by JA Huss
HERE DUDE FUCKIN HERE THEYRE
That’s the text that comes through as Liam’s phone vibrates in my hand. Shit. Fokken hell, man. He’s here? Here here? How? And is Christine with him? And what does THEYRE mean? “They’re about to catch me?” I have to assume that’s what he was intending to write, because the one sound that I desperately wanted to keep from hearing today… I hear.
Gunfire.
Automatic gunfire.
What have you fokken done, Danny?
Well, it now seems I don’t have a choice, do I?
I reach under the bed to grab for the rifle and make my way out to see just how kind fate actually is, and when I do… Liam grabs my wrist.
He moans out something that sounds like, “Mr. van den Berg?”
Kak, fok, piss. Why couldn’t you just have stayed asleep, boy? He’s leaving me no choice. He’s grabbed my free arm, so with the arm that’s holding his rifle, I turn the barrel toward his stomach, hoping that I can just tap the trigger and put him away swiftly. As opposed to making a freight train of noise and lighting up the whole room in the process.
But just at the very moment that I’m about to apply pressure on the firing mechanism, he moans, “Are you safe, sir? He said to keep you safe.”
I am not usually distracted in a moment of crisis. One of my greatest superpowers is my ability to maintain my focus. But I have to be honest, I find that statement attention-getting.
“What? Who? Who said to keep me safe?” He doesn’t respond. “Hey, man! Eyes on me! Who said to keep me safe? Safe from what? How did I get here?”
It is a heightened version of our usual script. And, just as usual, I get no satisfactory reply from him. It would appear that he had just enough petrol left in the tank to make that gasp of effort before falling back into a state of unconsciousness. I double-check to make sure I didn’t actually shoot him after all. Nope, still has a pulse, he’s just a sleepyhead.
Danny? Is it Danny who somehow got me here? Is that who it is that the laaitie meant? Is Danny the one who is trying to keep me safe?
That don’t make any sense, though. Danny is, if all is to be believed, currently outside and possibly taking fire. What in the name of holy fokken Christ is happening?
And then, just at the moment when events cannot become any more baffling…
They do.
I grab up the rifle and phone, stand, ready myself to sprint outside and presumably shoot a bunch of people, and as I glance in the direction of the window, I see…
Eliza Watson. Standing three meters away from me.
I can’t be sure for a moment that she’s not an apparition of some kind. I thought I saw Danny and Christine in the bushes before, but it was just shadows. Wishful thinking perhaps. Figments of my imagination.
But then it turns out Danny’s actually here. So was it a fiction after all?
My doubts about whether or not Eliza is really here are quickly put aside when I see the look on her face. It’s something like exhaustion blended with disgust and a hint of resentment. Yes, it must really be her. I don’t believe my fantasy version of her appearance would be so precisely authentic and not sugar-coated.
I’m sure I must look to her like the proverbial deer in headlights. Of all the people on earth I could have imagined seeing today, she is likely at the end of that list. She shakes her head at me a tiny bit in a way that is very familiar. It’s the way that says, without words, Oh, Alec, you stupid fucking twat.
This oddness that is swirling around me keeps getting odder.
And odder.
Because as, once again, I feel we have reached the apotheosis of preposterousness, I am proven wrong.
Russell Watson, the eldest brother of the Watson clan, drops into view next to her. I need to repeat that to myself. He drops into view. As if from a roof. But, when I stop to consider, Eliza and Russell scaling a roof and plopping down somewhere they’re not supposed to be is far and away the least curious thing about now.
Russell lifts his hand in a totally casual salutation. Out of some kind of reflexive instinct, I return the gesture. And then Eliza and Russell both look up. It causes me to look up in kind, although all I see is the ceiling. And I wonder, what in the great wide heavens is going to happen now?
And when I lower my chin to face the window once more…
Christine.
Christine Keene drops into view beside Russell and Eliza Watson.
And I drop to my knees.
I’d like to tell myself that my ribs began hurting too much. Or that, perhaps, someone has just burst into the room and shot me in the back. Something dramatic, and heroic, and not simply the result of my normally immutable steadiness being stripped from me, incomprehensible event by incomprehensible event, until I just no longer have the power to support my inexcusably human form. But that’s what it is. My mind cannot process this moment and my body follows suit.
Seeing me drop to my knees, Eliza kicks at the frame of the French-style shutter and it smashes open, ripping free of the latch. She bounds through the window, Russell and Christine behind her, and lands in front of me. She looks down and says, “Hello, luv. Nice PJs. Very Hugh Hefner of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - CHRISTINE
“Is this really happening?” Alec asks, looking up at us from where he’s knelt on the floor. It’s very strange. Very, very strange. I’ve known him for almost half my life, and I’ve known him in almost all the ways it’s possible to know someone. But I’ve never known him like this.
Confused.
Muddled.
Vulnerable.
He doesn’t look scared. That’s a look that I’ve never seen from him, and doubt I ever will, but what he’s projecting right now is the closest I imagine it’ll get.
“Yes, Alec, this is real. And it’s time to go,” Eliza says.
“What…? How…?”
