Chemiluminescence

PART ONE

SUMMER

ANNA

It had slipped away again. That moment when, just before waking, ghosts walk and truth will have its say.

The exquisite dream of herself travelling in gentle light, safe, warm, was over, taking with it the tiny flickering second where Anna could still believe everything was the same.

Intact.

TRACETTE

My uniform’s stiff, tickles the backs of my knees. Mum says I should always be thinking about what sort of impression I’m making but it’s hard when I’ve never seen myself.

I’d give anything if just once I could see the real me. I’ve tried lots of tricks, stare into my eyes for hours but I know it’s all just a reflection, reversed at that.

It scares me that I’ll never see myself.

ANNA

The dream had begun with the bleeding though any connection between the two, even now as she felt the wetness between her thighs, was impossible to reconcile.

Looking over at Daniel red streaks striped his back where her blood had spread across the mattress, a map of loss, island, between them.

And later, in the shower, the water, tinged pink, pooling around her feet she wondered if the elusive comfort of the dream, long past, had ever been enough to carry her through the days that stretched before her, a wasteland as barren, unrecognisable as herself.

In the kitchen tears welled as they did so easily now, Daniel’s cup, crumb-strewn plate on the bench mocking her loneliness. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the cup that hadwarmed his hands, still held his lukewarm coffee, his breath on the rim the closest she would get to him today.

Just like yesterday.

Tomorrow.

Back in their bedroom she quickly stripped the sheet from their bed ignoring the slightly sweet metallic smell that filled her senses, primal, base.

The scent of fear.

You have to fix this Daniel had said.

She stuffed the sheet into her mouth too late to choke the question already asked, oily seductive. Terrifying.

Was she broken?

TRACETTE

Mum says I look French, that’s why she called me Tracette. She’s always blabbing on about our dark hair, eyes, what she calls our gamine look whatever that means. She says we’re like Audrey Hepburn but I don’t want to look like some old dead movie star.

Or mum.

Tracette. Hate it, worse when it’s shortened. Trace. A crappy copy not even a name, just an ugly sound, like a hiss, something to run from. No one at the new school’s every going to call me that.

High school. Can hardly believe it. My hands are shaking and I’m getting that weird sick feeling again like I want to scream, punch a wall or something.

But this year’s going to be different. I’ll have lots of friends and there’ll be no more creepy silence to get lost in. Yeah. Everything’s going to change.

Has to.

In the kitchen mum looks me up and down. I hate it when she does that, makes me really nervous. Suits you, she says sounding pleased and I know if I keep looking at her I’m going to feel even sicker.

Thinking about mum is the hardest thing of all.

Dad’s long gone of course, not that it really matters. I sort of feel sorry for mum being on her own, think that’s why she goes shopping so much. She makes me come too but it’s not really fun, she’s always disappointed, hates what I choose, says I need to develop my own style, not follow the crowd. I know that’s an insult.

It’s better shopping for her but that’s pretty hard going too. I have to pay attention, yes it looks nice, yes you should buy it, yes dad’ll like it. I have no idea if that part’s true but that’s all she wants to hear and anyway what else can I say?

Maybe that’s why I love my uniform so much. I can’t get it wrong so there’s nothing to argue about is there?

Good luck, mum says and I grab my bag, hold it in front of me so she can’t hug me. She’s got that stupid look on her face again, all pretend sad, which is so much bull, like when she talks about me growing up and how we’re more like mates than mother and daughter now.

That’s crap too.

Shit, I don’t have time for this, and I’m out on the street and I’m running and running and I won’t look back, stop, until I get there.

ANNA

Why did you wait so long? asks the man she’s never met before.

But how, Anna thought, looking past her raised knees to his face, how, here in his world could she even begin to explain she was captivated, still spell-bound by her body that in its greatest achievement had delivered her three children, that any words could only ever be a feeble approximation of what she felt.

The cervix doesn’t look very healthy, he said frowning down at her. She imagined a circle puckered, grey, wondered if she were meant to apologise.

Do you think I need a hysterectomy? she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small.

Undoubtedly, he looked at her puzzled, it’s more a question of what else.

Catching her eye he became gentle and she was glad when he moved to talk of biopsies smears. Pathology.

And later, sitting opposite the man, listening to herself discussed, she understood he’d never expected an answer.

She cradled her belly, a shield against his words, science, as her blood still fell, mute against her flesh.

