[This is the last part. Back to “normal” blogging tomorrow! Go back to the start!]

A moment’s silence.

“I’m not quite sure what else I can tell you,” I say.

“I think you’ve told me plenty,” the kindly voice tells me.

I’ve been coming here for a while now. I think it’s helping. Having a safe place in which I can tell my story has certainly helped me to leave things in the past and look forwards rather than backwards.

The owner of that kindly voice is the only person who has heard my whole story as I have just finished relating it. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about that. Sometimes I feel like I should tell Alice, or my parents, or my friends; other times I feel like I should keep this all to myself just in case it makes me seem like I’ve completely lost it.

I sigh to myself.

I did completely lose it. The story I’ve just told is proof of that, surely. Even looking back on it with the benefit of hindsight as I have been, I’m still not entirely sure what was truly real and what was simply the creation of my own mind.

“It all felt so real,” I say out loud.

“Oh?” says the kindly voice.

“Yes,” I say. “It was… like I was there. Well, I was there. But not. It was like it was really happening; like I was really there with those people.”

The voice says nothing. I know by now that this is one of those times I’m supposed to figure things out for myself, but I’m not sure I have the answers. I’ve started now, though, so I can’t just leave it hanging there.

“Perhaps they were real in some respects,” I continue. “I mean, obviously Alice is, but the Alice from another world? Perhaps she was real too.”

“Go on,” says the voice, its tone soft, warm and supportive.

“Aril was obviously someone I dreamed up from somewhere,” I say. “I don’t know where from. But he… I’m not sure. He always seems to come to mind when I’m trying to be calm and rational about things.”

“Yes,” says the voice. “I’d agree, from what you’ve told me. And what do you understand by that?”

I pause and think for a moment. It’s sort of obvious, looking back on it now. Perhaps it was even obvious to me at the time.

“Aril is part of me,” I say. “He’s an aspect of myself that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with, but part I wanted to explore.”

“Go on,” says the voice.

“He’s the kind who generally stays calm and rational under pressure,” I say. “But he’s not infallible. Even he could get rattled. When I… when he thought that part of me had disappeared he wasn’t sure what to do.”

I feel silly relating that now. I didn’t go anywhere. No-one went anywhere. But for that short period, I saw things from a different perspective. It helped me to understand a little better. Perhaps that was why it happened.

“And what about the others?” says the voice. It hasn’t changed its tone.

“Alice,” I begin. “The Alice who was with me through all that… she was the things I admired about my sister. Her strength. Her confidence. Her assertiveness. Everything that I’m not.”

I pause.

“Or rather, everything that I thought I could never be,” I correct myself. “Because I’m here now, of my own free will. I’m saying these things because I want to, not because I’m being forced to. That sounds like something she’d do.”

“I’d agree,” says the voice. “And Laura?”

I consider my next words for a moment.

“Laura was what she appeared to be,” I say. “Unpredictable. Acting without reason. But reliable despite all that.”

“And what did she represent?” says the voice.

“Chaos,” I say, without hesitation. “Or rather, the ability to deal with chaos. The ability to deal with the unexpected; the ability to accept the fact that sometimes things happen beyond your control; the ability to accept that sometimes things don’t make sense.”

There was another pause. I became aware of the ticking of the clock in the corner of the office.

A sudden slamming noise. I recognize this. It’s time to finish.

I sit up and look at the face of my therapist Dr. Noakes. His face matches his voice well. He’s a middle-aged man, slightly built, with thinning grey hair and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard covering most of the bottom of his face. I went through a few therapists before I settled on Dr. Noakes here, but there was something about him that set me at ease and made me feel like I could finally tell my story.

Now that I’ve finished telling that story, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself.

“So what’s next?” I ask.

“That’s up to you,” says Dr. Noakes. “I know that being able to tell your story has probably been a big help for you. But is that all you want?”

“I–” I begin, but then trail off. I’m not quite sure what I want now.

“It’s okay,” he says with a friendly chuckle. “I don’t expect an answer now.”

That’s good, because I don’t have one to give.

“I’ll take a week or two,” I say. “Get my head together, figure out what I want and if there’s anything else I want to work on.”

I’m pretty sure there are things I would like to work on. The underlying things in my brain that led to this whole situation in the first place aren’t going to just go away overnight after all. But already, over the time I’ve been telling this story to Dr. Noakes — how long is it now? — I’ve been able to come to terms with some truths about myself that I wouldn’t have been able to accept before.

That’s good, I guess.

“Fine,” says Dr. Noakes. He extends his hand. I grasp it firmly and assertively — Other Alice would be proud of me — and shake it. “Make an appointment if or when you’re ready to come back and I’ll be happy to talk more.”

“All right,” I say. I release his hand and turn for the door. I open it.

Then I pause.

“Thanks,” I say. Then I walk out.

*

As I step out into the street, the bracing, cold air is refreshing. I start to walk.

I feel good.

It’s strange to think that way, but I’m suddenly conscious of it.

I actually feel good.

Up until now, I’ve been living my life feeling like something has constantly been pushing down on my from above. That weight on my mind made me want to hide away, to keep away from everyone and eventually led to the situation I just finished telling to Dr. Noakes. It made me want to keep my face hidden, to walk along the street staring at the floor.

But today I feel different.

Rather than turning my head downwards, I walk down the street with it held high, looking straight ahead. The streets are quiet at this time of day, but I don’t feel afraid of the few people around me; I don’t feel ashamed of myself; I don’t want to hide from them.

I know that this feeling will probably pass and that I won’t feel this good all the time. But for now I’m determined to enjoy it. I’m determined to embrace the person I am, and to move forward with my life.

I’m still faintly ashamed of what I put myself through — and of the way I treated my family — but ultimately, you can’t go back and change things that have already happened. You don’t get any do-overs, but you can get a second chance to make things right. And that’s what I intend to do.

I pull out my phone from my pocket, scroll through the address book and find my sister’s name. I tap the screen to call her, and she picks up after three rings.

