Elijah
Day 6
I
Night, and I’m sprinting through the Memory Wood, soaked to the skin. Above me, rain pours from a Bible-black sky. The trees rattle like shaken bones. I’m so cold.
As I run, I try to recall everything that’s happened since I last saw Gretel, but my mind’s so scrambled I can hardly focus. I think of the letter she dictated, the promise of a chess set all of my own. I knew that would bring trouble, so back in my room I vowed to destroy it. Last night, the letter stayed hidden in my Collection of Keepsakes and Weird Finds. This morning I brought it out here with some matches.
But I couldn’t burn it.
Down in that cellar, Gretel lifted the curtains on a world I never knew existed. I so desperately wanted a part of it that I convinced myself it was possible. Returning home, I searched through Papa’s things until I found an envelope and a stamp. Then I set off for the Memory Wood’s western boundary. I remember my scramble through the barbed-wire fence that borders the lane. How long did I walk before I found the postbox? Two miles? Three?
The letter itself doesn’t matter. It’s what happened after that’s the problem. Up until I posted it, I had a reason to be beyond the perimeter, something to distract me from my fears. But once my task was complete, I fell apart.
I remember getting lost. Seeing things that made no sense. The voices of people asking my name. Next thing I knew, I was in a police car, riding to the station. There was the room with no windows, the Coca-Cola the officers brought me. They didn’t wear uniforms, like they do on TV.
We wear play clothes.
I thought they were teasing. I’m not good at being teased.
When Papa whisked me out of there I could have cried with relief. Back home, earlier this afternoon, I waited until he went into the garden for a smoke. Then I crept downstairs and escaped to the Memory Wood. Outside the Gingerbread House I found a patch of disturbed mulch – evidence that a vehicle had come and gone. I never saw it, but I knew, immediately, that it had taken my friend away. Down in the cellar, I found a single print that matched my own shoe, in size if not in shape.
I recall the clatter of deadbolts as I unlocked the door, the stench of bleach so powerful that it burned my nose; the empty cell, the iron ring, the knowledge that something awful had happened.
That’s when I fled. This evening, up in my room, Mama urged me to read Ephesians: Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armour of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. But the devil has sunk his claws deep, and in my selfishness I’ve assisted him.
Once Mama had left, I found the coins on my pillow. Standing at my window, flinging them into the night, I saw a 4x4 bouncing along the track beside Fallow Field. Meunier, perhaps? Someone from Wheel Town? There was no reason for anyone to be out here so late.
That’s when I remembered what had happened in the empty cellar, my horror at Gretel’s loss causing the torch to slip from my fingers. Instead of retrieving it, I turned and fled, leaving it for anyone to find. Not only that, I left the cell door unlocked.
If my prying is to go unnoticed, I have to erase the evidence.
Through the trees, I see the rain-soaked cottage, silhouetted. There’s no vehicle parked outside, no sign of anyone else. The rain beats against my scalp. Shoulders hunched, I break from cover.
II
Twice, as I blindly feel my way down the cellar steps, I nearly fall. My trainers, clogged with wet mud, offer no grip. I’m leaving prints, but there’s nothing I can do about that.
At the bottom of the steps I shuffle forwards, hands raised before me. When I fled Elissa’s cell earlier this afternoon, I didn’t pause to slam the door. Now, I’m wary of striking my head against its edge.
My arm swabs left and right, feeling for obstacles. The stench of bleach isn’t as potent as before, but it’s still enough to make my eyes water. Finally, my hand touches the door.
It’s closed.
When I move my fingers across it I discover that the deadbolts have been drawn. The padlock I’d removed is back in place.
It takes me a moment to process the full implications. Around me, the darkness seems to breathe.
III
They know.
That’s the most obvious thing.
All this time, I’ve been so careful to cover my tracks. From the very start, I’ve understood what’s at stake for those who break the rules. My parents can’t protect me against what’s coming. No one can.
Again, in my head, I feel something shift. The wall I’ve constructed is losing the battle against what’s pushing against it. I don’t know what will happen if it falls.
Around me, the darkness feels heavy, like I’m trapped beneath the ocean with a mile of black water pressing down. Squashed by all that pressure, I can hardly breathe.
Will they be waiting when I go back upstairs? I imagine the building’s outer walls lit by the beams of a dirty white van.
CHILLAX.
Shuddering, I listen for any sound. But it’s silent down here, the deathly quiet of a crypt. When I delve into my pocket I feel the hard curves of the padlock key.
Not thirty minutes ago I was standing at my bedroom window, watching a vehicle bounce along the track beside Fallow Field. The driver must have been coming here. The cell had already been stripped of Elissa’s presence – washed, scrubbed, disinfected. Was the door resealed as a message, or is there another reason?
My hands are shaking so badly it takes me an age to undo the padlock. I draw back the central bolt. Two others follow. Gripping the handle, I pause in the darkness.
I should walk away, find that police station. Tell the truth this time, instead of lies.
Grimacing, I open the door.
IV
Out of the cell, just like before, rolls that hellish stench of bleach. I hesitate on the threshold, letting it wash over me. Then, clenching my fists, I take a forward step, feeling the way with my toe. I don’t expect to find my torch, not now, but at least the act of searching will be a distraction from what might be waiting above ground.
Eyes closed despite the darkness, I move across the cell, sweeping the floor with my foot. I need to do this carefully. I can’t afford to miss a single millimetre. I’m halfway to the iron ring – or think I am – when I hear something.
Even though I freeze, straining my ears, my breathing’s far too loud, my heartbeat far too fierce. ‘Hello?’ I venture, bracing for the impact of a hammer, or the slash of a blade.
The darkness pulses like a living thing, a black lung. ‘Hello, Elijah,’ it replies.
Mairéad
Day 6
I
In Salisbury, Mairéad is back in the Mirzoyan living room for her third visit in four days. Lena and her parents sit opposite. Judy Pauletto hovers near by. Yesterday, Lena looked like a corpse. Right now, she looks worse.
Mairéad doesn’t feel much better. This morning she managed a full breakfast, but she barely kept it down five minutes before bringing the whole lot back up. Thankfully, she’s had no more abdominal pain since yesterday’s press conference, and no repeat of the spotting. Last night, she’d been too dog-tired to arrange a referral to the early-pregnancy assessment unit. Thanks to the latest discovery, she hasn’t found the time since.