I'd be an anchor but I'm scared you'd drown
It's safer on the ground
Why you talk so loud?
Why you talk so?
-The 1975, Talk!-
"C'mon, Lainey!" Jamie jeered, a lovely smile playing at her lips- the kind that made your eyes light up like only a kid could do. "Kick the damn ball already."
Elena watched her twin as she adjusted her backwards cap, she was really starting to hate that stupid old hat, and she was determined that this time she wasn't going to lose, because you could only lose so many times to your twin before bragging rights kicked in. Not that Jamie would brag, there was no joy in beating someone who couldn't kick a ball to save her life, but Elena didn't know that.
She kicked it as hard as she could, and they both admired the way it soared through the air precariously with something akin to pride. Laughter filled the air, it was childish really, but Jamie was elated by the fact that her sister could finally kick a ball, not one of those wussy taps she had been trying to pass off for the last hour or so.
The ball fell one step at a time. Thump, thump, thump! She could hear it roll along the concrete floor, the faint thud! as it hit something solid, coming to an abrupt halt. Elena wasn't laughing anymore, and her smile dropped hastily as the ball sank further into the darkness.
"Wh-Oops!" Jamie snickered, too amused to be taken seriously but too condescending to be ignored, it had been Elena's fault after all. But she had stood by and watched as the ball sank into the darkness of the basement, forbidden territory by all means, so she supposed she was an accomplice- or rather, no help at all.
Over the course of the last six months Jamie and Tyler had lost a total of three soccer balls, and with the promise of freedom upon the horizon she sure as hell wasn't about to let this one slip through her fingers too. Who knows how long they'd have to wait in order to get a new one, it could be a matter of months - and to a couple of eight year olds that had a way of feeling like years. So Jamie sauntered down the steep steps without a second thought.
She skipped the last couple of stairs, landing with a muted thump! as her mud clad chuck's hit the floor, closely followed by the sound of Elena's scampering footsteps.
Her eyes wandered along the sea of shelves, lined with books, folders and large encyclopedias. There was everything ranging from medical journals to scattered files, independant research and published books; all colour coded, in chronological order rather than alphabetical like the ones in her Father's study at home. The number '12144' was marked on most of them, the unpublished stuff, especially the more recent entries, but it also dated back a good fifty years or so at the very least. She recognised her Father's handwriting, but a lot of the older ones were foreign to her, a few of the more recent ones as well, so she supposed her Dad had taken over a large project that had progressed over a long period of time, and it only made sense that he wasn't working on it alone.
'Augustine' was the title of each report. Jamie assumed that it was a pharmaceutical company, perhaps a scientific research organisation or even a charity project, some sort of funding source at least. For such a large project would surely be costly, and if it was expensive to run then the money had to come from somewhere.
"Jamie, we shouldn't be down here!" Elena whispered nervously, fiddling with the front of her shirt in an anxious manner.
"It's your fault in the first place, Lainey, you're just too chicken to get caught."
When a strange sound emitted from the other side of the door Elena just about jumped out of her skin, reminding Jamie all too much of a skittish kitten as she ran up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, an impressive feat for someone with such small legs.
Jamie wasn't scared as easily, so when it happened again she listened intently, taking a step or two closer to the door in order to hear better. It was a peculiar buzzing sound, like an electrical charge of sorts, and she noticed that here was light coming from underneath the crack in the door, a manufactured blue glow, artificial in every sense of the word.
By the time the sound had stopped Jamie and the soccer ball were gone, along with the artificial blue light.
The door opened, and Dr. Grayson Gilbert peered out suspiciously, but no one was there.
Tyler Lockwood wasn't exactly sure when he started to pretend, all he knew was that it didn't work- not really. Because he could play pretend all he wants, but that didn't change the fact that he could still hear his Father shouting, his Mother crying. He could ignore the fact that his coach wanted him to pass the ball more, the teachers that told him he was a pain in the ass and all his stupid friends that didn't even like him, but sometimes he got tired of pretending, and some things were just too loud to ignore.
