Page 8

8

THE INCIDENT

I relate to Regan MacNeil, our possessed protagonist from The Exorcist . In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I have a connection with her. Here’s why.

In the book version – which, yes, I have read – the doctors give Regan a prescription of Ritalin as they think she might have some form of ADHD that’s causing her bizarre behaviour. Now, I don’t believe possession is anything like ADHD, but part of me thinks it would be fun if they were linked in some way. Because, now brace yourself.

I have ADHD.

Tell me something I don ’ t know , I hear you say.

Well, it was news to me.

I used to hate it – that diagnosis – really hate it. I was ashamed, embarrassed, back in the days when I could feel those things. But then I realised something. Those four letters could actually help me. Help me get away with stuff. With murder. Not literal murder – although, maybe. I understood that the symptoms could be incredibly useful. I found I could use them when people felt my behaviour was questionable. I’m not talking about constant fidgeting or an inability to sit still . I’m talking about the good ones. Speaks without thinking . Lack of behavioural self-control . High impulsivity .

Then something happened.

Three months before the Incident, I was put on medication to treat the ADHD because my behaviour was becoming noticeable and problematic . The meds helped, I suppose, at first. Calmed me. But after a couple of weeks, as the dose increased, something shifted. They sort of did the opposite of what they were supposed to do. They exacerbated the symptoms. I started to feel a bit buzzy.

Apparently, when combined with my anti-depressant, I had way too much serotonin suddenly pumping through my brain, which was fun for me – just not for everyone else. I’ve since been told that I was experiencing something called a hypomanic episode . I remember it very clearly. In fact, it’s the last thing I remember before my memory suddenly stops. Before the blankness. The Gap.

The Gap of two months.

Two whole months. Gone.

But the hypomanic episode remains, clear as day. It went a bit like this.

It was January 8th. We were still living at the old house. It was cold, crisp, the days still short. My thoughts began to move very, very quickly – more so than usual – and I didn’t want to sleep. Sleep was the last thing on my mind because I suddenly had so much to do . I’d been awake for five whole days. I was energised. Motivated. Alive. I thought I was invincible. Completely and utterly indestructible.

And it felt amazing.

During those five days I did many things. I did thirty-two trips to the local Tesco, on foot. It was a mile away so it was a good opportunity to get my steps in. I borrowed cash from Mum’s purse (I’m supposed to use the word stole , but I didn’t see it like that) to get chocolate and sweets to share with my family because I felt such an overpowering sense of love for them and I wanted to show it. And I bought some cushions and throws that I thought Mum would like. She didn’t.

I also bought lots of hair dye. I dyed my hair six times, six different colours, which made my forehead blister from all the bleaching. I bought bulbs and planted them in the garden. Many, many bulbs. I felt an incredible creative surge too. I bought paint and paper and felt-tip pens from the kids’ craft section and drew eighty-five pictures of distorted and dying bats.

I then decided it’d be fun and really helpful to continuously clean the whole house from top to bottom. I jet-washed the patio at 2 a.m. along with some of the neighbours’ driveways, even though I didn’t really know them, because I had a sudden, overwhelming desire to give back to the community.

But then Mum and Dad got annoyed – or scared, I suppose – because I went into their bedroom while they were sleeping. I woke them up when tiptoeing around the bed holding a spade (from late-night bulb planting) wearing only an apron over my underpants with fluorescent blue hair. I then asked them to come and see my good work. That made them worry. They got worried I was going to do something stupid and dangerous.

I guess they were right.

The last thing I remember is getting them to follow me into the garden at 10:30 at night.

I remember nothing else until I walked through the front door of the new London house, two months later.

January 8th until March 8th.

Exactly two months. Exactly . Nothing.

Which is a bit strange, don’t you think?

Apparently, the Incident was so brutal that my brain decided to erase not only the night it happened, but the whole two months after it. I’ve been told. The erasure was because of the biological damage caused to my brain. Also, it was a form of self-protection. My mind wanted to protect me from the pain of it all. The guilt. The regret. Post-traumatic dissociative amnesia , Melinda calls it. I think it’s kind of amazing that your brain will do that for you.

But now I want it all back. Those memories are mine and I’d like to have them again.

My parents have given me so much. Patience. Generosity. The hospital fees. The therapy fees. Melinda. They moved to London. For me. A fresh start for Eli . I need them to think I’m fine now.

