eyes stay fixed on me. His mouth hangs open.

In the silence that follows, I see a man approaching us along the side of the pool.

‘You need a hand, mate?’ he says to Jack. ‘Is this guy bothering you?’

‘We’re fine,’ I say.

‘I’m not talking to you,’ the man persists, stopping right next to us.

Jack doesn’t take his eyes off me.

‘Please,’ I whisper to him. ‘Just give me another minute. Trust me. Please. You know something isn’t right. You know you’ve been lied to.’

Jack falters. I can see him computing what I have said, trying to process it. Then he turns to the man. ‘We’re fine,’ he says. ‘Don’t worry, we know each other. Thanks.’

Thank God .

The man nods. ‘Right, well try and keep it down. People are here to enjoy themselves.’ He moves off, shaking his head.

Jack stares at me. Doubt. I see doubt.

There’s no time for that. Keep going .

‘Where did you get that?’ I point to the pendant round his neck.

‘What?’

‘The rose.’

He lifts his hand, clutching it between his fingers. ‘I made it.’

‘Did Melinda tell you that, or do you remember making it?’

He stalls, thinking. ‘She told me.’ I can hear uncertainty now.

Good. Good .

‘Do you believe her?’

‘I…’

‘You didn’t make it, Jack. I did. I know things about you because we were once very close. We spent a lot of time together. I know that you were in foster care. I know you were there with your sister, in Brighton. I know that she died. I’m so sorry, Jack. I know you couldn’t deal with the guilt of what happened to her – that you blamed yourself somehow. That you used to take her to the beach, to get away from your foster parents. I know smaller details, things that not many people would know. Like that you like crisp and banana sandwiches. And you prefer to use Doritos for the crunch.’

His eyes flicker like he’s waking up. Yes. That’s it. ‘Jack, look.’ I turn my head and point behind my ear. ‘You did this. That’s your handwriting, right? We wanted to remember each other.’ My voice breaks. ‘I just need a bit more of your time to show you something. And if you don’t believe me after you see it, I’ll never bother you again.’

I see something emerge beneath the black of his eyes. A glimmer of warmth.

‘I did that to you?’ he says quietly.

I nod. ‘Yeah. Have you looked behind yours?’

‘Behind my ear?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, why would I…’ He lifts his hand up, moving his hair, brushing his fingers against the exact spot on the protruding bone where my own tattoo is. And as he does—

Yes. I knew it .

REMEMBER ELI

In my own handwriting.

‘What is it?’ he says, registering my expression.

‘You want me to show you?’

He blinks, then nods.

I lift up my phone, zoom in on where his fingers are holding the hair back and take a picture.

‘Look.’

When I show him my screen, he goes completely still. He stares at it, his eyes filling with terror. Then he looks up at me. That’s the boy I remember from the memory montage. Scared, but strong. ‘What the fuck?’

‘I know.’

‘This is… What the hell is this?’

‘Just give me a chance to explain.’

He runs his fingertip over the tattoo like he’s trying to read it with them. ‘Was that your parents texting you?’

‘Yes, they’re coming… We need to leave.’

He flashes his eyes around the pool and for a moment I think he’s going to turn and run.

He then inhales sharply. ‘There’s a bench where I sometimes sit,’ he says. ‘It’s secluded. I’ll show you.’ He’s shaking too now.

‘Thank you. Thank you, Jack.’

‘This is so messed up.’

‘I know.’

We stare at each other for a moment and I feel … relief. Relief .

He holds up his jeans. ‘I need to…’

‘Right, yeah. Of course.’

As he wraps the towel around his waist and begins changing out of his wet shorts, I turn my back to him, focusing on the blue of the water. Deceptive and unreliable . That’s what Jack said about the sea. As people kick past me, doing lengths, I make a decision.

I will not be deceptive or unreliable. My stomach clenches. For the first time since last year, I’ve not been so certain of anything.

I hate my parents for what they did. I hate them so much. How could they do this to him? To us?

Someone shouts. ‘Eli?’

I look up. Oh no. No . Dad stands on the other side of the pool.

I freeze as our eyes lock. My body won’t move. I see Mum appear next to him.

‘Jack…’ I breathe.

I feel Jack’s hand grab my arm. ‘ This way .’

He pulls me along the concrete, away from Mum and Dad. People are staring at Dad as he strides towards us. Do they recognise him? Or is it because he’s pointing at me? Everything blurs, panic robbing me of my clarity. Through the haze, I see Jack grab a plastic chair and push it up against the back wall.

‘Eli!’ he shouts. ‘Come on!’

He clambers on to it and hoists himself up on to the top of the wall.

I can hear Dad yelling behind me. ‘Don’t go with him! He’s incredibly dangerous!’

Jack holds out his hand. ‘Eli – quick .’

I take it and he pulls me up. I follow him over the edge, landing in the mud on the other side.

‘This way!’ He takes my hand and pulls me with him.

We dart through the park, past tennis courts, through a little walled garden, winding our way into a thicket of trees, my legs burning, the cold air cutting into my skin. Finally we stop in front of a bench. It’s tucked away in a mass of bushes, overlooking a small grassy area covered in rusty cans and bottle tops, empty vapes and exploded lighters.

My body is alight. I can feel my heart drumming in my wrists, my neck. As I glance around me, listening, I can hear him panting next to me.

‘I think we’re OK,’ Jack says. ‘For now.’

This is it. I swing my bag off my back and pull out the headset.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘I’ll show you. Sit down.’

He does, his eyes remaining on the headset. ‘That thing looks insane.’

‘Yeah. Well, it gets more insane. This whole thing gets very, very insane.’ I hand it to him and he turns it over in his hands.

‘This looks like something a kid made.’

‘I promise you, it’s not.’ I hear something. The snap of a twig.

We spin our heads round, towards the noise. Holding our breaths. We wait a few minutes. Nothing. Is it nothing?

I look at Jack. ‘Are you ready?’

He doesn’t look ready. Not at all. But he nods.

I attach the pads to their correct places. ‘What the hell is this? Where did you find it?’ he mutters, but I’m too busy making sure they’re secure to answer. Just before I pull the goggles down over his eyes, he looks at me and I see it. Fear. Just a flash.

That’s good. Isn’t it? That he can feel fear?

He places his hand on top of my arm and as he grips it tight I feel a rush. In a fleeting moment I experience something so insanely warm and nostalgic, exciting and thrilling that I nearly gasp.

I’ve felt this before. And it is wonderful .

And then he’s gone. Into his own past. Our past.

In the glow from my phone, I watch him watching the memory montage. He leans against the back of the bench, still gripping my wrist with one hand. The other grips the wooden armrest so tight that his knuckles are white. At some points he makes strained noises. Gurgling. Gasping. Laughing. At others he is completely silent.

When it is done – when he takes the goggles off – his eyes are red.

I think he’s going to yell at me. To call me a psychopath.

But he doesn’t.

He looks at me gently, kindly . His tone is soft as he says, ‘Hi, Eli.’

‘Hi, Jack.’

‘Well … it’s nice to meet you again.’