“Exactly my point,” Benedict says.

“But the journal you showed us changed that,” Abi says. “We know now that he survived. Which means the machine is safe to use and we can go home.”

Chiu sits a little straighter, but I can see from Benedict’s expression that he doesn’t agree.

“We know nothing of the sort,” he says.

“How can you say that—?”

“It’s conjecture, Abi.” Benedict leans forward, his eyes sharp and blazing with intelligence. “We still have no way to know what really happened: whether Devon made it back successfully or what condition he was in. There are still too many variables. Don’t you see? We need to go back to the fundamentals.”

Abi glares furiously at him. “Don’t start with the academic crap, Benedict. I’m not in your study group anymore.”

“I’m serious,” Benedict says. “Work the problem rationally, Abi. It will help, I promise. Hypothesis: Devon survived and they successfully revived him.” He gestures towards Abi. “Now: evidence?”

Abi sighs irritably but relents. “Evidence: our colleagues published a paper describing how they revived a coma patient by modulating their cytoelectric brain patterns.”

“Counter hypothesis one,” Benedict responds immediately. “It wasn’t Devon, it was some other patient and they referenced a loosely related result from our lab in order to maintain our cover story.” Abi opens her mouth to object but Benedict talks over her. “Counter hypothesis two: Devon regained consciousness but died shortly afterwards, a detail that would be natural to omit from such a paper.” Abi tries to interrupt but Benedict is on a roll now, his voice rising. “Counter hypothesis three: Devon has regained consciousness but is severely brain-damaged and unable to communicate.”

“Conjecture!” Abi practically shouts, rising from the sofa.

There’s a pause, before Benedict responds calmly, “Evidence?”

Abi glances at Vikram for support but he gives only a resigned shake of his head.

“Counter evidence,” Benedict says, unable to hide his triumph. “If Devon had survived intact, he would have told them of his experiences here and it would have changed everything.” He looks around at us. “Don’t you agree?”

THIRTY-SIX

They talk on and on and we sit and listen because there’s nothing else we can do. Chiu seems enthralled, as if all his own theories from all his years of reading have been finally confirmed. Farah is detached. I’m worried about her. She agreed to come here, in the end, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to be here. I can tell she’s thinking about London, about leaving Benedict to his experiments and disappearing off into the city … to have fun. Existence here is terrible, but it might be preferable to what waits for her in the ordinary world, she thinks.

I don’t agree with her. I can’t stop thinking about her hands, those prehensile growths, unfurling, breaking through the skin. I can’t lose her like that. There was a long time when I locked myself in my room and told myself I was OK, I was safe, I didn’t need anyone. But I know now that I was wrong. I know now what it’s like to have someone, to have Farah.

I can’t lose that.

Frustration boils inside me. Abi thinks we should use the machine but Benedict stands his ground, claiming that it’s too risky. It feels like an old argument, one they’ve been having for the past two years.

“Doesn’t Devon making it back mean anything to you?” Abi says.

“It’s data,” Benedict says. “Data we should consider. That’s all.”

“You saw the date on the paper. It’s been six months in the ordinary world. We don’t know how much longer our bodies can survive in this state.”

“It’s a risk we have to take,” Benedict says.

“I don’t want to take that risk.”

“It will be OK,” Benedict says. “We’re going to change the world. I promise.”

I don’t understand why Benedict won’t just let her go if she wants to. “We’ll go,” I say. “We’ll use the machine. Farah’s sick. According to your theory – and Chiu’s – she can’t be saved while she stays here. So we’ll chance the machine, just like Devon did.”

Benedict shakes his head regretfully. There’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable. His certainty. His unwavering faith. I’ve seen it before, I think. In all the priests and vicars I’ve encountered in all the churches Mum took us to.

“I wish it were possible,” he says. “But I can’t allow it. Not while Farah is ostensibly well. I’m responsible for the safety of everyone in this lab.”

He picks up a journal from the coffee table and flicks idly through it, indicating that the conversation is over. Abi squeezes her forehead in frustration. Vikram tries to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off.

After a moment she offers us a wan smile. “There’s showers in the basement if you’d like? No offence, but it looks like you haven’t had a wash or a change of clothes in a while.”

Farah’s eyes widen. “A shower?”

“They’re cold, but…”

“Yes. Please,” Farah says quickly. “Very much so.”

I hadn’t noticed how filthy I was until now. Without bacteria there are no smells and it’s easy to forget. But now that Abi mentions it, I realize that my T-shirt and trousers are stiff with Farah’s blood and two nights’ sleeping in the soil have added a gritty overlay to the gore.

We follow Abi into the stairwell and down to the basement. There’s a musty concrete smell, so familiar in this small moment that it would be easy to believe that the ordinary world is still there, just on the other side of the fire door.

“There’s a lost-property box as well,” Abi says. “I’m sure we can find you some fresh clothes.”

I glance at Farah and see the delight in her eyes. “Thank you.”

We’re about to go through the fire door into the basement when Abi stops us. Her face is grim. “You’re wasting your time here,” she says darkly. “He’ll never let you use the MRI.”

“Why not?” I say.

“He doesn’t really think Devon is brain-damaged. He knows we could go home. He just doesn’t want to go back empty-handed.”

“What does that mean, empty-handed?” Farah says.

“We’re pretty sure people naturally make it back to the ordinary world once in a while. Not often, but sometimes.”

“So?”

“But there are still no stories of this place. Somebody would have come back with evidence by now if it were possible. A scientist would have known how to convince people.”

“What are you saying?” I say.

“Our best theory is that even if somebody makes it back, their memories are garbled when they return. Bright lights. Rushing tunnels. Religious stories. Think about it. So many of the stories in the ordinary world might come from glimpses of this place. But no detail, nothing coherent. I hate to admit it, but Benedict’s right. Devon hasn’t told them about this place, which means he has no memory of our time here.”

“So?” Chiu says. “At least he’s alive. If we go back, at least we’ll be alive too.”

“You don’t understand,” Abi answers tightly. “Do you think they grant ethics approvals for this sort of thing? This whole project is entirely unethical and probably illegal. But we figured when we came back with world-changing results nobody would ask too many questions.”

“But if you go back with nothing…” I say, realizing what she means.