Chapter 18

I avoided the car journey home. Not only was it obvious that I'd been crying and gripping at my hair, but I knew that I'd be putting myself and the others in great danger if I was going to be questioned unprepared. I left a note, clamped to the windscreen beneath the wipers, and on that note was the excuse that I had an urgent meeting to attend. I left it that vague. Specifics could be disastrous.

What hope did I have? I wasn't safe with them anymore. If I had to avoid them, then surely they would grow suspicious. Maybe I'd have to disappear… I'd have to leave my friends and university. I'd have to hide away somewhere, a nameless hermit with baggy eyes and baggier trousers.

My only hope was for help from someone who knew exactly what was going on. I had to talk to Bert, or Isaac. Preferably Bert.

I caught a train back to my apartment in the university town. I avoided eye contact with everybody and sank dejectedly into my grubby, uncomfortable chair. I appeased some basal instincts with endless decaf coffees, Pringles and Aero bars. It did nothing to fight away the trauma that swallowed me.

I ran out of tears long before I stepped off onto the station platform. Hollowed and cold, I barely felt the breeze that pushed me home, and every step was felt to be the last before I would collapse into nothing. With no conscious mind to engage them, they still found a way to bring me safely back, though I never felt thankful.

Everything I owned and everything I'd worked for, all the personal items that lined the shelves of my room and the clothes that were lined up neatly in the drawers, the photos that were tentatively held up against candles or books so that they would always be visible, and the books that added so much character and wonder to my world, all shrank to meaningless organisations of dust and debris. It was all a cursed memory, a link to the past that I thought was still the present. I couldn't stay.

It was approaching midnight when I set out into the streets. Stumbling groups of party-goers invaded one half of the street that went from one establishment to the other, and I remained on the path that took me past sleepy homes. For the fifth time that evening, my phone cried out for my answer, but as with each time before I allowed it to drone on before it gave up.

I reached the home with newly painted fences and the red door that became black in the night. I tapped the knock, quiet enough not to draw attention, but loud enough for it to be heard. I knocked a second time when no reply came.

The dread of loneliness was ready to descend, when I heard the tiny squeak of something opening up above. When I craned my neck, I saw the outline of a bundle of curly hair.

"Yes?" Spoke the tired old voice.

"I need to speak to Bert. Or Isaac," I whispered. "Or anybody. Please."

She appeared to scan up and down the street. "Hold on just a minute, my dear."

The window closed. I tapped a nervous foot on the doorstep as I waited, ground my teeth and rubbed shaky fingers against my chin. Enough time passed that I became numb to my senses, and it was only when my name was snapped into my ear that I noticed the door had been opened. The hallway lighting remained off, so I could barely make out Lisa's face, but I knew it was her.

"What is it, my dear?" She asked lightly.

"I need to speak to somebody," I said. "Right now. I need to."

She shuffled sideways and waved a hand to urge me in, and I moved to accept the offer. "Yes, yes, okay. Come in, come in." She closed the door silently behind me, and then flicked the light switch, brightly illuminating the hallway.

"Is Bert here?" I asked her. Perhaps she could tell that I was on the verge of tears, because she responded with a very sympathetic look. She led me through to the living room, switching on the lights and offering me a place on the sofa. It felt like I was sitting down in any old living room, with thick crimson curtains, wallpapers covered in pink petals and a small television set in the corner. The electric fireplace was resting, watched over by small porcelain farm animals on the mantelpiece. Lisa, looking weary in her purple dressing gown and pink fluffy slippers, pulled up a small coffee table.

She chuckled and provided some light chat. "Fancy turning up at this time of the night. Old girl like me should be fast asleep. You're lucky I like to read in the late hours."

"Thank you," I replied quietly. "And I'm sorry. I just… I just need to speak to Bert. Is he here?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear. Would you like a drink? Orange squash? A glass of water?"

"Water, please."

I sat twitching during the time she was away to fetch my water. A layer of dread coddled me, cushioned by Bert's absence. He was the one I wanted. I felt that I could at least start to stitch the wounds with his knowledge. If he wasn't around, then who else could do that?

