Sam Black Shadow

by Paul Berry

  ‘We spoke to Mr Hewitt, your art teacher. There was also an incident in class. What was it about?’

  ‘He keeps calling me gay, things like that.’

  ‘Mr Hewitt also said you tried to …’ he coughs, obviously uncomfortable, ‘kiss him.’ I feel my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

  ‘Yes. I was drunk.’

  ‘Terry saw it happen. According to Mr Hewitt, Terry said you’d be,’ he looks at his notepad, ‘fucking dead on Monday.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Did you get into a fight outside the disco?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe he attacked you and you were defending yourself.’ I almost want to confess to his murder just to stop the questions.

  ‘I didn’t hurt him. Just go to the house. But not at night.’

  ‘Why can’t we go at night?’

  ‘Because it’s too dangerous. I think it’s in a different world. There was a red star next to the moon.’ The policeman raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching a smile.

  ‘We’ve already searched the area. There are no mysterious houses in the park.’

  ‘There has to be. Perhaps you can only find it if you’re invited.’ He snorts with derision. ‘I’m not making this up.’

  ‘After you met Adam in the park, did you engage in any intimate contact?’

  ‘No. We just talked, then he attacked me. It wasn’t just Adam. His friends were also there.’ I try to recollect their faces, but they’re smudgy impressions. I can’t even remember their names.

  ‘Now you’re saying there were multiple attackers, but you managed to escape?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you fight Terry in the park?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘This is what I think happened.’ He slides his notebook into his jacket. ‘You had an argument with Terry in the park after the disco, things went a bit too far and you hurt him. Not intentionally, but we already know you can’t control your temper.’

  ‘It seems you’ve already decided I’m guilty.’

  He ignores me. ‘Your friend Rachel also admits to striking Terry.’

  ‘So she’s a suspect too? There’s a line of people that want to hit him.’

  ‘Terry died from blood loss. His body was covered with bite marks. Did your friend Adam also participate in the attack with you?’

  ‘Are you even listening to me? Adam’s not my friend. He’s a monster, a vampire. They all are. But not like the ones in films.’ The policeman looks at me incredulously. I remember the newspaper picture of Adam I took and stuffed into the silk trousers I was wearing. They are neatly folded on the back of the chair my dad was sitting on, one leg ripped apart. ‘There’s a photo of him in my trousers. I found it in the house.’ He searches through the pockets and shakes his head. It must have fallen out in the escape – or did I just imagine taking it? He looks at me as if I’m nuts, and I don’t blame him after my ridiculous story of a disappearing house of vampires. The more I try to recall what happened, the dimmer the memories become, as though they’re burning themselves out every time they’re used.

  My dad comes back into the room.

  ‘He’s not being charged at the moment,’ the policeman says, ‘but he needs to be kept somewhere secure until we find out exactly what happened. We’ll talk again in a few days when he’s less agitated.’

  ‘You don’t have a few days. He’ll keep on killing,’ I say, not caring how insane I sound.

  ‘I’m sure if Count Dracula is running around the park, we’ll find him.’

  The policeman leaves and I’m alone in the room with my dad.

  ‘He thinks I’m crazy,’ I say. ‘Perhaps I am.’

  ‘You went through something horrible and your mind is just playing tricks on you.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s real anymore.’

  He squeezes my hand. ‘It’ll all be over soon. Then we can go home and forget this ever happened.’ I know he doesn’t believe what he’s saying.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ I ask, staring guiltily at the bruises on his neck. ‘Do I have to stay here?’ Before he can answer, a tall blond man walks in. At first I think it’s one of the men who attacked me, and I try to scramble out of bed, but the restraints keep my arms pinned down..

  ‘He’s not here to hurt you,’ my dad says.

  ‘Hello, Sam. I’m Dr Stone. You’re going to spend a few days with us.’ My dad looks angrily at him.

  ‘That’s not what we agreed on. He’s spending one night with you.’

  ‘Sam is obviously very troubled at the moment. We need to evaluate him properly and make sure he gets the best possible care.’

  ‘Dad, take me home, please.’

  ‘The police have insisted you accompany me,’ Dr Stone says.

  ‘It’s not safe. None of us are,’ I say.

  ‘I guarantee I’ll keep you safe and secure.’

  ‘They’ll come for us all.’

  ‘Let me take him home,’ my dad says. ‘He just needs to be somewhere he feels comfortable.’

  ‘That’s not possible. As I’ve said, the police have requested he is released into my care.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck what the police said. He’s coming with me.’

  ‘Mr Black, your son is a suspect in a murder investigation. If you try to interfere in the due process you will also be breaking the law. Do you want me to contact the police on your behalf and tell them about your change of mind?’

  My dad rubs his temples and looks at me. ‘I’ll visit you in the morning.’ He clenches his jaw as though he’s about to cry.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ I beg. ‘I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ve packed some of your clothes and a couple of books. Take good care of him.’

  ‘Of course,’ Dr Stone says. My dad leaves without saying goodbye, his hand clutched to his mouth.

  He snaps back the velcro restraints and I sit up, rubbing the circulation back into my wrists.