He dreamed of standing up to his dad, telling him what he really thought of him. It wouldn't end well on his part though. Of consoling his mom, but asking the questions he didn't know the answers too. Like why she was still with his Dad when she obviously wasn't happy, but that wasn't something a child should ask. He could start passing the goddamn ball, but he knew he was better than all the other boys on the team- that's why Randall Harrison had punched him after all. And he could tell the teachers the truth, could tell them just how scared he was, but they didn't care so Tyler wouldn't say anything. And besides, he had Jamie Gilbert.
Many a night Jamie had snuck through the window, slipping into Tyler's room treacherously, enjoying the feel of her rubber soles balanced on the thin wooden strip of his window sill.
Carol Lockwood, after indulging in too much wine for the evening, would sob. She'd cry for her adulterous husband, of whom spent more time in other women's beds than in their own, for her son whose Father smacked him around on occasion, and most of all for herself. This wasn't how she had pictured her life, not at all, she was supposed to be happy; she had a rich husband, a handsome son, and she had power. But here she was with drinking too much with her mascara running down her face and her lipstick staining the glass.
Richard, more often than not, would be gone by the time Tyler went to bed, or earlier depending on his mood. It wasn't normal for a kid to be hyper-aware of the fact that his Dad was cheating on his Mom, but there was no love lost between the already damaged family dynamics of the Lockwood Household. Mostly Tyler was just happy for the quiet, it was easier to tune out crying than it was shouting or the sound of something breaking, like his happiness for example, and most importantly his ignorant bliss.
So when he looked up from his sketchbook he was surprised to see Jamie Gilbert perched on his window sill, a smug look that shouldn't have looked right on a child's face playing at her lips, but somehow it worked for her. He knew she still had a week left of her fortnight prison sentence, she should have been at home sleeping because she had nothing better to do, but like him Jamie had problems.
"Hey, princess, why the long face?" She drawled, but despite the condescending tone and and the shit eating grin on her face he could hear the sadness of it all.
Tyler gave her a weak smile, "You pulled a shawshank or what?" He was avoiding the question, but she didn't have the heart to get on his case about it, she had missed him after all.
"Yeah, something like that." She trailed off thoughtfully, like she so often did after she climbs through his window, because ultimately there was a reason why she was there.
Sometimes Jamie had this way about her, as if some weight was pulling her down, and as the quietness seeped through it was almost as if she were drowning in the silence with the white noise of her thoughts plaguing that little head of hers.
They sat in that very same silence, minutes having a way of feeling like forever when there was nothing to pass the time. Yet somehow, just knowing that someone else was in the room was comforting, something about a familiar presence made all of their problems seem a little less heart wrenching. They were kids after all, they should be whining about the toys they want and not having enough candy, not wondering if your parents would get a divorce or whatever it was Jamie was so caught up in. Tyler never really knew what exactly brought his best friend to his window this late.
"I think I've got a couple of screws loose upstairs."
It was completely random, severely out of context with just a hint of anxiety but overall absent minded. And because it was Jamie, his best friend, his only friend really, he took the time to think about it.
He was hesitant, but still he found himself asking the million dollar question; "Why?"
"I heard something the other day, in the basement of the store, and there was this light…" She bit her lip, unsure if she should continue with what she was about to say, but in the end her need to tell someone won out, and she continued. "And today, I dropped by with my Dad's lunch, and I heard this voice."
She could still hear it, in all honesty, and it's gut heaving screams.
Jamie would never admit it, but she was scared. Because what if Grayson Gilbert wasn't the person she thought he was? Not to say he was perfect, he definitely had his faults, but to experiment on another human being- an unwilling participant to whatever this 'Augustine' association was… It was more than immoral. Infact, it was possibly classified as torture- Which begs the question, is Grayson Gilbert capable of the bodily harm of another human being in order to further scientific research? Jamie wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer.
In the end you never really knew your parents, not really, because you only ever saw the side of them that they wanted you to, allowing only a small piece of themselves to show in the presence of a child. Jamie's problem was that she saw too much, and now the idea of the pristine Gilbert family had been shattered- not that it had been fully intact in the first place. She could never ignore the hushed arguments at night or the way they liked to pretend, it was childish really but adults had this facade about them, a portrait of what they wanted everyone else to see. Jamie never bought it, and that was her problem.