“What’s up, Josh?” she says brightly.

“Nothing,” I say, a slight smile on my face.

Right then, it was true.

I became aware of being awake, though my eyes were still shut. I could tell it was dark. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep or even where I was right now. My eyelids — no, my whole body — felt heavy. I was so exhausted. I wasn’t sure if I could move.

I tried.

I couldn’t.

I groaned. That came out all right. Eventually I managed to get my eyes open. They felt like they’d been glued shut.

My body ached like I’d never felt before. I was utterly exhausted and felt like I could have probably slept for a whole lot longer. I just lay on my back and stared at the ceiling.

Images of what had happened flowed through my mind as I gazed upwards. Reality flowed into fantasy until I wasn’t sure what to believe any more. What was real? What was just the creation of my own jumbled mind? What had actually happened?

I couldn’t make sense of it.

I closed my eyes again.

I wasn’t sure if I actually fell asleep again, or if I just lay there for a while, but when I opened my eyes again I felt a little bit better, like I could move. It wasn’t easy, but I managed it.

I sat up very slowly, my back aching as I did so, and lifted my heavy-feeling legs down off the bed. They made a dull “thump” sound as they hit the floor.

I rubbed my face and took a deep breath. Then I glanced over at the clock radio, more out of habit than anything else now. Assuming those previous times I’d looked were real.

I groaned again. It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in this kind of thinking. Not now. I could think about things and make sense of it in the morning. For now — what?

I blinked a few times and the digits on the clock radio, which had been nothing but a blur to my sleep-filled eyes until now, read — of course — 2:30. I don’t know why I was expecting it to read anything other than that time.

I pushed myself off the bed and stood up unsteadily. I felt like I was waking up from a coma and learning to walk again on atrophied limbs, but I knew that wasn’t the case. It was just tiredness and exhaustion, brought about by my own stupidity.

I staggered to the door and opened it, then out onto the hallway. I knew where I was going. I’d done this lots of times before. Only this time… This time I knew for sure what I’d find.

Before I knew it, I was outside Alice’s door. I reached for the handle and was about to open it, but then reconsidered. Instead, I tapped on it three times and waited for a response. There was nothing for a moment, but then I heard the distinct sounds of movement from within, then a “click”. The faintest hint of light came out from the tiny crack beneath the door, and I heard a soft voice say “come in.”

I opened the door quietly and stepped inside. Alice had turned her bedside lamp on, and it was casting a faint glow over her corner of the room. I could see she was sitting up in bed, her back against the wall. She was holding the covers over herself so that just her head and arms were poking out. It was sort of cute, even with her bruised face. She smiled at me as I came in.

“Hey,” she said quietly. Her voice sounded cracked and dry. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” I said, sitting down at the end of the bed, not looking at her.

We were both silent for a moment. Rather than feeling awkward, though, it just felt nice to be in each other’s company, to know that neither one of us was alone.

“I don’t blame you,” she said eventually. “I really don’t. I know how guilty you must have been feeling.”

I said nothing right away. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“I’m still sorry,” I said. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

“No!” she said. “Not at all.”

I wasn’t convinced.

“I think I’m pathetic,” I said calmly. I was surprised how calmly I said it. It felt like something I should say with anger or despair, but no; it just… was. “When I got away, all I could think about was how I didn’t deserve to be the one who survived.”

“But we all survived,” she said. “No-one died.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know that now. But I didn’t at the time. I got so caught up in my own shit that I didn’t even stop to find out if you were all right or not.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s all right.”

“Is it?” I asked. “I’m not sure if I could say the same if this was the other way around.”

It was my honest opinion. I really wasn’t sure how I would feel if I had been the one put into hospital by the accident, and that a family member had all but abandoned me.

“We’re different people,” she said. “You know that. I’m not upset. I understand. I…”

She paused a moment.

“No. I don’t know how you feel,” she said. “You obviously feel like shit. And not just now. Before all this happened. I could tell that you were upset and sad and lonely, and I didn’t do anything to help. I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s not anybody’s fault.”

I knew this to be true now. Some things just happened. Some things had no reason. Some things just were. This was the essence of chaos. This didn’t mean that you didn’t have to take responsibility for things that were your fault; it just meant that certain things happened regardless of what you did. Some things happened unpredictably and without reason; they just happened.

I had no real reason to be miserable, to be suffering, to be angry at the world as I had been. But I was. It was just the way I had been built; the way that random chaos had determined that my body and mind would be put together. I had a loving family and a small but close-knit group of friends who clearly cared for me enough to talk me out of doing something really stupid. These people cared for me even though I was a self-absorbed dick.

I covered my face with my hands and let out a sob. I didn’t want to cry, and I’d been holding it back, but it burst out and wouldn’t stop. I felt Alice move on the bed next to me, then I felt her arms around me.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re going to be all right. You’re safe.”

Her words were soothing and calming, but still the tears came.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered breathlessly. “I’m so sorry,”

“Stop being sorry,” she said. “What happened happened. All we can all do is move on. I’m not mad. Mum and Dad aren’t mad. We’re just happy that everyone’s safe. These bruises will heal, and then we can all get on with our lives normally.”

“Yes,” I said. That sounded nice. It had been getting hard to remember what a “normal” life was, particularly as my delusions had continued to grow and take over my life.

I knew that the bruises and scars were not the only thing that needed to heal, though. The rational part of my mind took over and told me to calm down. I took some deep breaths. The flurry of sobs slowly came to an end and I felt like I was regaining my strength and control over my body.

“I,” I began. It was difficult to get the words out. “I.”

Alice didn’t say anything, but she continued to hold me.

“I need some help,” I whispered. Then I started to cry again. This time the emotion washed over me with such force that I collapsed onto Alice’s bed and just sobbed into her duvet. Alice pulled away before she was dragged down with me, but continued to sit by me. She rested her hand on me as I curled up like a baby on her bed and just cried and cried and cried.

