Revival

by Rebecca Sherwin

  Envelope I shadow. Cast a shadow over.

  Follow and observe closely and secret.

  Someone who encompassed ever definition of the word had slipped into our lives…

  April 22nd, 2012

  Benton Wright was born in London and lived in Brixton with his mother, Mary, and his father, Patrick. At four years old, he was the only witness to the brutal murder of his mother, suffered at the hands of his father, and Patrick fled, taking Benton with him. Benton was admitted to hospital fifty seven times in ten years, managing to stay off the social services list. He slipped through the loop in the system; another child who would never be protected. At seventeen, Benton snapped and killed Patrick. A body was never found, but upon investigation, the blood of both males was found in various areas of their basement flat in Beeston Hill in Leeds. The case went cold; with no sufficient evidence to arrest and charge Benton with murder, he remains a free man. Benton, known as Benny, is a well-respected member of Archer’s semi-professional team, based in Shoreditch, East London.

  Christ. Another online blog post, using the same words, just in a different style and order. But the bottom line was that Benny had suffered and I had read enough. I closed the window on my computer and pinched the bridge of my nose. Poor kid. His mother was killed by his father. He beat her with his bare hands until she lost the will to fight back, and Benny had to watch the whole thing. I couldn’t imagine how terrifying that must have been, being a scared little boy with no power to stop the death of the woman who carried you, birthed you, nurtured you and loved you. And then to suffer the abuse yourself, and not know when it would be your time to die. It explained a lot; why he fought with so much rage, projecting the pain onto his opponents because he was finally the one in control. And it explained why he couldn’t accept a loss gracefully; it must have reminded him of all the times he was overpowered by the man who created him. I felt bad for him, I had the urge to help him, but I pushed the thoughts aside. He wouldn’t accept help, and wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that he needed it. I knew how that felt.

  I was sitting in my office, on a Sunday, in an old t-shirt, baseball cap and sweats covering legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. Jamie had kicked my ass every day for the last week. We hit some free weights and calisthenics, all of it successful in pushing my body and clearing my mind. My physical and mental fitness was better than I expected, and now I had work to do.

  I wanted to hit the school tomorrow and I wanted to research the offices Ollie mentioned in his journal. I wanted to make a dent in the mission and I wanted to do it tomorrow. I knew my time was running out; Charlie was going to hit Nina again and I couldn’t let that happen. I felt like I was being pulled in a hundred directions and there just wasn’t enough of me to go around. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to do it. I had to hope I was.

  The offices on Baker Street didn’t tell me much; each floor was the base for a different company – a chartered accountants, solicitors, financial and debt management services; an insurance company and property investment firm. Nothing hinted at any connection between this building and the factory. I bookmarked the website for the offices and emailed myself the link to get back to later. I had to find a connection between the offices and the factory because, unfortunately, I’d be going back there. I had a feeling it held the most answers.

  I sat back and stared at the papers. Nothing made sense. Ollie talked a lot about feelings; more than any man I’d ever known. He was a frightened boy when he began his journal and as it continued, it became more apparent he became an angry young man, frustrated because he just wanted the answers he deserved. I had to get in his head, to feel what he felt. I had to experience it all and the only way to do that was if I…

  I packed up my things, pulled on my sweatshirt and left the building.

  ***

  “Curtis!”

  Lois threw herself at me, caging me in as strongly as her little arms would allow. Her small, barely five foot frame was dwarfed by mine as I hugged her back, careful not to break her.

  “Mind if I stay the night?” I asked, stepping into the house with her still around me, squeezing like she was testing if it was really me.

  “Of course you can. Your room is exactly like you left it.”

  “Thank you. It’ll only be one night, I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

  “You can stay as long as you’d like, Buddy.”

  I smiled softly. I loved Lois, my Daphne-lookalike aunt. I realised how much I’d missed her as I followed her through the house. I missed home, too. It calmed me; a sense of belonging washed over me and I questioned why I didn’t escape to this place more often. Because it was the lesser of two evils. I shook my head, refusing to allow the sombre thoughts to take over.

  We stepped into the living room and my eyes fell on my uncle, sitting on the sofa with his body hunched over the coffee table.

  “Curtis.” He mumbled a disgusted hello and began collecting up his work.

  “Going somewhere?” I asked, spotting his passport under a folder he scrambled to snap shut.

  “Phil is going to Thailand for a week tomorrow.” Lois answered for him, while he continued to look at me as if my very presence was poisoning the air he breathed.

  “Are you going with him?”

  “Not this time.”

  Good. I let out the breath I was holding, relieved.

  “Don’t worry,” he eyed me with a smug smile. “I’ll be back.”

  He shoved past me, the corner of his folder nudging me in the arm. Lois and I watched after him – I exercised far more restraint than I wanted to. For Lois – as he stepped into his study and slammed the door.

  “He becomes more of a dick every time I see him.”

  She smacked the back of my head with a conflicted sigh, and I followed her to the kitchen. She pulled on her oven gloves and reached into the oven for her pie dish, so I helped by taking the peas off the hob and draining them in the sink.

