I
I’m in too deep. Far too deep.
“Wake up!”
Saffron jumped awake. Awake? She didn’t realise she had slept. How can I sleep at a time like this? She didn’t even remember how she had made it back to her own room. Wake up.
“Come on, missy!” Mr Woods stood over her bed. He wore the same shirt, belt, and dry smile.
“What are you doing here?” She rubbed her eyes. Wake up. She didn’t know what time it was or what day it was—day five. It’s day five. Wake. Up. “You really don’t have to personally greet me every morning, you know?” She stretched out her usual smile but couldn’t quite find it. “Though I preferred it when you knocked.”
“Trust me, I’m trying not to make this a habit. But this is an urgent matter.”
“Urgent matter?” She stood up. She was wearing the same uniform she had been in for the past few days. She hadn’t changed or even showered yet. I need to get myself together. “What could be urgent in a place like th—”
Wait. He doesn’t know about yesterday, does he? He doesn’t know I went to Helios, does he? He doesn’t know I stole Ray’s notes, does—
The notes. As her eyes adjusted to the sharp morning sun, she noticed the papers full of Ray’s writing. They were sticking out from underneath her bed. THE CALIGINENT IS ALWAYS WATCHING. I should’ve left the notes where I found them. DON’T FALL ASLEEP. IT WILL GET YOU AT NIGHT. I can’t get caught with them. BEWARE.
Mr Woods frowned as he followed her eyeline down to under her bed, to the papers—
“Okay, come on then.” Saffron stepped towards the door, drawing his gaze away. He can’t find them. He can’t see them. He can’t know I went to Helios. “Let’s go.”
Unless he already knows?
Mr Woods looked at her. “After you.” He pushed on her back, shoving her out of the room. “We’re going upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” She rubbed her eyes again, then squinted in the blinding sunlight of the corridor. “Where exactly?” Back to the Shade station? Back to the Helios door? Back to the Quiet Room? Please not the Quiet Room.
“Hurry up, missy!” Mr Woods suddenly shouted, overpronouncing each syllable. He had straightened his posture and was looking around at the other prisoners in the corridor. “This is what little mutineers get when you break the rules!”
Break the rules? What is he talking about? She looked at the glowing red dots of the security cameras. He couldn’t actually know I went to Helios, could he?
“You’d better be on your best behaviour here!” He had his posh, southern accent on. It seemed like he was talking to the people around her rather than to her. He must be doing this to scare the others. It must be a front, a mask. Just like mine. Right?
They walked through the frosted-glass door into the narrow corridor. Mr Woods shut the door behind them, then exhaled, letting his posture relax.
“Okay, seriously, hurry up,” he said in a quieter, northern accent. “We don’t have all day.”
It was definitely a mask. Right? They walked down the corridor then to the cold metal staircase. Wake up. Think. What’s going on?
“Where are we going?” she said with a crack in her voice.
“Upstairs.”
Saffron stared at her shadow as they walked up. He’s not taking me back to the Quiet Room, is he? And it stared back at her with a menacing smile. I can’t go back there. It fed off her fear, enjoying her panic. I can’t be alone again.
They moved up one flight of stairs. What if Ashiya was taken away too? What if she’s in the Quiet Room? Her breaths were sharp and rough. What if she gave me up? The hot, thick air felt like tar in her lungs. What if they know I was sneaking around Helios with her? Making her breaths painful to take in. What if they know what I’ve been doing? Making them become shorter. What if they really have been watching me? And shorter. IT’S ALWAYS WATCHING. Stop it. And—IT’S ALWAYS WAITING. I said stop it.
Two flights. It’s been a whole year since he died. A. Whole. Year. This isn’t just a mystery story; this is a murder mystery. Something killed Ray. IT’LL TAKE YOU AWAY. Something hurt him. IT’S WATCHING YOU. And I need to find out what. IT’S ALWAYS WATCHING YOU. The caliginent is real. It’s a trial. It’s a drug. It really is here. It’s here to take you away. RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN.