Everything that had ever hurt me was coming out. Flashes of memories; repressed things from my past; images of my recent delusions. All of them swirled together and assaulted my senses. I felt like I was under attack, but at the same time it was a sweet relief to let all of these things out.

Those words I had said; I meant them. It was the first time I had admitted it to myself, much less anyone else.

I had thought I could handle life by myself. But my experiences had proven beyond a doubt that wasn’t an option for me. More than that, though, it had proven to me that it didn’t have to be that way. I didn’t have to feel bad about wanting to ask others for help. I didn’t have to get through everything on my own. I didn’t have to be lonely.

As I felt Alice’s comforting hand on my side while I continued to lie on her bed and cry, I knew that I’d taken a step forward into a new world. Not through a “gate”, but instead a new world in which I could come to terms with the person I was, and begin to heal. A world in which I wouldn’t have to be alone, and wouldn’t have to be afraid any more.

The word hit me like a bolt of lightning. It excited and terrified me.

My name. How long had it been since someone had said my name? How long had it been since someone had actually acknowledged my existence, since someone had shown that they had the slightest idea who I was, since someone had shown me that I mattered to someone out there? There it was. My “weak connection” to this world, strengthened once again with just a single word.

“Joshua,” she said again. “Please.”

I knew it was selfish. I knew that I didn’t deserve to be liked, loved, respected, acknowledged. I knew that it was better for everyone if I just faded into obscurity, to be forgotten. What I did was not something you can forgive; everything I felt from that point on was my fault, my punishment.

“Joshua,” she said again. I could have sworn I heard another voice along with hers, but there was no-one else around in this eerie scene.

Or was there? I looked over my shoulder again to check, but sure enough, there was only Alice.

Aril and Laura and Alice were asking me to come to terms with so much. To accept that what had happened wasn’t my fault, that it was the fault of chaos; the fault of random chance; the fault of no-one. There was no-one to blame, least of all me, and that there was nothing I could have done differently.

But that wasn’t true. I could have done something differently. I could have stayed with them. I could have waited in that wreckage rather than fleeing like a coward. I could have called for help. I could have done something to save them. Instead, I chose to look out only for myself, and the guilt was tearing me apart.

“Joshua,” she said again. Every time she said it, I felt stronger. Every time she said it, it felt like more voices were adding themselves to hers, but still I could see no-one; still I was unaware of any other presences.

And where were they now? I thought. What was the result of my running away? I had escaped that horrific situation, and to what end? I had just assumed that they–

I had just assumed–

I had believed–

I didn’t even know if they were alive or… dead.

Tears came to my eyes as this thought occurred to me. My selfishness really knew no bounds. I had been so wrapped up in my own personal self-pitying that I hadn’t once tried to find out whether or not they were still alive, whether someone had been able to save them, whether my guilt was justified.

My parents. Alice. They had taken the brunt of the damage from the crash, but somehow I had walked away from it. Didn’t it stand to reason that they, too, might be able to pull through?

“Joshua!” came Alice’s voice again. Once more, it felt like she wasn’t alone.

I thought back to my ride home with the stranger, and seeing the ambulance’s blue flashing lights marking the site of my sin. How had that ambulance got there so quickly? How had someone known that it had happened? How did–

Was this, too, the work of chaos? Random chance? Things happening without a reason? And if so, was it possible that, as much as it had the power to destroy lives and take away precious things, it also had the power to save?

“Joshua,” said Alice’s voice. It seemed softer this time, but full of warmth. There seemed to be echoes, repeating her words after she’d said it. “Joshua. Joshua. Joshua.”

Dammit. What was this?

Did I really want this? Would the pain really go away if I jumped?

I looked down into the murky depths below. It would be so easy to just let go. It would be so easy to just leave this all behind. But–

“Joshua, please don’t do this,” said Alice’s voice. It sounded different. Weaker. Weary. Scared. But unmistakably still her. “Joshua, please. I’m here. It’s all right. I’m here. And so are–”

I looked over my shoulder again.

Alice was standing there, but not the Alice who had been there a moment before. This Alice was bruised and battered, with stitches and bandages on her face. This Alice was wearing some baggy, loose-fitting clothing that was easy to put on. This Alice was holding herself up on a pair of crutches and looking absolutely exhausted.

“Alice?” I said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “Is that really–”

Time seemed to stand still. Could this really be–

“Yes,” she said. “It’s really me. Please look at me. Please see. Please understand. Please come back to me — back to us.”

Us?

I looked at Alice. Her eyes were full of tears and she looked like she would keel over at any moment. I twisted my body and turned around atop the barrier to look at her more closely, but I didn’t step down — not yet. I needed to understand for sure.

“Joshua,” she said. “You don’t need to do this.”

As I looked at her, the ominous dark mist surrounding us seemed to lift slightly, and colour seemed to slowly fill the world, as if someone was adjusting the controls on a television. As the world — my world — gradually came back into focus, I could tell that Alice was not alone. Flanking her on either side were two figures in wheelchairs, and behind them was a small group of people. A group of people whom I thought I recognised.

A group of people who had had my back all along. A group of people to whom I had reached out for help. A group of people who–

“Joshua,” she said again. “You see us, don’t you? All of us.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Joshua,” came my mother’s tired-sounding voice from one of the wheelchairs either side of Alice. “Please come down.”

“Joshua,” came my father’s voice from the other side. “Don’t do this.”

As they spoke, my vision became clearer still, and I saw that the figures either side of my sister were indeed my parents. They looked even more bruised and broken than my sister, but they were still fighting on. Chaos hadn’t taken them; chaos had, perhaps, saved them.

Tears came to my eyes again.

“Oh, God,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Those two words weren’t enough. But within them was everything I’d been holding inside. My guilt at leaving them behind. My lack of concern for them. My focus on myself. My shutting out of everyone dear to me, and my embracing of a world that was full of self-inflicted horrors; but a world that was mine.

