Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Doctor McEvoy crinkled his mouth and tilted his head before smiling assuredly. “You’d be surprised, Matthew. One of the advantages of being in here is that you don’t have to worry about things in the outside world.”

  “But I’m not. I’m not worried at all. I just want to speak with my wife who I haven’t seen since Christmas Day! Surely that’s not too much to ask?”

  He was reluctant to assign a motive for fear the doctor would turn it against him. He couldn’t say he was worried, because the doctor would reply that they had spoken to Debbie already and she was fine. And he couldn’t say it was for his own benefit because Doctor McEvoy was the self-proclaimed expert in what was good for him. So he just held the smile, forcing him to react.

  “Matthew. You need to leave my office now. I have other patients to see.” There was no doubt he was being threatened.

  Matthew released the grip. He knew what would happen if he didn’t: they’d use force and he’d be tied to a bed in the security wing again. He didn’t understand why they wanted to keep him, but he was more certain than ever his wellbeing was not at the top of the list.

  Chapter Nine

  Standing alone in the corridor his breathing became faster and faster. A group of three nurses walking towards him smiled. The kindness in their eyes pierced his grief, and he turned to hide his face.

  The toilet sign further down the passageway became his goal. Stumbling over his feet, using the wall for support, he had to get there. Heaving open the creaking door he was confronted with two unisex doors. Relieved neither were occupied, Matthew rushed into the nearest one and crumpled, the seat of the toilet groaning and creaking as it supported him from collapsing to the urine streaked floor.

  His mouth gaped, cries of anguish too raw to make a sound, escaped into the ether, adding to the scent of despair. His throat ached with the effort of releasing even a fragment of the pain he felt. Clasping his face in his hands, he rocked back and fore, breathless until the need for oxygen outweighed the expelling grief and he gasped for breath.

  Creaking air into his screaming lungs cranked his mouth open further and fuelled the next silent wails. The toilet rattled as he trembled. Snot joined tears as liquid streamed from Matthew’s face.

  Eventually came a kind of resolute calm. Less peace, more determination.

  He didn’t have to make sense of it. He just had to get away. Splashing water over his face from the wash-hand basin, Matthew couldn’t see if his swollen features had improved enough to leave the room without provoking ‘concern’ from anyone passing him because there was no mirror.

  Shrugging it off, he opened the door and peeped out, relieved the corridor appeared momentarily silent. Not far away he could see the office from where the nurse who answered his frantic door buzzing yesterday had sat. From where Matthew stood now, it appeared empty.

  Matthew took a deep breath and steadied himself. Strolling with a confidence he didn’t feel, he walked straight to the office. The door was ajar. On the desk, another of the little supermarket trees stood, skewed, half-propped on a notebook so that it had lost some of its soil. It looked even worse than its compatriot. Perhaps they were ‘pining’ for one another, Matthew failed to smile at the pun.

  Next to it, mere feet away from where he stood was a telephone. Matthew had no new numbers to try, but he’d been drunk last time he’d dialled. He knew his phone number. He’d had it for several years.

  Putting out of his mind the misdialling of two days ago, Matthew stepped towards the phone. Picking it up, there was no dialling tone. What did they do in his office, dial 9 for an outside line? Looking into the middle distance as he made sure he recalled his number correctly, he jumped as the receiver was snatched from his hand and slammed back into its cradle.

  “What are you doing?” a gruff deep voice demanded. The rage grew in Matthew and he struggled to keep it corked. Turning, he wore his warmest fake smile.

  “I’m phoning my wife. She must want an update now I’ve seen the doctor.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll do that,” the male nurse grinned. “You get yourself off to the rec room, yeah?”

  Matthew’s fists clenched. “I’d like to phone her first.” He plucked the phone up and began dialling. Blocking as best he could the advance of the nurse behind him, he heard ringing when, at once, the line went dead.

  He turned to see the nurse with the phone wire in his hand. “Faulty, see. We’ve been asked by the telephone engineer not to use the phones while they sort it out. But don’t worry. We’ll definitely tell your wife how you’re doing.”

