Frequency Illusion

Carmen Faulk sighed happily as she swung open the door to the bistro, the warm cinnamon smell teasing her nostrils as she shuffled her way through the Friday night crowd to a large rectangular table in the corner. Teasing the gloves from her hands and unravelling her scarf, she took the only remaining seat, greeting her friends with a smile.

Noticing the impatient glint in the server’s eyes, Carmen quickly perused one of the menus laid out on the wooden table. “I’ll have the Caesar Salad, please,” she smiled at the woman.

“Typical,” Gary laughed from opposite her, “one day you should try some food, seriously, you’d enjoy it.” He looked up at the server, “I’ll have a Big Bob’s Burger, all the trimmings please.’

Carmen made puking noises and laughed.

“At least I’m not eating tiny fish,” he countered.

“Should we be ordering yet? Pat and his friends should be here soon. Shouldn’t we wait?” Asked Lottie from beside Carmen, ever the thoughtful one.

“Screw Pat, he’s late!” Eric almost shouted from across the table, putting down his beer glass with a thud. “They can order when they get here. He’s never on time and I’m starved. I’ll have the bacon burger please,” he grinned sarcastically at the server, who was now leaning on one hip, arms folded.

After wordlessly taking the group’s orders and a refill on their drinks, she turned her back on them abruptly and sloped away, swallowed by the crowd like a starfish on a clam.

“I think I’ll name her Angry Sloth,” said Eric pensively before taking three gulps of his beer.

“She’s probably just intolerant of arseholes like you,” Carmen said, to which he showcased his famous white smile.

Gary, who had just finished a call to his girlfriend Bea, suddenly stood and shouted, “Pat! Over here, mate!”

The group turned towards the bar to see their friend, his hulking figure a sore thumb in the crowd, loping towards them with a grin. Carmen’s eyebrows rose as she clocked the large group of people behind him.

Handshakes, hugs and high-fives were exchanged along with birthday wishes as Eric and Gary scraped a table and chairs across from another corner of the bar.

“Where’s Anna?” Lottie asked, referring to Pat’s bubbly but long-suffering wife.

“She can’t come tonight, but Bea is on her way, my sweetness,” Pat replied as he tested a chair for its sturdiness against his six-foot-four frame.

The next hour passed in raucous laughter, drinks swallowed and spilled, birthday shots and snacks and burgers all around.

At around ten o’clock, Bea and a woman, whom Carmen vaguely recognised, appeared like magic at the tables. By this time, the group was warmed with alcohol and ‘Angry Sloth’ had been placated with enough free drinks and tips to ensure she paid special attention to the group’s requests, albeit still without the trace of a smile.

Bea introduced her friend Donna before they found their own chairs and joined the group. Bea declined the offer of a seat in favour of Gary’s lap, the couple kissing and hugging as though they had been apart for weeks, not hours.

“Where’s Lily?” Lottie asked, scanning the crowd.

“She’s parking,” Bea explained quickly before going back to what appeared to be the consumption of Gary’s face.

“Fer feck”s sake, you two, get a room!” Pat bellowed humorously, causing whoops and applause from the group.

“Jealousy is such an ugly monster,” Gary grinned, his lips swollen and red from all the attention. “Just because you guys can’t keep a good woman happy.”

“Ach, always actin’ the maggot,” a voice called from the bar area. The group turned to find Lily, Pat’s older sister, grinning from ear to ear and raising a shot of amber liquid to her mouth. She crossed to the table and hugged her brother’s shoulders.

“How ya, everyone. And happy birthday to you, yer fecker,” as she pecked her brother on the cheek.

Lily took a seat, squeezing in where she could and stealing a chip from a basket on the table. “So, Eric, whatcha givin’ out about today, then?”

Eric feigned hurt feelings, placing his hand on his chest, eyes wide in mock surprise. “I’ll have you know, I’ve moaned about bugger-all since I got here!”

“Except for the waitress, the drink, the food, the toilets…,” Carmen grinned and took a swig of her Budweiser. Eric returned a wink.

The group bantered, ate and drank until the bell rang for time at eleven o’clock. As they finished their drinks and chips, Carmen surveyed the group, a contented smile on her face. These were her people, friends old and new who never failed to make her feel like family. They were a little blurry around the edges, yes, and her eyes hurt so much she couldn’t wait to remove the eyeliner and mascara and fall into bed. But she loved these occasions and lived for every Friday night. She felt included, wanted. And happy.

“Hey, there are thirteen of us,” she said flatly, eyes roaming drunkenly around the table.

Lottie followed her gaze, her head bobbing as she counted silently. “Yep,” she confirmed, “Thirteen. Unless you count Bea and Gary as one, then it’s twelve,” she giggled.

Carmen snorted, then pushed a finger into her lips and pouted as she shushed. She gave a three-second blink before whispering into Lottie’s ear, “It’s bad luck is what it is. Thirteen people at the Last Supper. Number thirteen, the last to the table? Judas Iscariot.”

Lottie looked around the table. “So, who do you think is Judas? Lily?” she whispered conspiratorially.

Carmen saw Eric watching them, a gurn on his face, his eyes amused. “What superstitious drivel are you spouting tonight, my bud-bud?”

“I’ll have you know, there is a ton of info out there about how unlucky the number thirteen is,” Carmen stated as eloquently as the five — or was it six? — bottles of Budweiser would allow.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eric said, finishing his lager in one large swig.

“Twiska-whatsit,” Carmen mumbled, frowning into space.

“Triskaidekaphobia,” a voice said from somewhere beside her.

The waitress was clearing the table of glasses, wiping as she went. “Fear of the number thirteen. It’s called ‘Triskaidekaphobia’.”

Carmen, despite her drunken state, was intrigued. “You into this stuff?”

“Oh, yeah,” the server answered, continuing to swipe crumbs onto the floor. “I love that kind of stuff, it’s so…paranoid.”

Carmen raised her eyebrows, “I think it’s fascinating, too. Is it just that particular phobia you know about? Or others?”

