‘What about the photo?’ I asked. ‘The one of you and your mother.’
‘She isn’t my mother,’ said Fox automatically. ‘I don’t have a mother.’
‘Then why do you carry it around?’
He paused, the lines in his forehead growing deeper. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered at last. ‘I – I found it. Tucked inside the pages of Les Miserables. And as soon as I saw her … I knew her.’
‘So you assumed she was your mother?’
Fox let his breath go whooshing out of his chest. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘She is. I know she is. I feel it.’
He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled the photo out, gazing at it, his face full of sadness.
‘Sometimes I imagine that I was a normal kid,’ he said softly. ‘With her. That I grew up in an ordinary house with an ordinary family. My mother baked cakes and bread. There was a garden full of flowers. We had a dog, called Barker. I’d play in the garden, climbing trees and finding birds’ nests. Barker and I would run through forests. I’d throw sticks for him. At night, my mother would tuck me into bed and sing to me until I fell asleep.’
My heart was breaking for Fox. He had seemed so full of joy when I met him. So at peace with his life. But now I could see it was just a mask he wore. Behind it, Fox was longing for more. Longing for what could have been.
‘What do you think happened to her?’ I asked, turning the photo to see the pencil words scratched on the back.
‘I don’t know,’ said Fox. ‘I … can’t think about it. Let’s talk about something else.’
I pressed him. ‘Have you tried asking someone? Lib, or even Zosimon?’
Fox shook his head. ‘How can I? They’ve always told me I don’t have a mother.’
‘But everyone has a mother.’
Fox folded the photo up and tucked it back into his pocket. ‘Not me.’
I remembered the wild, broken look in Maggie’s eyes. What if that happened to Fox?
‘When does the next work rotation start?’ I asked. ‘It’s been forever since I asked. I want us to be together.’
Fox coughed out a sharp laugh devoid of humour. ‘That’s never going to happen.’
‘Why? Why can’t we be in the same work team?’
He bit his lip and hesitated for a moment. ‘Because I’m not in a work team.’
I stared at him.
‘I work with the Monkeys,’ Fox said. ‘I look after them, in the Monkey House. Make sure they are clean and safe and have enough to eat. It’s what I’ve always done.’
‘But Lib said … Zosimon said …’
‘They said it to make you stop asking. They want to keep us apart.’
‘But why didn’t you say anything?’
Fox’s face was miserable. ‘He told me not to.’
I didn’t understand the control Zosimon had over everyone in the Institute. He was compelling, yes. But how did he inspire so much fear and awe?
‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ I told him. ‘You don’t have to stay here. You can leave. You can have the house, and the garden, and the dog. And me. We could leave together. We could make that home together.’
Fox looked away. ‘No,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘That can never happen.’
‘Of course it can,’ I said. ‘I’ll look after you. We’ll look after each other. I promise.’
A flash of anger passed over his face. ‘You don’t understand. If I walk out that gate, I’ll vanish. In a puff of smoke. It will be like I never existed. You won’t be able to look after me, because there won’t be any me to look after.’
His voice was still low, so that no one would hear, but his cheeks were flushed, and tears stood out in his eyes. I reached out a hand to him, and he flinched away. He clenched a fist and slammed it onto the concrete floor, making me start in shock. Fox’s face collapsed into misery and rage.
‘Without this – without him – who am I? I’m nothing. I don’t exist. You can go back to your old life. This is all I have. All I am.’ Fox thumped his chest with each word, his face blotched red and white. His words came out as silent, choking screams.
I sat frozen, unable to respond. His raw pain frightened me, reminded me of the intense sadness I thought I’d left behind. And I finally realised what it was that drew me to Fox. It wasn’t his dreamy optimism or his innocence. It was that he was broken, like me. That was our connection. We recognised each other on a deep, painful level. And I knew in that moment that we could make each other whole.
Through the curtain of his sandy hair, Fox noticed my expression, and his shoulders slumped.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice normal again. He pushed his hair back from his brow. ‘I should never have brought you here. I should never have talked to you.’
