Paul Hardy - The Last Man on Earth Club

“I don’t know. I’ve tried often enough.”

“If… if you think of a way… will you let me know how?”

Tears came from both their eyes as she nodded. “And you let me know, if you figure out something.” He nodded in return. She reached out to give him a hug. He flinched with his usual aversion to physical contact, but overcame it and let her put his head into her shoulder.

“You’re a good lad,” she said. She didn’t notice his hand trembling as she pulled back a little to kiss him on the forehead like a devoted mother.

Some part of Pew’s brain didn’t read it that way. His eyes bulged in horror, his hands froze like claws and he pushed away from her. “No! NO!” he yelled.

“What’s the bloody matter now—” she asked, exasperated, not realising what was plain when I reviewed the video later: Pew was having a flashback to some terrible event, and responded as he did when the trauma first happened. He attacked.

His hands flew for her throat, and she was quickly pinned down with him on top of her, struggling to pull his hands away as he snarled like a beast. But murder was not his intent. He let go of her throat with one hand and ripped open the front of her work shirt, revealing her underwear.

Her eyes went a little wider as she realised what he was doing. The surprise disarmed her, one hand falling aside — to land on a trowel. As he pulled at more of her clothes, she brought the trowel up to club him on the side of the head. He fell away, dazed.

Veofol and half a dozen staff were already running to them as she struggled away from him, coughing from a bruised throat, pulling her shirt back together. Pew was swiftly apprehended and sedated. Olivia was left bewildered and angry, refusing the help of a nurse until Veofol insisted.

Two major crises in one evening kept the staff very busy. Olivia needed minor medical attention, but far more important was the betrayal of trust. Veofol spent some time with her explaining how PTSD flashbacks work, and how they can lead to violent behaviour in otherwise placid people. Olivia accepted our diagnosis as a variant of the necrotic hysteria she knew from her own world. But we could not completely allay her suspicions; if Pew was traumatised by the memory of tearing off a woman’s clothes with the intent of rape, what did that say about him? We could get nothing from him to indicate what he had experienced during the flashback. Shame silenced him.

Kwame, too, had seen something that left him ashamed but also very confused. He retreated to his room again and rejected all offers of assistance. At least we had no serious trouble with Elsbet, but, like the others, she refused to speak to us, and we could only guess what she might have remembered about Katie, other than that it was clearly traumatic.

Added to all these disruptions was the impending return of Liss, which we had scheduled for the next day along with a group therapy session. This would be delicate, but I hoped for a welcome distraction that would relieve pressure on the group as they concentrated on the mystery of her actions.

I found myself exhausted at the end of the day, working far past my usual hours even after Veofol should have been left alone to handle the night shift. The group must have been quiet, because he came to see me, very clearly concerned and asking how I was.

“I’m fine,” I protested, knowing very well that I didn’t look it.

“Are you sure? I don’t remember you working these hours with the last group…”

“Hah. The last group were a breeze, compared to this.” I leaned back in my chair. But he still looked concerned. “Is something up?”

He struggled to find words to express his concern.

“Is it Olivia?” I asked. “Is she complaining?”

“No, no.”

“Pew? Kwame?” He shook his head. “Elsbet? Has she said anything?”

“She’s not talking to anyone.”

“Then what is it?”

He sighed. “How’s Bell?”

I closed my eyes for a moment, and rubbed my temples. “He’s fine.”

“I was checking the records on Olivia. She overheard something.”

“Something, yes.” And I hadn’t spoken to Bell since the call that afternoon.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t need a therapist, Veofol.”

“No, of course — but you are okay? Aren’t you?”

I realised it then: he was sitting by me, full of honest concern, full of kindness. No arguments, no domestic squabbles. And he was very beautiful. All I had to do was pull him close, and he wouldn’t say no, I could just start with a kiss…

The moment passed. I had responsibilities, duties, and a man I couldn’t run away from. I stood up.

“You should check on Pew.”

He stood as well. I don’t know if he even realised what had been going through my mind.

“I’ll do that. Um, don’t work too hard.”

“I won’t. Thanks.”

He went, and I crumpled back down into a chair. Somewhere back in town, Bell was getting ready to leave me. I could call him and have that serious conversation about our relationship — but that would end up being a serious conversation about who was going to move out and when. Something else was required, something impulsive, less rational.

I called Bell’s favourite restaurant, which offered authentic food from his homeworld. He’d only just been there, but it couldn’t hurt to meet him in a place he was comfortable with. I reserved a table for the following evening. Veofol was scheduled to be on call that night, so I was safe to abandon the group for a few hours. Bell was surprised by my invitation, but agreed to come after I couched it in suitably apologetic (and grovelling) terms.

The group gathered for therapy the next day in a mood of general glowering silence. Elsbet simmered at the edge. Iokan was unusually quiet. Olivia wasn’t talking to Pew, and Pew was hardly able to talk in the first place. Kwame seemed to have forgotten the function of speech entirely.

“Good morning everyone,” I said to the dejected circle. “Before we get started, I want to say I know we all had something of a rough night. I’m going to be seeing most of you during the day to talk it over, but I don’t think any permanent harm was done. You’re all making good progress in therapy and I don’t want to see that go to waste because you’ve been hitting a few bumps in the road. So, with that in mind, I’d like to move on to the main subject of today’s session…”

I tapped a control on my pad. The door opened, and Liss came in. Not the fragile pink porcelain they all knew from before, but the troubled woman she really was, wearing rough jeans and a black t-shirt without a single heart on it. “Hello,” she said.

“Who’s she?” asked Elsbet.

“That’s Liss,” said Iokan.

“Oh, she’s the terrifying infiltrator? Huh,” sneered Elsbet.

Liss gave her a frowning look as she sat down. She’d been informed of the change of personality, but hadn’t been prepared for the sudden venom.

I went on. “Liss has chosen to come back to the group, and of course you all agreed you’d be happy with that—”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” muttered Olivia.

“And I didn’t agree to you being a bitch but you’re still doing it,” said Liss. Olivia went wide-eyed as though slapped in the face.

“Now you listen here—”

“Shove it up your ass.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that—”

“I’ll talk any way I like—”

“Oh, shut up! ” shouted Elsbet, silencing both of them.

Iokan noticed Liss’s stunned look. “Things have… changed a little since you went away.”