Deep Fried: A Novel

by Beckett, Bernard

  Marcus acts alone. Lucinda follows, and the difference is a matter of instants only. He has my hair, a handful of it at the back of my head, and runs straight past me, pulling up short of the wall and whiplashing my face right into it. The pain spreads out from my nose. Sharp and excruciating at first, broken I would say, and then a dull, blurred-eye dizzyness takes hold. My knees buckle forward. I am vaguely aware that I am reaching behind me, trying to take his hand before he can slam me again. But I am weakened by shock, and terror, and conditioning. I am pulled up tall, my head jerks back, then forward again. This time it is my cheekbone, below my right eye, which takes the impact. And all I can think is there is no one here to say don’t. No teacher, no policeman, no mate to come running in. This is how it is to be alone. I am falling now, down into the carpet. I can hear grunting behind me. Lucinda and Sophie wrestling each other to the ground. Another blow, a kick to my ribs this time. Something cracks.

  I try to make it up on to my knees. I half turn, enough to see the two of them are holding Sophie down. She is the opposite of me, all flailing fury. She has Lucinda’s hair. Marcus steps forward. A closed fist to her face. I hear the impact, see her snap backwards. Marcus turns back to me. This is what violence looks like up close. It is red, and pulsates, and smells of blood. Crushingly common. My hands are up in front of my face, outstretched, pleading. I am on my knees. I am crying. Soon, surely, I will vomit.

  I see Sophie on her back, not moving. Lucinda turns. Both of them are breathing heavily. Lucinda leans forward, sucks in extra air.

  ‘This makes it interesting.’

  ‘Now what?’ he asks.

  ‘Get something to tie them up with. We’ll put them in his room. I’ll call George.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He looks almost regretful, the way a human might.

  ‘It was always a possibility.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. We tried. It’s not our problem any more. Silly little bastard.’

  ‘What are you looking at?’

  I shake my head. Nothing. Nothing. I wasn’t looking at anything. He advances. All that anger. He kept it well hidden. His boot swings up. Everything goes black.

  ‘Pete. Pete. Ssshh. Don’t say anything.’

  Her finger is on my lips. My vision is blurred with tears. I move to wipe my eyes but my hands are tied. A new pain, raw and cutting at my wrists, muscles in on my aching head. We are in my room, sitting against the wall. The curtains are drawn. It is still night. There is enough light to make out Sophie’s face, but not enough to distinguish shadow from bruising. It comes back in fragments. I smell vomit on my shirt, taste the acrid burn at the back of my mouth. Slowly a picture forms. She, Sophie, is no longer tied. She is whispering to me, telling me not to speak, not to make a sound. She pushes my shoulders forward, to get at my ropes. I double over, feel the pulling and tugging, her body leaning against mine. I feel fear. Cold, stale terror; the kind you can only feel on waking to find it wasn’t just a dream.

  There are other pains. My ribs, my knee, my nose. My hands are loose now. I pull the last of the coils free myself.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ I whisper.

  Her finger settles back on my lips in reply. She stands before me, helps me to my feet. We both stand, listening to the silence that expands in the spaces between our breathing. I check my watch and see Sophie glow blue before me. Half past two. She takes my hand, leads me towards the window. I feel safe, a child sheltering behind a parent.

  Sophie gently eases the window open. Cold wind whips into the room, flicks the curtain about my face. The ledge is no higher than my waist. Sophie climbs out first. I hear her feet settle into the garden below. She turns to me, offers me her hand. It should be easy, this, but I am stiff and sore, and frightened. I am half out when the gust rushes past, slams the window back against my head. It’s impossible to tell what sort of noise it makes, my head just rings with the pain of it.

  ‘Come on!’ Sophie urges. I lean out, push the window back, try to bring up my leg, swivel on my arse on the narrow ledge.

  Light and sound explode behind me. A door swinging open.

  ‘Window! They’re out the window! Go round the outside!

  Marcus’s voice, just behind me. I throw myself forward, feel the cold wet ground against my face.

  ‘Get a torch! Who’s got the torches?’

