Submersion (38 page)

When the rattling of my front door stirred me and I discovered it was morning, I was greatly surprised.

As the knocking was insistent and ceaseless in its attempt to attract my attention, I felt like I had gone back in time to the night before and half expected to find my sister and uncle out in the street again. Aware that I’d had no update regarding my missing cousin, I was cautious about just opening up to anyone.

‘Who is it?’ I asked, shouting out from the last few rungs of the damp stairs, wearing just my boots for protection. If it hadn’t been for the water, I think I might have abandoned the government-issue clothing altogether. It was increasingly clear that there was nothing untoward in the atmosphere.

‘It’s me!’ a voice responded, not really answering my question, but I instantly recognised it and seconds later Augustus was following back up the stairs.

‘I just have to make a call,’ I told him, leaving him at the kitchen table, ferreting through a bag he’d brought with him. ‘Need to check on my sister. We’ve had an eventual night.’

‘And I’ve had an eventful morning!’ he chirped and something told me that he was so preoccupied that he wasn’t really listening, hadn’t picked up on any clues in my tired eyes and voice.

Returning five minutes later, this was confirmed when he made no further enquiries. Billy was fine, sleeping, but nothing to worry about. Ethan was still missing, though, and Uncle Jimmy had reluctantly called the police. The latter activity seemed to have shaken him the most – whilst Ethan’s crime against Ronan had been reported, official charges were never made. And my uncle had promised the police, and promised a critically ill Ronan, that he could keep Ethan safe. Keep us all safe. Now he’d had to admit failure. I was reassured by the fact no one had openly blamed Billy for the disaster. That would have been so easy – and quite typical of my aunt’s approach to things; blaming others was a speciality of hers. But no, by the limited accounts I’d received, they were shouldering the blame themselves.

‘Although we all know who is really to blame,’ I said to Augustus, whose non-response confirmed once and for all that I was wasting my breath. The old man – my daughter’s grandfather, a thought that was still novel to me – needed my full attention. I wasn’t getting any of his, that was certain. ‘So,’ I asked, finally conceding to his unspoken demands. ‘What’s all the excitement about?’

He had me won over with just two words:

‘The tape!’ he exclaimed, holding up a clear plastic oblong. Inside I could see two reels of brown tape wound round two tiny white wheels. It was similar to the copy he had given me previously. ‘It’s a copy of the whole thing. I’ve not listened to it properly, but I know it works. Thought I’d get it round to you as soon as possible.’

As I only had the small, personal machine he had previously given me, I suggested that he went back to his and listened to it together in his music room. Whilst Augustus had put great store in this discovery and genuinely believed we’d find all our answers on it, my instincts told me something different. Maybe I was just over-tired from lack of sleep, still mentally exhausted from trawling through the local educational archives. But the snippets I had heard so far had given up so little that it seemed foolish to believe anything would change once we’d listened to the rest.

‘You go ahead and start without me,’ I instructed him, ushering him back down the stairs. ‘I need breakfast and a chance to get dressed. Then I’ll join you.’

He agreed, undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm, and I promised I’d be with him within the hour.

It was the ringing of the phone that brought me to my senses – my head was rested on the kitchen table, to my left a plate of crumbs and a half-drunk mug of weak tea. Shaking the rest of the sleep from my body, I dashed for the telephone – following the incident with Billy, I was no longer ignoring my callers. I thought it might be Esther or Uncle Jimmy with an update. It wasn’t – it was Augustus. I had fallen asleep, instead of getting myself dressed and joining him back at his.

‘You need to come now,’ he said, his voice worryingly serious.

‘What is it?’ I asked, feeling panic rise in my chest, my heart thumping to get out.

‘Just come, Agnes. I’ll explain when you get here.’

I still wasn’t dressed, but I was no longer feeling so flippant about the tape. Whilst there wasn’t hope in Augustus’ voice, it was clear he had found something. Something to be concerned about. Something urgent.

Not wasting another second, I pulled my protective gear over the clothes I had slept in, pulled on my protective mask for show, and rowed my small boat in the direction of the Cadley residence. I arrived just five minutes after our telephone call ended.

‘Quick, up you come,’ Augustus fussed as I came through the door. ‘I’ve been listening to the tape. It might be nothing,’ he said, as we twirled upwards, both feeling dizzy when we stepped off and entered the room that contained all his audio equipment. ‘But we’re all on it, Agnes. She taped us all.’

‘Augustus, that’s not a surprise. She did that, all the time, pretending she was-.’

‘These are different Agnes. All recorded in secret, I’m certain. And some of the conversations are, well.’ He paused, lost for words. ‘I guess, some of the conversations are worrying. Odd. Revealing. Yes, revealing is a better word.’

‘Augustus, maybe we should just listen?’ I suggested, trying not to sound impatient. Yet, he’d raised my expectations, my adrenaline levels too, and his empty wittering had neither quashed my fears nor satisfied my curiosity.

‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ he answered, gesturing that I take a seat, whilst he fiddled about with the technology.

Familiar voices soon filled the room, booming down from the speakers hidden in his ceiling. The first few segments I’d heard before.

A story from Tristan.
‘The day they came was an ordinary day. A day before the floods. Before the water washed through every part of the land. The days when milk floats hummed along the roads, delivering bottles of milk each morning to doorsteps, when daily newspapers and magazines were delivered by bicycle or moped.’

A conversation between Tristan and me, discussing Elinor.
‘I worry about her, you know. Going out for long days. I want her to have her freedom, but what if something happens to her?’ ‘Nothing is going to happen to her. She’s a good girl. And it’s safe.’

