“Hey, Ellie? You all right?”
“Yeah, all good, thanks, Maurice,” I say with a wave, not bothering to turn back. Ginny and I are on first name basis with most of the bouncers we see around the various clubs. It’s nice. They look out for us. Fortunately, both Maurice and Adam believe I am okay and don’t bother to follow me.
I stumble past the couple of stragglers loitering out by the front entrance, taking a few steps down the alleyway alongside the club. The cool night air feels good on my face. I suck in a deep breath. Bass rumbles out from within the Zone.
There is a brief second of peace, where I think things might be okay. It is only momentary. They are coming for me. The bad thoughts. The insanity. I take a few more steps, struggling on the uneven concrete in Virginia’s borrowed heels. There is nothing out here. It is all in my head.
Two hands grab me from behind, making me jump. They wrap around my torso, hugging me. It’s Virginia. I rest my head against hers and struggle against the wave of emotion surging in me.
The four of us stand around under the harsh fluro lights of the 7-Eleven, passing around chips and chocolates and sipping Slurpees. I don’t dare look at my watch. It’s early, I know that. Very early. However, I’m okay for now. And that’s all that matters. Maybe I need to live here, outside the 7-Eleven forever. In this moment.
Buckley turns towards Virginia and me, stretching his arms upwards. “Come on, El,” he says with a yawn. “Home time, babe.”
The spell is broken and immediately I panic. He’s right. It’s time to go. Well past time actually. But home… Bile creeps into my throat. Sweat breaks out across my brow, despite the cool. My head swings around towards Virginia.
“Let’s keep going…”
The suggestion takes everyone by surprise.
“Just you and me,” I add to Ginny before anyone gets the idea to come with us. This is unfair on Virginia and I shouldn’t be doing it to her. She shoots Buckley and Bear a look ripe with discomfort.
“I… umm… I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“So? When’s that ever stopped us before? Come on! Please!” I do my best to sound enthusiastic, except it comes off as pleading and desperate. The unexpected development perplexes Virginia. I’m trading on our friendship, banking on the fact she can’t say no.
“Ummm… I guess.”
I smile happily and turn away. I can feel the three of them exchange looks. I don’t care. Temporary relief is better than none.
We end up at Drove simply because it’s about the only thing open this time on a Tuesday night. Drove is aimed at hospitality people mainly, so runs on a different schedule to most pubs and clubs. The music is crappy and commercial, but the place is open. The DJ moves and grooves in his booth, trying a little too hard. Even at Drove only the stragglers and the dedicated remain.
Virginia dances away in the middle of the dance floor, losing herself in music she doesn’t really care for. I loiter around the fringes trying as hard as I can get into it. I only succeed in bobbing up and down on the spot like some bloke who has never seen the inside of a club before and would rather never have left the bar.
A couple of the men who are here see the two of us, alone, and assume we’ve come to meet them. It feels weird being out without Bucks or Bear. Bear is like our own personal security. The idea he might be with one of us off generally scares away any advances, wanted or unwanted. However, whether Bear is around or not Ginny is well practised at fending off male attention and has things down to a fine art. Turning away and making it clear she has no interest in them. Lucky there are no real creeps here. No one is too persistent.
Every now and again I see Virginia peek in my direction, trying not to be seen. I pretend not to notice. She is worried about me and wondering what the heck we are doing here. And I love her all the more, for being here, for coming along.
Sharon’s face tightens into a disapproving look. “What were you hoping to achieve? With a night out like that?”
“Achieve?” I parrot, narrowing my eyes. Sharon doesn’t clarify, leaving me to guess as to her meaning.
“Have you ever been out clubbing?” I gaze into Sharon’s stern, wrinkly face. “I mean, not now obviously. When you were young. Younger.” God, I sound like a complete bitch. I hold my hands up to say ‘Do over’ and try again. “Let’s say you went to a friend’s house. Dinner with friends. There is no agenda there. You would simply be going out for dinner. You wouldn’t be trying to achieve anything.”
