Escana (2 page)

'The
copy we received was sent by your Mother, she explained your current
situation and we were most impressed with your latest revision.'

He
scratched his head, it wasn't feasible that someone had sent off his
latest draft, all his material for that was contained in notebooks in
his room.

'Did
someone take my notebooks without my permission?' he asked.

She
nodded at him, pulling up a seat beside him. He could smell her
cloying perfume from this distance, it reminded him vaguely of one of
his old girlfriends. Manufactured intimacy to win him over, she was
pulling out all the stops.

'Your
mother took the notebooks from your room as you slept and had your
brother digitise them. A second brother then sent the final copy off
to us,' she said, sweetness and enthusiasm positively bubbling in her
voice.

So
they had gone ahead and done what they were threatening to do all
this time. His siblings were always irritated that he would brush off
their aid. It wasn't out of spite that he refused their offers of
help, he was just determined to do things his own way, to prove to
himself that he could go it alone.

Now
Brian had clearly used his computer know-how to scan in a copy and
Aaron had no doubt pulled strings to get it to the top of the slush
pile. He hated to think how many family members had been involved in
the proofing sessions, to them it was a miniature business
opportunity.

Almost
unconsciously his hand gripped the back of the chair, he dug his
fingers into the soft material and tensed his arm.

If
Julia Simmons had paid any attention to this action she made no
outward sign, continuing what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.
'Your family informed me that almost everything was complete but that
you had never written a proper ending. They had searched through all
of your drafts and failed to find one, the story just stops abruptly
without closure.' She eyed the notepad in his hand. 'They also told
me that you had spent much of your time here trying to craft one, are
you far along?'

There
was a strange hunger in her eyes then that she failed to conceal, she
definitely had an ulterior motive in dangling his dream in front of
him like this. He clutched his notepad protectively in the crook of
his arm. 'I've just finished the ending of the book, it's in this
notepad.'

She
clapped her hands together in delight, the fast motion startling him.
'Superb! Do you mind if I take a look over it before we add it to the
novel?'

She
reached out then, eyes locked on the notepad. There was something
very wrong here, he didn't know why but every faculty left to him was
screaming not to give this woman the ending of his life work.

'I'd
rather not let you see this now, it's a rough ending and there are
many corrections to make.'

Her
visage soured considerably at being denied. 'Mr. Sandberg, I insist
that you hand over the notepad.'

Two
large men seemed to appear out of nowhere, flanking her. They didn't
look friendly. He had to act, now.

The
chair went flying across the room and shattered through the glass
pane. He was almost surprised to see it happen. Almost.

Gathering
speed he burst out of captivity, ducking and weaving between the
outstretched arms of security. It felt like a hazy dream, empowered
by the need to escape. His captors had no idea how fast he could run,
the very wind itself seemed to fly with him.

The
corridors were a sterilised blur, his strides short and controlled as
sprinted through each winding passage way. The name badge attached to
him would soon attract the attention of security if his hectic pace
didn't. He knew that there was no choice, he couldn't afford to slow
with the lumbering men chasing after him.

What
kind of person needed to bring toughs to a simple conversation
regarding a manuscript he hadn't sent out? Was he really that hard to
get hold of in the walls of this institution that they needed to pay
a visit?

He
would have passed off the security as a woman's paranoia over the
horror stories she had heard about places like these, but she had
definitely used the toughs to try and get to him.

Now
he was running, and he didn't know why. He just had to get away from
this place, from these people, from all of this before it swallowed
what was left of him whole.

A
shout rent the air as a member of security attempted to tackle him,
but the man was out of shape and too slow. Jakob left him in his wake
as he burst through a set of double doors and out into the concourse.

He
was greeted by a screaming secretary and two security men now.
Instinctively he ducked to the left as the electric prongs shot out
toward him. He had seen the victims of police tasers before and it
wasn't a sight he wanted to emulate personally.

There
were more shouts now, the sound of an alarm and the locking of many
doors rang in his ears as his heart thudded painfully against his
chest. These precautions would have been enough to deal with a less
lucid patient and the auto-locks were only meant as a last-ditch
safety measure.

The
windows in the concourse weren't barred, he threw himself at them and
forced his eyes shut.

The
double glaze gave way under the momentum and body weight, shattering
in a manner quite unlike the sugar glass they used in the movies as
they sliced his arms open.

He
didn't have time to think, he had to keep moving before the security
managed to pick their way through the wreckage and pin him down.
Rising to his feet, he lurched onward and out into the hills where no
car could follow. The surrounding countryside turned into a blur of
panting and the thuds of his own feet.

He
felt his lungs burning and his legs had seized up entirely, they had
brought him as far as they were willing. He knew this place, he had
been here once before.

It
was a large bridge, several miles out from the institute, they had
driven across it when he had first been committed. He had no idea why
his feet had taken him here across the sloping fields.

Absent-mindedly
picking bits of hedge from his clothes, he spotted a man dangling his
legs off the edge of the bridge and whistling tunelessly to himself.

He
approached the stranger warily, who didn't turn to look at him. As if
it was the most natural thing in the world, he hopped up onto the
edge beside him and let his feet dangle out over the sheer drop.

'It's
a long way down, isn't it?' the man said, startling him.

