Trapped Between
Chapter 9: Epiphany

After lunch I walked back up to the market to meet Jess at the bus stop there, there was a stop closer to my house but this one went directly into Fornby and would cut fifteen minutes off our journey

I made good on my personal promise, by slipping back into the comfortable mould of our relationship. Jess was like a summers day, she radiated warmth and fun, and I was soon back in the format of our friendship, chatting about boys and laughing hysterically as she filled me in on her madcap attempts to try and impress Patrick Airey.

I couldn’t tell her about Drew, she’d never believe me, but I could still be the friend I’d always been, the slightly awkward, best friend to the beautiful blonde.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a streak of grey interspersed with colour.

Drew.

My laughter stopped as my heart shot into my mouth, beating wildly against my teeth making them rattle in my gums.

I’d told Drew about my text conversation with Jess and about how I felt like I was a bad friend. He’d frowned over my anguish, concerned by my misery, so he’d made me promise to balance my time better. I’d already twisted and turned with my own conscience about my need to be with Drew and how much of my time, waking and sleeping, it was taking up, so when he asked me to ensure I spent more time with Jess, I had surrendered immediately. There was no way I could refuse him anything, plus I needed to keep Jess in my life.

We had agreed, earlier, to see each other when I got back from Fornby so his unexpected appearance, before I had even set off, had me worried.

Had he remembered something? Did he need me? Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He leant against one of the stalls, and smiled at me before mouthing have fun. My racing heart steadied, slid back down into its place in my chest and pumped a warm glow around my body. He’d shown up simply so that we could see each other. Maybe he felt like I did, that when we were apart there was an itch in my blood that could only be soothed when I was back in his presence. Plus, there was no way he would want to drag me away from my afternoon with Jess, not after he knew how much her friendship meant to me.

Jess carried on about her exploits with Patrick, barely even stopping for a breath. Relief flooded through me, she hadn’t felt my sudden rigidity or heard the thrashing of my heart.

And of course, she hadn’t seen Drew.

We mooched round the few clothes shops Fornby had to offer. Jess still managed to try on about a million outfits and I sat patiently in each changing room, assessing her choices and saying all the right things.

Finally we made our way to the gallery. Art was definitely something that Jess and I agreed to disagree on; in that I loved it and she was totally indifferent towards it. Jess didn’t get why I loved all things obscure, stark and made of steel. When it came to art she declared herself a purist, which basically meant that she could only stomach it if it was two dimensional, on canvas, and preferably of people. She called herself a purist, I called her boring.

We agreed to split up; I’d head to the Contemporary Wing, to check out the sculptures for some inspiration, whilst Jess would go to the Renaissance Room where she would feign interest at the flat faces of saints and rich men.

“Beth, if you stay staring at steel for more than fifteen minutes, I can’t be responsible for what might happen,” she said with wide eyes, clutching at my arm in mock horror.

“And what might happen exactly?” I asked, rolling my eyes at her dramatics.

“I might be forced to scream, and then we’ll be banned for ever.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I snorted at her, and then narrowed my eyes as I saw the speculative gleam appear in hers. Yes, she would. “Okay, okay. Fifteen minutes max and then I’ll come save you from the flat faces.”

What I loved best about the exhibits in the contemporary room was that they begged you to touch them, to immerse yourself in them, to run your fingers across their cool, smooth structures. I lost myself amongst the looping shapes, the metal fingers that reached out, twisting around you and held you captivated in their presence.

This is what I wanted the school memorial sculpture to be like. I wanted it to grab hold of people and not let them go until they realised the complete and utter tragedy of teenagers being ripped from their lives. I wanted people to see their faces reflected in its smooth, steel surface. The faces of the living remembering the faces of the dead.

“Elizabeth Sutton, didn’t you hear my scream?”

I spun round to see Jess behind me. Mock anger on her face, one hand on her hip and the other hand pointing at the clock on the wall.

“Jeez, Jess, I had no idea,” I apologised.

“Well, it was really loud.”

“What was?”

“My scream.”