  “Smells good,” I hummed, inhaling deeply and salivating as I tipped the peas onto the three plates Lois laid out.

  “You always liked my fish pie.” She bumped her hip onto the top of my leg and spooned out the pie. “What do you eat at home?”

  “I don’t, really. If I’m not eating out, I have a sandwich or something.”

  “Curtis!” She flicked her spoon in my direction and I laughed, grateful for the training I’d had as I dodged the bits of mashed potato that flew at me. “That’s not good!”

  “It’s pointless cooking for one. And I'm too busy to spend hours in the kitchen.” I grabbed two of the plates and moved to the dining room. “Besides, it means I’ll enjoy your pie even more than usual.”

  “Lucky for you, I have seconds. And thirds.” She laughed, the cheery sound, becoming increasingly tight and uncomfortable as she passed the dining room to knock on Phil’s study and wait to be called in. I heard hushed voices and then Lois came back in and took the seat opposite me, a forced smile on her soft face.

  “Everything okay?”

  “You and Charlie don’t eat together?”

  Whoa. Lois was deflecting. She never used to do that.

  “No,” I replied, shocked.

  “So you’re what? Friends with benefits?”

  I forced a laugh, trying to ease whatever discomfort had crept up on Lois.

  “Something like that.”

  “Disgusting.” She winked and flicked a pea across the table at me.

  “I’m a single man. I need something to fill my spare time.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” She raised her hand to end the conversation. “Pour the wine.”

  I reached across the table for the wine Lois had paired with the pie and poured us both a glass.

  “Phil doesn’t want any?” I asked, noticing the third glass on the empty place setting.

  “I’ll take it to him.”

  “No.” I pushed back from the table and grabbed the bottle and glass. “I’ll
go.”

  Lois watched as I crossed the room and headed to the study just down the hall. I didn’t bother knocking; I opened the door and Phil sat up from leaning in front of his computer when I walked in. Lois’ dinner sat on top of the printer neglected.

  “Your wife thought you might like a glass of wine with your cold dinner.”

  I kicked the door shut and tossed the bottle and empty glass onto the desk. He sat back in his chair and stroked his chin.

  “Did she now?”

  The coolness in his voice made my skin prickle. Lois deserved so much better than the man sitting in front of me. It was lucky that there was a large mahogany desk between us and that I, for one, cared about the woman sitting outside.

  I bent over the desk and lowered my voice.

  “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I’ll make you wish you’d never met her.”

  “That’s an awfully big threat, boy.” He smirked, amused and challenging me further.

  “It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned and left.

  Lois was silently picking at her food when I returned and gave her shoulder an apologetic squeeze when I saw the ashen look on her face. I’d caused that. I’d made things worse for her. At least he was leaving in the morning. I knew I was going to stay for the week, to try and figure out what was wrong here. I was adding another ton to the load I bore, but by God, I’d protect Lois, too. I owed her that much.

  “Want to watch a movie?” I asked when we had finished dinner and cleaned the kitchen.

  “Good idea. What shall we watch?” She smiled, far more excited than someone should have been, for something so simple. My heart clenched with sadness. And guilt.

  “I haven’t watched a movie in years.”

  Since the last time Skye and I spent the night on the sofa in Geoff’s gym watching Goldfinger.

  “Go and choose something and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

  Her eyes glistened with barely-contained emotion. She needed a few minutes. I knew the feeling.

  “No sugar. It keeps me awake at night.”

  “You got it, Buddy.”

  I offered her a comforting smile and went to the living room to choose a movie. The DVDs were arranged in alphabetical order – Phil’s doing, no doubt – and I didn’t search beyond B before pulling out a Tom Hanks classic.

  “Big?” Lois nodded in agreement and joined me with two cups of tea in her hands, a bag of popcorn under one arm, and a blanket under the other.

  “Yeah.”

  We curled up on the sofa with the blanket and Lois snuggled up to me like I used to do with her until I got too big and we switched positions. She needed comforting; comfort and company. She was miserable. Something had happened to my hot aunt. I put my arm around her shoulders and held the popcorn between us.

  “Every wish there was a magical machine that could make you a kid again?” Lois asked as Josh Baskin popped his coin in the machine at the fairground and wished to be big.

  “No,” I answered without thought. “I hated being a kid.”

  “You haven’t had it easy, have you?”

  “No. But neither have you.” I smoothed her hair back and held her a little tighter. “Now, watch. Magic doesn’t exist and this is my first movie night in years.”

  I woke up in the morning to an empty house. I laid in the single bed and looked around at the room that gave no evidence that a kid lived here once. The walls were a pale blue, painted when I first moved in, and they were almost bare. The only pictures that decorated the room were those of Lois and I on our various outings; days at the seaside, afternoons playing football in the park; the day we went to London to choose my Christmas present in Hamley’s - the year Lois broke the news that Santa wasn’t real. And then there was a picture of my parents in the hospital together, holding a bundle of blankets between them with a newborn Curtis wrapped somewhere inside it. I wished I remembered them; my mother, Maggie, Lois’ older sister, was an angel. An angel with long braided hair and pale pink lips; her eyes were the same dark brown as mine and she was stunning. Lois used to tell me stories about her and I wished I could have known her, and known the beautiful soul that Lois said she had. My father, Michael, was a fireman, and Lois had never once in my entire life, said a negative word in the same sentence as my father’s name. He was a hero; he walked into burning buildings to not only provide for his family, but to save someone else’s. I looked like him, too. Without the smile. Lois said it was my mother who gave him his smile and it was one of a man who had everything he wanted.

