The Deepest Cut (22 page)

The door opened and we all stood up. A man in trousers and a shirt walked in. He had a hospital name tag on and one of those hand gel things attached to his belt.

‘Mrs Coldridge?' He looked at Debbie.

‘Yes,' she said, but her words were so quiet and scared I could hardly hear her.

I looked at his face for clues. My heart seemed to have stopped inside my chest. It had stopped beating and I had stopped breathing.

‘Why don't you take a seat?' He said to Debbie.

‘No, just tell me what's happening with my son. Is he OK now?'

The doctor took Debbie by the arm. ‘I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, we did everything we could to try and save your son–'

‘Save him?' I asked. That was the strangest thing for him to say.

‘Shut up, Adam,' Dad said.

The doctor carried on. ‘He suffered a stab wound to the leg. When he arrived here, he'd lost a considerable amount of blood. The knife severed his femoral artery and we did everything we could, but we …'

I stopped listening.

I swallowed down the sick from the back of my throat.

Debbie's screams tore right through me.

My legs gave way underneath me and I fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

Jake was dead.

Oh my God, he was dead.

There was a thin curtain separating me and Jake, and I was scared. I didn't want to open it because he was on the other side and he was dead.

I stood there, staring at it, still in shock. I wondered what he'd look like, if he'd started to go a funny colour. Would his lips be blue? Would they have closed his eyes?

My dad's hand was on the small of my back. ‘Go on, son,' he said, but I didn't want to. All the time I didn't see him, I could pretend it wasn't real. I could pretend in my head that they'd got the wrong person, and it wasn't him, and he was at home in bed wondering where we all were.

I knew it wasn't true. Debbie had already been in to see him, and her screams could have brought down the walls of the hospital.

My hand shook so hard as I put it forward to feel for the gap in the curtain.

I put my head down and closed my eyes.

‘I don't think I can do it,' I said, and turned away.

‘It's up to you,' Dad said.

I'd never seen a dead body before, not a real one, only on the TV. I felt sick but I needed to see him. I needed to make sure it was him before I spoke to the police and told them everything that happened.

I pulled back the curtain. I lifted my head up and there he was. He was lying on the bed like he was asleep, but I knew he wasn't because he slept on his front with one leg out of the covers – not on his back with his arms straight.

My legs buckled; my dad held me up and helped me walk nearer.

There were no signs on him to say he was injured, but I knew that beneath the thin sheet and blanket, there was a single stab wound to his leg … A stab wound that killed him.

He was still. His chest wasn't rising and falling and he wasn't snoring. I wanted so much for him to open his eyes and smile at me. I wanted a nurse to come in and tell me I could help take his temperature, like the time he was in hospital when we were younger.

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't smile at me. I was staring at him, but he wasn't moving.

‘You OK?' Dad asked. He was looking at Jake, too.

I counted backwards three hours, to when we were sitting on the bench before the fight happened, and I remembered him thinking I was blaming him for starting trouble. I was suddenly worried he still thought that. I worried he died thinking I blamed him.

I didn't.

I blamed Nathan.

Bile rose up in my throat and I swallowed it down. I wasn't sure if my brain was registering what was in front of me, because there was no way it could be true. There was no way he could be there one minute and gone the next. It didn't work like that.

But he wasn't moving. He still wasn't moving.

I was brave. I walked forward and took his hand.

‘I'm sorry,' I whispered to him. I wanted to speak more, but the emotion took over and I couldn't breathe.

I fell into my dad's arms and he carried me out of the cubicle. When we got outside, my legs gave way and I collapsed in a heap on the floor.

If I hadn't left him there, I could have saved his life.

My best friend was dead and it was my fault.

Twelve

It had been two days since I'd finally got out what happened that night, and I'd only left my room to go to the toilet. I wasn't well enough. My head was still spinning, not just mentally but physically, too. My brain felt like a waltzer car that wouldn't stop. It was just going round, and round, and round. It was making me feel dizzy and sick; it didn't matter if I was sitting down, lying down, standing up, walking, pacing up and down, up and down – it wouldn't stop.

I spent most of the time curled up on the floor in a ball, crying, desperate for my thoughts to leave me alone.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw Jake's face. It wasn't his happy face, it was his face the last time I saw it when it was begging me not to leave him.

I couldn't make it go away. I could see the blood, pouring out of his leg, and the life pouring out of him.

If I had known he was going to die, I wouldn't have left him there.

I would have stayed and saved his life.

There was no escape from what was going on in my head. It was too late. I'd crossed the line. There were no stolen fag breaks, games of pool, or late-night storm watching. It was just me and my thoughts, in my room, being watched by whichever nurse was sent to supervise me.

I knew I was going crazy and it terrified me. Every now and again I'd stop being scared and I'd get angry instead. Angry with my dad for putting me in the hospital, angry with David for making me tell him what happened, angry with Nathan for stabbing Jake in the leg and killing him.

I knew things were critical when I heard Jake's voice again.

Not in my head, I actually heard it. Like he was standing in the room with me.

(A whisper): Why did you leave me, Adam?

Go away. Please go away.

(Angry shouting): Why did you leave me there to die?

No, no, leave me alone, no.

(Calm): It's all your fault.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I covered my face with the blanket. I didn't want to see his ghost, I couldn't, I didn't, I couldn't, I
–

(Angry): Why did you leave me, Adam? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave me?

Stop! Stop! I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I couldn't breathe. I was choking, gasping, spluttering everywhere. I didn't know what was happening. I thought I was dying, too.

They came running into the room and gave me an injection.

I fell asleep.

But he was there when I woke. He was there leaning on the sink, with his arms folded across his chest, and he was staring at me.

