I’m waiting.
Elise: 5 December, Early Morning, Southern Belle
I always wanted to know what it’s like to live in another person’s mind. Now I do. It’s not half as spooky as I thought. It has its pros and cons. The pros mean there is an end to stumbling through the day, oblivious to what is going on and how things impact on me. The state of blissful ignorance is no longer available to me. The constant influx of information from the Tribe is blowing my mind. I’m able to sit like a passenger on the backseat of a motorbike and observe what’s going on. No more significant time loss.
The cons mean, I can’t pretend any longer. As I opened the door to the Tribe, my life has become a hundredfold more complex and difficult. I never knew there’s a part of me that would love to strangle Helen or another part that craves more of the stuff she injected us with, or another part that wants to crawl into her arms for a big hug, and a part that feels sick at the very thought of her hugging us. Every moment becomes a judgment call of which voice to follow and which to frustrate.
One thing is certain; this is not the time to crawl into her arms for a hug. As I listen to Lilly’s thoughts, I feel like she’s pulling a curtain from my eyes and lets me see the world in a new light. Helen, who I once thought of as a friend, stares at me with dark eyes filled with hate, as she yanks me out of the car. Did she always look at me like that? I never noticed her sallow, sagging cheeks or her dull, dirty-blond hair.
Pushed by her, I stumble forward and almost fall as I stagger to regain my balance on the uneven surface of the pier. We must be in Greymouth. It’s the only town on the West Coast with a harbor if you can call the tiny inlet that. Morning fog is rolling in from the sea, giving this ugly scene an almost romantic background.
“Helen, please!” She doesn’t heed my plea but pushes me toward the blue-white fishing boat with the name Southern Belle docked at the end of the pier. If this run-down boat is a Southern Belle, I’m glad we’re spared Southern Ugly.
“Don’t you Helen, please me. You had your chance. But no, you had to run away and create nothing but problems and spread nothing but lies. After all the years Horace and I looked after you. That’s the thanks we get?”
I’m speechless. What is there to argue in the face of total denial of the facts? She acts as if there’s nothing wrong in what Horace and she did, or that she’s kidnapping me. I guess reason never even came into the equation. How gullible am I to think I could reason with her?
Two men surface from the cabin of the boat and take me on board. They look like ordinary fishermen with deep lines carved into their suntanned faces. The one with the Australian accent has a beard like Captain Haddock from the Tintin series; the other one is cleanly shaven. On first glance, there is nothing menacing about them until you look into their eyes. They won’t maintain eye contact, which is odd. I’d rather have them stare me down than avoid looking at me. It’s less shifty.
“Careful on the stairs.” First, I’m surprised, but then I understand. They don’t want any mess on their boat until… I don’t know what will happen. Maybe they’ll throw me overboard when we are far enough out at sea?
They push me into the cabin on the aft deck and lock the door. It’s a small cabin with benches along the sides and a wooden foldout table in the middle. I’m not the only one here. Six pairs of frightened eyes are staring at me, letting their gaze shoot from my face to the handcuffs. I’m in shock, too. They are children, four girls, and two boys not older than twelve, the youngest is maybe ten years old. They slide away from me as I sit on the edge of the bench.
One boy plucks up courage and asks, “Why are you here? Have you done something naughty?” As soon as he’s finished, he seems to regret his question. He blushes and looks down.
I manage a smile and hold up my cuffed hands. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, I haven’t been naughty. What about you? How did you get here?”
“They are sending us home. We finished boarding school.” The little girl sitting next to me whispers.
“I didn’t know there is a boarding school here.”
“Oh, yes, the Gateways Boarding School.”
“How long have you been there?” The children have awakened my curiosity. Will I run into Gateways wherever I turn? But the little girl doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes her index finger against her lips. “We are not allowed to talk.”
There is no use in getting the kids into trouble. I close my eyes and nod. We’re locked up in the belly of this boat, and it doesn’t take much of an imagination to know that nobody in this room is going home anytime soon. At least this cabin has two portholes on either side letting in light and, when opened, fresh air.
Heavy steps on deck announce that more people have arrived, but no one joins us in the cabin. Captain Haddock is arguing with Helen. I press my ear against the wooden wall and try to catch as much as possible from their conversation.
“… stupid… too late… get away.” The wind carries away half of Helen’s sentence.
Haddock is getting angry by the sounds of it. He booms at her, “Why was she not blindfolded? How can you be so careless?