Sharon takes her time with her response. “You have recently been involved in a serious car accident. Your very presence here indicates you are far from fully recovered, mentally at least. I know your doctors have told you rest is by far the best thing you can do to aid your recovery. And yet you decide to stay out all night, drinking in a loud, smoky environment. Even the most ardent club-goer couldn’t possibly suggest this to be restful.”
She is pretty clever, Sharon. She’s managed to skewer both my current and past choices in one concise putdown.
“Clubbing is not so bad.”
Sharon shoots me a quizzical expression.
“Everyone always looks down on clubbing, like it’s a terrible thing to do. Everyone. You tell people you go clubbing and they look down their noses at you. Except other people who go clubbing. Actually, even them sometimes.”
I am skirting the issue. We both know it. I sigh. “I felt as though I needed a night out.”
“How could you possibly need that?”
It takes a couple of seconds for the words to form properly in my brain. “I have these photos stuck up around my monitor at work. Me out and having fun with my friends. Fun nights out. These nights are fresh in my memory. So fresh I feel as though I can touch them. And yet they are gone. Vanished. I guess I was trying to replicate one of those nights.”
“Why?”
“In the photos, Old Ellie, she looks so happy. So carefree.”
“Old Ellie?”
“Yeah, Old Ellie.” I take a deep breath. “I feel as though I’ve been split in two.” I hold up my left hand. “There is the person I was, up until the accident, Old Ellie. And there’s the person I am now, New Ellie.” I hold up my right hand to aid in the demonstration.
“All I want is to be old Ellie again.” I shake my left hand. “That is all I want. And nothing I do seems to work. The night out was an attempt to force it. To make myself into Old Ellie again.”
“Why? Why try and force anything?”
“Because I’m scared.” I can feel the tears forming, but I plough on regardless. “I’m scared I’m going to end up as New Ellie forever and I hate her. She is timid and awkward and stupid and she never knows what to do or to say. Resting and sitting around isn’t helping.”
5
The Uber streaks through the empty city streets. We are late enough that the few night people braving a Tuesday night out have gone home, while we are too early for people to be headed to work.
Our Uber driver fits our evening perfectly. He wants nothing more than to finish his night and get home, just like us. No fuss. Ginny and I have had plenty of laughs with wacky Uber drivers in the past. All that seems like a different life.
I watch the reflections of the lights flicker on the rain-soaked bitumen, particularly enjoying the random splatters of the green and red created by the traffic light reflections. The long, abstract, zig-zaggy patterns are beautiful and only exist because of the combination of rain and reflected light in the darkness. The elongated greens and reds so striking and vivid. This should fire up my mind. I should be thinking how to use this at work or in some art at home. Maybe it’s enough to enjoy it for now. Maybe that’s progress.
Virginia reaches over and takes my hand. I smile back. The gesture is overwhelming. I want to cry and talk and tell her everything. Instead, I focus back out the window and try to recapture the good feeling from observing the reflections of light.
We sneak into Virginia’s place as quietly as we can. The master bedr
oom door is wide open. Bear lies sprawled on the bed, half covered by a sheet. Fast asleep.
Virginia watches over me as I settle in the spare room. I have crashed here more times than either of us care to remember, so there is no need for her to hang about, yet she does all the same. Her face switches between kind compassion when she knows I’m watching and concerned observation when she thinks I’m not.
I want to tell her not to worry, to go to bed, but I can’t.
“Sure you’re okay?”
I nod and come up with the best smile I can manage. She gives me a hug and leaves.
It wasn’t a lie. When she asked I was okay. The moment she’s gone I’m not.
Soon after the rest of the house is dark and peaceful. Bear’s fish tank bubbles away, purple UV light glowing ominously. Apart from that everything is quiet.
