Chapter 5 - The Innocents

     April stared at her inner wrist. She stared at how it sprouted from her palm like biomass. She stared at how the deep, abnormally blue veins wriggled up the surface of her arm like the roots of a wise willow spreading out through soil. She stared at her stupid tattoo.

When she'd asked her parents how she'd got it (as it had been stained upon her wrist for as long as she could remember), she'd been told an embarrassing story about how her mother had gotten drunk one night and paid to get her daughter drawn on in permanent ink in the slums of motherhood and a dodgy shop with grey walls and a criminal behind the counter. As a reminder of this, April had a black moon surrounded by three small stars scratched into her pale skin forever.

Her mum had apologised enough.

In all honesty, she didn't usually mind it. Like her nose, mouth and eyes, it was a part of her.

But, tonight, she did. It made her different. It reminded her that she would never be like the other girls, that she would never be like Mia, that Jake would never like her. The austerity of it all had hit her like a fist, her dilapidation the result of being derelict for so long. She shook convulsively at the thought of her reality. The word 'despondent' didn't even come close.

She'd almost felt as if Mia had done it on purpose. The way their eyes had met for a millisecond just before she'd leaned in and eaten Jake alive. But, not to worry, no one would feel threatened by April. Mia had nothing to worry about.

She was almost grateful for Mia. She'd gotten carried away. Her air head had been filled with clouds and wings reading 'Mrs Jake Burns' in a swirly font with a fountain pen. She'd needed someone to put her in place, and remind her that she was a freak. A freak who felt momentarily like she was standing at the bottom of melancholy hill, with an uphill battle ahead.

But grateful thoughts like that could wait. For now, she was just angry, spiteful and hurt.

Not hurt enough, though.

The glass was a needle, sharp enough to cut like a blade. She held it up, a crazy glint to her eye. The edge of it was jagged and looked as though any contact of skin with it would result in ghastly infections.

April took her chances.

She'd found it on her way home from school on the floor. She'd picked it up, inspected it, and came to no particular conclusion. She hadn't really been thinking straight when she'd put it in her blazer pocket. Just like when now, when she took the sharpest edge of the fraction of some sort of bottle, and pressed it against the cold surface of her skin.

Pressure.

She applied a little more force, indenting the tip like a pinprick. At last, she felt the skin tear, like a piece of paper between slick hands. She cut horizontally across her wrist, dragging the glass through her, as if ordering her cells to relocate and pick Team Hand or Team Arm.

With shaking hands, she continued to attack. She ripped and sliced brutally as if she was doing nothing more than cutting up a flaming red pepper; not caring about the sea of blood that dribbled drearily down her fingers and rested upon her palms.

She was mad. Not in the angry way, in the dangerous way. She dug the weapon deeper and deeper into her fragile coating and ignored the pain. She'd gotten good at that over the years " ignoring pain.

Tears crept sneakily down her face, running as fast as they could to avoid being caught out. If she noticed them, they would be at risk of facing the same fate as her left wrist, which was currently being hacked at carelessly.

Her eyes were blank, as if she was in a trace or being hypnotised, and hadn't yet noticed how she was cutting herself. She stared expressionless ahead of her, like she was sleeping with her eyes open. Her face stayed dully fixed.

Thoughts danced around her like flames over petrol. They were hurricanes; gushing, swirling and whirling around in her skull, pounding at her brain to the point of confusion.

You deserve this, April. Lyrics of a song she'd once heard and thought weird flashed into her mind and struck her like lightning. Nobody likes you, everyone hates you, they're all out without you, having fun.

Yeah, they were. Mia and Jake seemed to be having fun. Mia had snatched him and his heart up like a Venus fly catcher. It all seemed to add up. They were together, and she was alone. Just like she was used to.

With one last sickening gash at her flesh, she finally stopped, as something had caught her eye.

Something was catching the light. Something was there, inside her wrist. Something small and silver " seemingly metal by the way its surface mirrored the insides around it " had been living a secretive life in her. Intrigued, April put down the slice of glass, now forever stained red with a messy fingerprint still imprinted and dried into the blood.

She peered into her wrist. The deep cuts made it harder to see. This time, less angrily and more carefully, she cut a little more around the metal shape. She cut enough so she could reach into her arm with fumbling fingers and pull the funny thing out.

Carrying it like treasure, she took it to the bathroom and held it under the taps. It needed cleaning; bits of pink flesh were still clinging to it as if being sucked in.

On command, the tap turned on, urging the falling water forward. April rubbed the funny thing clean and then inspected it.

