Box Set - Chapter Twenty-Two

I don’t know how long I’ve been in the cell. One of the problems of living forever is your sense of time. Sometimes minutes feel like seconds, hours like minutes. The last year feels like it’s rocketed by without so much as a hello. Forever is an awfully long time to live in.

Windermere came back after an hour like she promised. I rebuffed her advances again and demanded to see my friends.

Panic set in a long time ago. I’m past panic. I don’t know how they’ve managed to do this. What right did they have to lock us away when we’ve done nothing wrong.

When I died I realised that a lot of things about the afterlife were amazing. The travelling , the freedom. People like Windermere made one thing abundantly clear. People never change. This council seem to love everything the human race has always proved it loves: power and control.

I close my eyes. I reach out again and do another check on Elle and Yates. They’re still there. I see Yates alive with worry, and Elle pacing her cell in a blind fury. At least they haven’t taken them anywhere else.

I concentrate on Elle. I try to visualise every part of her, every feeling, every thought. I see her like a fireworks display. Every part of us is written on our consciousness. If I look close enough and pay enough attention, I can read her like a book. Deep inside I see a sadness and a worry, but it’s hard to see, masked by an air of flippancy and the call to adventure. There’s so much on her that I can’t read, so much I can’t know.

‘I wish you could hear me, Elle.’ I don’t know if I said or thought the words.

‘Easton?’ comes a voice.

‘No way,’ I think.

‘Easton, is that you? How are you doing that?’

‘I’m just thinking, I’m concentrating on you.’

‘Okay, slightly creepy, but whatever,’ she thinks back. ‘This is new.’

‘I know, right!’ I think. ‘Cool though.’

‘So are we basically superheroes?’

‘It’s certainly going that way.’

‘Have you discovered your super strength yet, Easton, because this telepathy’s cute and all but it’s not getting us out of the cells.’

‘Is it the same over there as it is in here? Bed, locked bar door?’

‘Pretty much, I’ve been trying to dig a tunnel under a loose stone,’ she thinks.

‘Oh right? How’s that going?’

‘Not great, there’s just more stone underneath.’

‘How can they do this?’ I ask. ‘We have to find a way out.’

‘Give me a list of what you’ve got in the cell.’

‘Bucket, bed, chains, straw,’ I say. ‘It’s like a Travelodge.’

‘You get a bed? That’s just unfair,’ she exclaims. ‘Shows how they treat a lady around here.’

‘Maybe you had the right idea with the tunnel,’ I say.

‘I’m telling you Easton, we’re underground, there’s only stone. Stone, stone, stone. No tunnels for us.’

‘No but we’ve been thinking like ghosts to get out. Maybe we have to think like the living.’

‘Nice,’ she thinks. I see her body light up like a literal light bulb of an idea. ‘Does that fancy bed of yours have any nails in it?’

I cross over to it. ‘Yeah loads,’ I reply.

‘Break it,’ she commands.

‘Elle, I’m not The Hammer,’ I think, referring to one of my superhero favourites.

‘Yeah well, Science Boy will have to do,’ she says. ‘Get a nail out and maybe you can pick the door open.’

‘Easier said than done.’

‘Quit your whining. Smash it, Hammer.’

‘It’s The Hammer,’I say. I brace myself and let a kick fly at the old wooden bed.

I crash into it, and it rattles on its hinges. It vibrates and sends a shock wave of pain up my leg.

It doesn’t move but the chains rattle in the wall, letting a cloud of dust fall from each. I target those.

‘How are you getting on?’ Elle thinks. ‘I can’t see what you’re doing. It looks like you’re having a fit in the Edge.’

‘Just fine.’ I grit my teeth and pull on the chains with all my might. I place two feet on the plank and use my whole body weight, jerking backwards.

‘It looks like you’re water skiing on thin air,’ she says. ‘At the very least this is entertaining me.’

I don’t reply this time, just put more effort into my struggle. I feel sweat on my brow. In my head, I think of Windermere and realise it’s only the memory of sweat. My strength is relative to my hanging on to my old life, my living life. I’m a ghost and ghosts have no strength. That means that technically I can do anything I want.

