Coma

by Emmy Ellis

  I took a deep breath and locked the boot.

  I was in reception, but I couldn’t remember getting here.

  The girl behind the desk said, “Are you all right, Wayne? You look sick.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I didn’t know how I managed to speak because my throat had closed up on me.

  I was at my desk now, still short of breath.

  Gary came into the office and stared at me oddly. “Wayne, dude? You ill? You look fucking rough.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You want to take an early lunch? Yeah, do that, take an early lunch, mate. Come back at say…two? Crack on with the rest of the file then.”

  Go to lunch, Wayne. Have a rest. Anyone would think you were crazy.

  Piss off.

  “Okay, cheers.”

  I got up, raced through reception. I lunged into the lift, got out, then ran to the car. I drove home, and when I reached my house, my heart stilled.

  I stumbled inside, the safe atmosphere enveloping me, and Barb’s arms wrapped round me.

  Everything went black.

  * * * *

  I woke on the sofa, a cold flannel on my forehead, and Barb kneeled on the floor.

  “Wayne? Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  “I felt ill at work. Got to go back at two. I’ll be fine now.”

  I looked round the room. It’d changed so much since childhood. Over the years, I’d nearly banished everything that reminded me of the old days, and now I could almost imagine it was someone else’s home. Maybe the very walls of this house were making me ill by bringing the memories. That was because it was drawing near; the time was close, and it’d set me off, made me like this.

  Something deep inside told me to get out and move away, hide.

  I thought I should move. If I left this place, would they leave me alone?

  Hide and seek, Wayne. Hide and seek.

  “Barb, how do you fancy setting up home together?”

  She stared at me, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. Crisis over. “But we are already.”

  “No, I mean a new place. A flat or something; a place that’s ours.”

  “I’ll go wherever you go, Wayne.”

  “You might not want to after I tell you something.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth twitched at one side. Her pupils dilated, and her irises turned a deeper brown. She reached up to push hair behind her ear, forgetting it was hedgehog-style, and her fingers trembled.

  I’d scared the shit out of her.

  “Tell me what, Wayne?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  “Something that happened today.”

  “You’re scaring me. Did you do something?”

  She cared about me even though I may have done a crazy thing again.

  “No, no, nothing like that, I uh…switched on your mobile today, read the messages, listened to the voicemail.” My face burned.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wayne. Is that all? Shit, I thought…”

  “I know.” I searched her face. Fear bled out of it. “You’re not mad at me?”

  “Fuck no. Why should I be? I haven’t even thought about my bloody phone in like…ages.”

  “You want to know what the messages said? Want to see?”

  “Not really…”

  “But if I tell you, you might think I’m making it up, to keep you here with me.”

  “I won’t,” she replied, her voice firm, reassuring.

  I reached into my trouser pocket and gave her my car keys. “It’s in the boot of my car. Go and get it. Please.”

  Trust. I have to trust her.

  She took the keys uncertainly. Her fingers twitched. Barb walked out of the room, out of the house, but there was no sound of the front door closing.

  There was a voice.

  “Barb! Hello.”

  “Hi, Mrs Franks.”

  “Going for a drive? I didn’t know you could drive.”

  “I can’t,” Barb said. “I’m just getting something from the car, you know.”

  “Oh right. Well, sorry I can’t stay and chat, would love to, but you know how it is. Albert’s back is playing him up again; he needs some more painkillers. Mind you, he’s the bloody pain. I tell you…”

  A few seconds passed, and the car boot slammed shut. The jangle of the keys locking it sounded amplified, crashing into my brain.

  “I don’t want to be rude, Mrs Franks…”

  “Oh, do call me Dora.”

  “Dora. But I’ve got to go. Wayne’s due back at work soon.”

  “Okay, dear. You take care now. If you want a chat, I’ll be back around four. Albert’s laid up in bed, so I’ll take the opportunity now to have a look-see round the shops.”