DANIEL

Daniel swerved into the garage, turned off the engine and waited. He knew Anna would’ve heard the car but he couldn’t face her, not yet.

He hadn’t counted on any of this but he wasn’t the one who’d fucked up, the blame he now heaped as unexpected as everything else.

But was it his fault she’d been too afraid to move, had denied it all, allowed herself to become diminished, eroded? Who’d used him, his dick her probe, seeking what?

Redemption? How many times had he stood in the bathroom searching his cock for signs of contamination, scared of her blood that made no sense?

Scared of her.

He scowled, knew he had no right to his rage, should’ve gone with her today, his lie transparent, her choice to believe, no defence possible against this moment where she waited.

And if she was just beginning to sense it, Daniel already knew, today the irrevocable proof of his limit, capacity, capability to care.

He felt a sliver, sinew of excitement. Everything was unravelling but she was the one who’d fucked it up, changed, her fault he’d become this callous prick.

He had nothing to apologise for.

She wasn’t the victim here.

It was him.

Getting out of the car he felt the weight lift, the grey disappear from the edge of his horizon, smiled at the word that would carry him through whatever was coming.

Exoneration.

ANNA

Anna heard his car, was already waiting in the lounge, sat in her favourite chair, grateful for its comfort, the thick padded arms she drummed with her fingers, feet square on the floor, pretending a sense of control she didn’t feel.

But as the minutes ticked past she began to feel self-conscious, theatrical, found herself willing him to walk through the door, call her name, come to her, a small welcome routine she’d come to expect over the years, had taken for granted until just a few short weeks ago.

Had she got it wrong from the start? Was what she’d always taken as proof of their intimacy nothing more than dependency and, if so, wasn’t she equally to blame? Hadn’t she willingly slipped into the shadows, content to watch, so ready to accept his silence as reassurance?

Sure she’d fantasised, pictured her success, herself elegantly dispensing empathy, cleaning up small messes of humanity much as she did her kitchen. But if the dream had been childish then, it was nothing short of banal now.

So was it any wonder when Daniel finally came inside it wasn’t the man she recognised first but her own failings. The expendable sidekick.

Less trophy more fool.

When he finally spoke took her hand his own felt papery her own limp, this flesh on flesh no trigger, Daniel’s smile sickly as she spelled it out. Eight days. Until the carving was over, cells harvested, smeared on a slide to be finally read by a stranger who’d never even know her name.

She pulled her hand free, enjoying the small stab of pleasure she felt at his shock, repelled by his cloying concern, triteness of his clichés.

Was this how it was going to be she wondered, her life held hostage, a string of hours dictated by fears never imagined, impossible now to forget, already adrift, unreachable.

Alone.

TRACETTE

I can’t believe I’ve already been here a whole month. That’s hundreds of hours and still nothing’s changed.

I really thought by now I’d have this huge group of girlfriends and we’d all go round together and on weekends we’d go to the mall, movies, whatever and everything would be great.

I don’t know why they’re ignoring me but if I try to talk to them they just answer really quickly and move away from me like I stink or something and it’s embarrassing, awful too. I don’t know what to do and it’s scary, I keep trying but it’s getter harder to pretend I don’t care when it feels like I’m disappearing.

Without a Trace.

Ha ha.

Not even funny.

I feel stupid having such high hopes but I never expected it to be this bad. Mum keeps asking me about school and I just have to make crap up, couldn’t bear her to know the truth. I can’t believe I’m actually doing that but if I don’t I know she’d think it was somehow my fault that it’s all fucked up and I really don’t want to talk to her about any of it.

She wouldn’t get it anyway, always goes on about how popular she was at school, like it was the best time of her life. God if this is it then I might as well kill myself now.

God I wish I were a boy. They have all the fun, do exactly what they like, don’t give a stuff what anyone says or thinks, even the teachers. I wish I could be like that. Maybe then I wouldn’t have this creepy, jumpy feeling all the time, like I’m waiting and waiting for something to happen except I don’t even know what it is any more.

There’s this one girl though, Dianne.

She’s in most of my classes but I don’t know if she recognises me, she never looks up or talks to anyone.

In class if the teachers ask her a question she just says what she thinks which sounds really cheeky. The other kids can’t tell if she’s joking or not but I reckon she just doesn’t know how to be any different, it’s pretty great actually.