I feel a resurgence of stamina in my arms and legs and pull one last time. The chain, along with its fixings and two stout nails fly out of the wall sending me flying backwards onto my backside.

‘We’re in business,’ I think.

I stand up and rub my coccyx.

‘Right now are any of the nails a bit bent at the end?’

‘Yeah one,’ I think, picking up the rusty piece of metal.

‘The lock looks pretty old in here,’ she replies. ‘I’m guessing it’s just one tumbler. Have a poke around inside and see if you can line it up, you should hear a little click, then turn it like you would a key.’

‘Since when did you become a master escape artist.’ I sit down on the cold flagstone next to the door.

‘I have many secrets.’

‘Apparently so,’ I say. I point the nail down into the lock, visualising an old style key. The sort that opens the shed back at home. It’s fiddly work and it soon begins to frustrate me. Just as I’m about to throw the nail across the room in a fit of childish anger I hear a soft click inside the door.

‘I think I’ve got it!’

I twist the key anticlockwise. There’s a grinding of old metal as the lock catches inside. I pull on the door and open it letting it swing towards me. The hinges haven’t been oiled for what looks like centuries and they squeal with the subtlety of a stuck pig. I cringe and step out into the hallway.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘Come and get me upstairs. Bring the nail.’

‘I’m on my way,’ I think, quietly.

‘Why are you whispering?’

‘I guess I’m scared of getting caught.’

‘But no one else can hear your thoughts.’

I curse myself for being silly and start down the hallway. It’s long and dark with unlit torches hanging from the walls. The place has an awfully eerie feel to it. I can imagine footsteps echoing and sounds from far flung corners. Bats flying out of tiny caves and cobwebs dangling down to ensnare my neck.

I reach the end and find the silence on the stairwell I find unnerving. I look up and see only shadows above me. I close my eyes and see Elle is about two floors up. I scale the staircase quickly and start as I hear voices approaching. I dart into a nearby alcove and crouch down in the shadows.

The people don’t come down to our level and I breathe a sigh of relief. I have no desire to be caught by these people again.

I steal down the corridor and arrive at Elle’s cell.

‘My knight in shining armour,’ she says through the bars. ‘Reading minds.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘A new one.’

‘I don’t think we were reading each other’s mind,’ I reply. I bend down and get to work on Elle’s lock. ‘I couldn’t see your thoughts, only the ones you directed at me. Why could you read mine?’

‘And then some, it’s like a triple X theatre up there.’

‘It is not,’ I say. ‘You can stay in here if you want?’ I point the nail at her.

‘Fine. Your thoughts are as pure as a new born lamb’s. Better?’

‘Middle ground might be nice.’

The door clicks and swings open.‘You’re so demanding,’ Elle says, striding out. ‘And no I can’t actually read thoughts.’ She looks up and down the hallway. ‘It’s like Bloodlust’s weekend place.’

‘I knew you’d been reading my comics!’ I exclaim.

‘We should go get Yates,’ she says quickly. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t bend any spines.’

‘You better not have,’ I reply. ‘A lot of those are mint.’

We walk through the castle, glancing down side passages and behind rusting suits of armour until we find Yates’s corridor. We run along it, hoping against hope that we find him.

Elle gets there first. She’s a frighteningly fast runner. ‘Oh god,’ she says, putting her hands on the bars.

I stand beside her and look into the gloom. Yates lays slumped like someone who would sleep for ever. His arms lie above him and his feet splay like he’s fallen awkwardly.

‘Is he unconscious?’

‘He’s in a memory,’ Elle says. ‘I guess our sight isn’t the only thing still available to us.’

‘Why did he do that?’ I say. I hear the annoyance creep into my words and I feel a knot of guilt.

‘Because he was thrown in a cell away from everything he knows,’ Elle scolds. ‘What would you do if you were Yates?’

‘I’d look for my friends.’

‘Would you really?’ Elle says. ‘Do you really think that if you’d been through what Yates has been through you’d believe you had any real friends?’

‘We have to just wait for him to wake.’

 

‘We don’t have much time,’ I say, agitated.

 

The door clicks. I swing it open.

 

‘Who goes there?’ calls a voice.

 

We freeze and look around. The voice comes from another cell further down the way.