“Well,” she replied as she went to walk away, the tower of glasses resting professionally against her shoulder, “let’s just say it’s my favourite.” She placed the glasses on the table and stared into Carmen’s eyes for several awkward moments before taking a deep breath, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Carmen looked down at her arms, slowly pulling up the sleeves of her sweater to reveal a patchwork of ash-coloured symbols, pictures and scripts tattooed there. The server grabbed Carmen’s wrists so she could study them and Carmen obliged, head bowed. The largest tattoo ran sideways down her entire left forearm, an intricate image of a long table, thirteen people huddled around it. In the middle was Jesus, his brown hair hanging just below his beard. One of the figures just about to take a seat was hunched over, his black hair, long fingers and pointed nose clearly identifying who he represented — Judas. Lower down, towards her left wrist a smiling, mischievous Loki crossed his arms beneath a cape, a knife sheathed by his hip. Below were the words “The Trickster, 13th Norse God.”

Carmen looked up, eyes wide in anticipation.

“They’re beautiful,” the server said, in genuine awe of the skill and detailed workmanship in the depictions. “You really are pretty paranoid, though.”

“Er, well thanks, you said you liked paranoid,”Carmen said with a wink. “I’m Carmen,” she said as she stood and wobbled a little, holding onto the woman’s arm for support and giggling coyly.

“I’m Indigo, but everyone calls me Indie,” she smiled, holding onto Carmen’s elbow.

“Who’s this?” Indie asked as she noticed another tattoo on Carmen’s right wrist. The image was one of several cloaked figures being burned at the stake, above a date: Friday, October 13th, 1307.

“The arrest of The Knights Templar in France,” Carmen answered, slurring the words slightly.

“And what is this?” Indie continued, rubbing her thumb lightly over a very long and complicated word, “Para-skev-idek-atria-phobia,” she read slowly with a frown.

“Fear of Friday the thirteenth. You can say it much better than me, right now. I’m lucky I can remember my own name.”

Indie grinned at the comment, “can you remember my name?”

“Oh my God, I will never forget your name, Indie.” Carmen flirted drunkenly to whoops and clapping from the table next to her.

Carmen faced her friends to shush them, then turned back to see Indie returning to the bar. She plopped back down in her seat and glared at the group.

“Sorry, they’re so bad,” said Lottie over the continuing jibes and sarcastic comments.

Carmen shrugged and took another swig of Bud, turning when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Sorry, but I have to get back to work now. But if you ever want to talk…” She handed Carmen a napkin. On it was written her name and phone number.

“Great, thanks,” Carmen said, then pulled her tongue out at her friends as Indie made her way around the room, collecting glasses.

This time the group returned high fives and congratulations.

Carmen stood to collect her belongings now that the fog of alcohol had lifted slightly. She was going to make the most of it by walking home. The rest of the gang loitered around the table, clearly reluctant to either end the night or brace themselves against the cold winds outside.

Low-key goodbyes and hugs were exchanged as Carmen put on her coat, gloves and scarf and then headed out into the freezing air.

Her flat was only a ten minute walk away but her nose was still reminiscent of Rudolph’s by the time she made it to her door. Absent-mindedly, she dug into her pockets for her key, glancing up as she eventually turned it in the lock.

“Thirteen,” she whispered, as she stared at the gold numbers on her white door: Sixty-seven. Thirteen. Six plus seven is thirteen. I live on the fourth floor… one plus three is four.

She walked a zig-zag path into her flat, then giggled to herself as she shed her outdoor clothing. My favourite paranoia she thought, remembering Indie’s words.

She promised herself that tomorrow, she would go back to the bar and see her. If she wasn’t there, then she would call. Something about Indie made Carmen feel safe, able to open up. But before she did that, she needed sleep. And water. Lots of it.

#

Eric passed her a glowing joint, but she shook her head and got up to check her hair in the mirror over the fireplace. The two had been flatmates for two years and both worked at the same factory — Carmen on reception and Eric in IT.

“Are you off out?” He enquired as he watched her smooth her eyebrows with her little finger.

“Thought I’d pop out for a bit, yeah. Bit of shopping,” she lied. “You wanna come?”

“Hell, no,” Eric croaked on an exhalation of smoke. “I’d rather learn yoga and lick my sweaty balls,” he laughed before launching into a coughing fit.

“Gross,” Carmen complained, screwing up her nose as she went to the hall to collect her coat and bag. “I’ll see you later, wanker,” she called as she opened the door to leave.

“Not if I see you first, you ugly wench,” he called back before hacking once more.

“Drink some water!” Carmen yelled from the hallway before slamming the door and walking off.

In less than ten minutes, Carmen entered Big Bob’s Bistro, a name she maintained was an oxymoron. She felt a little nervous that Indie might see her as some kind of stalker. Afterall, it was only midday; the group had been here just over twelve hours ago. Thirteen hours actually, she corrected herself.

She scanned the bar for somewhere to sit. Three couples sat at different tables eating an array of bistro-style food; bean stew, tuna steaks and onion soup. Carmen inhaled as she passed them, thinking it might be time for an early lunch. Big Bob might suck at names, but he was an amazing chef.

She chose a table in one of the three booths, hoping she wouldn’t be moved away if it got busy. Lone diners were always treated like they didn’t matter. As she shrugged off her heavy coat, she looked up to see a smiling Indie walking towards her.

“Hi!” They simultaneously said, both grinning.

“Wow, you don’t waste any time,” Indie said, a hand on one hip as she surveyed Carmen from head to foot.

“Erm, I thought I’d grab an early lunch, see if you were here,” she shrugged. “Do you have time to eat with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Indie shrugged, scooting onto the bench opposite. “I often come in early to eat before my shift. I never have any food at home. Well, nothing healthy, anyway. We can use my staff discount, order whatever you want. It’ll be half off.”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you,” Carmen said shyly. The confidence the alcohol had brought her yesterday had now been replaced with a neurotic hangover.

“So,” Indie started, slinging her coat and bag across the seat then placing her elbows on the table. “How are things? You look tired.”

Carmen cleared her throat, her cheeks heating. “I’m okay, thanks. Just a bit hungover. I came to see you, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Indie said, lifting her chin, “so you want to talk?”

“Okay, what it is…,” Carmen said, leaning forward and taking a breath. “I have a special interest. Bad things have happened in my life and I’ve started to notice…things. Strange things. Numbers. All related to these things that… happened.”

Indie was about to respond, her expression serious, when a tall blonde guy brought the food over. He gave Indie a high five and greeted Carmen with a wide smile.

“Dale, mate! Can you get me a bowl of the onion soup and a brie and grape baguette? And whatever my friend here wants.”

