She sank to her knees. Dream or death or delirium, she couldn’t face this. She waited for him to speak, to accuse her or perhaps to sentence her. He still said nothing. He was wearing the same vest and shorts he’d had on the first time she saw him on the stairs outside her flat. His face wore a serious frown that made him look, for a moment, a lot older than he was.
Something heaved inside Jess like a sob, but it found no exit. “I’m sorry,” she said, just as she had in that earlier dream. “I’m so sorry, Alex.” Her voice sounded hollow and dead in her own ears.
What for? the boy asked.
“For… hurting you.” Killing, she meant. For killing you. But the word wouldn’t come.
I don’t remember that. Was it a long time ago?
She had been in hospital for eight months. The trial had taken three weeks, and then she’d waited in the remand wing at Winstanley for another seven. Almost a year. For a ten-year-old, almost for ever.
“A very long time.”
I don’t think I know you. But you don’t have to feel bad about it, as long as you’re sorry.
She knew that she knelt within a dream, was talking to a dream, but the words still overwhelmed her. She couldn’t find any answer.
She risked another glance. Alex was looking at her with eager interest. He even flashed her a momentary smile. He seemed pleased that they’d got through the awkwardness, as though his agony and his death were things that could be set aside as long as the proper social rituals were observed.
This is where I live, he told her. Where do you live? You should probably go back there now. The big hole isn’t safe and I mostly don’t come here.
“I live…” Jess gestured vaguely to one part of the horizon and then another. “I’m in prison because of… what happened. I don’t really have a home any more.”
But you should go back to where you were before.
“I don’t know the way.”
I can take you back to where I first saw you. It’s easy to get lost until you’re used to it.
He held out his hand for her to take. Jess raised her own arm, a mere slab of substance, graceless and thrown together. They touched. His fingers closed around hers.
Grief and shame filled her and poured from her. She sobbed out her heart on the black obsidian. Alex watched her sadly, in silence, as though he’d seen a world of suffering and had run out of words to answer it.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
You told me. Come on. We have to go now.
She climbed to her feet. He was tugging at her hand, pulling her towards the exploding world which surrounded the pit on all sides. For some reason, the thought of going there filled her with dread – as though there might be something waiting for her that was worse than what she’d already endured. Something that would break her down in pieces if she even saw it.
You can close your eyes, Alex said. I know the way.
She did as he said. She let him lead her, eyes screwed shut, away from the pit into the dazzling lightnings of his world. Sometimes his other hand touched her elbow to turn or steady her. When she hesitated, he whispered reassurance.
They might have walked ten miles or a thousand. Time and space meant nothing here. There was nothing but the textureless ground under her feet and the soft touch of Alex’s hands. If she walked through any medium at all, it was through his gentleness.
Almost there. Just another step.
But she didn’t want to take it now. Though this dream had started off in agony, the thought of waking from it back into Fellside prison, into what her life had become, seemed like a terrible prospect. Most of all, she didn’t want to leave Alex.
It was nice to meet you too, he said with guarded politeness.
“Perhaps you could come back,” she hazarded, her homemade heart beating like a hammer. “I’d like… I’d love to see you again, Alex.”
I don’t think so. It’s noisy here. And too bright. I mostly stay where it’s dark and quiet.
When she didn’t answer, he prompted her again. You have to go that way. It’s not far. Try it.
Jess turned from him and stepped forward, still with her eyes closed against the glare and the sickening motion. One more step, he’d said. And that was all it took. She went back into her body, which lay open and ready to receive her.
She woke herself with weeping that tore the shrivelled membranes of her throat. When she remembered that night afterwards, that was always what came back to her first. The taste of her own blood, welling up in her mouth and spilling down her chin.
It was just a dream, but it had felt more real and more solid than anything since the trial. The blood made sense. It was as though she’d broken her fast on razor blades.
25
Jess’s loud, half-strangled sobbing brought Nurse Stock running, in something of a panic. She slammed the room lights on with the heel of her hand, the sudden glare pinning Jess to her pillow like a beetle to a board.
Stock was unusually solicitous. She brought a beaker of water for Jess to drink, examined her throat with a speculum and mixed up a weak antiseptic paste for her to swallow, washed down with more water.
“Those lacerations will probably heal by themselves,” she said. “I think. I’m sure they will. But I’ll leave a note for the day team to check them. Dr Salazar will know what to do. And there’s always more systemic pain relief if you need it.”
Jess read the time from Stock’s watch as the nurse fussed around her. It was two o’clock, presumably in the morning. It felt as though whole days must have passed, but Nurse Stock had been on duty when she fell asleep and it seemed that this was the same night. She settled her head back on the pillow, drained and almost numb. The light was still hurting her, but sheer exhaustion made the pain bearable. “I’m going to change this pillowcase,” Stock was saying, almost babbling. “It’s soaked from your sweat. I think you must have had a… a fever that broke in the night, or…”
The next time Jess woke, she was alone in the room.
She dozed again. Nurse Stock was back, pulling the covers down to examine her.
Alone.
Stock taking her temperature, pushing the cold tip of the digital thermometer into her ear.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Some time passed. Maybe it was a day. And another night. It could have been anything.
It was dark again, apart from a band of sunlight spilling in at the half-open door. Patience DiMarta walked across Jess’s line of sight, left the room and closed the door behind her.
Alex coalesced out of the sudden dark, like stirred milk coming to the surface of a mug of coffee.
For a second or two, Jess could only croak. Her mouth gaped open but her injured throat wouldn’t make any other sounds. Her feet kicked spastically, out of rhythm, pushing her backwards up the bed. Her heart beat at her ribs just once, with the force of a hammer blow. Then it seemed to stop, as though it had wedged itself tight in there and couldn’t get free again.
She threw up her hands to hide him from her sight, but she was too weak to hold them there. Gravity dragged them down and the boy was still standing at the foot of the bed, solemn, staring, only mildly interested in her terror.
I need to talk to you, he said.
26
He came back every night, and every day.
He wore her down by infinitesimal degrees.
Jess knew he wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, but Alex refused to let that matter. He was with her every minute. Pale in the daylight. Bright against darkness, like a fresh tattoo.
And every time she surrendered to the weakness of her body, the failing of her organs, he dragged her back. To wakefulness. To life.
There was no refuge.
“You’re not here,” Jess croaked at him. Jagged, incomplete sounds. Sounds made of broken breath. But he understood her.
Where am I, then?
“In my mind. In my memory.”
“Did you hear that?” Nurse DiMarta asked Dr Salazar. “She’s wandering in her wits. She just said so.” Jess had forgotten they were even there. They came and went like shadows now. Only the other shadow was real. Only Alex. “Probably a mercy. I don’t think it will be much longer.”