Page 46 of A Flash of Neon
My throat goes tight, and my eyes sting, but I manage to nod and say OK again. Neon holds out his arms and I step into them, letting him wrap me in a tight hug. I close my eyes and try to remember what it’s like to have him here, in the real world with me. I want to tell him how grateful I am for the past two weeks. For saving me from being humiliated at the train station, for showing me that I deserve better than the way Caitlin and Hannah treat me, for bringing me and Tilly back together. For being my friend.
But, before I say anything, the words evaporate from my mind. The chatter from the crowd dims. Some people spin round, dazed and frowning, searching for the reason for the sudden change in the air. When I follow their gazes, my breath catches and my heart clenches.
We’re too late. The Blanks are already here.
The Blanks weave through the cars and walk slowly down the bank towards the loch, their empty faces turned to the water. My first instinct is to hide Neon. I grab his hand and pull him away from the crowd, behind a scattering of pine trees between the water’s edge and the road. Tilly, Jamie and Elsie hurry after us, and the four of us crouch in a semicircle to shield Neon from view. After a moment, he lets out a muffled laugh.
“Thanks, guys, but this won’t help,” he says. “The Blanks can’t see. They’re still going to be able to sense me here.”
I try to think of an alternative, but my mind is filled with mist. The Blanks keep coming, dozens and dozens of them slowly marching across the grass and into the crowd. My heart pounds as we wait for one to finally come our way, but it doesn’t happen. They step straight into the loch, walking in straight lines until their heads dip beneath the surface. Jamie takes out her phone to film the scene, then lets out a small cry of surprise. The camera only captures the crowd and the faint ripples of light on the dark surface of the loch. The Blanks don’t show up at all.
One by one, the faceless figures disappear into the water. Even though I know they’re not human, that they don’t need to breathe like we do, it’s unsettling to see their heads slip below the surface and out of sight. The loch ripples and bubbles, and at one point another shadowy shape pierces through the water, showering the crowd with droplets. But eventually Loch Ness falls still. Whatever was in there has vanished along with the Blanks.
Slowly, like sun breaking through the clouds, the fog in my brain lifts and I can think clearly again. Jamie and Elsie blink and stretch, as if waking up from a dream. Neon gets up and holds out his hands to help Tilly and me to our feet.
“Have they gone?” I clutch at Neon’s hand. It’s warm and clammy andhere. Still here. “I think they’ve gone.”
Confusion ripples over the crowd. Some people keep filming the water, hoping for another glimpse of whatever was in there, but most are already wandering away. Mutti and Mum come back towards us with Caitlin, Hannah, Russell and Hari, all of them asking a hundred questions at the same time. I look at Neon. He rubs at the birthmark above his eyebrow, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
But then I feel it: the fog again, trickling past my ears and into my mind. Tilly sucks in a breath and grabs my arm.
“Laurie – look.”
One single Blank stands at the top of the grassy bank. Its smudged white face turns towards Neon. Its right arm lifts, and the colourless sleeve of its coat falls back to show a skeletal wrist and hand. It takes a step forward and the crowd parts to let it through. A couple of younger kids begin to cry, but most people stare at it with mild confusion. When it comes towards us, Mutti and Mum move instinctively in front of me, both stammering questions about what it wants. The Blank stops a few steps away from us. I’ve never been so close to one before. The mist in my mind swirls, growing thicker until the memory of the past few hours is a blur.
“Laurie?” Neon asks. “Are you OK?”
For a moment, I almost feel like I’m looking at a stranger. His face is familiar, the dark eyes and his freckles, but I can’t remember spending time together. I try to grasp at memories of him, but it all fades into nothing.
Then Neon frowns, making the birthmark pinch above his eyebrow. I remember adding that light brown shape to his profile picture all those months ago, and suddenly the memories of the last two weeks come tumbling back. I can’t let this thing erase him. Maybe he can’t stay here but I can’t let him be wiped from my mind, or Tilly’s, or Hari’s, or any of the other people who he’s brought so much joy to in the past couple of weeks.
