Chapter 11
I get my first taste of police brutality as we are man-handled into the cells. Actually, myself and Hemmingway go calmly without any fuss, that responsibility is left to Mitsuko, who is literally thrown into the holding cell that me and Hemmingway are in. She quickly pulls herself up and rushes back to the door as it is slammed shut, getting her hand caught in her desperate attempt to stop it. Her scream is terrifying, making me understand at the most primal level just how stupid it would be to ever, ever cross her. The more vindictive part of my mind merely smirks. The door is opened enough for her to retrieve her hand, and finally we are locked in.
And me? How am I feeling right now? Well, I’m the reason that all three of us are in this mess. So, yeah, I’m feeling a bit shit. I’m sorry, that doesn’t really say much, I’m just distracted by Mitsuko’s endless stream of curses and random swear words. My name is dropped in occasionally. Hemmingway is pacing around the cell, worried about something and I am just slouched on a bench, awaiting fate. I’m not imagining years spent in a prison cell, doing time for a crime I barely committed, only instigated, but I’m sure that I’ll allow myself that luxury soon enough, just to pass the time away. On a less extreme and paranoid level, I wonder what actually happens when you get an ASBO. Is it like a certificate or something? Am I actually too old to get one? No, I can’t be. You read in the tabloids about OAPs who get them, so how does it work for people who aren’t teenagers, but are not retired? How do ASBOs work for those of us who actually work for a living?
Mitsuko’s cursing is slowing down now, and her hand really isn’t looking too pretty as the bruising is already quite clear. I actually feel a small amount of pity for her. Still, you can’t always get what you want in life and I’ll just have to accept that I’ve pitied her. Hemmingway breaks out of his own concerns to check on her, but she just ignores him.
“Look,” demands Hemmingway, annoyed by this, “we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Stop fucking with the police and things will sort themselves sooner. You keep fucking around, and who knows how long we’re going to be stuck in here.”
Something clicks in Mitsuko’s mind. “Oh God, Bunuel! We’ve left him alone! What are people going to think? Who’s going to make him his tea?”
“Mitsuko, that’s not the only the thing that we’ve got to worry about!”
“Well, what do we have? Our work is done, isn’t it? No-one is in danger anymore, that reflection is dead, remember?”
Ah. Would it be wise at this juncture to express some doubt on that very point? To be honest, prison suddenly does have its attractions, if this cell is anything to go by. Bateman surely wouldn’t come out in public, and besides, there are no mirrors, so I at least feel safe here.
But is Bateman dead, or is he not? If Bateman is gone, why would my reflection just disappear in that one mirror alone? He is a reflection that is actually able to take control. If he can do what he wants, maybe that means that he is able to hide, to distort my reflection so much that he is able to make it disappear. But what does that mean? That he was still in the mirror when I smashed it and my reflection disappeared. My only conclusion is that he tricked me. If he tricked me, then he’s alive and he wants me to believe that I’ve got control.
But that’s stupid. Okay, he started off by making me feel like shit. But he tried to help me. He did help me. So, if he’s helping me, why would he trick me? Both arguments work, but I’m not one hundred percent sold on either of them. There has to be a third option, but one that I just do not know.
“It’s important that we get out of here quickly, Mitsuko.”
“Why, what’s so important. Need to get back to Annette?”
This panics Hemmingway, although I have no idea what Mitsuko is talking about. “What do you know about her?”
“That you’ve snuck your girlfriend in.”
“Is that it?”
“Why, should I know more?”
There is a moment of hesitation before Hemmingway turns to me. “Crunchy,” uh oh, “you can do crazy stuff, right?”
“Am I world sensitive? Yes.”
“Can you use it to get us out of here?”
I hadn’t thought about that. I could have been trying to do something, but I hadn’t. “It doesn’t quite work like that. It’s random. It comes at its own pleasing.”
“So, we’re stuck then?”
“Sorry,” I shrug at him.
“Dweeb,” announces Mitsuko, probably quite relieved that I’m a) not about to scare the shit out of her once more and b) that I’m not actually going to prove myself useful.
But it’s Hemmingway that sticks up for me. “Just leave it out, Mitsuko. I’m getting pretty tired of that.” I’m left with a similar feeling as when Bateman stood up to the Mitsuko in the mirror. That sense that everything can be achieved so simply, that respect is not something you earn, it’s something within you that you give out. But at the same time, there is a sense of unease when Hemmingway shows faith in me, that I am only being used by him, that he knows a damn sight more about me than he should.
“He got us in here,” reminds Mitsuko, although I would have to point out that I was not the one charging around people’s houses with a baseball bat.
“We got ourselves in here.”