I wailed, and stepped down off the barrier. I couldn’t stop the tears. I sank to my knees before my sister and parents, and cried. I cried, and cried, and cried. It didn’t feel like it would ever stop. It felt like my soul was pouring out of me; like my very life force was flowing out of my tear ducts and plopping onto the pavement. It was exhausting, but refreshing at the same time, because I knew that these tears were not for an ending; they were for a beginning.

I heard a “clack, clack, clack” sound as Alice hobbled over on her crutches to me, and I became aware of being surrounded. I felt a hand on the top of my head and one on either shoulder. The feeling gave me a sense of comfort.

I was home.

*

Joshua blacked out, but he was all right — just exhausted. We decided to take him home. One of his friends from college had picked us up from the hospital in his car, so we loaded him into the middle seat at the back and put our parents either side of him, with their wheelchairs folded up and put in the boot. I sat in the front.

“So,” I said, turning to his friend, a guy with messy brown hair and glasses. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“I can’t say for sure,” he said in a low voice. “But we didn’t see him for a few days. We just thought he was ill. But then we heard about your accident, and we got worried. We tried to go over and visit him, but he wouldn’t let anyone in. The lights were all off in the house, but we knew he was home — some of us wandered past and just looked in on him occasionally, and we saw him through the windows sometimes. But he still wouldn’t see anyone.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. I winced as one of my bruises throbbed a bit.

“Then a couple of days ago, he came to us,” he said. “He just wandered in like a zombie, said nothing, gave us a piece of paper and then ran away. Hang on.”

He fumbled in his chest pocket and withdrew a crumpled, ragged-looking piece of paper.

“He gave us this,” he said.

I unfolded the scrap of paper and looked at the words on it. A couple of lines down I started to cry.

“Yeah,” said Joshua’s friend. “Pretty intense stuff, huh.”

The note was like a confession and a suicide note all in one. He felt sorry to be alive — what a horrible way to feel! — and just wanted the pain to go away. The note ended with his plans to be at the bridge, and asked anyone reading it to come at the time he’d written and stop him. It had ended with just one word.

“HELP.”

“What does it say?” asked my mother from the back seat. I turned around and looked at them. It looked like Joshua was sleeping soundly, so I passed the crumpled note to her. Within a moment she was in tears, too, as was my father, who was reading over her shoulder.

He’d been in pain. A different kind of pain to what we’d been feeling, but still pain. He’d been blaming himself for what happened to us when really it was no-one’s fault at all. He’d been feeling guilty for running away from what must have been a horrible sight. He’d started to think he didn’t deserve to be alive. That must have been awful. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt.

I’d always been a bit harsh towards my brother in the past, as he’d always been a bit of a loner and didn’t have many friends besides the group who’d shown up today. But I could tell now that he needed help and support, not a little sister taking the piss.

I hoped I could help him feel safe. I probably wouldn’t be able to do it by myself, but I hoped that I could at least play a part in his recovery. I didn’t want him to feel that lonely again.

I felt I was getting closer to a resolution. I knew after the experience I’d just had that I wasn’t going to see Aril again.

I understood now.

My door opened. Alice walked in.

“Are you all right?” she said. “I had a bad feeling.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, uncharacteristically calmly.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Silence fell between us. I looked at her.

Alice. My sister. My little sister. She shouldn’t be here, and yet here she was, standing before me as if it was perfectly natural. I knew that she couldn’t really be here, and I was starting to question everything I’d experienced.

But for now, she was here. Looking at me. Her eyes were on me, and right now it felt as if they were looking right through my body and into my soul.

“What?” I asked. Her constant gaze was starting to make me feel a bit uncomfortable. Still she stared.

“Come with me,” she said. “I need to show you something.” She reached out her hand.

I took it.

The static sound again, and my room was gone.

Once again, I was back on the bridge, standing in the middle of the road. Alice was in front of me. She was within arm’s reach, but she’d never felt so far away.

“Why are we here again?” I asked.

“Again?” she said.

“Yes, again,” I said. “I seem to keep coming back here.”

“Perhaps it means something,” she said, mysteriously, but didn’t elaborate. She just turned away from me to face the side of the bridge. I had a bad feeling.

I wanted to walk towards her, but found myself rooted to the spot. I just watched as she took a step forward, then another. She looked like she was in a trance.

“Alice,” I said.

“Yes?” she asked, turning her head to face me. She stopped walking.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Bringing this to an end,” she said. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“No,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said. “I know you want to put all this behind you and move on.”

The bad feeling got worse. I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.

“No, I…” I began. She turned away and took another step towards the edge of the bridge. She had come to the side of the road and was about to step onto the pavement.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Stop,” I said, meekly.

She did so, and her head turned to face me again.

“Why?” she asked.

I said nothing. I couldn’t think of an answer. Why should she stop? I had no right to control her.

She turned away again, and took another step forward. Now she was on the pavement.

“Stop,” I said again, a little more strongly than before. Again she stopped, and turned to me.

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because I don’t want you to,” I said.

“That’s not true,” she said. “You want this to end. You want me out of your life.”

“No,” I said.

Again she turned away, and again she took another step. By now she was at the barrier at the side of the bridge, and I knew that if I made any more mistakes she’d be mounting the barrier and possibly–

“Stop!” I said forcefully. Again she did so; again her head turned to face me.

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because this isn’t how I want it to end,” I said.

She smiled.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said.

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Alice was replaced by Laura. She leaned back against the barrier of the bridge and grinned at me with an expression that made my skin crawl. This wasn’t the Laura I knew — or was it?

“Say it again,” she said.

“This isn’t how I want it to end,” I said again without hesitation. “This isn’t the way it should end.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not right!” I asked. “There’s no reason to it!”

“No, there’s not,” she said. She didn’t elaborate.

I wanted to walk towards her and — I didn’t know what I’d do when I got to her. But it was irrelevant; still my feet were rooted to the floor, and all I could do was watch.

There was no reason to all this. There was no reason to what had happened. There was no reason as to why I was the one who was still alive and yet–

“No, there’s not,” she’d said.