“You didn’t!”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she sighed with regret. “What were you lost in thought over anyway? I’d been stood behind you for ages.”

“I was just thinking about the memorial sculpture, and how I need it to be special,” I admitted.

“Always working, always planning,” she groaned, an exasperated sound, but the twinkle in her eye and the smile on her face showed me I was forgiven.

She grabbed my arm and steered me towards the exit, which unfortunately for Jess was back through the Renaissance Room. She dragged me through at top speed, not letting me stop to look at anything and didn’t let go of my arm until we were safely outside the building.

“Finally,” she muttered and then turned to look at me with big, serious eyes. “Look, I’m not going to pretend that I understand why this whole suicide thing has hit you so hard, but I just want you to know that I am always here to talk to, if you need it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered. Jess’s concerned face made me want to cry. There was nothing more I wanted to do than tell her everything. But I couldn’t, she wouldn’t understand. I squeezed her hand and gave her a genuine smile; she really was the best friend anyone could ever want.

“Now cheer up already,” she said, all seriousness gone from her voice. “I need your opinion on some hot new shoes before the bus gets here.”

My mum had plated me some tea up and I hummed to myself as I stuck in in the microwave to reheat. After a few revolutions of my plate, she came into the kitchen, leant up against the worktop, and smiled at me.

“It’s good to see you back to your normal self again, love. No more sickness?”

“No, I feel great, thanks. And thanks for this,” I enthused, pointing at the revolving plate with my fork.

My mum sat down as I brought my dinner to the table and began shovelling it in. I ate fast with the intention of heading back out to see Drew, as we had planned earlier.

After a world record eating time I stood up to swill my plate at the sink, and with my back to my mum I was able to put some serious thought into coming up with a decent excuse as to why I needed to leave the house again.

“Beth, I hope you are staying in tonight. I feel like we haven’t seen you much recently.”

How did she do it? How did she know what I was thinking? And how did she manage to make me feel so wretched about it? Mother’s intuition, I grimaced to myself and spun round, hands stretched out, eyes wide and pleading.

“Actually mum, I was hoping to-”

“No, Beth, not tonight,” she interrupted. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait.”

“But, Mum,” I wheedled, dragging her name out so it lasted about five seconds. I knew my voice sounded childish, but I was desperate.

“No.”

And that was that. I was housebound for the evening with no way of letting Drew know I wouldn’t be going to see him. I had promised him I would, and now I would have no way of making good on that promise.

I stomped upstairs to my room to stew; I stamped my feet, hard, on every step, like the pissed off teenager I was, wanting my mum to know that I wasn’t happy with her.

I opened my window wide and let then evening’s chilly air blow into my room; blow away the anger that was twisting my face into a scowl. I felt frustrated. Yes, I’d been with Drew most of the morning and then seen him for that fleeting moment whilst I sat with Jess waiting for the bus, but that was not enough, no way enough to soothe the itch in my veins. My body felt full of irritated fidgety energy, and I turned this way and that, looking in vain for something to do, to while away the long hours until I felt ready to go to sleep.

My eyes fell on Laura’s scrapbook, stacked up neatly alongside my school books. I hadn’t looked in it since it had confirmed who Drew was, hadn’t needed to. I clicked my desktop lamp on and opened it up to the pages filled with the articles about the night Drew died.

I ran my fingers over the small black and white photograph, the one where he was smiling directly into the lens. He looked totally different in this shot compared to the vibrant, colourful picture hanging at his parents’ house; here he looked like my Drew. His face was a stark white, like he’d been stood too close to the camera when the flash went off and his hair hung over his eyes, the colour of smoke and ash.

I frowned, chewing at my bottom lip, and prayed that he would understand why I hadn’t turned up; surely he must know what it’s like to have a mum that wants to know where you are all the time.

A horrible feeling of wretchedness washed over me, of course he would remember that, and I knew that he would do anything to let his mother know where he was right now. The wretchedness tightened and became a fist of shame squeezing at my gut as I remembered how Drew had told me, only a couple of days ago, that time with my family was a precious thing. I promised to myself that I would let my mum off the hook, she loved me, and all she wanted was to know that I was safe.