It’s quite clear that these two are charging themselves up for an argument, probably just to pass the time, but the steam is knocked out of both of them with the arrival of a policeman.
“You got one phone call.”
“I’ll go.”
Hemmingway leaves with the policeman, leaving me here alone with Mitsuko. She stares at me with absolute hatred whilst I sit here twiddling my thumbs, trying to act as if I haven’t noticed. After a while she gives up, diverting her attention to something more meaningful, no doubt the wall. We just sit in silence. All I want to do is to open up my mouth and say something trivial, light hearted. Perhaps a question, something to start up a conversation, a normal human conversation, or just small talk, anything. Ask her what her favourite music is, why she joined the F.I.B. But its not that I can’t think up anything, it’s just that whatever I say would be wrong. We’ve been around each other for two and a half days, and except for insults we’ve not really said anything. It is as if the time to start getting to know each other, to at least find each other’s presence comfortable has passed. Secondly it would be just completely out of context, after all, as has been pointed out, we’re enemies more than we are acquaintances in any vague form. So, despite my huge urge to say something, my mouth just stays shut. It stays shut due to fear. I get the urge to speak, taking in a deep breath, lining up the words so that I can form a legible sentence but then my mouth fails to open because I cannot get those particular neurons in my brain to fire. And this keeps happening making me look as if I am slowly hyperventilating. I am just aware of her disinterest. But then I wonder if actually she, too, would like a conversation, but because I make myself so closed off, she does not know how to relate to me. I am just left waiting for Hemmingway to reappear in order to bring words back into the cell.
He has been gone for possibly ten minutes, I don’t know how long precisely as my mobile phone was taken off me when we arrived at the police station, when finally he comes back. “Now we just wait,” he announces before flopping down next to me on the bench. I shift over to give him room, his own personal space and the convenience of not having to be so close to me, before I start worrying that he might think I’ve shifted over because I don’t want to be too close to him. Nothing registers on his face or in his actions, so I just hope that I got away with it. But nobody is saying anything. The conversational safety net I hoped he would bring with him has been left behind somewhere. I reassure myself that this is what people do. Sometimes there is nothing to be said, and a silence can be a comfortable one. I’d be comforted by that if it wasn’t for the simple fact that when there was conversation I did very little to contribute towards it. Basically, I am a mess and, no matter how much I am aware of it, or how much I try to sort myself out, I continue to be a mess.
Time passes, nobody says anything still. We just wait in this confinement, where there is no chance of escape. And now the thoughts begin to stream through my head. I may be able to provide us with our chance of escape, after all. These walls are boundaries. All we have ever wanted, is it not, the chance to explore? To expand our boundaries and create more freedom for ourselves. I seek knowledge and feel the restrictions being pushed away. For knowledge is power, and power destroys. These walls are gone. They are gone!
Above us is the ceiling, below us the floor, unchanged, untarnished, but the ceiling is suspended in air as there are no walls to support it. As I look around, I can see the entire layout of this floor of the police station, uniformed people sat at desks, walking around as and where they choose, other prisoners in the cells next to us, but more importantly, I can see our clear route to freedom, the outside world connected to the floor. It is not just the walls of the police station that have gone, but the walls of every building within eyesight. Just floors, floating in the air, suspended in columns with staircases and lifts going up and down, I can see through each building to the one beyond, and then the next.
A policeman enters our midst saying “Yeah. You’re free to go. Powerful friends, eh?” I feel a surge of pride at this. Hemmingway may have hoped for me to provide some kind of escape route, but surely he must be impressed by this. I certainly don’t need any second hand feelings from Bateman to make me feel good right now. That is, until Mitsuko points in my direction and states “He hasn’t.”
The reality of the world around me comes back into focus. The walls are still there, they never disappeared. This was just a delusion, it stayed inside my own mind and didn’t get any further.
“Apparently he does. All of you are welcome to depart. If you would just collect your belongings first.”
I look around at Mitsuko and Hemmingway for them to confirm that what I believed happened did indeed happen. Some kind of shrug, some kind of gesture to say ‘that was impressive, but we’ve been freed, how ironic,” but there is nothing. Both just file out quietly leaving me standing in the cell. The policeman calls me on, joking that if I want to stay, that’s fine by him. I get my act together and hurry up to join the other two. As I pass the bars, I get a glimpse of my reflection looking as if it is shaking its head in despair, but a second glance and the distortion of the reflection reveals just myself. I wonder if this is just another thing that I am imagining.
We pick up our stuff, for some reason I check my phone to see if there are any messages or phone calls that I missed and am actually disappointed to find none. We carry on outside to find Squiggle waiting for us. “And what was all that about?” he accuses.
