IN DECEMBER, WILL came to believe that there was no God, and perhaps he was right. As he sat and read old, time-weathered books, he knew that this, the past and present, was also his future. He was alone, and there was nothing that could save him now. It was an endless uphill battle to survive the life he never even wanted. If he stayed, what was there left to see, or feel, or experience that could possibly be worth it? See, the hardest thing you could ever do is convince someone who does not want to be alive. Many will say that love is the meaning of life, but if there was ever a happy ending in store for him, this was it.
That was when he detached himself from all physical pain. When he was beaten, it was only on the surface, and the bruises were only skin-deep, for his soul was untouchable. He built a biodome around his inner world and sealed himself inside. His emotions were a swirling black tempest of anger and fear, but on the outside, he never once revealed those emotions that threatened to eat him from the inside out. At night, he no longer dreamed. That temporary escape into the world of unconsciousness was a thing of the past. While he slept, his soul was consumed by a black void, closing over his head, flowing into nose, ears, and eyes. It came, and it was insidious. He woke in the morning feeling as though he were already dead, and his first thought was always, without fail, that he had one less day to be living. Devoid of imagination, he found that the words he had mistaken for reality were nothing but letters arranged into something so hollow and meaningless that he wondered why anyone even bothered.
When he was fed, he devoured what he was given like a starving dog—that is, without pausing for breath, for fear of it being taken away. He no longer cared that he was laughed at as he choked down every bite. Nothing was below him. At night, he fell to the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the cat’s bowl, and ate what remained of the glistening meat.
Inside, he had turned against the very world itself. He hated the sun, for he would never again feel its warmth, and he hated the moon, because the night never ended. He hated the sound of laughter, and the smell of his mother’s cooking, because they were a part of the living, breathing world.
But, most of all, he hated his father, and he wished he were dead. But before Henry popped off and made himself at home in some miserable corner of Hell, Will wanted him to know the true meaning of suffering, and to reach the darkest depths of the human soul. He prayed in every spare moment, but was answered only once. When Henry kicked him down the stairs, Will dragged his broken body to a painting of the Crucifixion and begged God to punish his father, as he had brought the plagues upon Egypt. The morning after, Henry lost his job, and Will was satisfied.
At his core, Will was a flaming ball of hatred and evil. He was quickly becoming a danger to himself and others. He blamed himself for the past, because he had allowed it to happen, and he blamed the world for taking its vengeance. He wanted the love that comes with life, and because he couldn’t have it, he hated those who did.
And that, I suppose, is where it all began. This was the first of many reasons that he would one day take his life.
Few of us can imagine what it is like to be suicidal at six years old. He struggled to concentrate. Sometimes, he fell asleep at his desk, for he could no longer do so at night. Other times, his anger exploded without warning, and he stormed out in a black fury, fleeing down the corridor. When he reached the toilets, he collapsed on the floor, pounding his head against the tiles until he felt nothing but the searing pain. Then he curled into himself, and cried himself to sleep.
But the strange part about it was that, although he wanted it to stop, he could not imagine a world without that ever-present darkness. It is impossible to explain to a person who has never felt it, but you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness. It is searching for a way out that doesn’t exist, then seeking comfort in that which is destroying you. It takes a very strong person to return from that place.
Before school was let out for winter break, Will received his biannual report, which said in fine print that he had the highest marks in his year. He was a brilliant child, with a very bright future ahead, and Miss Perrin took him aside to tell him so. He hadn’t heard a kind word in so long that he fell into her arms and sobbed. At the end of the day, she gave him the card, and a letter to bring home to his parents.
That day, Will felt like he was walking in the clouds. He ran faster than ever before, not feeling his feet strike the ground beneath them. But when his father tore open the envelope and read the report, he scoffed: “So, you thought you finally proved yourself, didn’t you?” he bent down, pointing a finger in Will’s face. “You were wrong. There is nothing you could ever do to impress me. You have failed me every single day, and you always will.”
He threw the letter into the fire, and Will stood there, watching it blacken and change. He had given everything to accomplish just one thing worthy of recognition, and now he had been stripped of his very existence. His father was many things, but not a liar—at least, not in that moment. Will wished his heart would give out right there, but it didn’t.
Instead, he fell to his knees and watched the letter burn. He reached into the fire, trying to put the ashes back together again, even as the flames licked at his hands and set his sleeves alight, for he didn’t feel it as his hands blistered and blazed. But it would never come back together again, and nothing hurts worse than a broken heart.
After that, Will became determined to end his life. He purposefully irritated his father, hoping to provoke him enough to provide a swift and painless death. When he was locked in the bathroom with only a bucket of watered-down bleach for company, Will sat on the floor and drank it until there was nothing left. Then he got up and kneeled beside the bathtub, vomiting blood until he fainted dead away. He hadn’t even known he had that much to lose, and wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.
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When the door opened at long last, Will stumbled out into the hallway, but was caught by the wrist and pulled back. The bucket was emptied into the sink and filled with undiluted bleach. He was nearly drowned when his head was pushed beneath the surface. But he fought back, because this wasn’t how he wanted it to end, and the plan was foiled.
