The Painting (9 page)

Inside that dark nothingness was everything that mattered to him, somewhere deep inside and behind the trees. “Why do they do it?”

“Who?” Reginald grunted.

“The Watching. Why do they do it?”

Reginald shrugged his shoulders. “Why does anybody do anything? Fun? We’ve never had the pleasure of asking. Or at least, everyday people like you and I haven’t had the pleasure of asking.”

Donny sighed as the trees closed in around the car, the woods getting denser and the road growing ever narrower. “How do you know so much?”

Reginald began to slow the car down. “About what?”

“Everything. You… you seem to know the ins and outs of everything. It’s like you’re a sort of conspiracy nut but, well, real.”

Reginald chuckled. “When a man loses his wife to a messed-up chain of events, he does his research. It’s all out there: government speeches, news articles. Everything’s out there. You just have to know where to look and what you’re looking for.” He turned to Donny. “Besides, I was just one of those conspiracy nuts until you showed up.”

“Your very own Roswell.”

Reginald shook his head in lack of understanding and turned back to the road, easing his foot on the brake and pulling over to the side, the tires descending into the slush of damp, muddy grass.

The pair of them sat in silence, staring down the open road. Every few seconds, Reginald took a breath as if he was preparing to say something, and then sighed. This was his life. He’d found his wife again, and she was gone. He had his closure. Now what was left for him?

“I guess this is it,” he said. He smiled softly at Donny, a glimmer of regret in his bloodshot eyes.

“I guess it is,” Donny said. “I… I don’t know how to thank you. I wish I coul—”

“Don’t,” Reginald said, nodding his head. “Don’t. You just take that map and you go into those woods and find what you’re looking for.” He sat back against his seat, staring straight ahead.

Donny reached his hand out.

Reginald looked down at it and frowned.

“Wait, don’t tell me you don’t know what a handshake is either?”

Reginald opened his mouth in confusion and then broke into a grin. “Course I do,” he said, grabbing hold of Donny’s hand. “Course I do. Now go on—get out of here.”

Donny smiled and pulled his hand away, opening the car door.

“I should say,” Reginald said. “When you get closer to the gap, if we’ve got this right, you’ll know about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see things. You’ll see things more vividly than you did on your way here. It… it might not be pretty but you’ve just got to stay strong. Stay strong and stay focused. If you let them get to your sanity, then you’ll let them get to you full stop and you’ll never get out of here. You got that?”

Donny smiled and saluted in acknowledgement. “Got it. Thanks.” He started to close the car door.

“And one more thing. If—”

“Get your hands behind your head and get down on your knees.”

Donny froze. He wasn’t sure where the voice came from. It seemed to come from all directions, all at once, but he could tell from the shift in Reginald’s eyes that he was behind him.

“I won’t fucking repeat myself, fallout piece of shit.”

Donny’s stomach sank as he placed his hands behind his head, his pulse pounding in his skull. As he did, something pushed him down to his knees and up against the side of the car, pressing his head against the glass. In the mirror, he saw him clearly, and he saw what it was that was pushed against his head.

“That’s it,” the guard said. “Stay on your knees. Old man, you drive away now. I’m a reasonable guy so I’m going to let you just drive and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Reginald’s eyes were wide, his entire body static in the seat of the car. He held his hands in mid-air. Donny could see his chest rapidly rising and falling as his mind struggled to make the decision.

Just go. Just go.

“Old man,” the guard said, throwing Donny’s face into the side of the car again. “I won’t ask you again. Get out of here. You know what they do to fallout sympathisers like you in prison, huh?”

Instead of driving away, Reginald remained frozen in his seat like a portrait. Why didn’t he just go? He needed to get out of here. He’d got him this far.

The guard tutted and threw Donny onto his back. “Fucking ridiculous. You stay there,” he said, pointing the gun at him. He stepped around towards the car door and swung it open, stuffing the gun into the side of Reginald’s head. “Are you going to get out of here or am I going to have to make you? Huh?”

