Content warnings:

• Suicidal ideation and attempted suicide

• Self-harm imagery (cutting, blood)

Chapter 5

It’s me, isn’t it? My turn to say something now. But what? Why is Hemmingway acting like this is a normal thing, and yet Mitsuko is totally freaked out? Why does Hemmingway seem to know something that Mitsuko doesn’t? They’re partners, are they not? They’ve seen the same things, done the same things as far as the F.I.B. is concerned? But Mitsuko acts like her job is a joke, the same joke that everyone sees in this organisation, regardless of how seriously she wants to take her career. But Hemmingway doesn’t. For him, there seems to be more. He was reluctant to take this case, but there was something that managed to hook him in. What is it that he sees? What does he know? But that’s beside the point. It’s me that has to calm Mitsuko down. Me that has to get her to stay. Me that has to earn her respect. 

“Mitsuko,” I begin, but I’m cut off. 

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You say things, things happen. You bad man. Very  bad man.”

I’m defeated already. Sighing, my head sinks to the ground, looking for some kind of explanation. If Hemmingway hadn’t confirmed something had happened, I’d just deny it, make her think she’s going crazy. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m centre stage, front, and the spotlight is burning down on me. 

“Don’t think I’m a freak, I’m not. I was in that car, the same as you. If I was wanting anything bad to happen, don’t you think I’d do it somewhere when I wasn’t around?” The words are just falling out of my mouth. I think my brain registers them vaguely before they get as far as my mouth, but this isn’t time for thinking. “I’m just as freaked out as you by what happened. Probably more so.”

“You don’t act it.”

“Well, you’ve kind of stolen my thunder there, a little bit. I thought this was what you guys were supposed to do, everyday! Like in the X-Files or Buffy or something like that! I thought you were the tough strong one. I thought you were supposed to be in control, and if anything got out of hand, you’d be able to reign it back in! I don’t know what happened, but then I’m not supposed to know what happened!” I get more passionate, my voice stronger and louder. “I’m just the little boy who is privileged to do nothing more than run around after you making cups of tea! I’m a freak, remember that. I am a useless piece of shit and I feel sorry for you, actually pity you because I have to be in your presence and I know how difficult that is. You’ve had it after about an hour of having to deal with me. I’ve had to deal with it the whole of my life. And if you can’t stand it, just imagine how I feel about it. I am a freak, but I’m not that kind of freak!”

“But the words. You spoke what happened!”

“That was…” think, think, think! Don’t lose it now! “Something else! Not actually me. I’m not as strong as you, not so experienced. It was something else!”

“Mitsuko, we’ll get it reported. That’s something for another time. Right now, we’ve got a job to do. Squiggle isn’t going to be too pleased if you bail out, is he? It’s not going to look too good in your file, is it?”

Mitsuko drops her guard, sagging down suddenly. But she hasn’t lost her suspiciousness, particularly not her weariness. I’m going to have to be extra specially careful from now on. One false move, and I’m busted. Hemmingway, however, leans over and pats me discretely on the back. “Good job,” I think he says, but it is so quiet that I’m not sure. I want to feel like I’m in now, that I’ve gained his full respect and I’m his buddy now. I want to feel pleased by myself by having done a good job, so good that somebody has actually acknowledged it, but all I can think about is what is going on in Hemmingway’s mind. Why he defended me, and why he felt he knew me. But it’s an overload that I can’t deal with. Instead all I can do is to just ask, “Where are we?”

“Camden.”

“Oh. I think I’ve heard of that place.”

Mitsuko walks past, deliberately keeping her distance from me. She rings the doorbell of the house we are next to, before moving back. Not knowing what else to do, I take my position on the doorstep, waiting for the door to be opened. I wonder how to explain who we are. ‘Good afternoon, F.I.B. We’d like to come in for a chat,’ sounds okay or the seemingly more traditional ‘FREEZE’ approach. 

I hear heavy footsteps behind me, and turn to see Mitsuko running towards me, just going into a flying kick. I stand there shocked, the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights, until my reflexes finally kick in and I bring my hands out in front of me. But these defensive measures are not necessary. Hemmingway comes flying in from the side, rugby tackling Mitsuko in mid air, and bringing her crashing down in front of me. The danger averted, for some reason, I just turn around and ring the doorbell once more. 

“What did you do that for?” yells Mitsuko at Hemmingway.

“That dweeb was standing in the way.” This, from Hemmingway just hurts. I’m just glad that I didn’t take his earlier friendliness literally as that really would have devastated me. I’m about to formulate my reply before Mitsuko jumps in, her fear having turned itself into a bitter anger.