 

‘Hello?’ Elle calls back.

 

‘Who goes there? Is anyone there?’ The voice sounds old. She clearly can’t hear Elle’s words. ‘If you demons some near me again…’ she starts. She loses conviction in his threats as the words fall away.

 

We walk along the hall. I imagine the echoes our footsteps would make if we were solid again. We peer through the bars into the darkness. On the other side of the cell lies a woman. Or what used to be one. Her hair is long and ragged, her nails inches long and his clothes, what look like the remainder of an expensive suit, lies in tatters on her shoulder.

 

‘Please let me go.’ She sounds so tired, like every word is an effort. She knows each syllable is a wasted plea. ‘Just let me die. Why can’t you people let me die?’

‘Easton,’Elle says with a note of warning. ‘Close your eyes. This woman’s alive.’

I do as I’m told. The woman’s form sits solid and opaque. I can only see the shadow of her in the blackness of the Edge.

‘Why are they keeping a woman down here?’ Elle asks. ‘A human woman. That’s not Teague for that matter.’

‘Wait,’ I say. ‘Let’s find out. We’re not exactly revealing much talking to her. It sounds like she’s well versed with the council ghosts.’

I knock my knuckles against a bar. It makes an almighty clang in the heavy silence.

‘What was that?’ The old woman jumps. ‘Stop it, is it you lot again. You can all go to hell where you belong.’

I knock my knuckles twice hoping she understands.

‘What does that mean?’ She raises herself to her hands and knees. Her eyes shine white and milky in the darkness. It’s like she’s a mole or a bat, clearly used to this dungeon more that the world above. ‘Did that mean no? Please let it be someone else.’

I clang once for yes.

She sits up straighter. I hear a series of clicks as her back comes out of its obvious hunch

‘Who are you?’ she asks. ‘No wait, that won’t help. Think Robin, think.’

Robin hits her head with the palm of her hand. She punishes herself for the slowness of her thoughts. I wonder how slow I’d become if I was shut up here until my nails grew into claws.

‘Are you prisoners?’ she asks into the darkness. ‘Maybe I’m mad,’ she says. ‘A prisoner of my mind, conjuring up some friends.’

I clang once.

‘Was that a yes for prisoners or a yes for madness,’ she smiles. Her mouth twitches up at the corners. It doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s as though she’s forgotten the simple pleasure. ‘If you’re prisoners, does that mean you’ve escaped?’

I rap once more.

‘Heavens,’ she curses. ‘Twenty years in this box and you do it before me. Unless you’ve been here longer? I always wondered if there were more.’

I rap twice for no, hoping she gets the message.

‘Twenty years.’ Elle whistles. ‘How can they have kept her for that long? What could she possibly have done.’

‘It’s clearly hurt her,’ I say. I watch as she pulls at her white hair, then progresses to scratch at the stone floor, an area either side of her shows four long grooves per hand. Her nails must have grown as tough as a wild beast’s to make that kind of mark.

‘Poor woman,’ Elle says. ‘I’ll work on the door. We do like a stray.’

‘Apparently so,’ I say. I pass over the nail.

‘Why are you here?’ she asks. She curses again. She scratches the floor. ‘No, no,’ she says. ‘Are you here to help me?’

I clang once for yes. We didn’t come specifically for that purpose, but the woman seems harmless. The council clearly likes imprisoning the helpless, I’m going to stand by and let them.

She claps her hands together. ‘Thank the lord,’ she says. ‘The lord. There’s a funny concept. Is there a lord?’ I wonder if she’s asking me. I don’t know the answer so I give no reply.

‘I’ll take that to mean there’s as much mystery in the afterlife as the former one.’

I nod in agreement despite the fact that she can’t see me.

The door clicks open just as we hear a groan from Yates’s cell. He sniffs and he whimpers and I know we have to show him we’re here.

‘Keep talking to her,’ I say.

I run back to Yates’s cell. ‘Yates!’

‘Easton?’ Yates wipes the tears from his eyes again. I think he might have aged a couple of years since we last saw him. I don’t mention it. It just means his facial hair is more pronounced. He’s grown into his body. Maybe this is the body Yates would have had without all the abuse. ‘I didn’t think I’d see you again.’