"Was it a woman?"
She was snapped out of her reverie by the question, the pure distaste and sadness that tainted Tyler's voice, the way he watched her with a grim kind of determination.
Tyler Lockwood thought she had heard her Father with another woman.
It was easy to forget that he didn't buy into all the bullshit too, because in the end Tyler Lockwood probably knew his parents better than any other kid she knew. Better than she did, she realised, because at least he fully knew what went on behind closed doors. And she bet he wished he didn't, because she sure as hell wasn't looking forward to finding out.
"No…" Jamie shook her head, her voice too light for credibility, "No, nothing like that." She said it with more conviction this time, because no matter what her Dad had been up to she doubted it was that.
"I just, well, I think I might have been hearing things, y'know?"
"Oh."
"Yeah…" Jamie sighed, shaking away the remnants of those damaging thoughts.
It occurred to Tyler that he hadn't seen her in a week, that he hadn't thanked her for what she did. He was the reason she was in trouble, that was a fact, and he hadn't said or done anything about it.
"About Randall-"
Jamie shook her head, butting in carelessly before he said anything too heartfelt. "Don't worry about it, man."
He nodded, a relieved smile tugging at the corners of his lips, because Tyler would never get used to thanking anyone, not even his best friend.
That night William Richardson just happened to need a piss, and imagine his surprise as he walked past the window only to catch a glimpse of Jamie Gilbert as she rode her bike down the rode sluggishly, racing against the steadily rising sun as she pedaled half heartedly back home. He watched as she climbed the tree and walked across the branches like a tight-rope show, cirque du Gilbert style. Ruth had no idea what he was muttering about when he got back into bed, something about a circus and that damned tyke or another.
It was almost as if her head had just hit the pillow when all of a sudden she was being woken up by the unremitting sunlight that stemmed from the open window and the pattering sound of feet against hardwood flooring. Jamie bit back a groan as her door was flung open, just managing to raise her head a centimeter from the pillow before something made impact with the mattress in the form of a small body.
"What's your damage, twisted sister?" It wasn't completely coherent, a yawn midway jumbling the words into one lengthy drawl, but Jeremy had heard her just fine.
"Jamie, I don't feel so good." He whined in a pathetically small, weak voice.
It was the sound of his voice made her lift her head a little higher, and she saw a queasy looking Jeremy peering down at her with his sad brown eyes, the pitifully frail sight of him all pale and tired tugging at her heart-strings in such a way that nothing else could, and she found herself lifting the covers in invitation.
She threw her arm around him as he curled up next to her, mumbling a half hearted "Go to sleep, kiddo."
And as his shallow breaths evened out, and his small body curled up closer into hers, she found herself too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.
Sometimes Jamie would dream, the kind of dreams that made your heart pound and your skin go clammy, and you'd wake up with a soundless scream- open mouthed with no sound readily available, gulping down oxygen greedily like an addict that hadn't had a hit in a while. It was like dry drowning in a way, your semi-conscious mind fully submerged in whatever it was that you were dreaming, your vocal cords spasm and close up after you've surfaced and it shuts off your airways, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
And after a particularly bad dream, Jamie was left feeling the after effects of ghost pulmonary edema. It was like she was really drowning, still submerged despite being awake, left coughing up what felt and tasted like lake water as her chest heaved painfully, still finding it hard to breath and too tired to make a proper attempt. She'd wake up again in the morning with her night clothes plastered to her skin and a slick sheen of sweat clinging to her body, wheezing for air all lightheaded and weak, and she deduced that it was either a drop in blood pressure or her brain being deprived of oxygen; neither was good.
One time, before she'd even caught her breath properly, she saw herself in the mirror. Her skin was a frightening gray with an equally dismaying bluish-tint. It made everything seem all the more real. Jamie had been too scared to look into the mirror after waking up since.
That night she dreamt of the voice.