She’s got to be as lonely as me too. I see her at lunchtimes reading on her own, or pretending to, but she’s got to be careful, make a move soon or everyone’s going to start thinking she really is a freak.

She’s either super brave or incredibly dumb but I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to talk to her, have to I’ve dared myself anyway.

I’m always doing that forcing myself to do dares I make up for myself. That’s how I broke my ankle one time.

Mum says I’m reckless but at least I know something’s going to happen and anything’s better than nothing.

Even if it hurts.

ANNA

Looking over at Daniel Anna was curious to his next move.

You have to tell the kids. A command.

Anger flooded, thick, black, his predictability grotesque.

James. Michael. Devon. All in their twenties hardly kids, but had he really believed they’d ever been far from her mind?

She knew this game, they’d played it for years, their children the ploy he always used, the three human shields he hid behind as he planned his retreat.

They’ll be told what they need to know when it happens. When had she become so cold?

It. Ridiculous, infantile but still confession, her unspoken fears falling like rain between them.

I’ve got some work to do, Daniel mumbled signalling the conversation was over.

She shrank against his words, dismissal, refused the message she couldn’t ignore. She was on her own.

Shakily she walked to the sideboard, poured herself a drink she didn’t want and stood looking at the photographs the carefully chosen pieces she loved had collected over the years to put in the beautiful house he’d built.

She could see her reflection in the window, vapid, ghostlike, the view spreading across the valley to the mountains too big, real, held no place for her. She turned away exhausted, longed for sleep a return to the dream, but, walking past his office, the strip of light under the door the only clue he was in there, she couldn’t help wishing he’d follow, a hope that still flickered until she heard his car leave.

He’d be meeting Alex.

Anna had never liked him, couldn’t understand why Daniel did. With Alex she always felt they were in competition for Daniel, but if she got the body it was Alex who always had his confidence.

Could she really pretend surprise then that he chose Alex now?

It had been this way from the start and when she’d become pregnant with James, she’d fallen back, turned inwards, afraid of being annexed, a comma in Daniel’s ambition.

But as his success grew the more introverted she’d become, desperate to cultivate an existence where she neither wanted nor needed anything else, the children their home her focus.

And when she’d talked about finishing her degree it was easy to believe she had plenty of time, both knowing she never would that she was too entrenched in her isolation, solitude now, the pointlessness of a degree she’d never used not lost on either of them.

But, the thought niggled, a worm she couldn’t ignore. She had orchestrated her own exile from the start and if she’d taught Daniel to leave her alone could she really blame him when he did?

In bed she dozed lightly. Even after she heard him stumbling down the hall into his office she still couldn’t relax, had spent the rest of the night chasing fantasies of her. Him. Them.

Where everything was perfect.

And when the morning came it took all dreams leaving her more alone than she had ever believed possible.

She rolled over to his side of the bed, the sheet cold, rebuke the message wrapped in their softness.

Feeling the blood thick, sticky between her thighs Anna finally gave way to rage. Grabbing the towel she always kept beside her bed now she ran to the bathroom ignoring the red she plugged without looking, showered and dressed before ripping the sheets from the bed the spreading stain forensic, stark.

Anna pressed her belly. Was there really something inside her, burrowing deep, angry, a mass, jellied clot she could hold in her hand, the abortion of disease?

Or was she too late? Was it already radiating, creeping like a vine, crawling through her body a tangled mess, part of her now.

She longed for the surgery, the carving of her flesh so alien now.

Something to fear.

By the time Daniel showed up she was already in the kitchen leafing through her recipes, the only sign something amiss was the untouched cup of coffee cooling at her side.

The kids are coming for dinner, she said as way of greeting, had already decided to pretend last night hadn’t happened, didn’t want to hear another platitude, worse, an apology.

Didn’t want to hear him at all.

She watched him pour himself a cup of coffee, despising his conciliatory pose, rushed on before he had a chance to speak. I’m only telling them about the hysterectomy.

Whatever you think is best, slick, I’ll see you tonight then, faultless.

But what had she expected? After all she’d just served him his out on a platter. She turned back to her books, her part demanding it, refused to cry when she heard him leave.

He’d offered nothing but when he left he’d taken everything.

She tried to focus on the meal ahead. Usually she loved to cook, was soothed by its rhythm, alchemy, but not today. The pictures swum in front of her, bitter, sweet, hot, cold, a nauseating complicated brew she had no stomach for.

