Recovery. (5) I greatly considered taking the four and leaving the rest to their state of minds, figuring we could escape whilst we still had time. Five alive was better than none. I discussed this concept with Bethany, who bit her lip and fiddled with her fingers. “But what about Alexander? Won’t you miss him?” I thought back to the many arguments that had followed Helena’s first disappearance and how distant we had become since. “I feel our safety to be a greater factor than my failing relationship,” I said firmly. It hurt to think we may be leaving our friends to their deaths, but as Edwin had stated so clearly, how could any of us stand up to so many Americans of that degree? Samuel agreed, saying Alexander had changed for the worse and we all had to make sacrifices in life. Lillian never said a word. We left that evening in the dead of night. * * * It took time for me to make the transition between leader and soldier, considering Wain and Edwin constantly asked for my advice. However, it took no time at all for me to adjust to the comforts of living underground and the safety it offered, safe in the knowledge there were only two exits in and out of the hideout, of which both were constantly patrolled. I spent many hours tuned into the American radio waves listening in hope that they had not yet attacked Alexander and his gang. “The moment we hear something,” Wain had promised, “we’ll help.” I was never sure that he would, or indeed we could reach them in time, but I was thankful all the same. I hadn’t seen a lot of my companions since we arrived, so busy had I been with aiding Wain and Edwin with their duties and listening intently to the Americans. Adrienne had made it her mission to entrance almost the entire male population of the combined gangs, and for that I was grateful. I had received many offers to help ease my pain, all of which were harshly turned down. The last I heard of Bethany was that she was mothering the kitchens. This didn’t shock me an awful lot as she had been housetrained from the very beginning. Samuel had been making his presence known in the ranks of soldier. It scared both of us how well trained they had become. If this gang had chosen to attack us instead of allowing us to join then we would have wiped out. Lillian’s behaviour was what scared me greatest. Naturally quiet, she sat on her bunk all-day and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t that she had nothing to do; Bethany had tried inviting her into the kitchens, but the girl seemed detached from the world. When I spoke to her, she would mumble her reply and look away. She barely ate; I think that if Bethany and I hadn’t brought regular meals to her bedside, she wouldn’t have moved at all. Helena took my unexpected appearance with great enthusiasm. I think she believed we came after her and not in search of safety. It made her so happy, I never had the heart to tell her the truth. * * * Wain’s idealistic views on rank became apparent to me at one morning eight weeks after we joined them. I was in the kitchen with Bethany, sweeping up the scraps of food from under the tables and mopping the floor when Wain entered. He frowned at the mop in my hands and my laughter with Bethany and stole it from my grasp, thrusting the old mop into my friend’s hands and dragging me away. I shook him off a few steps out the door and glared at him, hands planted firmly on my hips. “What do you want from me?” I asked, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice and failing. He looked me over, his cold eyes taking in my tattered and soaking clothes, my unkempt hair and my burning expression. “You don’t have to do that,” he said softly. “Do what?” I snapped, scowling as he offered me his arm. “Clean.” He said the word as though it was servant’s work, making it sound low and demeaning. “You don’t have to do it.” He repeated. “Where I come from, we share the load.” I flicked my hair back over my shoulder and waltzed back into the kitchen with an air of finality, making sure every step radiated control and defiance. No one would look at me as I entered the kitchen, but I saw a few smiles and Bethany hugged me. They had heard every word and I knew I was back on the leader’s path. Edwin winked at me as I sat with him at dinner that night. Bethany and Samuel were still working, so we sat together in silence enjoying each other’s company. It reminded me of that first meeting with Alexander and I felt a pang of remorse deep in my gut, but it was brief and instant. “I congratulate you on fighting Wain today,” he whispered, a soft smile on his thin lips. “I would hardly call it a ‘fight’,” I said, sipping my drink nonchalantly. “I simply put him in his place.” “That’s not something a lot of us would dare to do,” Edwin said, leaning in closer so that only I could hear him. “You’re a strong woman, Faith. I’m sorry I didn’t see that from the start.” What he implied from that was never clear to me, and was never given room for explanation; Alexander’s gang shot Edwin dead that night on patrol. “He got too close to the perimeter,” Wain had said. “They thought he was attacking.” Alexander, in all his ignorance and stupidity, started a war that night. * * * Wain showed no reluctance to allow Adrienne, Samuel and Bethany to step back from the fighting. Lillian was taken to be too young, of which I agreed with. I, however, would not let myself be stopped, if only to hunt down Alexander. I had no business with anyone else. A part of me screamed I had no business attacking Alexander, that I was a hypocrite and mutinous. I strangled that side of myself. It wasn’t part of me now. I had a new