The Mute and the Liar

by Victoria Best

  People tend to run away from their captors, Alicia.

  “She doesn’t look so good to me. Maybe we should take her outside.”

  Why aren't you trying to run away? Why are you trying to find Jayce?

  “Erm, Tyra? Are you forgetting we have better things to be thinking about? Like, oh I don’t know, where Jayce is?”

  You’ve got that Stockholm Syndrome thing, or whatever it’s called.

  “He’ll come back for goodness’ sake!”

  You’re mistaking the fact that he hasn’t killed you yet for kindness.

  “He’s already been gone four hours!”

  He never cared about you.

  “What are you sniggering at over there?”

  And you didn’t care about him either.

  “God I hate her. Just laughing to herself, pretending she can’t talk, acting like she’s the dog’s bollocks. She makes me sick.”

  He just made you think you do. He's just got inside your head.

  “Go on. Say something. Go on; speak. I know you can. We all know you can; we just play along with your stupid game because we feel sorry for you.”

  Come on, Alicia. It's time to run away now and forget about him.

  “That’s why Jayce is obsessed with you. He’s always been the type to stroke the strays on the street. And you’re the filthiest bitch I’ve seen by far.”

  I.

  “If you act like a dog, you’re just going to get treated like one. So speak.

  Speak, dog! Speak!”

  AM.

  “Speak or I'll cut your tongue out!”

  FREE.

  “Let her go.”

  *****

  It’s Jayce. Without even thinking, I feel my mouth curve into a smile.

  I felt awful earlier. It felt like everything was spinning and all the blood was rushing to my head at once. I guess it’s just the alcohol, but now I have seen Jayce, the world seems to be falling back into place. There is no more spinning, no more heaviness in my mind.

  Powerfully and purposefully, he marches right up to Kaylie, raises his arm in one fluid moment and strikes her across the cheek. The sharp, cymbal sound slices right through the music. The movement naturally forced her head to the side but instead of straightening up, she keeps it there, looking down at the ground and refusing to meet his eyes.

  Jayce pauses, just panting for a moment, then suddenly raises his arm up again, about to strike her once more. She holds her hand up to shield herself.

  Her hand is attached to her phone, an old Nokia phone, one of those blue sliding ones with chunky buttons we’ve all had that you could crush in an avalanche and, Jesus-like, would just resurface completely unscathed.

  Jayce snatches it out of her hands, rolls it in his palms and holds it up to the light His eyes narrow and his lips sink into a frown.

  In a hushed voice, he slowly asks: “How did you get this?”

  Kaylie’s confused, increasingly worried expression mimics mine perfectly.

  “The phone? I found it in my bag earlier today. Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “You found it in your bag. You found it in your bag?” he strings out every word with anger disguised as bemusement. “Like Hell I’m supposed to be believe that!”

  “Jayce, what’s-”

  “It’s you!” he accuses. “You’re the one who’s been sending me all the texts and instructions. It’s been you from the start!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking-”

  “Don’t play dumb! I’m not an idiot! It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?” “Jayce!”

  “If it’s not you, then tell me how you have Becky’s phone!”

  “Becky? Who is Becky? Jayce, really, I swear, someone put this in my bag earlier today. I don’t know-”

  “Shut up!” he shrieks. “How could you do this to me?” He breathes heavily for a moment, then his face softens, almost in an attempt to believe her. He turns his attention back to the phone. He fiddles with the phone, and then stops. I lean over his shoulder to get a better look. He’s opened a video.

  He clicks play.

  It’s a blurred video so it’s hard to see exactly what’s going on. Half the screen is black, and it takes me a while to realise that this is because something is in the way, blocking the camera’s view. This is strange, because there doesn't seem to be any solid object there. The more I look at it, the more it looks like the camera is actually filming from the inside of a coat, meaning this video is being filmed in secret. The other side of the screen is a stark and brash white. It’s the inside of a very well-lit, alarmingly clean, almost blinding room. I can make out objects – a small dressing table next to what appears to be a bed cloaked in white sheets.

  I focus on the bed and understand why it took me so long to define the shape as a bed – there is someone lying in it.

  “Good evening, Jeffrey,” greets a rough, low, male voice speaking from behind the camera. I can’t tell his age by the sound of his voice – it’s low but has a slight softness to it. The figure on the bed moves at the sound of the voice, and appears to struggle against the weight of his own body, but proves to be too weak. “Don’t try to get up. You’ve got some pretty bad injuries there. How are you feeling?” Although the words are sympathetic, the tone of the speaker’s voice is anything but.

  The figure on the bed slumps back, welcoming the command to not try and get up with relief. His brief attempt to struggle has left him in a different position though, and I can now see that he is an unrecognisable, skeletal- cheeked teen boy and, even more worryingly, that the top of his head has been wrapped in bandages.

  “Who… Who are you?” he manages to choke out, his voice frail.

  “Oh, I’m no one important - but you are.” I notice the low-voiced speaker has a very slight accent – it tints the occasional word and I notice he rolls his ‘rs.’ “You became important the moment you looked at that girl in the Abbey. “

  The Abbey?