“Hurry up.” Mr Woods pushed her up three flights. Four flights. Five flights. Past officers. Past the Quiet Room. Past Helios. Right? Did we pass it? The layout of Detention didn’t feel right, even when she tried to piece it together. Did we? Nothing about Detention felt right. Nothing seemed normal, because nothing is.
They walked to a corridor she hadn’t been on before. It looked like a carbon copy of the others. The same narrow, dark passageway. The same red beams from the security cameras. The same patronising posters and flyers. The same eyes watching her—THE CALIGINENT IS HERE. Is it here? Does the drug make a beast appear in its effects? In its nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, sweating, tiredness, insomnia, delusions, paranoia, mania, seizures, hallucinations? Or is it real? Is it all real—
What am I talking about? I need to wake up. I need. To. Wake. Up.
Mr Woods stopped at a door. “You don’t look very presentable, do you?” he said under his breath, loud enough for her to hear. Then he banged on the door.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
“Presentable for what?” Who do I have to be presentable for?
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Mr Woods looked at Saffron. “What are you waiting for, missy?”
What? “You tell me.”
“Just go in,” he said with a sigh, pushing open the door for her.
Saffron held her breath, not knowing what to expect, not knowing if she was going to be in trouble again, not knowing what sort of games the teachers were playing.
“Saffie.” A large figure greeted her at the doorway.
“Dad?”
II
Saffron’s Dad had a large stature that stretched up to the low ceiling, almost intimidatingly so if it wasn’t for his soft eyes looking at her. What’s he doing here? He shouldn’t be here. Should he?
He nodded at her before speaking in his usual bleak tone. “Saffie.”
“Dad,” she repeated in the same tone.
“How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been better.” She smirked.
“I can see that.” He looked at the cut that was still on her cheek.
“I’m fine.” Am I? She turned her head. Why won’t it heal?
He nodded. “You missed your sister’s birthday, you know?”
“I know.”
“And you’re going to miss your own birthday too.”
“I know.”
“You’re keeping well, though?”
“As well as I can.”
“And you’re staying out of trouble?”
“Of course.”
He grunted.
“I mean it.”
He grunted again.
She smiled. She had strangely missed their conversations.
He smiled back. He had missed them too. “Come on.” He beckoned her to follow him through a second doorway.
“Wait, why are you here? It’s too early for me to have any visitors.”
“This is for special circumstances, Saffie.” Special circumstances?
“What do you mean?” Am I in trouble? Am I being sent away from Detention? Am I—
“In here.” His voice was gruff but somehow still soft. He had a thick northern accent she had missed hearing.
She followed him into the main room. It had several couches and chairs that looked comfortable but worn, with holes and stains across them as though they hadn’t been replaced for years, maybe longer. But the main detail that caught her eye was the shadows. The room was full of them. They were coming off the many small lamps and lights scattered around. Somehow it made the place feel much darker than it was. As dark as death.
“Come on,” her dad beckoned as he sat on one of the larger couches, next to a small hive of people.
“Indie?”
Indie looked up at her from another couch. He was sitting next to his mum. They both smiled at her in sync. But it was a slow, sombre smile that wasn’t quite right. What are they doing here?
“What’s going on?” Saffron took a seat next to her dad, falling into the deflated cushions. She should have felt relaxed, but instead her body was tense as it waited for the worst to happen, like always. Weight pushed down her shoulders with every second that passed. Someone please tell me what’s going on…
“Saffron,” the final figure sitting in the room began. “It’s nice of you to join us.”
It was Ray’s Dad. Why is Ray’s Dad here?
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Saffron smiled.
No one reacted. Maybe now isn’t the time for jokes.
Soft woodwind music sang over a vinyl player, but the record was scratching at the tune. It interjected itself between the serene melodies with loud jolts and sudden pauses as though it didn’t want the music to be played.
“Saffron.” Ray’s Dad had a calming voice and a gentle appearance to match. He was as tall as Saffron’s Dad but a lot thinner. His plain dark hair was greying on the sides, matching his neatly trimmed beard. He smiled with his usual omnibenevolence. “As I’m sure you’re well aware, yesterday was the one-year anniversary of Raymond’s death. I held a small memorial for him at our house. It was lovely being able to remember him and grieve for him with so many others. But I did feel as though it was unfair that you and Indie didn’t get that same opportunity. So I simply wanted to have a small gathering here to help give you that space, to get through the tragedy of Raymond’s death together.”
