The Tragedy of Eden's Gate

8 - Alone & Afraid

I thought they were my friends.

Something cold and damning crawls along my veins, like sentient roots curling around my ankles, my arms, my throat. Choking the breath from my lungs.

Sam's story, I realise, is a tragic one. The townsfolk got that right, at least. If nothing else.

"Can you remember them?" I ask softly, not wanting to accidentally coax another tornado out of him.

Outside, dark clouds swirl angrily, sending a fine mist of raindrops spraying against the windows. A gale tears leaves off branches and sends them twirling malicious spirals into the bleak sky. Overall, it's the start of a miserable day, which seems very fitting.

Sam nods stiffly, his vague eyes liquid and far away. "There were five of us. Nathan and Emily, Angela, Ryan, and me. We grew up together— same neighbourhood, sleepovers every other weekend. We did all the group projects together for school. We... we were close." He sighs heavily and messes with his hands. There's a conflict in his eyes, as though he's balancing on the precarious line between speaking about his trauma and reliving it— a look I know uncomfortably well. "It's blurry, but I remember we had just finished our exams, and we had the whole summer to look forward to. We used to come up here a lot— it was a hangout spot for loads of kids, but we were the only ones here that day."

That day. The day he lost his life; the day he became stuck here, condemned to exist in solitude. A lump forms in my throat; words of assurance piled up, ready but useless. There's nothing I can say to make this easier for him.

No wonder he's so eager to speak with me. After decades of being alone, it must be a relief to be seen and heard.

"Someone shoved me down the stairs. And they... they left me to bleed out. They didn't call for help. I died alone and afraid, and I— now I'm stuck here, and they're free out there. It... it's not fair." Sam's voice goes hard, lined with fury, and a shadow passes over his features.

Every word he speaks is a fist at my throat squeezing relentlessly. Choking the air from my lungs. It takes hold of my anguish and twists it into rage.

"Tell me about them. Everything you can," I say, grabbing my notebook. "Last names, birthdays, where they lived— everything."

He does. It takes a while, and I can't tell if he's simply lost to tainted nostalgia or cannot recall the specifics. But eventually, we build up a map of his closest friends. The people who he trusted most in the world. One of them shoved him down the stairs, and the rest left him to bleed out.

I think it's fair if my opinion of them is a little tainted.

Angela Beckett— a fiery girl who spent her time at school either cheating on tests or avoiding them completely. According to Sam, she was the sort to copy your homework and hand it in earlier than you just to watch you squirm beneath the teacher's fury. The only lesson she attended religiously was food tech, and not (as I had guessed) to steal Sam's pasta salad and claim it as her own, but because she fancied herself a cordon bleu chef. A real charmer.

Nathan Hayes— your typical school heart throb. Obsessed with football and lifting weights and dominating every room he walked in by mere presence alone. The teachers loved him, the students loved him. He had his pick of the litter in terms of friends, but he settled for Sam's little group. Maybe because he felt he could dominate them, too. He wanted to join the army, like his dad. But apparently someone wasn't keen on that idea.

That someone being Emily Jenkins— a gentle, quiet girl whose pastimes involved studying until the early hours of the morning and resorting to artificial means to stay awake during tests if only to see that perfect grade. Her dad was a priest and she — being, according to Sam, a people pleaser — felt compelled to follow in his footsteps by burning herself out with never-ending studying. She was the top of the class in every class, and hence was the main subject of Angela's sticky fingers.