All the Tricks of Their World

by T B Gayle

  Please, thought Isobel. She knew it had to be stopped before it became too late. She could feel it getting stronger and stronger inside her, and as she focused on it, her thoughts weren’t thoughts anyone should have been thinking. Looking up at Maisie, she couldn’t help imagining dark hands twisted around her neck, the light from Maisie’s once so pretty eyes slowly fading.

  That’s not what I want, Isobel told herself. All she wanted was for Maisie to put an end to it all with a flash of her hand. Isobel would have done the same for her. In the darkness, you only had to look upon the horizon and see the silhouette of a shadow to know there was no sorrow in giving peace to the fallen before that fate could take them.

  Thinking about that made Isobel stare away into nowhere, a horrible realisation starting to form in her mind. She knew why she was so different, why Maisie’s eyes were so bright and hers weren’t. And it had nothing to do with the world or anything anyone inside it had done to her. Something had happened to her in the darkness. That’s why they’d been able to bring her here, why she hadn’t tried to stop them. It was why Pascal had never come back to look for her.

  As much as she didn’t want to, Isobel found herself glancing towards the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of his illusion, and it was like they were back in the darkness, their last moment together, when the light had still been blazing in Isobel’s eyes. With a twist, she’d leapt away as a shadow slashed at where she’d been. Another had tried to grab her, but she’d always been too quick. She’d sprung to the side, grabbed Pascal, and dragged him to the top of the hill. And that’s when she hadn’t been able to believe what she saw. She’d looked down upon a bridge that had seemed to span the darkness and lead far from it.

  It was what they’d been searching for, for so long. The only trouble was, around the bridge had stood more shadows than she’d ever seen. It had been heartbreaking; she’d fought so hard, but then, when they'd been so close to making it, to finally being free, there'd been more shadows to face, so many more.

  Pascal had barely been able to stand, and she’d been tired, more tired than anyone was ever meant to be. If Pascal hadn’t turned to her just then with such a look of hope on his face for the first time in so long, she would have turned back. Instead, she’d leapt into the midst of the shadows, her powers failing her, a fear she hadn’t felt for so long filling her every thought.

  After that, all Isobel could remember was looking up and seeing Pascal standing above her, his hand glowing like he was about to strike her down. Then he let out a roar, turned away, and leapt with rage into the midst of the shadows all around them.

  XXXII

  Pascal blinked, finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He’d had a rough night, and the last thing he’d needed was Isobel giving him the old cold shoulder when he’d been trying to sort things out with her.

  There was a chill in the air and the sky was getting darker. Pascal rubbed his eyes and yawned, figuring another storm must be rolling in. He was thinking about just bailing and heading into his flat to read a book or something and take his mind off the whole thing when he heard raised voices in the flat next door.

  Oh, great, thought Pascal. He hurried into the flat and found Maisie shining her phone down on Isobel, who was huddled against the wall, curled in this ball, shaking.

  ‘There’s something wrong with her,’ said Maisie. ‘Something really wrong.’

  Of course there’s something wrong with her, Pascal wanted to tell her. If she was well, she wouldn’t have been hanging around these last few days hoping he’d fall for her, that was for sure.

  ‘Please, you have to do what he couldn’t,’ said Isobel, staring up at Maisie with these wild eyes. Pascal wasn’t sure if that was some go at him for not getting her the chips he’d promised, or if it was just a general dig at him for being so useless with all this trying to help her stuff. Either way, it wasn’t great.

  ‘I can’t be like this,’ said Isobel. ‘Don’t let me be like this.’

  Bloody hell, thought Pascal. She was struggling with things a lot worse than he’d thought. And he couldn’t help cursing himself again for not treating her better in the pub. All the smiles from all the cute girls in the world weren’t anything really next to helping someone going through dark times and all that. And the worst part was, Pascal kind of knew how she felt; it wasn’t like he was that proud of how he’d turned out either.

  ‘Everyone feels a bit like that sometimes, you know,’ said Pascal. He tried to kneel down and put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she brushed it away and kept looking up into the light of Maisie’s phone. ‘None of us here are leading brilliant lives or anything,’ said Pascal. He was a bit worried Maisie might take offence to that, but then she was standing there in her pyjamas in the middle of the day.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Isobel. ‘He’s not real; none of this is.’ She shuffled forward and put her head right next to Maisie’s phone for some reason, like she almost wanted to make a call.

  ‘You’re not sick,’ said Isobel. ‘Don’t you get what they’ve been doing? They’ve been stealing the light from your eyes, from all of us, to keep out the shadows. That’s why we’re all so tired. And don’t you see, they use illusions like him to keep us here. But the illusions need light too, and there’s so many of them now.’

  Pascal hadn’t heard Isobel say so much since they were kids. All the things she was saying were kind of worrying, but he couldn’t help thinking at least she was showing some passion about it. It was better than seeing her moping about like she wouldn’t have minded him finding her face down in some park some day.