Tragedy? She hated that word. It’s not a tragedy. It always seemed like an excuse, a reason for why they weren’t looking for answers and instead just accepting his death and moving on. Why does no one else want to find out what really happened?
“I was able to pull in some favours with the help from the mayor.” He spoke calmly but quickly, rushing through his sentences to get to the end like most politicians did. “We can spend as long as we like together. I’ve brought in all the leftovers from yesterday, so please have something to eat. As you can see, I definitely bought too much.” He gestured to the table of food in front of them. It had a strong, sweet smell, as it was full of snacks, cakes, chocolates, and crisps. “I also brought these for you.” He passed out small cards to the four of them.
Saffron took one. It had Ray’s picture on it. Ray. His stupid one-sided smile. His dark hair. His purple football scarf. His happiness. His life—
The vinyl player scratched at the music again, clawing at the harmonious tunes of flutes and clarinets, stopping their flow.
I watched as she looked away. She couldn’t do this a year ago at his actual funeral, so she definitely couldn’t do it now. Do you even remember his funeral? She looked towards the shadows of the room, noticing how tall and stretched they were. Do you even remember losing him? Noticing how they were looking back at her with eager stares. Do you even remember anything about him—
“Saffie?” Her dad nudged her. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered back.
“This is a small memorial card we made for him,” Ray’s Dad continued. “It has some of his poems inside. We all know how much he loved to write, so it was difficult deciding which ones to use.”
Saffron didn’t want to look at the card. Why is he glorifying Ray’s poems when he used to hate them? When he used to tell Ray to stop writing and focus on “real jobs” instead of dreaming up stories? Her eyes welled with tears, but she didn’t let any of them out.
“Let me read one.” Ray’s Dad gave Saffron another omnibenevolent smile before looking down at his card. “This is one he wrote at university a few weeks before he was sent here. I know he used it in one of his subsequent plays too.” He nodded at Indie. “As I’m sure you know all too well, Indigo.” He looked back at the card, reading from it: “‘I know this world is unfair…’”
Saffron didn’t listen. She looked away from the card and towards the food. The only way to grieve was to eat, after all. But she couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t do anything. Just listen. Just remember his funeral. Just remember him—
“‘Or then again, perhaps it is something more. Perhaps it has always been something more,’” Ray’s Dad continued. His voice reminded her too much of Ray’s voice. Ray. A voice she would never hear again. “‘And I am still breathing. Still—’”
Shut up. She felt like a parasite that no longer wanted to be attached to anything or anyone. Stop speaking. She kept her gaze on the food. The stupid pile of food told her this was a memorial. This was a space to grieve together. Together. Without Ray.
The music scratched again. And again. And—
Ray’s Dad put the card down as he finished reading. They all sat in silence for a long moment, unsure what to say next.
“This morning, Indigo’s Dad and I were chatting about how strange this year has been,” Indie’s Mum began in the same Irish accent Indie had but much stronger and faster. “I can’t even imagine how tough it must have been for you lot, dears.”
“Yeah, it just-it just doesn’t feel real, does it?” Indie said. His shoulders were hunched, and his arms were folded, like he was closing himself off and staying as small as possible. “Like, he’s gone? Like he’s really just-just gone? I know it’s been a whole year, but it still doesn’t feel right.”
“No, it doesn’t feel real even to me,” his mum replied, shaking her head.
“You know, I still…” Ray’s Dad spoke at a much slower rate now. “I know it’s strange, but I still go to call Raymond down for tea every evening. Then I always have to stop myself and remember…and remember he’s not there.”
Saffron kept her head down. She tuned out of their conversation. She couldn’t listen; she didn’t want to. But why not? Why not remember him too?