It was about the size of a Soother, or some sort of boiled sweet. As she peered closer, it appeared to have been made in two halves like an Easter egg. There was a tiny green LED light poking its head out from between the slides of metal. She watched, fascinated, as the green began to fade away and the LED started to flash a piercing red instead.

It seemed to be some sort of capsule. She turned it a few different ways, holding it up to her ear whilst doing so. Her first thought was that it was hollow. Her second was that it was filled with some sort of liquid, she mused, as she heard it lapse around in its minuscule container as she turned it upside down and back again like a sand timer or rain instrument.

Why had this funny thing been in her arm? Was it important? Was it supposed to be there? Did everyone have one in their arm? Would she be safe having taken in out?
Had her parents put it there?

* * *

“Rebecca,” a deep voice spoke. Its owner: a big man with bags sagging unattractively under his eyes and stubble growing longer than he would have liked. He pinned the little girl with black hair to the wall, as easily as he would have done paper to a pin board.

She stood there confused, before beginning to cry.

“Don't cry, Rebecca,” he ordered her. This only made the little girl cry harder. “Aren't you happy to see me?” he continued.

He did this because he didn't see a little girl. In his eyes, the girl stood before him was a beautiful 16 year old with skin like a rose and a body so perfect. He wanted her back so bad. He wanted her black hair with her fringe and her tattoo and her laugh, and her cheekbones and emerald green eyes. And here she was: hair, face, eyes, everything.

In his eyes, this little girl was her.

He lifted the little girl's summer dress, not even bothering to check over his shoulder to see if anyone was there because he knew no one would be.

She gasped as he entered her, before screaming and crying even louder.

Yes. It felt so good to be with Rebecca again, after all these years. After all they'd been through. He remembered back to their first night together in the heat, and how she'd brought him home with her after that encounter and they'd fallen in love afterwards.

They'd told him he was crazy, but he knew he'd seen her. And now he'd found her. She was his again. Him and Rebecca.

He remembered endless nights spent by her side. Out of breath. How she would pant after they'd finished. How she would stare intensely at him, so he could see the love with his own eyes. She would break into a smile and light up his world. She would lye next to him, naked and sexy, for hours.

And he would love every minute.

He pushed his Rebecca away, allowing her summer dress to return to its intended position. As he was no longer holding her up, she collapsed weakly to the floor, her young legs bending pathetically. She was still crying like a puny little baby.

He regained composure, and left her there. He walked away without looking back. But he would be back for her someday. He knew Rebecca would wait for him.

The little girl " just three years old " cried all night long until found.

* * *

April waited patiently, tending to her bleeding arm. She'd got through nearly an entire roll of toilet roll to blot it all out. Finally, the blood was slowing. Her skin looked as if it had been rolled around like a ball of dough in a large container of thorns and thistles.

She'd been scared at the amount of blood at first, but by assuring herself that glass cuts always bled more than expected, she'd managed to remain calm somehow.

Her carpet was still stained. She'd prepared an explanation: her red Biro had broken and leaked large amounts of red ink as she'd been doing her Chemistry homework. She'd thrown the glass outside.

Never again would she let it win.

Her parents would be home soon. They would no doubt pick her up from school every day if they didn't have to work. April got no more than a walk home from school then a following hour by herself before the imprisonment began.

Her time was nearly up.

That's why she loved walking home from school so much " even in the rain. Most kids hate it, but in her mind, it was like sharing a room. Everyone hates having to share rooms with their siblings. But, if that was the only time you ever got to see anyone, you would love it. You would never complain. So, in her own scenario, April never did.

Her ears perked up, her head cocked to one side as she heard the familiar yet distinct sound of a car pull smoothly into the driveway. April didn't panic, she simply wrapped her arm up into a final layer of tissue and pulled a thick, long-sleeved top over her flushed head.

She snapped her red Biro in two using some effort, and threw it away in preparation for explaining her excuse.

She picked a random book from the shelf, allowing herself just enough time to settle on her bed and pretend to look interested in it before the front door opened.

“April?” she heard her mother cry, not urgently, but whatever the opposite of carelessly is.

“In my room, mum,” April responded heartily. Shortly after, April's mum appeared at the door. April looked up innocently from her random selection of book, and smiled. Then, she wiped the smile manually from her own face, and said, “Oh yes - mum - I almost forgot to say. I'm really sorry, but I was revising for Chemistry and my red Biro exploded all over the floor...”

April pointed vaguely in the general direction of the 'ink explosion'. Her mother sighed, but didn't look too annoyed after April insisted she'd attempted more than once to clean it up.

“I put the pen in the bin, too,” April added. Running through her spurious plot as planned.

“Why don't you wait downstairs, love, and maybe start helping your father with the tea to make yourself useful while I clear this up,” her mother suggested as more of a command than a question.