  I missed them every day, or at least the idea of them. Was it possible to miss something you never really had? Something you never really knew?

  Being here took me back years, to when I was a kid, desperately wanting to wake up viciously ill, so I wouldn’t have to go to school. I had the same feeling now; I didn’t want to participate in life. Maybe I did want to go back and be a kid again. I knew I’d do a hundred things differently.

  I heaved myself out of bed, went through the motions of having a shower and getting dressed for the day. I dressed somewhere between smart and casual – grey suit trousers and a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up – I didn’t know which role the day would need me to play. I looked down at the ink on my arms, remembering every session I’d had to get it. Turning my arm slowly, I looked at my name, willing it to prepare me to fight, like I had been the day I got it. I forgot to pack a razor when I threw some clothes in my bag in London, so I scraped my hands down my prickly face, took a look around the room and headed downstairs.

  Lois wasn’t back from driving Phil to the airport when I left the house and folded myself into my car. I drove to the school – a place that held so many haunting memories and made me feel like a lonely child all over again. I clutched Ollie’s journal in my hand and hooked my aviators into the opening of my shirt, trying to keep my emotions in check as I pulled open the door to the main reception and stepped inside.

  “Can I help you?” the little old school secretary asked, peering over her rectangular spectacles.

  “I need to see Mr White.”

  She looked down at her diary. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but he knows me.”

  “Name?” she muttered as her eyes rose above the top of her desk with a scowl.

  “Curtis Mason.”

  “I know that name.”

  “I figured you might.”

  She narrowed her eyes as she studied me, but recognition was void from her features. I knew I bore little resemblance to the boy I had been when I attended school, but I prayed the years had been kind to me. Judging by her continued assessment, I wasn’t so sure.

  “One moment, Curtis.”

  I walked around the waiting area while she called Mr White and I waited for him to come out. School had the same smell, the same sound of children talking and the raised voices of frustrated teachers pleading with them to listen. The same photo hung by the entrance – a picture of all the students. I was in my last year when Ollie and Skye started. We’d been in the same school for a whole year, passing each other in the halls, queuing up next to each other in the lunch line; sitting metres apart on the grass, soaking up the sun, and had no idea.

  Ollie had started his journey by that summer – I could tell by the way he wasn’t looking at the camera, distracted by his thoughts and worries and his need to protect Skye. She was facing the camera, but looking up at her big brother. Even then, at just eleven, he was a few inches taller than his twin. She adored him, worshipped the ground he walked on, and the pain of his death hit me all over again. I was close to doubling over and begging the guilt to leave me be, when a loud bellowing voice cut into my bubble.

  “Curtis Mason.” Mr White whistled, stopping next to me. “Look at you.”

  I turned and offered my hand. “Mr White. Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “Please, call me Barry.” He t
ook my hand and shook it firmly.

  “Barry White?”

  “The irony isn’t lost on me.” He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling like the feet of crows. Man, he looked old.

  “How are your vocals?”

  “Tragic,” he laughed and I followed his lead, letting him set the level of formality between us. “Cats die, car alarms go off, children cry.” He laughed again. Why did I remember him being a tough nut to crack? He didn’t seem that way now. “Coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks. Black, with sweetener.”

  “My usual and a black,” he ordered to the secretary and beckoned me to follow him into his office.

  It was exactly how I remembered it and I thought back to sitting in this very room with Geoff and Lois; the day my life hit a turning point and changed forever.

  “So,” Barry said, sitting back in his chair, one hand tucked under his arm and the other stroked his grey stubbly chin. “What brings you here?”

  I crossed one leg over, resting my ankle on my knee and gripped the arms of the chair. I said nothing as the secretary stepped in and set our coffee on the desk between us. I thanked her and waited until she left.

  “Oliver Jones.”

  His lips curved down and he blinked rapidly as he pondered, “I’m not sure I remember the name.”

  “He died a few years ago. He was a fighter. He had a sister, a twin, called Skye.”

  “Ah, yes. She was in my chemistry class. Poor girl almost set the lab alight with a Bunsen burner.”

  I rolled my eyes with a smile. Skye was always awkward; it was one of the things I loved about her. Focus, Curtis.

  “Yeah, I’m here about Ollie.”

  “Beth was in your year, you know?”

  “Beth? Their sister?”

  “Yeah, smart girl. She’ll be here on Saturday.”

  My trembling hands reached for my coffee and brought the cup to my lips, hoping for some composure, to find my equilibrium.

  “What’s happening on Saturday?”

  “We’re having a reunion in the main hall. You should come.”