  Another voice, back in the building. Another male voice. A third greets it from somewhere out ahead of us. They’re everywhere.

  I get to my feet, stumble forward, fighting just to straighten. Sophie is ahead. It is all I know. Whatever happens now, it should happen to us together. I follow Sophie.

  We round the building and are blinded by the light of a powerful torch, ten metres ahead, maybe less.

  ‘Here! Round here. Got them!’

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Over here. Go to the gate. They’re turning back. Cut them off at the gate!’

  So we turn back again, rush towards the light. I don’t know why. Sophie does it, I follow. She cuts left, I cut right, we divide around him in the darkness. I feel his hands on me as he dives to make the tackle. I step high, over his reach, hope that thing I feel crunch beneath my foot is part of him.

  ‘Which way?’ Sophie asks. I don’t have an answer. There is a second building, some sort of shed, across the driveway. We head towards it. Our feet hit the gravel. The sound is louder than the wind or the ocean. Other footsteps are rushing our way. A car starts up, its headlights sweep through the drizzle, capture us in their glare. The car lurches forward, the engine revving crazily. Sophie’s face lights up ghostly white. She turns to me, pleading. I don’t know what I have to offer. I don’t know much at all. Only that they will kill us, if they can. Put yourself there, any place that close to death, and you’ll know too. Your heart will tell you, pumping out a final rhythm, drowning in adrenalin. Every nerve, every sense, every muscle will know. And it doesn’t matter what you think in a moment like that, because your body isn’t your own. Your body won’t be ready to die.

  We rush left, and the car adjusts its line. It is almost on us, only a second away from an ending. I tackle Sophie hard, back in the opposite direction, and feel the rush of air as I hit the ground and the tyres squeal by. The car brakes hard. A man screams out in pain.

  ‘Fucken hell!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘You fucken hit me.’

  ‘Back up. Back up. They’re getting away!’

  We are, but away to where? The driveway is blocked. Two of them at least, running in from that direction. How many are there? Where did they come from? Four. There must be at least four. Lucinda was driving the car. I guarantee it. The bitch.

  They’re closing in. A torch, from our right. Five then. We stand frozen in its beam. We’re blocked. I’m out of choices.

  ‘Don’t move,’ a voice booms out. ‘There’s no way out. It’ll be better for you if you don’t move.’

  I look at Sophie. Her eyes are as wide as mine. She knows.

  ‘Take my hand,’ I tell her.

  ‘Why?’ Sophie asks.

  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Keep your feet together and your toes pointing down. Remember to hold your breath. Stretch out and let your body float to the top.’

  ‘Pete, no!’

  ‘They’ll kill us. It’s alright. I’ve done this before.’

  It’s not alright. It’s too dark to be sure if this is even the right place. The tide is different, the wind is driving the ocean in. And with no wetsuits, no light …

  So what do you do? Do you jump, or do you wait for them to push you? I don’t think you know, until it faces you. I don’t think any of us can know.

  My mind is blank. My body is rushing forward, towards the cliff. I have her hand. At first I pull her on, but then she is there, running beside me, and the fear is gone. This isn’t real. There is another place, inside you
r head, where things like this make sense. This is legend. This is a movie. This is fucken Thelma and Louise. We scream, the both of us, as the ground gives way before us. And then, again, all is darkness. Darkness and air, and a free-falling rush, and I am frightened, again.

  The water hits hard. The angle is all wrong, it cracks across my side, opens the ribs back up, slaps my face, but it’s relief I feel as I go under. Water not rock. I’ve taken in water, forgotten not to gasp in at the shock. I want to cough it out. I feel the wet weight crushing my breathing. Not yet. The world has slowed. I must make it back to the surface. Sophie has gone. Somewhere up there our hands let go. I spread out, desperately wanting to kick, swim up, but something in my brain won’t let me. Relax, it says. It’s dark. You don’t know up from down.

  I will die, or I will reach the surface. And there’s nothing I can do, either way. I’m too small. Too unimportant. And if today, I’m given another chance, there are people up above who wish to kill me. And if they fail, if I escape all of this, time will take me anyway, one way or another. This moment of almost going under, it’s a taste. That’s what I think, as I stretch out in the water. I am dying. Now, later, some time. I am tiny. I am nothing. But the rising, choking fear tells another story. Tells me this is everything. I am vast, complicated; way too good to die.

