How were we still driving?

I mean, honestly, how were we still going? Sure, my mom had stopped countless times for smoke breaks, to get more water and use the toilet, but still. It felt endless.

I’d dozed in and out of sleep for what seemed like hours but when I checked the time on the console, only forty minutes had passed.

The urge to disappear into another world just grew stronger the longer I was in the car, despite how hellish the last two had been. It even stopped me from wanting to go back to Mitch’s world even though I knew that was safe. Well, mostly safe. Sterling’s people could be anywhere, waiting in the shadows, about to pounce.

Or the people Anna had spoken about. They still lingered in my mind. The scientists, the people experimenting on her, they could be there waiting. She’d said that I should stick to worlds that I know, that I was familiar with, but I wanted to explore.

I could feel them, tickling the back of my mind. Countless other worlds that I could visit, endless places where things were different. Where I could grab the steering wheel out of my mom’s hands and send us careening into the black car in the middle lane that was keeping perfect time with us even though it should have been overtaking. Just anything to break the endless monotony.

I could do it.

In some other world, I could. I could yank the steering wheel and see what happened. I might get trapped there, but I couldn’t die. Anna has said that if I were to do that, if I were to die, I could just wake up again. I trusted her, even if she was a weird figment of my imagination, brought on by mind-numbing boredom.

My hands twitched in my lap, begging to reach out for the wheel, but I just clutched my phone harder.

I was scared of death, you know? Even though I knew it wasn’t happening in real life and there was a kind of morbid curiosity there, I was still scared of it. What if they were right? Like Mr Pritchard, our almost fanatic Religious Education teacher.

He’d told us before what happened after death if you were a non-believer, like me. He’d said we’d be damned to an eternity of suffering and misery which honestly didn’t sound that bad to me. I mean, he’d always been quick to add that it was just what the Bible said and that not everyone agreed with that or believed it but… there was something about his tone, and his cross necklace, that told me he believed we’d be going to hell.

What if I didn’t though? What if I died in my imagination and, instead of it being hell, what if nothing happened? Maybe, that’s all there is after death. Just an endless expanse of nothingness.

Would that be worse? I truly wasn’t sure.

After considering that for a moment, a shiver went through me. It would be worse. I could barely be left alone with my thoughts now before they spiralled into mayhem, being left alone with them for the rest of all time? I’d go crazy.

Well.

That thought stopped me. Was I not already there? I mean, what even is the definition of crazy because I was pretty sure that a kid who spends most of their time trapped in their own fantasies, sometimes unable to leave, would come under that definition.

“Ah, good. Another service station!” my mom sighed happily, spotting one in the distance.

I barely managed to bite back my groan of frustration.

I was pretty sure we’d stopped at every single station in the last two hours. How? How could she want to stop at that one too?

Despite my fear, despite my reluctance, I found myself reaching towards that familiar, comforting dizziness. I couldn’t stay in the real world any longer. If I did, I’d grab the wheel and direct us into oncoming traffic.

I wouldn’t even reach for my dizziness, I’d do it in real life.

“You alright, kid? You’ve hardly touched your veggies,” Mitch asked, gesturing towards my plate.

I looked down at the perfectly grilled slices of courgette, aubergine and other vegetables. Large flakes of salt decorated them and the smell that wafted off them made me glad that I could finally taste things in my fantasies. I wasn’t sure if I was pulling the taste from my memory but it didn’t matter, I was so glad that I was.

“Sorry, yeah. Just a bit distracted today. Tonight,” I added quickly, spotting the setting sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Don’t worry, we’ve had a busy day! How are you doing now? Not too stiff?”

Memories of the gym and scuba diving flitted through my mind again and I quickly took note of how my body felt.

“No, they’re alright actually,” I replied.

Mitch nodded.

“And how’s school going? Still enjoying that new boarding school?” he asked, his tone suddenly much more tired yet needier than it was moments ago.

“It’s fine, Dad,” I sighed, as a waiter approached the table from behind me. “It’s school, how good can it be, really?”

“But it’s better than the last place, right? You hated that place.”

He sounded so earnest that I almost wanted to cry.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the waiter, as if begging him to interrupt us.

“Can I get either of you another drink?” he asked with a lingering smile.

“Another whiskey would be great,” Mitch said.