Carmen ordered a cassoulet and added a glass of Shiraz to the order as the door to the bistro opened, flooding the restaurant in sunlight.

She was going to need some hair of the dog.

“Carmen!” Dylan called from across the room, his voice surprised yet still smooth and as sexy as ever.

“Oh, shit,” Carmen whispered as she looked to where he stood. She noticed his floppy hair over green eyes, the perfect triangle of his shoulders and hips, his beautifully pressed shirt and his arm…around a girl’s waist.

Long brunette waves, white teeth, blue eyes and an athletic body turned Carmen’s stomach. Jealousy bubbled up in her chest as she tried to say something. Anything. Nothing came out and she was left sitting there like a mannequin. One with a gaping mouth.

Indie turned her smoky eyes towards Dylan, giving a half grin as she assessed the situation. “Your ex?” She asked with surprise.

Carmen merely grunted and looked towards the bar, hoping her glass of wine was on its way. I should have ordered a bottle, she thought, unamused. To her dismay, as she turned to face forward once more, she saw Dylan and his date sauntering over to her table.

“Fuck,” she whispered without moving her lips. Just in time, Dale got to them first with their drinks. Carmen took a quick glug to moisten her parched throat, desperately trying to stay calm. A quick glance at Indie told her that she was very interested to see how this panned out.

“Carmen, nice to see you,” Dylan offered, his body language suggesting that this was a genuine comment. “Carmen, this is Angela, Angela this is Carmen,” he said, swaying his arm back and forth in introduction.

“Nice to meet you,” Carmen was finally able to say, though unable to mean it.

“This is my friend, Indie,” Carmen continued as she forced herself not to stare open-mouthed.

Indie smiled politely as she offered her hand and gave each of theirs a firm, jolting shake.

Angela excused herself to the bathroom as Dylan continued to look from Carmen to Indie, then back again. Maybe he sensed something. Or maybe he’d heard the rumours about Carmen, rumours that happened to be true. She had always been attracted to both men and women, it wasn’t her fault that people assumed otherwise just because she’d had a long-term relationship with Dylan.

Indie looked at Carmen and winked subtly before turning to Dylan, “I haven’t seen you in here before,” she stated. “I thought our secret was safe here,” she grinned playfully as she looked back at Carmen. Oh, this was going to be good.

“Oh, right. Well, we haven’t been here for a long time,” he fidgeted uncomfortably as he tried to find the right words. “So,” looking at Carmen, “ this is your…erm-”

“-Girlfriend,” Indie finished.

Speechless, Carmen could only watch what was unfolding before her eyes. She was enjoying it immensely.

“Right,” Dylan said, raising his eyebrows questioningly as Carmen smiled and nodded discreetly. She didn’t trust her hands to leave her lap.

Indie stretched her arm across the table and stroked Carmen’s cheek as she gazed at her lovingly. Luckily, as Carmen was about to burst into fits of nervous giggles, Dylan quickly nodded and said, “It was nice to see you again Carmen, nice to meet you…Indie,” then he turned to leave as quickly as possible. Angela intercepted him as she came from the bathroom and the two took a table by the window, Dylan with his back to them.

“My arse is sweating,” Carmen said.

Indie’s laughter brought attention not just from Dylan and Angela, but from the entire bistro.

“I really enjoyed that,” she eventually whispered to Carmen. “Did you see his face?”

Carmen had to admit it was funny, and she was grateful to Indie for making Dylan feel awkward. Ugh, the guy had no manners. Drinking half of the wine in one go, she was then armed with enough bravado to do something she had never done before. She stood, leaned over the table and grabbed Indie by the back of her head, entwining her fingers through her long braids. Bringing her closer, she landed the most passionate kiss on Indie’s lips, lingering long enough to hear the audible gasp from the table by the window. Trying not to grin, she pulled away slowly and licked her lips, groaning like she had just tasted the sweetest, most forbidden fruit. She desperately wanted to look over at Dylan but didn’t dare.

“Wow,” Indie said, touching her lips.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Carmen said quietly as she applied chapstick to her swollen lips, her fingers trembling slightly. “Maybe now the rumours will stop.”

“Actually, I think they’re likely to get stronger!” Indie laughed.

Just in time, the food arrived and the pair ate in silence for a few minutes.

“So, tell me more about this interest of yours,” Indie said between spoonfuls of soup, the garlic wafting over on a cloud to Carmen’s nostrils.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

“Everything, I suppose. We can start with how it started,” Indie suggested, “your…obsession, I mean.”

Carmen laughed nervously. She thought back to the book she’d read in school, which seemed to have sparked a deep interest.

“It started with a book. About The Trickster. He was the thirteenth God in Norse mythology,” Carmen began before biting into her baguette.

“Yes, but there must be more to it than that,” she supplied.

“Well, I guess it helps that I have a genuine phobia. I’ve always been scared of the number thirteen. I suppose that started my interest in numbers and phobias. First you have to realise that triskaidekaphobia and paraskevidekatriaphobia are intrinsically linked.” The words now rolled right off Carmen’s tongue, as if she had practised their pronunciation to perfection.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that you can’t really have a fear of the number thirteen without having a fear of Friday the thirteenth,” Carmen said matter-of-factly. “Christ was reportedly crucified on a Friday. Eve tempted Adam with the apple on a Friday. Cain also killed his brother Abel on Friday the thirteenth.”

“Interesting,” Indie breathed, her spoon resting in the remains of her lunch.

“There’s also the belief that the number thirteen is considered unlucky because it comes after twelve.”

“What’s special about the number twelve?”

“Twelve months, twelve apostles, twelve signs of the zodiac, twelve tribes of Israel…,” Carmen recited. “Twelve is considered a complete number, hence thirteen is kind of out on a limb, it sticks out. It doesn’t belong.”

“I see,” Indie said before taking a breath. “Did you see that film, The Number Twenty-Three?”

“Yes, I think so,” Carmen replied as she took another bite. “What about it?”

“Well, the main character, he has a fascination with numbers. It became his obsession. But he wasn’t aware that the book he was obsessed with was actually written by him. He’d forgotten.”

Carmen nodded. “Yeah, I remember now. Strange, I feel like I have something missing…like I’ve forgotten something, too. It’s like I’ve always had this…obsession, to use your words. I mean, why else would I cover myself in tattoos about numbers? But at the same time…I feel like this is new to me.”