Wait. Was this…

“Chaos,” I muttered under my breath.

“Good!” said Laura, giving me a condescending slow clap as she walked towards me.

“I’ll beat you,” I said, not entirely convincingly.

“You’ll beat me?” she — it? — said with a mocking tone in her voice. “You’ll beat me? You’re the one who brought me here.”

I was stunned into silence for a moment. What was she talking about?

“But you’re Laura,” I said. “Aren’t you?”

“And who is Laura?” she asked. She’d walked right up to me by now, and pressed her body against mine. It was an exciting sensation that made my skin tingle, but I couldn’t think about that now. “Who is this girl?”

She stepped back and gestured at her body with a rather grand flourish.

“Who is Laura?” she asked again. “Who is this girl so precious to you?”

“She’s–” I stopped and amended my statement, though I didn’t know what was accurate any more. “You’re my friend. My only friend.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, a smile creeping up the corners of her mouth again.

“Yes,” I said, though my voice made it plenty clear that I wasn’t really sure.

“How did we meet?” she asked, moving close to me, putting her face right in front of mine. I could lean forward and kiss her right now if I wanted to.

“What?” I said.

“I said, how did we meet?” she said. “If I’m so precious to you, surely you must remember that.”

I looked into her eyes. My skin crawled again, but at the same time I felt excited. A combination of fear and eroticism that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but–

“I don’t remember,” I whispered. It was true. It had been bothering me, recently, and there was apparently no sense in hiding anything from Laura, or whatever this thing that looked like her, was.

“No,” she said. “You don’t. Do you know why?”

She leaned her head over my shoulder and whispered into my ear.

“There is no reason,” she whispered.

Suddenly, she was gone from next to me, and standing in the middle of the road again. I swallowed.

“There’s no reason,” I repeated.

It was starting to make a twisted sort of sense. Why all this was happening. What Aril, and Laura, and Alice all wanted from me — or, more accurately, what I wanted from them.

“There is no reason,” I said again. Was that true? Could I accept that fact?

“Yes,” she said.

“There is no reason,” I repeated, like a mantra. “There is no reason. There is no reason. There is no reason!”

“There is no reason for what?” she asked finally.

I closed my eyes, and felt tears welling up in them. I took several deep breaths; in, out; in, out. I shivered and clenched my fists. Then I opened my eyes and stared at Laura — or whatever she really was.

“There is no reason that I’m the one who was able to walk away while Alice and my parents didn’t,” I said after a pause that felt like it was years in length.

“That’s right,” she said in a low voice, walking towards me. She grabbed my collar. “There is no reason. That is the essence of chaos. And that is what you are coming to understand. Am I wrong?”

Was she right? Was there really no reason? Was it just fate? No, that’s a reason. Destiny? No; another word for fate. Luck? Perhaps. Karma? No.

Chaos?

“Yes, you see it now,” she said in a harsh whisper. “There is no reason. You can work and work and work to be the best you can be, but still there are times when everything is beyond your control. Times when you cannot predict the future. Times when everything seems without reason. Those times really are without reason. That is chaos. That is the way of the world. That is what you need to accept.”

I closed my eyes.

I could see it. The smashed, mangled wreckage. The broken window through which I made my escape.

The bodies.

I was the one who had survived. I was the one who had escaped. Was that enough? Would that take away the guilt I felt?

I had left them behind. What I’d done was unforgivable. I’d left them to–

I opened my eyes again. Both Laura and Alice were standing before me, both oddly expressionless.

My body was still motionless, but something was different. Could I move?

I took a step forward. Yes, I could.

I turned towards the barrier on the bridge and walked forward. I stopped after a couple of steps and looked over my shoulder at Alice and Laura. They were still standing completely motionless, staring into the distance.

Whatever Laura, Chaos, or whatever she was had said, I wasn’t sure I could accept her words. I couldn’t just eradicate my guilt by accepting that “shit happens,” which is basically what she was saying.

The accident may have been the work of random chance — of chaos — but my response to it was not.

A sudden flash of light. I glanced over my shoulder and Laura was no-longer there. Alice still stood staring into the distance, though. I turned back to the barrier. Just moments earlier I’d been watching Alice walking slowly towards this barrier; now it was my turn. Something was trying to push me over the edge here. Literally.

I felt myself climbing up onto the barrier — by now, my body felt like it was moving on autopilot. I stood on the side and once again looked down into the murky black miasma below.

I wouldn’t be coming back from that. There would be no return from it.

Should I?

I weighed up my options, feeling oddly rational about the whole thing. I pictured Aril’s face in my mind as I contemplated.

If I fell now, no-one would mourn me. There was no-one left to mourn me. My parents and sister were — well, I’d left them behind, and that guilt stayed with me, making me feel physically sick.

On the other hand, something else was telling me that if I fell now, there would be no answers, no resolution. Just an ending from which there would be no return.

Did I want that? It was certainly the easy option. Was it worth sticking around to try and find those answers, though? Did they even exist? Or was this another example of Laura’s — Chaos’ — “there are no reasons”?

I didn’t know.

That loneliness I felt constantly kept gnawing at me, though. That feeling that if I were to jump right now and never be seen again, no-one would know; no-one would care.

“What makes you think that?” said Alice’s voice softly behind me. I held on to the bridge support and looked over my shoulder. She was facing me. “I care.”

“Do you?” I asked. “Do you care?”

“Yes,” she said. “I care.”

“Then prove it,” I said.

“How?” she said.

“Say it,” I said. “You saved me once before by saying it. Say it again.”

There was a pause, and she looked down at the floor. I swallowed.

She looked back up at me, her eyes wide.

“Joshua,” she said.

I ran.

I kept running. Into the night. I didn’t know where I was going. All I knew was that I needed to be as far away from that horrifying sight as possible.

I ran. The cold night air whipped past my face; it stung, and made my eyes water, mingling with the tears that were falling from pure fear.

I ran.

I stumbled.

I fell.