His words took me aback. ‘Don’t say that,’ I said. ‘You saved me. Without you, I’d be nothing.’
Fox turned solemn eyes up to my face. ‘Without me, you’d be free.’
‘I am free,’ I said. ‘I’m here because I choose to be. Because of you. Because I choose you.’
Fox’s eyes wandered away from my face, settling on the stained carpet. ‘They all say they chose it,’ he said, his voice hoarse and small. ‘They all believe it. Until they don’t, and by then it’s too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maggie chose to come here,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I told him. ‘And she chose to leave.’
‘Did she?’
His words hung in the air, and the uneasy feeling from earlier returned, making hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I didn’t know what Fox was implying. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
So let’s leave, I wanted to say. I wanted to grab his hand and sprint out of the building, across the gravelly driveway and through the gate, away into the night. But I didn’t want to upset him again.
‘Shhh,’ I said, gently reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead. I used the corner of my sleeve to wipe away his tears and then, hesitantly, leaned down from my bed and kissed him on the mouth.
I was crossing a forbidden line. I knew that. But this wasn’t about the urges of the body. This was different. This was one friend comforting another.
Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and I knew it. But I kissed Fox anyway.
And he kissed me back. Slowly at first. Slow, gentle kisses that melted away his tears and my doubts.
It was a kiss. Just one kiss. Then we’d stop.
We didn’t stop.
Fox scrambled up onto his hands and knees, and climbed onto the bed beside me, his hands reaching out to take mine. He leaned forward and we kissed again, a deeper kiss that made my whole body pulse with desire.
I knew that if I fell much further, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
I pulled away, and it was like pulling an industrial strength magnet from a steel bar. My whole body thrummed, and my heart was racing.
‘Fox,’ I murmured. ‘We’re not supposed to …’
He drew back from me, his eyes wide, pupils large and black and still glistening with tears. ‘Do you want to stop?’ he asked. ‘If you want to, we will stop. But I don’t want to. Do you want to stop?’
I took in his dishevelled hair, flopping over his forehead. His wild eyes and kiss-stained lips. In my fantasies, I’d always been the one pushing Fox towards sex. Teaching him about pleasure and desire. But this Fox wasn’t the Fox from my fantasies. This Fox knew what he wanted, and it only made me want him more.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to stop.’
Fox slid his hands into my hair and cupped my face, leaning his forehead against mine, his breath panting sweet and heavy. I pulled him closer, sliding my hands up under his shirt to feel his chest, his ribs, his spine. My mouth sought his out again, and we tangled together, hot and aching.
‘Ruby,’ Fox whispered against my lips. ‘Ruby.’
It had been days since I’d heard my real name. It wa
s like coming home.
‘How can anything that feels like this be wrong?’ murmured Fox. ‘Don’t you feel it?’
His lips were at the base of my throat, his fingers unbuttoning my nightgown. I’d spent weeks listening to Zosimon’s lectures about denying the body. I’d tried to follow his instructions, tried to control my urges and needs. It felt good to let that go. To touch and taste again. To want.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Yes.’
He peeled away my nightgown as I pushed his tunic from his shoulders. His skin against mine was overwhelming, simultaneously calming and searing hot.
We shed the rest of our clothes and lay pressed against each other, skin on skin. We explored each other with gently brushing fingers and lips that grew hungry and fevered as we rose on a wave of incandescent need. It wasn’t holy or pure. It was messy and awkward and sweet and real. My questions and fears and doubts all fell silent. This was right.
I’m not sure how long it took me to realise that we weren’t alone. But when I did realise, I pulled away. My lips were swollen and every atom of my body ached and buzzed for Fox. But it was all drowned in self-conscious confusion when I saw Zosimon standing in the doorway, illuminated by the fluorescent light of the corridor. As my eyes adjusted to the harsh whiteness of it all, I saw his expression. It was a curious mix of disappointment, disgust and rage.