I lie in the spare bed, alternating between staring at the walls and forcing my eyes shut tight. Neither helps me feel any better. There’s something about sleep — the harder you try to find it the more elusive it becomes. Sweat peppers my brow, at odds with the slightly chilly room. Sharp pain stabs my chest, getting worse with each second that passes. The pain is intense enough to make me concerned I am having a heart attack. I’m not. Logically I am all too aware the pain is all in my head. The knowledge doesn’t help.
My eyes hurt from being squeezed so tightly. I can’t open them right now. The pain in my chest extends my breathing. The urge to cry is ever-present. I want to stay completely still, yet I also want to jump up and run away. Run where though? There is only one place left to run. Besides running anywhere will mean I’ll have to open my eyes.
Breathe. Relax.
This is ridiculous. I’m being stupid. Maybe I just am stupid. There is no pain in my chest. No reason I cannot breathe. Nothing to be scared of.
I open my eyes finally. They are drawn to the wardrobe. The door is ajar. My heart pounces into my throat. I know before I see it. There’s something in there. Someone. A face stares out at me.
I gasp and look away. Contradictory logics fight inside me. I know there is no one in the wardrobe. There can’t be. It’s not possible. Yet, I know what I just saw. I tell myself it was just a trick of the light. My imagination. That I’ll look back and they won’t be there. I force myself head in that direction, to prove there is no face in the wardrobe. Except there is and when they move their eyes flicker in the light.
And I run.
Now Bear and Ginny are both sprawled across the bed and I feel awful for Ginny. She has a hard day of work tomorrow, which will only be made worse by being overly tired. I kept her out half the night, now I’m about to wake her when she has only just got to sleep. Except she must not be quite asleep just yet because she sees me approaching the bed and switches on the bedside lamp.
“Ellie…” she says groggily.
“Can I sleep in here with you?”
“Umm… Sure.” She prods Bear. “Bear.”
“Umngh?”
“Ellie wants the sleeping here.”
“Cool.”
He shuffles his enormous frame over fractionally. We wait, but that’s it. Virginia pokes him again and uses a sterner voice. “Bear.”
“I moved over…”
“Get out.”
It takes him a moment. “Oh, right.”
He gets to his feet and for a moment I worry he is going to topple over. He rights himself and stumbles out, too sleepy to notice my pleadingly apologetic smile. I lie down very close to Virginia, facing her. My face still hot, my hands still clammy.
“You need to sleep, babe,” she tells me, gently stroking my cheek. I know she is right and close my eyes. Some time passes. I can feel her rhythmic breathing gently tickling my nose. It’s reassuring.
“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll be okay.” I hear her whisper softly.
“Decide to do about what?”
“Bucks. If you guys split — “
“I’m not.” I want to make my response sound absolute and definite. As absolute and definite as I feel. “We are not.” It’s the best I can do.
“Okay.”
I close my eyes again. Drowsiness toys with me, elongating time. At some point I feel Virginia give me a soft kiss on the forehead. Not long after sleep thankfully arrives.
6
Early morning gloom festers as I wander to work. This sleep thing is a vicious cycle. Bad as the mornings feel normally, they are worse after limited sleep. Yet the physical act of trying to get myself to sleep is terrifying and exhausting.
My path from Virginia’s to work is a mixture of bike paths and roads, including negotiating a lengthy concrete underpass. As I approach the underpass, I stop. Something isn’t right. Nothing feels right at the moment and yet this is worse somehow.
I peer into the concrete tunnel and through to the light beyond. A number of large puddles cover the ground, fresh from last night’s rain. The underpass never drains well. The puddles will have to be negotiated. Hardly cause for concern. Should I go a different way? Avoid the underpass altogether? I try and calculate the extra distance and time this would cost me, before swiftly deciding I am being ridiculous. There is nothing to be scared of. I stride into the underpass breathing in a calm, deep fashion.
The bad feeling accompanies me the whole way in. I move faster, splashing up water as I step through the expansive puddles. About halfway I realise this is a bad idea. A very bad idea.
I glance about nervously. I am not alone. There is something in here with me, even if I can’t see it. I bolt, running through as fast as I can.
