Sidekick

by Adeline Radloff

  Simon was trying to calm Finn down. He was telling Finn that there was nothing he could do, that it was all happening too far away, that it was over and done with in any case. It was too late. He said that thing, you know, about changing the things we can, and accepting the things we cannot change, over and over again, like a mantra.

  But then we saw the other plane.

  And then time stopped.

  * * *

  Okay, so here’s something else that’s weird about Finn. It’s difficult for him to leave Cape Town, because he can’t be too far away from Table Mountain. (I mean he can – of course he can – but if he’s not adequately prepared … Let’s just say there are serious consequences.)

  Table Mountain? I hear you ask. Table Mountain?

  Mmm.

  Now you might not know this (that’s okay, most people don’t and the ones who do are usually about as crazy as a bald Britney Spears), but Table Mountain is one of the most important energy centres in the entire world.

  Yip. You heard me. Energy centres.

  The whole thing is kind of difficult to explain, and I don’t pretend to fully understand it, but basically it has something to do with the fact that all life on earth is interconnected, and that, apart from the obvious energy fields like wind systems and ocean currents and magnetic poles, there are also other, hidden, energy fields circulating around the globe, and they blah blah spirituality blah blah cosmic forces of good and evil blah blah mystic powers, whatever. (I’m paraphrasing here, obviously, but hopefully you get where I’m going with all this.)

  The main point, in any case, is that a lot of people out there [14] believe that the earth has four “spinner wheels” which rule the planetary “energy sites”, and that each wheel relates to one of the four elements – earth, air, fire and water.

  So far, so wacky. But, wait, it gets worse …

  They also believe that one of these spinner wheels – the one representing earth, as a matter of fact – can be found in Africa. South Africa, to be more exact.

  You guessed it.

  Turns out our mountain is not just another boring old piece of rock, but an actual honest-to-goodness spinner of spiritual energy. It’s partly Table Mountain’s energy, in other words, that keeps this whole fricken planet happily spinning along. (I’m not making this up, honestly. Google it if you don’t believe me.) For people who believe in this kind of thing, our mountain is a sacred site, and they come from all different cultures and faraway places to visit the mountain and pray (or meditate or whatever).

  Now usually I would never believe such twaddle.

  But the thing is, Table Mountain does have a special vibe, you know? It’s just so solid. And huge. And weirdly shaped. And it’s right in the middle of the city.

  Also, it keeps Finn sane, for some reason, and gives him a level of control over his power that he wouldn’t have otherwise. (Apparently the man got up to all kinds of crazy things before he came to live in Cape Town.) Fact is, Finn can’t stay away from the mountain for too long or he goes dangerously nuts, which means that for the rest of us time can go all wonky. A month is about the most he can do, but then he has to prepare himself fully beforehand. [15]

  So anyway, Finn can’t just up and leave whenever he wants to. He has to plan ahead, and since he can’t “fast forward” the way he can “rewind”, that doesn’t leave him much scope when it comes to saving the world.

  And, of course, you can’t fly in untime. It’s all a bit technical for me, but you need to understand that in untime everything is kept in suspension, completely immobile. As you must have realised by now, Finn and I can manipulate objects, but electricity is tricky as it presupposes continuity. With some modifications it is possible for a car to move through still air, because it works a bit like a worm burrowing through the ground. Getting around in a plane, on the other hand, depends on the constant movement of particles, on the air streams around the plane forever swirling around, and this is impossible to recreate in untime.

  Or something like that. Point is, you can’t fly, which means you can’t just jump across continents at the drop of a hat.

  You begin to see the problem …

  * * *

  So, back to what happened on that notorious day in September.

  At that time Finn wouldn’t let me get involved in any of his projects because I was still too young (and Mom would’ve had a screaming heart attack). So after Finn called untime, I simply went back to my room, dressed warmly, and continued playing with my toys. I didn’t think too much about it.

  Anyway, hours and hours passed and after a while I got hungry. I went to the kitchen, made myself a snack, and went back to my room.

  At some stage I fell asleep.

  When I woke up we were still in untime, so I went to find Finn. I didn’t pass the family room because I’ve always hated seeing Mom and Simon locked up in time like that. I looked everywhere, but he was gone. The Transmitter was dead. One of the cars was missing though, so I returned to my room and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  I wasn’t cold, thankfully, because by that time Finn had already had special clothes made for me. I was beginning to get really bored though. The hours dragged by. I passed the time by making jewellery, scrapbooking, decorating T-shirts … When I got hungry I heated up some food in the little gas oven I’d been taught to use in times like these. I slept a lot.

  At some stage I realised that my hair was dirty, so I took a bath.

  When I got sick of the house, I went for long walks on the beach. But it made me sad, the way it always does, seeing the sea all still and unmoving like that. You almost expect it to be hard, like a real, frozen sea, like you could walk on the water if you wanted to. But you can’t. It’s just normal water. You can even swim in it if you want to, but it’s strange, because the water is so still.

  More time passed. I began to feel like I was the last person on earth.

  Eventually, out of desperation, I started reading.