“Sir. Nothing, sir. Just a little misunderstanding, sir.” She gives a sad little salute to match the small, ashamed speech she has given.
“But you were arrested. Why?”
“They didn’t realise we had immunity, sir.” MITSUKO???
“Do you not realise the damage you have done? The F.I.B. is going to find this difficult to recover from.”
I try to imagine what he could possibly mean. In terms of scandal, it is hardly Roswell, hardly a ‘Weapons of Mass Destruction’ issue. An organisation that is seen as a laughing stock is proved to be a laughing stock. This is not front-page news. And the cost of damages is hardly sky-high, I’m sure that they should be able to afford that. But this doesn’t stop Hemmingway from looking the most ashamed of himself, and is certainly a subject for a lot of the blame from Squiggle. Personally, I’m just glad that they haven’t started finger pointing, as that surely would end my days of work experience.
Squiggle shakes his head. “Well, I’m going to have to report this to the board. Don’t go out anywhere, because I’ll be back to give you three a proper reprimand. And it’s getting dark, Hemmingway.”
Hemmingway takes note of his surroundings with a start but quickly relaxes. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve taken proper care of such concerns.”
Squiggle nods at Hemmingway before crossing over to the road and getting into his car, leaving just the three of us standing outside the police station. Hemmingway turns to face myself and Mitsuko. “Right, anybody know what buses we need to take?”
***
It is pitch black by the time we get back, a freezing cold wind and having rushed out earlier, none of us have decent coats to keep us warm. It is a relief to get back into a nice warm house.
Bunuel is waiting for us. He comes up to me, looking disapproving. “That’s not how you kill it, you know.”
“Oh, shut up.” I just don’t want to deal with any of that right now.
“Indeed,” he retorts.
Mitsuko disappears into the kitchen and puts on the kettle, Hemmingway heads upstairs. I, too, am heading up the stairs to get ready for a night of sitting on my bed, avoiding people, when Hemmingway comes storming back down the stairs, pushing me out of the way.
“Mitsuko!”
I continue to head up the stairs.
“No, Crunchy. You wait.”
Mitsuko comes out of the kitchen.
“My door. It’s open.”
Mitsuko just shrugs. I stand and watch another conversation where I do not have a clue what is going on.
“Why is it open?”
“Why don’t you ask Annette?”
“Well she’s not there, and that’s the problem.”
“Maybe Annette wanted to go out? You don’t need to keep her locked up. If it’s meant to be she’ll come back. If not, then it’s probably because you kept her locked up.”
“Fuck!”
Hemmingway dashes out of the front door. Mitsuko addresses me. “You ever get the feeling that there’s more going on here than they are telling us?”
“Yeah, it’s like…” I don’t get to finish off that sentence. I didn’t even really get to begin it, as Mitsuko has gone back into the kitchen closing the door. I would have said that everything seems contradictory, ambiguous. It is neither one thing nor the other, yet it doesn’t hover somewhere in the middle, instead reaching out to both extremes. Those who do know what is going on pretend that they don’t, and those that don’t are certain that they do. I’d have probably have tried to pad out those ramblings with Mitsuko into some kind of understanding or just a plain old conspiracy theory, but no. My empty room beckons.
***
Bunuel awaits the return of his parents; they have been with the rest of the ghosts, completing the plan. Having come to terms with the whole issue of their death, he is now quite excited about the whole thing. It’s cool having ghosts for parents, though he knows that the other kids won’t believe him, but that doesn’t matter as he will at least get time off school. Plus he also can’t help but imagine his parents as superheroes, saving the world from an evil monster. It’s like some Saturday morning kids cartoon but it’s all real, and who wouldn’t be excited about that?
When his parents do finally get back, he is too excited to notice their sad expressions.
“Cool, so what’s going to happen?”
His mother is unable to speak, so it’s up to his father to do the talking. “Listen, son, we’ve got something that we need to tell you. It’s about this reflection. Well…” and here he stops. This has been a difficult time for Bunuel, no child should have to cope with the death of their parents, and it has at least been easier for Bunuel due to the fact that they have not left. But what his father is going to say to him next is the hardest, cruellest thing he has ever had to say in his existence. Fairy tale endings are meant to be just that. An end. Nobody ever said that even fairy tale endings end. “Son, when we get rid of the reflection, we’re not going to be able to come back. We’re going to die. Properly, and you won’t ever be able to see us again.”
Bunuel had come to terms with his parents death. It had worked out well for him thus far. He is crushed, protests, cries. But there is nothing that his parents can do to change the facts. If the reflection dies, they go with it. He is the only reason they are there in the first place.