“Remembering is the hardest part…” Indie started. Remembering is the hardest part. “I think-I think it’s, like, the little things that hurt the most. Like, the other week I found a—what was it? It was a-a pencil sharpener that belonged to him. He must’ve left it, or maybe I borrowed it—I don’t know. But still, I only just found it. And I couldn’t stop staring at this-this stupid pencil sharpener… And I just felt that horrible, like, pit of pain, deep in my chest. All from-from a stupid pencil sharpener.”
“You’re right, dear.” Indie’s Mum nodded. “But it’s nice to remember all the great times you lot had too. I remember that time you all threw a party at our house when we were away. You all pretended you weren’t still drunk when we got back. You were all good at hiding it with your great acting skills. If it wasn’t for Raymond suddenly throwing up all over my carpet!” She laughed.
“Yeah, he-he drank way too much that night.” Indie smiled. “It was funny, though. We really thought we could get away with it.”
“You very almost did, dear!”
The others laughed too. Everyone except Saffron. Why are they laughing? She tried ignoring their words. She tried ignoring their stories. Don’t you have a story to share? All she wanted to do was find answers. Don’t you have a memory to tell? She didn’t want to share memories like there was nothing left to be found. If you even have any memory left at all?
I saw Saffron’s eyes fill with tears, yet she didn’t let them fall. Instead she tapped her fingers against her knees, tapping them faster than her heartbeat. Calm down. She looked at the shadows across the room. The stupid shadows that didn’t have to face the pain of death. The stupid shadows that didn’t even know whose shadow they were missing. The stupid shadows that didn’t even know Ray was gone and he’s never coming back.
“He was such a beautiful boy, always so happy and sociable,” Indie’s Mum gently said. “That boy could’ve made friends with a fly if he wanted to.”
“Yeah, he was the-the reason I was able to even, like, make any friends…” Indie spoke quieter. “Without him, no one would’ve, probably, spoken to me. He was always so-so confident, and he encouraged me to be the same. He was the best, and well, the only, boyfriend I ever had. I already know that-that no one will ever be able to replace him.”
“Raymond was an angel.” Indie’s Mum nodded. “A saviour.”
“Yeah, he-he was, he really was. You know…” Indie let his hair fall back across his face. “He was the first person who accepted me, like, who really accepted me, when I came out as trans. It was just-just so nice to have such a-such a positive experience all because of him.”
“I’m glad, dear. He was so kind, always helping others and looking out for the people around him.”
If only I had looked out for him too.
“It was such a tragedy that he left us.” Ray’s Dad nodded.
A tragedy. It’s always a tragedy. Always just a tragedy and nothing more.
“While we’re here, I also have this.” Ray’s Dad brought out two bottles of wine from his bag. “Now don’t go telling the teachers I brought these here; otherwise they’ll snitch on me to the mayor.” He laughed. “But they were leftovers from yesterday too. So I thought maybe we could all have a little glass. As long as you all don’t go throwing up on these carpets, I think we can get away with it!”
They all laughed again as the intoxicating smell of wine filled the room. All except Saffron. A little glass? She kept her gaze on the floor. She didn’t want to indulge in their gluttonous sins anymore. Especially not alcohol. Not anymore. It made her think of Ray. Of his stupid one-sided smile. Of the purple hip flask he carried everywhere he went. Of the alcohol he used to consume and consume and consume—without anyone questioning him. Because why would they? Why would anyone question a young university student on alcohol? Why would they reach out and pull him from that vile slush of never-ending rain? Why would anyone stop him from drowning in it? The shadows of the room shifted into twisted figures. Their monstrous shapes clung to the edges, barely visible in their shroud of darkness. They were patiently waiting for Saffron, staring at her with distorted grins. Their mangled limbs seemed to crawl towards her with every breath of defeat. But she didn’t care. She let them slither closer.
“Saffron? Do you want a glass?” Ray’s Dad offered a small plastic cup. She didn’t take it. “Okay, not to worry.” He put the cup down. He smiled at her. “Grief doesn’t only have to be full of sadness, you know?”
She didn’t respond. She looked away. Ray’s death was the hardest day I’ve ever had to face.