“Ah, yes, you’re as charming a conversationalist as I recall. But all that for another time. I don’t know how long Brenden, Charlie, and Danny can keep your friends occupied without getting someone killed.”
“Brenden and Charlie are here too?” Alec asks, even more confused-sounding than before.
“Yeah, mate. They’s here. That’s what all the going-on outside is about. Shall we?” Russell extends his hand to help Alec up. Alec stares at it for the briefest of moments before reaching out and being assisted to his feet. He winces as he stands. And something inside me winces as well.
He’s hurt. He doesn’t look like he’s been beaten or tortured or anything. In fact, he looks pretty well taken care of. Apart from the fact that he’s unshaven, which I’ve never seen on him before and never really even imagined as a possibility. It’s odd. Being scruffy is such a Danny thing.
But otherwise, he looks exactly like himself. Apart from the scruff, the bafflement on his face, and the fact that he’s in pain. So. Actually. No. Nothing like himself.
And I get sad. Because I have to conclude that the pain is a remnant of what happened with us at the waterfall. So I did this to him. I put him in this place. In this state. In this position. And I still don’t even have a full understanding of exactly why. I don’t have a complete picture of everything. There are still holes in my memory. Ones I really can’t afford to have.
My long-term memory seems okay. All the things that led up to that night on the roof are pretty clear.
I think.
But I don’t know exactly what happened that night. And I don’t know if the things I do remember are accurate. Or true. Or how I should feel right now. I thought I had worked out all my emotions and gotten clear that I just wanted that day back. That perfect day that Danny, Alec and I spent together. That brief moment we had where it looked like everything was going to be OK and we were finally all three going to just… be together. The triangle.
But seeing him now, a flood of feelings wash over me. Especially when I see Eliza, who is two steps closer to him than I am, go to help Russell pull him to his feet. She take
s him by the other arm and puts her hand on his side, saying, “You all right there, luv? Can you walk? Or do I have to carry you?”
She says it with a smile and an almost wink. He smiles back, as if by impulse. Like an old record that has been dusted off and is being played once more.
And I have to remind myself again. I did this.
“I’m fine,” he says. And then, quicker than a flash of lightning, he remembers himself and who he is. He steps back, free from the both of them, lifts his hands in a broad gesture and says, “I imagine that now that we’re all jolly and reunited, someone has a plan to get us the fok out of here.”
“There he is,” Eliza says with what can only be called shit-eating sarcasm.
“Well,” says Russell, “the plan is fuckin’ shit, mate. But so far, it’s maybe kind of working. Christine… what’s happening out front?”
I’m still just staring at Alec when he says it, so it takes me an extra beat before I answer, “Hmm?”
“You’ve still got Danny on the mobile, yeah? What’s happening out there? Sounds like it’s quieted down.”
He’s right. It has quieted. I hadn’t even noticed. I pull out the phone with the line I have open to Danny and whisper again, “Danny… what’s happening? What was all the gunfire?”
After a moment, he whispers—so quiet I can barely hear him—“Yeah, one of the guys was shooting at the sky to get everyone to shut up.”
“He was shooting at the fucking sky?”
“Yeah, they’re… emotional, these guys.”
“What the hell’s happening now?”
“Um… well, I can’t fucking believe this, but Brenden and Charlie actually started blaming each other for the fuckup, started wrestling—”
“Fucking wrestling?”
“What I said. And then the mercs started laughing at them, and one of them—who looks to be in charge—broke it up, asked for the manifest, shrugged, said, ‘Top grade eats for us, my boets,’ and then, once they looked in the back and saw that it’s really beef and not, like, a truck of assassins or something, started helping unload it. They’re all taking it into the kitchen now.”
Un. Be. Lievable. “And what are you doing?”
“Still fucking pinned down, hiding in old Chinese food wrappers, wondering why I agreed to come along.”
I turn to Russell and say, “We’re good. I guess. Tell Theo to be ready to kill the fence again. We’ll get out through the woods and meet the truck by the main road.” I step to Alec and say, “Can you climb?”
“Climb what?”
“Whatever. Can you get up on the roof so we can get back out through the fence?”
“Nunu, that parkour thing is not mine. It’s all of you. And besides, I’m not hundreds. My ribs still need some tending. Maybe if I had some pain muti, I could work through it, but I don’t. They have the laaitie dole it out to me.”
“Brilliant,” Eliza says. “Well, good to have seen you, I suppose. Cheers.” And she makes her way toward the window again. I don’t think she’s really going to go. I think she’s just being Eliza. But you never know.
“Which laaitie?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“Him,” he says, and gestures to under the bed. Russell, Eliza, and I bend down to look. There, under the bed, is a young man dressed like the other guards. And completely knocked out. Snoring.
“What did you do to him?” I ask.
“Well, before I knew everyone was coming to retrieve me, I had decided that today was the day I planned on leaving. I even sent Danny a text to see where he was in the world.”
“You did?”
He nods at me. “I did.”
“Today?”
“Today, nunu. Just around the exact same time that you all were coming for me, I reckon.”
He grins and I can’t help the feeling I get in my stomach. I can’t stop it. And I don’t try. “That’s…”
“Yeah. It’s a coincidence, ain’t it?”
