Submersion (39 page)

The tape rolled onto the next recording.

‘They could get into your mind. Work their way inside your head and make you think something was happening, when it wasn’t. When it couldn’t possibly.’

Tristan.

‘What do you mean?’

Elinor. The sound of her voice hadn’t ceased to pain me, a treasure to behold, but each syllable searing through my heart like a sword of molten steel.

‘Exactly that. They had ways – hypnosis, drugs, other kinds of tricks – that fooled you into believing certain things. Deception that gained your trust – made you talk. Made you confess things.’

‘But what did they make you think?’

‘The impossible. They’d make you think the impossible.’

‘But like what?’

‘Like someone had come back from the dead – someone you loved. And then they’d get you to confess all to a ghost that only existed in your altered state of mind.’

‘It’s a wonder my daughter slept at night,’ I said, disturbed by the nature of this latter tale. ‘Is this likely? Did the authorities, or whoever, really do this kind of thing?’

Augustus nodded solemnly.

‘On the few occasions I saw Xavier, he did recall similar tales. The Chamber of Doors Tristan refers to? I’ve heard a variation on that. But the experiments, the mind tricks? Yes, they did that. When they took children from the schools, tested them. You know that, don’t you?’

I nodded and realised at that point that Xavier had told him. That, after all his denial, Xavier had remembered me from that place they’d taken us. He had been, without doubt, the boy who caused the ruckus.

‘They then took the smart ones, Agnes, and put them to work in science laboratories – to save the world, they naively confessed at a much later date, as you well know. But they took some of the others, too, the less smart ones, shall we say, and used them for another purpose.’

I thought of my lost cousin Joshua – Mother had explained his fate to me a long time ago.
They did terrible things to those children.

‘Used them as lab rats, Agnes,’ Augustus continued. ‘The authorities always denied this was legitimate. Claimed it had been the work of a rogue group of scientists, but you can’t trust anything they say. And yes, they did this – everything Tristan describes, it happened. And, according to my very absent son, it worked.’

This last line from Augustus alarmed me. It was so unlikely, and yet he spoke with such complete conviction that I didn’t doubt his words for a second.

‘A very dangerous weapon, mind control, if it got in the wrong hands.’

‘And has it?’ I asked. ‘Has it got into the wrong hands?’

Augustus shrugged, a regular response to my questions.

‘Probably,’ he answered, pressing down on the
play
button again, rolling the tape on.

The next conversation was less disturbing, but more personal. Elinor had captured something very private.

‘Do you still think of him?’

Esther.

‘Yes.’

Me.

‘And is it like before, when we were children?’

‘Do I still imagine him?’

‘Do you?’

‘Not often, Esther. It was different then. I was a child and he was like my special imaginary friend.’

Reuben – we were talking about Reuben.

‘And later?’

‘When I was ill?’

‘Yes.’

‘I guess, he helped me cope. I knew he wasn’t there, but I imagined what he might say. He would have been my older brother, only by minutes. So, it helped to imagine how he might advise me and how-.’

‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know. A sound, like a click.’

‘No, I think you’re imagining it.’

Augustus chuckled gently at the cheek of Elinor taping us, but his humour dissolved quickly when we read my reaction.

‘My dear…’ he began, reaching out with those comforting hands.

‘She must have thought I was mad, she must have thought her mother was completely insane,’ I managed, tears tumbling down my face, catching at my lips.

The old man didn’t question my words – they didn’t make sense out of context and he would know nothing of my stillborn twin – but he still seemed to have an understanding.

‘I doubt it very much,’ he offered, patting my hands gently, giving me a few moments to gather myself, to recover.

‘Is there any more?’ I asked after a minute or so of silence.

‘Yes,’ he answered and there it was. In that single word, the tone I had heard on the phone.
This was it, wasn’t it,
my brain whirred,
this was the piece that had you worried?

Augustus pressed play and we heard new voices.

‘Does anyone else know?’

Papa Harold.

‘About me?’

Ronan – that was Ronan’s voice. My mother’s saviour, as she called him.

‘Yes.’

‘No, I haven’t told anyone else. Only you. Are you going tell anyone?’

‘What would be the purpose of that?’

‘A lot of people are after me – for what I did.’

I was stunned by this phrase. Why would anyone be after Ronan? And what had he done? A crime – was it a reference to a crime?

‘Not me.’

‘A lot of money on the table.’

‘What would a hermit like me do with more money? No, no, your secret is safe with me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Doesn’t mean I like it, though. What you did. Families suffered, and some of those children, well, they didn’t make it home.’

‘No. No they didn’t.’

The tape ended there and an agitated silence hung in the air for a few minutes.

‘It could be anything,’ Augustus began, attempting to instil calm as he saw the distress in my face. But I cut his reasoning short.

‘Ethan attacked Ronan,’ I blurted. From the old man’s face, I realised this meant nothing to him. ‘My cousin. He was one of the taken. One of the badly damaged, one of the ones lost for many years.’

‘I’m so sorry…’ But I cut Augustus short again – there wasn’t time for sorrow.

‘And Ethan attacked Ronan, a vicious, unprovoked attack the minute he set eyes on him. It could be a connection. I’ve always been led to believe that Ethan was simply mad, his mind addled by what had happened to him. But what if he recognised Ronan? What if Ronan was involved?’

‘Maybe,’ Augustus voiced, caution in his tone, attempting to slow my pace.

‘Can we listen to that part again?’ I asked and he conceded.

‘Doesn’t mean I like it, though. What you did. Families suffered, and some of those children, well, they didn’t make it home.’

Papa Harold.

‘No. No they didn’t.’

Ronan.