“You all right?” Her dad nudged her arm again.
“I’m fine.”
He lowered his voice. “You sure, Saffie?”
She copied his tone. “I’m sure, Dad.”
“I know it can be hard to process all this.” Ray’s Dad caught her eye. “I know it’s a lot… I find it hard too. I still have so many items of Ray’s at home, including huge stacks of his trainers. I can’t bring myself to get rid of any of them, even now… Letting go of someone is a difficult process, even for adults.”
I am an adult.
“So, Indigo,” Ray’s Dad continued after a moment’s silence. “I heard you’re putting on one of Raymond’s plays here in Detention?”
“What?” Saffron looked at Indie. He’s putting on Ray’s play?
Indie nodded. He almost seemed embarrassed. “I-I told you I was doing the drama classes, just like he did.”
“You didn’t tell me you were doing a play.”
“Well, yeah, I didn’t get a chance, as there was-there was a lot going on, wasn’t there?” He pushed his hair back again. “But yeah, it-it turns out the drama group had some of his scripts, as he used to write loads when he was here. And the group thought it would be a nice idea to do one of them.” He paused, waiting for her to say something, but she didn’t. “I didn’t think I would be doing this—it just-it just sort of happened… But maybe you could join us too? It could be nice to act together again, just like-just like we used to in college.”
It could be nice to grieve for Ray? It could be nice to honour and remember him? Do you even remember him? Saffron kept her eyes on Indie’s trainers.
“It’s such a beautiful way to remember Raymond and let his memory live on, Indigo.” Indie’s Mum smiled. “You know, dears, I loved it when you all performed his plays at the college. It was so extraordinary. And Saffron, your acting was phenomenal. You should definitely join Indigo and act in it this time too.”
“I’ll think about it.” She wouldn’t.
“Good, dear. I hope you do.”
“Indie?” Saffron kept her voice as calm and as quiet as she could. “What play are you doing exactly?” He said it was a play Ray had written in Detention. There was only one thing he wrote about in Detention. Only one monster.
Indie took a long pause. “It’s-it’s called A Life Worth Suffering.”
“Is that one about the caliginent?”
Indie nodded. Then the music suddenly stopped as the vinyl player refused to let the melodies go on any longer.
“Seriously?” Saffron felt a mountain of anger rise behind her eyes. I told him the caliginent was something real that was haunting Ray, that it was a warning against the drug trial. And now he’s performing a play about it? Now he’s not even listening to Ray’s words? He’s not even finding out how it killed him?
“Why don’t you do it with me? Why-why don’t you join me?” Indie held out his hand to her.
Saffron turned away from him. I saw her eyes well up again, but she still refused to let a single tear fall. She couldn’t let her mask slip. She had to keep it up. “I’m done.” I saw her hands were shaking. “That’s everything, right?” I can’t stay put any longer. I have to get off this island and carry on my journey.
“Everything? We have plenty of time together, Saffron.” Ray’s Dad offered her the plastic cup of wine again like it was a merciful gift. “And isn’t it nice to be together and be away from Detention?”
“I think I’ve heard everything I need to.” She felt tears begging to be released, but she still didn’t let them fall—not yet.
“I can speak to you another time? If you prefer a quieter atmosphere?” Although Ray’s Dad meant well, his words had a patronising sting. “I know all the teachers and officers really well, so I can get a favour out of them anytime you need.” He spoke with the same smile that seemed kind yet dangerously powerful. But Saffron knew his political power and position didn’t mean anything anyway—not when he couldn’t even save his son.
“I’ll be fine.” Will you? Why won’t you remember him and stop drowning in self-pity?
Saffron stood. Her dad stood too.
“Thanks for organising this.” Her dad nodded to Ray’s Dad. “It’s been appreciated.”
“I hope it has,” Ray’s Dad said with an immutable smile.
“Saffron, it’s been lovely to see you, dear,” Indie’s Mum said as she walked away.
“Yes, Saffron, please do remember we can talk about Raymond anytime you need to,” Ray’s Dad called after her. “We’re all here for you!”