The waiter looked at me and anxiety flared within me.

I was happy with just my water, I didn’t really want anything else but the waiter was looking at me so expectantly.

“Can I get a cocktail?” I said. “I don’t really care which one as long as it’s strong.”

The waiter smiled again and nodded before turning away from us.

There was a moment of silence as we waited for him to move far enough away for us to be able to talk normally. Luckily, the tables were well spaced out enough and the restaurant was quiet enough that Mitch was pretty sure we wouldn’t be overheard as long as we spoke quietly.

“I have no problem with you drinking, it helps you fit in, but be careful about getting a hangover. This job is a lot harder when you’re trying to fight that off,” he warned quietly.

“I know, sorry. I panicked! I don’t even want the drink!” I whispered.

Mitch chuckled softly, shaking his head and looking down.

“Well, I’m glad I guess. You covered it well,” he continued in a hushed voice before raising it slightly. “Ah, here he comes!”

I turned to look at the waiter approaching.

Part of me wanted to sigh and pretend he’d taken too long, despite it barely having taken any time, knowing that Alice would have done so, but I couldn’t. It felt so mean and the waiter had been so fast.

“Thanks,” I said with a brief smile as he placed the tall glass, filled with crushed ice and watery-looking brown liquid in front of me.

“No problem,” he replied, looking into my eyes and smiling before placing a glass in front of Mitch who thanked him with a raised eyebrow.

The waiter rushed away again as Mitch lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip around the huge circular ice cube inside it.

I eyed my drink suspiciously.

“Thoughts on what this is?” I asked worriedly.

“May I?” he asked, putting his drink down and gesturing towards mine.

“Be my guest.”

I pushed the glass towards him a little, expecting him to take a sip but he just sniffed it.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume this is a long island iced tea,” he said, placing it back in front of me with a barely suppressed wince.

“Did you not want to try it?” I asked, picking it up cautiously.

“Oh, nope. Definitely not. I think everyone has a horror story or two that involved that drink and unfortunately, mine is still haunting me. It started with far too many long island ice teas and ended with me waking up handcuffed in the back of a police car just off the Norfolk Coast with a seemingly handmade knife made out of whalebone in my pocket and a barely patched bullet wound on my thigh. It was confusing for many reasons,” he mused quietly, before taking a bite of his steak.

“Oh?” I asked, immediately wanting to know more.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I started drinking in Australia a couple of nights before that and truly the rest of the time is blank but I think I’ve worked out that I made the knife myself. I had some splinters of it in my fingers and I can’t think of any other reason why that would be the case. I’m impressed with myself though, I’d never made a blade before at that point and it was pretty well done.”

Somehow that explanation made me even more curious.

“And you don’t remember any of it?” I asked.

“Nope. I hacked some security footage to try and work out at least which airport I’d flown out of but turns out I got a boat with a buddy to some other island with much worse security and a private jet from there. No clue who paid for it but it wasn’t on any of my cards. There is a strong possibility I jumped out of the plane at some point. Or maybe I was pushed. I have a murky memory of one of the police officers saying something about a parachute.”

I realised that I had been staring at him with my mouth open and hastened to close it before asking, “Who shot you?”

Mitch ate silently for a moment as a couple was seated at a table a few across from ours.

He met my gaze for a second before looking back down at his food, rounding his shoulders as if he were exhausted from our conversation.

“Did I tell you my old buddy Oscar is going to be in town when we get back?” he asked in a forced, enthusiastic tone.

Oscar, the hot guy I’d met before, the one who had taken the car for us, had been the one who’d shot Mitch. I had to fight to not let my mouth drop open again.

“No,” I said, trying not to sound as fascinated as I was.

Mitch’s lips ticked up into a smile which he quickly hid by taking another bite of his steak.

I forced myself to reach out and grab the drink, trying desperately to slip back into the Alice persona despite wanting nothing more than to ask more questions and find out exactly what had happened between them.

The way they’d interacted had seemed so friendly and normal but he’d shot Mitch? If I’d been shot by someone, I don’t think I would treat them like that.

I took a cautious sip of the drink, expecting it to be more aggressively alcoholic tasting but it went down surprisingly easily. The taste was… light. Easy to drink with a hint of coke. It was pretty good.

“So, what’s in this anyway?” I asked, trying to sound snooty as I took another sip.

