Sun Castles:
Chapter Two

Time can change a person and nine years is more than enough for Time to erase an individual. It seems like Time has slowly eroded the youthful Pacey Witter that Joey had known. His features are fundamentally the same but they are darker, more defined. More intense. The sun casts shadows, hiding his face in darkness; even with the glaring brightness of the sunlight, Pacey Witter walks in darkness. There is something not quite sinister although certainly dangerous about him. He has become the classic moody, brooding, dark and handsome hero of endless tales.

Shivers run down Joey’s spine; partially from trepidation and partially from lust. Her right foot dangles into the air and Joey’s left cheek rests on the palm of her left hand, propping up her head. The shock has disappeared from her eyes and with a deliberate effort, Joey manages to transform her face into a mask of nonchalant indifference.

“Pacey Witter.” She enunciates.

“Joey Potter.” He drawls in a mocking tone.

For a brief moment she feels the intense desire to scowl but quickly squashes down the temptation and instead smiles coldly in recognition of her name.

“You’re looking well Pacey.”

“So are you Josephine. Although a little red. Shall I?” He produces a bottle of suntan lotion and kneels down, lotion already squeezed onto the palm of his hand.

She raises an eyebrow at his presumption but drops her arm so that her head is lowered while gesturing with her foot for Pacey to proceed. He slathers the lotion across her back without the awkward fumblings of a fifteen-year-old boy. There is a subtle, worldly experience to his touch, and as he spreads the lotion over her body it is the seductive massage of a lover.

“You do realize that Australia has one of the highest rates of skin cancer?” Pacey asks casually. “Although you always did look good tanned. Kissed by the sun. Thoroughly kissed. The look becomes you. It always did.”

“I’ll remember that.” She says dryly.

“And I remember everything.” He throws back words from the past – his own words – now shaded with mocking cynicism.

The intonation of his words hurts but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing. “You make it sound like a burden to remember the past.”

“There are some things that are better forgotten.”

“I don’t believe that. Who we are now is part of who we’ve been. The memories, the places, the people – you can’t just detach them. You shouldn’t be able to just detach them.”

His eyes glint and there is a hidden, malicious spark that burns like the sun. “At least I know who and what to blame for my current status of being.”

“Are you really that unhappy with who you are now?”

“Are you?” His words echo in Joey’s mind like a conscience.

“What makes you think I’m so unhappy?”

“You’re here. In a world away from friends and family.”

“I have friends.” Joey protests. His eyebrows don’t move but skepticism riddles his face. “And I email Bessie every day!”

“There’s no need to justify yourself to me, Potter.” Pacey replies mildly. His hands have moved up now, kneading her shoulders.

“I’m happy. I’m utterly happy with myself.” Joey states fiercely. “And why are we even having this ridiculous conversation? It’s not like you even have a right to talk.”

“Why? Because I sailed away, nine years ago, because I was deeply unhappy over who I was? Over the fact that when I looked into the mirror I saw a person I couldn’t stand?”

“Pacey…” Joey begins, her voice filled with sympathy, guilt and an ache she can’t describe. She shifts her body and reaches out to touch him. He pulls away; away from her; away from her touch.

His mouth has twisted into a wry, sardonic expression. “I don’t need your pity. That Pacey has long since died and been buried. And everyone is all the happier for it.”

“Not everyone.”

He ignores her comment. “You’ve gotten better at lying. Must have been all the practice when you were younger. Despite the nine years, I know you Joey. And I know the symptoms. You look in the mirror each day and you can’t stand the person who looks back at you. You wonder who you are. You wonder how you got there. In your mind you constantly backtrack. What went wrong? How can you fix things? And sometimes you fool yourself into believing you’re happy. You smile, you laugh and you tell yourself this is happiness. But inside you’re miserable. Inside you’re dying. So you run. You run as fast as you can and as far as you can. You run so fast that you lose direction. Sounds familiar?”

She stares at him aghast at the aching truthfulness of his words. His daring bluntness. “How dare you!”

“What? You were expecting small talk? Idle chit chat to fill out the hollow empty spaces in your life?”

“You know nothing about me.” Joey hisses.

“I know enough. I know more than I need to know. I know more than I want to know. Josephine Potter: young, talented and bright. Graduated Salutatorian of Capeside High at the age of eighteen. Attended Worthington on scholarship. During her time there interned for one Boston’s largest art galleries where she made several contacts and impressed her superiors. Graduated from Worthington at the age of twenty-one. Was immediately offered a job at one of the leading firms in the art world. Accepted said job while working on a volunteer basis at a small but prestigious gallery. At the age of twenty-five was the youngest person, let alone female, to be offered a junior partnership in her firm. Josephine Potter promptly declined the promotion and resigned where she disappeared into obscurity to a small unknown gallery in Melbourne, Australia.”

“What, you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” Joey asks snidely. “Or spying?”

“Hardly.”

“Oh wait, I forgot, you have this unique ability where you can look at a person and know their entire history.”

“Actually, Bessie told me.”

“Bessie told you? She wouldn’t dare.”

Pacey does not bother to contain his smirk. “How else do you suppose I knew where to find you?”

“I thought…I thought…”

“You thought it was coincidence?”

“More like bad luck.” Joey glares at Pacey. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve come for you.” He says it so mildly, so normally, that his initial meaning is lost on Joey. Eventually it sinks in, much to her horror.

“You’re deranged.”