  I feel a tightening at my collar. Something has me. A hand, pulling me on. My mind is a fuzz now, I can’t say what’s real. But I swim with the pulling. Up to the air, down to my death? The surface breaks over me. The first breath is all instinct. I cough, splutter, flail, go under, only for a moment, air again, feel the waves crashing in, pulling me in towards the rocks. It’s her, Sophie, who has dragged me through. I watch the water break over her. Her face pops up, white, searching, trying to swim towards me. I hear shouting up above. Can’t make out the words.

  Another wave comes through. This time I swim on the top of it, feel the surge as it takes me in. The shore ahead is blacker than the night. Sharp shapes rise up out of the receding water. Something slams into my side. A rock. The current takes me under it. I feel my face scraping against shells. This isn’t over. I claw my way back up to the surface, leap at the rock this time, take it by surprise, before it can hit me again. Another breaker comes through but I hang on. Take in more air. Try to regain my senses. Deep breath. Think. I swing my leg up, clamber up so that my weight is spread across the top of the rock. I am numb to the pain, the fear, the possibilities. What is the difference now between me and a dumb animal struggling for its life? Nothing. Not a thing.

  I crawl over the rock, lower myself down the other side. The water is icy, waist deep, but calmer beyond the first line of rocks. Where is she? Where is she? I wade forward, make the shoreline. Feel smooth round stones beneath my feet, moving on the tide, rolling over my bare feet, somehow the safest, friendliest feeling. Stones. Seaweed. Thick, rubbery kelp, tangling about me, and I’ve never felt so safe. The sea is saying goodbye. The sea won’t kill me. Not tonight.

  I collapse on the shore, roll onto my back. Above me the cliff face offers a moment of shelter. I should stand. I should search, call out for her. I will. Soon. Soon. I make it as far as my knees, and I am vomiting. Salt water and stomach juice, whatever I’ve got. Have to stand up. Gotta stand. Then she’s there, beside me, kneeling. Leaning into me. Holding me tight. Sobbing, same as I am. We stay like that. We should move. I know we should move. She knows it too. We will, soon.

  Sophie’s mouth is at my ear.

  ‘We made it,’ she whispers. It’s the sound of her voice that brings me to, kicks the world back in.

  ‘Not yet,’ I tell her. ‘There’s a ladder. They’ll be climbing down the ladder.’

  I stand, take her hand, pull her up.

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Hide. Come on.’

  We run on, stooped. Into the cave. A dumb place to choose. I know it. But I’m not thinking. It’s hidden, and sheltered, and I’m cold; killing cold. We’re both shivering. Pressed together. I look out the entrance. I can see where the ladder is. See the first of the torches making its way down.

  ‘You alright?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. And then we’re silent.

  There’s two or three of them. Two torches. Another stays at the top. We hear the shouting.

  ‘See anything?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Check the rock pools. Even if they didn’t make it, the bodies’ll wash up.’

  ‘Shit, what’s that?’

  ‘Where?’

  Running, past us. I hunch down further, freeze.

  ‘Nah, just seaweed.’

  ‘Stay there. Keep looking.’

  They’re close now. Two of them. Not Marcus, nor Lucinda. I can hear what they’re saying to each other.

  ‘Easy for him to say.’

  ‘What do you think happened to them?’

  ‘They’re fucked.’

  ‘Even if they made it, it’s too cold to last out in that.’

  ‘So where are they?’

  ‘We’re never going to find them with a couple of piddling little torches.’

  From above again. It’s Marcus’s voice.

  ‘You see anything?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You looked everywhere?’

  ‘You want to come down here, do it yourself?’

  No reply. Then, quietly:

  ‘Useless prick.’

  ‘Here, you got a smoke?’

  They light up. It wafts in through the entrance. I taste it on the air. Imagine the warmth of it. I’m going to cough. They’ve got to move soon.