I lay on the ground, just staring at the night sky. I didn’t know how far I’d run, or how long I’d been running for. I was still in the middle of nowhere, though, but right now I didn’t care. I was scared; my body was in “fight or flight” mode, but everything hurt too much to go any further.

A piercing sound shattered the silence of the night. I jumped. It took me a moment to identify the source of the sound as my phone in my pocket, which had somehow survived everything that had happened unscathed.

Uneasily, I pulled the phone out of my pocket. I glanced at the screen. It was 2:30 in the morning, and a number I didn’t recognise was calling me.

Who was it? I didn’t want to answer, but I figured if someone was calling at this hour, it was probably important. Perhaps it was–

“Hello?” I said in a cracked voice, tapping the option to answer the call.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” came a voice on the other end of the phone. I didn’t recognise it. It was speaking urgently. “But I’m afraid I have something you need to hear right now.”

“What is it?” I said breathlessly. I felt like I had just run a marathon. Perhaps I had.

“There’s been an accident,” said the voice. “Involving your family. We need you to–”

I didn’t hear the rest. I took the phone away from my ear, and the horrifying realisation of what I had done crept up on me.

I had been in an accident with the rest of my family, for whom it might already be too late, and instead of trying to help them… instead of trying to help them, I had just run away.

Why had I done that?

Fear, I guessed, but it didn’t make me feel any better. The fact was, they were lying there in that wreckage, and somehow, miraculously, here I was, all but unscathed — physically, at least — and I had done nothing. Nothing at all.

I’m an awful person, I thought. I am the worst person in the entire world. My family have never done anything but support me and look after me, even in my most difficult times, and when they needed me, I just turned my back and ran away. I am an awful person. I am weak. I am terrible.

Guilt flooded my body. I felt it creeping in through my skin; it was a horrific, crawling sensation, like a million insects had burrowed into my flesh and were now working their way through my body. I scratched my arms, but the sensation didn’t go away.

I threw up, and just lay there breathlessly looking at the pool of my own vomit for a moment. I became aware that there was still a sound coming from the phone.

I pressed the button and hung up. I didn’t deserve to hear it.

*

Eventually, I walked back to the road and managed to flag down a passing motorist. My disheveled state caused them to take pity on me and give me a lift home. As it happened, we weren’t far out, and the late-night driver was going the right way.

We passed the blue flashing lights of an ambulance as we drove through the dark night. I turned away, my heart hurting.

“Whew, that looks nasty,” said my companion. “Hope whoever was involved in that is all right.”

I shivered. I was involved in that, and I was all right, but–

“Mm,” I said absently, trying not to let my voice betray my guilt.

The drive continued in silence for a while. Apparently my companion didn’t like to listen to the radio.

“So, what were you doing out here by yourself at this time of night?” he asked eventually.

“Car broke down,” I said, trying not to let my voice shake. “Just want to get home.” I’d worked out the story before he asked it. I hoped it was convincing.

“Ugh, bad luck for you,” he said. “You don’t have breakdown cover?”

“No,” I said. “I’ll get it sorted tomorrow.”

Silence fell again.

“Thanks for this,” I said, grateful for the kindness of this stranger.

Kindness I didn’t deserve.

*

When I finally got home, I thanked the stranger again and watched him drive off into the night. I unlocked the door, went inside and went straight up to my room. I lay face down on my bed and just cried.

At some point I fell asleep, because when I raised my head again, light was starting to come in through the window. A new day was beginning, for some of us anyway. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

I groaned and sat up. I retrieved my phone from my pocket. The battery had gone flat at some point during the journey home, so I plugged it in to the charger. Nothing happened for a moment — it normally took a few minutes for it to get enough charge to do anything if it was completely flat.

Last night felt like a bad dream. Perhaps it was a bad dream.

I staggered to my feet and stood up. I looked in the mirror and saw that my face was filthy. I turned away, and walked out. I looked in on my parents’ room, and there was no-one there; it was made up exactly as if it was expecting its occupants to come home any moment. I looked in on my sister’s room — it, too, was made up perfectly, as if nothing was wrong.

But something was terribly, terribly wrong. These rooms wouldn’t see their occupants again.

There was no way.

It was impossible.

Not after what I’d done.

I went back to my room. The phone had sucked up enough charge to turn itself back on, and I saw that there were ten missed calls, all from the same number that had phoned me last night. There was a voicemail message, too.

I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it.

*

I opened my eyes, and I found myself standing on the barrier at the side of the bridge. Aril was still leaning on the pillar behind me. He looked bored.

I looked down. The water below still looked like a swirling black mass of evil. One part of me just wanted to cast myself into that abyss and never be seen again; the other knew that was a terrible idea.

That other part of me was standing behind me, looking bored.

“You’re not going to jump,” he said calmly.

“Why?” I asked.

“You already know why,” he said. “You know perfectly well why.”

“But it was my fault!” I said.

“Was it?” he asked, his voice still infuriatingly calm and rational.

“Of course it was!” I cried. “I left them behind. I left them to… to die.”

“Oh?” he said. I was facing the other way, but I could tell from the tone of his voice that he’d probably raised an eyebrow. “And if you’d stayed, what would you have done?”

“I…” I trailed off.

What would I have done?

I had no answer.

“Exactly,” he said. “Now come on down.”

I thought about what he had said. Silence hung over us. Time seemed to stand still.

“No,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I don’t deserve to live,” I said.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because I’m the one who walked away,” I said. “And I’m the one who has least to offer. I’m pathetic. I’m nothing. I’m worthless. No-one cares.”

“Is that true?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I have you. I have Laura. I have Alice. Like I said before. But it’s not enough. None of this is real. None of you are real. I can’t accept this. I can’t go on like this.”

“Now you’re starting to understand,” he said. His voice hadn’t raised once during this whole conversation, while I wanted to scream and shout everything I said. It infuriated me, but not because he was being condescending; it infuriated me because I knew he was right.

I turned around carefully, and stepped down off the barrier. Aril showed no sign of relief or exasperation. He just looked at me.