Indie laid the spoon in her now empty bowl and leaned forward.

“It’s weird,” Carmen continued, “I got home last night and…I know I was a bit drunk, but I realised my apartment number adds up to thirteen. Six and seven, sixty-seven. Six plus seven equals thirteen.” She looked up to check Indie’s reaction, but she merely nodded for her to go on.

“Then, I thought, I live on the fourth floor. One plus three equals four. Thirteen equals four, in a way,” she said as she scoured Indie’s face for amusement. “But I’ve lived there for two years and now I’m only just noticing this? Am I crazy?” Carmen finally asked.

For some reason, only now did she remember that her ex and his new girlfriend were sitting mere feet away. She glanced over to see them both smiling and enjoying a conversation about…God knows what. The sun’s rays came through the window in such a way as to highlight Angela’s bright smile, sparkling eyes and glowing hair. I hate her, Carmen thought as she narrowed her eyes in their direction. As with everything, it was not lost on Indie.

“Maybe we should do this another time,” Indie said as she picked up the last piece of baguette and looked at her watch. “I have to start my shift in ten minutes, anyway.”

Carmen slouched into the padded red bench, her eyes pensive and her lips apart. “Okay,” she finally said.

“But give me a call later, we can talk some more.”

Without exchanging any more words, Indie got up and headed behind the bar. Carmen looked at Dylan and Angela, sitting far too close to the only exit. She wouldn’t be able to leave without saying goodbye. So she did the only thing she could do; she headed to the bathroom and prayed that it had a large, low window.

#

Carmen stared zombie-eyed at the computer monitor, the four hours of research finally taking their toll. Four hours. one plus three. Thirteen equals four.

She had a wealth of information about the phobias and their origins; she printed out articles and wikipedia pages, excerpts from historical sites and newspaper archives until she ran out of ink. Then she took screenshots and written notes when something piqued her interest.

She knew she was becoming obsessed. But the number thirteen held a special significance to her. One that no-one else knew; not Lottie, not Gary or Bea, not Pat and not her flatmate Eric.

As she sat at her desktop, she clicked into the search bar and, without thinking, typed. A few archived newspaper articles surfaced, the remaining results clearly irrelevant to the specific request.

“Friends and Family Slayed” the headline read. Carmen skimmed the story, having absorbed each word thirteen years ago. Thirteen Years. They would never leave her, try as she might.

In February 2009, on Friday the thirteenth, a killer had terrorised the town. In the bloody rampage, Carmen had lost her parents, her twenty-six-year-old sister and her four-year-old nephew. The killer had gone on to slay university students and the attendees of a bar close to where Carmen had lived. She herself had been asleep in her flat, oblivious to the devastation she would wake up to. The loss had been immeasurable, the therapy long and slow.

Six years younger than her older sister, Carmen had only just moved into this very flat. Her sister, Ana, had been staying with their parents for a holiday with her four-year-old son, Ethan. One plus three equals four. Thirteen equals four. Normally, Ana and her husband, Chris, would be in Belfast where he was stationed with the army. If the slayer had attacked just two days later, her sister and nephew would not have been there. But the guilt surrounding her thoughts that it would have been more acceptable for just her parents to die — she couldn’t linger on it for too long. There were no more ‘what ifs’, they were too painful.

Ana was twenty six when she died. Two times thirteen equals 26. Ethan had been four. Thirteen. One plus three equals four. Carmen’s lips twitched as she mouthed the words silently.

Even as her eyelids grew heavy, Carmen couldn’t leave this alone. She forced herself to the kitchen to make coffee. As she placed the pot under the treacly drips, her phone buzzed. Glancing at the clock and stifling a yawn, she was surprised to learn it was almost 1 am. Midnight plus one. 13 o’clock.

She smiled when she read the message from Indie: “Hey, I just finished my shift. If you can offer a hot shower and refreshments, I can be over in five. Send me your location.”

Eight minutes later, Carmen inhaled as she took in the sight that was Indie post-shift. Her hundreds of tiny braids were pulled from her face by a blue bandana — the blue of turquoise caribbean seas. Her skin glowed with perspiration and her charcoal eyes were warm and safe, like sitting in a cosy room during a storm.

“Hey,” said Indie.

“Hey yourself,” Carmen said as she took a step back to let her guest over the threshold, her heart beating steadily in her ears. “The shower’s ready, there are clean towels and a bathrobe in there,” she pointed up the stairs as Indie took off her shoes.

“Thanks. I’ll be down soon. I can’t relax ’til I get the beer smell off of me.”

“Let me know if you want any company,” Carmen teased as she watched Indie climb the steps.

Indie laughed nervously, “I’ll be down soon,” she repeated.

#

The next morning, as Indie slept soundly on the sofa, Carmen went back to her research with a big mug of coffee. Eric was snoring from his room by the kitchen and Carmen didn’t expect to see him until lunch time. It was the same every Sunday.

Lost in thought, she didn’t hear Indie creep up behind her. Feeling a small squeeze on the back of her neck, she squealed in surprise, spilling coffee over her keyboard. Indie giggled.

“Oh my God, a heads-up would be nice!” Carmen chastised as she grabbed a roll of kitchen paper and began mopping up the spillage. “If I get electrocuted, it’s on you.”

“I’m sorry,” Indie grinned, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “Do you have a flatmate?” She asked as the sound of snoring drifted into the kitchen.

“Yeah, Eric. He’ll sleep like the dead until lunchtime, don’t worry. He didn’t come back until way after you’d passed out.”

“I’m not worried. And I didn’t pass out. If you must know, I was knackered. I work my arse off at the weekend.” Indie insisted.

“I know, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me. What are your plans for today? Are you going to ignore the glorious sunshine and sit at your laptop all day?” Indie asked, taking a seat at the small table.

“I can’t seem to stop,” Carmen sighed. “Everywhere I look, these numbers are screaming at me. Why didn’t I see it before? Why is the number four everywhere? I see the number four and I think of thirteen.”

“The numbers were always there. The difference is, you weren’t looking for them. Now you’ve started to notice them, you’ll be blind to everything else.”

“But what does it mean? Is it a warning?”

Indie shrugged. “Their meaning is personal to you. Only you know what that is. But be careful, this kind of thing can become…destructive.”