  These words stir something in the boy and he struggles again, only has now become empowered with some mad force and manages to push himself up.

  I gasp.

  It’s impossible.

  This can’t be happening. He’s dead. He’s dead!

  He’s dead!

  But it is. It’s him. Jeffrey.

  “Alicia? Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “She’s perfectly fine, no thanks to you. Don’t worry about her; she is in safe hands. So what am I going to do with you then? You have caused me so much hassle. You could have ruined everything, you know. You tried to take her from me… from Jayce.”

  Jeffrey looks above the camera, presumably right into the face of his visitor.

  “He’s going to kill her,” he says steadily, straight-faced and eyes narrowed.

  “Not unless I tell him to.”

  “Did you tell him to try and kill me?”

  “You won’t die. You are important, and importance is immortality, Jeffrey. That is why all humans crave it. Only important people can live forever.”

  The video ends there.

  And although I'm so happy Jeffrey is okay, I get the feeling I've entered a distorted world where dead people don’t stay dead.

  Chapter Twenty

  So it’s Kaylie? Kaylie is the one pretending to be Becky and manipulating Jayce? But she looks absolutely horrified.

  It can’t be her - she genuinely doesn’t seem to know anything about this, like she doesn’t understand a thing Jayce has just accused her of. She tries to say something but it trails off into a whimper. And why would she do that? She practically worships him – I seriously doubt she would do anything that would put him in danger. I remember Nick saying on the way to Kit’s house that Kaylie had been so worried about Jayce she had visited their apartment throughout the day. This just isn’t something she would do.

  But then again, Becky does keep spewing all this “we’ll be together soon” rubbish. I guess I can’t rule out the possibility it’s
her – after all, the evidence is against her. Those messages were definitely sent from Becky’s phone, and, the fact is, she has the phone. If it’s not Kaylie, then it’s someone who is doing a very good job of framing her.

  I don’t know why I was so scared of her. She looks so hunched over, so small now, pathetic even. Owl-like eyes attempt to plead with Jayce and desperate whimpers spout from her quivering lips every couple of seconds. The right words seem to have knotted themselves around her tongue; she’s just left to stand there frozen and stunned in the headlights of Jayce’s white- hot glare.

  He looks like he’s about to scream – he almost does but his left hand jumps across his mouth just in time. He starts trying to take deep breaths, but his body shudders with every breath. It’s a struggle against himself – he does whatever he can to stop himself lashing out at her, from squeezing his eyes shut so tightly the rest of the world must be tumbling away into shades of scarlet and amber, to trying to vacuum- pack all anger into his clenched fists.

  After a long pause, Jayce takes another breath, the deep, lung-filling kind you make when blowing up balloons. Through gritted teeth, he tells her in a forced-steady voice: “you disgust me.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulder, yanks me around and marches me through the crowds, still clutching Becky’s phone.

  Stumbling and struggling to balance, I find myself leaning into him for support. My body feels too heavy, my feet too light. I thought I was better now, but it seems the alcohol is still hitting me hard.

  We finally reach the cool, soothing night air outside. I almost feel like I can breathe again, when Jayce lets go of me far too quickly and turns to face me with those disappointed eyes that are cursed with a shrinking power – they shrivel me right down to insect size. I suddenly become very much aware of myself, of my surroundings, of my ridiculous, skimpy dress and the fact I am currently being spotlighted by a streetlight.

  I pull the dress down and fold my arms. He keeps staring at me. I just wish he’d look away.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Alicia?” he finally says. “Jesus, I leave you for a few hours and I get this! I thought you were better than this. I’d put you down as smart and responsible and what do I get? Why did you go off with Ryo? You’re just as stupid as the rest of them.”

  I move to step back but my feet still aren’t calibrated with my mind and my knees cave in. So strongly expecting to fall, I’m surprised when I look up to see I’m still standing somehow.

  It’s because of Jayce. He’s grabbed my shoulders, keeping me standing, keeping me safe.

  “Alicia! Are you okay?”

  I find myself straying in the beautiful worry in his eyes, before I remember that this is all just an act, some way of making me stay with him.

  “Oh my God. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.” Pressing his palm against his forehead in agitation, he lets go of me and edges backwards.

  We start walking again, but this time we don’t stop. We walk and walk and walk until every bone in my legs screech in protest. My head droops heavier and heavier with every step, the edges of my eyesight ebb out leaving the world framed in a soft glow like borders on a postcard. Everything around me blinks and unfocuses.

  And then I don’t walk anymore; I just hold onto him.

  We eventually reach an area of Bath I remember we saw yesterday, near Pulteney Bridge, that overlooks the River Avon, now as black and still as marble.

  “Do you know what I find weird? The fact you can’t work out that case. You know, the one that made you start writing in the notebook.”

  My case. My impossible case.

  Woman approached the police station early this morning and demanded to be put in prison on account of murdering her husband of fifteen years. She handed them the gun she said she used and she was arrested. The police visited the house and found the dead body.

  I know why I can’t solve it.

