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  (CJ): No way, don’t lie. You’re totally fucking shitting me!

  (AL): Don’t swear, please. And no, I’m not.

  (CJ): [Laughing] Oh, my God!

  (AL): So. The Voice—your Aka Manah. Has he been bugging you?

  (CJ): You know already. I don’t like to talk about him. You think he’s a construct. You think he’s not real.

  (AL): Tell me why you chose to call the voice Aka Manah. Why that name?

  (CJ): That’s just his name. Arcane. Scary. Which is what he is.

  (AL): And if I told you that in Zoroastrian mythology, Aka Manah was associated with evil thought? That, traditionally speaking, he was a kind of demon known to affect the mind? The thinking of people?

  (CJ): So?

  (AL): Don’t you think it’s telling? You give your auditory hallucination a name that implies he’s in the mind, influencing the mind? You have control over that. And this is a clue.

  (CJ): A clue to what?

  (AL): A clue telling you—begging you to see—that Aka Manah isn’t real.

  [Silence]

  (CJ): I’ll just agree with you, shall I? Get it over with?

  (AL): Kaitie, I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me. Unless you try. We were friends once, right?

  [Pause]

  (CJ): Once.

  (AL): Please.

  [Pause]

  (CJ): [Whispering] Aka Manah used to be far away… I could tell because he shouted at me. I didn’t really feel him around me. Now… sometimes…

  [Silence]

  (AL): Sometimes? [Gently] What, Kaitlyn?

  [Rustling]

  Kaitlyn, use your words. You can do it.

  (CJ): I don’t want to talk about him. He’ll hear me.

  (AL): Is he here now? [Pause] How do you know he’s here?

  (CJ): [Barely audible] He’s closer. He’ll hear you.

  (AL): How do you know? Is he shouting at you?

  (CJ): [Barely audible] No. He’s whispering.

  (AL): Whispering at you? Right now?

  (CJ): [Whispering] No… at you.

  [Silence]

  (AL): I see.

  (CJ): Sometimes…

  [Silence]

  Sometimes I can feel him… his breath on me. But sometimes it’s worse. I can feel him… inside me.

  [Silence]

  (AL): Kaitlyn, enough.

  [Rustling]

  Kaitlyn, enough. This isn’t a game.

  [Silence]

  (CJ): Screw you, Lansy-pants. You never listen.

  (AL): I think that will do for this evening.

  (CJ): I want to see Jaime.

  (AL): That’s enough for this evening.

  (CJ): I said that I want to see Jaime! I’m entitled to see my little sister every month. It’s been three.

  (AL): Kaitlyn, that is enough.

  [Scraping of chair, followed by footsteps receding]

  (CJ): [From a distance] You never listen! You can’t stop her from visiting. Keep trying that, and you’ll see what you push me to!

  [End of tape]

  Dr. Lansing Therapy Notes

  Session #45: Carly/Kaitlyn Johnson

  Tuesday, 31 August 2004

  Carly continues to dissociate into Kaitlyn. Continuing attempts at deception indicate the need for an adjustment in her medication. Delusions also persist with regard to “the Voice.” Consider readmittance to Claydon Psychiatric Hospital, inpatient department for a few more months.

  A visit from Jaime Johnson is long overdue. I have been reluctant to grant one in hopes that Jaime could be used as a restraining tool, but withholding visits has had an adverse effect, as tonight’s was the first dissociation into Kaitlyn that Carly has experienced in at least a month, as far as I can tell.

  Dr. A. Lansing MBChB MD PhD

  3

  Several recovered fragments of Carly’s journal remain intact. One has been replicated below; chronological integrity is maintained.

  Diary of Carly Luanne Johnson

  Wednesday, 1 September, 7am

  Claydon

  12 blue pills

  4 white pills

  16 yellow capsules

  I don’t know what else to write.