Donny couldn’t see what was happening as he remained on the floor, but he knew what he had to do. Reginald had got him this far, but there was nothing else he could do for him now. It was either both of them dead, or one of them dead. Both of them, or one of them.

“I’m going to count to three, and you— Oi, come the fuck back here, right this minute!”

Donny ran. He wasn’t sure where he was running to or how fast he was running, but he was inside the trees and inside the darkness. His heart thumped and breathing rattled as he hid behind a tree. He could still help Reginald. He could go back for him and help him.

When he turned round, he saw Reginald on his knees, the guard holding the gun to his head.

“I’ll give you five seconds to get back here or your friend gets it. After everything he’s done for you, you won’t let that happen, huh? You’re going to come back here.”

Reginald’s eyes were closed but he could see his body shaking.
Fuck
. What did he do? What could he do?

“Five.” The guard smashed the gun into the side of Reginald’s head. Reginald cried out as blood trickled to the ground upon impact.

“Four. Three. You’re gonna let this happen? You’re gonna let him die here?”

Donny took a step from behind the tree.

“Two.”

Him or both of them.

Sara. The novel.

He needed to get back.

“One.”

He turned away from Reginald and ran further into the darkness as quickly as he could.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

When he heard the bang echoing through the trees and the muffled voice of the guard, he knew it was done.

He wasn’t sure where he was running to but he just kept on going.

The sound of the gunshot echoed in his mind. Reginald’s shaking body, frozen to the ground, eyes tightly shut with the inevitability of it all.

His body shook with adrenaline. He should have saved him. He should have gone back and he should have helped him, after all the help he had given him.

But what good would that have been? Either Reginald died or they both died. It wasn’t an easy decision to make but it was one he had to.
One of them or both of them
.

He panted as he sprinted through the darkness of the forest, the trees closing in on him. Branches scratched at his cheeks like witches’ fingers, desperate to keep him trapped in this world. He looked down at the map, squinting to try and determine his path, but he knew he’d been running for too long to make any comprehensible sense of it. He was on his own, and he’d have to just hope he stumbled upon one of the landmarks.

Hope
.

He hadn’t heard the guard for quite some time. After the shot, he was running too quickly to make sense of anything. The guard muttered things, shouted out to him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. None of it mattered. He was done with this world.

After what felt like an eternity sprinting through the forest and stumbling over loose logs, he came to a halt, resting his hands against his knees and leaning forward. He stared up and looked around. He could only make out the trees surrounding him, and they all looked the same. A slight breeze brushed against the leaves, the branches dancing and teasing his eyes. He was lost. He was lost, and he had no idea how to get out.

He fell to the floor and backed up against a tree, the soft ground underneath him seeping through his trousers. The sun attempted to peer through the thick carpet of leaves above, but it was losing the battle. He pulled the map to his face, Reginald’s red pen twisting upwards and to the left to form a path.
The landmarks.
A giraffe-shaped tree, an old barn, and Vittoria House. If he found the giraffe-shaped tree—if he could just find any of the landmarks—he could focus on getting back. He could find his way from there.

He dropped the map to his side and let out a sigh. If he’d just listened to his family and gotten himself a proper job, none of this would have happened. He’d be at home right now, or maybe at work, sat in an office sipping watered-down coffee and over-cold water. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

But he knew the answer. He couldn’t be normal because that’s not the life he wanted. He wanted adventure—he wanted discovery. He just wanted to prove to everyone who had spent years doubting his ambitions that he really could do it.

If he got back, he’d have that chance, finally.

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath in. He wasn’t sure what made it stand out initially, but there was a light peeking through the trees a few hundred yards up ahead, as if there was a passageway for the sun to work its way in. He looked down at the map, squinted for some sign, and saw it in the upper left corner: the picture of the sun, little squiggly arrows symbolising the light.
This was it. He was back on the path.