All here for me? Saffron didn’t look back. No one is here for me.
“Saffie?” Her dad followed her. “You all right?”
How can they accept that Ray is gone? How can they call it a tragedy and move on? Heavy pain pressed against her chest. Why does no one care about finding out the truth? Her breathing quickened as the pressure of tears began to fall from her eyes. But I care. Right?
“Saffie, wait one second.”
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, pushing the water away. Do you care? You didn’t care when he was alive. But more tears kept appearing. You didn’t try to save him then. I watched more intently as she stumbled towards the door—you never cared about him—walking away from the group—you never will—and farther towards me.
“Saffie?” her dad said.
“Dad?” She copied his tone.
“You all right?”
She pushed back another tear. “I’m fine.” No, you’re not.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re fine.”
“Well, I am.” You’re not fine.
“It’s okay not to be—”
“I said I am.” You’re not.
“And I said you don’t have to be—”
“I. Am. Fine.” You’re definitely not.
“Saffie…”
“Dad.” She reached out to the door.
“You want to go back already, missy?” Mr Woods was leaning on the wall next to the door.
“Yes, let’s go.” Saffron didn’t look at him. She couldn’t let him see the tears she was holding back.
“You sure you don’t want to stay any longer?” Mr Woods sighed. He didn’t have the energy to take her back yet.
“I’m sure,” Saffron said, feeling her dad’s hand gently touch her shoulder. Stop. Everyone, just stop. I just want to be alone. I just need to be alone. Forever.
“Mr Woods,” a new voice began as a Shade trench coat stepped into view.
Mr Woods immediately straightened his posture, awaiting an order.
“You can leave. I’m taking over now.” It was Sylver.
Mr Woods hesitated. “But I’m supposed to—”
“I said you can leave,” Sylver spoke out, stronger.
Mr Woods hesitated again. “Are you sure, mate? You know I can—”
“Now.”
“Yes, Officer. Of course.” Mr Woods nodded through gritted teeth then walked away.
“Saffie.” Sylver nodded at her. He could see her pain as clearly as I could.
She exhaled. “Sylver.”
“Sylver.” Her dad nodded.
“Dad.” He nodded back. “It’s Officer Sylvester in here. You both know that.” They did.
“How are you, Sylver?” her dad asked.
He sighed. “I’ve definitely been better, Dad.”
“Sounds like we all have.”
Sylver looked at Saffron, seeing the tears behind her eyes. “Do you want to go into an office for a few minutes before you go back?”
She nodded.
He gestured her out into the corridor. “Shall we?”
She tried to put a smile on. “We shall.”
III
“That was…fun,” Saffron started.
Sylver had taken her to one of the small offices after saying goodbye to their dad. It was another cramped space that looked like it belonged to an overworked teacher, as stacks of papers were piled across every surface.
“Fun?” Sylver had taken off his trench coat and placed it on the back of his chair. He looked much more like his normal self without it, much more like her older brother.
“You didn’t feel the fun vibe in there?” Saffron put back on a smile.
“The fun vibe of the memorial?” He smiled too, not bothering to hide it anymore. “No, surprisingly I did not. Maybe I missed the fun part.”
“Yeah, you probably did.” Saffron was sitting in a chair that spun around. She spun herself again and again and—
“I’m sure it was a nice way to remember Ray, though?” He paused for a second. “I didn’t realise it had been a whole year.”
“Neither did I.” How could I forget?
“I’m surprised Dad was here. I would’ve thought he’d have been working today, like he always is.”
“You’re always working too.” She spun a little less on the chair, slowing her speed. “How’s your work been? Is the Shade as lifeless as we thought? Full of posh southerners?”
“Don’t call it ‘the Shade,’ you idiot.” He took a long breath, running his hand through his hair, revealing his hidden blue streaks. “It’s been all right so far.”
“Really?” She rolled her eyes. “So I’m guessing you haven’t decided to blow it up from the inside then?”
“I’m sorry, what?” he asked as she laughed to herself. “No, go on, tell me more. Tell an officer how you think I should blow up the whole organisation.”
“It could be a fun idea, you know?”