  ‘You have to remember,’ said Isobel. ‘You have to. You’re not like me. You can still make it out. You have to look deep inside, where your thoughts are yours and none of their tricks can get you. Then you’ll understand. You’ll know what this place is.’

  Maisie stood there, holding her phone. When she didn’t respond, Isobel seemed to almost look like she was the one confused. ‘Please,’ said Isobel. ‘You have to help. You know what I have inside me.’ She rose to her feet, looking all horror show creepy by the light of the phone. And as Isobel rose, Maisie fell backwards, scrambling to keep some distance between them. Then the worst thing happened: the light from Maisie’s phone gave out. They were all there in the growing dark.

  It was strange; with all the odd things Isobel had been saying, and how frightful she’d been looking, Pascal thought it would have been Maisie he would have been worried about there in the dark with who knows what about to happen. But even before Maisie said ‘Get her away from me’ and he heard the slapping sound of a whack, it had been Isobel that he’d been rushing across to get to. He found her on the floor, sobbing all quietly. And for a moment it was like she was back there in that empty house on the day that he’d found her.

  It was only when he felt a shove that he remembered where he was. He looked up to see Maisie standing above them in the dark. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said. ‘What are you doing? Didn’t you hear all that? She’s a basket case, mental.’ Maisie put out her hand for Pascal to take so she could help him to his feet. And he knew she was right. He knew if he took her hand, it would be the end of it. They’d be able to call someone to deal with Isobel, someone who would know what to do with her. And it would be like he and Maisie would have something after that, this moment to build things from. But when he looked down at Isobel and saw the blood under her nose and her distraught, empty eyes, he knew there was no way he could leave her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Maisie made this sound and rolled her eyes, then she stumbled away into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  XXXIII

  It can’t be him, thought Isobel. He wasn’t meant to look like this; his eyes and his hands glowing like he was back by the bridge, leaping in the darkness. Isobel stared at him, so scared that she might have been wrong this whole time, that he’d been trapped in this world just like her and she hadn’t r
ealised. We could have been going through this together, she told herself. But even with his arm around her, it was like she couldn’t feel him. All she could feel was the coldness inside her. Because he’s not real, none of this is, she told herself. But in the dark of the room, it was so hard not to think that he was her Pascal, that somehow, he’d made it across the bridge. It was like the memory she’d clung to night after night was beside her, only, like on all those nights, she couldn’t feel him; there was no warmth or love or happiness. And the longer he held her, the harder it was to keep her thoughts together. She started thinking about how much he’d liked her when they were kids, how upset and frantic he’d been when he’d found her alone in the house, not having eaten in days, barely able to look up or move.

  At the time, she’d wanted to tell him how much him fretting over her had meant to her, but she couldn’t; something had gone wrong inside her. Something was still so wrong inside her. She knew that was why she was thinking all the thoughts she was.

  Isobel put her head down, almost wishing she had become a shadow so she could disappear into the dark and not have Pascal there holding her, knowing there was no warmth or happiness left within her.

  XXXIV

  Pascal hadn’t had a whole lot of luck with his hugs lately. Maisie had wanted to keel over and collapse whenever he’d got close to her, and things hadn’t turned out that much better with Isobel. For a moment it had seemed to be going alright, but then he’d fired up his phone, thinking he’d heard it beep. I guess she saw who was holding her, thought Pascal. And he knew how she felt. Before there’d been any light, he’d been drifting away, imagining Isobel was her old self again and that things might all work out. It had been a bit rough going from that to seeing her in the light staring at him like some creature about to take a bite from his neck.

  She’s not that bad, Pascal told himself. He knew, with a haircut and some new clothes, she wouldn’t have been the worst girl to be seen with or anything. That wasn’t her problem. She was sitting there limply with her arms by her side, her eyes staring away into the darkness like she was in some world of her own. That was her problem. Even if she’d cleaned her face and it had turned out she was just as stunning as the waitress, it wouldn’t have made that much difference.

  Pascal took a deep breath. He couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t come across so bad, like he was just pretending to want to help her and all that. She might have kept holding him. She might have wanted to talk.

  That was the thing, he wasn’t sure she was even that messed up. She seemed pretty together most of the time, and when she did lose it, it wasn’t like she was that far off the mark with the things she was saying or anything. The world kind of didn’t seem that real sometimes. It was hard not to be thinking that, when he could walk past some homeless person and then turn and see car after car going by, all costing so much. And what did they do to get those cars? Pascal was pretty sure they didn’t grow food or make clothes for anyone or anything decent like that. They probably sat at a desk all day just like him.

  He knew there were things Isobel had said that were a bit worrying, but it wasn’t like she came across as one of those dangerous sorts. She seemed more sad than anything. And what did it matter if some people were a bit different from others and their thoughts were all over the place? Pascal was sure they were just doing what they had to do to get through each day and all that. It was like him daydreaming about meeting some girl and starting some amazing life. He knew it was probably never going to happen, but without that, he wouldn’t have been able to get up each morning. Everyone did what they had to do. It wasn’t like anyone could blame Isobel for not wanting to see things how they were or anything.