At least she thought she was step further, one day closer but to what she couldn’t answer, the scrap of comfort skewed, unpalatable.

Indigestible.

DANIEL

Daniel slammed his car into fifth and, leaning into the bends of the road, he began to relax, enjoying the control, power of his car that carried him away from Anna.

Of course he’d seen her look of disappointment, tinge of disgust in her eyes, knew he’d hurt her more than he dared admit, but, and there it was.

But.

But. The itch he couldn’t scratch, ignore, far bigger than he pretended. He was curious, more he was fascinated to see how far he’d go, what he was capable of, one thing certain.

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

He spent the day holed up in his office counting down the hours until he couldn’t delay any longer and began the journey home.

This time the drive was slow, every kilometre bringing him closer to his house, but further from Anna, the evening ahead, he had no doubt, promised to be excruciating.

They would pretend a united front but Daniel knew the real conspiracy was his alone, the one truth he was as sure of as the road that carried him now.

Turning into the driveway he was struck, as always, by the clean beauty of the house.

Letting himself in he felt the familiar surge of pride, every inch of it an imprint ingrained in him, tactile as Braille, a feast for his eyes.

Walking into the lounge he followed the symmetry of the lines, aesthetics he could always count on, would never fail, where Anna, once central, essential to the entire tableau waited.

He stood for a moment watching her. She looked regal, her hair piled high exposing the loveliness of the curve of her neck and for a moment it almost felt nothing had changed, but targeting, articulating the moment dissolved any illusion, the myth exploding leaving him raw, exposed.

He bent awkwardly to kiss her cheek and poured himself a glass of wine from the open bottle. He would’ve preferred scotch but there’d be plenty of time for that later he thought as they waited, scrambling for shelter behind a barricade of silence, guarding their arsenal of words, already stockpiled, ready to be molded, polished into the language of blame.

ANNA

Listening to the car door slam, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot, Anna swallowed the last of her wine. She breathed deeply forcing herself to calm down, composure her disguise tonight.

James. Devon. Michael. Their voices loud, casual laughter, energy almost offensive.

Rude health.

She’d never analysed the expression before, ashamed of her unexpected jealousy she couldn’t help.

James. Devon. Michael. One, two, three, she counted as they walked into the lounge in that exact order, just as she knew they would, wondered vaguely if Michael ever challenged the hierarchy.

Daniel hurried to Devon hugging her with an intimacy Anna had never shared. Not for the first time she wished she could yank her daughter from his need that had bonded her to him from the start.

Devon. So like him with her dark, unreadable eyes. Did she know she was beautiful?

Anna felt the familiar stab of burning guilt. After all she’d been the one who’d abdicated, offered Daniel’s the lion share, Devon the sacrifice made to protect the third baby, never planned but still on his way.

But wasn’t it really true she’d done it to hide what she felt for James? James, only two then, who’d she’d loved, still did, with a fierceness she’d never felt for another living soul.

Not even Daniel.

Hadn’t she served Devon up before he could see the truth, giving him tacit permission, no questions asked, to lavish the same love on her? And wasn’t he still just as captivated by his daughter as she was with James?

James. Devon. One each. Michael scrupulously shared. Had she really been that cold, clinical? Tonight Anna would have to say the answer was yes.

She looked around the room their faces swimming before her, recoiling from the jumble of their conversation, crushed by the noise, cadence that rose and fell.

But when they finally turned to her, expectant, curious, every word of the carefully prepared script she’d practiced deserted her.

Had already joined the ranks with all the others still unsaid.

TRACETTE

I’m beginning to think that maybe being friends with Dianne isn’t such a great idea. I really like her and everything, when it’s just the two of us we have so much fun, but at school it’s awful.

It’s easy to see why the other kids don’t like her. She’s always got her cardigan on, even when it’s boiling and she has this horrible pink backpack. And it’s not even a brand.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice all these things before. She’s got to know everyone laughs at her, but she doesn’t even seem to care, which I actually think is pretty great, except now I’m worried they think I’m a loser too.

Thank god it’s nearly the holidays. I’m going away so hopefully I can figure out what to do. God I’m so mean and that makes me feel like I’ve got to be doubly nice to her and then I get really mad because she’s not even grateful. I mean if it weren’t for me she’d have no one.

I really do