He smiles at me. I smile back. We are connected. Always and forever.
“Charming.” Eliza’s voice breaks through. “But none of us are successfully out of here yet. Since Mr. van den Berg here can’t climb, do we have an alternate course of egress?”
We all look to Alec, who says, “I had planned to use the passageways.”
“Passageways?” Russell asks.
“Yeah,” Alec says, “there’s underground passageways. Like catacombs leading out underneath the property. Eliza remembers.”
We now all look at Eliza. “Yes,” she says. “I do remember.” Then she puts her hand on one of the posts of the four-poster bed. “I remember a lot of things about this place.”
Rage.
Whatever feelings I was having in my stomach are now replaced by my friend, rage.
“Super. Let’s fuckin’ go,” I say, making my way to the door.
“Wait,” calls Alec. “How do we know it’s clear?”
“I’ll go up,” Russell says. “You two stay on comms, stay with him, and I’ll do a quick perimeter check from the roof. If I see a bunch of blokes hauling meat, we’ll assume that they’re all preoccupied with that.”
“How can we be sure that there’s no more on the main floor?” Eliza asks. Russell shrugs. “Brilliant,” she says.
“I’m not sure it’s any better an idea, us just mucking about here waiting on someone to walk in though, is it?” Russell says.
“Good point.” Eliza sighs. “To which end… what about him?” she asks, referring to the kid snoring under the bed.
Russell says, “What about him?”
“If they come in and don’t find Alec, but instead a groggy lad on the ground who’s been stripped of his rifle, there’s a tiny chance they might become a wee bit hostile.”
No one says anything for a moment, and then, since it would appear that nobody plans on stating the obvious—a tactic that calls back to the very first conversation I ever had with Eliza—I offer it up.
“Replica,” I say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - ALEC
Young Liam is about three inches shorter than I am, so his clothing is an imprecise fit, to say the least. And his shoes didn’t fit, so I’m still in proper Bruce Willis mode.
Conversely, the silk pyjamas in which he is now swaddled make him look as though he is a tiny, happy, paramilitary baby. We left him bundled in the bed, snoring safely, blankies pulled up around his face, and now we can only hope that if anyone enters the room, he stays that way.
By everyone’s admission, this entire endeavor is one hastily thrown together absurdity after another. But, so far, it appears to be working, and my hopeful dream of making it free of here with no bloodshed is somehow maintaining. Eish, man. This can’t be real life. Not because it’s ludicrous—life is fundamentally ludicrous. All life. That we are here, breathing oxygen on a geological exception to the laws that govern the rest of the galaxy, is ludicrous. But it can’t be real life because there is absolutely no way Eliza, Christine, and I would ever occupy the same place at the same time again.
Even less probable that her brothers would be helping, and that Danny would be waiting to receive me and Christine back into each other’s loving arms again. Which is why I’m not so certain that I’m not still dreaming. It’s all just a little too perfect. As perfect as imperfection can be, anyway.
I am strangely comforted by the fact that I still don’t know how I got to this place. How I was retrieved from the bottom of that abyss and brought back to here, to the site where the beginning of the end… began. I am comforted because it allows for a virtual Sword of Damocles to remain hanging over my head. And I am at my most relaxed when I know that catastrophe very likely awaits.
When one is born into a world of chaos, one can either be made subject to its unpredictability, or become its master. I thrive on the mayhem.
“This is fucking mayhem,” Christine says as she, Eliza, and I scurry through one of the underground tunnels that web their way below the property. Ther
e is no radio signal, so we’re fully out of communication with the rest of the world for the moment. It is just us three as far as we’re concerned. We have only each other for now. “How did you get here?” She follows up, as though the question has been simmering inside her and has now reached a boil and spilled from her mouth.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How can you not know?”
“I don’t know.”
She lets out a breath of frustration and pushes past me. “Yeah, OK.”
“Glad to see each other, are you?” Eliza asks. I ignore the question and run up to catch Christine.
I take her by the arm to slow her down and whisper, “I wish I had an answer. I truly do. But, sadly, I do not. But I’m glad you found me.”
I mean it. Not because I’m glad to have been found. I would have gotten free one way or another. As long as I’m still alive, I will find a way to do as I like. But because I’m glad she is the one who has come for me. She and Danny. I can’t help that in my dreams the memories that came to me were those final moments when Christine and I were challenged by my relationship with Eliza. I write that off to being back in the same place where it all came undone.
But in my waking hours, as I would amble about the parts of the house I was not restricted from, I would think only of Christine and Danny. Their touch, their voices, their bodies pressed against mine. My will to survive does not need a great deal of encouragement, but if it did, the love I feel for Danny and Christine would be more than enough. And it is love. Which is a remarkable thing for me to feel. Because I didn’t believe myself capable of feeling such a thing. Triumph, exuberance, a certain jouissance, all of these things felt possible to experience. But love…? Unexpected.
I am suddenly overcome with an urge to tell this to her. Here, in front of Eliza. She needs to know, and I need to make it unambiguous. “Christine—”
“Which way?” she interrupts.