I don’t feel guilty, but I know I should. I don’t feel anything.

I did back then. Everything. I felt everything. So much, all at once. It could be really painful at times. And you might think that’s worse, but I don’t.

Melinda sits in the armchair directly in front of me in our living room, framed by the heavy curtains hanging on either side of the bay windows.

It’s here. It’s happening. Therapy D-Day is upon us. It’s Trauma Time.

‘How’s your morning been so far, Elias? Nice and relaxed?’

Melinda is wearing her posh blazer today and her hair has an extra static frizz from where she’s overused the straighteners. Both these things mean that she is in the mood for serious business.

This is all we have worked for. Together.

I’m sitting on one of two dining chairs that have been placed side by side in the middle of the room on top of the rug where the coffee table usually is. Melinda smiles at me, her professional smile. I find it hard to reciprocate because I’m holding myself completely still. So still I’m hardly breathing or blinking. My family are huddled in a row on the sofa to my left, staring at me, all sad and earnest, hands in their laps, heads slightly bowed, like they’re in a cold and uncomfortable church. The Pews, on their pew, expecting a miracle.

Or an exorcism. An exorcism of my pain.

‘It’s been pretty normal,’ I say.

Melinda looks to the sofa for confirmation of my claim. Lucas looks at Mum. Mum looks at Dad. Dad looks at my paper tie and face paint. ‘Yes, normal for Eli.’

Melinda’s eyes scan me up and down. ‘So, the Arthur Fleck outfit is for—’

‘Fun.’

Melinda nods. ‘Of course.’

It doesn’t surprise me that she knows the real name of the Joaquin Phoenix Joker, the person I’ve come to my own exorcism dressed as. Unlike Meddling Paula and Vanilla Steve, Melinda is actually quite perceptive and, dare I say it, cool. I have a hunch she was a bit of a wild one in her day. Sometimes I can see a hint of chaos flickering within her. She’s drawn to it, I can tell. It’s why she likes me.

‘I think there should be an element of fun to this, don’t you?’ I say hopefully.

She tilts her head sympathetically. ‘I just want you to be comfortable, Elias. We all do. Today is about being comfortable, which, in turn, will allow the uncomfortable to be exposed.’

Therapy talk, how I despise you. ‘Well, that does sound like fun.’

She doesn’t react. She seems different in front of my family. More poised. ‘Are you comfortable, Elias?’

No one is, Melinda. We are en route to my fabricated hell. ‘Yes.’

‘Then you are dressed appropriately.’

Dress appropriately . TraumaLand .

‘We’re all here for you.’ Melinda’s voice is soft and kind, but it makes me want to scream, I ’ m going to fail, Melinda . Do my family really have to be here to see it happen? ‘Your family are here to support you as you forge the memories once and for all. After today you will move on from them with a healthy sense of acceptance and separateness. Not to be forgotten, but to be controlled.’ Her eyes shine hopefully. ‘And remember, there is no blame today.’ She leans towards me. I try to lean away from her, but the back of my chair stops me. ‘There is no blame from anyone, OK?’

To me that implies there is blame. ‘Sure.’

Melinda places her hands on her knees and inhales sharply through her nose. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘It’s time to begin.’

I don’t dare look at the sofa, but I can feel the anticipation aimed in my direction. I keep my eyes on Melinda and make one last-ditch attempt to make this stop. ‘Are we sure this is a good idea? Collectively? Unanimously?’

She nods, but it is loaded. We ’ ve been through this many times . You know what to do . ‘Now, please, close your eyes.’

Right. So. Yep. There is no escape. ‘Well then, let the exorcism commence.’

She frowns. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Nothing.’

I hear anxious shuffling from the Pews’ pew, but I yield and shut my eyes before I can see who it’s come from.

‘I’m now going to ask you some questions, Elias. Keep your answers factual and without any emotion for now.’

For now . ‘Right.’

‘I want you to think back to the day of the Incident.’

The day of the Incident. Great. ‘OK.’

‘How old are you?’

Facts. Easy. ‘I’m sixteen.’

‘Good. What day is it?’

‘Sunday.’

‘And what time is it?’

‘It was … late.’

‘Try and stay inside the memory, Elias, if that’s OK? Talk about it as if you’re there. As if it is now.’

‘Oh, right. Sorry. It is late.’