  This morning my mouth tasted like stale cigarettes and old beer, and I dreaded opening my eyes, because sometimes Kaitie leaves me in strange places. She forgets about me. It might be on the roof or under the bed. Once it was a closet, and I understood what she meant by dark that day. That’s why I’m so careful about where I am around sunset. I don’t want to discard her in the middle of a conversation (if she has any) or cause a scene. Because Mum used to say that some of our transitions could be pretty weird-looking. Eyes rolling, all that stuff. So I’m careful.

  I asked Kaitie to behave again last night, but I guess two nights of behaving were too much.

  I had to mentally scan my body before I felt brave enough to open my eyes. Just like the old days when our biggest problem was Mum not understanding Kaitie’s life. Her loneliness.

  Dear God, save my sister.

  I know she was drinking again last night. I can taste it. I really don’t know how she manages it. Getting out of Claydon, especially at night, sounds impossible. And terrifying. But she did it, because here is the waxy coating on my tongue.

  Leaving to go back to Elmbridge High School in a few minutes. Bags packed.

  I’m sorry, Kaitie. I know you wanted us to do this whole diary thing, but I don’t know what to say.

  10 blue pills

  3 white pills

  14 yellow capsules

  Left her a Post-it. “Don’t flush my pills. We need them.”

  4

  Carly Johnson returned to Elmbridge High School on Wednesday, 1 September 2004 at 7:54 AM. Naida Chounan-Dupré, an aspiring journalist and key witness to what was to follow, compiled a video diary of her final year at Elmbridge High School. This video diary, which was posted online to a secure blog (MalaGenie.com) at regular intervals, and was pulled from the online archive after the discovery of the Johnson journal, reveals much that was previously unknown about the Johnson Incident.

  Video footage has been transcribed by [name omitted at request] and included at relevant sections throughout this testimony.

  Naida Camera Footage

  Wednesday, 1 September 2004, 4:00 PM

  Elmbridge High Common Room

  The image shakes for a moment, and then rights itself. We are staring into the face of a striking girl with pale, almost colorless eyes and black, curly hair. She puts the camera down on a shelf and steps back. She wears the Elmbridge school uniform, consisting of a white shirt sporting the Elmbridge crest and insignia, a blue tie, and a blue-and-green kilt fringed in white. Around her neck hangs a large necklace with thick black beads, and at the center, an amulet. She winks at the camera, fluffs up her corkscrew hair, and blows a kiss.

  “This is it,” she says. Her voice is slow and languid, a faded Scottish accent lilting every word. “Elmbridge Truthful, Episode One, Final Year, Sociology 101. Seeking documented evidence of the daily teen experience. Main players—the Best Friend, Carly Johnson—”

  She picks up the camera, and it spins before focusing on Carly, a slight girl with blond hair and haunted eyes that seem shadowed. She glances up from the book she’s reading. Her face waxes a deep shade of crimson, and the shadows beneath her eyes seem to lighten, chameleon-like.

  “Oh, Naida—don’t film me. Please.”

  “Come on, C!”

  Carly hides behind her book. “It’s invasive. Besides, you’re the only one who decided to do the camera thing. You know… I think he was joking… I think he meant we should do journals. Most of us are.”

  “Mr. Triebourn isn’t going to reward the sheep, hen,” Naida says as the camera angles around the room. “He’s going to reward integrity. With a shiny, beautiful A. I’m a journalist and a sociologist.” The camera turns back to Carly. “Aye, I will capture your secrets—”

  “No.
” Carly’s face, which exudes a gentle timidity, shutters closed, and her eyes grow unexpectedly hard.

  The camera drops, and through the blurry screen we hear Naida say, softly, “Please? I really need this for my Royal Holloway portfolio. If I don’t have it, I won’t get in, and if I don’t get in, I’ll have to take a job as a hack or something—for a tabloid newspaper. A tabloid, Carly! Are you going to do that to me? Really?”

  The camera lifts, refocuses.