Fox and I sprang apart and fumbled for our clothes. I felt my cheeks flare red. I glanced at Fox, expecting to see my own embarrassment mirrored on his face. But I saw something else entirely. I saw terror.
‘Daddy,’ whimpered Fox, hunching over like he was trying to make himself smaller. ‘Daddy. I’m so sorry. Please, Daddy. Please forgive me. Please. Please.’
Zosimon turned his back on us.
‘Follow me.’
12
Zosimon led us down the corridor past a series of dingy storerooms. I’d never been there before – Lib had told me that the area was off limits, that the rooms were dangerously dilapidated. He led us down another corridor, and pushed open a heavy metal door. A great waft of stale mustiness enveloped me, and I glimpsed a dark empty room, not much bigger than a cupboard.
‘Get in,’ Zosimon said to Fox, his voice expressionless. ‘Wait for me there.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I get that we broke the rules, we’re sorry, okay?’
Zosimon ignored me. Fox, still hunched over and small, slunk into the room. He didn’t look at me.
Zosimon pushed the door shut with a deep, booming clang, and led me further down the corridor. The fluorescent lights plinked on and off overhead. Everything smelled of damp and dust. We reached another door and another room, identical to the one that Fox had entered. Zosimon ushered me inside, flicking on a single bare light globe, and shut the door behind us.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘Let me explain.’
Zosimon drew back his hand and struck me across the face, hard. I recoiled in shock. His expression remained calm.
‘I’m so sorry it’s come to this,’ he said, his voice almost pleasant. ‘You have so much promise. I really hope we can work this out.’
I stared at him, speechless, my hand pressed to my cheek.
‘Your behaviour is unacceptable,’ Zosimon went on. ‘I realise you’re still adjusting to life here with us. But you must understand that the rules have to be followed. If I made an exception for you, then I’d have to make it for everyone, and our peaceful little family would crumble.’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Let us go. Me and Fox. You’ll never hear from us again.’
He hit me again. One of my teeth sliced into my cheek and I tasted blood. Zosimon shook his head. ‘You don’t want that,’ he said. ‘You see, you’re still a toxicant. That’s why you behave in this way. Your body is still bound to the earth, choked with toxins. I don’t want that for you. I care about you too much.’
He kicked out at my shins, knocking me to the ground. My wrist took my body weight and twisted painfully.
Zosimon bent over me, pulling a roll of thick tape from his belt. He tore off a strip and pressed it roughly over my mouth. I tried to cry out, but my nose was running blood and mucus, and I could barely breathe.
‘You must think of your brothers and sisters,’ said Zosimon. ‘Do you want them to suffer too? Your words poison the air. You will contaminate the others, and I’m afraid I just can’t have that. You. Must. Be. Elutriated.’
He kicked me with each word, again and again. With every kick he told me I was dirty. That I was polluted. Toxic. That he was disgusted by me. I felt my bones bend and my flesh tear. But Zosimon’s expression remained mild, as if we were having an ordinary conversation. I closed my eyes and whimpered under the tape, hoping that if I submitted it would be over soon. I remembered the crazed look in Maggie’s eyes, and her trembling words.
I know who you are. I know what you did.
Eventually I realised that he had stopped, the light had been turned off, and I was alone in the small damp room. Dimly, I heard a voice. I tensed. Was Zosimon coming back?
Then there was a scream, a scream that unmistakably came from Fox.
I tried to get up, so I could pound my fists on the door and demand that Zosimon beat me instead. But my broken body refused to move. I lay there and listened to Fox, my mouth straining against the tape in my own silent howl.
Then there was silence.
There were no windows in the little room, so I had no idea how much time had passed. My stomach started to cramp from hunger, and my full bladder ached. I groped around the room on hands and knees until I found a metal bucket to urinate in. Then I shuffled to my feet, my limbs aching and tender, and tore the tape from my mouth, ripping off a layer of skin that left my lips raw and stinging. I banged on the door and yelled at the top of my lungs. I used every swear word I could think of – hurled insults and slurs against Zosimon and Lib and everyone else in the Institute of the Boundless Sublime. I told them I’d contact the police, that they’d all go to jail. I screamed until my throat was raw.
