In The Dark

My first chapter of a novel I am editing.

PROLOGUE

I can sneak into Joe’s room and leave. Big bro will be none the wiser.

A smirk slowly creeps across my face as I gently shove the corner of his ivory door. ‘Joe, you in there? Joe,’ I whisper.

I leave it a few seconds before I am inside. Shutting the door so Mum doesn’t hear me, I lean back. This has to be quick; if mum finds me in here, she’ll ground me for a month.

How does he keep his room so tidy? He even makes his own bed. Neat freak.

Mum is always having a go at mine. Sarah, why can’t you be more like your brother? Your room is a pigsty. If you don’t bring those clothes down, I’ll take out the wire from your X-box. Nag, nag, nag. Day in and day out! Speak to the hand, Mum. It’s my bedroom – if I want all my shit on my carpet, then that’s up to me. 

How does she think I’m going to keep it tidy? I have the tiniest of box rooms. Hidden in the top corner, you couldn’t swing a cat in it. Let alone have a wardrobe big enough for all my clothes.

Joe has a walk in all to himself.

On his Man-United bedspread are little piles of schoolbooks. Probably in alphabetical order. His CD player, complete with little earphones, lay on his double pillow set up.

There is a single piece of paper lying there. Picking it up, I stare at his tidy scrawl.  I mean, if he didn’t want me to read it, he should have hidden it away. Handy to have something over my big bro. You never know; might need an alibi sometime. I carefully remove it from plain sight, eager to read the juicy gossip.

A soft thud and I drop it like an unfaithful boyfriend. Shit! I thought he was at college. I back away into his miniature Christmas tree. A red bauble smashes to the floor. ‘No…’ I brush the sharp shards of evidence under his bedside cabinet.

I should really go, but his CD rack is on a low shelf. It will only take a few seconds to find what I need. I rifle through his weird taste in music. Whatever! Sting, you need to get a life. David Bowie is where it is at.

Now, where does he keep the cool stuff? My reflection gives me the answer. I slide open the mirrored door. The hinges part in protest, but I shut it without a sound. The light switch is twisted just enough, so the yellow hue shines on the wooden drawers.

Stepping forward, I brush something fuzzy away from my face. It doesn’t move. In the gloom, everything is hazy. Even though it’s not ideal, I have to gather my courage and take the risk. Twisting the light on fully, I spin around on my heels.

Bile burns the inside of my throat,  as I throw up on his carpet. ‘Joe? What the bloody hell! No!’ I reach up; his feet are still warm. ‘Joe! Joe!’ Pulling as hard as I can, he doesn’t budge. Sick rises, then crashes back down into my stomach.

Joe drops to the ground, a scrap of his school tie still wrapped around his throat.  

‘Stop mucking about!’ I scream. 

Pulling his neck back, there are deep ridges on his throat. A deep breath into his rigid body almost cracks his chest in two. I thump at his chest, covering his mouth with mine.

‘Sarah, what’s all this commotion? I told you not to go to Joe’s room!’

With her hands on her hips, Mum stands in the doorway, her figure appearing in and out of focus.

‘Joe, come on please, breathe.’

Long shadows that dance on the walls. My uneven attempts at life, shallow and rapid, cannot cope with her presence. The scent of anxiety hangs in the air. I reach out and gently touch your lifeless hand, hoping to offer some comfort.

A washed out scream seeps through the cracks in the wall. She rushes at me like a tsunami, hauling me up by the shoulders. She yanks me hard back into the room. Still trying to save him, Mum carries on from where I left off. I stand mute. Watching Mum’s hands push on his chest. The snap of his ribs and is like he is a broken Ken doll on the floor.

The whole bloody room is ringing out a warning.  

Mum twists her head, stares me right in the face. ‘For God’s sake, an ambulance. Sarah! Don’t just stand there. An ambulance!’

As I make my way down the stairs, I lose control and crash down, taking them three steps at a time. Grabbing the phone receiver, it fumbles in my sweating hands. 999. Clicking takes too long. Why is everything so bloody complicated? Fire, ambulance, police. 

‘How can I help you?’ 

‘My brother… dying… help!’ I spit out the words. It’s like the broken glass of his mirror are stuck in my throat. 

‘Can you tell me your name?’  

I am struck by the tranquillity of her tone, which conveys the idea that my words are useless. I have no choice but to give her an answer. ‘Sarah, my brother. God! Hung himself. Mum upstairs.’ My words jumbled; I can’t get my words out quick enough.

‘Sarah, I just want you to know that you are doing an amazing job. What I need you to do now is slow down,’ she says, like I won’t be whole again. ‘Breathe in, count to ten, breathe out, count to ten.’

My heart is pounding so much, I can’t hear the beats any more.

‘I know this is frightening. Take a deep breath in… hold for ten, then take a deep breath out. Count with me. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.’

I concentrate on her counting. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,” the image gradually slows into the fading beats of my heart. The room falls into silence, a stillness that traps me, leaving only the faint echo of my voice drifting in the air.

‘That’s it well done,’ she says. 

‘Need an ambulance, fifty-four The Link. Please hurry. Joe, my brother, not breathing.’

‘An ambulance is on its way. Is anyone with your brother now?’

‘Mum is upstairs.’

It’s so quiet up there. 

‘I’ll need to know what is happening, Sarah. Can you do that for me?’

‘Hanged himself.’ My tired eyes hurt, and fear is lodged in my throat. 

‘Was he conscious when you found him?’

‘No!’ I let out a strangled sob. 

‘I know this is difficult, but we need to know so we can best help your brother. How long has it been?’

‘Twenty minutes… I don’t know! Mum picked me up from school. She was at work.’ I can’t talk any more, like if I do, man, everything is real. I fall backwards on the steep stairs, grabbing at bits of stray threads on the carpet. 

‘I promise I won’t leave you. If you want to talk, you can. If you want to be quiet, that’s okay too. When the paramedics get here, let me know. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ I say.

When the doorbell rings, a hammering on the door follows. I let go of the phone and I rush to open the door. Finding my voice from somewhere, I have to get a grip. ‘He’s upstairs, doors open.’ I do exactly as I’m asked, picking up the receiver again. ‘They’re here.’

‘Sarah, I’ll stay on the phone with you. I want you to know you’ve done really well.’ Unable to move, I listen to the comforting voice at the other end. I’m wasting time, not even talking. 

At that moment, my gaze lands on Mum. Her skin is pale and almost see-through. She leans against the wall, not even screaming. It’s like the world has stopped spinning; just me, Mum, and a void of nothingness.

‘Mum, please.’

This is all my fault. Mum believes it, I believe it. Even the other paramedic looks at me funny. I pinch myself, hard, on my thigh. I want to wake up from this nightmare. Eventually, my skin is full of red patches, where nothing but pain brings me straight back.

Letting go of the phone, it hangs limp in my hands. She drags her feet now, walking down the stairs, in slow motion. Held tightly in her hands, Joe’s small Man-United teddy bear. 

She’s not even crying, just a permanent vacant expression fixed on the wall. 

I look beyond her, to Joe’s room. 

With only a few centimetres between us, she almost collapses against me. ‘We were too late,’ she says. 

She’s lying! He isn’t dead, he’s only sixteen.’