Lisa returned with my water and set it down on the coffee table. I'd lost any will to drink it. She joined me on the sofa and cusped her little hands on her lap. Her gaze was one I couldn't help to avoid, but at least I felt a little warmer.

"What's the matter, dear?"

What's the matter?

I couldn't hold it any longer. I felt my face contort and my eyes water. I shielded them with my shaking hands and leaned forward, and I sobbed louder than I would have liked. No matter how much I tried I couldn't bring myself to speak a word.

Lisa's arm wrapped over my shoulders, but though I recognised the intent it wouldn't register. She was little more than a stranger. If anything, it made me feel embarrassed, which only worsened my tears. She spoke to me sentimentally, motherly. I didn't accept, but nor did I push her away.

Soon, I felt the bursting dam of emotion restructuring. I placed my family back into the cupboards of my mind and tried to hide them away. I pictured a stage. I pictured George. I pictured my old school friends on a day trip to Land's End, smiling and hurriedly licking ice cream before it melted down their fingers.

"You can talk to me."

War and Peace. Romeo and Juliet. The Lord of the Rings. I liked those stories, for as varied and wild as they were. So well written that they pulled me in for hours and hours, each day and night. I re-watched the happier scenes in my head, what there was of them… No, maybe I could think of some happier ones. Happy stories. Yeah, I knew some!

They're practically dead. Fucking dead.

I found another section of the dam burst, its innards spilling down to a deep ravine below. And in that ravine were memories of my childhood. The pictures on the lobby wall. Dad was taking me to Alton Towers. Danny was only a small boy when he scored his first goal. Mum made me dress in a disgustingly pink frock for my uncle's wedding.

When did it happen? Which of these memories were frauds?

I could still be wrong. I could still be wrong!

Five-hundred thousand wouldn't come close to buying back what I'd lost.

"My family are infested."

Lisa's cooing stopped, and the grip of her arm lessened. "Well… well what makes you think that, dear?"

I sobbed and rubbed the moisture from my cheeks with a scrunched sleeve. "I saw… I mean, I just…"

How could I explain? How could I put it into words?

"I j-just know," I stuttered. "Okay? I just know."

"There, there," Lisa whispered, gripping me firmly one last time before removing herself. "Even if that were true – and it may not be – there will be a chance to help them," She looked me firmly in the eyes, pleading for leniency. "Do you understand that?"

I locked onto her ice-blue, wrinkled eyes. In them, I saw nothing familiar, like it was a mask donned by an imposter. And yet, there was certainty. Somewhere. Was it a projection of my own feelings? I couldn't tell. "I understand."

"Good. Now, I'm going to talk to Isaac, and together we'll figure out a plan, okay? We're going to need one."

I nodded with a sniffle. "Okay."

"Have you talked to them at all? Your family?"

I felt a surge of guilt. After the hours had passed, my decision suddenly felt like a disastrous move. I looked to the floor. "I said I was one of them."

"One of what, dear?"

"A Yeerk. I mean, I didn't use that word, but… ugh, you know what I mean."

She fell silent for a moment. I could almost feel the mysterious emotions that overtook her. "Did you say anything else?"

I shook my head. "No. I left."

"You'll say nothing more to them. Not now. Not until we figure something out. Do you have a phone?"

I turned my eyes back to her, and her face was stern and serious. "Yeah…"

Lisa held out her hand. "I can't let you have it."

"I won't call them," I whimpered. "I promise not to!"

"You say that now, but a damaged mind is unreliable. Give me your phone."

I felt another wave of sobs approaching, and as I put my head into my left hand, the right reached down into my pocket and pulled out the phone that hadn't stopped ringing since I left the museum.

Lisa snatched it quickly from my grasp. "Stay here tonight. There are blankets in the cupboard under the stairs. I'll call Isaac, and with hope he'll get here soon enough. This mess cannot become a problem." She got up and shoved my phone deep into the pocket of her dressing gown.