  Matthew smiled. His best bet was to be a lot more careful and come back. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise,” he said.

  “That’s okay.”

  No sooner had Matthew stepped from the room than keys were thrust from pocket to lock, barring any further attempts. “Rec room’s that way,” he said pointing with a sneer.

  “Of course. Thanks,” Matthew said, and began a slow amble in that direction. The two patients he’d met so far had been very distracting. He didn’t want to find himself strapped on the bed again, accused of assaulting another one he hadn’t even been within three foot of.

  The nurse didn’t wait to confirm his safe arrival. Now the office was locked, he had other important duties to attend. Seeing him disappear, Matthew turned away from the recreation room towards the office and a number of doors. Doors led somewhere, which meant an opportunity to escape this ridiculous place.

  Having composed himself, he was able to affect the look of any other patient, casually sauntering up and down familiarising himself with his surroundings; reading posters, glancing here there and everywhere, which of course he was. But not to settle in. Matthew was scrutinising the best and fastest way to get out of here.

  With muscles tensed and his chest taut, he wanted to run screaming through the nearest exit. But they were trained for that. What they weren’t prepared for was perfectly sane individuals taking stock and intelligently making their move.

  He soon reached the office again, adjacent to which appeared to be the main entrance. He recognised the space outside where Celia had parked her hideous little car on Boxing Day. If he could make it there, he could get away for sure. There had been no guard at a gate or anything like that. Matthew hadn’t even known what type of building it was when he arrived. No. This was going to be easy. It wasn’t prison. Just a hospital with overworked, underpaid staff.

  Doing his best to look as though he was waiting for a member of staff for a not-very-important reason. If the same nurse returned, they would think he was asking to use the phone again. He was happy to annoy him if it meant finding a way out. Leaning against the wall giving occasional glances at his fingernails, he looked with disinterest up and down the corridor, and peripherally at the entrance/exit.

  There were two security measures in place. A scanner that could be deactivated by electronic keys which hung on lanyards around the neck of staff, and a combination lock like the one that led to his room. A little observation would afford him the code. They might change it often, maybe even daily, or they might not; he’d soon learn.

  That would take time—days even, and Matthew hadn’t given up hope of finding a way out sooner than that. Oh for a fire exit. There were none in the high security end of the ward, he already knew that. But there had to be laws in place to ensure the patients and staff didn’t all burn to death, didn’t there? And with mentally unstable people in a kitchen, that seemed all too likely.

  Maybe they weren’t labelled clearly. Staff knew and could direct patients to the right door when necessary, but if he saw one, he was sure he’d know. He understood it would probably not exit onto the street, or everyone would escape, but outside had to offer more of an opportunity to escape than inside.

  As he strolled, casually tapping his legs with hands hung from thumbs at his pockets, he was surprised how far he was able to wander uninterrupted. Turning a corner, he blinked at stark lights too bright for the white
space. He could barely see the end. Walking along, he felt he was disappearing and the relief made him giddy. Straightening his spine, he took a final glance around him before launching into the brightness.

  Faced with a set of double doors similar to the ones he was already familiar, he pressed his face against the window, cowling his eyes from the intensity above. Through the glass he could see into the passageway beyond. Step-ladders leaned against walls on both sides. Dust-sheets and pots of paint were strewn around as work had stopped abruptly, quite likely downing tools for a pre-Christmas drink two nights ago.

  They might be back tomorrow and their noisy presence could give him cover to escape. But what about when they weren’t there? Heart thumping, a plan formed rapidly in his mind. He was going to get out of here now.

  Strolling with purpose, he paused every few yards to take a calming breath. Halting at the office, he was pleased that his act earlier added credibility to his current plan.

  Noticing him hovering, a nurse approached. “Can I help?”

  “Thank you. Yes. I’m feeling a little bit overwhelmed and wondered if I might be allowed back to my room?”

  The nurse rolled her eyes and turned down her mouth. “Yeah. Of course.” Glaring at Matthew, she flapped a dismissive hand, “Go on then.”