There was silence for several moments as Carmen decided how much to reveal. She hadn’t known Indie for long at all, but something told her she could trust her implicitly. Plus, she was the only one who might not call her crazy.

“Listen,” she began, “I haven’t told any of my friends this. I don’t know why I’m telling you, to be honest. Something tells me I can trust you. But I’ve been wrong before…”

“Hey, you can trust me. I’m not here to judge, just to let a new friend unload.”

Carmen took a deep breath. “Okay, so, thirteen years ago-”

“-Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Carmen and Indie turned to see Eric standing in his bedroom doorway, his robe parted to reveal oversized boxer shorts and a vest covered in what looked like curry sauce.

“Eric, for fuck’s sake…” Carmen complained, turning away from the mess that he was.

“Ah, yeah, sorry, I had a bit of an argument last night with a korma. I need to clean my sheets, too…”

“Gross.”

“There’s that word again. Carmen, it really hurts my feelings when you say that. And you say it a lot,” Eric mock cried as he grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee.

“Then stop being gross,” Carmen countered.

Indie was silent, watching the skit unfold as she continued to sip coffee.

“So…Angry Sloth. What brings you to our lovely abode? I would have asked you last night, but you were both asleep on the sofa,” Eric teased as he waggled his eyebrows.

Carmen practically pounced on him, “We were not! I slept in my bed!”

“Oh, right, yes,” Eric raised his finger in the air, “that’s right, I only thought there were two of you. Turned out I was seeing double,” he laughed. “So, what’s going on?”

“None of your business,” Carmen said quickly.

“But it is my business, bud-bud. I look after you, ya know? I’m your big bro.”

Carmen laughed despite herself, then looked up to see Indie looking perplexed.

“Angry Sloth?” She said, “is that what you guys call me?”

Carmen had the sense to look embarrassed. “It’s just another one of Eric’s gross habits, please don’t be offended by it, he doesn’t know any better,” she soothed as she touched Indie’s arm.

“Well, I’m getting out of here before I get too turned on. See ya later sloth, bud-bud.”

They watched in stunned silence as Eric swished his robe like a cape and returned to his room.

“I’m sorry about him,” Carmen said. “He’s actually a great guy, very loyal. As long as you can ignore his grossness.”

“That’s okay, I get it. I’ve been called worse things, I’m sure. ‘Bud-bud’?”

“Ah yes, that one isn’t so bad. We both drink Budweiser, so we’re Budweiser Buddies. Bud-buds, if you will,” Carmen shrugged.

Indie finished her coffee, then looked at Carmen expectantly.

“Right, yes. I was telling you my secret.”

“You really don’t have to, you know.”

“It’s okay, I trust you. Though I’m not sure why. I’ve known Eric for two years and I haven’t told him,” she smiled lopsidedly.

Indie put her hand on top of Carmen’s and waited until she made eye contact. “It’s okay.”

Drawing another deep breath, everything seemed to tumble out of Carmen’s mouth at once. “Thirteen years ago, four members of my family were murdered and the killer was never caught. It was 4pm on Friday the thirteenth. My nephew was four years old at the time. The number of the house was two hundred and fifty-six. That adds up to thirteen. Three plus one is four. The street name was Tretten Square. Tretten is Norwegian for thirteen. The killer went on to kill nine more people that very day. Nine people. Plus my family, that equals thirteen. He killed thirteen people.”

Indie closed her mouth and inhaled slowly. “That is…unbelievable. I’m so sorry about your family. You said the killer was never caught?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Carmen croaked as she stared at the table.

“Is there more?” Indie coaxed.

“Well, yes. My family’s funeral was on the fourth of the month. Dylan dumped me for that…other girl on the fourth of April. Fourth of the fourth. I wake up at 4am every day. Without fail. Like I told you, the flat number is sixty-seven. Six plus seven?”

“Thirteen,” Indie answered.

“And I live on the fourth floor. What the hell? These can’t all be coincidences, surely?”

Indie’s eyes widened but she remained silent, contemplating the information. Carmen got up to fetch the coffee pot as she heard her draw in a breath.

“I don’t believe in coincidences. But you need to be careful with this. It’s easy to become obsessed, to let it take over your life. You need to do something positive with it.”

“Like what?” Carmen asked as she stood with the coffee pot poised.

“Well, I dunno. Maybe we can think of something together.”

Silence filled the small kitchen as both were lost in thought.

“What I don’t understand is, what I’m supposed to do with this information?” Carmen broke the peace.

Indie merely pouted and shrugged. “I guess you need a distraction,” she said finally.

#

Carmen arrived early at work the next day, feeling lighter and more at ease. She slipped a folder of papers into her desk drawer, hoping she would get time later to read through them. She and Indie had spent yesterday walking in the sun and talking. Indie had given her lots of information about the number four, most of which, Carmen was happy to say, was positive.

She spent all morning dealing with phone calls, visitors and even a blocked toilet, before she pulled the folder back out of the drawer. Unwrapping a sandwich, she settled down to flipping through the papers to the last one she had read.

Her relief grew as she took in the print-outs: Four is symbolic of self-expression and maturity, representing the universe and its order; the four compass points, four seasons and phases of the moon. The crucifix was also mentioned, in that it had four distinct corners. Plus, there are four Gospels in the Bible and four rivers in the Garden of Eden. The number represents earthly balance in Greek cultures, symbolising Earth’s four elements of earth, wind, fire and water. Hinduism and Islam also held references to the number four, all holding the digit in esteem.

But still it frustrated her. What was she supposed to do with this?

She finished her sandwich and flicked to the back of the paper pile, scanning for new information. The penultimate page was faded, the newly-bought ink already running out again and turning from black to grey. She squinted at the last page as letters faded in and out, black lines running through the text.

She raised an eyebrow as she saw ‘unlucky’ and ‘death’ halfway down the page. Unable to read the words clearly, she typed them into Google. Sure enough, the number four is unlucky in Chinese and Japanese cultures because it sounds like the word for death.

Finding something closer to home, she learned that the Great Fire of London burned for four days. She read about the medieval punishment of being hung, drawn and quartered, something she had learned about with morbid fascination in school. What she hadn’t realised in her innocence at the time was that ‘quartered’ literally meant cut into four pieces. A shiver ran down her back.