  Mrs Albert’s Wife, she chuckled, and her feet crunched on her gravel driveway.

  “Bye, Dora.”

  “Bye, dear.”

  Barb’s footsteps were coming this way, the front door closed, and she sat on the floor by me again, gazed up at me, and nodded. She switched on her phone.

  Her eyes went from side to side as she read. They looked vacant, although they didn’t well up with tears. She pressed a button and put the phone to her ear, listening. She frowned when her mother spoke, let out a silly, laugh-tinged sigh when the friend spoke. Barb frowned again, followed seconds later by another smile.

  She switched the phone off. “Just as I said it would be, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I couldn’t help but feel happy.

  “So. When are we moving?” She was over-bright, smiling widely, and her eyes sparkled.

  “Soon as possible. We’ll go flat hunting after Christmas, yeah?”

  “Okay. Somewhere away from here. Please.”

  “Yeah, got to be away from here. I’ll check out the transfers in the company at work, see where they’ve got jobs, then we’ll start the ball rolling.”

  “Good. I hate this town. Hate everything about it.” Barb’s face went dark, and her eyebrows met at the bridge of her nose.

  “Me, too, Barb. Especially this house. Lived here all my life, so I need a change.”

  “A change for the better. For both of us.”

  “Yes.”

  We went into the kitchen and made tea and sandwiches. I felt better now.

  Chapter Eight

  It was later in the day, and I whistled on the drive home. Christmas break soon, then the flat hunting. Life was turning out fine, absolutely fine.

  I drove through town, taking in the many lights strung from building to building across High Street. I turned into The Square, and the massive Christmas tree, its white lights twinkling, came into view.

  I rounded the corner and parked up, got my ticket, and stuck it on the windshield.

  Through a jeweller’s window, I nosed at a bracelet and necklace set of fine gold chains with a St Christopher on each. I was going to get that for Barb; they’d keep her safe when I wasn’t around. She’d like them. She had only been talking about St Christophers the other night, saying she’d always wanted one. Well, now she’d have two.

  The shop assistant wrapped them for me in bright gold paper with a bow to match.

  It looked pretty. Like Barb.

  I walked past the fruit and vegetable shop where they were also selling Christmas trees. We hadn’t even thought of putting up a tree. Seeing the one I wanted, I decided I’d get it on my way back. First, I had to go to Wilko and get some new decorations. Start afresh and all that.

  The tree was heavier than I thought it would be. This was my first time having a real Christmas tree, so I hadn’t realised it would weigh that much. The fake one in the loft was years old, and we’d used it as far back as when I was six years old. Mags didn’t like real trees, said the pine needles would make a mess. I was damn well going to haul this tree home even if it did hurt my arms. I was in control now. It was up to me what kind of tree we had.

  I wedged it in the back seat of my car, its needles stabb
ing into my hand. Patting my pocket before I got in, to make sure I hadn’t lost Barb’s present, I started the car, put it in gear, and reversed smoothly from my parking space. The drive home to Barb was nice. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she saw the tree and the new decorations.

  A song by Slade played on the radio. The decorations on my street seemed to sparkle extra bright. It was like something out of America. Each house shone with twinkling lights. Windows, front doors, they’d even strung their hedges with lights. It was a fairyland, a Christmas fairyland.

  Some lights were white, some red, yellow, green, and orange.

  Blue. Some were blue, and they flashed in my drive. As I turned into it, I was stopped by a figure, his hand outstretched, warning me to halt.

  Stop!

  My guts, they went south because those lights, they were blue, and they were on top of a white car. The figure was a policeman, and he came to my car door, so I wound down the window. It must be an automatic reaction because inside I screamed: Drive off! Get in reverse! Go! Go! Go!

  But I didn’t, my window was down, and this policeman said, “Wayne Richards?”

  I nodded.

  He said, “Step out of the car please, sir.”

  I killed the engine and got out, and he took my elbow, walking me towards my front door. There, he stopped at the side of it and put his hand on my shoulder.