  “I need someone to let me back in. It’s locked.” Her face softened as the penny dropped. “Sorry, yeah. Matthew isn’t it?” he nodded. “Follow me.”

  Arriving at the double doors, she reached out and keyed in the code, careful to cover her hand and Matthew cursed her. He’d seen the first two numbers, but there were four more he had to decipher.

  With the door open, Matthew didn’t go through straight away. “Go on,” she said tersely He took a step forwards and began shaking.

  “I can’t.”

  Tut-tutting, she sneered, “Make up your mind!”

  Matthew took another step and the trembling got worse. “If you don’t wanna go in, don’t go in. I don’t care. It’s you who wanted to!”

  Turning to her, eyes wide with pleading, Matthew begged, “Come in with me.”

  Rolling her eyes, she accompanied him to his room as he mooched painfully slowly, resisting the urge to speed up when he heard the click of the door re-locking, he reached his room, and sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

  A false smile flashing on her face for a Nano-second, the nurse walked briskly away. Pausing at the door, she keyed in the code, this time, without Matthew at close range, she didn’t cover it with such care.

  Squinting eyes committed what he witnessed of the code to memory. He assigned the numbers to ages of family members and famous dates and they were locked in. Rushing to the door before the nurse got too far, he banged on the glass and pressed the buzzer until his thumbs glowed red.

  Her shoulders slumped. Turning lazily, she mouthed ‘What?’ Banging louder, Matthew drew her in. She’d have to come to tell him off at the least.

  This time, completely distracted and more than convinced that Matthew’s mind posed no threat, she forgot to cover the code at all, and now he was certain. “What is it?” she snarled.

  Matthew squealed and darted past her. “I can’t be alone. I can’t!”

  Her head shook slowly as she directed him to the rec room. There was no code for that. Patients were free to come and go. Inside, groups of other patients sat playing cards and board games. Most ignored him. But Matthew’s eyes shot to the table closest to the window, as a chair scraped back against the floor, setting his teeth on edge and a judder down his spine.

  “It’s you!” Striding across the room in three giant steps, the mountain of stretched and stained grey fabric stood as an impenetrable barrier before him. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question and wanted to be on his way as soon as the nurse was out of sight. An altercation with a patient could give him reason to bolt. “You’re alive!” he spat the words like an accusation.

  “Shouldn’t I be?” Matthew braved asking. The sweat stained hulk stared up and down, looking for the catch. Prodding him hard with a finger of incredible circumference and firmness, he looked pleased at Matthew’s yowl of pain.

  “You’re alive,” he repeated with a smile. “Nice one.”

  Moving back to his table, shuffling now, not striding, the brute slumped on the plastic chair showing greater confidence in its integrity than sense would consent to.

  Left standing, ignored by everyone else, it was easy for Matthew to make his departure. Not expecting to arouse suspicion, he still sauntered into the toilets rather than walking directly to the other security doors.

  This was it. His heart raced readying him for action. Popping his pale face around the door, the corridor was empty. Stepping out in the direction of his escape route, a sudden noise made him freeze to the spot.

  A door slammed open and banged against the wall. A woman screamed at him to “Fuck off!!” which he did, gladly, glancing back only to see her tackled to the floor as she ripped pictures and posters from the wall.

  “Karen! Behave!”

  Matthew was gone. Karen was a godsend. Scurrying to the end of the corridor, he panicked that he wouldn’t remember the code; and then that it might be a different one and he’d be back to waiting.

  Reaching out to the keypad, he rehearsed the number over and over in his head. Pressing each one slowly and firmly his heart throbbed in his fingers and his head. “Come on!” he hissed under his breath.

  With a final glance back down the corridor, Karen, whoever she was, had done a sterling job of causing a distraction. CLICK, BUZZ, it opened! Matthew bolted inside. Ducking, he hid in the dark. Breathing hard, he had to stifle a satisfied laugh.