Clicking from site to site, she fell onto a page about Guardian Angels. It seemed, as she read, that four could be considered an angel number; a number used by angels to nudge us in a certain direction, to remind us to keep going, stay strong. The number 404 specifically is intended to be a reminder that our angels are with us, guiding us in life. A reminder to ask them for support in our times of need.

Makes sense, considering, she thought.

Maybe this was it, maybe the universe was telling her that it was her time to shine, to step forward from the past, to finally grow into who she was supposed to be.

Sighing, she checked the time and put the folder into her bag, ready for the end of day. She expected to be reading more tonight. She just couldn’t cram enough information into her head. She wrote ‘ink’ on her hand as a reminder to buy more on the way home. The word itself brought her thoughts back to Indie. She was enjoying spending time with her, an unlikely friendship from her previous experiences, but a welcome one nonetheless. Plus, she was a great source of both information and comfort.

Now alert to her surroundings, Carmen spent the afternoon busying herself with the monotonous tasks of her job, but with a little more awareness: A little after 4pm, she answered the phone four times in four minutes. No less than four different delivery drivers brought four different packages. A line of four black suits came through the door at 4.44 pm exactly, heading to the conference room on the fourth floor. Carmen smiled to herself every time, convinced that the angels were sending her clear signs. Signs that she could take control of her life again, move on from the bloody history involving her family. Had she been spared for a reason? Was she destined for greater things than answering phone calls and unblocking toilets? She was starting to really believe so.

At 5.30 pm, Carmen shut her laptop, sent the phone to voicemail for the night and plucked her bag from the floor. Pausing at the coat stand, she added layers to protect her from the icy winds outside. Maybe one day she could afford a car. She was seriously fed up with getting the bus every day. As she pushed the door open, into the wind, she stopped dead in her tracks. On the path in front of her sat four crows. Each one looked back at her, the gales ruffling their feathers and whipping Carmen’s hair across her eyes. As she smoothed her hair back with her hand, she saw the path was now empty. No crows. Had she imagined it? Forcing her legs to move, she trotted to the bus stop just ahead, glancing back twice to check the path. Nothing.

Just as Carmen reached the bus stop and took a seat, she heard a large vehicle approaching. As she looked up, the bus was hammering towards her, lights glowing fiercely against the dark street. In a whoosh, the bus flew past her, whipping the air into a cyclone which danced around her feet and threatened to take the woolly hat from her head. As it passed, she could have sworn she saw distinct orange numbers at the front, sitting above the driver. The numbers she saw were 404. Gasping, she stood to quickly examine the timetable which sat behind a piece of perspex screwed to a pole. Scanning the long paper, she saw no signs that a bus number 404 ran this route. Then again, she reasoned, it hadn’t stopped. Maybe the driver was off duty, on his way back to the depot?

As she stared up the empty road where the bus had passed, she heard another vehicle coming up behind her. Turning, she saw that her bus had arrived, number 562. No fours to be seen on this one, but the numbers did add up to thirteen. I can’t escape, she thought.

She climbed aboard as soon as the doors were opened, paid the driver and took a seat near the back. As she sat, a small elderly woman sitting two rows ahead slowly craned her neck in Carmen’s direction. Her eyes were a milky blue, the eyes of a blind person. But those eyes looked straight into Carmen’s, sending an icicle running down her back. The old woman smiled, subtly at first, then her lips stretched and her mouth opened, revealing brown, rotting teeth. Carmen could do nothing but stare back, breath caught in her throat as her fingers clutched the bag on her lap.

“Four,” the old woman croaked, her grin widening. Then she laughed, a raspy chuckle that sounded almost inhuman. “You see the fours, hmn? You think they will balance the thirteens?” Then she cackled hideously, looking skywards at an imaginary audience before turning around to face the front.

Carmen scanned the other seats, noting three other people simply staring out of the window, oblivious. Did she imagine what she just saw and heard?

At the next stop, the old woman got up out of her seat and alighted onto the street, not once looking in Carmen’s direction. She followed the woman’s steps as the bus slowly pulled away, watching her through the window until she disappeared from sight. Returning her gaze to the front of the bus, she saw that the other 3 passengers had turned around to stare at her. Panic began to rise in her chest, so she loosened her scarf as her eyes darted from one person to the next, confused and more than a little scared.

“We are thirteen,” they all said in a monotonous chorus, their mouths barely moving on their expressionless faces.

Carmen began to hyperventilate as she forced herself from her seat and towards the front of the bus. She reached the driver, about to ask him to stop and let her off. She would rather walk the rest of the way.

“Can you please-”

The driver turned to look at her, a creepy smile across his lips as he continued to drive through the darkened streets. His eyes glowed bright white and unblinking in the moving shadows, the bus continuing its journey as though steering itself.

Carmen’s breath caught in her throat. She held onto the pole as her body began to swing through the twists and turns, the bus now gaining speed despite its driver’s inattention.

This has to be a dream.

She squeezed her eyes shut and held on with both hands, her feet rooted to the floor as her body pivoted and bumped around. Suddenly, she felt the bus slow and stop and she nervously opened her eyes. There, a hundred metres ahead through the windscreen, she saw the door to her flat. Looking left, she saw the bus stop that she sat at every morning and got off at every evening. She turned quickly towards the driver, who smiled genuinely and raised his eyebrows in expectation.

“This is your stop, right?” He asked. No creepy smile, no staring eyes.

Carmen glanced behind her, noting the same 3 people from earlier now engrossed in their phones or staring out of the window. Everything seemed normal again.

“Er, yes. Thanks,” as she shakily jumped down the steps to the pavement. She stood at the door as it closed and watched the bus slowly drive away, its orange lights competing with those of the street lamps. She stood there for several minutes, trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.

Maybe the number four isn’t so lucky after all, she thought.

As Carmen finally made it through her door, she let out a huge sigh of relief, stripped off her coat, hat and gloves and threw her bag onto the kitchen table before she even noticed Eric and Indie lounging on the sofa.

“Oh! Hi!” She said, hand on her chest, “I didn’t see you there.”

Silence.

“You need to come and sit down,” was all Indie said.