He pulled himself up from the mushy ground and jogged over to the light, wincing as he struggled to get his breath back. According to the map, the spot of light was just to the west of the giraffe tree, just south of Vittoria House. A knot tightened in his stomach as he stepped into the light, surreal in its presence.
Not far to go. Just a little further.

He stared up at the tunnel of light as it bathed his skin. There was a circular hole cutting right through the leaves of the trees, like a subway passage to the sky. He held his arms out and let the light engulf him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Almost home. Almost home.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw the movement just up ahead.

A twitching and rustling in the leaves, just for a moment, but long enough for him to realise. He tensed the muscles in his eyes and tried to see what it was—but it was gone before he had the time to register it. He heard something to his left:
just the breeze, just the breeze
. The crooked branches of the trees cut through the air, twisted faces in the sides of the bark.

You’ll see things,
Reginald had said.
Stay strong and stay focused.

Donny took a deep breath.
Stay strong. Stay focused.

He took a final glance at the map before stepping out of the warmth of the light and back into the eerie darkness of the forest.

Almost home.

The forest grew thicker the deeper he got into it. He must be close now, but he wasn’t moving as fast as he could as the trees edged closer together, forcing him to squeeze past their thick bark, mangled roots trying to worm their way around his feet.

There were no sounds except for his footsteps, the occasional crackling of branches as they fell from trees, the wind brushing against the leaves above. No birds, no animals—just his footsteps.

And then the other footsteps.

He froze when he heard them, the tension in his stomach mounting. He turned around, tried to make it out, but he couldn’t work out which direction they were coming from.
Just stay strong, stay focused.

He tiptoed through the trees and moved onwards. Things moved in the corner of his eyes. He tried to ignore them; tried not to look at them. If he could just—

Crack
.

The unmistakable sound of a branch snapping in two somewhere behind him. He lunged his body around—nothing in sight, the darkness impeding his view. He squinted and tried to get a look as something twitched in in the distance. No—nothing twitched. Just his mind’s eye. Just the forest and the visions playing games with him.
Stay focused.

When he turned back round, he saw the figure standing in front of him. It had its back turned; its head facing the ground. It was wearing a long, black cloak. Donny blinked a few times as his throat went dry and the muscles in his stomach tensed up.
It’s not real. You’re not seeing this.

But when he blinked, it didn’t disappear. It stood there, facing the ground, as if it was waiting for someone or hadn’t noticed him. In the distance, he could just about make out a fence.
Could it be…?
If he could just get around the figure. If he could just sneak around, and…

The figure raised its shiny bald head and turned around to face Donny.

He was completely frozen to the spot.

The figure had a large, oval-shaped head. Its eyes were out of place; his white face like an unfinished waxwork model. Inside the cloak, the figure’s hands scratched at the ground, its arms as long and skinny as the rest of its body. It stared at Donny, eyes squinting as if to make sense of things.

“Just need… just need to…” Donny tried to creep to the side, muttering under his breath as if not to acknowledge the figure.
It’s not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.

The figure frowned when Donny said the words, leaning its elongated neck towards him.

It is fucking real.

He stepped back. He’d have to find another way. He’d have to be ready to run.

As the figure moved closer to him, he felt himself hit a tree behind him. His heart raced. He’d have to run. He’d have to back off and he’d have to run.

When he felt the slender hand tickling his feet and saw the stretched, deathly pale arms beginning to wrap around him, he realised he hadn’t stepped back into a tree at all.

Donny threw himself forward and ran past the figure, skipping his way underneath its enormous arms as it attempted to catch him. He could hear them mumbling behind him as he raced towards the house, not paying any attention to the ground beneath his feet or the trees at either side.
Just run.

He didn’t turn around once and just as well, because that’s when he saw the third one approaching from his left. Donny let out a whimper as a tear ran down his face. He could feel his knees beginning to weaken. The forest was growing thinner, the trees more sparse.
Just keep going. Please, just keep going.