'Yes,'
he replied cautiously, gripping the rocky surface and not knowing
what else to say.

The
man nodded at that, patting the stone. 'There's a reason you're sat
here now and not still running from the institute, Jakob.'

Startled,
he noticed the man's finger pointing at his chest. He was still
wearing his name badge from the ward. So this strange man wasn't
entirely psychic then, that was a relief.

'I
don't know why I'm sitting here,' he offered in reply, stupidly.

The
man smirked behind his wild black beard. 'You've got nowhere better
to go, have you? None of you breakouts ever do. Been disowned by
society and now you're on the run from both the institute and the
law.'

He
certainly couldn't argue with that, there would be a manhunt going on
as he spoke.

'I
have a proposition for you,' the man said, stretching his arms out
and leaning forward.

He
eyed the man warily, the word 'proposition' had a nasty ring to it in
his mind, especially coming from a complete stranger. 'What is it you
propose?'

The
stranger was leaning forward even further now, in fact it looked like
he was on the verge of...

'Join
me,' the man said with a smile, toppling off the bridge head-first.

For
the first time in recent memory, he considered suicide. He would
rather his book remain unpublished than in the hands of someone like
Miss Simmons, in order for that to happen the ending must die with
him. In spite of their well-meaning efforts, his family had stayed
clear of him in a manner that indicated near-complete abandonment. He
was at best a fugitive, at worst a prisoner of the mental health
system without any hope of rehabilitation. All of this on-top of the
excruciating 'existential angst' as they called it, a terribly
belittling name for something so insidious. What exactly had he left
to live for?

The
siren cut through his thinking, someone had sent a police car out to
the bridge upon hearing of his escape. They probably thought he was
another jumper, the officer had now cut the siren and was cautiously
approaching with his arms raised.

'Could
you step away from the bridge please, sir?' the man asked, keeping
his voice calm and low in a remarkable show of professionalism.

You've
got nowhere better to go, have you?

He
didn't remember standing on the bridge yet here he was, teetering so
very close to the edge. The poor man was only trying to do his job,
definitely thought he was another suicide case now. Another lost soul
that he had to talk down. Yet for some reason he couldn't bring
himself to step off the edge and put the officer at ease.

He
looked down, was his attention so divided that he had missed the
splash of the stranger? He should probably tell the officer that
there had already been a jumper but he felt no compulsion to do that
either. Something still wasn't right here, it all felt like a dream.

'Please
son, whatever it is you're going through we can talk about this,
okay?'

I
have a proposition for you.

He
thought back to what the man had said, his strange suggestion and
subsequent jump. No, he hadn't jumped, he had merely slipped away as
if it was the most natural thing in the world. How odd.

Join
me.

Closing his eyes to rid him of
vertigo, he fell off the edge and into nothingness.

H
e felt the
wind coursing past him as he plummeted towards the water. He'd always
wondered whether he would keep his eyes open for the duration or shut
them tightly to avoid seeing his impending demise. The blackness
surrounding him answered his query, it was an odd thing to think
about given the lack of time left for him to think at all.

It didn't feel like he thought it
would, time had slowed to a standstill and his stomach had lurched
from the inertia but he felt no sense of finality in his action. He
knew death was waiting for him with open arms yet he didn't pay it
much thought, nor did he look back over his past life reliving
moments long lost.

If anything he felt resolve, not
in ending himself but in this singular action. He wasn't bringing
about his own destruction, he was merely following the advice of a
stranger to see where it led. It sounded so illogical when he thought
of it like that but for reasons unknown it felt like the only thing
he could do.

His feet hit the ground with a
jolt, he hadn't noticed his body slowing, nor the absence of the
howling wind and the change in the air. There was a faint sound that
steadily grew in his ears to a bubbling crescendo. He opened his eyes
with caution and was blinded by the morning sun. A figure stood in
his periphery and he turned with a start.

'I see you have found your feet
fairly quickly,' said the man from the bridge, looking as tattered
and dishevelled as before.

'Who are you?' he asked him,
taking in the surroundings.

The roaring sound was coming from
the base of a nearby waterfall that they both stared at through a
forest in what looked to be spring. There was a pleasant warmth in
the air and the scent of pine lingered in the sun.

'Who I am is of no importance,'
the man replied, tossing a rock across the surface of the water. 'Who
are you?'

The question stumped him. Who was
he? He had a name, didn't he? He looked down at his hands, they were
different somehow, larger and more calloused, the hands of a worker.
Or had they always been that way? There were no cuts on his arms, why
had he been expecting cuts to be there in the first place?

'I am... Jakob,' he finally said,
uncertain as to why the name had taken so long to come to mind.

'Good! Good!' the man chuckled to
himself. 'What's the last thing you remember, Jakob?'

Jakob felt dizzy, why was this
man asking him questions? 'I remember a bridge...'

The man frowned. 'Do you see any
bridges around here, Jakob?'

Jakob took in his surroundings a
second time, admittedly there was a distinct lack of any bridge. Why
had he thought about it in the first place?

'No,' he finally replied with a
sigh. 'I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that.'

The man smiled this time and
watching it felt like a reward. 'Perhaps it will come to you if you
give it some more thought. I found you passed out by the side of the
road here, it looks like you had taken a nasty tumble.'