‘Good. And be more specific. We need specificity.’

I think of the night. The sky. Dark and cold. ‘It’s ten thirty in the evening.’

‘Good. And where are you?’

‘At our house in Lewes.’

‘Describe it.’

Doable. ‘It’s at the end of a small country road with only five other houses. It’s detached. Aesthetically very pleasing. More of a cottage, really. Ivy covers the outside walls. It’s always reminded me of something from Midsomer Murders . It’s right on the edge of the South Downs, at the top of a typical country hill. The garden is sloped and long, leading down into fields, with a wooded area right at the bottom. It’s two storeys tall. There’s a garden at the front with a pebble driveway and a garage where Dad keeps his classic car. The green soft-top Cadillac. Anyway. Yes. It’s … calm. Sleepy. I really liked it there. Made me feel—’

‘No emotions, Elias. Just the facts.’

‘Right, sorry. No emotions.’ Got that covered, Melinda. Don’t you worry.

‘What are you wearing?’

‘I…’

‘Be specific.’

The sofa squeaks nervously. ‘I’m stood in the garden, wearing my underpants, one of Mum’s aprons and nothing else. Oh, and I’m holding a spade.’

This is the last thing I remember. I only have Melinda’s reminders to guide me now. That and her leading questions. Please keep leading the witness, your honour .

‘But then I go inside and get changed. Sorry, I change . I put on some trousers and my shoes. But I remain topless.’

‘Why do you do that?’

‘Remain topless? I think I was just a little overexcited.’

‘No, why do you change?’

Oh. ‘Because I want to go out.’

‘Yes. Good. You’re doing brilliantly.’ Oh, wonderful. ‘Could you talk me through why you want to go out?’

More noise from the congregation. I try to focus. ‘Yeah, sure. So, I’ve just cleaned the whole house, done a bit of gardening and I wanted – sorry – I want to go back to Tesco. It’s about a mile down the road and I’ve previously been walking there because I like the fresh air and I’m feeling very –’ invincible – ‘energetic. It’s late and cold now, but I know there’s a grout cleaner in the domestic household products section that would work wonders on the grey bits between the bathroom tiles that I can’t get out.’

I see the tiles in my mind. Repeating white squares and dirty grout.

That’s good. Good .

Melinda’s voice is steady. Soft. ‘You want to clean the grout because you think it’ll be a nice thing to do?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK…’ There was more. I can hear it in her voice. We went over this bit a lot.

‘But also, I…’ What was it? ‘I feel like I need to.’

‘ Yes .’ She sounds pleased. She waits a moment, then, ‘Perhaps you’ve become a little fixated?’

That’s a leading question, Melinda. But I’m not complaining. ‘Yes. Fixated . The grey bits are all I can see now and I want them gone.’

‘And so, you decide to drive yourself to Tesco?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Have you passed your driving test?’

I swallow. My Adam’s apple suddenly feels huge, like it might choke me. Power through. ‘No. But Dad has insured me on the Volkswagen Golf and we’ve done a few practice sessions together, so I feel ready. I realise I’ll need to use the car if I want to get to Tesco before it closes and it’s important that I do.’ I hear birds through the glass behind Melinda’s head. ‘They shut at eleven so I only have half an hour left to get there.’

‘Why don’t you just ask your dad to drive you?’

Because I ’ m indestructible . ‘I think it’s a good idea for me to practise… I tell my dad that.’

‘Yes. You do. And where is this conversation taking place?’

‘We’re in the kitchen now.’

‘Brilliant. Really well done. And what happens next?’

‘Dad says no.’

‘He does. Why is that?’

‘Because it’s dark. And illegal.’

‘And?’

‘Because my behaviour is currently a little…’ Pathological. No. What’s the word we use? ‘Erratic.’

‘Good. Why?’

‘I…’

‘Specific.’

‘I am experiencing a hypomanic episode.’

‘Great. Very good.’ Not really, Melinda. ‘You are unwell.’

I am. She’s right about that. ‘But I didn’t… I don’t know that.’

‘No one does. Your mum has suspicions.’

Suspicions. ‘Yes.’

‘Your family are concerned about you.’

‘Yes.’

‘What else do you say?’

What else? ‘I say I’m fine.’

‘You do. You become…’ She waits for me to finish her sentence.