  I gulped, tried to breathe normally because they’d got me, they’d found me. It was Barb’s mobile phone. The authorities must’ve pinged it after all and found a signal—and it was in the fucking house now. I’d forgotten to take it back to the car. Barb, she must have used it.

  No, she wouldn’t.

  It must have rung, and she’d answered, and shit, the coppers had traced it to here. She must’ve broken down, told them everything.

  The policeman stared at me with this odd, sad expression, and then came the sound of Mrs Franks crying quietly and mumbling. I looked round, trying to find her. There—down the side alley of my house, she was being cuddled by her husband. I gawped at the policeman again, and he appeared so fucking sad, so I turned to my right, and there was a strange vehicle. A black van was backed up to the front of my house with its doors open.

  “Mr Richards…”

  “Wayne.” I didn’t know why I’d said that, why I wanted him to know me as Wayne.

  “Wayne,” the policeman said slowly. “I have to inform you of some sad news. Your girlfriend…”

  Barb. My girlfriend. Yes, she was.

  The policeman sighed and said over his shoulder as if speaking into the house, “Is it clear in there?”

  A muffled voice replied, “Yes, Sarge, in two seconds.”

  “It might be best, Wayne, if I take you indoors,” the policeman told me.

  He stepped into my house, and I followed him. The carpet was beige, but now it had red dots all over it, and I couldn’t work out why it was like that.

  Barb cut herself when she tried to get out. She must’ve tried to smash the glass in the front door.

  But the glass was still intact.

  As we walked past the living room, there was so much mess.

  A man held a white sheet, and he opened it out. He placed it over a body on the floor. The body had Barb’s alien world sticking out of it. The turrets were in the body’s chest.

  Was this happening? It felt so surreal, like I watched from outside myself. The body was wearing Barb’s blue T-shirt stained with blood. So much blood that I could only tell the T-shirt was blue before because the arms weren’t tainted crimson.

  The head on the body had hedgehog hair. The cheek on the face had four fork prong scars on it. The face looked like Barb’s, but it couldn’t be. It fucking couldn’t be because I’d left her here at quarter to two. I’d bought her two St Christophers to keep her safe—two of them. It couldn’t be her because we were going to decorate the tree. I was going to put her golden box underneath it and watch her open it on Christmas Day, see her smile.

  We were going to go flat hunting.

  Were?

  We are.

  My legs buckled, and bile came right up into my mouth, burning my throat. It was Barb. She’d hurt herself, and this guy was trying to keep her warm with the sheet. He was going to take her to hospital and make her better.

  That black van was just an ambulance in disguise.

  * * * *

  I was at the police station, sitting in a room with cream walls, a scarred Formica-topped table, and black school chairs.

  The policeman who’d looked sad earlier put his hand on my shoulder. He sat opposite me next to another guy. The other fellow had a grey suit, and he’d already told me his name was Inspector Wield. He wanted to ask me some questions.

  I didn’t remember coming here. I didn’t remember anything except the last glimpse at the body, except I couldn’t see it because by then, the sheet had been over it.

  “Wayne, you’d like us to call you Wayne, yes?”

  “Yes.” My tongue felt thick.

  Just a second ago, I had it in mind to plead insanity, but something told me to hold off, to be quiet. Probably them. Although I heard them, I didn’t listen.

  “Well, Wayne. We’ve checked where you were between the times of two and six today. Witnesses have confirmed you were at work, so we know you’re not responsible for the murder of your girlfriend.”

  They knew it wasn’t me. But I didn’t kidnap her today. I’d done that weeks ago.

  “Now then. Do you know of anyone who would want to harm your girlfriend? Anyone at all?”

  How did I tell them about her mother?

  I shook my head.

  “Do you recognise this writing? Perhaps you know what this means, Wayne?” The man sighed. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but time really is of the essence here.”