“So? It’s not my fault is it?”

“I’m not a dweeb, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. Shut up.” Mitsuko has one more little thing to say. “You are a dweeb. Everything you said back there about being a freak was spot on. Couldn’t have said it better myself. Remember that, and remember that it is just luck that got you here, because you certainly are not worthy of ever making me a cup of tea.”

Not wanting to aggravate the situation any further, I do so, mentally taking note not to trust anyone over the next couple of weeks. Sadly I include myself in that.

“How’re we supposed to get in now, eh?”

“We’ll find a way, don’t panic.”

I push the doorbell once more. Possibly trying to be helpful, but my overloaded mind isn’t really registering anything any more, just pushing me through on automatic. “I don’t think that anyone’s home,” I say.

Mitsuko pushes me out of the way with more force than was strictly necessary, and I continue the momentum, wanting to stay out of the way and standing behind Hemmingway. Mitsuko goes through her little procedure and kicks down the door, much to Hemmingway’s chagrin, but he follows her in. I do too, feeling uncomfortable about having broken into somebody else’s house. My reasoning being that it is better to get caught inside with the other two, than it is to get caught outside alone by the person returning home and having to do all the explaining. 

Mitsuko has pulled out her gun causing my heart to thump harder, uncertain if I am just feeling its vibrations or actually able to hear it. 

“Stay here. We don’t want you fucking things up. Me and Hemmingway are going to check the house.”

They head off, leaving me in the hallway with nothing more to do than just look around. Everything is clean and tidy here, expensive male shoes lined up by the doorway. I daren’t move, but curiosity leans me forward to try and see as much of the living room that Hemmingway and Mitsuko have just gone into. From the little I can see of it, i.e., part of the wallpaper, it is tastefully done in a purple and yellow combination. The floor, like the rest of the house is a dark solid wood flooring. I don’t know what kind of wood, but I’d imagine it’s expensive and certainly looks nice. I jerk myself back as Hemmingway and Mitsuko come out of the living room, my guilty mind stressing the fact that I have moved neither of my feet so I have done nothing wrong, even though I do not actually vocalise this. They continue into the kitchen, opening a door and giving me a brief glimpse of metallic ovens and an island work surface before the door is closed again. They return and head up the stairs. 

Most notable, and something that I have been trying to ignore, is the inclusion of a full length mirror by the door, as if somebody needed to check their appearance before heading out into the world. Wanting to check that my own appearance is okay, I turn to face it. Having twice collapsed today hasn’t done me any favours. That awkward clump in my thick hair on the right hand side has stuck up again, and refuses to go back into line, despite combing it with a convenient comb left lying on the table. I try to wet it down, using my spit, but experience has told me that anything less than industrial strength gel or just shaving it all off will not do the trick. My suit, also, is crumpled, which I try to pat down, and my tie is out of line. I’m going to have to redo it.

Trying to put my tie back on, I just cannot seem to get it right, and it takes over my concentration, me staring into the mirror as I try and try again to make myself look neat and presentable. But I don’t. The tie just seems wrong no matter what I do, the suit looks like more of a mess than it did a few moments ago, I don’t even seem to be wearing it right, my scrawny body not fitting into it very well at all. It didn’t seem like that this morning. My hair is an abomination, the thickness of it, coupled with the slight waves it has makes my hair rise up much higher than it would necessarily go, resembling more of a badly made hairy hat than my own hair. Giving up on the tie, I just stare at myself in the mirror completely absorbed by my empty eyes, the lids always half-closed giving me an overly dopey expression that I cannot hide from, particularly when I smile, revealing my teeth. The stubble on my neck, down by my adam’s apple that I have never been able to shave properly as the skin is just too tender, the cuts to prove it, coupled with the dots of blood where hair has been pulled out, in contrast to the rest of my neck and face which is cleanly shaven. The side burns that look uneven, the hair there too long and scraggly. The pores on my face filled with muck, on their way to becoming blackheads, regardless of the fact that I wash myself often. The cysts on the side of my neck and the acne that surrounds them, that continues down to my back and covering it. That I can at least hide. This is the me that I hate. The me, that without care, I can fall into so easily. Each of these things I am so used to. But I didn’t look like this this morning. So why do I look like this now?

