FREE CHOICE (2nd & Last)

 FREE CHOICE  (2nd & Last)

by Richard Banks

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So he watches them escort the culprit off the premises. The girl he does not remember until it is too late.

         Luke is now entering that part of the evening when his alcohol consumption is persuading him that Cynthia is definitely a seven and worth a snog. Of course, he would have preferred an eight. A nine he feels is not impossible, a ten only in his dreams. Cynthia is seldom in his dreams and when she is his discordant feelings on waking, makes him feel distinctly uneasy. Nonetheless every bloke should have a girlfriend and until someone better comes along Cynthia is it.

         Had he been able to read her mind he would have been surprised to learn that she had similar thoughts about him. Her thoughts, however, ran deeper and predated their first meeting in Threshers Week. She had been to the cinema with two cousins to see the latest Tom Cruise film. They were fans and she thought she was too, then she saw him in a clinch with Nicole Kidman and realised she would rather be kissed by her than him. This was a revelation she kept to herself, a revelation that both alarmed and perplexed her. Unable to disentangle her feelings she threw herself into her studies and unexpectedly gained the A-level grades that got her into Uni. She expected that she would be able to lose herself in further study but there was all this socialising stuff to do first, and that’s when she met Luke.

         He was diffident and awkward like herself but together they survived the various events they were expected to attend and even enjoyed them. He was a sensible, conventional young man, the kind her parents would approve of. Maybe he would be her salvation but when, on their third date, he got round to kissing her their transition from friends to sweethearts proved less sweet than she had hoped. Nevertheless having him around was useful. As a couple, it was easier to make friends and access the various alliances that were springing up around them. Of these, the Saturday group at Stardust was the most enjoyable and the least demanding.

         Tonight she has brought Lorna along. She doesn’t know her well, an American girl a few years older than herself who arrived three weeks after the beginning of term. She is studying Sociology and as Theo is also studying Sociology Luke thought she might be a suitable companion for his over serious friend. So Cynthia invited her along and Lorna accepted with an enthusiasm that seemed disproportionate to the event described. Indeed she was almost gushing and insisted that Cynthia visit her room where they sat on her bed drinking Irish coffee. They were getting on well when Luke was mentioned - her boyfriend said Cynthia - and the conversation faltered, almost stopped, and Lorna remembered she needed to collect a book from the library. The next day they met in the corridor of their dormitory and all seemed well again. What should she wear, Lorna asked, a dress? When Cynthia replied that a dress would be fine Lorna invited her back into her room where she tried on those she thought might be suitable until Cynthia declared her preference for a figure hugging off the shoulder cocktail dress. It was black, Lorna suited black.

         When she was in a good mood she could be any colour that took her fancy. At her best, she sparkled rainbow colours - yellow, blue, red, and all the shades in between, but now her mood is as black as her dress. Like the song the DJ sometimes plays, ‘it started with a kiss.’ Yes, she knew about the boyfriend; Cynthia had mentioned him, but only once, matter of factly and without affection. There was nothing in it, she had told herself, and on first seeing them together her instinct for such things seemed as sure and reliable as she expected it to be. Then he had dropped a hand on Cynthia’s shoulder, turned his face towards her, and kissed her on the lips. Lorna can hardly believe what she is seeing. Is the girl mad, why is she putting up with it, doesn’t she know that this can never be, that this is not what she was meant for? If others, like herself, can see it why can’t she? It’s insane. It should not be happening.

         The glass she is holding slips from her fingers and shatters on the edge of the table,  the liquid within shooting back onto her lap, soaking her dress which is spattered with broken glass. She attempts to brush it off but finds her fingertips oozing blood. She must get changed, she says, it won’t take long, Uni is less than five minutes away, she will be back soon, half an hour at most. She leaves but with no real intention of returning, then she knows she must. The nonsense must be made to stop. Cynthia must be rescued, not abandoned. It is up to her, no one else will do it. She wonders how many other Cynthias there are in this place, this horrible place that allows, no not allows, encourages such things to happen. If she can’t save their bodies she can at least save their souls. As for Cynthia, there will be much to explain, it will not be easy, but in time with her love and help, she will understand and be grateful.