“It still doesn’t erase the fact that I’ve come to take you back to Capeside.” Joey stares at Pacey, unable to get over his gall. “We don’t have much time, so I suggest you call your workplace and tell them that you won’t be coming in on Monday. Start packing as well. We leave tonight. I already have your ticket.”

“There’s no way in hell that I’m going anywhere with you.”

“You make it sound like you have a choice in this matter.” Pacey bends down, his hand grabbing Joey’s arm. “You don’t.”

She wrenches her arm away. “You manhandle me once more and I’ll scream rape.”

Pacey shrugs and turns to leave. “Fine. Then I’ll just tell Bessie that you refused to come back to Capeside for your father’s funeral.”

“Da-ad?” Her hand covers her mouth and her eyes are wide from shock and horror. By pure determination, Joey manages not to break down. “When? How?”

“A few days ago from a heart attack. The funeral is scheduled in a few days time; just enough time for you to get back to Capeside.”

“Why-why didn’t Bessie call me and tell me? Why…”

“Why did she send me? Maybe because she thought you wouldn’t have come back if she called, that there was a higher probability of you attending your father’s funeral if I dragged your butt back to Capeside.”

His words are blunt and unfeeling and Joey welcomes the anger that boils inside her. Her eyes grow cold, her fist is clenched until her skin is white and like bubbles in a pot her anger spills over and she explodes. “How dare you!?! You-you bastard!” Her hand whips across in a resounding slap and nails dig deep into Pacey’s flesh, determined to draw blood. It is easier to fight Pacey than to mourn the death of her father.

He is impassive like a solid, rock wall and he stands there as she hits him, screams at him. He offers no comfort, no solace, but acts only as a necessary punching bag for Joey’s anger. As quickly as the adrenaline pumps into Joey’s blood, the hormones fade and her fury dissipates. She is a crumpled heap buried in sand. People nearby watch in fascination, keeping their distance. Salty water falls to the ground adding to the salinity of the sand - Joey’s tears.

Without words, Pacey bends over and picks up Joey’s stuff - her towel, the suntan lotion, the sunglasses that have fallen from her head. He places the items in her green bag and carries it; strap over shoulder. His back cracks a little when he bends down again, this time picking up Joey. He carries her like she is a rag doll and nods affably to the strangers who pass by with curious stares.

The sun is unbearably hot and it shines down upon them. Joey’s skin is flush against Pacey’s body. He notices that her tears have been quickly evaporated; swallowed up by the hungry sun. Pacey’s sandals sink into sand as he navigates his way out of the beach. Casually he shakes his legs a little, ridding his shoes of as much as possible, when his feet heat the hardness of concrete. There are some palm trees planted near the sidewalk and the small strip of lawn is relatively green thanks to the Council’s sprinklers.

Joey lies in Pacey’s arms vaguely aware of what’s happening. She opens her mouth to direct him to her home but a dry strangled sob comes out instead. Words evade her in this moment. It doesn’t matter though because it appears like Pacey knows where’s he’s going. Bessie’s instructions must have been very good. It is an idle, clear thought. It is the most Joey can process at the moment. Her mind seems to be oddly blank. She’s not really thinking of anything. Not Pacey, not Bessie, not the people around her, not her father’s death.

He carries her home and somehow manages to find the key to her apartment. Minutes later, bikini still on, Joey sits crouched on the smooth white bottom of her shower. Water falls down on her, cooling her. She doesn’t know that she is crying. She thinks the droplets on her cheek originated from the shower head and not her eyes. She doesn’t know how long she sits there but after a while Pacey returns to turn off the tap. He begins to undress her and embarrassment sets in.

“I can do it.” Pacey only looks at her, scrutinizing, before he nods and hands Joey her clothes. He closes the door giving her privacy.

The wet bikini is peeled off her skin and drops to the floor in a heavy bundle. She reaches out for her towel and a reflection of herself, in the big bathroom mirror, catches her attention.

Two eyes stare fixedly at her, expressionless and stoic, a cold void of brown that gives little hint of the soul within. Eyes that are not the windows to the soul. A critical inspection reveals dark lines under the eyes signifying a bodily weariness. She sees the imperfections and the flaws. Everything that makes her ugly. The brown hair lies limply at the side of her face – the embodiment of flatness – still damp from the shower. Her skin is brown, so very brown. Full of color. So alive. Her body is shaped with curves and indentations. It is not a child’s body but a woman’s. Almost a stranger’s.

Joey’s hand reaches out and she touches her twin’s face. She traces the outline of the jaw and then moves up. Her finger pauses midway as her other hand, unbidden, palmed its counterpart - the other fleshy cheek. Both cheeks feel cool under the warmth of her hands. Yet Joey knows that one cheek hides the burning heat of blood throbbing from vein to vein, flowing through her body's intricate network until the moment when the fire finally cools. The other cheek is only an imitation, cold throughout and made of glass. Glass. Glass that is made from sand.

She can imagine the grainy sand; infinite amounts of those tiny granules forming a vast endless desert. A vast emptiness of sand and more sand, expanding time. Sand trickling down the hourglass until the time is up. Your time is up.

Her hand wrenches away from the glass and in quick, mechanical, stiff movements Joey changes into her clothes. When she comes out of the bathroom her belongings are already packed and Pacey sits on her couch waiting.

“I’m ready to go.” He does not question her but gathers her luggage and walks out of the door. She follows and takes her keys from Pacey to lock up. As the door slams shut Joey gets a glimpse of her empty apartment; devoid of life. She closes the door and feels a whole world closing inside her mind. The lock is turned and the key is pocketed and then Pacey and Joey head for Tullamarine – the Melbourne Airport.