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The studio light shines on Elissa’s face, drying the last traces of moisture. Leaning against the tripod is the whiteboard from the ghoul’s previous visit. On it she sees the same words.
The red light winks on.
‘You look into the camera,’ he whispers from the darkness behind the light. ‘You read the words. Say you understand.’
VII
In the hours since their last encounter Elissa has tried to forget the message printed on that board. Now, she can’t help but confront it. ‘I understand.’
She clears her throat, lifts her head. ‘My name is Elissa Mirzoyan. Today is the twenty-fourth of October.’ Her chin begins to tremble. ‘I have not been harmed. I do not wish … I do not wish …’
The words on the whiteboard swim out of focus.
‘Wipe your eyes,’ the ghoul whispers. ‘Start again.’
Elissa brushes away her tears. ‘Why’re you doing this?’
‘Look into the camera. Read the words.’
She clenches her jaw. ‘My name is Elissa Mirzoyan.’ This time, in her voice, there’s the merest hint of defiance. If she’s forced to say these words, she wants the world to see she doesn’t believe them. ‘Today is the twenty-fourth of October. I do not wish to be found. I do not wish anyone to look for me. Since finding sanctuary, I’ve come to realize’ – now she speaks through gritted teeth – ‘that Lena Mirzoyan is not the good mother I thought.’
The red light observes her a moment longer.
Then it dies.
Elissa swallows. No one who sees the tape will believe she meant those words, but that won’t diminish their power to cause hurt.
She can’t see the ghoul behind the recording equipment, but she knows he’s there. Is the woman at his side?
Lena Mirzoyan is not the good mother I thought.
Staring straight ahead despite the studio light’s glare, she says, ‘Why? Why’re you doing this? What have I done to—?’
‘This is not to punish you,’ the ghoul whispers.
‘Then who—?’
‘You said it yourself. Lena Mirzoyan is not the good mother you thought. And who would know better than her daughter? Who would know better than you?’
‘You know I don’t believe that. Nor will anyone else.’
‘People believe what they’re told.’
‘Not that.’
She has no idea where this shot of bravery comes from, but for the first time she’s successfully engaging him. Despite the danger, she knows she mustn’t stop. ‘This is wrong. You have to let me go.’
‘If I returned you to an unfit mother, what would that make me?’
‘Why do you think she’s unfit?’
‘If you follow the rules, you’ll suffer no harm.’
‘Why?That’s what I don’t understand! What kind of freak—?’
The word slips off her tongue before she can call it back. It floats in the silence, and she knows, just by listening, that she’s badly mis-stepped.
‘Whoever one is, and wherever one is,’ the ghoul whispers, ‘one is always in the wrong if one is rude.’ He waits a while, then adds: ‘Maurice Baring wrote that. He was an English dramatist, and a great man of letters.’