leader and a new mission. Edwin was my friend, and for that I owed him. In some ways Edwin had meant more to me than Alexander ever could. He was the leader of an opposing gang, the bigger gang, and I had spent hours brooding over what he would do next, how he would strike and how I could fool him. Then, once we met and I learnt that he was my equal, I admired him. He was a collection of tactical genius and kindness. He was both a friend and a leader, a feat I had never mastered. He was everything I wanted to and couldn’t be. He was everything I wanted, and now he was gone. I led the attack against Alexander three days after Edwin had been killed. I had been blinded by rage and confusion, and was eager for justice. I took four soldiers: Jonathon, Colin, Meredith, and Catherine, all volunteers from Edwin’s former gang and eager for revenge. As we drew up close to the house I took them behind our defences. I contemplated drawing attention to myself and deceiving Alexander into thinking I had returned for good, but banished it quickly. This had to be short, sharp and sudden. I stood before the back kitchen door with renewed sorrow. I thought for a second how it would look to the gang if I just walked on in and sat down at the kitchen table, acting as if nothing had changed. Instead I fired a gunshot to the heavens and waited. As predicted, Alexander emerged from the house with Theo at his side carrying a pistol in his right hand. I couldn’t help but scowl at him as he approached. I lifted my chin and raised my gun. Alexander stopped and opened his mouth to speak. I cut him off. “You killed Edwin.” I spat, my gun hand trembling. I felt Catherine at my side, shifting her feet into a defensive stance. “He came within our perimeters.” Alexander said calmly. Theo drew his gun but didn’t aim it at me. “He wasn’t attacking. It was dark. He was unarmed.” My voice slipped and I the last words came out higher than I wanted. “How could you?” I forced, tears streaming down my cheeks. He tried to step forwards, to take me in his arms, but Jonathon slipped between us. “Don’t touch her,” he hissed. “Or I’ll fucking shoot you.” Alexander froze and glanced between us. He bit his lip and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “If this is how you want it to be,” he said calmly, like he could have been asking for a drink. “Then so be it. But don’t ever come back.” He turned his back on me for the last time and I raised my gun and shot him straight in the back of his head. His blood and brains hit the glass kitchen window and he collapsed lifeless to the floor. Before Theo could master the will to return the shot, we had fled from the perimeters into no mans land * * * Breathless and exhilarated, we returned to the underground knowing we had made a considerable difference to a bitter world. I felt no shame for my actions, and even toasted the day’s good fortune with a half-pint glass of vodka with my companions. As I raised the glass to my lips, I saw Bethany enter the room over the lip of the beaker. She looked furious. “Is it true what you did?” she demanded, her eyes red rimmed with tears. “Did you really kill Alexander?” Unable to lie to her, I nodded slowly with a feigned look of regret on my face. I didn’t care. She slapped me once and sharp across my cheek and fled the room, howling. I felt my cheek with an air of curiosity and let the tingling pain meld with the buzz of alcohol. Wain and my friends were watching me closely, all traces of celebration gone from their expressions. I raised my glass, nodded, and downed it with the words: “for Edwin.” * * * I could never understand Bethany’s motive for leaving us and taking Samuel with her. Adrienne stayed, but then, I never saw her daily presence the way I had greeted Bethany’s, so if she had chosen to leave it would have been un-noticed. Helena became weary around me, bored with my constant chatter about what we should be planning to do next, and how to prepare for the upcoming war. She believed there was never going to be a war. Lillian still lay in bed, never saying a word, never moving, hardly ever eating. She was becoming increasingly thinner, and that scared me to the core. She hadn’t adorned one word to me for a month. I stopped listening to the American radio waves after I had killed Alexander. I saw no need to watch over traitors when I could spend my precious time with Wain or learning how to fight or fire a pistol at a range further than five meters. More often than not, Wain stepped aside to allow me to claim leadership. He was a fantastic leader, but not unlike Alexander, he lacked the ability to make quick snap decisions and always be right. I felt alive again, more powerful than I had ever been, and in control of a situation I had been battling for the better part of four years. I was well past wanting to be involved with any sort of relationship, and if I had had my way about it, I would never have spoken to another human being ever again. Social situations would simply cease to exist outside the necessary and I would never have to worry about the indescribable difficulties of having friends. And it was this, my hunger for solitude that broke me in the end. Despite the intellectual and caring qualities my closest companions possessed, I hated them. I sought for every opportunity not spend time with them or indeed anyone, and I found myself grasping for a reason to avoid the very meetings I had organised. Even the silent and delicate presence of Lillian lying motionless on her bed was suffocating to me. Since Edwin had died, I hadn’t been the same. Or perhaps, I reflected constantly whilst carrying out my