  That was why the whole Maisie thing had hurt so much; she’d made him take a step back and see the sort of guy he really was. He’d had to see things for how they were, and they weren’t great. And Pascal didn’t want to do that to Isobel. No-one should have been able to do that to her. If she didn’t want to face up to what had happened, how bad things were for her, then she shouldn’t have had to. If she wanted to think none of this was real, that she was really somewhere better, than let her, thought Pascal. It wasn’t that different to all those religious sorts with their heavens.

  He knew he was going a bit over the top with it all, but he just wanted to think she was going to be alright. He didn’t want her walking out and going back to being another one of those piles of blankets and trinkets people hurried by, not realising she used to be this cute as girl that made him laugh so hard. He could still remember the adorable, angry way she used to look at him whenever she landed in a heap on the ground after trying some backflip or whatever. She’d always thought she could do anything.

  Pascal lowered his head. That was the thing, he knew he wasn’t any better than the people who’d walked by her all those times on the streets. He knew how great she’d been, but he could still barely force himself to look at her with the lights on. He should have been there telling her things were going to be alright, but when he looked at her, he couldn’t see it. He just saw someone he kind of wished he hadn’t recognised that day on the street. He would have done anything to have just walked by her like everyone else. Then he wouldn’t have had to see her like this. He wouldn’t have had to feel like such a terrible guy for not wanting to be there for her. But now he had to be; he couldn’t just let her wind up back on some street after all this.

  All he wanted was to turn off the lights and be back in the darkness with her, holding her and imagining her happy and well again.

  XXXV

  ‘Why are we wasting our time on her?’ said a voice. It was the same voice Maisie had heard when she’d woken on the floor of her flat. ‘Let them have her. She’s no use to us like this.’

  ‘We were meant to be keeping her safe,’ said another voice, and this time Maisie knew exactly who it belonged to. Maisie opened her eyes and looked up at Sam, feeling the way she always felt when she saw her: that it was strange how stunning Sam seemed when all the rest of the world seemed so awful.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re still drunk,’ said Sam. Maisie was sitting there on the floor of her flat alone with the door open. There was no-one with her.

  Sam started picking up the fallen groceries and carrying them across to the kitchen, smelling some and making a face before dropping them in the bin. ‘I thought we should probably talk,’ said Sam. She finished with the groceries and after looking through a few of the cupboards said, ‘Do you want some tea?’ Before Maisie could answer, Sam started filling the kettle with water and looking for cups in the cupboard.

  ‘Hey, was that the homeless girl from the restaurant I saw next door?’ said Sam. Maisie just shrugged. The girl was Pascal’s problem now. Maisie didn’t even want to think about her.

  The kettle boiled, and Sam got busy plunking the tea bags up and down. She came in carrying the two cups, handing one to Maisie and then sitting herself down on the couch. Maisie would have sat beside her, but she wasn’t sure if that was what Sam would have wanted. She had a feeling that was probably the sort of thing Sam had come to talk to her about.

  ‘I take it you’ve been too sick to do much cleaning,’ said Sam. ‘Or to get dressed.’

  ‘Sam, I haven’t been making it up,’ insisted Maisie. ‘I’ve been feeling terrible.’

  Sam took a sip of her tea.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening,’ said Maisie. ‘It’s like I can’t enjoy anything.’

  ‘You seemed to enjoy yourself the other night,’ said Sam. She looked directly at Maisie. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ she said. ‘I think it might be better if you stay away from the restaurant.’

  Maisie didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even wanted to go. She’d only gone because her head had been hurting too much to be able to tell Pascal that things would never have worked out between them. It wasn’t even that she hadn’t liked him. She just knew there was no way they would hav
e been right for each other. And that was the sad part. Maisie wasn’t sure who she’d ever be right for. She had no idea who would be able to put up with her in the state she was in.

  ‘And it’s not about what happened,’ said Sam. ‘Well, it is about what happened.’

  Maisie put her hand to her head. I was drunk, she wanted to shout at Sam. It didn’t mean anything.

  ‘Listen,’ said Sam. ‘You’re doing it tough, but trust me, things will get better. This world isn’t such a bad place. If that neighbour of yours can find someone, then anyone can. And you’re not just anyone.’

  Sam slid to the floor and wrapped Maisie in her arms, which might have been quite awkward after everything that had been said if Maisie hadn’t needed a hug so badly. She closed her eyes, and as she did, it was like all the pain and aching inside her went quiet for a moment.

  XXXVI

  ‘I can’t,’ said Isobel. She stopped in her tracks, the same tracks they’d once walked together as kids. The country felt so different now, though. When they were kids, it had seemed full of mystery, but now it just seemed dull. The streets were quiet. There were no cars, and no-one was rushing about. About the only thing that was mysterious was how Pascal could ever have thought it might have been a good idea to bring Isobel back to the place.

  It was like the whole pub thing all over again, except this time instead of a bunch of strangers jumping to the wrong conclusion and not realising he was just trying to help some old friend, it was going to be his parents and all the people he’d grown up around.