The Painting

by Ryan Casey

  “Cheers. Now your friend.”

  Donny’s body went rigid. He looked down at his feet. Did he show him the green book? Did he let Reginald speak?

  Reginald cleared his throat and scratched at his beard. “Well, the thing is, my friend… he’s—he’s not chipped.”

  The guard stepped closer to the side of the car again and leaned in, looking over at Donny from behind his tinted visor. “What d’you mean, he ain’t chipped?”

  Reginald coughed. “He’s… he’s second-gen. We’re trying him out first. Officers said maybe in a few years he’d—”

  “Show me your papers,” the guard said.

  Donny was completely still. He needed to do something. He needed to think.

  Reginald lifted the green book off Donny’s leg and handed it to the guard, who snatched it off him.

  Think. Think.

  Donny slipped the skin of his wrist in between the door handle. He wasn’t sure if he was completely insane or not, but he had to try something.

  The guard stared at the green booklet.

  3, 2, 1.

  Donny pushed the door handle into his skin, tensing his jaw as the sharp, cold metal indented his flesh. He held it for five seconds as the pain shot up his arm then let go, slipping his hand back onto his knee. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

  The guard nodded and tossed the green booklet back into the car. “Sorry for any inconvenience,” he said.

  Reginald sighed and smiled, his shoulders slumping. “That’s—that’s quite okay. I understand it’s just protocol.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The guard smiled. “Sir, can I see your wrist, please?”

  Reginald’s face turned. He looked at Donny and flicked his eyes towards the door handle. Donny could see it in his face—Run. Run.

  Here goes nothing.

  Donny lifted his arm and pulled up the sleeve.

  The guard grabbed it and stared at the two-pronged lump in his flesh, a little speck of blood seeping out of it. He held it for a few moments, Donny’s body entirely solid, then let go and nodded his head. “Good,” he said. “You shouldn’t pick at it though, mate. Anyway, sorry about all that. Enjoy your day.”

  He turned away from Reginald’s car and walked back towards his vehicle.

  There was silence in Reginald’s car. Reginald’s jaw dangled open as Donny’s body sunk back into the seat.

  “Pond Green,” the guard shouted, as he opened his vehicle door. “Great place for a picnic. Have a nice day.” He shut the door and drove off into the distance.

  Reginald exhaled and the pair of them sat in absolute silence.

  They didn’t speak for a long time following the run in with the guard. Donny could smell the sweaty tang from Reginald as the man’s hands still shook, gripping the steering wheel. He didn’t want to quiz him about it—he could never be sure how he was going to react. One thing was for sure—he was taking this very seriously.

  It was Reginald who finally broke the silence.

  “That shouldn’t have happened back there. It… it shouldn’t have happened.”

  Donny nodded. “But we’re still here. I’m still here.”

  “Yes, you are,” Reginald snapped. “You are, and you’re a very bloody lucky man. Do you realise how much is on the line now? Do you realise the… the scale of what I’m doing for you? The magnitude?”

  Donny nodded. “Just to the entrance of the woods. Just as far as you need to take me.”

  Reginald tutted. “Too bloody right just to the entrance of the woods. A wiser man would’ve sent you on your way three miles back.” He slammed the eject buckle of his seatbelt and straightened his back out, allowing his flabby belly breathing space. “How did you…”

  Donny raised his arm. A purple bruise was forming on his wrist. “The door handle.”

  Reginald looked at it. “The door handle…” he muttered, taking a mental note of it. “The door handle. Not—not bad.”

  Donny smiled and looked out at the passing trees. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  The road continued onwards. It seemed like they had been driving in a straight line for miles, as if the road was on a continuous loop to nowhere. But Donny could feel himself getting closer. The first thing he’d do when he got back is walk into a pub, order a pint, and ring Sara. He just wanted to hear her voice again. He just wanted to get back, hear her voice, and finish his novel.

  At least he wasn’t short of subject matter anymore.

  “What do I do when we get to the place?”

  Reginald gestured towards the scrunched map on his dashboard. “You follow that. It should take you to where you need to go.”

  Donny picked the map up, soggy with sweat and fatigue after years of use. On it, a red diagonal line cutting past certain ‘landmarks’. A tree shaped like a giraffe, an old barn, Vittoria House. “And it’s somewhere along this route?”

  “It should be. Nobody can say where exactly, but it should be, if what you told me is correct. The place—the place where the painting was painted. That’s Vittoria, an old B&B. It’s renowned for its view, especially in the summer. The Watching probably made it trickier by painting it in autumn.”

  “They painted the painting?”

  Reginald shrugged. “If it’s as big a part of the gap as you say, then it’s likely.”

  The car began to slow down as the road took a slight dip. The trees scraped against Reginald’s car windows, behind which Donny could see nothing but endless darkness. Just follow the path, he said. Might’ve helped to have brought a torch along.

  Inside that dark nothingness was everything that mattered to him, somewhere deep inside and behind the trees. “Why do they do it?”

  “Who?” Reginald grunted.

  “The Watching. Why do they do it?”