“Good,” he said. “I think I’m done here.”

He extended his hand to me. I took it. He shook my hand once, then my vision filled with a bright white light. It blinded me and disoriented me. My skin seemed to tingle. Something indescribable felt… different. I couldn’t describe it.

The sensation soon passed, and I felt a rushing of wind — or did I? I wasn’t sure what was real any more — and eventually the light faded.

When my eyes recovered from the brilliance of the shining white light, I was standing in my bedroom. It was dark. I glanced at the clock radio.

2:30.

I stood up and looked around. All was quiet and peaceful. I was disoriented. I couldn’t tell whether it was night or day; whether I had just woken up or if I was hallucinating. I glanced over to where the clock radio should be, but the display was blank.

There was a momentary sound like radio static, and the surroundings of my bedroom disappeared, only to be replaced by the empty, darkened corridors of the college.

No-one was here. I could see a hint of daylight off in the distance, but no evidence that anyone was alive; no evidence that this building had not been abandoned for years.

The static sound again; this time, the corridors were replaced by the darkened, foul-smelling innards of the long-forgotten supermarket. There was no-one here, either, and the stench of the spoiled food was overpowering.

Static again; this time a place I’d passed by many times before but hadn’t given a second thought — the bridge over the river on the way from my house to the centre of town.

I stood still, waiting for the static sound and another sudden shift, but it didn’t come.

There was a dark mist in the air, though looking up at the sky I could tell it was still daytime. There were no cars on the street, though, and not a soul to be seen in any direction.

I was standing in the middle of the road, a place I’d passed many times before in Laura’s car or on the bus but had barely noticed at all. I walked over to the edge of the bridge and looked down. It was a long drop into the water below. The water didn’t look normal, either; it seemed to be a swirling mass of darkness from which there’d be no return if you jumped.

I shivered slightly. The thought of jumping off this bridge had never even occurred to me in the past, but now it was at the forefront of my mind, as if someone was urging me on to mount the barriers at the side of the road and just let myself fall.

“No,” I said, even though there was no-one to hear me. My voice sounded very hollow and lifeless in the empty surroundings.

Was this Alice’s world? It certainly fit the description. There was no-one around, and there was an almost palpable aura of loneliness about the place. I imagined my sister walking these streets by herself, that defiant expression on her face, and I felt a tear fall from my eye.

The silent urging to leap into the miasma below continued in the back of my mind. I ignored it.

“No,” I said again. “No!” I shouted, louder. “No!” I cried. My voice echoed in the empty streets.

The static sound again, and suddenly I was sitting back in the cinema next to Laura, who looked completely engrossed in the film. I gasped, and she turned to face me in surprise.

“You okay?” she said. “It’s not THAT exciting.”

I looked around. There was no evidence that I’d been anywhere. Was all that in my head?

“Yeah,” I said, “No, I’m… I’m just going to step out for a moment.”

I made my excuses, walked out into the lobby and headed for the bathroom. The lights were on and the staff were standing around looking bored, but there didn’t seem to be any other members of the public here. It was quiet and peaceful, but not the lonely sort of deserted in the landscapes I’d just seen.

I entered the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I had bags under my eyes, and my face was pale. I looked ill. I felt ill.

I ran the cold tap for a little while and washed my hands, then splashed the cold water on my face. The experience I’d just had meant that I wasn’t quite sure if I was asleep or awake, so this was a vain attempt to figure it out. It didn’t help.

I sighed and looked at myself again, staring deep into my own tired-looking eyes.

“This is getting too much,” I said. “This needs to end.”

“I quite agree,” said Aril, stepping out of one of the toilet cubicles. I jumped and turned to face him.

“Jesus,” I said, my pulse racing. I wasn’t sure how many more frights I could take today. “What are you… actually, no, I’m not sure I want to know.”

Aril ignored me. “You want this to end, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“And you’re starting to figure some things out, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. It was true. Though there were almost as many unanswered questions as there were things I was starting to get a handle on.

“Then we need to start preparing for the end,” he said.

“The end?” I asked. He was being mysterious, and I didn’t like the… finality of the words he was using.

“Yes,” he said. “The end. If you want this to end, it makes sense that you need to prepare for the end, right?” He sounded exasperated.

“Oh,” I said. “Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”

He sniffed and scratched his cheek.

“The only way you can reach an answer is by yourself,” he said. “Alice and I are here to support you, but that last step has to be yours alone.”

“Uh,” I said. I didn’t really know exactly what “step” he was referring to.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he said.

“No,” I said. “I’m not sure I do.”

“Are you sure about that?” said Aril. “Think about what you’ve experienced today.”

I thought back over what had happened. I had no idea what was real and what was just in my mind any more. Everything overlapped and blended into each other like wet paints on a canvas. Only there wasn’t a clear picture forming; just a mass of colours, none of which made any sense, and none of which seemed more “right” than others.

I contemplated the feelings I had experienced on the bridge. A strong, hard to resist urge to launch myself into the dark miasma of the river below, perhaps never to be seen again. Something was telling me to do that, but at the same time, part of myself felt like it was holding me back, that it would be a terrible idea.

“Think,” said Aril. “You’re getting somewhere.”

I pictured the bridge.

Suddenly, the static sound again, and I was there, standing in the middle of the road. Aril was leaning against one of the pillars at the side, gazing at me nonchalantly.

“Right,” he said. “Now what?”

I said nothing and looked around. Aril was the only soul around; the only movement in any direction.

“Do you want to jump?” he said.

“No,” I said immediately.

“Why not?” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Or did I?

I thought about this for a moment, and walked to the side again. I looked over the barrier, and down to the water below, which still looked like an evil black miasma rather than normal water.

I knew in my heart that if I jumped into there, I wouldn’t be coming back.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“I’ll ask again,” he said. “Do you want to jump?”

“No,” I said.

“You sound pretty sure,” he said. “Why not?”