“No, I definitely don’t know. This is just a you thing.”
“It used to be you too.”
“Not anymore.” He paused for a moment and scratched at his stubble. “Have you managed to stay out of trouble these past few days?”
She looked away from him and towards her elongated shadow, which stretched over the stains and scratches of the carpet. “I’ve been trying my best.” That’s one way of putting it.
“Sure you have.” He smiled. “And are you remembering to breathe?”
She rolled her eyes again. “How could I forget?” They both laughed.
“How’s Indie been getting on?”
“I think he’s doing pretty good here.” Definitely better than I am.
“That’s good.” He spoke quieter. “I wish you both didn’t have to come here.” He shook his head. “It was my fault.”
“It’s okay. It’s like a little eight-week holiday… In a place where I have no freedom or independence or privacy.”
“Sounds like a perfect holiday, huh?”
“The best one I’ve ever had.”
“I do hope you’re staying out of trouble, though, Saffie. And I… Is your cheek okay?” He looked at the cut on her cheek, which still wouldn’t heal.
“It’s fine.” Is it?
“Okay… I… Okay.” He knew it wasn’t fine.
“I mean it.” No, I don’t. “I’m fine.” No, I’m not. “I’m doing good here.” I’m definitely not.
“You just have to remember to behave and not be an idiot.”
“I’m not always an idiot.”
“You definitely are.” He laughed. “But seriously, this isn’t a good place to get on the wrong side of people.”
“I’ve realised that.”
“I mean it,” he said in a lower, blunter voice. “People are watching you. Closer than you think.”
“People are always watching me. I’m very entertaining.” She put on her usual pandemonious grin. “You know they’re probably watching you too, right?”
“Probably.” He grinned back at her. “I’m very entertaining too.”
IV
Saffron stared at the new stack of papers on the floor of her cell. She hadn’t moved her gaze off the note on top of it for the past few hours. The note written in Indie’s handwriting: THIS IS THE PLAY WE’RE DOING. IT WAS THE LAST ONE HE WROTE. I STILL THINK YOU SHOULD DO IT WITH ME.
Should I do it with him? Doing a play together would be a nice way to remember Ray. But it would also be a way to remember him. Don’t you want to remember him? And remembering him meant not finding answers. It meant he really is dead and is never coming back.
She had looked for Ashiya for a while. She hadn’t seen her since their trip to Helios. Maybe I should look for her again? Maybe I can leave this play for a while longer and find her? But she hadn’t seen her anywhere. Her room had been shut ever since they had snuck out. Was she caught? Was she taken to the Quiet Room? Was she punished in my place? She hadn’t warned Ashiya about the drug and its effects. Which means she might take the drug. Which means she might get hurt, just like Ray did. Which means she might disappear, just like Ray did…
She took a long breath in. Then out. In. Then out. I have to do it. She picked up the stack of papers. THE LAST ONE HE WROTE. The last play he wrote before he died. Before I lost him. Before…
A LIFE WORTH SUFFERING.
She put it back on the floor. She couldn’t do it. Even the title was too much, WORTH SUFFERING. She had read it before, a long time ago. But she had never gotten to the end. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to read the last words he had ever written. She didn’t want to accept that he’s dead and never coming back.
She paced around the room. “Nope, not now, not now,” she muttered as her stomach twisted and turned. She didn’t want to read the last play he ever wrote. She didn’t want to accept that he’s gone forever. She didn’t want to—
Remember him. Just remember him. The shadows of her cell twisted along with her mind. And the mutilated figures took another step away from the dark corners of the room. But she didn’t notice. Her thoughts were fixed on the play. A LIFE WORTH SUFFERING. I can read a little bit, can’t I? She took another long breath in. And out.
A LIFE WORTH SUFFERING.
In. And out.
She picked up the stack of papers once more. That’s it.
A LIFE WORTH SUFFERING.
Is it worth suffering?