Leading. Good . Shit, what do I become?

Oh, yes. ‘I become … insistent .’

‘Good, Elias. So, you’re in the kitchen with Dad.’

Please don’t say it like that. He’s not your dad. ‘Yes.’

‘Mum joins you?’

She’s not your mum. I don ’ t remember . ‘Yes. Dad has put music on to try and calm me down. But I mess with the record player and nearly break it. He tries to stop me, but I’m … again I’m insistent . And then…’

‘Then?’

Oh, hell. Here we go. ‘There’s an argument.’

Melinda pauses. I’m not really sure what is happening outside of my own head, but I have a feeling the congregation is currently making eye contact with my Trauma Exorcist. Shuffling. Lots of shuffling.

Eventually, Melinda speaks again. ‘Can you see it, Elias? Are you able to see it playing out in front of you?’

No. I see nothing. ‘Yes.’

‘You can start to feel the emotions now.’

Damn. ‘OK, great.’

‘Just take a moment.’

I need to look scared. Ashamed. I put my hands over my face and tilt my head forwards. This is what ashamed looks like, isn’t it? More. Do more . I make my breath shudder a little.

‘It’s OK, Elias,’ Melinda whispers. Phew . But she actually sounds kind of happy. ‘What do you say to your parents?’

I don’t remember. ‘Um…’

‘Something about how they make you feel.’

Leading. Thank you . ‘I say they’re suffocating me.’ I strain my voice for good measure.

‘Yes. You do.’ I make what I hope sounds like a regretful gurgle. ‘Be gentle, Elias. Stay gentle with yourself. What happens next?’

‘There’s lots of shouting,’ I croak.

‘Yes.’

‘I become a little…’ Make it hard to say. ‘Out of control.’

I hear my brother sniff. Is he crying? Jesus, he can’t be crying before me. That’s just unfair. But it’s also good. Good that I’m making him cry.

‘What do you do that is out of control?’

Oh, God. This bit. ‘Um… At some point during the shouting, I get angry. I suddenly switch –’ her word, not mine – ‘and I pick up a glass.’ I push my knuckles into my eyes in an attempt to make them water. ‘I turn round and throw it at my mum. It misses her and shatters on the wall behind her head.’

I stop. The room is silent. No one moves or speaks.

I think they’re expecting a reaction. React .

I feign a sobbing noise and try to make it phlegmy.

‘Yes, Elias. Very good. What next?’

I force my knuckles deeper into my eye sockets. ‘Mum is really upset. Scared.’

‘Can you see it? In your mind’s eye?’

‘I can.’ I can’t.

‘That’s brilliant .’ Strong choice of word, Melinda. ‘Where’s Lucas?’

‘He’s gone back to university early to study. He doesn’t know about … any of this.’ I hear him sniff again.

‘What next?’

What next? Something to do with the shovel… ‘I pick up the shovel and start screaming that I feel trapped.’

‘Good.’

Good! ‘But Dad tells me to put it down. He says we can walk to Tesco in the morning together, that it would be a nice thing to do. But I say no, I don’t want that, I need to go now.’ Melinda told me to say something else at this point. Oh, yes . ‘Mum and Dad are now both really worried that I’m going to hurt them.’

‘Yes, they are.’ Fantastic. I’m on a roll . ‘Go on.’

‘I’m screaming. It’s chaotic. Dad manages to get the shovel out of my hand, but I grab the car keys from Mum’s handbag and run for the front door. I run to the Golf, which is parked on the driveway. I open it and get into the driver’s seat.’

‘Can you feel the emotions?’

‘Yes,’ I lie. I make another small murmur, my face still in my hands.

‘Good. Let it out. Let all the emotions out, Elias. And name them.’

Oh, bollocks. ‘Anger.’ I say quietly.

‘Anger, yes. Keep going.’

‘Guilt.’

‘Yes.’

‘Sadness.’

‘Yes.’

‘Shame.’

‘Shame. Yes, shame .’ All right, Melinda, calm down. ‘And then?’ Why does she sound so excited?

‘As I put the keys in the ignition, Dad is suddenly there, in front of the car, waving his hands at me to stop. He gets into the passenger seat next to me.’

‘Gordon,’ Melinda says gently. ‘If you would now like to join Elias.’

Um, what ? Objection, your honour. This is… I wasn’t told about this bit.

