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Does she not know I outgrew that book, like, years ago? How many times is she going to read that same damn chapter? I think I’ll just keep my eyes closed, and soon she’ll stop reading, hopefully. Or at least pick another effing book. Every day for the last two hundred and five days she has read to me from that book. Ever since Nurse Smarty Pants said I might like it, it may make me reconnect with the outside world, my mother has read out loud. I did like it at first, but now she sounds like a broken record, grating on my very last nerve. Although, to be honest, if it bothered me that much, I could just open my mouth and tell her to shut the fuck up, but then that would mean no more hospital room, no more solitude. I’d have to go home, and I’m not ready to go home. Not yet.
“Well, sweetie, I have to go early today. Sebastian has requested that we meet him for dinner. He has an announcement to make, apparently. I’ll give him your love, my darling. I’m sure he’ll be in to see you in the next day or two.” Rising from the chair beside my bed, Mum gently kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll be in tomorrow after my lunch date with Eden. Hopefully we’ll know when you’re moving to Bluebell Hill then.”
Listening intently to her heels click across the floor, I count the steps and wait for the door to click closed before I peel my eyes open again.
Bluebell Hill Rehabilitation Unit. Woopity doo. Well, at least it would be a change of scenery. Perhaps the walls wouldn’t be this horrible stark-white colour. That’d be a start. Perhaps the physiotherapist there would be less like a Romanian shot-putter and might actually enjoy their job. Now, there was a positive thought for the day. The possibility of not being pounded on daily by some hairy-assed woman. Not that I’ve seen her ass, but I bet it is.
The door swings open again, but this time there are no heel clicks against the tiled floor, only the shuffle of large heavy feet as they move slowly across the room. I screw my eyes tightly shut, the old trick from childhood; if I can’t see you, then maybe you’re not really there. No such luck. I feel the bed depress heavily at my right side.
Open your mouth, Harper. Shout, scream, anything. Just push that little button they keep placing under your hand, “just in case.” Nothing. No sound, no movement. The scream I want to make echoes around and around my brain but still refuses to break free from my mouth. I can feel my throat constricting around the sound I’m desperate to make. It feels like sandpaper rasping against the inside of my vocal chords. The feeling reminds me of his hands against my flesh. In my mind, my body is rejecting him, thrashing violently against his hands as they hold on to me, resisting him every step of the way as my brain screams no. In reality, there is no movement, not from me anyway. My body will not respond to my wishes anymore. It doesn’t matter how hard I try; my body is inept. Okay, if I can’t stop him, I can block him out. I’ve pretty much shut down every feeling now, anyway. There’s just my mind I need to shut off for a little while.
Wonderland, that’s where I’ll go. Just for a short time, anyway.
Just until he stops again.
Chapter Three
Flynn
I drop my keys in the bowl on the hall table that Mum put there years ago. The dust cloud that drifts into the air makes Jacob cough. “We should dust that,” he says through choked-out breaths.
“Not tonight. Let’s just eat, then we can play that game you like, the racing one.” Jacob follows me down the hall, into the kitchen, where I begin sifting through the drawers, searching as he coughs. “Here, catch.” I throw his inhaler to him from across the room. “You’re supposed to carry that in your pocket. It’s not gonna do much good if you leave it in the house.” I hate reprimanding him today of all days, but it’s out before I can stop it.
“Whatever,” is his only response now his breathing has settled. He hasn’t mentioned my guilty verdict once since we left court. I know he talked about what happens now with Pete, the ever-helpful social worker, but he hasn’t spoken to me about it. I know I need to prepare him for the move to foster care, but instead I’m just standing here in the doorway, watching him rip open the brown paper bag from McDonald’s that contains his food. Pete bought it for him when I said I didn’t have any cash on me. It’s not like there isn’t any food in the house—there is—but it’s tins of crap or boxes of cereal. He hasn’t complained before; he likes those shitty multi-coloured hoop things.