         On her return to Stardust, she finds her new friends more intoxicated than before but not forgetful of her injuries. She is OK, she assures them, holding up the three fingers requiring thin plaster strips. Her only concern is that she hasn’t brought everyone a drink. If Cynthia will give her a hand she will go to the bar and buy the next round. She departs with Cynthia in tow, curiously ignoring the only empty space at the long bar. They eventually halt at the far end near a fire exit.

         “We thought you weren’t coming back,” says Cynthia, “you were gone over an hour,” she glances down at her watch and tries to work out the number of minutes she has been gone but the calculation is beyond her.

         “I had a bag to pack,” murmurs Lorna, glancing down at her own watch.

         “A bag?”

         “Yes, a bag. It’s downstairs in the clothes lobby, and in one minute it will go bang.”

         “Bang?”

          “Yes, bang, big nasty bang, but you mustn’t be scared because you’re with me and I’m going to look after you, keep you safe. Now, take my hand and do what I say. See that door. Take a good look, because when the bang happens all the lights will go out and there will be fire and smoke, horrible black smoke, but that’s OK because no one will see us leave. Through that door, we’ll go, down two flights of stairs, through another door and we’re gone, the viper's nest destroyed and we free, cleansed of all the poisons, reborn, better, stronger than before.

         There it goes!! It’s happening, now! Yes, scream, scream loud, that’s what the other girls are doing and we must do what they do, except we must be sooner to the door. Start moving, quick steps, that’s it, we’re nearly there.”

         On the other side of the room above the lobby the fire has already taken hold of the wooden floor, flames begin to reach up towards the ceiling. The decisions people take in the next few seconds will determine whether they live or die.

         Harry is a survivor of many scrapes, he keeps a clear head. While others panic he organises the remaining occupants of table 32 into a human chain and leads them, and others, through the thick smoke and down a little known staircase on the other side of the bar. He returns and does the same for six more. He attempts one further rescue but the staircase is ablaze and, although he tries to find a way through, Luke and Theo go after him and haul him back. There’s no hope they say, and no hope there is for those inside. Although their screams can still be heard no one else is saved.

         Harry is not the only hero that day. Steve stays put in the control room on the third floor calmly issuing instructions to his team on the walkie-talkies they all have. He will be the last survivor to leave, climbing through the skylight above his desk and crossing several roofs to safety.  As he descends a metal fire escape on the outside of Boots he remembers where he first saw the new girl at table 32. She is in a photograph he once saw on the web, one of a group of disaster tourists standing outside the Almeira Club in San Francisco the day after it was bombed by an organisation calling itself WAMO – Women Against Male Oppression. There is nothing remarkable about her, nothing that sets her apart from the other voyeurs in the photograph, but it is her face, that odd frown, he remembers. He has looked into many faces, it is a part of his job, he has seen all kinds of expressions and largely understands the thoughts behind them but this girl is different. He senses a darkness he can’t explain. He is interviewed by the police and tells them of his suspicions.

         Ella achieves one of her ambitions by appearing on the front page of a national daily. Harry, the hero, is being interviewed, photographs taken and she pictured giving him an emotional hug. They are invited to several fundraising events for the survivors. For a while, they are an item but when the newspapers move on to other things so does she. Harry is philosophical in a down to earth way. Having reached all bases he too is ready to move on.

         For Luke moving on is not an option. He should be heartbroken at Cynthia’s death but he isn’t. Sad? yes, but not sad enough. He feels confused, sometimes ashamed, but no one knows this but himself. He has a photograph of Cynthia which he keeps in his wallet, close to his heart, here it must remain, to discard it would be a betrayal of her and a condemnation of himself. He will never marry.

         Theo lapses into depression. He should, he tells himself, have done more to help those who died. He saved only one life and received no thanks for that. His friend, Cynthia, and her friend, Lorna, are counted among the dead. In all eighty-two people are thought to have died. As therapy, he writes down his thoughts on the disaster in a memoir that later becomes a best selling book. People, he writes, are never free of other people’s choices. In choice, there is both freedom and tyranny, love and hate, and every emotion in between. Choice should be with the angels not with those on Earth.

         Lives interrupted continue, including those of Lorna and Cynthia. Despite Steve’s suspicions, their names appear on a memorial plaque to the victims. Since their presumed deaths four more nightclubs have been bombed or set alight in Europe, South America, and Australia. Steve scours every photograph he can find of the burning or ruined buildings. One day he will see that face again, one day he will be proved right, but already it is too late.

The End. 

Copyright Richard Banks