‘Of course,’ Dad says, his voice full of something that sounds like emotional pain. The smell of lavender and hard work waft over me as he sits on the empty chair beside me, his arm pressing into mine.

I flinch.

‘Sorry,’ Dad says quietly.

‘No, I’m…’ I don’t finish.

My body is shaking. I guess that’s good. That’s… That’s good. Right?

Wait. Is it my body that’s shaking, or his?

‘So, Elias,’ Melinda says. ‘You’re now both in the car.’ In the car. Yes. Yes . ‘What does your dad say?’

‘He says… He says…’ I can hear him breathing right next to me. ‘He says please don ’ t drive, son .’

‘Gordon?’ Melinda’s voice is extra gentle now. ‘Could you please say that to Elias?’

Can we maybe not—

‘Please don’t drive, son,’ Dad says softly, the emotional pain increasing. But I feel nothing. Other than how I want to move off the chair and go far, far away.

‘What else does your dad say, Elias?’

‘Um. He says…’ What was it? ‘He says I think you need some help, son .’

‘Gordon?’ Melinda sounds like she might cry now. Can everyone stop crying before I do?

‘I think you need some help, son.’ Dad’s voice shakes. ‘Let’s go back inside where we can talk this through.’ OK. Curveball. Dad’s improvising. We’re in unchartered territory.

It ’ s all unchartered territory .

‘Good, Gordon.’ Melinda seems to like it. ‘Very good.’

Maybe I should improvise. ‘No, Dad. I want to get the grout cleaner and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

Bit much? This is all a bit much.

Dad goes with it. ‘Then I’ll drive, son. Why don’t you let me?’

Um… Best respond. ‘Because I want to drive. It’s only a mile.’

‘Why won’t you let me, son?’

I don’t know, Dad! I wish I did. ‘Because this is my plan and you treat me like a child.’

‘Very good, Elias.’ Melinda is pleased again. ‘What else does your dad say?’

‘I…’ God. Do we have to? ‘I think that was it.’

‘It wasn’t, Elias. He tells you something.’

‘It’s difficult to remember…’

‘Gordon, maybe you could remind him?’

‘Of course.’ I feel Dad’s hand on my forearm. He squeezes it.

I flinch again. ‘Sorry.’

‘We care about you. We love you. Don’t do this.’ His hand remains around my wrist, his fingers steady.

I make a stifled fake sob into my hands, but I’m worried he won’t feel the tears. Because there are none.

‘Does that help remind you, Elias?’

No. ‘Yes. Thank you, Dad.’

‘Keep going,’ Melinda whispers.

‘I don’t listen to him. I’m still not thinking straight. I’m still out of control.’

‘Good.’

‘I put the key in the ignition and I start to drive.’

‘Yes.’

‘Dad is telling me to stop.’

‘Gordon?’

‘Please stop, son. Please just stop.’

‘And you reply, Elias?’

‘I say no.’

‘Say it.’

‘No.’

‘Louder.’

‘What?’

‘Say it louder. You were screaming. That’s right, isn’t it, Gordon?’

‘Yes. He was screaming.’

Was I? OK. ‘No. No. No! ’ My voice reverberates through the room.

‘Good,’ Melinda says. ‘This is it, Elias. Tell us what happened next.’

Dad’s palm is clammy on my skin. I can do this. Just facts. ‘I take a left turn out of the driveway and we’re on the road. It’s dark, no street lamps. I can only see the headlights ahead of us. The road is windy, trees on either side. It’s a narrow country lane. I start to press my foot down on the accelerator because I’m scared that Tesco will close and I really want the grout cleaner. Dad is still telling me to stop. To slow down. To put my seat belt on. But I don’t listen. My legs are shaking because of the adrenaline. I can’t really hear anything. I am in a –’ what was the word Melinda used? – ‘ trance .’ That’s it. ‘Hyperfixated.’ That ’ s it . ‘I feel no fear. I just want to get there. I think it’s the right thing to do. I round a corner, going very quickly. When I see the other headlights coming towards us, I panic.’

I think I recited that perfectly. Near perfectly.

‘Describe it.’

‘I am.’

‘The panic.’