As I watch him eat his burger, I move to sit opposite him at the table while I light up a cigarette. I blow the smoke away over my left shoulder, so as to avoid him breathing it in. His head lifts up to meet my gaze as I watch him devour the food. Pausing, he slides a few chips across the table at me. “Here, I bet you haven’t eaten today.” I can’t understand how he does that, worry about me all the time. It makes me uneasy again.
“We need to talk, Jay. You know that when I go back to court next week, I’m not coming home again, don’t you? Did Pete explain properly what’ll happen with you?” I take a long draw on the white stick that’s hanging out of my mouth. Jacob watches as the embers glow red before dying back to ash again.
“You might. Come home, I mean. The judge didn’t say you were going to prison. He just said you’ll get sentenced.” Jacob’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears. I can see him fighting internally with his emotions and I almost break. He’s twelve. What the fuck have I done to him?
“Well, I think we can assume that I won’t be coming home, for a while at least. Pete told my lawyer that they have somewhere really…nice all lined up for you. And it won’t be forever, then when I get out, you can come home again. I think.” I mutter that last part under my breath, not wanting to push the situation further than I need to. My attention is focused on the cigarette packet in my hand as I slide my fingers up and down the sides of the box and tap it against the table. The silence between us is unbearable as I wait for his reaction to what I’ve just told him. There’s nothing—no snarky comment, no sharp retort, no reasoning—he just continues to eat. “I think you can stay at your school though, so that’s cool. At least you’ll have your mates around you while I’m gone. It won’t be so bad. You’ll probably like it.”
“I’m not going.”
“Jay, I don’t have a choice in this. You have to go!” Dropping the cigarette butt into the makeshift ashtray, I pull another cancer stick out of the pack and light up.
“I’m not going, because you’re coming home. I talked to Mum today and asked her to fix it. So that’s how I know we’re both staying here and Pete can kiss my arse.” He flashes all his teeth at me as he grins stupidly around the burger he is trying to inhale. He’s been talking to Mum since the day after the funeral. He has this little box with a load of her old things in it, bits of jewellery and a photo, empty perfume bottle, that kind of thing. He made it at some group therapy thing Pete made him go to. He sits and looks at it all the time while he talks to her. I think he’s convinced she can actually hear him, but who am I to argue?
“Jay, don’t do that. Mum can’t help me now. She’s gone. And to be honest, I have no idea why they haven’t made you leave me sooner. I’m a shit brother. I can’t look after you. Well, not while I’m inside, anyway…”
Jacob stands from the table, scraping the chair legs across the floor as he does. He doesn’t even acknowledge me as he passes to place his rubbish in the trash. Without hesitation, he pulls the bin liner out and ties the ends together in a tight knot.
“My teacher said to tell you that my grades are improving. She wants you to come in and talk to her about some extra help with the maths shit. She didn’t say shit, I added that bit. We can talk to her together next week. When you come home from court.” I shake my head in disbelief at his resilience. Is it resilience or is it denial? How the hell do I come back from that? Before I can answer, the door slams shut and he’s gone, rubbish bag and all.
“Fuck!” I shout at nobody before rubbing my hands over my face and finally slumping down to lay my head on my arms across the table. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
When he returns
an hour later, he heads straight past the front room, where I’m sitting, flicking through channels on the television, and heads straight for the bathroom. “Where were you?” I shout up the stairs to him. When he doesn’t reply, I head up there after him. I can hear the shower running as I open the door. What twelve-year-old boy voluntarily washes? I repeat my question as to his whereabouts. “Jacob, where have you been?”
“Mrs Fisher said she’d pay me if I cut her lawn. So, I went to cut her lawn. The money is in my jeans. Take it, we can buy some of those donut things you like. She wants me to come back next week, said she had more jobs if I wanted to earn some money. I figured I could help, with the bills and stuff…” He’s waiting for my response but I can’t offer one. My throat is doing that funny tightening thing and my eyes are stinging. Damn steam in here. Backing out of the mouldy bathroom, I head for my room and shut the door quietly before sliding my back down the cold wood and resting my arms on bended knees. Lowering my head to my forearms, I let the pain drag through me. It’s suffocating, feeling so helpless. I sit there in the darkness as I listen to Jacob in the bathroom. He’s going through the motions of his daily routine as though I’m not about to wreck his life even more than I already I have.