  Carly frowns, visibly uncomfortable. “That is completely forbidden emotional blackmail, I hope you know.” She eyes the camera with a sort of wariness, as though expecting it to be aggressive. After a moment, however, she nods, mutters, “Fine!” and then goes back to reading, subtly shrugging her hair over her shoulder to hide her face.

  “Yes! Secrets shall be had, sugar… Nothing to be done about that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, paparazzi,” comes a male voice from offscreen.

  The camera turns to capture a lanky boy with dark skin, a little over six feet tall, with a slim frame and black hair, entering the dorm with a McDonald’s paper bag dangling from his fist. He grins at Naida behind the camera.

  “Turning into a scandal scavenger now?” he asks.

  Naida laughs. “Subject number two: Scott Fromley, the Boyfriend, but don’t ask me why. He’s a clown, a slob, and a jerk most of the time.”

  Scott grins, looking over the top of the camera, which then jiggles as Naida leans in to kiss him. Briefly we catch a glimpse of the contact, Scott’s arm wound tightly around Naida’s waist, as he presses her close.

  “Do you have to do that right in front of me?” Carly asks from somewhere off camera.

  “You wait,” Naida says, and the camera pans back onto Carly. “You’ll have a beau one of these days, and your wild side will be set loose—no longer caged and celibate! Then we’ll see who’s making grotesque public displays of affection.”

  The camera turns back on Naida, close in so that we can see only her darting, penetrating eyes as she whispers, “And I think I know who that might be…”

  The camera cuts away to a shot of a blond boy, around five eleven, stalking into the room. His neatly styled hair belies his casual saunter.

  “Mr. Brett [surname omitted], class president, voted cutest in the year and most likely to succeed, probably owing to the fact that he is, in all honesty, pretty damn gorgeous—”

  Scott, off camera, protests. “Oi!”

  “—and also because his dad’s [redacted]. Yessireee, you heard that right, lasses. We’re rubbing shoulders with the elite.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Scott mutters, off camera. “Isn’t your grandmother some priestess or something?”

  “Aye,” Naida agrees, “she’s a priestess, but that’s nothing next to this pretty boy.”

  Brett bows. “Thank you. Thank you very much. Just let my father know that I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with the likes of you, and then let’s see how ‘elite’ I remain.”

  Naida, turning the camera on herself, says, “That’s true. He’d disown you, for sure. Especially if he knew you joined my Mala group last year.”

  She sticks out her tongue, revealing a diamanté bar piercing, which she wiggles for the camera.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Scott says. “Hey, are we doing that again this year?”

  “You know, you’re more conventional than you think,” Brett says to Naida, “even if you were born on Fair Island, the most Mala-centric and remotest place on the planet.”

  “Was it conventional when I taught you how to put together a dòchas charm?” she scoffs. “And you used it to wish for a good cricket game. God almighty.”

  “Oh, yeah, the hope charm. That was cool.” Scott pulls Naida in for a lengthy kiss, during which the camera lowers. Brett remains in frame. He glances at Carly several times, but she fails to notice.

  “Hey, man,” he says, addressing Scott. “We on for Saturday?”

  Scott, who plonks down onto the sofa beside Carly with little notice of her, nods. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care what we do, just so long as we’re out of here for the day. I’m sick of this place already.”

  A shadow passes over the camera, and Naida’s hand shakes; the camera almost falls.

  “Whoa—”

  She lifts the camera again; Carly comes into focus. “What?”

  “Thought I saw… I—nothing.” She laughs. “I should have got a better camera.” There is a pause and then Naida adds, “Scott, Brett, can you leave us alone for a minute?”

  “I’m sort of busy,” Scott says, the sound muffled as though his mouth is full. A pause. “All right, fine. I’ve got to finish Triebourn’s essay anyway. Later, though, yeah? Your room?”

  “Piss off! Go away, now, now, now!”

  “Cheers, babe. Feeling the love.”

  He and Brett leave.