  Blowing through the circle of his lips, he straightened when he was sure no-one was coming and crept away from the wall. Risking a longer look, he could see the bright passage was completely empty. Smiling at the sense of freedom, he scanned his surroundings. There were the ladders and the paint he’d already seen. Paint rollers, brushes and scrapers were in buckets where they had been hurriedly rinsed; unfortunately, there were no sledgehammers or power tools to smash his way out!

  What should he do? Inspecting the ceiling, he imagined himself crawling along heating ducts like so many American films. But no, when he popped a polystyrene tile, the space it revealed was mere inches. A mouse would struggle to escape through there.

  His attempts to come up with a plan had put him in his element; a distraction from the peculiar turn Christmas had taken. Being inventive was him. It’s what he did, but he’d have to hurry. His absence would soon be noticed.

  Chapter Ten

  “Thanks again for the Furby, Mr King. I love him.” Abi squeezed the furry little creature hard. It would be brilliant when her daddy returned with the batteries and he came to life!

  “Can we do our show now?” a miffed Charlotte whined. She didn’t enjoy being interrupted so her cousin could get even more attention and another present.

  The adults shared amused glances. “Charlotte, I think Abi wants to wait for her daddy to come back, don’t you, Abigail?”

  “Yes, Mummy. Let’s wait for Daddy. He won’t want to miss it.” Grinning at Charlotte, presuming her agreement, she skipped off holding silent Furby’s hand. Charlotte didn’t agree. They’d wait, and then she’d be busy with her new Furby! They would never do their show, would they, Charlotte glowered? Slinking away, she kicked an errant Barbie shoe under the dresser and smiled before skipping off to play again with her cousin.

  “This is a smashing place for Christmas, isn’t it? You must be so happy,” Tom declared, eyeing every corner. “I love your tree. I wasn’t going to bother at all with mine. You know? Since Betty died…”

  No-one knew what to say. Tom stared at his brandy. Swirling it around, he drained it and held up the empty glass to the light.

  “More, Tom?” Mandy offered, her brother’s expensive brandy having not left her hand. Nodding he smiled up at her from the leather chair he’d sunk into.


  Mandy sloshed a generous measure into Tom’s glass. “Let’s play charades!” and she immediately took her place in front of her audience and gesticulated wildly.

  “Film…”

  “Four words…

  “First word, ‘The.’”

  They collapsed in hysterics when after twenty turns, Tom took the stage and after establishing his idea was a one word book and film, his teeth fell out when he re-enacted ‘Jaws.’

  “Oh, Tom! I’m sorry. It’s not even funny! Here, let me help.” But it was funny, and Tom laughed the loudest.

  When the gnashers were retrieved, they had become encrusted in pine needles the tree had shed after its week in its unnatural new home.

  Tom leapt forward and slapped his thighs. Tears streaming down his face, he could barely speak from laughing. “Well, I said the tree looked nice, didn’t I?”

  When the hilarity died down and Tom’s freshly rinsed teeth were back in their correct place, they were putting the world to rights.

  “So, business good?” Tom asked, and then nodding to the house in general, added, “It must be.”

  “Yeah. Great, thanks. It’s the boat yard’s tenth anniversary. We’ve always done well, but it was all Matthew. He managed to get this contract with the Ministry of Defence. Worth millions!” Tom nodded along, eyebrows raised, rapt. “It took a lot to persuade Brian, that’s his business partner—senior partner—didn’t want to get involved ‘cause the MOD take forever to pay.’

  “They did: two years, but they did pay and we bought this house. And now with my little Abi-angel all better, we can actually enjoy it.”

  Tom nodded with a sad smile. He knew how the loss of the light of your life made normal joyous occasions meaningless. “I’m so pleased for you all. It’s nice to see such hard work rewarded.”

  “Thank you, Tom!”

  “We’re really proud of you all,” Mandy joined in. “Aren’t we, Mum and Dad? …DAD!” Alan jolted awake, falling off the prop his elbow had provided against the arm of the sofa. “We’re proud of Matthew, aren’t we, Dad?”