“Flynn? I’m going to bed, do you need anything before I go?” I can hear his breathing through the door; cutting the grass has aggravated his asthma. He’s wheezing pretty badly.
“Take your inhaler,” I say without moving from my spot on the floor behind the door.
Listening as he shuffles down the hallway, I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s home. My heartbeat is beginning to regulate again, and my vision is returning to normal. How in Hell’s name he is going to cope when they send me down, I have no idea. I’m all he knows.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here now, but its dark outside and the house is eerily quiet. Shaking the thoughts from my tormented mind, I push up from the floor and head out into the hallway. I can just about make out the noise from the TV downstairs as I head towards Jacob’s room. The door is ajar, ensuring the light from the hallway is shining on his face. He’s scared of the dark, and I make a mental note to make sure Pete tells the foster carers because I know my brother won’t. He’s embarrassed about his phobia of the dark. He thinks at his age it’s pretty stupid to be so frightened of nothing. I think he’s been through so much shit that he’s entitled to be a little anxious.
Pushing the door a little wider, I lean against the frame with my arms crossed across my chest, watching him sleep. The gentle rhythm of his body rising and falling as he breathes is hypnotic. He looks at peace, thankfully. Even from the doorway, I can tell he’s been crying—his eyes are puffy, his face all red and blotchy. It’s hard to remember sometimes that he’s still so young. He tries so hard to be mature about everything I throw in his path, deal with it and move on. Seeing him so vulnerable like that makes my heart ache even more. Everything I’ve done has been for him, every shitty decision was supposed to make it easier on him. Instead it’s just ruined his life.
I’m not sure how we’re going to get through the next few days if he refuses to talk about it, but then even if he did talk, I’m not sure what I could say to help.
Chapter Four
Flynn
“Mr Sullivan, I have taken into account the seriousness of your offence and the character references from your social worker, Mr Peter Coleman, and your neighbour, Mrs Fisher. I have to say, their glowing accounts of your character took me by surprise.” Judge Greenhough lowers the papers in his hand to the desk and fixes me with an inquisitive stare. It’s as though he can see right into my soul, and boy am I glad I took Mrs Fisher’s advice and wore the suit she bought for me. I feel like I’m finally doing something right, standing up and taking my punishment head-on. If nothing else, I can teach Jacob that I have learned my lesson, albeit at the cost of losing him.
“Having read the report from Social Care, I am of the belief that you, young man, have been dealt a rough hand in life. It’s clear to me that your life would have taken a very different path should you not have been without your parents. With this in mind, I am sentencing you to three hundred hours of community service. You will also attend a weekly group session, where you will be given the tools to set your life back on the right track and assisted in finding gainful employment. Do you have anything to add, Mr Sullivan?”
I can’t breathe, let alone speak. I shake my head slowly from side to side as I try to form a coherent sentence. Jacob cheers from the public gallery, and I turn to see him punching the air triumphantly before he high-fives Pete.
“Mr Sullivan?”
“Sorry, sir. No, I mean…thanks. Thank you.” I stumble through the words.
“Very well. You may leave, but you are being released on license and you must adhere to the conditions of your release or face a custodial sentence being imposed.” A smile breaks across my face as the realisation that I’m technically free to go sinks in. Sure, I have to work off my jail time, but I can go home. I can take Jacob home.
My lawyer takes me down a long corridor where we sit while he goes over the conditions attached to my sentence. I’ll have a tag attached to my ankle for the next year, and a curfew to ensure I’m indoors after dark and not out getting into more trouble. Then there’s that stupid group therapy session I have to attend, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m free to take care of my brother. That’s really all that matters. Jacob is all that matters.