I am almost in a trance, completely absorbed by the image I see of myself in the mirror. The me that I hate so much. The me that I can take control over and improve. That I have spent years trying to improve. I reach out, wanting to touch it, knowing that it is in fact real, only partially aware of the fact it is little more than a reflection. But I touch it, not a piece of glass, it. Music seems to be filtering in from somewhere, apocalyptic music, music to signal the end of the world, and I bring myself closer, actually able to hold my reflection and together we begin a waltz. A waltz for the end of the world. 

The mirror itself fades away, with it so does the real world, just me and my reflection in a moment of pure bliss that can only come out of such dark misery. Neither of us leads, neither follows, our moves are just perfectly matched in a harmony that can only come from a mirror. And I care about little else. Just pure bliss.

And then I am forced away, pushed away from the reflection and left lying on the floor. Virtually in tears from this reflection, I look up to the mirror to see if it was all real. The reflection is already looking at me. As the tears roll down my cheeks, I only notice there are none in the mirror, just a grin. A grin not unlike that of Mitsuko. I reach out to the mirror, wanting one last dance. It does not reach out for me. 

I hear footsteps on the stairs, the others are returning. I quickly pull myself up, wiping away the tears as does my reflection. It has come back to me. Looking at it, I see the me that is my reflection. Presentable, not perfect, but not the mess that I was. 

Mitsuko storms past me, I try to act normal as Hemmingway signals me to leave this place. They have obviously not found what they were looking for. But I find it so difficult to get past the fact that a moment ago, I was celebrating myself in the most glorious way before we were torn apart. The rejection of myself has left me feeling that I can never be more than a mess, a shambles, and it doesn’t matter how hard I work on myself, how intellectual I become or how much charm I pick up, it will never matter. I have seen myself the way that others see me. That much I am a dab hand at dealing with. It’s the rejection of myself that I am having so much difficulty dealing with. 

I walk out the door, immediately paranoid that I look like that shabby mess, and not the fairly presentable person the reasonable part of my brain is telling me that I am. The other two have got back into the car. I just want to run back into the house and hide, not let people see such a mess. They don’t deserve it, and I can’t live with the humiliation. Hemmingway starts the engine, but I just stand here, seriously considering the other option, in the meantime aware that residents along the street may very well be looking out the window, wondering why such a freak is standing in a garden. 

It’s actually unbearable. I don’t want to get in that car. But the house is not mine, either. I can’t stay in there forever, I would have to leave eventually, presumably in the very near future. I can’t decide what to do. Hemmingway revs up the engine, impatient, threatening to drive off without me. That would cause the collar to explode. Yet, I could live with sudden death right now. 

“Come on!” shouts Hemmingway and I give in. I can still change my appearance. Major plastic surgery, perhaps, or I can just hide in my own house. I don’t know. I manage to overcome my fear just enough to get into the car. 

Hemmingway puts on the childlock, I assume that’s to keep me locked in. He turns to face me. “Grab her arms,” he demands. I do, automatically, blindly following orders. Mitsuko struggles, but I hold on. Hemmingway pulls out a pair of handcuffs. He leans down to try and put them on Mitsuko’s kicking legs. Comprehension dawning, I hold her arms back with much more force. I feel that I should be enjoying this, but I can’t. Mitsuko has every right to hate me; she should. Which gives me no right to enjoy this. I am merely acting as a pawn right now, which is no more or less than I have ever acted.

Hemmingway manages to get both her legs cuffed, but her anger is taken out on me. Feeling so miserable about myself, I just accept everything that she says about me. I can only agree with her put downs. As a consequence, I do not react, remaining quite calm, infuriating her further. We drive off. I lean my head against the window, able to see the world move past through my reflection. 

I want to tell them what happened. I know that I wouldn’t get any positive encouragement from them. That wouldn’t be why I would tell them. I want them to bring some kind of light to what went on. Hemmingway, at least. But I know that I must keep my mouth shut in respect to what happened earlier. Mitsuko is having enough difficulty just being in a car with me as it is. 

We do not travel far, to Mitsuko’s obvious relief as she is the first to get out of the car, ejecting herself from it, in fact. Forgetting her legs are restrained, she stumbles and falls. A thin smile plays upon my lips, however, there is no humour within me. Reluctantly I get out of the car reasoning that it wouldn’t be the cover that I crave. 

“Bastard oppressors! Quite honestly, I think you are a wank stain on the anus of humanity,” yells Mitsuko as Hemmingway picks her up. 