  Reginald shrugged his shoulders. “Why does anybody do anything? Fun? We’ve never had the pleasure of asking. Or at least, everyday people like you and I haven’t had the pleasure of asking.”

  Donny sighed as the trees closed in around the car, the woods getting denser and the road growing ever narrower. “How do you know so much?”

  Reginald began to slow the car down. “About what?”

  “Everything. You… you seem to know the ins and outs of everything. It’s like you’re a sort of conspiracy nut but, well, real.”

  Reginald chuckled. “When a man loses his wife to a messed-up chain of events, he does his research. It’s all out there: government speeches, news articles. Everything’s out there. You just have to know where to look and what you’re looking for.” He turned to Donny. “Besides, I was just one of those conspiracy nuts until you showed up.”

  “Your very own Roswell.”

  Reginald shook his head in lack of understanding and turned back to the road, easing his foot on the brake and pulling over to the side, the tires descending into the slush of damp, muddy grass.

  The pair of them sat in silence, staring down the open road. Every few seconds, Reginald took a breath as if he was preparing to say something, and then sighed. This was his life. He’d found his wife again, and she was gone. He had his closure. Now what was left for him?

  “I guess this is it,” he said. He smiled softly at Donny, a glimmer of regret in his bloodshot eyes.

  “I guess it is,” Donny said. “I… I don’t know how to thank you. I wish I coul—”

  “Don’t,” Reginald said, nodding his head. “Don’t. You just take that map and you go into those woods and find what you’re looking for.” He sat back against his seat, staring straight ahead.

  Donny reached his hand out.

  Reginald looked down at it and frowned.

  “Wait, don’t tell me you don’t know what a handshake is either?”

  Reginald opened his mouth in confusion and then broke into a grin. “Course I do,” he said, grabbing hold of Donny’s hand. “Course I do. Now go on—get out of here.”

  Donny smiled and pulled his hand away, opening the car door.

  “I should
say,” Reginald said. “When you get closer to the gap, if we’ve got this right, you’ll know about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see things. You’ll see things more vividly than you did on your way here. It… it might not be pretty but you’ve just got to stay strong. Stay strong and stay focused. If you let them get to your sanity, then you’ll let them get to you full stop and you’ll never get out of here. You got that?”

  Donny smiled and saluted in acknowledgement. “Got it. Thanks.” He started to close the car door.

  “And one more thing. If—”

  “Get your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”

  Donny froze. He wasn’t sure where the voice came from. It seemed to come from all directions, all at once, but he could tell from the shift in Reginald’s eyes that he was behind him.

  “I won’t fucking repeat myself, fallout piece of shit.”

  Donny’s stomach sank as he placed his hands behind his head, his pulse pounding in his skull. As he did, something pushed him down to his knees and up against the side of the car, pressing his head against the glass. In the mirror, he saw him clearly, and he saw what it was that was pushed against his head.

  “That’s it,” the guard said. “Stay on your knees. Old man, you drive away now. I’m a reasonable guy so I’m going to let you just drive and pretend none of this ever happened.”

  Reginald’s eyes were wide, his entire body static in the seat of the car. He held his hands in mid-air. Donny could see his chest rapidly rising and falling as his mind struggled to make the decision.

  Just go. Just go.

  “Old man,” the guard said, throwing Donny’s face into the side of the car again. “I won’t ask you again. Get out of here. You know what they do to fallout sympathisers like you in prison, huh?”

  Instead of driving away, Reginald remained frozen in his seat like a portrait. Why didn’t he just go? He needed to get out of here. He’d got him this far.

  The guard tutted and threw Donny onto his back. “Fucking ridiculous. You stay there,” he said, pointing the gun at him. He stepped around towards the car door and swung it open, stuffing the gun into the side of Reginald’s head. “Are you going to get out of here or am I going to have to make you? Huh?”

  Donny couldn’t see what was happening as he remained on the floor, but he knew what he had to do. Reginald had got him this far, but there was nothing else he could do for him now. It was either both of them dead, or one of them dead. Both of them, or one of them.

  “I’m going to count to three, and you— Oi, come the fuck back here, right this minute!”

  Donny ran. He wasn’t sure where he was running to or how fast he was running, but he was inside the trees and inside the darkness. His heart thumped and breathing rattled as he hid behind a tree. He could still help Reginald. He could go back for him and help him.

  When he turned round, he saw Reginald on his knees, the guard holding the gun to his head.

  “I’ll give you five seconds to get back here or your friend gets it. After everything he’s done for you, you won’t let that happen, huh? You’re going to come back here.”

  Reginald’s eyes were closed but he could see his body shaking. Fuck. What did he do? What could he do?

  “Five.” The guard smashed the gun into the side of Reginald’s head. Reginald cried out as blood trickled to the ground upon impact.

  “Four. Three. You’re gonna let this happen? You’re gonna let him die here?”

  Donny took a step from behind the tree.

  “Two.”

  Him or both of them.

  Sara. The novel.

  He needed to get back.

  “One.”

  He turned away from Reginald and ran further into the darkness as quickly as he could. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

  When he heard the bang echoing through the trees and the muffled voice of the guard, he knew it was done.

