Taking Off

Chapter 22

The phone rang three times before his mother answered.

"Hello?" Beth Jones said. Her voice brought instant calm to Elijah's heart. He propped up his pillow and leaned against it.

"Mum, hey!"

There was a pause on the other end. It felt like an eternity. "Sorry?"

He sat up. "It's me, Elijah."

A cough. Another beat of silence. Then her voice came in, softer than before. "This is really too cruel."

"Mum, what are you saying? Can you hear me alright?"

"Yes, I can hear you," she said. She sounded sad. "I just wish Peter hadn't asked you to call. You know, he told me my memories were wrong. That I was remembering all wrong. But I think I'd remember my son."

Elijah's whole world shattered. "You don't remember me?"

She huffed. "I remember my son. My baby boy. I also remember burying him after the crash. You know, it's really quite cruel of Peter to keep insisting he's alive."

The world tipped upside down. Elijah hang, suspended in the air, waiting to crash to the ground, waiting for something to shock him out of this nightmare. But nothing came. He only kept choking on his despair, mouth opening and closing, searching for something to say. His mother sniffed, and it cracked open his heart.

She coughed, a small laugh escaping her. "Look at me, crying over the phone to some stranger. I best stop before somebody comes and checks on me. I'm sorry our call was so short. I hope Peter wasn't paying you by the minute."

"But mum!" Elijah croaked, finding only half his voice. He shot up from the bed, like it might make him sound more convincing. "Mum, please listen. It's me, Elijah. I was in that crash with you but I did not die. You have to believe me. Didn't you read my letters?"

Beth Jones sighed. "It's a good script. Whaterver Peter's paying, you're worth it. I can hear the devestation in your voice."

"That's because it's real," Elijah thought, but couldn't say it. There were tears streaming down his face, and emotion clogging his throat.

"I did read those letters, to answer your question. I don't know who wrote them, or to what purpose. But I know my son never would. You know, he never was that fond of writing. Peter should have known better."

"Where is Peter? Where is my dad?" Elijah asked. "If he's there, please can I speak with him?"

Beth coughed. "He isn't here. He's gone to breakfast. I'm about to watch an episode of the Bakeoff. If I ever get out of this place, I might audition, you know?"

Elijah couldn't even smile. "You'd be great at that."

"You're kind. I hope you're okay. Don't stress about not being too convincing. Not much can get past me, you know? But I hope you have a great day. Bye now!" The click of the call ending echoed in Elijah's ears. The phone slipped out of his fingers, falling to the floor in slow-motion. Elijah paid no attention, only stood in place, tears falling down to his shirt.

He didn't know what to do. He was so angry. Angry at the hospital staff for not taking proper care of his mother. Angry at his dad for not telling him how bad she'd gotten. Angry at Principal Andrews for forcing him to go on this stupid, pointless trip, to be away from his mother.

He wanted to throw something, take out his frustration, scream at the world. But, before long, that anger gave way to gut-wrenching sadness, and he just fell to his knees and sobbed into his hands.

-

Elijah's alarm beeped at 10am the next morning, blasting through his ears and heading straight for the tension headache forming. He'd only fallen to sleep half an hour earlier, having spent the whole night tossing and turning and crying. There was exhaustion in his very bones, but his eyes shot wide open at hearing the alarm, and there was no chance of him getting back to sleep.

He trudged off to his bathroom, and stood under shower. Ice cold water ran down his back but he barely felt it. His vision was blurry with unshed tears. The sadness hadn't forsaken him, but he was all cried out, it seemed. Running a towel through his hair, he got a look at his face in the mirror and almost blanched. He looked like he'd seen a ghost and hadn't slept for a week. Could he stay in for the day? Would Figg allow it? He seriously contemplated it, but that would require him to go downstairs first, then explain things to Figg, with Tia and the others there. The thought was exhausting, so he got dressed instead and lay back on his bed, recalling the phone call from the night before, his heart breaking anew each time he remembered his mother's voice.

Tia had heard noises coming from Elijah's room the night before. She wondered who he was talking to and why he sounded so upset, which made her think of her phone call with her mother. Her blood boiled at the memory, and she fell asleep with a crease in her brow, and a jumble in her mind. In the morning, she awoke just before 10 having completely forgotten Elijah's muffled sounds, and her own worries. She showered, and dressed and went out to watch some TV and wait for Elijah. He hadn't exited his room by ten to 11, so she shot off the couch, ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she didn't have to. He emerged at last.

"About time! I was –" she began, crossing her arms, but then she got a look at his face, and her own face fell. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. The circles around his eyes were unbelievably dark, his eyes were droopy and red, his hair was a mess. He looked completely dishevelled, depressed almost. "Are you okay?" she asked, all annoyance fading away.

She saw him swallow. "I'm fine," he replied, voice hoarse, like he'd been screaming. "Ready to go?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. He didn't turn around, for fear that he might burst into tears at one look at her pitying face.

"Positive," he said, and left the room. He didn't think anything could cheer him up today. He'd rather just speak to his mother until she remembered him.