‘James!’ she calls. ‘It’s on child-lock!’
The realisation hits Seth just before it does Kirsten, and he puts his forehead in his hands. She doesn’t understand his reaction, and then all of a sudden she does.
The memory comes back to her like a swift punch to the stomach, slams her back into her seat, takes all the air out of her lungs. She sees it as if she is back in that moment, that terrible moment, when the light went out of her life. A moment so long buried in her subconscious you’d think it would be decayed in some way, but it’s not. It’s cruelly vivid and so clear that Kirsten can taste the colours.
She is playing a game with her twin brother on an emerald lawn in the front garden of a pretty little house. She remembers the building: rough ivory paint that scratched your skin if you brushed up against it, curlicue burglar bars in the windows, cracked slasto leading up to a light blue (lemongrass-smelling?) front door. A brittle little letterbox on a pole with two red numbers on it (Lollipop)… red means two, so maybe it was 22? The garden was bursting with colour, enough to make Kirsten giddy.
The sun was shining brightly but it was uncharacteristically cold that day, and they were dressed in warm boots and brightly coloured jackets: peppermint for Sam and mandarin for her. Her mother – her real mother – is leaning on the doorframe, watching them. She is pale and slim in a charcoal polo neck. She has her gardening apron on, and dirty gloves. A smear of soil on her cheek. Young, beautiful, with a long, thick braid of red hair. Kirsten gives her a toothy grin, and she responds with a smile and a thumbs-up. The phone rings from inside the house, and her mother peels off her gloves and goes to answer it.
Despite the warmth of the jacket, the skin on her hands is red when she looks down at them. Sam passes her something: a toy horse. No, a little pony, pink with a grubby white mane and tail. One of his action figures astride. A Thundercat. She zooms the pony over the grass and makes the appropriate sound effects; laughs. Sam doesn’t smile. Something has caught his attention in the street and he looks past her, frowning. He stands up on his chubby legs, toy still in hand, held against his round stomach.
A black combi has pulled up and all of a sudden there is a blonde-haired little boy right there, on their pavement. He seems only slightly older than they are. He beckons to them with his hands, his sweet face promising something fun and exciting. She babbles excitedly, starts to go towards him, but Sam puts his hand on her shoulder, wanting to hold her back. He looks at the boy and then back at the house, for his mother, but the doorframe is empty. Kirsten keeps walking and is soon beside the rosy-cheeked stranger. Sam calls out: ‘Kitty!’ and runs to catch up with her.
As he reaches the walkway beside the combi, the door slides open and a giant man swoops over them and there are meaty forearms squeezing the air out of them. Before they know what has happened they are struggling in the car. The other boy, stricken, is shouted at and jumps in last, and the door is slammed shut. From light to darkness, like that. Like that, the light in her heart went out. Nothing but darkness and a shocked wail in her ears. She realises the wailing is coming from her. In the dim interior she sees the blonde-haired beckoner also crying, his face contorted with silent tears.
The face she knows so well. James.
THE ULTIMATE BLOODLESS REVOLUTION
36
Johannesburg, 2021
James opens the sliding door, flooding the car with light. Dust motes dance in the white air. Inspector Mouton stands beside him, gun drawn and pointed at the twins.
‘Is that necessary?’ James demands, anger gravelling his voice.
Mouton ignores him.
‘Come with us,’ Mouton says to Kirsten and Seth. ‘Come quietly and no one gets hurt.’
‘Fuck you,’ the twins say in unison. Kirsten can’t even look in James’s direction. She looks at the car, and sees where the paintwork has been touched up. It was James who had tried to run them off the road on the way back from the seed bank. James who had hidden the letter from her mother. James who had tried to incapacitate her with pills.
Her heart was in shock, as if she had just been stung by a jellyfish. A swarm, a smack. His betrayal was like deep blue venom spreading throughout her body.
‘Your friend is very sick,’ says Mouton. ‘You don’t have much time. If you come with us, we’ll give you the medicine she needs.’
‘Go!’ Kirsten says to Seth, ‘I’ll see to Keke. You get out of here.’
‘No way,’ he says. ‘I’ve only just found you.’
‘The deal is for both of you,’ says Mouton. ‘Just one of you is useless to me.’
Keke’s phone starts vibrating and wailing, the SugarApp counter is at 0: ‘DANGER ZONE.’
‘Fine,’ says Kirsten, ‘we’re wasting time. Let’s go!’
Mouton halts them, pats them both down, takes their guns, including the sling-smuggled Ruger. He finds the pocketknife and magic wand. Puts the knife in his pocket and looks at the lipstick, undecided. He has never seen Kirsten wear colour on her lips. He is about to inspect it when James makes an agitated sound.
‘Come on,’ says James, ‘we need to move.’
Mouton hands the tube back to Kirsten.
‘Go,’ he says, and pushes the pair in front of him. They walk in the main entrance, which has been deserted by the regular security detail, and into the elevator. James tries to take Kirsten’s hand but she stands as far away from him as she can, squashing herself into the cool corner. The mirror, meant to make the small space seem bigger, reflects their taut faces and the result is claustrophobic.
Worried that she would get sick again, Kirsten closes her eyes and breathes into her corner, resting her forehead on the mirror. Her breath and sweat mists up the glass, veiling her reflection. Mouton inserts a wafer-key and they start moving down – past ground level and two levels of basement parking listed as the bottom floors – and still further, until they are deep in the ground and Seth can almost feel the weight of the earth above them.
‘Kitty,’ says James.
Shut the fuck up, she wants to say. Your words are poison darts.
‘Let me explain.’
‘There is not an explanation that would make this okay.’
‘Van der Heever said to bring you in or he’d kill you.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘I know what he is capable of.’
‘And yet you are delivering us to him.’
‘Don’t you see? I didn’t have a choice.’
Kirsten sneers at him.
‘I can’t believe I ever let you touch me.’
‘How long have you worked for the Genesis Project?’ asks Seth.
‘It’s not like that,’ answers James. ‘That day, in 1988, when you were taken—’
‘You mean when you took us,’ says Kirsten.
‘Just like you did today,’ says Seth. ‘Deja-fucking-vu.’
‘After that day,’ says James, ‘I kept tabs on you. I made sure you were okay. I watched you from afar. Watched you grow up, as I grew up. I loved you – I did, I loved you – from the very beginning. We were meant to be together. Don’t you see? We’re a family. A different kind of family… that day we met—’
‘Oh my God,’ says Kirsten, ‘everything was a lie.’
They step out of the lift and stand before a massive security door, like something out of a high tech bank. It reminds Kirsten of the Doomsday Vault. Mouton keys in a 5-digit code and puts his thumb to the scanner pad, two green lights glow (Serpent Eyes) and the door unlocks with a decisive pop. Kirsten lifts her hand to her face and narrows her eyes to cope with the intense light.