  I read and I read and I read.

  I slept.

  I made myself some food.

  I read some more.

  And bathed and slept and ate and slept.

  More time passed and I began to get scared. It was just so lonely, you know? And by that time I had eaten all the frozen meals Mom keeps for me, and I was getting pretty sick of peanut butter and honey sandwiches, let me tell you. [16]

  It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but after a while (by this time I had absolutely no idea how much time had passed – I mean, you try keeping track of time without day and night, watches, TV, computers, phones, anything) I went to the family room, and moved Mom around so that I could sit between her and Simon. They were still staring at the TV with their eyes glazed, their expressions shocked, but just being near her made me feel better.

  I have to admit that I cried a lot. To give you an idea how much of a child I was, I only began to feel better once I realised that this was the perfect opportunity to raid the special-treat drawer in the kitchen. Desperate times and all that.

  More time passed. (Well no, it didn’t. But you get what I’m saying.)

  I ate myself sick on chips and chocolates and sweets. At some stage I noticed that my cold was long gone. So that was okay then.

  Anyway, enough with this story – I must be boring you to tears. Suffice to say, it was a horrible experience, and it kept going on and on and on.

  He came back eventually, of course.

  I screamed the first time I saw him.

  Finn’s eyes were red, and wild, and he looked tired and he smelled bad. He was very thin. He had grown a beard, but even with the unfamiliar facial hair I could see that he was quite a few years younger than when he’d left.

  To this day I’m not sure what he did for all that time. I never asked and he never told me. But I know him well enough by now to guess that he must’ve tried just about everything he could to get to that city so far away. To try and help those people
who were all about to burn to death.

  I don’t know what he thought he could have done. [17] It was a ridiculous, doomed idea from the start. Finn really shouldn’t stay in untime too long, and even if he could have gotten to New York somehow, it would have taken months and months for him to carry all those people out.

  Unfortunately, Finn isn’t the most practical person in the world. He gets too involved in other people’s pain, that’s the problem.

  Anyway, on that day, when he finally came back, I could see that something inside him had broken. He’d given up.

  He stroked my hair from my face when he saw me, smiled a bit guiltily. He looked surprised to see me, to be honest, and he was shaking, and wild, so I knew that he must have been very far from the mountain, and for a long time too.

  He said, “Katie.” He took my hand.

  I grew up a bit in that moment, because I realised that he’d forgotten all about me. One little girl’s loneliness didn’t weigh up against the agony of thousands of people.

  He sat down, but he didn’t let go of my hand.

  For a long time we just sat like that. On the TV screen in front of us a passenger plane was poised like a huge bomb in front of the tall, shiny building.

  He closed his eyes.

  Time began again. We watched as the second plane crashed into the second building, and everything burst into a sea of flames.

  * * *

  Now the reason I mention this specific incident is because everybody knows about it, but that’s hardly the only horrible thing that’s happened in the last decade or so. I mean, let’s be honest, in many ways the twenty-first century has kind of sucked so far.

  But Finn tried, you know? For years and years and years Finn did his best.

  And the thing is, he did do some awesome things. (Sure, his methods may have been a bit dodgy at times, but he’s only human and we all make mistakes under pressure.)

  And he did it without receiving any tearful thank yous, or shiny medals, or any credit of any kind. Mostly he did it without anybody even knowing about it.

  For example, right, Mom told me that Finn once saved Nelson Mandela’s life. On the day Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as the first democratically elected president of our country, he was shot dead by a mad AWB gunman, right there, on the stage, during the ceremony. Bet you didn’t know that! Nobody does!

  Fortunately for all of us, Finn was there. He’d expected trouble, and he managed to invert time for long enough so that the whole thing could be reversed. He isolated the lone sharpshooter (an ex-recce who’d gone bossies), then got rid of him. And according to the history books, the whole ceremony unfolded without a glitch.

  But have you any idea what would’ve happened in this country if Madiba had been assassinated by a big white guy with a beard that day???

  There are so many other examples I could give you … He did amazing things in the Sudan and the Congo. He was incredible during the floods in Mozambique – people have no idea how much worse the death toll could have been. And Simon told me that during the Rwandan genocide he once saved a whole village.

  He didn’t stay in Africa all the time either (although that’s easier for him because he can drive, which means he can get to places after he’s called untime). If he’d had enough time to prepare, he would fly to a place where he expected trouble and he’d stay there for weeks trying to fix things. He prevented a bomb from going off in Beijing during the Olympic Games, he saved hundreds of civilians in Iraq, and he’s been to Israel more times than I can count … The list goes on and on.

  Actually, when you think about it, Finn is a total hero.

  Only he never thinks about it like that.

  It’s as if he can’t see any of the good he’s managed to do, and only ever thinks about the things he couldn’t stop. Every terrorist victim, every person dying in a natural disaster, every casualty of war, any bad thing that happens anywhere – Finn always blames himself. (Lately he even winces when someone mentions global warming!)

  And the funny thing is I always kind of respected him for that. I liked the fact that he was willing to take on so much responsibility in a world where nobody seemed to care … I just thought that was so cool, you know.

