I’ve been in the cave for a long time now, so long that the light is just a distant memory, a whisper from a past that has long since faded and lost its relevance.
So when the light tugs at me, pulls me out of the ground, I am surprised at first and then a bit scared, because I have begun to feel comfortable in the cave. My wings have got stronger, my eyes sharper and better accustomed to the dark. I need nobody, and nobody needs me.
In many ways it is perfect.
But the light tugs at me. Pulls me upwards, through the ground and almost up to the surface. I’m not in my body, but I’m not in the cave either. I am floating helplessly somewhere in between, as if I am stuck between two dimensions – it is a bit like standing between two train carriages and being able to look in through the windows to both, but not open the door to either one of them.
Finally I land in my body even though I don’t want to. I immediately feel every cell and every cubic inch of flesh and blood.
And what I feel is pain.
But in the midst of the chaos, in the midst of the pain, there is also the everyday; the fly intrepidly bouncing against the windowpane, the slight scent of detergent from the sheets and the scent of the freshly picked rose in the vase on the bedside table.
I hear noises too – somebody is moving in the room – but I don’t have the energy to open my eyelids; they seem to weigh at least a hundred pounds.
The panic starts up and a scream wants to form in my chest, but the sound gets stuck somewhere in my throat, like a piece of potato lodged there.
‘Jonas?’
It is Rachel’s voice, but it sounds different, as if I’m lying under water in a bathtub listening to her.
A hand strokes my hair, soft lips press against my cheek.
‘Darling Jonas!’
I turn around and give her a hard slap.
But only in my mind because my body is as immobile as a Sunday steak in the refrigerated counter in the supermarket.
‘My poor darling,’ she whispers. ‘Now you are in the belly of the whale.’ She is crazy, I think, with detached interest, I have the sensation of watching a movie – a really messed-up movie, but still just a movie.
‘I will take care of you,’ she continues.
She puts her warm hand over mine and continues in a slightly harsher tone of voice.
‘But first I need to make sure that you don’t do that again, Jonas. It was a very stupid thing to do. You aren’t strong enough to go out yet. Anything could have happened. You could have tripped on a rock and hurt yourself, or fallen into the sea or . . .’
There is a long drawn-out sob, and Rachel’s hand disappears as she moves towards the foot of the bed.
‘I can’t handle losing you again, do you understand?’
There is a sound of metal against metal. As if she is rattling coins in a tin can. Then there are duller sounds. Also from metal but these sounds are from larger, heavier objects.
Maybe tools of some kind.
The blanket disappears from over my legs. Cool air whispers against my shins.
‘I know you can hear me,’ she says. ‘And I know that you can’t move. I’m not a monster but I can’t let you run away. This is for your own good.’
There is a hand on my foot and I can feel something sharp against my heel. Then I hear a bang and my heel explodes into unfathomable pain. My whole leg is on fire and even though I am numbed and not really entirely in my body, I scream in pain and kick with both my legs, sending her flying into the wall.
But only in my mind.
Because in the real reality I am lying still in Jonas’s bed while she strikes and strikes and strikes and the pain explodes inside of me, over and over.
When the darkness pulls me down I am thankful.
I don’t want to be in the light anymore, I don’t want to be in my body.
Before I sink through the bed I still manage to analyse what happened and formulate a hypothesis. But it seems so sick, so fucking messed-up, that I can hardly believe it.
Did she really do that?
Did she drive a nail into my heel?