  ‘Get changed. We’re setting off in about five minutes. I’ll be waiting outside.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  He leaves the room without answering and closes the door behind him.

  Snow patters against the window. I climb out of bed, my legs trembling with weakness, and look outside. The room is on about the fourth floor. If I try to escape I’ll probably break my back when I land in the carpark beneath. I look through the mesh glass square in the door and see Dr Stone standing guard in the corridor with his back turned.

  I change out of the hospital gown into the jogging bottoms and jumper my dad has packed. I remember dancing in a ballroom wearing a silk shirt before the memory dissipates. The only thing I’m sure of is that amongst all the horror, for a brief moment I was happy.

  I take the bag my dad left me and push open the door, grimacing at the smell of disinfectant.

  ‘Packed and ready to go?’ Dr Stone asks.

  ‘What happens if I don’t want to?’

  His smile falters. ‘You can either be taken there strapped down in the back of an ambulance or, if you prefer being more comfortable, I can take you in my car.’

  ‘I think your car might be better.’

  ‘I was hoping that would be your answer.’

  I almost start running as soon as we get to the carpark, but I don’t think I would get far before he caught me; the dull pain in my bandaged leg still makes me limp slightly. He opens the passenger door of a black Mercedes, an older model with sleek chrome lines.

  ‘Please fasten your seatbelt. Safety first.’

  As the car draws away from the hospital onto the main road, I reach for the door handle. The locks on all the doors snap down.

  ‘Just making sure you’re not tempted to do something reckless,’ he says.

&nbs
p; ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Jupiter Hill, a facility just outside Preston. It’s very peaceful, so you’ll feel better in no time.’

  ‘Is it a madhouse? I thought all the mental hospitals had been closed down.’ I remember reading about it in a newspaper.

  ‘Jupiter Hill isn’t a mental hospital. It’s a place for the management of psychogenic disturbances, somewhere you can reflect on your experiences and allow your mind to heal.’

  I stare out of the window as the car turns onto a motorway. The movement and noise of the car makes me drowsy, and my head falls forward.

  The image of a mouth grinning with fangs flashes through my mind and I whimper.

  ‘Bad dream?’

  I rub my eyes, trying to erase the image. ‘Something like that.’ The road flashes darkly past the window and I try to look for any landmarks that might indicate where I’m going, but all I see are the tall outlines of trees. ‘Do you believe me or am I nuts?’

  ‘The mind is a fascinating machine. Sometimes it can create situations that we think are real but are in fact just illusions.’

  I try to picture Adam’s face, but now it’s just a blurry abstract. Even the name ‘Adam’ sounds strange, a made-up character from a bad horror film. Everything is becoming fragmented and disconnected. I remember running from the disco and being in the maze, but the events after that are now just vague feelings. I know for a fact that Terry’s dead, because the policeman told me. Even if I didn’t kill him, I was there when it happened. Did I try to help him? I wish my dad was with me. He always makes everything better.

  ‘When can I go home?’ I ask.

  ‘Not until we’re sure you’ve recovered. There’s also the matter of what happened to your school friend. I’m sure the police haven’t finished their investigation.’ He means they’ll keep me at Jupiter Hill until I stop talking about monsters. Or keep me there permanently if they decide I’m a murderer.

  The car turns sharply up a narrow tree-lined road which I realise is a driveway. It’s started snowing more heavily, and the beams of the headlights reflect off the swirling flakes. My leg begins to throb as the painkillers they gave me at the hospital wear off.

  He stops at a set of iron gates, takes a rectangular box from the glove compartment and presses a button. They swing open, scraping metallically across the tarmac.

  ‘Are these to stop me from escaping?’ I ask. He doesn’t answer as he parks the car in front of the facility. I was expecting it to be a gothic bedlam with gargoyles and fluted arches, but it’s angular and modern. He unlocks the car doors, gets out and opens the passenger door. I sit in the car, refusing to leave.

  He stands there smiling at me. ‘Aren’t you curious about what happened? Or would you rather go through the rest of your life wondering if you’re – how did you say it? – nuts?’ I sigh and get out, feeling annoyed that he’s right.

  The gates automatically clang shut, the tops serrated with spikes shaped like devil tails.

  2

  JUPITER

  HILL

  Chapter 15

  ‘Welcome to Jupiter Hill,’ he says with a flourish, swiping the entrance lock with a plastic card. I stand shivering in the snow, dread pinching the pit of my stomach. He holds the glass door open and I reluctantly step through. Sitting at the front desk is a man dressed in white. He looks up from a stack of papers. ‘Good evening, Dr Stone.’ It feels more like a hotel than an asylum.

  ‘Is there a mini bar in my room?’ I ask him. The man in white ignores me and continues shuffling through his papers.

  I follow Dr Stone down a sterile corridor, the dull tang of chlorine in the air.

  ‘Where are the other patients?’

  ‘The other residents are asleep. It’s after curfew.’ He shows me a recreation room with a ping pong table; the lights turn on by themselves, probably activated by a motion detector. ‘It’s not four-star luxury, but we try to make it as comfortable as possible.’ Through heavy glass doors I can see a large courtyard. In the centre is an ornate fountain surrounded by sculpted box hedges in pots, and I have the uneasy memory of a topiary shaped like a dragon.