  He wasn’t sure where he was running to but he just kept on going.

  The sound of the gunshot echoed in his mind. Reginald’s shaking body, frozen to the ground, eyes tightly shut with the inevitability of it all.

  His body shook with adrenaline. He should have saved him. He should have gone back and he should have helped him, after all the help he had given him.

  But what good would that have been? Either Reginald died or they both died. It wasn’t an easy decision to make but it was one he had to. One of them or both of them.

  He panted as he sprinted through the darkness of the forest, the trees closing in on him. Branches scratched at his cheeks like witches’ fingers, desperate to keep him trapped in this world. He looked down at the map, squinting to try and determine his path, but he knew he’d been running for too long to make any comprehensible sense of it. He was on his own, and he’d have to just hope he stumbled upon one of the landmarks.

  Hope.

  He hadn’t heard the guard for quite some time. After the shot, he was running too quickly to make sense of anything. The guard muttered things, shouted out to him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. None of it mattered. He was done with this world.

  After what felt like an eternity sprinting through the forest and stumbling over loose logs, he came to a halt, resting his hands against his knees and leaning forward. He stared up and looked around. He could only make out the trees surrounding him, and they all looked the same. A slight breeze brushed against the leaves, the branches dancing and teasing his eyes. He was lost. He was lost, and he had no idea how to get out.

  He fell to the floor and backed up against a tree, the soft ground underneath him seeping through his trousers. The sun attempted to peer through the thick carpet of leaves above, but it was losing the battle. He pulled the map to his face, Reginald’s red pen twisting upwards and to the left to form a path. The landmarks. A giraffe-shaped tree, an old barn, and Vittoria House. If he found the giraffe-shaped tree—if he could just find any of the landmarks—he could focus on getting back. He could find his way from there.

  He dropped the map to his side and let out a sigh. If he’d just listened to his family and gotten himself a proper job, none of this would have happened. He’d be at home right now, or maybe at work, sat in an office sipping watered-down coffee and over-cold water. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

  But he knew the answer. He couldn’t be normal because that’s not the life he wanted. He wanted adventure—he wanted discovery. He just wanted to prove to everyone who had spent years doubting his ambitions that he really could do it.

  If he got back, he’d have that chance, finally.

  He opened his eyes and took a deep breath in. He wasn’t sure what made it stand out initially, but there was a light peeking through the trees a few hundred yards up ahead, as if there was a passageway for the sun to work its way in. He looked down at the map, squinted for some sign, and saw it in the upper left corner: the picture of the sun, little squiggly arrows symbolising the light. This was it. He was back on the path.

  He pulled himself up from the mushy ground and jogged over to the light, wincing as he struggled to get his breath back. According to the map, the spot of light was just to the west of the giraffe tree, just south of Vittoria House. A knot tightened in his stomach as he stepped into the light, surreal in its presence. Not far to go. Just a little further.

  He stared up at the tunnel of light as it bathed his skin. There was a circular hole cutting right through the leaves of the trees, like a subway passage to the sky. He held his arms out and let the light engulf him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Almost home. Almost home.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw the movement just up ahead.

  A twitching and rustling in the leaves, just for a moment, but long enough for him to realise. He tensed the muscles in his eyes and tried to see what it was—but it was gone before he had the time to register it. He heard something to his left: just the breeze, just the breeze. The crooked branch
es of the trees cut through the air, twisted faces in the sides of the bark.

  You’ll see things, Reginald had said. Stay strong and stay focused.

  Donny took a deep breath. Stay strong. Stay focused.

  He took a final glance at the map before stepping out of the warmth of the light and back into the eerie darkness of the forest.

  Almost home.

  The forest grew thicker the deeper he got into it. He must be close now, but he wasn’t moving as fast as he could as the trees edged closer together, forcing him to squeeze past their thick bark, mangled roots trying to worm their way around his feet.

  There were no sounds except for his footsteps, the occasional crackling of branches as they fell from trees, the wind brushing against the leaves above. No birds, no animals—just his footsteps.

  And then the other footsteps.

  He froze when he heard them, the tension in his stomach mounting. He turned around, tried to make it out, but he couldn’t work out which direction they were coming from. Just stay strong, stay focused.

  He tiptoed through the trees and moved onwards. Things moved in the corner of his eyes. He tried to ignore them; tried not to look at them. If he could just—

  Crack.

  The unmistakable sound of a branch snapping in two somewhere behind him. He lunged his body around—nothing in sight, the darkness impeding his view. He squinted and tried to get a look as something twitched in in the distance. No—nothing twitched. Just his mind’s eye. Just the forest and the visions playing games with him. Stay focused.

  When he turned back round, he saw the figure standing in front of him. It had its back turned; its head facing the ground. It was wearing a long, black cloak. Donny blinked a few times as his throat went dry and the muscles in his stomach tensed up. It’s not real. You’re not seeing this.

  But when he blinked, it didn’t disappear. It stood there, facing the ground, as if it was waiting for someone or hadn’t noticed him. In the distance, he could just about make out a fence. Could it be…? If he could just get around the figure. If he could just sneak around, and…