Carmen paused for a moment, then nodded and took the armchair facing the sofa. She sensed a kind of doom around her, like the air was heavy. As she waited expectantly, she heard footsteps above her. Slowly, they came down the stairs, the shuffles and thumps growing louder and louder until she couldn’t take it anymore. Turning briskly in the chair, Carmen saw a crowd of people standing at the foot of the stairs, silent and gaping. Each of their faces held a grey sheen, eyes lifeless and drooping. With realisation, Carmen gasped and began to rise from her seat.

“Sit down.”

Carmen obeyed and looked to Indie and Eric, still sitting on the sofa. Eric was shaking his head and staring at the floor. Indie sat motionless, holding Carmen’s eyes with a stern defiance.

“What’s happening? Is this a dream?”

Eric pouted and puffed air from his lips, shaking his head still as he looked up to Carmen.

“No, Carmen, this part isn’t a dream.”

Carmen sank into the chair, terror now spreading through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head fiercely against the sounds and images engulfing her. “This part?” She croaked.

“Listen to me, Carmen. This is very important,” Indie said firmly. “You have been part of an…experiment. But we need to stop this right now, before-” she glanced at Eric by her side, “-before there’s irreparable damage.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Carmen flicked her gaze angrily from one to the other.

She sensed the people behind her seemingly getting closer, she could swear she felt cold breath on the back of her neck. Neither Carmen nor Eric appeared to notice them.

“I’m going to give it to you straight, Carmen, so listen carefully. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

“I’m waiting,” she replied with impatience.

“My name is indeed Indie and this is Eric. I am a therapist and he is a holistic practitioner.”

“Okaaay… .”

“Carmen, thirteen years ago you were convicted of killing your mother, father, sister and nephew. You then went on to kill nine other people, four in a bar and five at the university.”

There was silence in the room as everyone held their breath.

Suddenly, laughter burst out of Carmen’s mouth as she leaned forward, eyes wide and disbelieving, “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

But no-one else was laughing.

Both Indie and Eric slowly shook their heads, mouths unmoving.

“You have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Carmen,” Eric said matter-of-factly. “You agreed, from prison, to take part in an experimental trial that Indie and I initiated several years ago. Things were going very well for a while, but recently… Well, you’ve been slipping back into the same mental instability you suffered thirteen years ago. So Indie had to intervene. I’ve been here all along.”

“I hope you’re pulling my fucking leg,” Carmen hissed without a hint of amusement. “I’m not in prison. I did not kill my family. I didn’t kill anyone.” Tears pricked her eyes as understanding dawned on her. From the expressions on their faces, this was not a joke. She turned slowly to see the group of zombie-like creatures still standing there, unmoving and looking like death itself.

Indie inhaled deeply. “The experimental drug we’ve been using gives you temporary amnesia, allows you to start over, if you will. You remember the murders, but not that you were responsible for them. There is no doubt, Carmen. You killed those people. Thirteen of them.”

Carmen at once felt dizzy, her vision blurring as she sat back into the chair, allowing the cushions to hold her. Eric and Indie sat back too and silence ensued for several moments.

“Having OCD does not make me a psycho,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Indie said. “But your particular OCD symptoms presented as an obsession with numbers. Particularly the number thirteen. This developed into a phobia, which, as you know, is called Triskaidekaphobia. We believe this was the catalyst for your… behaviour, shall we say. Well, the OCD, the obsession, the phobia all combined together with your predisposition to psychosis…” Indie drew another breath, “Let’s just say, the odds were against you.”

Carmen released the breath she had been holding as the tears finally fell. She was speechless, numb.

Indie looked towards Eric, who was observing Carmen like the lab rat he felt she was.

“Listen,” he said as he leaned forwards, elbows on knees, fingers interlaced, “for reasons we don’t fully understand yet, the drug is no longer as effective as it was when we started this experiment, two years ago.”

“But my… life?” Carmen whispered, then wiped tears across her parched lips. “This all feels so… real.” She looked dreamily around the room.

“It’s all part of the drug. And incredibly rigorous hypnotism. Together, they create an alternate, or dream, reality. Kind of like a test run for real life. If we can perfect this drug, it will take the rehabilitation of violent offenders to a whole new level,” Indie said, almost excitedly. Her smile fell, “In real life, you’re actually in our lab. This-” she raised her hands to indicate the room, “-is all in your head.”

“And them?” Carmen asked, nodding towards the entities behind her.

“Who? What can you see?”

“I see people. They don’t look too good.”

Indie shot a concerned look to Eric, “Hallucinations could very well be a part of the withdrawal, an effect from the treatment wearing off.”

The panic in Carmen’s chest shot to her extremities, her fingers and toes throbbing. She leant forwards and tried to draw a breath, but someone had emptied the room of air. She saw Eric come towards her as the walls began to fade away.

“She’s having a panic attack,” she heard someone say from a long way away. Her ears rang, her heart pumped against her ribs.

Carmen felt a paper bag thrust over her mouth, a hand rubbing her back. “Breathe.”

#

Several minutes and a glass of water later, Carmen was breathing normally, her heart rate beginning to settle. She lay back in the chair, one hand resting on her chest and the other cradling her pounding head.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said. “Why can I remember them being killed? But not that it was me? Why? I mean, why would I do that?” The tears threatened again as her throat began to close. Breathe.

“Intense hypnosis,” Indie stated, clearly enthralled by everything going on right now, yet trying to suppress it. “We re-programmed your brain to believe that yes, your family died, but the killer was never caught. It worked perfectly at the beginning. After several months of hypnosis, we introduced the new drug. Together, they allow the brain to experience a new reality in every sense. The brain really is a wonder, it’s incredible what it can do.” She glanced at Eric, “We were so close.”

“Well, I’m sorry I ruined your fucking experiment!” Carmen shrieked, pure anger replacing her anxiety. “But you’ve ruined my fucking life!!”

She shot up out of the chair and ran to the front door. She sensed Eric trying to chase her, glanced back to see Indie holding his arm, telling him to stay. The zombies all looked at her, as still as statues aside from their heads turning in unison towards the door. She now saw them more clearly, pausing briefly to recognise Dylan, Angela, Lottie and Gary amongst the grisly, rotting faces.

Carmen grabbed the doorknob, thrust open the door and ran out into what should have been the corridor. She stopped dead, turning in every direction. She was in a large room, gleaming white with a hospital bed in the centre, sheets strewn across the shiny floor. Machines bleeped, lights flashed and silver tools and equipment reflected the artificial light so much, her eyes hurt. A large glass-fronted fridge held test tubes and other imperceptible samples. She turned around and saw Eric and Indie standing in the doorway, arms folded.