  A moment of silence followed by the squeaking of springs as Naida sits beside Carly. “What’s up, C?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t imply things like that about Brett and me. I don’t like him like that—at all. He’s…” She shudders, shuts her eyes, and breathes deeply for a few moments. “Look, I’m never going to have a boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend, Naida. I’m okay with it.”

  “Don’t say that. You never know what might happen. One day it might be possible. Fall in love, have a family—”

  “I’ll never have what you have,” she snaps, and then her voice softens. “And that’s not your fault, Naids.” Carly takes her hand. “You don’t have to feel bad. The last thing I want is for you to feel bad… Just don’t do that. Don’t say things about Brett and me, okay? You just make everything harder.”

  “You don’t know what is or isn’t possible, though. We could put a dòchas charm together like last year. You could wish for love.”

  Carly stares at Naida; she looks like she might cry. “No. I can’t.”

  “But why?”

  Carly snatches her hand away. “Kaitlyn has a voice too, remember? We’re fine like this. This is how it has to be.”

  “You and Kaitie… two souls in one body… it’s dangerous. I told you before—”

  “Your Scottish Mala stuff won’t make a difference. I know… And I know what my life is going to be. I’ll never have what I want. I’ll never have who I love.”

  “You don’t know—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  Naida puts the camera on the coffee table so that neither of them is in the shot. It continues to record.

  “You can talk to me, you know,” Naida says softly. “Maybe I can listen… if not understand or, I don’t know, help.”

  There is a muffled exhale and a pause. “Lately… I’ve been feeling weird. I don’t know—I can’t really describe it. Just a weird feeling in my skin… like there’s someone—”

  The camera wobbles and then spins to face both Carly and Naida. Naida sits back down, but Carly only stares at the lens, mouth parted.

  “Like there’s someone…?” Naida prompts.

  Carly shuts her mouth, swallows, and gets to her feet.

  “Carly, wait—what is it?”

  Naida picks up the camera, and we see Carly’s haunted and retreating figure.

  “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

  “Hold up, this is important—”

  [END OF CLIP]

  5

  153 days until the incident

  Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson

  Thursday, 2 September 2004, 1:42 am

  Dorm

  Naida’s eyes are dead oceans on steroids. But when she saw I was here and that her precious Carly was safe, they warmed into something less tepid. It was kind of beautiful, kind of revolting.

  It used to be Carly and me against the world—her notes guided me through the hours of darkness, and mine gave her courage in the brightness of the sun. We were each other’s armor. That’s a little less true these days.

  And it’s Naida’s fault.

  Naida.
Carly’s best only friend. She’s probably the only person who knows about us and actually believes us. Except she thinks it’s something to do with two souls in one body and an excess of power, confused spirits—blah, blah.

  Last year Carly gushed about Naida the first day they met. I think that was probably the worst Message Book entry of my life. Actually, no. The worst one was the one where she told me that Naida knew. Knew our secret. I remember that one like it’s seared on my brain. She wrote, “Naida is amazing. You will love her. She’s just like you! Funny, sarcastic, reckless. Kaitie, it’s so nice to have someone know about us! I hope you don’t mind that I told her?”

  I was an afterthought.

  I guess Carly felt bad, because she started telling me everything about Naida after that, as if trying to balance the scales. Like the Mala thing.

  None of us knew a damn thing about Mala before Naida. It’s some weird Scottish voodoo-like—I don’t know—religion? Cult? Stupid-mental-ritual practice? Witchcraft? Naida basically grew up on Fair Island, which is this completely forgotten island in the Outer Hebrides somewhere, and she only came to England when she was eleven for school. I always thought Naida was weird, even before Carly told me all this shit. Naida’s grandmother still lives on that rock in the sea, though, so Naida goes back every summer. I think Carly mentioned a cousin who lives a few miles away from Elmbridge—whatever. But it’s the grandmother who’s the stirrer, because Naida happened to mention to Carly after she’d written to that old witch that our “situation” was “unnatural.” Two souls in one body—the shock! The horror!