daily chores, I hadn’t been the same since Alexander died. Soon enough, the two men began to mould into one, and I was never sure who I had loved or who I missed or who I had killed. * * * It was Wain who noticed the difference first, when I snapped at Joseph for reading too loud. He had, in fact, been reading in silence, but I was so sure I had seen his lips move in rhythm to the words and that annoyed me. Wain raised his eyebrows and said, “the boy didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t take your anger out on him.” I was so outraged at the accusation Joseph was innocent that I stormed from the room in protest, unable to handle the sound of his silent whispers and into Lillian’s bedroom. It took one sight of that girl lying expressionless with her untouched food bowl beside her to set me off. I grabbed the lifeless rose by the hair and slammed her fragile skull against the wall. She didn’t cry out, and that annoyed me. I wanted to see emotion; I wanted to stain her pretty blond hair with crimson life. I stopped when I heard the screaming. I paused, pleased with the outcome and loving the world. I cast a deep look onto Lillian, a look of pure bliss and saw her lips were not moving. I was on the floor, holding her forehead to my cheek and sobbing. I continued to scream. I never revealed that it was I who had caused such injuries to the girl when we were found. Everyone assumed that I had discovered her in that state and was crying out of despair and worry. This was further proof they did not know me for who I really was, and I revelled in the feeling of isolation that gave me. I was above and apart from the world. In another way, I was so desperately trapped that I could never find a way out from the constraints tying me down to this world. Four years ago I could have locked myself in my room and ignored the world. Well, I could still do that now, but I knew that in the morning I would still wake up to the same dank ceiling and the same droll schedule. Four years ago I had options, my life had been going somewhere. * * * There was the slightest breeze as I stood four feet from the entrance, perched on the balls of my feet and rocking back and forth, clutching at my elbows and scanning the area for movement. Wain had been reluctant to let me out alone on watch tonight. A lot of people wanted me dead, and that didn’t just mean the opposing gang. I guessed Theo had taken Alexander’s place in leader. I thought about it until obsession, pondering the sandy haired boy and his almond eyes and long lashes. He would be the first to claim my innocence, to say I was overridden with grief to the point of bitter insanity, and I was merely claiming vengeance on Alexander when what I really needed was to claim vengeance on my hatred. Poor Theo. He was such a sad miserable soul, who would be so awful as their leader. The night air was warm and stuffy. I stood there alone, wiggling my shoulders to relieve the cramp that made me seem so childish and innocent. I had lost my innocence so many years ago. I had long since lost any traces of the girl I had once been. War does that to a girl. Sometimes I understood why the men of generations had been the ones to fight for war, leaving the women at home to wave them off and care for the children. Women thought too much. You couldn’t think clearly in war, and that frustrated women. We were too damn desperate to think before we acted that by the time it came to shoot our enemies dead it was too late, they had taken our property, killed our children, and raped us, all because we were too stubborn to act without thinking. Men needed the power. They needed to feel dominant over women in order progress, take the top dog stance and defend the lesser beings. And if that included killing a man, then so be it, they killed them. There were very few stars that night, I noticed, tearing my eyes away from the horizon just for a second. I used to love the stars, used to stare at them for hours wondering how far away they were and if they actually meant anything that all these philosophers claimed. Now, four years later, I hardly spared time to look. I thought perhaps I could see Orion the hunter in the sky, the only constellation I had ever been able to pick out clearly, and it seemed so significant. This was never how things were supposed to be, but somehow I had fallen into this character that would never have seemed possible four years ago. I was so sorry this was how I turned out, throttling a small girl near to the point of death, shooting the only man who had ever meant anything to me, losing a potential lover at said mans hand, clutching at a pistol in my pocket as a way of staying alive. Four years ago I would never have had people wanting me dead. Enemies, yes. But I had hardly known what the word had meant. It seemed, hours ago at the most, I had been in control of everything. And now, things were going so very horribly wrong. Growing up, I had never needed anyone, so independent on my own accords. I never needed saving from my defective family, I never had a hero; I never even had a real role model. Alexander was the closest I ever came to any of those things, and I think that’s why I grew to hate him so much, why I lashed in the few moments of imperfection that he gave me. I had never learnt how to give everything to the world, to share every secret, not even with Helena. And now here I was, stood by the back exit of the London underground clutching a pistol in my pocket all alone with tears threatening to spill from my cold blue eyes, an act I hadn’t sincerely completed for four years. Every sound in the night seemed