As my fingers absentmindedly ran over the articles I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I spun round in my chair, half expecting Drew to have materialised just like he’d done at the market this morning.

But he wasn’t there. I felt like an idiot.

My curtains billowed into the room, like sails trying to hold tight to the mast in a great squall. It was just the cold air making me shiver and I leapt out of my chair to shut the window.

Before I pulled it closed, I stood, leaning against the window sill, breathing in the cool darkness of the night. I closed my eyes, and wished that I could fly, fly out of the window and soar all the way to the park. I imagined myself landing in Drew’s arms, imagined his eyes shining down at me as he leaned in to whisper how much he had missed me. I imagined how my heart would fly as he held my face with his long fingers and moulded his lips to mine.

The window banged shut and my racing heart nearly stopped altogether.

I flushed, yanking the curtains together, plunging the room into darkness. I quickly got ready for bed. An early night would bring the morning round sooner and with it a whole new day where I could go and see him. For now, I’d just have to manage with my fantasies.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my breath coming hard and fast. Sweat plastered my hair to the back of my neck like wet, clammy seaweed. I peeled it away from my hot skin, trying to calm my thudding heart.

I struggled to get a hold on what had disturbed me so much that it had wrenched me out of my slumber. The nightmare was slipping away, becoming twisted and lost in the comforting early morning light filtering through my curtains. But there was something that lingered, just out of reach, something about a shining angel and a boy, dressed in greens and blues, banging with white knuckled fists on a door, begging to be let in.

The strange fragments faded into the sunlight and I shook my head, trying to shake out the weird feeling of unease that the dream had left behind.

Suddenly the hazy light from the curtains shone brighter, a cloud must have blown away from the morning sun, and a shaft of brightness lit up my room, illuminating the scrapbook that was still open on my desk.

In the bright morning sunshine the stark black and white headlines, the bold black text that told of Drew’s suicide and his tragic death, looked threatening. The words loomed out from the page, intimidating the sunlight, pushing it back through the window. The morning darkened, as if the black words were mocking me with their shadowy lies.

I’d promised Drew that I would help him to lift the dark lies from that night and reveal the truth, no matter how black and ugly it was. I had vowed to help prove that he hadn’t killed himself and today seemed like as good a day as any to try and strip away the menace from the black words and bring the sunshine back.

I jumped out of bed. If I moved fast enough I could shake off the dream and the darkness, and see Drew again. I tossed on my clothes, threw down my breakfast at break neck speed and was out of the door before my mum could even think about complaining about how much time I was spending out of the house.

“You look tired, didn’t you sleep very well?” Drew raised an eyebrow at me, searching my face with concerned, grey eyes.

I sat down next to him on the green bench, shook my head in response, and yawned.

It felt good to finally be still, to finally be able to take a long and luxurious breath. I’d been moving at top speed all morning, since the moment I had got up until the second I had turned the last corner and the War Memorial had come into view. It was only now, sat so close to him, having his arm a mere inch away from mine, that I was able to really breath in and relax.

“What kept you awake?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him about my weird dream, and once I started to try to gather together the fragmented pictures, the whole thing flew into focus.

I felt my already open mouth go slack. I saw the image of the dazzling angel and the brightly coloured boy, who was still banging on the locked door, and it all fell into place. The dream became crystal clear. It made total sense. I was amazed that it had took me this long to work it out, amazed that I hadn’t known straight away why it had woken me up, filling me with unease and distress.

“Beth, are you okay?” Drew asked, concern etched all over his face.

“No.” I wasn’t okay, I was in shock.

I looked at him in alarm and my eyes slid down over his tee shirt, his belt and then down to his feet. I looked back at his face and I could see my horrified expression reflecting back at me in his worried eyes.

“Beth, you are scaring me. What’s wrong?”

How to begin.

“I think I know what the colours mean,” I gasped.