Not knowing if I am going to the right door, I walk up to one and ring the door bell. Hearing movement behind me, I move out of the way as Mitsuko manages to pick up enough speed to create a waddling charge. She runs headfirst into the door. I don’t know, nor particularly care if she was trying to open the door the way she would normally, or fronting an attack against me.

The door opens to reveal a woman in her early forties. I move out of the way so that I can not easily be seen. “Freeze! F. Something!” screams Mitsuko, in a daze and still on the floor. She has managed to get her gun out, though.

“We’re from the F.I.B.. We believe you called us?” says Hemmingway, pushing Mitsuko’s gun down so that it is not pointing at the woman. 

“I believe you did believe, yes!”

Hemmingway makes himself look as honest as possible. “That’s okay. We’re prepared to believe anything.” He then winks at her.

“Would any of you like some tea?”

“Certainly!” He emphasises the gun underneath the jacket, making me uncertain whether or not Hemmingway is actually attempting to flirt with her. He follows her in, I go to follow, but notice Mitsuko is having difficulty standing up, I try to help her, but her attempts to knock my hands away are wildly off the mark. Assuming concussion, and not knowing what else to do, I drag her into the house, being decent enough to not let her head bang on the doorstep. 

We are led into a kitchen, we are asked to sit while the woman disappears into the kitchen for the tea. I wonder if I am allowed to smoke in here, but the place looks too neat, too tidied. I debate making an excuse and going outside, but I am too afraid to bring that much attention to myself. 

Hemmingway, also, is taking note of the surroundings. “Nice place this. Could be Changing Rooms’d, though.”

Mitsuko’s struggles are becoming more apparent as I try to drag her over to the sofa, bringing with us the rug and the table on it. Her concussion is receding. “Why is it touching me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I say, letting go. I kind of hoped that being nice would have positive connotations. I assumed too much. 

“Don’t touch what you can’t afford, boy.”

“Crunchy. My name is Crunchy.”

“As if I care. Any chocolate is fine by me. Except cheap and nasty reject shit like yourself.”

The woman rushes back in, excited by something, a look of hopeful optimism. “Ooh. Is that chocolate? I love chocolate. I often think I’m a chocoholic.”

“Well, just look at Mr Chocolate here, then.”

“Ooh, Don’t tempt me. I might just eat him all up.” She actually makes the effort to look at me. “He’s not black,” comes after a lengthy pause, as if the mental calculations were worthy of a Steven Hawking. 

“Well, he ain’t the Milky Bar Kid. Too feeble.”

“I am not a chocolate bar,” I say quietly but with determination, wondering what else is going to settle the matter. Trial by jury?

“Anyway, we have some questions we’d like to get through, if that’s okay?” Hemmingway cuts in. 

“Oh! The tea! You must think I’m so rude.”

She dashes off again, back into the kitchen. Mitsuko sniggers. She certainly has an amazing ability to recover from whatever last thought crossed her mind. But I can’t let matters rest right now. “Please don’t call me a chocolate bar again.” I’m remaining calm, holding back a deeper well of fury, but remaining calm.

“Oh just shut up, will you?”

“I’d have one of those Caribbean beach themes with the sand imported from Rhyl,” says Hemmingway, desperately trying to change the subject. 

“Great, there’s one wrapper that can litter your shores.” She smiles to herself, no doubt impressed that her ‘wit’ is on such a roll right now. But it cuts right through me. The fury surges forward, making me physically jerk forward slightly. But I pull myself back as I do the fury. 

“I resent that. You are not a very nice person.”

“And you think that’s how this business works? ‘Hello, would you like a cup of tea, also you are under arrest. Crumpet?’, ‘Could you please tell me where you were on the night of the twentieth, your hair smells lovely, by the way.’”

“You could at least be nice to me. I am on your side, you know.”

“Just think of it as good cop, bad cop. And shit cop.”

I really want a comeback to that, prepared to sink to her level of just being insulting and rude, but before anything comes to mind, the woman comes back in with a tray, filled with a teapot, only three cups, I cannot help but notice and biscuits. The knowledge that once again I have been left out via cups of tea, and no doubt with the biscuits, takes over in my hatred for Mitsuko, pushing me back into a bitter sense of self-unworthiness. 

“Hello! I’m back. Now we can get down to some business, shall we?”

Hemmingway, ready to begin the questioning realises that he’s left his notepad in the car. He moves over to me, grabs my shirt and yanks me back to where I am sitting. I can’t help but wince as I hear the seams coming apart on the shirt somewhere. As if I wasn’t enough of a mess already.