to magnify itself, and I was so aware of the world. My tears were warm, the only comfort on that frozen night. My shivers seemed to make my body dance, so violent and sudden that they were. I could smell the rain in the air, stuffy and humid, enclosing and swift and sudden. And standing there in the thick autumn evening did something to me, the closest transition to reconciliation I had taken in four years. The tears flowed free and embarrassing in number, soft sobs raking my starved body, twisting like a knife in my lungs, tightening my throat, my breathing laboured. I couldn’t live like this, in the person I had become. * * * Wain told me she died because she couldn’t eat. I begged to differ, she died because she didn’t want to eat, and she didn’t want to live anymore. I had always found a child’s perspective the most refreshing. We buried Lillian outside the gates in no mans land, figuring she had been apart of both gangs, and therefore deserved to be buried between us. We said a few things, no tears were shed except for those from Helena, and we went back inside to drink vodka from half pint glasses and forget the fact that the last innocent soul was gone from the world. If I had known what Lillian had been planning to do, I would have lain down beside her and joined her, and then perhaps she wouldn’t have had to die alone. It upset me greatly the fact that no living creature wanted to die alone, yet lived their lives in isolation, like dying was something to be afraid of. Lillian hadn’t been afraid. Edwin hadn’t been afraid, Alexander hadn’t been afraid. But I was so afraid. They were so much stronger than I was, because they were dead and they hadn’t been afraid. Helena was all I had left now. She was emotional and weak, but she was familiar and there. She was all that was left of the people who gave a damn and she accepted me back into her life with open arms, and for that I loved her eternally. I forgot about Wain and war towards the end of September and began listening to American radio broadcasts again because they were familiar and comforting. I sat for hours, flicking through the channels picking up any messages I could find and writing them down on a flimsy notepad. I had almost forgotten how to write, and my letters were slanted and indistinguishable, but I had the feeling that no one ever read through a word I wrote anyway. A new voice joined the line, heavy with a French accent and sweet to my ears. The words were thick and broken, but I heard what I needed. On a new sheet of paper, I wrote down the name of a city, the port, and hid it in my back pocket. * * * Coffee was, by far, the sweetest drink known to man, I reflected with an odd bliss, sipping from a white porcelain cup with blue trim at a wooden table in the back streets of Paris. The air was bitter with the scent of Kenyan coffee beans and fresh flowers from the market stalls beside the shop. I glanced over the rim of my cup at a blonde girl hidden behind a newspaper on the opposite side of the table. She wore no make up, and seemed to blend into the Paris way of life without even trying. She felt my stare and delicately folded up the tabloid, placing it on her knee and smiling at me. “Nothing,” Helena said, referring to the headlines. “Not a word.” “That’s no surprise,” I said wearily, closing my eyes and bringing my head up to the sun, basking in its heat. “They would want to keep it quiet from the Americans.” She frowned but didn’t say a word. My prejudice against the Americans never seemed to falter, despite constant reminder from Helena that it hadn’t been the entire American army attacking us, only a small group. Terrorists, she called them. But it was ingrained in me now; a lesson learnt so well I doubt it would ever leave me. We had headed south towards Portsmouth and what was now a French naval base, to be airlifted out of there, away from Wain and Bethany and Samuel and into France, where we sat, drinking coffee and playing the act seemingly normal teenagers to the casual onlooker. All the gaps, everything we had ever desired to know about the attacks was told to us by the stuffy leaders of the remaining English colony in the south of France. We would be joining them soon. I blamed them for all the horrific things we went through, for losing all that we did, for stealing our innocence and denying us the fact that anything could ever be simple again. Their words of consolation were so fake and forced, I wanted to hurt them for wasting our time with the mindless babble. The street gradually became more crowded as the sun rose to midday, and I was glad for Helena’s presence. We had been living in such a under populated area for so long that the concept of crowded streets was alien to us, and though I would never had admitted it to Helena, made me panic. I felt I was closed off from all escape, like an enemy could be hiding within the crowds unnoticed. Paranoia, I knew, but I couldn’t shake it off. I felt like a convict, detached from the world and below the average man, like I could never live up to the natural standards ever again. I could never go back to school, never saw myself with a job. I felt insane with a different way of thinking to the world. Everything had changed now. For the better? I was never sure. I sipped my drink again and smiled at Helena. She paid the waiter in cash and we stood from the table, walking together down the cobbled street back to the hotel. Our lives before those four years was worthless now, invalid except for our friendship. But, I reflected humourlessly, I did wish I had spent more time learning French. END.
Copyright © 2005 Megan A Hennessey |