It wasn't always so horrible, these dreams she had. Sometimes she dreamt of the strangers, she could never catch a proper glimpse at any of them in the darkness, but on occasion a light would shroud one of them, and she could almost make out the details. They were lonely, some more than others, and there was a certain bitterness and harshness that was clearer than everything else. She spent hours speaking to them, but never at the same time. She could never decide if she liked those sorts of dreams or not, but she had decided she much preferred them over the others.
Especially the voice.
So she woke up, a soundless scream on the tip of her tongue, and she clutched Jeremy just a little bit tighter as she fought to breath. She supposed he was an anchor of sorts, and she was scared she'd drown.
She found herself looking up from her cereal, watching her Mom as she stared down at her coffee cup in despair, vivid visions of her drowning herself in a lukewarm java pool filling her mind. It wasn't normal, but grown ups were decisively strange in Jamie's mind, and she supposed it would all make sense when they were older. If anything it was a welcome distraction, the working ins and outs of her Mother's mind, because anything was better than that damned voice that she couldn't seem to shake off and the everlasting taste of seawater in her mouth.
Meanwhile Miranda found herself feeling conflicted, because lately Grayson had been ever so distant. She was scared, she realised over her morning cup of coffee, and it was justified in a sense. Divorce was a horrible word, and in reality they were nowhere close to ending their marriage, but when he was working a little bit late and she was lying alone in their bed feeling cold and alone and scared, divorce didn't seem so far off at all.
Her husband, oblivious to her plight as husbands so often were, made no haste as he stuffed his car keys in his pocket with a mound of books balancing precariously in one arm. It would only be a few minutes before he left for work, a few hours before she got that call telling her he was going to be late home again and to leave his dinner in the microwave. She was going to be cold and alone that night too, she knew she was, and she knew she'd be scared again, more scared than ever.
She supposed he was seeing another woman.
Even the sound of Jeremy's shaky voice wasn't enough for her to look away from her caffeinated grave, it was cold now and she hadn't so much as sipped it in well over thirty minutes, but she hadn't noticed that either. Jamie had heard him just fine, and she knew what was about to happen. When something fell off the table (She hadn't seen Jamie's wandering hands or the little shove she gave the plastic cereal container) and landed with a resounding bang! Miranda looked up just in time to see Jeremy chuck up the entirety of his breakfast, a concoction of lucky charms and bile.
Jamie watched the food dye from undigested cereal bleed into one another, the colours seeping together like marble tie dye on a sour milk canvas. It wasn't a pleasant sight, and the stench was enough to make someone's eyes water- this was the kind of stuff that must have been a bitch to bring up, and she could feel the ghosting sensation of the acidic burning in her throat.
Saltwater, her mind supplied helplessly, and Jamie couldn't get the stagnant taste out of her mouth for the rest of the morning.
In her mind she was reviewing a summarised version of the theory of Humorism by the Greek physician Hippocrates, relating the Four Humors to the Four Temperaments. They were ancient theories, and many mistakes were made, but Jamie was amazed by the acknowledgement of bodily fluids and its consequences when out of balance despite people of the time not having a complete understanding of the body nor medicine.
The Four Humors were primarily the makeup and workings of the human body, consisting of black bile, yellow bile, phlegm and blood, and any excess or deficiency concerning such directly influences one's health and temperament. It was strange to think that this was the view of the body by Greek, Roman, Islamic and European physicians until the modern medical research of the nineteenth century. And the very foundation of such a concept still holds true, though the mess that is the theory of the Four Temperaments has been long since scrapped.
That's why, while her head leaned against the car window and her eyes never strayed from her Father's form, Jamie couldn't help but think of Galen and his renowned experiments.
Nowadays if you were to try and sell the idea that the human body was identical to that of a pig's you'd be laughed out of med school, but Jamie knew there were some similarities and it was as good of a start as any into the anatomical research that would lead to modern science and medicine. Even understanding a pig in a bodily structured sense was an impressive feat back then.