  Grey-Suit Wield reached down the side of his chair and brought out a piece of paper inside a clear, sealed bag. He placed it on the table in front of me, the word uppermost.

  QUITS.

  “Any idea what this means, Wayne?”

  I searched my mind for any tiny thing that might trigger a memory. Anything, something, so I could help these men find the person who’d killed Barb. Someone had murdered her. Someone had killed her with her alien world.

  I shook my head again. The word on that horrible note went blurry.

  “We’ll take a break.” Inspector Wield sighed, got up, and stretched his legs.

  I rested my head on the desk. Shit, this was killing me.

  I didn’t care if they got me for abduction anymore. Didn’t care if I spent my life locked up in prison or some nuthouse institution. Didn’t care about fuck all. Nothing.

  Tea, couldn’t see it, but I smelled it, and I lifted my head. A hand holding a cup came over my right shoulder, but it wasn’t Barb’s. I wasn’t sitting at the dining room table at home, but in this impersonal, cold room instead—and Barb was gone.

  A cigarette packet was placed before me, but I hadn’t smoked since the day I’d pinched the fags from that guy in the coffee shop. I reached for one now and put it between my lips. The policeman lit it for me with a match, and I puffed three times then let the smoke out.

  I looked for the note, but it was gone. I wanted to see it again, just to be sure, because a memory tapped at my brain.

  Scott. Years after the Sellotape thing.

  Mags, looking older, haggard, like she’d coped with too much.

  Spiders, spiders are coming.

  Alcohol, too much of it, the house smelling sour.

  Me, sixteen, growing by the day, taller, broader than Scott.

  Scott, with that sneer of his.

  Go away. Please, just go away.

  “You’re in late again, kid.” Mags’ voice was slurred from vodka, gin, or whatever else she’d chucked down her throat.

  “You were told eleven o’clock, kid. Don’t you ever listen to your mother? No, don’t answer that, because I know the fucking answer, you arsehole
.” Scott. Acting the big man. Acting like he was my dad.

  “Got nothing to say for yourself, shithead?” With her eyes half closed, Mags laughed, head leaning back on the sofa—another new sofa because I’d trashed the last one, slit the leather, stabbed at the armrests.

  I stood in the living room doorway, looked at the pair of them sprawled out on that sofa. It was some kind of velvety green material with cream swirls. They made me sick, and if I had somewhere to go, I would. Run, get the fuck out of there.

  Him. “Well? Cat got your tongue, kid?”

  I had horrible clothes on, the denim rough against my legs, the wool of my sweater itchy, and my anorak crackled. Anorak, for fuck’s sake.

  “Look at you!” Her. “Standing there for all the world like he’s done nothing wrong, when in fact, he’s been a naughty boy, haven’t you, Wayne?”

  “About time he found himself somewhere else to live, eh, Mags?”

  I found my voice. “Fuck you, moron.”

  Him. He laughed and clutched at his sides as he stood, swaying a little, and her, she stood next to him.

  “Sellotape, Mags.”

  She reached back to the sofa. The Sellotape, it’d been next to her all along. They’d worked out what they were going to do before I’d even got home. Sick. They were both sick.

  The Sellotape screeched when he ripped it off. Big as I was, scared, I ran into the kitchen and pulled a knife from the drawer, holding it out in front of me.

  “Aw, Wayney gonna try and hurt me? Stab old Scott?” He turned to Mags. “Fuckhead hasn’t got the balls.”

  Mags stood next to him again. Both of them took steps towards me, him with the Sellotape, advancing, homing in.

  “You come near me, Scott, and I swear to God—”

  “Swear to God what, kid? What? What?” Spittle flew from his mouth and landed on my face.

  I left it there, much as I hated to. “I’ll tell Mags what you’ve done.”

  “I’ll tell Mags what you’ve done. I’ll tell Mags what you’ve done.” He was taking the piss, mimicking me.

  I wanted to hurt him. Hurt him for sticking his cock in my mouth and up my arse.