The morning sun pokes its way through the clouds, causing my office façade to glow and hurting my eyes. I arrive with no desire to go inside. Simple things aren’t simple any more.
The morning drags. I struggle through, determined to actually get some work done today. Work shouldn’t be a problem, no matter how I am feeling. I pointedly ignore the back corner of the office with the water cooler. Luckily I planned ahead and filled up a bottle at Virginia’s, so I have no reason to venture down there.
The office is suddenly swept into a commotion, which can only mean one thing. My boss, Jill, is back from her latest overseas jaunt. Jill has a reputation of being an absolute tyrant. Most of my fellow workers cower in her presence and yet she has always maintained a strong affection for me. She employed me before she should have, before I was ready, seeing something of herself in me. Ever since I’ve been fast-tracked. Something of a protégé. Although I am aware any favours I might enjoy with her are fickle and dependant upon quality work.
Jill approaches, her rolling suitcase thundering across the floor.
Ness steps out in front of her. “Ms Stephens… How was your flight?”
“20 hours on a plane, genius, what do you think?” She indicates to her case. “Take that to my office. Get me a coffee.”
Jill rolls her eyes at Ness as she scurries away. “People always think I’m flying business class so it must be great. Flying is flying.”
I have never flown anything except economy, so I keep my mouth shut.
Jill pinches Ness’s seat and adjusts her flowing mane of bright red hair. “How you doing, Ellie?”
I smile and nod. Jill doesn’t see, already preoccupied with her phone. “God, it’s good to have you back. Look at these dumbos.” She waves a hand around vaguely to indicate my co-workers. “Not a brain cell between them. So, are you fully recovered?”
Why? What has she heard? What does she know? I shouldn’t be surprised. No matter where Jill is in the world, she always has her eye on the ball. Fortunately, she keeps talking before I have to come up with a response. “You’re the office battery, Ellie. Your energy lights this place. It hasn’t been the same without you.”
A broad grin crosses Jill’s face, quickly followed by a flicker of doubt. Whatever the responses she was expecting I’m not giving them to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m good,” I force myself to say. It comes o
ut a little too eager.
“Good…” She studies me, not buying it. “Good.”
Her phone rings, dragging her away. Thank God. I was likely to wilt right there and then under her stern gaze. Jill’s back. Great. Just what I need, even more pressure. Things can’t stay like this. They won’t as long as Jill is about. I focus back on my monitor.
“Come on, come on.”
Even with this added pressure I can’t seem to mount the effort to do any productive work. That sand continues to slip between my fingers.
“Sand?” Sharon asks with a quizzical expression.
“Sand. My life feels like wet sand.”
Sharon has no idea what I’m blabbering about. “Your life feels like wet sand?”
“You know when you go to the beach and you try to pick up the wet sand and it slips through your fingers? You can’t hold it. The sand all just slips away. The tighter you squeeze, the quicker it oozes out. That’s what my life feels like right now, although not as pleasant. Sand slipping through your fingers at the beach is quite a pleasant sensation from memory. This isn’t. My entire life is slipping through my fingers and if I don’t get a grip soon, I’m going to lose everything — my job, my friends, my life.”
7
There are particular odours that have very distinct, identifying characteristics. Odours that Andrew has become adept at recognising. Fear is one, although the odour is most likely more an excess of adrenaline than any actual fear smell. An abundance of blood another. Andrew couldn’t describe the specifics of the smells to anyone else, but to him, they are quickly recognisable and generally provide a good first warning sign.
Right now the pungent stench of both reaches his nostrils as he waits on the crowded train platform. The previous service was cancelled, and there are people everywhere. How many are legally allowed to fit on the platform? The city is becoming increasingly crowded, yet the infrastructure doesn’t get any bigger. Usually, the overcrowding would frustrate Andrew. However, with the whiff of blood and adrenaline in the air, he is more than happy to have no space. Crowds make things easier. They didn’t always, but they do now.
Glimpse Page 3