“Um… I don’t really know. I think it’s just all light spirits,” Mitch said, before reaching for the drinks menu which he thumbed through unsurely. “Ah, there we are. Vodka, gin, white rum, tequila, Cointreau, lemon juice, sugar syrup and coke.”

I lowered the glass slowly.

It sounded like a drink that would be made at one of the parties that Duncan threw.

They used to mix all of the spirits from his parent’s alcohol cabinet together and then just call it ‘mystery drink’ but depending on the colour, they’d either call it ‘red mystery drink’, ‘green mystery drink’ or, more often than not, ‘brown mystery drink’. It was always horrific, nothing like the delicious cocktail in my hand.

Despite how much I was enjoying it, I placed it slowly on the table, making a mental note not to drink any more of it.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow, Alice?” Mitch asked with a hesitant smile.

“I don’t know,” I said coldly, shutting him down immediately as I picked at my food.

“No?” he asked. “I thought we could take a trip to the island across the way, what do you think?”

I glanced towards the window where Spinalonga could just about be seen.

It was dark on the island but there were small spots of light, flickering slightly. I wasn’t sure if they were fires that people who were on the island had lit or electric lights.

“Do we have to? What’s so fun about that island? It won’t be as good as the one Mom and Frank took me to last year,” I said, looking away.

Mitch sighed softly.

“I know but… it still might be interesting? Apparently, it’s an old leper colony, isn’t that cool?”

I looked at him, forcing my face to scrunch up.

“Why would I want to go there?”

“It’s history! It’s important to learn about these things,” Mitch explained calmly as the couple glanced across at us, barely hiding the fact they were talking about us.

“Why?” I asked flatly. “It’s summer. Why do I need to learn things over the break?”

Mitch made himself take a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the movement.

“It’s important. You won’t learn these kinds of things in school! Plus, I’ve already booked a private tour.”

I sighed loudly and placed my cutlery onto my plate, pushing it away from me and leaning back in my chair.

“Without even asking me first? Fine.”

Mitch hurried to have a couple more bites before putting his knife and fork down too.

“Shall we ask to see the dessert menu?” he asked quickly. “You always used to like dessert, right?”

My stomach rumbled, despite the meal I’d just eaten and the fact that I’d been snacking all day in the car, but I crossed my arms.

I did want to see the dessert menu but, heartbreakingly, I knew Alice would turn it down.

“I don’t eat dessert anymore,” I said snootily.

Mitch looked down to hide his smirk.

“We could always share something,” he insisted, seemingly seeing through my words to how much I wanted the dessert. “No harm in seeing what’s on the menu, right?”

I pursed my lips before sighing.

“I guess.”

Mitch smiled at me, his eyes glinting with laughter, before looking away and making eye contact with a waiter behind me who rushed over.

“All finished here?” they asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Mitch said with a polite smile.

The waiter nodded and began collecting our plates.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“We’d like to see the dessert menu, please.”

“Of course, I’ll bring that right over.”

The waiter disappeared, leaving our table empty again.

Silence settled over us and I picked at the cloth napkin in my lap, trying to make it seem like I was uncomfortable and bored.

“So,” Mitch started after far too long before his face lit up. “Wonderful! The service here is so fast! Nothing like last time we went out for a meal, right? Do you remember how bad it was at Nobi?”

I took the menu from the waiter with a slight smile, ignoring Mitch even though it made me feel horrible.

I scanned the page, my mouth threatening to water as I read the options, being drawn to the chocolate fondant with summer berry compote and the creme brûlée. They both sounded so good but I’d said I didn’t eat dessert, I couldn’t exactly say I wanted them.

“What do you think, Alice? Want to split a sheep’s milk mousse with coconut and passionfruit?” Mitch suggested.

I looked up at him in horror.

That sounded like the worst thing he could have ever suggested. Just the sheer thought of it made me want to gag. I just couldn’t imagine the taste or the texture of all of those things mixed together and I didn’t want to.

“So… not that,” Mitch said, looking up at me and taking in my horrified expression. “How about… the creme brûlée?”

I felt my face light up but there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Mitch laughed.

“Okay, creme brûlée it is. Anything else catch your eye?” he asked.

I hesitated, torn between wanting to mention the fondant but also knowing that Alice wouldn’t.