‘What if Ronan found out that Elinor had taped this? That she knew about Ronan’s past?’

My mind whizzed at high speed, computing all the things I did and didn’t know about my mother’s final partner. The kind man that had nursed her through to the end, who was grandfather to my daughter and my young nephew. He was well connected, I knew that – he had friends in the police, in other parts of the government. I’d never questioned that before, but now it seemed significant.
Why
did he have those connections? Had he been involved in the takings? Was he one of the officers overseeing the programme? Was he one of the laboratory leaders? Or was he part of that rogue group of scientists – the ones that tortured the likes of my cousin Joshua?

‘Agnes?’

I looked direct into Augustus’ eyes and saw tears spill out of them.

‘We need to talk to him,’ he said, licking drops away from this thin lips.

‘Do you think he did something to Elinor, to shut her up?’ I asked, my voice weak with desperate fear. ‘You think he killed my Elinor?’ I added, ache breaking me up inside, crushing me physically.

‘We need to talk to him,’ Augustus repeated, struggling to remain focused, knowing that we had to. ‘Just because he did something bad in his past doesn’t mean…’

‘But if my aunt and uncle found this out, if they found out he’d been involved, they’d have killed him, Augustus.’

‘Yet that doesn’t mean he’d have killed Elinor to stop that happening.’

‘No,’ I breathed, trying to cling to this logic, trying to focus on the kind man I’d come to love over the years. No, no, there was no way he would have killed her. But, if Ronan had been part of the corrupt culture, he would have done something. ‘He might have, though.’

‘Yes, he might. So, it goes back to where we started – we need to talk to him.’

We made plans. Despite an onslaught of emotions that wreaked our senses like an overwhelming flood, we found a point to keep us focused – we had a lead on Elinor. We also only had each other. Tristan and Jessie were still away – their trip worryingly extended, though I had little time or energy to dwell on that. And the others – Uncle Jimmy, Esther, even Papa Harold – they were still potentially involved in Elinor’s disappearance. As for the authorities – contacting them for help was simply out of the question. They were involved, their dirty little fingers all over what had happened. No, it was just me and the old man.

‘And Reuben,’ I told myself, as I headed back to mine.

If I was going to confront Ronan, I needed a clean body and a clean set of clothes. And a quick shower and change would help clear my head, help me formulate my approach.

Augustus agreed to call on me in thirty minutes.

Entering the house, he was there again. Seated at my kitchen table. Waiting.

‘Used your key again?’ I asked, a little cautious. This concept was still new to my fantasy – I always let him in, had the control over when he appeared to me. It was always my choice – not his.

‘Yes. Thought you might need me. Thought you might have something to tell me.’

‘Yes, yes I do!’ I exclaimed, caught up in the drama for a moment. It was as if I’d suddenly realised there was something to rejoice – I was getting close to finding Elinor, to getting her back, I was certain. And I wanted to share this sliver of happiness with Reuben. ‘I have something,’ I announced, digging something out of my pocket and waving it at him. I placed my copy of the tape on the table. ‘I will explain, I will. I think I’ve found her, but I have to get ready. I have to see someone. I’ll explain, though. Later, I’ll tell you everything. Right now I need to shower.’

Reuben nodded, accepting.

And so I left him, rushing to get clean and re-dressed.

When I was finished and returned to the kitchen area, Reuben had gone.

So had the tape.

The sudden, rapid banging of my front door indicated Augustus had arrived. It was time to go.

15. Billy

‘I’m going to be honest with you,’ Mother said, perched on the edge of my bed, her face softer than usual, with a fragility about it at the same time. She seemed paler, too, the colour washed out of her cheeks.

I remember her hair was pulled back, the fringe pinned, extending her corrugated forehead.

‘It’s not easy, talking about him. Too hurtful. I miss him, Billy. For all my front, for all my anger, at the heart of it I miss him. I am angry with him, though, for leaving us. It was his fault, you see.’

In her hands, she held a cup of thick, dark coffee – an illicit treat from Uncle Jessie – and took a slow sip from this, to gather her thoughts, to buy time before she continued.

‘But I’m going to tell you it all. Just once. I think I can only go through it once. You gave me such a fright young boy. I thought I was going to lose you. Thought you were going to die.’

This confession alarmed me. Had it been that bad?
It was touch and go,
Aunt Agnes would recall, years later. But had I really been that close to death? It hadn’t
felt
like that. Then again, how would I know? You either die or you don’t – there’s no coming back to explain exactly what it involves, so there can be no measuring how close a survivor gets. A worrying thought flashed in my head.

‘Am I still going to die?’ I asked.

Mother smiled, but her eyes were sad, tired.

‘No,’ she reassured. ‘Not this time. You’ve completely recovered. I’m just keeping you home so I can keep an eye on you.’ Her habitual sternness crept in, so she consciously added: ‘And to make a fuss of you.’

I smiled myself then. I liked this version of my mother. Liked it very much. But I was suspicious it wouldn’t last – like the nice version of Great-Aunt Penny, which was only momentary.

‘So,’ she said, continuing where she had stopped, ‘I thought you should know it all. Can’t have you going snooping again, not with these kind of consequences.’

I wasn’t certain if she meant my almost-death or the disappearance of my newly-discovered cousin, Ethan. But I didn’t interrupt her to confirm – she was ready to tell me everything and I didn’t want to do anything to stall that. This was one advantage of my fragile disposition: it put Mother in a different mind. A confessional mind. As if she feared she’d never get the chance again, and that I might just die after all, still not knowing the truth.

And so, she told me the story of Joe Morton and Esther Taylor. How they got together and, more importantly, how they fell apart.