“I… I…” Carmen tried, her mind spinning faster and faster. She glimpsed Eric lurching towards her as she fell endlessly, darkness encroaching on all her senses. Then there was nothing.

#

Carmen awoke but kept her eyes closed. She flared her nostrils, smelled a mixture of chlorine and soap. She concentrated on her ears and heard muffled voices, possibly on the other side of a door. She moved her toes, fingers, feet… What the fuck?

Her eyes shot open, realising that her feet and hands were tethered to the metal guards of a bed. She lifted her head and pulled at the four corners, rattling the restraints and finally collapsing with a defeated shriek. Taking deep breaths, she slowly remembered what had happened. Indie and Eric. Dylan, Lottie and all the others. She shut her eyes against the memories. This has to be some kind of mistake.

When she opened her eyes once more, she saw them standing around the bed. The ashen faces of the victims, skin flaking and anger burning in their eyes, surrounding her. She fought to breathe, looking helplessly around the sterile room for someone, something that would save her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears flowing from her eyes to her hair as she lay twisted on the bed. She looked at each of them, searching for forgiveness or understanding. Their silence made her cry out loud before they parted to reveal four more people, three tall and one very small.

“No!” She shouted as her family shuffled closer, eyes hungry for revenge. “No, no, no!” She continued in vain.

Just as Ana, her sister, reached a bony arm towards her, Carmen heard the door to the lab open and just like that, they were gone.

“What’s happening?” Carmen asked Indie desperately, “My family, those…other people, they were all here.” She sniffed violently, attempting to wipe the tears on her shoulders. The restraints clanged against the cold metal of the bed rails.

“It’s okay,” Indie soothed, pulling a stool over to sit by Carmen’s head. “There will be some lingering effects from the treatment. You’ll have some hallucinations, some strange dreams. And most likely some unpleasant physical effects, too.”

“Why did you tie me to the bed?” Carmen demanded, “I can’t defend myself from here.”

“I hate to remind you, Carmen, but you’re a convicted murderer. And you haven’t left this bed in two years. Just because the experiment failed doesn’t excuse you from your punishment.”

Carmen stared at the ceiling, her body releasing all the pent up anger and frustration. She just couldn’t believe what was happening. “Just kill me,” she said.

Indie laughed, then got up from the stool and started to look through drawers and cupboards out of Carmen’s line of vision. She returned with a syringe. “This will help you to relax until the effects wear off.”

“Are you going to try the experiment again?” Carmen asked. She wanted another chance to start over, to forget this nightmare.

“Yes, but we need to make some changes first. You were our guinea pig. We can’t use you as a test subject again. It would be dangerous.”

Carmen groaned as the needle went into her skin, then sighed as the drug washed over her, muscles and bones jellifying.

“Why did I do it?” She seemed to ask no-one in particular.

“Only you know the answer to that, Carmen. Once you’re feeling more like yourself, you’ll be heading back to the hospital. You’ve had physio for the two years you’ve been here, so your muscles should be back to normal quite quickly, with some regular exercise.”

“The hospital?” She asked.

“Yes. You were deemed unfit to stand trial and sent to Brookburn Hospital to live out your sentence.”

“How many years? How long do I have left?”

“All of them, Carmen. Now you have completed the experiment, which you agreed to, I might add, you will live the rest of your life in the hospital.”

At this, Carmen allowed the lump in her throat to dislodge, tears spilling rapidly until the pillow beneath her head was soaked through.

“I’ll leave you for a while,” Indie said as she walked out through the door.

#

Carmen opened her eyes as soon as she awoke this time. Something felt different. Slowly testing each limb, she realised her right hand was free, the restraint dangling loosely on the rail. She looked soundlessly around the room, her eyes stinging from the crying and the bright lights. Something on her stomach glinted in the light, catching her attention.

A razor blade.

How did that get there?

Glancing nervously around the room, she carefully picked the blade up and studied it. It was shiny and new and incredibly sharp, that much she could see. Holding it in her hand, she dropped her head onto the bed and closed her eyes. She began weighing her options and soon could see no other way out. It was death, or a lifetime spent locked up with other crazies, drugged to the eyeballs, numb to anything good that life could offer. It was an open and shut case.

She said a silent prayer to a God she didn’t believe in, asking for a sign, anything, to show her the way. When she opened her eyes again, they were back. Thirteen pairs of eyes stared back at her, silently urging her, pushing her. The pain had to end, for her and the people she had ripped from life so violently.

As she moved the blade towards her left wrist, the eyes seemed to laugh and dance with joy.

“Don’t, Carmen,” a voice urged from the doorway.

Indie came to stand by the bed, placing a warm hand on Carmen’s arm. The earlier coldness in her eyes had been replaced with a warm understanding.

“I’m a monster,” Carmen sobbed.

“You’re sick,” Indie contradicted, “And we can help make you better.”

“There’s nothing left for me, what I did to these people…” as she looked around the room, dead disappointed eyes staring back.

“Then learn to repent, to atone for what you did. I can’t help you to forget anymore, you need to now face this head on.”

Carmen wailed, dropping the blade to the sheet and turning her head away from Indie.

“Where did you get this from?” Asked Indie, “And who took off your restraint?”

But Carmen simply continued to sob, air catching in her throat making it impossible to speak.

Indie removed the blade and refastened the wrist restraint, then began to wheel the bed out of the lab for the first time in two years. Carmen opened her eyes to see her family and friends fade away, but she knew they would be back. They would follow her, haunt her, until she came to terms with what she had done. She needed to prepare for it, to search her soul for the answers that would enable these people to rest in peace, just as they deserved.

Carmen briefly saw the fading sun as she was loaded into the back of a waiting ambulance. Eric and Indie stood at the doors as a third person climbed in beside Carmen, a fourth shutting the doors before climbing into the driver’s seat. As the ambulance drove away, Carmen watched Indie disappear through the rear windows, arms folded, with a look of disappointment on her face. Carmen’s family appeared at her side, her very own farewell party. But Carmen knew that this was not goodbye; they would never leave her, not until they had what they wanted. It would be a fight to her death and to their salvation.