Fuck. ‘It … stuns me. Disables me. Everything stops.’ More. More. This is it. Convince them . ‘I feel a heat in my stomach like a claw clenching. It grips me so hard that I freeze. I can’t find the brake with my foot. The other car swerves past us, just misses. I then realise we’re no longer on the road. We’re still travelling very quickly, only now down the bank next to it. The ground is icy and the tyres skid. I see the headlights light up the trees. The wheels hit something and the car flips.’ I stop and remove my hands from my face. I look at Dad.

He’s crying. Oh, God.

‘Yes, it flips,’ Melinda says. ‘Go on…’

Dad nods at me. ‘Go on, son.’

‘We tumble down the slope. Over and over. And then I feel the impact. The car stops, but my body doesn’t. When I open my eyes, I’m no longer inside it. I’m on the bonnet, on the other side of the windscreen, covered in glass and blood.’

I’m panting. Sweating.

‘It’s OK, Elias. Picture it. Tell us. This is it . Visualise it. Tell us what you see.’

I see nothing. ‘I see Dad is still inside the car.’

‘And…’

‘A low branch from the tree we hit is sticking straight through the windscreen, where the glass was. When I look into the passenger seat, I can see Dad’s head is sort of drooped down, lolling forwards, and the branch is sticking straight into his stomach.’ I push my knuckles as hard and deep into my eyeballs as I can. ‘The branch has…’ Melinda said I have to use a specific word. ‘The branch has impaled him.’ I can feel my saliva dribbling over my hands. They’re wet, but not with tears. I nearly killed my dad and I can’t even cry. ‘And then I pass out.’

‘Well done, Elias.’ Melinda’s voice is clear. Assured. ‘Let all that pain out. Let it out. Because it’s done. You are done.’

I pretend to weep – deep, guttural sobs. Dad keeps his hand on my arm.

Suddenly, an image shudders into my thoughts, clear as day. It elicits a sudden involuntary gasp from my throat.

‘Oh, Eli…’

It’s my first memory of the aftermath of the crash. Ever. I’ve had dreams, flashes of the forest, but this is new. It’s real. Dad is lying on his back on the ground in the woods. Blood pours out of his stomach and I’m kneeling over him…

‘You can stop now, Elias.’

But someone else is here too. A dark shadow next to me.

‘Wait,’ I croak. ‘I think…’

‘What is it?’ Melinda sounds hesitant.

‘I think – there’s more. Dad’s on the ground. In the forest. And I think someone else…’

I’m met with silence. OK, I’ve gone massively off-script.

‘You’re done now,’ Melinda says quickly. ‘We don’t need any more. You can open your eyes.’

‘But I think…’ We never talked about this.

‘Elias, we’ve finished.’

Another pair of hands, next to me. Bloody.

‘But I can see it. I can actually see —’

‘The paramedics came.’ My mum’s voice comes from the sofa. Calm. Precise. Gentle. ‘There were lots of people. You were in and out of consciousness by that point.’

‘Oh.’

I’ve been told countless times that Mum was with them when they arrived. Apparently, she called the police as soon as we left so it didn’t take them long to find us. It would have been fatal, if she hadn’t.

Mum saved us.

‘Thank you, Heather,’ Melinda says softly. ‘Time to open your eyes, Elias.’

‘But—’

‘Now, please.’ There’s an edge to her voice.

When I do, the room is darker than I remember. Melinda is looking directly at me, tears glistening, her face taut with pain and pride. My own face feels fucked. Hot, puffy and angry. Which is good. Isn’t it?

Oh my God, I’m terrible. But I don’t feel terrible.

I can’t look at Dad. At any of my family. I focus on Melinda’s static hair.

‘Now, just one more thing to help the memory recall,’ Melinda says. ‘I’d like you both to do something, if you’re willing. I’d like you to reveal your scars.’

Um. No. Please.

I didn’t sign up for that. No way…

‘Sure,’ Dad says quietly. ‘Whatever will help Eli.’

I don’t think this will.

Melinda nods approvingly. ‘It will.’

‘I’m not sure that I need…’ I start, but I see Dad is already lifting up his top. Before I know it, his pale stomach emerges next to me. It’s so bizarre that it doesn’t seem real. None of this seems real . In the centre of his pale skin a fat red circle of scar tissue protrudes outwards like a bulging blister.

Melinda keeps her eyes on me. ‘Make sure you look at it properly, Elias. It’s important.’

When I do, I see small red dots surrounding it from where the doctors stitched him back together. There are some burn marks too. I can’t remember how he got those. I don’t think she said.

‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t ever want to hurt you.’

Dad pulls his top back down. ‘I know, son.’ He turns to me. ‘You don’t need to blame yourself. I want you to move on from this. I forgive you.’

‘Thank you, Dad.’

‘Thank you, Gordon,’ Melinda says. ‘Forgiveness is an important part of the healing process. Now, Elias. Would you show yours?’

‘I…’

I look at Lucas, still crying. I look at Mum nodding. Tearful.

It ’ s OK . Nearly there . Nearly there, then no more of this. Just do it.

I point to my head. To the scar on my temple. ‘This is from where I went through the windscreen.’

‘Yes.’

‘And…’ I stand, my legs heavy. Leaden.

I quickly lift my top, pulling it all the way up so it’s gathered under my chin. I look down at the burn marks across my tummy and chest. Webs of taut, shiny skin. The place where my left nipple once was now a smooth, pale blotch like a piece of wafer-thin ham. ‘These are from when I hit the bonnet. I was scalded by the steam and battery acid that were leaking from it. The burns were so bad because I wasn’t wearing a top.’

‘Or your seat belt,’ Melinda says, a little too forcefully.

‘Right. Yes.’

‘Yes. You and your dad would have died, if the doctors hadn’t acted so quickly.’

I turn to Dad. ‘Dad, I…’ I mumble. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I don’t know what else to say.

‘It’s OK, son.’

‘I… I’m glad you didn’t die.’

‘Me too.’ And then his arms are around me, strong, pulling me into him. And I feel – nothing. ‘I love you, son.’

‘I love you too.’

Maybe you hate me and I get that. I do.

‘Well done, both of you,’ Melinda says. ‘How are you feeling, Elias?’

Dad releases his grip. I turn to her. ‘Um…’

‘The memories are all there. You’ve proved that. And you’ve processed them.’

‘Yeah…’

‘And now you can begin to move on from this. The memories exist and the pain is real. But you are capable and strong and you, Elias, are not a bad person.’

I do everything I can not to tell her how wrong she is. How deeply mistaken. ‘Um… Thank you, Melinda. For everything.’

‘You’re very welcome. Now –’ she turns to the sofa – ‘why don’t you all join together in the centre of the room?’

Mum and Lucas slowly rise and make their way to the rug. They both look exhausted. Melinda says something else and then I realise I’m standing in a circle with my family, Dad holding my left hand, Mum my right. ‘Remember,’ Melinda says from somewhere on the periphery, ‘pain makes us stronger. You are united as a family. And you will continue to support each other.’

As we stand in our little post-exorcism circle, I catch Lucas’s eye. He gives a small wink. I need to make him think I appreciate and understand him, so wink back.

‘Shall we hug?’ I hear myself say. ‘Group hug?’ That’s what appreciative people do, isn’t it? They group-hug.

Everyone is looking at me a bit funny. Have I gone too far?

I do it anyway, pulling them into me.

‘I love you all very much and I’m grateful and appreciate you,’ I say like a weird machine.

When the group hug is over, I don’t know what to do.

I look at Mum. She smiles sadly. Gratefully.

She turns to Melinda. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘For all you have done.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ Melinda replies.

‘Right,’ Mum says. ‘Now, who’d like something to eat? Are you a fan of croissants, Melinda?’

Melinda beams. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

Wonderful . I watch them all make their way towards the door.

Lucas turns. ‘You coming, bro?’

‘Yeah, just need a second.’

Once he’s gone, I stare at the wall. I’m broken. The crash has broken me. It might as well have killed me.

What am I going to do?

I feel the photograph in my pocket. A pang of heat moves through the fabric, up my leg, into my stomach, where it stops and twists like it’s punctured my insides.

Never, never forget . Remember him .

I feel like I might burst into flames. Or tears. Actual tears.

For the first time since the crash, I think I’m about to cry. My whole body aches. Not from physical pain, but from something else, somewhere deep in my gut. For the briefest moment I feel completely in pain, completely in my own body. Alive .

‘Eli!’ Mum’s voice from the kitchen. ‘Croissants are ready, darling!’

And then, it’s gone. The emptiness returns.

But I’ve tasted it. And now I’m craving it. I want more.

There’s only one thing for it.

Feel alive .

TraumaLand.

Tonight.