“Okay, says here on Crunchy’s shirt that your husband committed suicide. But you believe this not to be the case? Could you perhaps fill us in on what happened? First of all your name.”   

“Smith. Chlamydia Smith. My husbands name was Ash. I don’t know what happened to him. At times he would be as high as a kite. At others, even a snail would think little of him, or so he’d believe.”

Stood here, already seething over the treatment I have received from Mitsuko, wallowing in a grave of my own self misery, craving a cigarette but too scared to find out if I can have one, being treated like a human notepad is the last thing I need. The fury is seeking a way out, but I refuse to give it one. It’s counter-productive. I need to be in control. My gaze is focused on Chlamydia, a red glow suddenly cast upon her. There is a gasp from Mitsuko, who is looking at me. She too is covered in a red glow. I look away but there the glow is. Coming from my gaze, or more accurately, my eyes. I shut them, forcing the fury to stay inside. But it is difficult. My body, as a vessel, is incapable of keeping it held in. The equivalent of trying to force two pints of liquid into a pint glass. Is it possible to compress fury?

“But it was the mirror. He always seemed transfixed with his reflection. Just standing there, asking himself what he could do. What could he do? When he was up, he could believe he would take over the world. When he was down, it was as if the world was rolling slowly over him. But he would always return to that mirror. I saw him once. I saw him in the mirror. He seemed to be laughing, a cruel, taunting laugh. When I approached him to see what it was he was laughing at, his face, his actual face was a sight of such misery.”

I know that Chlamydia is describing who I am. Including the reflection. I wonder if I should have said something earlier. Should I say something now? Or should I find out what happened first? Would anyone believe me? Would they keep me on the investigation? No. I’d get chucked out. They hate me enough as it is. The fury changes direction, aimed solely at myself. Dare I open my eyes? Is it safe to do that now? Would I discover that it is just me that is covered in the red glow?

“And how was it that your husband actually died, Chlamydia?”

“No, it was suicide, nothing like that! How unclean do you think I am?”

“How was it that your husband died, Mrs Smith?”

“I found him lying on the floor. Blood everywhere from stab wounds, blows to the body. I could not see any weapon. Nor could I see any reflection in the mirror. As if his soul was stolen away from him. The policemen who first came said it must have been murder, but no sign of any entry or exit could be found. No footprints or fingerprints were found. Then they said it must have been suicide. But how can you dispose of a weapon when you are dead?”

“And what do you believe?”

“Although it was unlike Ash, I believe it was suicide. There is no way that someone could have broken in.”

“Is that because of insurance purposes?” says Mitsuko. She makes it sound sincere, as opposed to the cynicism or the sarcasm I would have attributed to her. Bitch. 

“Because he could just be so depressed.”

“You been getting this down, chocolate boy?”

“I am not a chocolate bar!” And at this, the fury explodes. All the fury I have stored up throughout my life pours through me, giving me such beautiful release. The room is bathed in red. But by emptying myself, it is if it needs to be replaced. The windows implode, the glass flying towards me as the centre, but falling millimetres short. The air swirls around me, objects knocked over and pulled towards me, even the furniture. And all I am aware of is contentment, as if I have held the air in my lungs all my life and only just breathed out. Never before had I realised just how much my soul had burned.  Not all the fury gets out, just enough is kept back. Because I want it, because I need it.

As consciousness comes back, I realise I have managed to gain hold of a gun from somewhere, presumably locked and loaded, but definitely pointed straight at Mitsuko. Strangely she is calm, if not relishing in this threat to her life. Part of me knows that I should lower the gun, apologise and leave these people’s lives forever. But that fury I have maintained urges me on, dares me to see how far I can go. Whether or not I would or could shoot. 

“Go on then, shoot!” says Mitsuko in defiance. I think that she, too, wants to know how far I am prepared to go, as if this is a challenge. This only spurs me on further. 

Hemmingway comes into my view, reluctant to actually come between us, but needing to be somewhere the two of us can see him. “Mitsuko! This is a Situation! Where is the damn hand book?” He pats around his jacket until he finds a small book and opens it. “Chapter on armed attackers.” He searches through more pages, not satisfied with this selection. “Chapter on acting immediately would do.”

“This dweeb doesn’t scare me. Let him have his moment.”

“I will, I will shoot!” But the fury is diminishing. Maybe I did not keep enough in. I know I can’t rise to the challenge. The new challenge is now ‘how long can I keep this going without making a fool of myself?’ I know that I have already failed there, but I try to ignore that fact. 