But the idea of Dr. Grayson Gilbert cutting open a live human, much like Galen would cut up a pig, was far from pleasant in Jamie's eyes. And before her mind could stray to that of the Hippocratic Oath and the complications medical science had faced throughout time, they were already at the practitioners.
Once upon a time she would have shared her thoughts and findings with her Dad, because science was to them what that stupid diary thing was to Mom and Elena. Their shared love of science, especially concerning medicine and anatomy, was somewhat of a bonding point, but as she got out of the car she didn't say a word.
Jeremy had a stomach bug, the kind that was as contagious to kids as the plague. Grayson, being the dutiful husband that he was (or wasn't, as Miranda feared), dropped Elena off at Matt Donovan's house with strict instructions to make sure Jamie stayed in the car. The verdict was in, and she was still grounded.
She had curled up with a book, though if you were to ask what the pages said she wouldn't of had the answers, and after an hour of not turning the page her eyes had shut and she had felt the familiar tug of sleep take over.
Downstairs Gilbert was hard at work, and he had only taken a break to go get some coffee. He didn't remember Jamie was there.
If she hadn't of barricaded herself underneath the safety of the desk, retreating from the threat of the voices she was sure she would hear otherwise, maybe he would have seen her. But she did, and he didn't remember. It was a routine after all, and Jeremy getting sick was the last thing on his mind, and if Jeremy wasn't sick then there was no reason why Jamie would be there.
He took an extended lunch break.
She awoke to the sound of groaning and gasping, and inside she acknowledged that the voice was back and it was in pain. Her book and blanket was left under the desk, safely tucked away incase she needed to hide again.
Just like before she walked down the steps, she didn't skip the last few this time, her legs felt like deadweight- pulling her under, down into the basement where lay monsters in wait, hiding in the shadows that danced against the dim blue glow. The door was open this time, but the light was gone.
Metallic tools and medical waste littered the worktops, it was like something akin to a horror movie and it would have given SAW a run for its money. They all looked rather torturous to her, but medical procedures usually were as such, so she could look over that fact, just barely. Books lay open, notes strewn about, and she noticed that there were voice recorders and tapes in use. Her dads usually pristine handwriting that he took the utmost of care to make legible was sloppily written with jagged loops and smudged ink, violent scribbles and messily drawn diagrams decorating each page.
If he hadn't of made a sound then she wouldn't have taken any notice of him at all.
He was sprawled out on the examiner's desk, limbs tied down with leather buckles with blood running down his wrists and legs. She noticed the way he was cut open from his groin to his sternum, how his dermis was beginning to stitch itself back together as his veins and arteries entangled themselves back into working order. He was looking right at her now, and she didn't think she had it in her to look away.
Grayson was back with his coffee.
He walked down the steps at a casual pace, he supposed he would get home a bit later than usual but not as late as he had been recently. There had been progress, and he felt so close to finding what made this thing tick, but he knew he had been neglecting Miranda and th-
Pained groaning. The metallic shuck of a limb hitting a metal surface.
Grayson didn't finish his thought, and a sparse smile flitted at his lips.
He had been neglecting Miranda and the kids, but he never got to finish such a thought, and he didn't remember Jeremy getting sick, Elena going to Matt's, Jamie somewhere upstairs. All that mattered was what was in the basement, and what that meant for medical science as he knew it.
And as he sharpened his scalpel he didn't notice Jamie behind the trolley.
The man on the table never took his eyes off of her, not even while being cut open. He almost looked sad.
Still, Grayson never noticed little Jamie Gilbert perched behind a trolley, her baseball cap just visible as she peeked out with wide, terrified eyes.
Don't get sick in here! Her mind wailed as she felt the familiar ache of sea water rise in her lungs, Oooh, Jaime- ol' buddy ol' pal ol' friend of mine- if you up chuck your stuff he'll know you've been in here, and he'll get you for it! Oh, sweet jaysus lord above, he'll get you too!
(AN: So... Jamie had unofficially met Enzo, was it worth the wait? Probably not. I won't make any promises, but I'll try to make the next chapter longer and/or quicker. Thanks for reviewing and all that craic.)