Page 19 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Eighteen

Cold tiles rest under my palms. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the dark, and I see that I am no longer in the bright daylight outside the half-house that Sal lives in.

I’m inside; somewhere above me, jazz music plays on scratchy vinyl.

Low lanterns light a stairway. The air smells of perfume and beer.

Outside the door, I can hear male voices shouting and singing in languages I don’t understand.

As I start to straighten up, the world collapses again, and I am plummeting down, accelerating into nothing until I am delivered into a field of barley.

Soft, long stems of green flow like tides under the wind, back and forth, side to side. The sun is bright, and in the distance, I see figures working in the field.

Then I am jerked out of that moment, upwards, so fast I swear I see the curvature of the earth. My stomach churns; my head spins; my heart races. I breathe in, and there is nothing to inhale.

Music vibrates the freezing thin air: male voices singing in Latin.

Calm, cool marble rises to meet the soles of my bare feet.

I have lost my shoes somewhere in the tumult.

The scent of incense fills the air, and somewhere far off, I can hear shouting.

Slowly, I realise I am in a church or a cathedral.

Cautiously, I turn towards the sound of the commotion and see a small, dark-bearded man bearing down on me, a sword raised above his head.

A short cape flares behind him as he swings the blade. His eyes are filled with fury.

Instinctively I cower, but just before the blow comes down, I am disintegrated and strung out like pearls across the cosmos.

The only thing that follows me is the singing, though I hear female voices now and not Latin: it’s some other language, distant and strange, a powerful chorus drawing me into its harmony.

My single discordant note becomes part of a beautiful whole. For a moment, there is perfect peace.

Then bright light glares, fires burn, voices cry in torment. I collapse, and when I do, it’s Sal who catches me, staggering a little as I fall into his arms.

‘I think I’m dying,’ I tell him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

‘Not quite,’ he says. ‘Not quite death, not yet.’