I thought as hard as I could. Why didn’t I want to jump? Why didn’t I just want to disappear? It would be so much easier if I just wasn’t here any more. After all, no-one needed me. No-one cared about me. I was all alone. I had nothing, and no-one.

I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind.

When I opened them again, I saw things a little differently.

“No,” I said out loud, knowing that Aril had been listening to my thoughts. “That’s not true at all, is it?”

“You tell me,” said Aril.

“It’s not true that no-one needs me,” I said. “It’s not true that no-one cares about me. I have you. And Alice. And Laura.”

“Is that enough?” he asked.

“No,” I said. The sudden, natural response that came out of my mouth without me having to even think about it surprised me. “No, it’s not enough.”

“And why not?” he asked.

“Because,” I said. “Because none of this is real, is it? You’re not really here. I’m not really here. Alice isn’t really here. All of this is some deranged fantasy conjured up by that chaos beast, whatever it is, and it’s driving me crazy!”

I started to shout, and I could feel my cheeks getting hot as I became angry.

Was I really being toyed with like this? Was everything that I had experienced so far a lie? It certainly didn’t feel like it, but something in my mind was telling me that it was true.

“Oh, we’re here all right,” he said, a slight note of menace in his voice. “But perhaps you still have a little way to go before you completely understand the situation.”

“What?” I asked. “What don’t I understand yet? What is to understand? This is chaos we’re talking about! Chaos! Its very nature is that it is unpredictable and difficult to understand! It’s irrational! It doesn’t make any sense! And I’m sick of it!”

Aril smiled at me.

“Let me ask you a question,” he said. “What is it that you want?”

I just stared at him, my fists still clenched from my previous outburst.

“What?” I asked.

“What is it that you want?” he repeated. “What is your desire, right now? What do you want to do? Where do you want to be? What, more than anything, do you want to happen?”

“I want…” I paused and considered this for a moment. What did I want?

The answer came quickly.

*

It was dark. The low murmur of the guy talking about some play on the radio was putting me to sleep — particularly when coupled with the hum of the engine and the pattering of the rain on the windscreen and the roof. It was fairly peaceful, but the back seat wasn’t very comfortable and I was starting to feel my usual sensation of travel sickness. I wasn’t sure when I started getting it, but it was always unpleasant. It just made me want to curl up in a corner and groan, and that’s not really practical when you’re sitting in the back of a car — not least because my mother usually told me to sit up, and also because Alice was sitting on the other side of the back seat, sound asleep. I doubted she’d have appreciated my head in her lap. I was pretty sure she’d only been dragged along on this trip to pick me up because my mother was paranoid about leaving her in the house by herself.

I closed my eyes. The car gave an occasional bump on uneven parts of the road, but the motion was mostly fairly relaxing.

“So, did you have a good time?” I heard my mother’s voice saying. “You look exhausted. Hope you didn’t spend all your time drinking and carousing.”

“No,” I grunted, in a vain attempt to try and close off the conversation before it began. I really wasn’t in the mood.

“So what was the best bit?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “It was all pretty fun.”

I was going to think back on what had occurred over the last few days, but the bubbling feeling in my stomach wasn’t going away, so I just found myself thinking about that. Thinking about it didn’t help, of course, since focusing on it just made the feelings worse. The more conscious I was of them, the more I thought I was going to throw up. I tried to think about something — anything — else.

“Oh, come on, Jan,” said my father slightly irritably. “Can’t you see he’s knackered? Let him rest. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I’m sure we can talk about it in the morning.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” said my mother in a mock-flustered tone, as if she had somehow offended me with her questions. “I’ll shut up.”

My father didn’t rise to her bait, and instead turned the radio up. Whatever it was the voice was talking about was terribly boring, but I was thankful for the distraction — both for my own gurgling stomach and from my mother’s incessant questioning. She never did quite know when to stop.

A few minutes passed, and no-one except the droning bore on the radio said anything. I was aware of Alice stirring beside me, but she didn’t wake up. Eventually the programme came to an end, and it was time for the news. The radio gave the distinctive “pips” that signalled it was on the hour, and the newsreader announced that it was two o’ clock in the morning. I didn’t really listen to the bulletin; the smooth, soothing voice of the female newsreader washed over me and made me relax.

Patterns swirled behind my eyes. I recognised this as a sure sign I was tired. I knew that if I opened my eyes again, those patterns would still be there; hypnotic, washing over my vision. I focused on them, trying to make sense of them, and felt my consciousness slowly, gradually drifting away. I was falling asleep at last. Hopefully by the time I woke up again, we’d be home and I could just get into bed.

I don’t know how long I slept for, but I was awoken with a start by a sudden noise. It was my mother screaming. My eyes snapped open, but it took a moment for me to figure out what was going on. My mother was frantically grabbing for the steering wheel and there, in the driver’s seat, where my father should have been… was no-one at all. At least, that’s what it seemed like.

I blinked, and he was back again, wrestling with the wheel. But it was too late. The car was in a skid, and it was heading for the barrier at the side of the road. I didn’t know what was beyond it as it was still dark, but I had a bad feeling. I looked over at Alice, who was fully awake, and staring at me with absolute terror in her eyes.

The car, which was still moving at a fair speed, crashed straight through the barrier and into the blackness beyond. I felt the world spin sideways, and I knew that there was a drop beyond the barrier. I didn’t know how big it was or how long we would fall, but I knew that we were probably not coming back from it.

My stomach felt like it was in my mouth as the car went into freefall, still spinning and rolling in the air. The world felt like it was in slow motion. I wanted to look around, to work out what was going on, but I couldn’t — I was being thrown around too much.

I couldn’t hear anything. I was sure my mother, father and sister were both screaming in terror at the inevitable fate that seemed to await us, but somehow everything seemed to be muted; a silent, frightening world with no future.

The last sounds I heard were shattering glass, crumpling metal and the sickening crunch of bones.

I blacked out.

I don’t know how long I was out for, but I woke up. And somehow, miraculously, despite the devastation around me, I was fine.

I crawled out of the shattered window.

And I ran.