And then, like a lighthouse flickering in the distance, it comes to me: a way to keep Neon alive, at least in my head.
“There was once a boy called Neon,” I say out loud. “He lived in New York City. He loved music. He had a dog named Cauliflower.”
Closing my eyes, I work my way back to the story I started to write in April. The details are so hazy, and for a long moment I stand speechless in front of the Blank, grasping for words that won’t come. Flashes of imagined scenes flicker into my head. Neon sitting on the steps of a brownstone building, fiddling with a keyring while he waits for a friend. Neon making himself scrambled eggs in an apartment with skyscraper views, music playing in the background.
Slowly it all falls into place: Neon’s glamorous life in a city I’ve never been to; seeing the world with his mum; forming a band with his friends. I haven’t thought about that first version of Neon’s story for a long time, but some of my feelings around it come back as I talk – how amazing it was to have a different person’s world to dip into. The Blank is still right in front of me, the fear still hammers in my chest, but I try to let myself get swept away by the story, like I have in so many others.
After a minute, I feel an arm brush against mine. Tilly’s voice rings out beside me. “Callan Campbell was the lead singer of a band called Cyanize – but that’s not all he was.”
She tells the story ofShadows of the Sea, reciting full paragraphs off by heart.Her words are high-pitched and trembling, but I feel her love for the story and its characters in them. Our voices overlap, the stories twirling round each other in the cold night air. And amazingly it seems to be doing something. The Blank is frozen, its pale fingers trembling centimetres away from us, but coming no further.
After a moment, the others join in too. Jamie and Elsie choose episodes ofDoctor Who, weaving tales of planets and time travel, aliens and weeping angels. Hannah tells the story ofLes Misérables, Caitlin mumbles something about the plot ofSix. Mum talks about her favourite Jane Austen book, Mutti about the characters in her next novel. Hari and Russell stumble over to us and, though they look completely baffled, join in: Hari launches into the backstory to one of his video games; Russell describes the comics that he’s collected for years. Joel performs a Shakespearean monologue and, from what I can hear over all the ruckus, he’s brilliant.
A few strangers even wander over and tell their own tales – tentatively at first, then more quickly and confidently as they get carried away by the plot. Soon the air around us is thick with stories. Behind the words are echoes of a thousand emotions: the shock of a great twist; the frustration of a brilliant cliffhanger; laughter and tears and sparks of understanding. There’s the power of feeling seen, and the power of viewing the world through another person’s eyes. The power of connecting with those who came before us, and the power of being transported to another world for a while.
And together it’s too much for the Blank to push through. The ghostly white sphere of its face grows dimmer and dimmer, until it becomes translucent enough to make out the road and trees behind it. Like clouds parting, the strange atmosphere hanging over the loch finally clears. The beige clothes fall to a crumpled pile on the muddy ground. With a gasp from the crowd around us, the last of the Blanks disappears.
It takes a long time for the traffic by the loch to clear. Word about the maybe-monster in the water has spread and people keep arriving, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was in there. Hordes of parents come to pick up the kids who came here from the disco too. My mums wait until Hannah’s dad and Elsie’s parents have managed to edge through the gridlock to take them and the others home, then let Neon, Joel, Tilly and me squash into the back of their car and drive us to Tamara’s. Mum and Mutti both seem slightly shell-shocked. They keep starting to ask questions, then stopping halfway through the sentence, shaking their heads in bewilderment.
“You four,” Mum says eventually, “have a lot of explaining to do.”
After an hour and a half, our car eventually edges out of the traffic jam and on to the road towards Tamara’s house. There don’t seem to be any more characters from the Realm around, or at least not obvious ones like the vampire or the cù-sìth. And the whole time we don’t see a single Blank.
“I really think they’ve all gone,” I whisper to Neon. “I can’t feel them any more.”
Neon tells me he can’t, either. Something about him is different now. As the light from the street lamps glides across the car, I spot two moles beneath his left ear that I’ve never noticed. There are a couple of small spots on his cheek, and the skin on his lower lip is slightly dry. It’s like I’m seeing him in higher definition than before.
