Who does he think he is? I know nothing? How dare he tell that stupid bitch that I know nothing? I’ve been around him more than she has the last few weeks. He hasn’t even phoned her back. But why does he care what she thinks of me anyway? I can tell he was just trying to reassure her, let her know that she’s not the only one in the dark. But how can he say that?
I’ve definitely seen what’s been going on: his moods, his obsessive examination of certain strange objects, his comings and goings, his relationship with his aunt. I may not know exactly what he’s thinking or doing but I do know more than he told her.
He pretends that I’m not really in his life, yet he seems to want me around. He wants to protect me, as I saw with Michael. He wants to be near me but at the same time is afraid. I know these things, probably more than he does himself! And now, I am only more determined to find out something about Daniel. I will find out how and why Daniel planned for me to push him, and that way I’ll prove I know more than Thom thinks. He’ll be shocked when I tell him all the things I’ve found out.
Mum, we’ll prove him wrong, won’t we? Of course, I won’t tell him I pushed Daniel; that’s our secret.
It had been hard to listen through the living room door but I managed to catch most of it. My skin burnt hearing them together, sharing a connection, her trying to crawl underneath his skin and see the damage. After all, where has she been all this time? I have been the one turning on lights for Thom, leaving him food, watching he and his family day and night, swabbing Thom’s slashed skin. I deserve to hear his plans, his need to find things out and discover what things mean.
The first thing I have to do is talk to Thom; perhaps even find out exactly what he’s been up to. He might be willing to tell me, everyone likes to halve a burden when they can. And I am the perfect outlet. He doesn’t want to hurt Val, and Richard isn’t interested in anything being harder than it is.
Why can’t Thom see me? Why doesn’t he tell me about the objects he stares at for hours? Why won’t he stop being afraid?
I really thought that Michael might have succeeded in turning Thom against me. Yet fate seems to have saved me. Perhaps because fate knows that this family needs saving and I am the one who can protect them. Yet at this moment, all I want to do is prove I can find out the truth, the plot that led up to the climax as the train bulldozed Daniel out of the family’s lives, the reason he led me to them.
When Thom lets Emma out, I am sitting at the top of the stairs again. As he turns back, his face drained, he sees me. He freezes for a millisecond, clearly wondering if, or what, I heard. I smile, writhing inside. Reassured, he returns the gesture and walks slowly towards the kitchen.
Later that night, as he sleeps, I creep into Daniel’s room again. Closing the door quietly, I turn the light on.
This is where it begins Mum; the answers…
From the doorway, all the way across the carpet, there is the red trail of blood that Thom left behind. I tiptoe across the trail and arrive at the wardrobe, still gutted. I peel the door away and place it on the ground. The cracked pieces of mirror make a jingling giggle against the carpet. I reach inside the wardrobe and let my fingers dance along the wood inside, each surface, the corners. I find nothing.
Next I open the small drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe. Nothing either. Yet just as it is about to close, I see it. On the left side of the drawer, carved in red pen, is a combination. Underneath that there is a street number and a street name. I wrench the drawer out and it tumbles onto my lap.
Mum – it’s here!
Remembering where I am, I sit still for a moment and listen to the movements of the house. Yet there seems to be only ordinary noises, no one has awoken. I give my attention back to the tattooed wood and feel blood rushing to my fingertips that I press against the words. I almost don’t have to read them with my eyes because I can feel their shape. If I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful, I forget then. These carved words are a salvation, a way into a maze that I have only just realised I want to enter.
I memorise those numbers and words. In a few days, I’ll follow them to wherever they want to take me. Weeks and months after his death, Daniel is still leading me. This revelation once again is like a set meal, easy and comforting in one sense, yet depressing and controlling in another.
As I am returning the drawer to its place I hear the click of the door handle. The door begins to open as I get to my feet. Although instead of Thom as expected, it is Richard who materializes.
“What’s going on?” he pulls at his left ear as though it is helping him wake up.
“Nothing. I thought I heard something in here”.
“And is there anything in here?” he persists, looking doubtful.
“No. There’s nothing”, I say but inside my heart dances with my discovery.
“No ghosts? No poltergeists?” Richard mocks. He is scanning the room, perhaps surprised to see the trail of blood and the carcass of the wardrobe, yet he doesn’t mention it.
“Why, have you seen one?” I retort. He has hardly spoken to me. Every time he sees me, he looks at me as though I’m wearing a prison uniform or brandishing a knife.
“No”, he answers; his lip and nose curling upwards.
“Well then, let’s get back to bed then”.
I make to move past him but his hand springs out and grasps my arm. His face is close to mine. His eyes seem to be flickering, like he is staring into fire and the heat is twisting its tongue in the air in front of his face.
“I don’t know who you are”, he tells me, “but you’d better not hurt my family. They’ve had enough”. He reminds me of a child standing up to a bully for the first time, worried it will result in a heavier beating.
“I don’t want to hurt your family”, I say truthfully.
“What do you want then?” Richard’s hand seems to be trembling slightly. Goose bumps have risen on his bare arm from the cold of the air or the cold of my manner. This must be what keeps him away from me.
“I want to be their friend”. I want to understand your brother Daniel, I add to myself.
“Okay”, Richard whispers, as though I had been asking his permission. As far as I am concerned, he is irrelevant.
“I’m going to bed now”, I tell him and without realizing, glance behind at the drawer that contains the secret message I have discovered. When I have left the room, Richard stares in the direction in which I glanced and tries to see something revealing but all he can make out is a broken wardrobe, a door laid out like a body having jumped to its death and the blobs of blood scattered on the carpet like paint splattered without consideration.