  At some point though, about a year ago, things changed.

  It all became too much for him. It was like there were just too many horrible things, too many crackpot dictators, too many religious fanatics, too much political unrest, too much greed, too much hunger, too many places going up in flames, too many people doing awful, horrible, cruel things, too much poverty, too much suffering. Just too much.

  Or maybe it’s not that things got worse (I do history and, let’s face it, things have always been pretty grim). Maybe he just got tired.

  Or maybe it’s because Simon died, and he felt responsible for that too.

  All I know is that he stopped trying.

  He began drinking, stopped listening to the news, laughed less, began taking stupid risks. He became a caricature of himself: too violent, too cool, too extravagant, too arrogant.

  Mom told me he had issues that I could never understand. That he was suffering. That I should leave him alone.

  And I did.

  But not any more. The man is losing it, and he’s dragging me down with him.

  Enough is enough.

  Chapter 9

  I have to wait until Mom goes to bed before I can go up to the guest floor to find Finn. He’s throwing some kind of party again (I know because the doorbell has been ringing all night), and there’s this unspoken rule that I’m not to go up there while Finn’s entertaining. So I wait.

  At about eleven or so I fall asleep.

  This is what I dream:

  I dream about three children. They are all still really young. Primary school. They are in a dark place, crying. One is a girl with big black eyes who keeps groping around, looking for her teddy bear. The other is a boy who screams for his mom again and again and again. I can’t see the other child’s face, but somehow I just know that she’s in the most pain. There is a shadow in the room. Something big and threatening. I want to help, but within the peculiar logic of the dream I can’t because the room has no floor. Beneath the kids there is nothing but a deep, dark abyss. I turn away, thinking that I will ask Simon what to do. I need to find Simon. I can’t see the children any more but their cries are pitiful. I know these kids are about to be traumatised and hurt, badly and permanently. I can’t find Simon. Nobody will help me. The little girl with the big black eyes is screaming.

  I wake up covered in sweat. I’m shaking. It’s late, too late to go up to see Finn, but I can’t put it off any longer. I’m sick inside with all the things I want to say to him. It’s like I’ll explode if I have to wait even one more minute.

  I get out of my pyjamas, and pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I sneak past Mom’s room and up the stairs.

  As soon as I walk through the huge double doors, I can hear that Finn’s party is still in full swing, and when I walk into the reception area the place is packed. Okay, so these are the kind of people Finn’s been hanging out with lately. Brace yourself.

  There are the usual smattering of models (or actresses or whatever) posing in their bikinis around the pool, looking decorative and brainless and cheap. [18] Then there are some foreign-looking dudes wearing suits and sunglasses (at night), while a few dodgy older people in leather are playing poker out on the balcony and drinking beer. Nice.

  Inside, a group of BEE-type yuppies are complaining about the country while swigging champagne and ogling the models, who are looking fashionably bored. A few people are dancing, and there’s a DJ in one corner, but he’s being ignored by a group of blinged-up wankstas intently watching MTV in one corner.

  Welcome to the Rainbow Nation.

  The music is loud, and everybody seems to be laughing or wasted. (Bunch of morons.) Finn isn’t around. I can feel people staring at me.

  I search for him in the kitchen, the bathroom, the ba
lcony. At first I’m too chicken to look in any of the bedrooms, but I’ve worked myself into such a state by now that I can’t just leave. So I take a deep breath, knock on the first door. No answer.

  I open it.

  The scene that greets me is not exactly what I was expecting: four adults playing Twister. They seem quite nice, very polite, and although they can’t tell me where Finn is, they do invite me to join their game … Which I would’ve maybe considered if, you know, I’d known them better. And if I didn’t mind the fact that they’re all fricken naked.

  I knock on the second bedroom door. No answer. I walk in.

  Boy, don’t I wish I could erase that picture from my brain …

  By the time I reach the third bedroom, I’ve kind of lost my nerve a bit. But I’ve come this far. I knock.

  “Come in, it’s open!” Finn yells from inside.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, open the door.

  Finn is sitting on the bed, cutting white lines of powder with what looks like his driver’s licence. He doesn’t even look up; he’s too absorbed in his task. The lines are laid out on the glass surface of a photograph that he has taken off the wall.

  I know that photo; it’s one of my favourites.

  Two girls are sitting on the other side of the bed, giggling in some European language, drinking Southern Comfort straight from the bottle. They are both dressed entirely in white, and they look familiar, like I’ve seen them on TV or something. A guy with a shaved head is lying flat on his back on the floor, tossing a ball into the air and catching it, over and over. After a second I recognise him as a famous soccer player. A couple of guys in boardshorts are standing around too, trying to look cool, like they’re not only here for the blow.

  Finn is dressed all in black, and with his long hair loose like that, the stubble and his tattoos showing, he looks like a rock star. Even though he’s only making tiny movements I can see his muscles rippling under his shirt. His whole body seems coiled, ready to spring. He looks dangerous, actually (and, curse my traitorous eyes, I can see why women find him so sexy, even though I really don’t want to).