April followed orders, as usual, and trailed downstairs. She rolled the capsule around in her palms, disappointed that she'd been unable to gather enough courage to ask about it.

April was a difficult child to have as a daughter. She was loved, of course, but there were many complications. She required so much attention and care. Mothers with disabled children had no reason to complain in Marilyn's eyes. Mary for short.

Today the child had gone and spilt invincible red ink all over her carpet. Though, in all fairness, this was an unusual occurrence. April usually just kept to herself, as instructed.

Not watching silly TV that makes you imagine silly stories like the other kids. She couldn't stop April reading " she had to have something to do " but she'd forbidden April to read any silly fictional books. She would hate to think people were putting false ideas into her child's mind.

Mary checked April's bin for confirmation of the red Biro incident. Indeed, the Biro was in there, broken, as expected. However, something else caught her eye.

There was a piece of paper in the bin. It wasn't like April to throw paper away instead of recycling it. It must be something secret.

Mary's conclusions weren't backed up with sky-high piles of evidence, but she didn't need any. She knew that there was something April didn't want her to see on that piece of paper.

A sneaky hand crept silently into the bin and fished out the scrunched ball of paper. Mary unravelled it, hoping with all her heart that it was nothing more than discarded science notes.

Eyes wide like beady marbles, she stalked every corner of the page as it unfolded eagerly. The shadows between each crease were not only in her line of sight, but cast in her mind in addition.

Finally.

She straightened the paper out before observing it, and seeing what she'd feared the most.

On the page was a beautifully constructed eye. She could have sworn it blinked at her as she stared at its lifelike posture.

What was this? Whose was this eye April had drawn? And why had she been drawing it? April never drew people. April wasn't allowed to draw people. April had never had anyone to draw. How had she found someone to draw?

Next to the eye in April's swirly handwriting rested the name 'Jake'. Who was Jake? And what had he been saying to April?

Suddenly Mary felt a headache invading her. In fact, a whole army of headaches. She ignored the red stain and went downstairs to take over the role of helping her husband " Blake " with the tea.

She didn't get very far.

“Mum,” April started. She didn't know where she would end up going with this. “Mum, what is this?” April bravely posed the question, whilst holding out the metal capsule tentatively in her palm, ready to snatch it away if needed.

Her mum looked shocked, and began to wish she'd stayed upstairs.

“Where did you get that?” she quavered, trying to keep her voice optimistic. Could it really be it? How had she found it? How had she got it out?

“No, mum. First, you tell me. I'm sick of not having answers. I'm sick of not having a clue. I'm sick of having things hidden from me. For once in my life, give me an honest answer. Look at the object in my hand and tell me truthfully. What is it.”

An eerie silence hung itself around the room like clothes on a washing line. Eventually, after planning her words in her head, Mary spoke.

“Okay. Okay. I never wanted to tell you this April, but when you were very little you kept running away and getting lost. You were the most difficult child to keep track of. So, we bought a little device which would do it for us. The object in your hand is it. Just a little tracking device so we would always know where to find you. Is that better?” Mary offered.

April considered this, and decided that no, it wasn't better at all.

“How could you?” she began. “I always knew you were crazy, but I never knew you were mad enough to have a tracking device inserted into me. How did you think that was normal? God, I bet you just sit at work following me around on your computer, making sure I don't leave school or take too long walking home...”

“Of course not!” Mary protested. “Don't be silly, April. First of all: we couldn't use it to follow you around. It was only ever used when you ran away, in which case we would have to contact the police and get them to use their specialist equipment to locate your signal. Secondly, we deactivated it years ago. Me and your father agreed on your fourth birthday that you were old enough by then to do as you were told. So we never used it again, I promise.”

Admittedly, this wasn't too bad. But it still made April angry that her parents had never told her.

“I'm fed up of secrets; you should have told me,” April shouted, like Mary had never heard her shout before. Right from birth, April had always been so obedient. No problems. But today? Today she was being a real pain, after already having ruined her carpet.

“April May, you listen to me. It is not okay for you to think things like that. You are not the one in charge. Do you understand that by asking about this you are breaking the rules? Don't you dare to ever ask me something like that again. You are well aware that you are forbidden to let your mind wander, so you are deliberately defying me. This is unlike you, and I'm disappointed.”

Mary paused for breath, then carried on verbally beating her child.

“We have done everything we could for you. We are just protecting you. You don't need to know everything, and it is so selfish of you to invade our privacy for your own careless curiosity. Now, stupid child, go to your room and wait there.”