Another tale from Tristan followed.
‘The White City was a quiet, sacred place. Cold to look upon, but warm in spirit all the same.’

And another.
‘When they took me, they kept me isolated at first. The idea was to break me in some way. Remove contact with other reasonable humans with the view of removing humanity from me entirely.’
Although, this latter story was close to the truth, and probably a true account of what Tristan suffered. Strange how he’d revealed more to my daughter through his stories than he had to me during our entire time together. The reference to Xavier in this instance – the fact that Tristan was connected, the fact that we were
all
connected to this one person, made a small, cold shiver shimmer across my skin.

But all this I had heard before; nothing was new.

‘Just listen,’ Augustus insisted, gently, when I expressed this. He had paused the tape. ‘There is more. It just made sense to listen to it in sequence. It may mean more to you that way.’

I nodded my acceptance and he pressed
play
on the machine and the segment where Tristan referred to Xavier played itself out. The next piece was odd; the voices surprised me.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’

‘A noise? Something. Listen.’

‘It’s my sister,’ I told Augustus and he nodded, confirming he’d thought this too. ‘I’m not sure about the other voice.’ We listened on.

‘No, couldn’t hear a thing.’

‘There it goes again. When you were talking. Breathing, or something.’

‘You’re paranoid. No one is there.’

‘You can’t be sure.’

‘No, you can be sure, but you can’t be too careful. How about I go and check?’

‘Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Monty.’

Augustus paused the tape.

‘The only Monty I know is Monty Harrison, the g-.’

‘Gangster,’ I said, finishing the old man’s sentence.

‘Does your sister know Mr Harrison?’

‘No, well, yes,’ I corrected myself. ‘Joe – Billy’s father – had some connection. But I’ve no idea why Esther would be involved with him.’

‘They sound concerned at being overheard. What they say suggests they think someone is listening,’ Augustus continued, watching my face, checking what I might be assuming.

‘Do you think they knew Elinor was listening?’ I asked.

The old man shrugged.

‘They don’t really say anything, though, do they? Nothing to be worried about,’ he said, still watching me, checking my emotional state. ‘But they are worried about something. Maybe they were worried about being seen together?’ he suggested.

‘But why? It doesn’t add up.’

Another shrug.

‘There’s another section with your sister in it. Talking to your Uncle.’

‘Jimmy?’

‘Yes. It’s next. Shall I start the tape again?’

I nodded.

‘I’m a little worried.’

‘Worried?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I think someone knows.’

‘What?’

‘I think I’ve been followed.’

‘Jesus.’

‘I know. I don’t know what to do.’

‘This person? Talk to them. Tell them the truth. And tell them to keep it secret.’

‘And what if they refuse?’

‘Then you make them disappear.’

At this point, Augustus paused the tape and reached out to me. I could feel the blood draining from my body, like someone had slashed the soles of my feet and red fluid had gushed out in seconds. The touch of Augustus’ soft hands brought some warmth back into my system.

‘I can see what you are thinking. Jumping to conclusions. It’s just talk, that’s all. Just talk.’

I thought of what had occurred the night before – Billy breaking into my aunt and uncle’s old shop, my cousin Ethan escaping from the prison they had created there.

‘But they did have a secret, Augustus. A terrible secret,’ I said, my voice thin, my heart fit to burst through my chest. ‘What if Elinor found out? Esther talks of being followed, and Uncle Jimmy talks of making that person disappear. Oh my god, what if Elinor-.’

‘But it might be just talk. And we can ask them, can’t we?’

I nodded, yes, we could. But the snippet of their conversation had shocked me. It was taking me down a route that I wouldn’t have considered in a million years. Surely they wouldn’t have done anything to harm Elinor? Surely Augustus had to be right – this was just talk.

‘Shall I keep playing it?’ he asked, breaking my thoughts.

A drew in a deep breath. The last few days had been exhausting, raising many questions, but answering so few, and nothing was concrete. Everything was unsettled.

‘I think you should listen on,’ Augustus insisted, his voice still tender.

‘Okay,’ I agreed, still perplexed by the recordings of my sister. ‘Play on.’

The next piece was a conversation between Elinor and Augustus, but it had something in common with the last section I’d heard.

‘You think I’m a wizard?’

Augustus.

‘Are you?’

Elinor.

‘The truth, my dear girl, isn’t anywhere near as magical. And – what I am, the truth – well, it’s best you don’t know it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Too dangerous. Plus, once I’d told you, I’d have to kill you.’

Hearing those words startled me – an echo of Uncle Jimmy’s cold threat, but the context here was jovial, a joke between grandfather and granddaughter, unbeknownst to Elinor.

‘Just talk,’ I heard myself say and Augustus nodded.

Hearing this segment gave me reassurance that my sister and uncle’s exchange had been innocent; and, if not innocent, empty. Just talk.

The next two pieces were Tristan and Elinor again – stories, but dark and from the gravity of Tristan’s tone, close to the truth, although their content was elaborate, unlikely.

‘The chamber of doors is the place that drains you of all hope, sucks out your very soul. And it’s a cruel, clever, slow torture. Are you sure you want to hear?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the chamber you walk through an endless succession of doors - as one in front opens, the one behind you closes. On and on you go. And up ahead, enticing you forward each time, is the one thing you desire more than anything else. But every time you move forward, they move it further away. And so the cycle continues. You move forward and your hopes and dreams elude you on an eternal loop.’

The darkness, the sense of hopelessness this torture chamber of doors created made me shudder. Was Tristan really talking from experience? If so, what really had happened to him in the past? Who had subjected him to these horrors, and why?