But maybe she would? Maybe she’d say it if she really wanted something… She’d make it more of a demand than a question.

That could work.

“I’m going to order to order the fondant,” I said decisively after a moment.

Mitch’s eyebrow twitched slightly, revealing his entertainment and he nodded.

“Great! I’ll order the creme brûlée and you’re welcome to have some of that if you want?”

I nodded slightly, trying not to seem too enthusiastic.

“Wonderful,” Mitch said before closing his menu.

I copied him, sitting back and looking around the restaurant.

It was lovely, the kind of place we’d go to with my grandparents. One wall was made entirely of windows which overlooked one of the large pools, closed for the evening, and beyond that, the sea and Spinalonga. The tables were made of perfectly polished dark wood, which matched the bar and the decor on the walls.

It was very understated, coordinated and well done. It was beautiful and made me feel a little out of place.

“Ah, yes,” Mitch said as the waiter approached. “We’ll have the creme brûlée and the chocolate fondant, thank you.”

“Wonderful choices, I’ll get those brought out for you shortly,” the waiter said before nodding and disappearing again.

I went back to staring around the room, my gaze landing on Spinalonga through the window again.

The island was almost invisible in the dark but that just made the lights seem more obvious. There were definitely fires or lights or something on the island but I was sure that Mitch had said it was abandoned.

“What’s the deal with that island anyway?” I asked, trying and failing at sounding bored. “Do people still live there?”

Mitch must have known what I was talking about but still, he looked confused as his gaze followed mine.

“Ah! Spinalonga? Well, the person I spoke to today just said that it was an old leper colony and that it’s abandoned now so I guess not!”

“But, there are lights on there.”

Mitch had looked away, glancing down at his phone, but now he looked up, examining the island.

“Huh, I guess so. I thought I saw some last night. They’re probably just security lights triggered by animals or something. Apparently, there are a lot of cats around here,” he said with a shrug, looking away again.

I nodded, pretending to be satisfied by his answer but in reality confusion washed through me.

Mitch had said that he’d noticed it last night, that must have been intentional. Maybe he was trying to tell me that he was aware of the situation and was keeping an eye on it or maybe… I don’t know. Maybe he was just playing along and nothing was weird about it.

We fell back into silence as we waited for our dessert to come and, even though I knew it was just for show, it made me uncomfortable. I was genuinely relieved when I saw Mitch smile at the waiter over my shoulder.

“The creme brûlée?” the waiter asked, holding out a plate.

A waft of caramel drifted towards me and I had to swallow to stop myself from drooling. It smelt so good. I was half tempted to change my mind and say that it was for me but I’d already caught sight of the chocolate fondant. Somehow, that looked better.

“Just in the middle, please. Alice and I are going to share this one, aren’t we?” Mitch asked, giving me a hopeful smile.

“Maybe,” I replied in a disinterested tone.

“Great,” the waiter said, placing the plate on the table. “And the fondant. Would you like that in the middle as well?”

“No, that one is just for me,” I said.

I really wouldn’t mind sharing with Mitch but I knew that Alice would have.

The waiter smiled at me and set the plate down in front of me, not even phased by my rudeness which made me a little sad. It must mean he was used to it.

“Fantastic, enjoy your dessert,” he said. “Can I get you anything else? Another drink, perhaps?”

“That’s all, thank you,” Mitch answered for us both.

The waiter nodded before turning and walking away.

I picked up my fork intentionally slowly, trying not to rush as I stared at the delicious-looking chocolatey cake in front of me. It was topped in the berry compote with a fan of fresh strawberries to one side and a dusting of icing sugar on top.

I sunk my fork into it, cutting it open and letting the molten centre ooze out, biting back a moan. Scooping some up, I finally tasted it, the flavours bursting across my tongue.

The rich, deep flavour of chocolate was perfectly complimented by the sharp, tangy compote. The cake was moist, springy and exquisite. It was almost too good. I went back for another taste, unable to help myself despite wanting to offer Mitch some.

After a few more mouthfuls, I was able to pause.

“Would you like to try some?” I asked, trying to make it sound forced.

A practised look of surprise crossed Mitch’s face.

“That would be lovely, thank you. Would you like to try some creme brûlée? They brought another spoon,” he said, nudging it towards me temptingly.