As Christmas approached, Henry was equally ruthless with his wife. On the rare occasions that she did come home, he fought with her from the second she walked through the door until the moment she slammed it in his face. He beat her, and made her feel as though she had no right to even be alive. Then he banned her from the house, and the only time the children saw her was when they drove to Westminster at the end of every month to collect their cut of her pay cheque.
On the last day before they left for Zürich, Henry invited his wife over to say goodbye. Seconds, minutes, and hours slipped by, as night fell, and dinner came to an end. She was supposed to arrive at seven, and every time Will heard a passing car or saw a flare of headlights, he dashed to the door, waiting to greet her with open arms.
When she finally came stumbling in at eleven o’clock, it was with a strange man on her arm. She passed them by without a word, stumbling down the hall to the bedroom. Will followed after her, in disbelief. He’d never seen anyone half as intoxicated as she was that night. Her eyes were bloodshot, and he could smell vodka on her breath from across the room. He knew, even without asking, that there was more alcohol than blood pumping through her veins.
She had come to fetch her belongings. The man helped her bring them out to the step, and as he carried them to the car, Annalise knelt down in front of Will and told him she loved him for the last time. He threw his arms around her neck, begging her not to leave. But she did, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
FOR A WHILE, Annalise and Henry tried to be civil with each other. They went to therapy three times a week, argued behind closed doors, and cried in the dead of night, when the world around them slowed to a halt. But by the end of that month, they had both come to the end of their rope. They were weary, and exhausted at the thought of pretending that everything was alright, when it so clearly wasn’t. There are only so many nights you can lie awake, wondering when and if you will be granted the mercy of dying in your sleep.
The day they left for Switzerland, Will sat in the corner, watching his siblings pack everything they owned into a suitcase, because after this, they weren’t coming back. There was nothing to return to, and no one waiting for them. He prayed for the family that had forsaken him, and that they could learn to love again, if only for this one Christmas. But as he sat in the airport that evening, watching the snow fall, he knew that if God intended his parents to be happy, he also intended Will to be dead. It is the final resolution; the only true end in existence.
Meanwhile, Henry packed his wife’s belongings in boxes, which he loaded into the car, before driving the children to Westminster, where she was waiting at St. Ermin’s Hotel. Only she had the money to spend on luxury, for now that she was gone, they had nothing.
After years of unanswered prayers, Will knew that it was over: his parents were separating. He was so anxious that he couldn’t release his clenched fists, even when blood flowed and his fingernails tore into his palms.
While James and Juliet were in their mother’s room, sprawling on her bed and fighting over the truffles on her pillow, Will sat in the car, watching his hands shake. He hated her for leaving them behind; for abandoning him in his hour of need. That was when he knew there is no such thing as a saviour in this world.
Before they left, Henry rolled down the window on the passenger side, where Will was sitting. Annalise leaned down and handed him a small box wrapped in red paper—his one and only Christmas present. It was her wedding ring, engraved with a promise on the inside: TOGETHER IN PARIS. Will wore it until the day he died, from a string around his neck. He knew his mother was relieved, but still she could not stop herself from crying as the car peeled away from the curb and disappeared into the downtown traffic.
THE DRIVE TO Heathrow was quiet. When the children spoke amongst themselves, it was in hushed tones that wouldn’t upset their father. They were nine, six, and five, but still they discussed their future in solemn council, as though they were old and grey. They were so absorbed by their conversation, and by each other that they hardly noticed when they turned on their exit, and they were offered coffee for the very first time.
As ever, Will was left alone while they went into the café. Their lives were separate and distant from his, because no one had ever thought to invite him in. A black hole, dark and vast, was opening inside of him. People always say that life is full of choices, but no one ever mentions fear or the feeling of emptiness unlike anything you have ever known; so much nothingness that it swallows you whole. He was in so deep, it was easier to just swim down.
He sat there, staring out the window at the wide, open sky. It was a dull grey, and just beginning to snow. The day was cold and forbidding, and droplets of moisture were slowly gathering on the glass, solidifying along with the ice in his stomach. The clock was ticking down to that single, horrible moment he never truly thought would come, and nothing on earth can stop the sun from setting on that final day. Will wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and run until his legs gave out, but he was too afraid to move. He would never forgive himself for that weakness, when he gave in to his impulses and clutched the gift from his mother, leaning over and pressing his nose to the wrapping, hoping that there would be even the slightest trace of her perfume—that there was just one sliver of proof that somewhere in this world, she still existed. But there was nothing.
He began to cry until he couldn’t breathe; until there was nothing left but the infinite, all-consuming darkness. It was a moment that words didn’t reach, and suffering too terrible to name. The water closed over his head, cutting off all breath, all sound, all thought beyond the realisation that he was about to die.
A small sound brought him back to reality, and he looked up, to find that his family was approaching the car. He sank back into the seat, quickly returning to his hardened exterior, which knew no fear. If this was it, he was ready.
But before the doors opened, and the world came to an end, Will clasped his hands together, closing his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he prayed: “Save me, Saint Jude, helper and keeper of the hopeless. Have mercy, and deliver me from evil. Amen.”