‘Didn’t think I was going to leave a man behind did you?’ I smile. Elle throws me the nail. I begin working on the lock.

‘Well, no. O-of course not.’ Yates stutters on his words and I see a smile. He did think that, but he’s happy I proved him wrong. Maybe I am Penny obsessed sometimes. Maybe I should just leave things to fate. It’s difficult but there’s more to life. A year of searching has proved fruitless. Maybe moving on is the best thing to do. Not moving on from my love for her, or finding someone else, right now that’s not what I want. But if I move on from the search maybe my friends could move with me.

Yates’s door clicks and it swings open. ‘Do you think Graham’s coming for us?’

‘If he can find the direction we took, maybe.’

We’ve learnt ways of reading the Edge. Sometimes, when people travel, they leave a mark on the air behind them. Like Teague’s blue energy, but less pronounced, more like a breadcrumb trail of disrupted atoms. We’d figured that was the way Teague had followed us across the world in the first place.

I wonder if Graham is following. Is he brave enough? I hope he is, for Yates’s sake more than anyone else’s. Sometimes you find you can take or leave a friend. It doesn’t happen a lot. Everyone deserves second, third and fourth chances to redeem themselves. Sometimes though there’s a backlog of evidence to show how terrible a friend someone can be. Graham’s that friend to me. Selfish to the last. He makes Yates happy, and that’s one of the things I care about. Ever since I met him in the hayfield all those months ago I knew that I was supposed to help him. I lifted the noose from his memories, we liberated him from his stepfather, we found him happiness. I know I have to keep it that way. I know I make Penny proud by doing so. I also know I have to keep going though, I have to continue to show the people who matter my care and attention. Otherwise I’ve deserted them.

We walk back to Elle and Robin, who now stands on the threshold of the door.

‘Easton, Yates, meet Robin,’Elle proclaims, waving her hand. ‘A woman, a mother, a loving sister and Doctor of Physics at King’s College London.’

‘How on earth have you found all that out using the clang system?’ I ask.

‘I guess I’m just the far superior conversationalist,’ she replies, crossing her arms and winking.

‘They took me from my bed twenty years ago,’ Robin continues. She stares into the space between me and Elle giving her a slightly crazed look. ‘I didn’t know what they wanted from me until they started writing instructions. They appeared out of thin air. I thought I was losing my marbles.’ Her voice cracks and then fades. She’s clearly not used to talking so much.

‘Do you have any paper on you?’I ask Elle and Yates.

They shake their heads. I rummage through my pockets and rejoice as I find a small notepad and pen. I took to carrying it round with me after communicating with Graham.

We’ll get you out of here. I write. My name’s Easton. I’m with Elle and Yates. They took us prisoner too.

I pass the note to the woman. She shudders at the brush of my fingertips.

‘Oh,’ she says, quite surprised.‘Well I’m glad you’re here. The three of you.’

I think for a second, then write. Do you know anything about Ghost Physics?

She takes the note and looks towards me, or the area over my shoulder. Close enough.

‘This is a trick isn’t it,’ she says. ‘You’re just trying to get me to talk about that damn paper I wrote. Well I don’t know a thing more than I told you!’ She raises her voice. I panic, realising that she might draw attention to us.

We’re not with them. I write as she begins to back away. We’re here to help. They asked us for the same thing. We just want to get out of here.

‘I don’t believe you!’ shouts Robin. ‘You shouldn’t have let me out of my cell!’

She breaks into a run down the corridor.

‘How do we catch her?’ Elle shouts.

She’s incredibly fast for an old woman trapped in a cell for twenty years.

She pelts around a corner and up a stone staircase.

We sprint after her but she disappears down another corridor. We turn into it, still hearing the echoes of her footsteps. They reverberate off the walls and bounce around us, not giving a clue as to the direction they came from.

‘Why did you ask her that?’ Elle says. ‘We should really put decisions like that through a committee.’

‘It didn’t cross my mind, sorry.’

‘Never mind,’ Elle says. ‘She seems like a nice lady too. I hope she gets out.’

‘You made a big mistake.’

The voice comes from behind us. Windermere appears from thin air, a large man at her side. ‘You just released a terrorist.’