Hemmingway reads from the book, my attention more on him than it is on Mitsuko. If she knew that, she could overpower me in an instant. I thrust the gun at her, just to hide this. “‘Approach with extreme caution. One false move, one false impression can lead to fatality, either yours or someone else. Try to remain calm.’ Hah! ‘And make yourself as non-threatening as possible. Your gun should be pointed between the attackers eyes. See the chapter on aiming and firing your gun for details.’ Fuck! Where’s that? ‘Tip, try to remember that your novice attacker is often nervous and therefore prone to nervous twitches or firing a gun at the least sign of danger.’ Crunchy, you do do this often, don’t you? This isn’t your first time, is it? Please say it isn’t?”

“Tell her to leave me alone.”

“You’re a dweeb. You need to know that. How can you ever not be a dweeb if you don’t know that you are?”

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!”

“Hey, it’s just constructive criticism.”

And there we go. She’s won. She is right. What she fails to acknowledge that it doesn’t matter if I know, I will fail to be able to do anything about it. “Very well, then. I shall give you your just reward. I shall kill myself.” I turn the gun on my temple. And I think of my parting shot. “Your punishment shall be thus. To live. And no bitter more ironic twist can I think of. Forever shall you exist, living your life and making weak choices. But to compensate, you shall have the guilt, the knowledge, the fact that my death is the result of your sickened soul. You shall be a murderer. I shall be a martyr!”

“Hooray. Crisis averted. Go on, then. Saves me the effort of kicking your arse. Or maybe I will afterwards, just for the sake of it.”

“Ha ha! For I shall not be alive to know it. And then where will the fun be? Eh?”

I pull the trigger. There is a loud bang. No pain. Nothing changes. I expect blackness. No not even that as that implies some degree of awareness. But I am still aware. Is this death? They all stare at me. Am I a ghost? I don’t feel any different. I know that I shot myself, the gun was right against my head. Ergo, I am dead. But I pat myself, needing to be certain of something. I can still feel myself. If I was a ghost, would my hand not just go through myself? And then the awful realisation. “I missed.” I drop the gun.

Coming to the same conclusion that I am not a ghost, Hemmingway jumps on me, getting me into a headlock. I struggle to get out, trying to work out what I have done to deserve this. I tried to kill myself, and in my book, that is not a headlockable offence. But my struggles are no good, he is just too strong for me. But that is not good enough. Summing up all of my strength, I give one hard, determined pull and I break free. I grab the gun, not too far away and point it now at Hemmingway. I am not the only one with a gun. Mitsuko has hers pointing at me. 

“One way or the other, your arse is going to get kicked. Now do you believe me, dweeb?”

A flustered Chlamydia waves her hands around in the air. “Well, I think we’re all getting a bit over excited. Let’s have some tea, calm ourselves down a little bit, shall we?” 

Hemmingway tries his peace keeping role again. “Put the gun down, Crunchy. Now what’s the point in killing the both of us? The collar will only explode. As far as the little computer is concerned we will both be outside the twenty metre range. We are now a unit. Let’s work together.” Nobody moves. “Mitsuko? Are you prepared to be the bigger person here?”

“Hemmingway, he is endangering our mission.”

And those are the magic words. The collar starts beeping, everybody aware, curious as to just how powerful the explosion is, and whether flying fragments of skull can kill. Or maybe they’ll just be too small. I drop the gun. I think it might have gone off, but to be honest I’m too concerned about scrabbling at the collar to notice. The beep only gets faster. The others begin backing slowly away, including Chlamydia who has picked up on the apparent danger of the situation. If I could only suspend this moment in time, isolate it and constrain it only to the collar around my neck. Then I could carry on and everything would be normal, but I can’t. For what dictates the way in which things happen? I understand now that this is the full commitment, this moment here. Yet, never have I been one to commit. I have always run and hid myself away. That is why I have never got far in life, and yet now I am being offered the chance to go far in death.   

The beep turns into a whine. Hemmingway and Chlamydia throw themselves to the floor as does Mitsuko, emitting a “Freak!” as a farewell passing. For the second time within five minutes and also, incidentally, my life, I am going to witness my own death. It is under the most macabre circumstances, but I feel a certain pride that Mitsuko and Hemmingway cannot have; that I will have a front row seat, active participation. The winning goal, if you must. The whine stops. For one instant that stretches itself out to unbearable limits, there is a possibility that the collar has failed, and will fail, to explode. But an instant, sadly, is only an instant. The collar explodes. There is searing pain in my neck, I wonder if my head will fly off. 