She turned to the first page. Good. Keep going. It was only a photocopy, but it was handwritten in Ray’s scrawly, messy handwriting. Of course he wrote it by hand. Of course he wants me to look at his stupid handwriting. She took another long breath in. And out. Just read a little bit. She held her shoelace bracelet as she fixed her eyes on the paper, away from the shadows crawling towards her. In. And out. In. And out. In. In— She turned to the first page. And out. In. And out. In. And out.
The play was set on a ship during a journey to America, across the Atlantic. In. And out. It was a tragedy, set in what seemed to be the 1800s. In. And out. The main character was a young man, Curtis, who had been sent away from his homeland by his father after making some terrible mistakes that had led to his banishment. In. And out. It wasn’t just a physical journey but also a personal journey of getting away from his past, being chased by guilt and regret and a darkness that felt never-ending. In. And out. It’s just a story. Just a story. Just. A. Story.
But Curtis’s darkness became more real. It was chasing him. It was haunting him. It was a supernatural monster. A CALIGINENT BEAST. In. And out. In. And—
The caliginent was described as a childhood terror, something they used to sing nursery rhymes about in his hometown. It was haunting him, teasing him, taunting him every. single. day. Yet it remained invisible to everyone else. No one could see it except for him. Curtis thought he was going crazy as he saw this beast crawl out of the shadows. And he couldn’t get away from it. They were trapped on a ship. There was no escape from anything. Not even himself. Out. In. And out. In. And— But what are you trying to tell me? Was the caliginent the drug? The trial? A hallucination? Did it do something to your mind? Did it kill you? What did it do to you, Ray?
Curtis listened to the sailors’ old rhymes about this beast, discovering that the caliginent was from another reality, The Tenebrous Empire, and had been entering the mortal world through cracks in mirrors—bad luck—or broken objects, including broken minds. It was said that people with broken minds were easier to prey upon, easier to drain, easier to control. It locked on to them like parasites, feeding off their thoughts to survive. It slowly turned them insane. It slowly took control. Eventually it turned their prey into a caliginent themselves. Out. In. And out. In. And—
It was nighttime when the beast became the most vicious, when everyone else was asleep and only he was awake. That was when the caliginent physically appeared to him, when it hurt him. When it tried to kill him. In. And out. In. And. In. And. In. And—
Curtis had to fight off the caliginent each night. In. And. But each fight was exhausting. It drained him of his life, making him weaker throughout the play, while the beast grew stronger— In. And. It was described as a Scylla, a monster that was stopping him from ever returning to his home or to his normality. And. In.
Then it took over his mind, changing his personality, infecting him with pessimistic darkness as he began to turn into a caliginent himself. It caused him to isolate himself from his comrades, to barely eat, to drink away his days, and to have sleepless nights. This sounds like Ray before he died. It did sound like Ray. Doesn’t it? Don’t you remember?
The shadows around Saffron’s room twisted their scimitar claws and broken limbs closer towards her as she carried on reading. She didn’t even realise how close I was to her now. You can’t be worried about what’s outside, because when it comes to the caliginent, the only thing you should worry about is what’s already inside with you.
Out. Breathe out. In. And. Out. In. And. Out. Curtis refused to tell his crew about this caliginent. He kept it to himself—typical Ray. He couldn’t risk anyone else finding out he had such a deep darkness surrounding him. The caliginent was a myth, a children’s tale of nightmares that kept them in line and shut them up whenever they cried or threw tantrums. Why didn’t you tell us? It was something to laugh at, not to be seriously talked about. No one would ever believe him that an old sailor’s rhyme had become his torturer. I would’ve listened. Curtis repeated the rhyme to himself each night, reminding himself it wasn’t true—it couldn’t be true. Wouldn’t I have listened? But each night he saw the caliginent shadow, and each night it drained his energy and plagued his mind. Did I listen? There really was no escape. No, you didn’t.
IF YOU SHOW FEAR OR WEAKNESS / IF YOU SHOW TEARS OR MISERY / THE SHADOW WILL CATCH YOU AND EAT YOUR MIND / THE SHADOW WILL TURN YOU INTO PREY / THE SHADOW IS COMING / IT’S COMING / IT’S HERE. / IT’S HERE TO TAKE YOU AWAY.