Nobody came.
I couldn’t see my body in the darkness, but I could feel the swelling and imagine the bruising. My wrist was definitely sprained, and I knew I had a black eye and a split lip. Breathing brought on a jagged, rasping pain in my chest, which I thought could be a cracked rib.
I was stuck here. Nobody from the Institute was going to come and help me. And nobody else knew where I was. Had Mum stopped looking for me?
A great, shuddering fear clawed its way into my throat as I realised there was a very real possibility I could die here, in this tiny musty room.
What had I done?
It all seemed so clear, in the dank, dark basement. The Institute wasn’t the answer to the meaning of life. The Institute was a cult. Zosimon was the typical charismatic leader – compelling, mysterious, appealing. And totally full of shit.
He wasn’t thousands of years old. He didn’t subsist on sunlight and oxygen.
There was no such thing as sublimation, or the Scintilla. Everyone up there, slaving away – they were all brainwashed. Deluded. Wasting their lives for a charlatan.
For a moment, I’d almost believed it. Zosimon had offered me a way out, a light at the end of my tunnel of grief. He’d offered me peace. Purpose. A reason to keep fighting.
And he’d offered me Fox.
Zosimon had dangled Fox in front of me like a ball of yarn in front of a kitten. He’d tempted me into his lair, and slammed the door behind me. But why? Had it been some kind of a test? If so, it was clear that I had failed.
Sometimes, if I closed my eyes and held my breath, I could hear sounds from beyond the room. The hum of activity as the world went on, totally oblivious to what was going on inside the walls of the Institute. Birds flew overhead. I heard cars swooping by, and the rhythmic beeping of a truck reversing. Sometimes I’d hear a snatch of music from a car radio, or the faint sounds of someone’s voice talking on a mobile phone. How could people just walk by? Drive their cars down the
street? Didn’t they know? Had nobody ever wondered what went on behind the high concrete walls?
There was no light in the room, but I had some idea what time it was by the sounds from outside. When I heard the strains of song and laughter, I knew it was evening, and Family Time was taking place without me. Without us. Had anyone noticed that Fox and I were missing? Did anyone care? Surely they’d be worried for Fox, even if they didn’t care about me.
When the noise of Family Time died down, I curled up on the floor against the wall and tried to sleep, my bruised body slipping gratefully into unconsciousness.
Nobody came for me the next day, or the day after that. I found a leaking pipe running down the wall that dripped water. I licked it eagerly, desperate to quench my thirst. It tasted like rust. On the third day, I started to sing. I beat rhythms out on the walls with the palms of my hands and sang everything I could think of – the National Anthem, Top Forty hits, nursery rhymes. My fingers flitted over the damp walls, pressing invisible keys, playing and playing until my fingertips bled. I played Rachmaninov’s Prelude in G minor and Mendelssohn’s Rondo Capriccioso in E major. I pounded the walls with Prokofiev’s Suggestion Diabolique and thundered away at Lecuona’s Gitanerías. I played Tori Amos and Metallica and Lorde and Taylor Swift.
I filled the room with music, so I didn’t have to listen to the silence.
But eventually the dead air smothered my music, wrapping its fingers around my throat and forcing my songs back down into my chest. I curled up on the floor and listened. Listened for the sound of Fox nearby. Of Zosimon coming to release me. Of anyone. Of humanity still existing.
I thought about Maggie, her fist gripping the hilt of the knife. Was this where she had disappeared to? No wonder she’d gone crazy. But they let her out eventually.
Hadn’t they? Fox had said something, back in my room. Something that suggested that Maggie hadn’t chosen to leave the Institute after all.
Had they brought her back here after the incident with the knife? Was this where dissenters were sent, to starve and shiver and rot, as outside vegetables were planted, floors were scrubbed and meals were doused with salt?
The Boundless Sublime Page 15