No. No – go away. I'm sorry, just go away.

(His voice was calm, he started with a sigh): You know, my mum lied to us, when she said there was a place called heaven. You remember, when she said it, after your mum's funeral on the bench in the garden of remembrance?

I turned to the wall and put my fingers in my ears.

(A shout): Adam
.

What, what do you want? You're scaring me.
(I'd wet myself.)

(Calm again): There is no heaven. There's no such thing as heaven. I'm not living on anywhere. I'm dead in the ground; and there are ants and maggots and worms and they're eating me, eating my flesh, right now as we speak, and they are crawling all over me and eating what's left of me.

If that's true, why are you standing in front of me now? Why are you torturing me like this?

(A wicked laugh): I am a figment of your imagination. A figment of your fucked-up head. I'm not real.

Go away and leave me alone
.

They came in again. They saw the wet bed; and they took me, stripped me, and put me in the shower. I sat on the floor, the water falling over my body, and I cried. They had to wash me. I don't even know who it was, maybe Damian. They washed me, then they took me back, dried me, and put me in fresh clothes.

In my clean bed, they left me, walking away, leaving me alone again and he was still there, still in the corner, still staring at me. Crawling up his legs were worms, and the maggots, and the ants. They crawled up his torso, across his shoulders, over his face and they covered him. They engulfed him while he laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and then he choked. He choked and he fell to the floor, and he couldn't move because they were all over him.

‘Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it.'

They gave me another injection and I fell asleep.

I woke up screaming.

The room was quiet and dense. My breathing was heavy. I paced. My body wouldn't allow me to sit. The pain was weighing me down, making me light, making me dizzy, making me sick. I was sick, lots and lots, until there was nothing left to come out of me.

I was banging my head against the wall when they brought my dad in. My fists clenched.

‘Adam,' he cried. His hand to his mouth, he fell to his knees and he cried out. ‘Do something for him, please, do something for him.'

They said: Anti-psychotics. Benzodiazepines. Constant monitoring.

‘What's happening to him?' He was crying. ‘What's happening to my son?'

They said: A psychotic episode. Psychological trauma. Post-traumatic stress syndrome.

He touched my shoulder. I turned and screamed in his face. Told him to fuck off.

They took him away.

‘Take him away, take him away, he's useless anyway, he's useless.'

I went to sleep.

A massive crash woke me up. Like metal cutlery falling all over the floor. There was a knife on the floor of my room.

I picked it up.

(Jake's voice): What you doing with that, Adam?

The knife was in my hand, my hand was shaking.

Jab. Jab. Jab.

No, not three jabs, it was just one jab. Nathan did it with just one jab.

‘Nathan. Why did you do it? We were so happy.'

(From the corner): This is a police announcement, put the knife on the floor and put your hands in the air. NOW.

I dropped the knife. It made a screaming noise.

(Behind me): I'm arresting you on suspicion of leaving your best friend to die. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say–

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up.'

What sort of person leaves his best friend there to die? What sort of person would do that?

‘A coward. A coward. A coward. I'm a coward. I'm weak. I'm weak. I'm weak.'

(A doctor): Give him something stronger. I need a syringe.

‘Give me something stronger, give him the syringe. Give him the syringe.'

A scream.

Not mine.

(Debbie): Why did you leave him there, Adam, my baby, my baby, my baby?

A sharp scratch then everything went black.

I woke soaked in my own sweat. I was shivering. There were arms around me. Someone was lying next to me on the bed. Holding me close.

A smell I knew.

Coconut shampoo.

I looked down to my chest. I knew those hands, that ring.

Let it be real. Let her be real.

(Her voice): It's OK, baby, it's OK. Everything is going to be OK.

Debbie. She's come. She's come to forgive me.

Her hand stroked my hair. She held me tight.

Please let her be real.

‘Adam, your dad is here.' It was Damian.

She was gone.

He was there.

My eyes wouldn't focus. They were rolling into the back of my head.

‘Where's she gone?'

‘Who?'

‘Debbie.'

‘Debbie isn't here, son, it's me. It's your dad.'

‘No! No!'

‘Can't you give him something else?'

‘He's had a maximum dose,'

‘I want Debbie.'

‘This isn't right, you must be able to do something else for him.'

‘I want Debbie.'

‘Adam, Debbie can't come.'

‘I want Debbie.'

‘Just lie down and go to sleep, you need to sleep.'

I did as they said. I slept. I slept, and I slept, and I slept.

When I finally opened my eyes, there were people in my room. A few, I think. Dad was there; David, too?

Someone else. Someone else was there with them.

I couldn't see who, my eyes wouldn't focus.

‘Do something, do something. Do something for him. Oh Adam. Oh Adam.'

It was her. Her voice. She was back.

Debbie.

She was there, she was crying, she was reaching out to me, but I knew she wasn't real.

My mind was tricking me again, getting my hopes up, playing games.

I knew she wasn't real. She hated me. She would never forgive me for leaving Jake there.

‘Oh Chris, I'm so sorry.' She was crying on my dad's shoulder. He was green like he was sick, like he hadn't slept for weeks, and weeks, and weeks.

‘Go away. Stop playing tricks on me.'

‘Oh Adam, my poor baby, Adam.'

I moved off the bed. I sat in the corner facing the wall. I had to ignore her. She wasn't real, I was just crazy.

I just had to ignore her.

She was touching my shoulder.

‘Go away, you're not real.'

‘Adam, I need you to turn around and look at me.'

She was touching my shoulder but she wasn't real.

‘Adam, turn around slowly.'

‘He's been having hallucinations, he thinks you're not real.'