My question, sadly, is not answered. Everything becomes shadows in a shadow world. But as I quickly discover, that is only in front of me. Behind me is a world I recognise.One of light and colour, but where time has been temporarily suspended, and I am here between the two. I have to commit, and yet I cannot. Not to life, nor to death. I remain standing here, knowing that now I should be dead, and yet I hide, I hide within a living body. For that is where death cannot get to me. But life has had me trapped. I guess that I am stuck here now, as is anyone who cannot decide what to do. Digging out my own rut of inaction until either I am inspired into movement or caught out. I had always wanted my life to have more meaning, therefore my death has little meaning. Behind me is a life I do not want to go back to, in front of me is something else that I have desired – but not yet. But who am I to decide? I am, after all, here now, a slave to fate. But if that is the case, why then am I being given a choice? Is this how it is for everyone else, but for me I am too feeble, too worried to commit?

I sigh falling onto my backside on the floor, where I just sit. The colour comes flooding back. Time has caught up with everyone else now. They just lie there, where they landed, looking at me, scrutinising. I am alive. I fell back into the living world. Damn! This is going to take some explaining. 

“Yeah, erm… I didn’t die.” It’s a bit weak, but at least it gets rid of any ambiguity from the beginning. I don’t think that any of them are able to form questions, because the answers are just too inconceivable right now. That makes my position tricky, as I am expected to continue without knowing what to say. I shall settle for how I feel about it, and maybe manage to take it from there. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of selfish of me. Billions die, and yet they have much more lives to live, but they can’t, ‘cos they’re dead. And then there’s me, I kind of wanted to die, and I died, and I could have stayed dead, but I didn’t. But others don’t have a choice. And I don’t know if I had a choice, but I didn’t know if I could commit or not. And then I sighed, and kind of fell back, and I found I had made a choice, or at least committed, and I was still alive.” Something comes to my attention, my neck doesn’t hurt. I tentatively touch it, but no pain. Being bolder, I cannot feel a single burn, graze or bruise anywhere. The collar has gone, though. That is conclusive. I don’t have to be here any more. But I want to be. In fact, I need to be. My return train ticket isn’t open for another two weeks, and I can’t afford to get another one. I wish that somebody would say something, even Mitsuko screaming abuse at me. The silence is just too unbearable. “I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about that. This kind of thing happens every day.” I definitely said too much there. “Well, not that. But… you know. Don’t you?”

Mitsuko shakes her head. It might not destroy the silence, but at least it’s something. Her action brings Hemmingway out of his trance. “It’s getting kind of late.” He looks out of the window at the darkening winter sky outside. “Shit, it is. I think we’ve finished here. Chlamydia, we may need to come back for more questions.”

“Okay. Is he coming with you?”

“No.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

Hemmingway pushes myself and Mitsuko out and into the car. Thankfully, she hasn’t yet said a word, and mercifully Hemmingway is being very quiet. Starting the engine, he speeds off, driving fast and driving aggressively. The clock and the darkening sky apparently his current motivations. 

Mitsuko finally turns to face me. “What the hell are you?”

“Erm, am I allowed to have my lawyer present?” I mean it as a joke. It fails, desperately. Now she thinks I’m Mutant Boy, or an alien or something. She turns back, disgusted.

“Yes, it was me earlier in the car. I caused the windows to implode. I should have died. I didn’t. Details of my life that I care not to have, but turn up at frequent, random intervals.”

“That’s enough, Crunchy. I think we’ve all had enough for tonight. I’m going to take you to the safe house. Then I’ve got business to attend to.”

We spend the rest of the journey in silence. Fortunately, it is not a long journey. 

***

I place my bag on my bed. My room is the box room, naturally, allocated to me by the others, who both have double rooms. But it is enough for me. I have nothing with me, I just need a bed. I think we are still in Camden; this is nothing more than a terraced house. Any more than that I cannot say, as I just do not know London well enough. Hemmingway chucked us the keys before accelerating into the late afternoon darkness.

I open my bag, pulling out my one pair of underpants and place them in a drawer. I place my bag into the drawer underneath. I look around the room. All I have in here are the bed and the cabinet I put my stuff in. On the door is a full length mirror. I shall do my best to ignore it. Its walls are pale, no characteristics at all. An impulse to personalise the room comes over me, but I do not have the necessary items. 