“Flynn, you’ve been extremely lucky. I hope you realise that. You have a lot to thank Pete for. I really believe that his character reference swung that decision in your favour.” At that minute the door flies open and in runs Jacob. I barely manage to stand before he launches himself off the floor and into my arms. He forgets he’s not four anymore. He’s almost as tall as I am now and certainly too big for me to catch in my arms. Pete is hot on his heels, apologising for my brother’s interruption. My lawyer waves his hand in dismissal. “Flynn, you’ll meet with your probation officer tomorrow and she will give you all the details of your community service.” Standing, he holds his hand out for me to shake, and I realise I need to put Jacob down in order to return the gesture. My brother is less convinced about the enforced separation and clings to my side as I free my arm to shake hands.
“Thanks for everything, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I really hope we never meet again.” I chuckle at my own wit.
“Most definitely, Flynn.”
As we’re left alone in the room, Jacob clings to me tightly. I think he’s afraid to let me go again for fear that the judge might change his mind. It’s then that I realise he’s crying silently.
“Hey, stop it. I guess your little chat with Mum really worked. We’re going home, and tomorrow we make a fresh start. Me and you, together.” I rub my knuckles hard across the top of his head as I wrap my arm around his neck, holding him in place and making him laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Did Pete feed you?” Jacob shakes his head. “Well, I think we need to get takeout and celebrate.”
Steering him out of the room and down the corridor, I’m not sorry to see the back of this building. I loosen the tie from around my neck and undo the top button of the stiff white shirt. God bless Mrs Fisher, but the sooner I get out of this monkey suit, the better. Lifting the tie off, I place it around my brother’s neck. “Here, it looks better on you, but don’t tell Mrs Fisher I said that.”
If it weren’t for our neighbour, I would’ve been in deep shit years ago. Honestly, I really don’t know how we’ve avoided this mess for so long. The old woman made it her business to look out for Jacob and me when Mum died. She took us both in during those early days and helped me figure out every day as it hit. Jacob shut down to everyone but her. She was the only one he would listen to in the first weeks after our mother’s death.
We have a lot to thank her for, and today is when we start repaying her.
“We can’t get takeout. Mrs F cooked us one of her pies. She texted
me earlier and told me to pick it up on our way back from court today.” Jacob smiles up at me.
“She sent you a text! When did the old bird get hooked up with a mobile phone? Isn’t she, like, seventy or something?” I snort out through choked laughter.
“Hey! I taught her to text. She texts me all the time. It’s a bit weird though. She can’t do shortened texting yet so I get, like, an essay every time she wants to ask if I got to school on time or if I’ve done my homework. And she’s always asking if we’ve eaten enough.” Jacob’s eyes pull in tight as he contemplates what he’s told me. “I need to give her more lessons. She’s getting a computer with Internet access next week. She said I had to ask your permission to go over and help her set it up, but I get to use it for my homework and shit in return.”
I know she’s only bought the computer to help Jacob out, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that. I really need to speak to her about spoiling him. There can’t possibly be any other reason for her to have a computer. The woman is ancient. She still uses one of those twin tub washing machines, for crying out loud! I’m damn sure she has no clue what she would use a computer for.
She’s bought it for Jacob.
Chapter Five
Flynn
Bluebell Hill is a very foreboding building. It’s an old Victorian structure. The plaque on the entrance gate says it was built in the early eighteen hundreds. It sure looks like it was. My probation officer told me it used to be an asylum for the mentally insane originally, most of whom died here—cheery image. A shudder runs down my spine at that thought.
It’s been renovated, obviously, but it still has a haunting feeling surrounding it. I feel a little jittery walking through the grounds and up to the front entrance. As I glance around, there are patients in the grounds. Some are with nursing staff, but some are wandering around aimlessly alone. It reminds me of a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and I halt my footsteps instantly. Fuck, I’m not sure I can go in there, not even for Jacob. Who am I kidding? I have to do this, if only for my brother. Steadying my nerves, I continue on my path towards the front door. It’s propped open, and I’m instantly hit by the smell coming from inside. Piss. Sure, they’ve tried to cover it with some scented cleaning crap, but I can still smell piss.