Incandescence

37: Cat's Paw

Callous whispers invade my mind. I see flashing sirens and an array of red, white and blue lights. Two sombre faced cops striding up a withered porch. There's been an accident. An apron-clad woman throws open a door, a young girl at her heels. A green-eyed boy trails after them, hot dog and party hat in hand. There's been an accident. I'm sorry, ma'am, there's been an accident –

            Oh, what lies!

            It wasn't an accident at all, was it? He killed himself. He loved you that much –

            "Stop!" I scrunch my eyes and twist my arms, working on loosening the rope. On the ice Daniel remains still. He doesn't twitch. Doesn't blink. The state of his limp body has me feeling sick to the stomach. No. He can't be dead. Not after he saved Lena –

           How'd you know he saved her? Maybe this is another one of their games. He could be fooling you right now, playing dead to earn your sympathy. The traitor. First chance we get we'll make it a reality –

            "Stop it!" I kick both feet against the barrier in an outbreak of desperation. "Leave my head alone!"

            But it doesn't stop. It grows louder still, filling every corner, every crevice, every little nook and cranny, until I can't think, can't breathe, can't focus on anything else but the voices.

            And oh God, they're everywhere.

            There's a sudden flash before my eyes, then the voices pick up, all around me, whispers merging together until none of it's decipherable, and I'm flying, weightless and silent, my eyes knitted shut as wind claws at my hair. My muscles groan. My stomach flips. But I don't land – I hover, a shaking bundle of skin and bones suspended in mid-air.

            It's only then the real pain hits. Vivid. Shocking. White-hot. My head sears as though there's someone inside beating at the walls with a blowtorch, and I scream, unable to help it, unsure if it's even real or if I'm imagining it. Please God, let me be imagining this.

            My eyes shoot open, panic escalating when I realise I'm not airborne. I'm still on the ice, exactly where I was before. But there's no one else around. No blood splattering the rink, no sign of Daniel's body. No rope binding my wrists. The pain fades, my screaming quietens, and I'm hit with a dizzying sense of unease as the silence presses in on me like several moving walls.

            This isn't right.

            I climb to my feet and whip my head in all directions, waiting for the moment when something jumps out and tackles me back down. They're messing with me.  It's a joke; a deadly game of Hide and Seek, where the odds of remaining unseen are as likely as the odds of making it out alive. Here I come, ready or not! One, two, three! Come scream for me! Gritting my teeth, I take a tentative step towards the bleachers –

            And feel the ground shake beneath my feet.

            The ice cracks, and there's not a spare second to cry out before I'm dropping down, body submerging in freezing water that chills my bones and has my teeth chattering in an instant. My head bobbles under. Blind fear overloads every cell until I'm sure they'll burst. Hands rap the ice – my hands, feeling for the gap that shattered, for the surface that promises safety. But there's no gap in sight. No, no, no. My eyes flutter but I refuse to let them shut on me, feet kicking out like a toddler's during a tantrum.  Every thrust pulls me down further, into a seemingly endless black void. And the water is deep, deeper than possible, like a bottomless lake that never finishes feeding –