  It’s a part of me. It reminds me of things I don’t want to think about. It makes me feel things I rather wouldn’t.

  He looks at me like he already knows. I should stop getting surprised by that: he knows everything. With great hesitation, I hold my breath and begin writing.

  Her daughter.

  “Her daughter?” he widens his eyes in surprise, apparently expecting something entirely different.

  She had a teenage daughter. She must have killed her father. Maybe he hurt his wife and she just wanted to stop the suffering. And now her mother is taking the blame for her.

  I just about manage to write all that with my throbbing headache and shaking hands. It’s some kind of miraculous achievement, and I feel so proud of myself until I look up and see Jayce giving me some foreign, intangible half-smile I can’t translate. There’s an echo of amusement in his eyes.

  “Maybe. But maybe not,” he says softly and looks away towards the river.

  “Your theory seems a little too open-and-shut, a little too simple. I don’t think that’s what’s really going on here.” I bet he loves this, I bet he feels all high and mighty trying to tell me I'm wrong. I don't think I am. I haven’t been wrong before.

  “Right now, you’re looking at it through very black eyes. You’re looking at it in the typical detective way. You’re saying: ‘it was definitely a murder, but it can’t have been the wife because she admitted to the murder and that just doesn’t happen, and so it must have been the only other suspect, the girl.’ But has it is ever occurred to you that a crime can actually be done for good? There are two ways of looking at everything.”

  Every crime doesn’t have to be… bad. You don’t… you don’t see that. You understand logic, but not heart.”

  “There’s this story by Fletcher, merciful murder, where a group of people, including a mother with a baby is in hiding. The baby keeps crying, so she has no choice but to kill it in order to save her group from being discovered and killed. She did that out of sacrificial love for the good of the whole group, just like how people might sacrifice themselves in an overloaded lifeboat to prevent it from sinking. Sometimes things just need to be done for... for the greater good.”

  The greater good? As in, a crime done for a good purpose? I don’t understand how that’s relevant and I can only look at him puzzled.

  “Sasha’s obsessed with this idea about the sacrificial suicide. He’s got it into his head that Becky… Well, that doesn’t really matter,” he shakes the idea out of his head. “Anyway, I may well be wrong, but if you ask me, I’d say the woman in your case killed her husband out of love. The same reason as the woman in Fletcher’s story.”

  “Euthanasia. You got me interested in the case and I did some digging around. Found out he’d been seeing a counsellor for ten years. Schizophrenic. I reckon he’d been asking for death for a long time.”

  His words settle for a moment. I don’t want to believe him. It sounds ridiculous, impossible. How could I have missed all of that? And not only has he worked out my case, he’s also worked out the mystery of my mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I really don’t know anything about people.

  But why would the woman admit she’d done it? Why not just make it out to be a suicide or something?

  “Because not everyone in the world is a liar.”

  There is a pause, a shift in time, a rhythmic parallel of thoughts and breathing and understanding. It’s nearly over. He’s already stitched the fabric together and there are no more threads left. But I don’t want my case to be solved. I don't feel ready to start a new one yet.

  Finally, I put my mind to paper and voice the one question haunting me from the very beginning.

  And why are you committing a crime, Jayce?

  He smiles and strokes my cheek.

  “Because there are two ways of looking at everything.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We watch the river. Right in the distance there is a silver pool of light where the moon is reflected. It would be a peaceful, serene image, if it weren’t shattered by the sudden sounds of siren
s.

  “They’re here already. I hoped I would have more time.” What’s he talking about?

  Alicia.

  I must be going mad. I could have sworn someone just called my name. It’s all this alcohol. All this spinning. All this not knowing.

  “I wish you could understand.”

  He suddenly puts his head in his hands and begins breathing deep and fast, exactly like yesterday. I lean in closer to him instinctively.

  He softens for a moment, rakes in a breath and speaks again, this time keeping his voice steady. “I’ll be fine. It’s just… it’s just another p-panic attack.” He rests his palms on his knees, steadying himself, but his fast breathing continues. He tries his breathing mantra: inhaling four breaths, holding for two, and then exhaling for another four, but just ends up out of breath again and gives up.

  I want to tell him everything will be okay. Put my arms around him. Do something.

  Alicia.

  There it is again! Someone’s definitely calling my name.

  “You must be so special. They’ve come to rescue you,” he breathes, looking out into the distance. I keep shaking my head. It’s all I can do.

  What’s going on?

  He ignores my message and keeps looking in the distance.

  “What makes you so special, Alicia?” his voice leaves his mouth quiet and broken. I notice his breathing has steadied now and almost back to normal. “They didn’t come for Becky. Not when she needed help.”

  I finally write the one sentence that has been screaming at the top of my thoughts since the beginning.

  Tell me the truth!

  “The truth? You’re asking me to tell the truth? It was telling the bloody truth that got me here in the first place. You want the truth? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you don’t like what you hear.”

  *****

  “My Dad dealt drugs. There you go, there’s the big Cobalt Family secret, cue the Eastenders’ theme tune. He didn’t do it because we needed the money; we were loaded. He just got mixed up with the wrong people.