She wants to snatch at him, grab hold of him, prevent him from leaving the boundary of her chain. But if she touches him now, uninvited, this chance will turn to dust.
With a dry tongue, she licks cracked lips. ‘Thirsty.’
The grey shape looms nearer, until it blocks out all the light. Suddenly, the Evian bottle is at her mouth. Elissa tilts back her head, allowing precious water to slide down her throat. The phone’s reflection glows in the plastic bottle. It’s so close.
‘You poor thing,’ Elijah murmurs as the last of the water trickles out. ‘I should have brought you more to drink. I should’ve thought.’
‘It’s OK,’ she says, wiping her mouth. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Yes, it is. You’re down here dying of thirst and all I can think about is a stupid game. It’s selfish and stupid and wrong.’
‘I’m not dying, Elijah. Not yet.’
‘You’re not well. And that’s my fault too. I could’ve done something. And I didn’t. It’s just …’
Elissa waits, but Elijah doesn’t complete his thought. She asks, ‘You really came down here to play chess?’
‘Yes.’ Then, as if convinced she’s going to renege on their deal, his voice rises in pitch. ‘You promised! You said if I got hold of a phone, if I brought it down here, that you’d—’
She holds up her good hand. ‘Elijah, it’s fine. We might need to check a few things first. And we might have to download some software, but as long as you have the password, we can—’
‘Password?’
‘Yeah, the—’
‘What’re you talking about?’
‘Sometimes people put passwords on their phones, to stop other people from snooping.’
‘How do we get the password?’
‘You’d have to ask the person who owns the phone.’ She pauses. ‘Can you do that?’
‘No!’
Elissa’s guts twist like a dishcloth. ‘Well, if it isn’t locked, we won’t need one. Not everybody bothers.’
‘How do we check?’
‘Hold it up,’ she tells him. ‘Show me the screen.’
Elijah does as he’s asked. Again, the blue light appears between them, as if the lid’s been opened of a box filled with magic. Elissa tries desperately to focus. Her vision jumps and pulls. Finally, from liquid threads of colour, an image begins to solidify.
The phone is an iPhone; one of the older models. The screen’s a little scratched, but it’s working well enough. Instead of a password request, it’s showing a neat grid of apps.
IV
If there was ever a time to develop a poker face, it’s now. Trying to appear disinterested, Elissa considers her options.
‘So,’ Elijah says. ‘What do we do?’
‘Go to the App Store,’ she tells him, then blinks. ‘Sorry. I forgot this is new. You’re looking for a blue square with a white A. The A stands for “App”. It’s where we’ll find the chess programme.’
Elijah hunches forward. ‘I have it.’
‘Give it a press.’
The quality of the blue light changes, and she knows he’s in. ‘Do you see a little magnifying glass?’
‘Yes.’
‘Beside it, there should be a blank space.’
‘Got it.’
‘OK, type into it the—’
‘How?’
‘Just touch the box. That should bring up a keyboard.’
The light changes colour yet again. ‘What do I type?’
‘Chess. Then press the button that says “search”.’
As he concentrates, Elijah’s breath whistles in his nose.
‘Well?’
‘It’s come up with a message.’
‘What’s it say?’
‘“No internet connection. Make sure Wi-Fi or cell … u … lar data is turned on, then try again.”’
‘Show me.’
He twists around, scooting backwards until he’s right beside her. His proximity overloads Elissa’s already battered senses. Elijah’s so close she can smell him: a mustiness of unwashed clothes and greasy skin. Something is wrong – desperately so – but she cannot comprehend what. Or perhaps she can, and her mind refuses to accept it.
Gingerly, Elissa reaches out her good hand. She doesn’t take the phone, but she steadies it. Elijah’s finger brushes her thumb. They both flinch.
Her skin burns where it touches him. She hears her mum’s voice, crying out a warning.
Elissa’s vision jitters, skips. She swallows, grits her teeth, forces clarity from the swirl of colours. Gradually, the screen resolves. She hunts in vain for a reception bar. Her guts churn. ‘There’s no signal.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘These walls, this ceiling – they stop the signal getting through.’
Elijah turns to face her. His eyes, reflecting the phone’s blue light, are tiny computer screens. ‘You mean, like a lead box stops radiation?’
‘Exactly like that.’
As Elissa stares at him, he leans a little closer. The rest of his face materializes; and, with it, the reality of her situation – the reality of Elijah – finally emerges.
You’ll begin to feel dizzy, confused. You won’t even be able to trust your own thoughts.
Elissa feels a scream building, a dense knot of horror that can’t be contained. She traps it in her chest regardless, because to release it now, so close to this chance of life, would bring an end to all her hopes.
Elijah’s breath is warm against her face. It smells bad, like he has bits of old meat stuck between his teeth. ‘We can’t play chess?’
Impossible, now, to reconcile that pseudo-innocent voice with the person the candlelight has revealed. Because while Elijah speaks with the pitch and cadence of a twelve-year-old boy, he inhabits, undeniably, the body of a man.
Mairéad
Day 6
I
Lena Mirzoyan watches the recording of Elissa a second time, but she’s unable to offer further insight. Her distress, by the end, is so acute that no one with any compassion could put her through it again.
Outside, the sky grows darker, more malevolent. There’s no warmth in the Mirzoyan living room. Every surface seems touched by cold. Mairéad can’t offer Lena any comfort. All she can think about is the feeling of emptiness in her belly, and the conviction that something is deeply, tragically wrong.
Nine weeks she’s carried this spark inside her. Nine weeks she’s striven to coach it into fire. The nausea, although debilitating, had been comforting in its own way – evidence that this pregnancy, over all her previous failures, was deeper rooted, more impervious to misfortune.
And now it’s gone.
Before she leaves Lena, she asks to use the upstairs bathroom. There’s no blood when she checks her underwear, no sign of spotting, like before. Pulling up her blouse, she gently probes her abdomen. But she’s a detective, not a doctor – she has no idea what she’s doing.
Mairéad closes her eyes and concentrates. Has the nausea really disappeared? Perhaps that two-minute footage of Elissa has temporarily robbed her of feeling. She’d viewed the clip repeatedly before coming here, but Lena’s presence magnified the horror a hundredfold.