April, now terrified, did nothing less than run to her room. The door fell shut behind her. April didn't even hear as someone came up to lock her in a few minutes later. She kept to her bedroom all night, and all of the following day. She supposed school was less important than whatever this was about.

Stop it, April. Are you really stupid enough to still be wondering what this is about? Haven't you learnt your lesson? Stupid, stupid girl. First you self-harm, then you go and break even more rules and let your mind wander over nothing more than a meaningless tracking device. You've really messed up, April. I hope this is what you wanted. I hope you never break a rule again, now you've been reminded how important they are to keep. If you'd never spoken to Jake on that first day you wouldn't be in this mess, so it's all your fault really.

For your sake, April. Never break a rule again.

Mary's headache had gotten worse. It was driving her insane; torturing her. It was no longer just a headache. It was more than just a migraine. It was as if someone was grinding her brain against a grater sliver by sliver.

She was now shouting out in pain. She was lying on the floor, writhing in agony, the pain so hard she was ripping out and tearing away everything she could get her hands on and clawing threads out of the carpet. She had grasped a chunk of hair and yanked it from her scalp, then scratched the skin away to try and gnaw closer to the skull and pull out the headache with her bare hands. Impossible? Not to her.

She wanted to try anything to get rid of this awful headache. It held her hostage, unable to escape. Her scalp began to bleed where she continued to claw at her own head, the skin still tingling from where the hair had been brutally ripped from its socket, bits of flesh resting underneath her nails.

She knew what she hated most about it. Not the pain. Not the physical pain. But the memories it brought with it, how it made her think about the past.

Remember it, the headache ordered in a growl. A flashback hit her before she could stop it. She tried to fight it, but it was too strong. She could already feel her consciousness slipping and falling into that forbidden section of mind " whole decades that had been pushed to the very back of Mary's thoughts for years that were suddenly being forced back into first position.

Rebecca was there. That beautiful smile of hers was there as she laughed. Her velvet skin wrapped her up like a present. Rebecca's gorgeous eyes were as bright as ever, glinting like fibre optics and refracting any light lucky enough to rest upon them like a prism, sorting it into categories of red to violet.

The memory fast-forwarded to later on in Rebecca's life. This memory was happy. Mary tried hard to remember why she had deliberately forgotten it, but the headache wouldn't let her. It persisted on, painting the picture of Rebecca holding the trustworthy hands of whatever-his-name-had-been. Something beginning with M. She had been strong enough to permanently forget that.

They were so in love, in this memory. Rebecca was wearing a stunning summer dress, flattering her body. Her dark hair was tied back into a messy high pony-tail. Her style was quirky and unique. Her boyfriend couldn't stop looking at her. Mary smiled at the thought of Rebecca looking so gorgeous.

The memory moved on again. This time, it was to the awful day. Mary instinctively pushed it away, but it came back stronger like a boomerang, defeating her.

The police banners read 'Caution'. Men were talking to her, yet she'd no idea what they were saying. In all directions, people buzzed around her. Someone was trying to pull her away from the sight.

And, in the corner of her eye, she noticed Blake's brother raising his eyebrows at the situation, deep in thought. She didn't know then what he was thinking about. But, he was observing what he could make of it.

She remembered his sick half-smile when they'd announced it.

Forward again.

Now they were all there in the field. Wearing black. Her brother-in-law was there too, the only one not crying. She suspected him despite herself. She stared at the imprinted stone in front of her. She thought about what she was certain was underneath it.

And finally, the last memory came.

She'd long come to terms with the fact that she'd been so wrong in the previous memory; that she'd been standing on nothing more than grass in a field that day. She'd mourned for nothing. She was crazy in this memory. But she was being handed a baby girl to keep, about six months old, so that made it better.

The baby girl had beautiful green eyes just like Rebecca's. Tufts of dark, cotton-candy hair were beginning to sprout from her head.

Finally, the headache released her. She stopped screaming, but couldn't yet find the energy to move. She simply lay on the floor and waited for the blood on the empty patch of her head to dry.

She was out of breath. It had taken her years to find the courage to think of just one of those memories before, and now she'd had to face them all in one night. It had been emotionally draining.

It was what April had said that had brought it on. 'No more secrets'. It was seeing that thing, that horrid metal thing again that had caused her headache. Or even further back " maybe it had all started when she'd realised April had been thinking about someone enough to draw them. Even if it had only been their eye.

That was enough.

No more.

Something had to change, and Mary knew exactly how she'd change it. She would tell Blake tonight. She would tell him that it was time to leave again.

Mary began stuffing her life into numerous suitcases and carrier bags. She popped more than the recommended amount of Aspirin into her mouth as she did so.

That would be the end of headaches for her, thank you very much.