I leave my room and walk over to Mitsuko’s door. As I knock, I can hear a buzzing sound from her side of the door. Assuming she can’t hear me, I dare to open the door and peek my head around. Immediately I can see her room is much more furnished than mine, as if the last occupant left everything, literally everything as it is so cluttered, behind them. Mitsuko herself is stood in front of a mirror, shaving her head. She has changed into a white vest and combat trousers. No doubt all this she has found as she brought nothing with her. She’ll pick her stuff up tomorrow. Seeing me in the mirror, she turns off the shaver and faces me. Appreciating that this is Mitsuko and the situation is already awkward enough, it is even more awkward talking to her when her only hair is in patches on her scalp. But it is time to make a truce. 

“Um. Sorry about earlier.”

I don’t know what to expect. I think that she genuinely fears me after what happened, but that fear hasn’t stopped her from attacking me before.

“Yeah, bridge under the water and all that.”

Well, it’s a step in the right direction, so I choose not to correct her. It may not last, but it’s a step in the right direction. “May I borrow a pen? I want to write a few things down.”

She searches around, finding a magic marker. It is better than I could have hoped for. I come into the room to take it from her, before heading back to the door. She has already turned away from me, continuing to shave her head.

I head back to my room. I begin writing on the wall. ‘Freak’, ‘Loser’, ‘Die’, ‘Cunt’, ‘Twat’ and many more. Words that come to me, words that express who I am. I will continue to write them on my body.

***

Hemmingway screeches to a halt outside his house in East Dulwich, cursing the fact that the school run has to coincide with the emergence of night at this time of year. And getting through any part of London during the school run is no easy feat, particularly trying to get from North London to South London. It is dark, Hemmingway could easily be late as he runs to his door, the car engine still running. 

“Annette! Annette!”  There is no answer. There will be serious trouble if he is late. If she has left the house. He runs up to his room, their room. He is relieved to find her still lying in bed. 

“Get dressed, Annette, we need to leave this place, go somewhere else instead for a few nights.”

“But I want to stay here. I was thinking about exploring the neighbourhood tonight.”

The thought is too much for Hemmingway, this is what he had dreaded. “Please?”

“You beg. Why aren’t you more valiant? You are supposed to be my hero.” 

“Well, I have a gun.”

“I want you to bleed.”

This may be Hemmingway’s only chance. Reluctantly he agrees. Annette moves up to him, but he stops her getting too close. Finding a razor blade, he slashes his arm, surprised that the anticipation was much worse than the pain. But it is merely a scratch and nowhere near enough. Her hungry eyes wanting more, not satisfied by this tease. He cuts once more, able to see the fatty tissue underneath the skin before the blood fills up the cut and spills down the arm. It may not be much, but this is all she needs. She grabs his arm and puts her mouth over the cut and begins to suck. Hemmingway can feel an intense sensation of pins and needles in his arm, as if he didn’t need enough warning that he needs to be extremely careful. He certainly can’t make a habit out of this, but tonight needs to be an exception. 

“That’s enough now.” But she doesn’t respond. He slowly but firmly pushes her head away from his arm. He is feeling weak and dizzy, hoping he hasn’t given enough blood. “Please, you must come with me now.” He is not a violent person, has never believed that it achieves any aims. He is tempted to use force now, but knows that it would be completely ineffective.

“Where do you want to take me?”

“To another house.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Come, then.”

Hemmingway allows her to dress, first, standing outside the room, gripping a bottle of water. When she is ready, he takes her by the hand and down to the car. He hasn’t seen the Child anywhere. To be honest, he couldn’t give a shit about the Child, glad that it won’t be able to find them. And so far, she hasn’t mentioned him. Hemmingway begins to relax. So far things are going well.

Driving through London at night with Annette in the car is one of the most harrowing things Hemmingway has ever done in his life as he knows that there is the potential of danger with every passing second. He drives carefully, cautiously, much more so than he would care to do so, his foot aching to press down on the accelerator. But he doesn’t want the attention of the police. 

They reach the safe house. There are a couple of lights on upstairs, but none downstairs. The other two must be in their rooms. Things must really be going well for Hemmingway as he really doesn’t want Mitsuko or Crunchy to see Annette. He opens the door, and with her hand in his, walks inside. He stops when he realises that Annette is not moving. 

“Won’t you come in?”

He leads her up the stairs and into the bedroom. Leaving her there locked up, he goes downstairs to get a stiff drink to calm himself. He tends to the cut on his arm, cleaning it up and disinfecting it, knowing that if he really had been infected, he would know by now. A few paracetamol to thin the blood would not be a bad thing, either. It is a long night ahead of him.