Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(3)
This is also new information, although I’ve noticed him dropping Bible quotes into our conversations on my fortnightly visits to Rampton. He wipes perspiration from his top lip.
‘I have been in this place for more than seven thousand days and in all that time I have never left the grounds to visit the shops, or see a movie, or walk along a beach or ride a bike. I want to decorate a Christmas tree and wrap presents and go on holidays. I want to live a normal life, to make friends and get a job and meet a girl.’
I picture him practising this speech for weeks, looking at his reflection in the anti-break mirror.
‘What job would you do?’ asks the judge.
‘I would continue to study law. One day I hope to be sitting where you are, helping people.’
‘That’s very noble,’ says Mrs Haines.
Dr Steger seems less impressed. ‘Almost half of all patients we release fail to keep taking their medication. Eighty per cent of them have relapsed within two years.’
‘That wouldn’t happen to me,’ says Elias.
‘How can we be sure?’
‘I have worked on a recovery plan. I have coping skills.’
‘Where would you live?’
‘With my brother, Cyrus.’
The panel members look to me. I nod. Dry-mouthed.
‘Do you have any questions for Elias, Dr Haven?’ asks the judge.
Elias suddenly looks flustered. He didn’t expect me to speak.
‘How did it begin?’ I ask. ‘The voices.’
He blinks at me, as though unsure of the question. The silence fills every corner of the room and rises like water making my ears pop.
He finally speaks. ‘There was only one. I thought it was my imagination at first.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I didn’t think it was talking to me. It never said my name.’
‘What did it say?’
‘It … it … talked about someone else. “Can he stay awake all night?” “Can he skip school?” “Can he steal money from Dad’s wallet?”’
‘Was the voice telling you to do these things?’
‘I didn’t think so – not at first.’
‘Why did you listen?’
‘I thought it would make the voice go away.’
Nothing Elias has said is new. It has been documented, discussed and analysed. He is a case study now, taught to university students who are studying psychiatry and psychology and sociology.
‘Do you ever think about them?’ I ask.
Again, he blinks at me.
‘Mum and Dad. Esme and April. Do you ever think about them?’
He shrugs.
‘Why not?’
‘It upsets me.’
‘Did you love them?’
‘I was sick. I did a bad thing.’
‘Yes, but did you love them?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do you love me?’
‘I barely know you,’ he whispers.
‘I appreciate your honesty.’
His eyes have filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For what I did.’
‘And now you’ve changed?’
He nods.
I glance at the judge and tell him I’m finished.
‘Well, let’s take a break,’ he says, addressing Elias. ‘We shall have a decision for you shortly.’
2
Evie
The manager has a moustache with waxed tips that curl at each end like frightened millipedes. It’s the sort of facial hair you see on old-time villains dressed in black capes who tie women to railway tracks and cackle when they laugh.
His name is Brando, which could be a nickname, or a shortened surname. Maybe it’s his only name, like Beyoncé or Prince. Brando is polishing a bottle of vodka with a soft cloth. He pauses and twirls each tip of his moustache like he’s rolling a very long cigarette.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Evie Cormac.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘You look younger.’
I hold up my newly acquired driving licence, hoping he won’t look too closely at my photograph, which resembles a mugshot. I don’t know how to smile when people take my picture.
‘Have you ever worked in a bar before?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, loads.’
‘Any references?’
‘No.’
‘Can you make a Bloody Mary?’
‘I can pour a beer.’
‘I need someone who can make cocktails.’
‘You could teach me.’
‘We advertised for someone with experience.’
‘Well, it’s a chicken and egg thing, isn’t it?’
‘Huh?’
‘What came first – the chicken or the egg? I can’t get experience unless you give me a job.’
Brando wrinkles his nose. He’s wearing jeans, a cotton shirt and a waistcoat that is too small for him. A tiny guitar dangles from a small golden hoop in his left ear. In my experience, people who wear colourful clothes are compensating for their lack of personality. I’m the opposite. I have no personality, but that suits me fine because I want to be invisible.