  ‘I’ll show you to your room,’ he says like a practised concierge. ‘It overlooks the courtyard.’ We enter another bland corridor, the emptiness and silence oppressive. There are doors on either side and he unlocks one with the same key card.

  ‘Treat it like your bedroom at home.’ It looks like a generic hospital room apart from some empty bookshelves and a wardrobe. ‘Don’t expect anyone to pick up your dirty socks, though.’ I can’t tell if he’s joking and just nod. He hands me a couple of pills. ‘Antibiotics for your leg and something to help you sleep.’ He fills a plastic cup from a carafe on the bedside table. I look at the pills suspiciously.

  ‘If I was trying to poison you, I’d put it in the water,’ he says. ‘Pills would be the obvious choice.’ I take a mouthful of water and swallow them. Water first, then the pill. My mother had taught me that trick to stop pills sticking to the back of my throat. It hurts slightly when I swallow, the way it does when a cold is starting to develop.

  ‘In time we’ll find out what happened to you, Sam.’ I lie on the bed and rub my neck.

  ‘I don’t know if I want to remember.’

  ‘Your mind is protecting itself at the moment. When you’re ready to remember, you will.’ He stands in the doorway, staring at me intently.

  ‘I don’t need a goodnight kiss,’ I say.

  ‘We’ll talk more in the morning.’ He leaves the room and the door silently closes behind him. There’s a faint click, which means I’m locked in for the night. I close my eyes, already feeling ripples of grogginess. Even if this is a prison, at least I’m protected.

  I hear the sound of crying through the wall next to my bed.

  There are muffled shouts and the crying stops.

  I wake up drenched in sweat, vaguely remembering some dream about dark creatures. There’s a knock at the door and it opens before I have a chance to reply. Dr Stone is holding towels and a transparent bag of toiletries.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine,’ I mutter, brushing away the damp hair plastered to my forehead. He steps over to the curtains and opens them, letting bright sunlight blaze into the room. I cry out and cover my eyes.

  ‘It’s too bright!’ I shout.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, closing them. ‘You’ll feel better after a shower and some breakfast. Then you can meet the other residents.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Be quick as you can. The porridge tends to get cold quickly.’

  I shower in the communal bathroom. Like my room, it’s stark and pristine, with white tiles covering the floor and walls. Thankfully it’s empty and has private cubicles, so I’m spared the embarrassment of naked strangers.

  The jet of hot water pummels my chest and I have the wavering memory of a man kissing me. I can still feel his lips against mine and the intense longing I had for him.

  I still have for him.

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and try to see his face in the recesses of my mind, but I can’t picture him. He did something terrible to me, but somehow the thought of never seeing him again fills me with despair.

  The water soaks into the bandage on my leg and the skin underneath itches, so I pull it off. The wound has almost completely healed, leaving only a thin pink line intersected by black stitches. I pick them out and watch them disappear down the plug hole like tiny eels.

  The dining hall has white tables in uniform rows, not unlike the college cafeteria, and a huge rectangular window faces onto the courtyard. It’s still snowing, the fountain in the centre now a frosted wedding cake. About a dozen people are silently eating from plastic trays, their expressions blank. There isn’t any sound of metal cutlery scraping against plates, and I realise everything is m
ade of plastic. I sit at an empty table, unsure what to do. A middle-aged man from the opposite table leans over.

  ‘Don’t drink the orange juice.’ Porridge spills from his mouth down his chin. ‘They put broken glass in it.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ On his forearm is a faded tattoo of a ship, the bat-wing arrangement of sails the same as the Mary Celeste picture in the Mysterious World book in the college library.

  An orderly dressed in white pushes a squeaking food trolley to my table. He bangs down an empty cup and a tray with moulded compartments containing porridge and what looks like grapefruit. He picks up a dented metal jug, orange juice sloshing over the brim. I cover the cup with my hand.

  ‘No thanks. Water is fine.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he says, filling it from another jug and moving on with the trolley. The man sitting behind me starts chuckling and gives me the thumbs up. I put a spoonful of lukewarm porridge in my mouth and try to swallow. I start choking and spit it out, my stomach clenching in pain. I sip some water and feel lightheaded, pushing the tray away from me, nauseated by the smell.

  ‘Something wrong with our delicious cuisine?’ Dr Stone asks, sitting down on the chair opposite me, immaculately dressed, his hair lightly glistening with gel.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘You need to keep up your strength. How’s your leg?’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Let me check the bandage.’ He reaches for my leg and I jerk it away. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ I rest my leg on a chair and he pulls up my trouser leg. ‘When did you say you injured it?’

  ‘A few days ago. I don’t remember how. Something to do with glass.’

  ‘Are you sure? From the scar it looks like it happened a few weeks ago. The nurses said you must have jumped through a window.’ I dimly remember a shadow stretching out its arms to grab me.

  His green eyes fix on me as if he’s trying to bore into my mind. ‘Perhaps they made a mistake.’ He reluctantly breaks his stare. ‘You’ve got some visitors. Normally they’re strictly forbidden, but today we’ve made a special exception.’