  Lucinda’s voice, up with Marcus.

  ‘Check the cave. That’s where he’ll be, if he’s made it. You’ve got to check the cave. Right through to the back. Then come back up.’

  Sophie squeezes my hand.

  ‘What do we do?’ she whispers.

  I can see the beams of their torches, scanning over the water at the entranceway, looking for a dry passage in.

  ‘There’s another way out,’ I tell her.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the back of the cave,’ I reply, remembering what Marcus told me. ‘There’s a shaft, all the way up to the tops. You can climb up.’

  ‘You think they’ll have someone waiting up there?’

  ‘You think we have a choice?’

  Away from the entrance, the darkness thickens and space loses its meaning. There is nothing. No up, no down, no movement. I go first, one hand out in front, the other holding Sophie’s. I edge forward, centimetre at a time. There’s no other way of doing this. My body guides me. Hand, feet, shoulders. The sides of the cave crush in. A shaft of torchlight cuts across us like a sabre. Immediately we both crouch, hold our breath as it plays in the air above us. Then, darkness again. We move.

  The roof is pressing down now, so that I am forced to stoop, upturned palms just above my head, tracing the dripping smooth contour. I can feel the weight of it, a whole world set on breaking me. But if there is a gap, if it has left me just one gap, I will find it.

  My feet give away beneath me, and I am back in water. Deep enough for my head to go under. I float to the top, treading water. Sophie splashes in beside me. So black, so heavy. I can not explain the blackness.

  ‘What was that?’ The man’s voice bounces around us. I flinch, as if it might ricochet into me, take a chunk of flesh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Up there. I heard something.’

  We have no choice but to swim, and I’ve no idea if we’re running away now, or back towards our chasers. The torch comes again. Over our heads. Illuminates enough to see that ahead is a narrowing tunnel, no more than two metres across, three-quarters full of water. I strike out, while I can still see. The torch flickers off to the side.

  ‘See anything?’

  The voices are closer.

  ‘I think there’s something down this way, behind this wall.’

  The torch again, just behind the last
outcrop. In a moment it will be on us. We both turn in the water, to stare back to where the men must soon appear. There is enough torchlight bouncing down off the ceiling for me to dimly make out Sophie’s face. She signals that we should dive below the water. I nod. Wait. One second more, two. The last thing I see is the torch light exploding through the blackness. I breathe in, drop. Sophie has my hand again. We crouch there, like two kids down at the town pool, locked in competition. I count it out. Time the seconds to the pounding of my heart. Set my goals. I see a narrow beam bend across the water, just above me. Twenty-three, twenty-four … I squeeze her hand. I feel her beginning to rise. It is too soon. I squeeze again, pull her down, even though I am terrified of blacking out. Sixty. I will make 60. We will make 60.

  I let my breath out slowly, even though my lungs are screaming at me to hurry. Regulate the breath in, quiet as I can. Beside me Sophie does the same. The smell again. They haven’t moved. They’re waiting, and enjoying another cigarette. I wait for them to speak, but there is nothing. Are they listening for us? Do they know we’re here? Sophie grabs my shoulder. She pulls me forward in the water, to show that it gets shallower again. We can stand. Now I notice the pain, the aching in my legs. We have to get out of this water. Sophie’s warm mouth presses against my ear.

  ‘Feel that wind?’

  She’s right. There’s a definite breeze, funnelling over us.

  ‘It must be the shaft,’ she whispers. ‘Come on.’

  We wade forward through the darkness, bent double. It’s a struggle to keep my face out of the water. But Sophie is right. The wind is growing stronger. And with it the sound, air rushing past us. And faint though it is, I am beginning to make out shapes again. Somewhere up ahead, light is leaking in.

  ‘Here you go.’

  We are at the end of the water. Ahead of us is a ledge. We will have to climb out and crawl forward on our bellies. Sophie goes first. There is no hesitating, no discussing. Our minds are fixed on a simple goal. Living. Difficult but not complicated. If she is right, this is not a dead end. Some time soon, the weight crushing down on my back, scraping my shoulders as I use my elbows to pull myself forward, will cease.