The worry in his eyes shifted and was replaced by a strange, burning intensity. His eyebrows mashed together in a straight line and a muscle twitched in his jaw like he was struggling with some kind of raging, internal conflict. I couldn’t stop to think about what his expression meant; I had to explain my epiphany.

“I think…I think you change when something happens…something concrete…something real.”

His eyes flashed again, and for a second a something that looked like guilt flitted over his face, but I was too busy struggling to work out how to explain myself to take much notice.

I thought about the paintings in the Renaissance Room at Fornby Gallery. Jess hadn’t allowed me much time to look at them but I’d clearly seen enough to help me understand the connection between my dream and Drew’s changing clothes.

The heavenly creatures were always portrayed in silvers and golds at the top of the paintings, showing that they were the closest beings to Heaven. The people, who worked or danced at the bottom of the painting, were always painted in rich earthy colours, reds, greens and blues. They were paintings that showed one scene, but divided into two worlds, Heaven and Earth.

It was so obvious that I could have laughed out loud, flabbergasted that I hadn’t seen it earlier.

This was what was happening to Drew. He was one boy, divided by two worlds. He was grey, a featureless and colourless spectre, trapped in limbo by a suicide that he hadn’t committed. His silver laces and gold buckle had both appeared after we had started on the path to solve how he had died, started down the road to prove that he really was worthy of Heaven, an angel in waiting.

My tumbling thoughts came to an abrupt standstill, as the reason for his green laces and navy tee shirt became clear. The churning in my head made me feel off balance and I put out a hand to steady myself. My heart was thundering in my chest and a cold sweat slicked across my forehead. I could feel the wave of bile scalding up my throat and I pulled in a deep breath to try and hold back the nausea that threatened to spew out onto the ground in front of me.

It was me.

I was the reason his laces and tee shirt had changed to blue and green.

I was his connection to this world.

We had admitted our feelings to each other and it had tied him to me, binding him to this world. A world he longed to leave behind, a world that he had been wronged in in the worst possible way.

My mouth snapped shut and I looked back at him, horrified by what I had just worked. As I began to mentally prepare myself to tell him about the paintings, I acknowledged the guilt in his eyes, the torn expression on his face. My mouth fell open again.

He already knew.

He knew, and he hadn’t told me.

“Drew,” it came out in a strangled cry. I couldn’t stop my face falling, crumpling up like a paper bag. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could ignore it. That it would stop, if I didn’t want it anymore.” His shoulders slumped forward and I pressed my lips together, stifling back another sob.

“Didn’t want what?” I squeezed out through my clamped shut mouth. I couldn’t allow myself to pull my lips apart, not even a millimetre, because if I did, a wail of desperation might escape.

“Heaven,” he shrugged his defeated shoulders, like the word was nothing, like it meant nothing, but the guilt still blazed in his eyes. “I can still feel it, the incessant pull, luring me to where I am supposed to be, wrenching me away from you. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.”

He said it so simply, as if it was like choosing not to go on holiday somewhere, like he had decided that he didn’t fancy going away this summer after all.

“I... I don’t think you have a choice,” I choked out in a strangled whisper. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to work it out; I had suspended rational thought too easily and had allowed myself to fall in too deep.

The nausea died away and was replaced by a horrible feeling, a feeling that no matter what I did, I wouldn’t ever win; I wouldn’t ever get a happy ending.

“It’s not a choice, Drew; we have to prove the truth about how you died.” I had to work hard to keep my voice at a whisper; I had work hard to hold back an anguished cry.

“But you know what will happen if we do.” he demanded. The muscle twitched in his jaw again.

This was it.

The decision had to be made.

I was trapped between what had to happen and what I wanted to happen.

What had to happen was that the truth needed to come out, to bring his mother some kind of peace, and to free Drew from this nothingness. But what I wanted to happen, selfishly, was for him to stay with me. How I felt about him wasn’t nothingness; it was the greatest feeling I’d ever experienced in my life.

I looked up at his torn expression and knew that he was seeing the self-same look mirrored on my face.

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