Pendulum — chapter twenty-four

“The escape”

Nick Duhigg
Jul 25, 2017 · 6 min read

By the time Eve got home, it was well after eight o’clock. She had spent the rest of the day trying to find Bailey, to no avail. She decided only one person could tell her why he had seemingly disappeared. She stood nervously out the front of the house, readying herself to confront her mother one final time.

When she entered she saw Catherine busy in the kitchen. She had just finished washing up for the evening. Catherine ignored her for a few seconds, pretending not to notice her.

“Oh, you’re back. Where have you been all day?” she said finally, feeling Eve’s unmoving stare from the other side of the room.

“Around,” Eve said, the tone of insubordination deliberately prevalent in her voice. She wasn’t hesitating. This was war.

“Don’t give me that,” Catherine flared up angrily. Despite knowing Eve was upset with her, she was determined to get the upper hand.

“Okay, mother,” Eve responded, her tone now totally devoid of respect. “I’ve been looking for Bailey; he seems to have disappeared. I’ve been thinking all day as to what could have possibly caused that. I’ve only been able to come to one conclusion — you went to see him didn’t you?” Catherine stopped, caught out.

“Yes, Eve. I did.”

Despite being already convinced of the fact, hearing her mother actually say it just made her lose what control she had left.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? What did you say to him?” Eve demanded.

“I told him to stay away from you,” Catherine replied. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“How is that your decision? Why are you trying to ruin my life? He is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and you want to take that away?”

“Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic,” Catherine interjected.

“Why?” Eve continued belligerently. “So I can go back to being the stupid little girl you can fuss over and make sure nothing bad happens to?”

“But you’re not seeing things clearly, Eve. I can look after you.”

“I don’t need someone looking after me! I just want someone who will look out for me. Someone who knows when I need it, and not permanently looking over my shoulder.”

“All I’ve ever done is look out for you!” Catherine came back accusingly.

“No! No, all you’ve done is suitably fuck up the best thing to happen in my life.”

Catherine was taken aback by the sheer anger in Eve’s voice. It then turned only to hurt.

“But you know what?” Eve added. “You don’t need to worry any more. It seems like you’ve got your wish. He’s gone.” She turned away, refusing to look at her mother. Catherine was silent, shaking from what she had just heard. She took a deep, composing breath.

“I’m going to bed,” she said coldly. “I think I’ve heard enough of what a terrible mother I am for one night.”

Catherine made her way to the stairs, stopping once to see if Eve had softened. She hadn’t moved. Catherine made her way up the staircase, stopping halfway with one final parting comment.

“By the way,” she said. “I found your medication in the bin.” Eve flinched suddenly, still not looking at her mother, but listening intently. “Seems you’ve been keeping a lot from me,” she added. “I took the liberty of retrieving it. Maybe it will get you thinking clearly.”

The sound of Catherine’s footsteps up the rest of the stairs was deafening to Eve, and the slam of the door excruciating. She had never been as alone as she was in that moment. Her father was gone, Bailey was gone, and now seemingly even the most consistent person in her life was gone. Everything around her was somehow magnified. She glanced about helplessly, not knowing what to do. Everything was caving in on her and she had a sinking feeling in her stomach like she had never felt before.

She suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. She ran over to the sink and turned on the tap with force. The rushing water sounded like a tidal wave to her, but she cupped her hands and drank for as long as she could until she needed to draw breath again. As she turned off the tap, she remained standing there, contemplating leaving, but without anywhere to go. She didn’t know where Bailey was and certainly didn’t know if he would want to see her.

Several minutes had passed when Eve was suddenly startled out of her trance-like state by her phone ringing. She was filled with a sudden optimism it would be Bailey. It had to be. She rushed into the dining room to prevent her mother from hearing and pulled the phone out of her jeans pocket. Her hope turned immediately to despair — it was Sam calling back.

“What is it? What’s happened?” she said anxiously, her acute disappointment evident.

“Eve, I apologise for calling you so late.” She could sense his voice sounded strained. She held her breath. “And I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it’s as we expected. Lucy is still in intensive care, and her condition is not improving. She was beaten pretty badly, and they’re saying it’ll be touch and go if she is going to pull through. I’m so sorry.”

“Okay,” Eve said. It was all she could muster. She listened to a few more details and then hung up the phone, placing it slowly back into her pocket.

Eve’s eyes became wide as she felt herself about to be sick again. She ran back into the kitchen, coughing into the sink as quickly as she was gulping in water. She felt claustrophobic, and splashed her face with more water in an effort to induce calm. It was icy cold, but she didn’t care; she felt like she was burning up. She unlatched the closest window and pushed her head through it, letting the cool night air unfold over her damp face. She turned away from the window, using the bench to hold herself up.

It was at that moment she saw what she needed. Catherine hadn’t been lying — there it was in plain sight. Eve was unsure how she could have missed it. Right now it was the only thing she could see; her light at the end of the dark tunnel. Eve walked over to the bottle, a sense of calm coming over her. She was focused. She now had a plan. As she picked up the pill bottle it felt comfortable in her hand — not just comfortable — but right. She turned it over and analysed the label: ‘Prescription Only Medication — Take Only Recommended Dosage’.

As Eve wrenched open the bottle and dropped the lid to the floor, the first tear also fell. She was unsure which hit the floor first. She was reaching for a glass on the shelf when she remembered what the closed cabinet above contained. She cracked open the bottle of vodka and was immediately struck by the overpowering smell of it — she would have to be quick. She put the medication bottle down for a second, smearing away more tears that had started to fall. When she went to pick it up again it slipped from her grasp and spilt onto the floor, half the contents scattering across the floor. Until that moment Eve had been able to contain herself, but the hysteria hiding behind her façade finally broke loose. She burst into an endless supply of tears and dropped to the floor, spilling some of the vodka in the process.

Eve was without any semblance of rational thought — and other forces began to take over. The pain she had been dealing with for so long — in combination with all she had lost in the past few days — took over her actions. She emptied the remaining pills into her hand. She couldn’t see clearly through the wall of tears, but she counted somewhere around twenty. She shoved them all into mouth, almost choking on them initially. She pressed the vodka bottle to her lips and sculled to the point of regurgitation. She coughed and spluttered, but made sure to swallow everything she could. Putting the bottle to the side, Eve let the tears overtake her. She was now scrawled completely over the floor and couldn’t make herself move. She was beginning to feel cold.

Looking past the kitchen bench above her, she could see out the window. It was a beautifully clear night; the full moon and stars sparkled with an enchanting light. As Eve admired it, she felt a numbness start to come over her — as quickly and as harshly as the darkness did. This is what she was condemned to. For her, there was no hope left.


Copyright © 2017 Nick Duhigg

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