by HMC
‘This rain has been a blessing but I tell you what, having patients stuck inside for a week is startin’ to drive even me bonkers … oh, sorry sweetie – I didn’t mean … ’
Sam gave her a practiced grin and jumped up out of bed. ‘Don’t worry about it. I actually understand how a steady diet of all of us could drive you nuts.’ She looked around at her room and waited for something – some kind of feeling of excitement or joy. But nothing came. She should’ve felt something, shouldn’t she? Elation? Liberation? Happiness of some kind? But they were just words that might as well have been in Urdu, for all the understanding she had of them. The moment was ruined. Sam was so numb that she barely felt it when she dropped back down on her bed.
‘What’s wrong, honey?’ Anne sat down beside her, rather close and Sam didn’t mind. Was she getting gooey lately or what? Maybe she was healing already. But if that was so, then why wasn’t she happier about getting out of ‘solitary?’
‘I understand. It ain’t really so special out there, compared to in here.’
Anne was too nice. Sam wondered what made her tick.
‘However, I’ve got someone whose been dying to see you. And if you don’t get your butt up now I’m goin’ to kick it into next week.’
Ahhh, that’s more like it. Sam allowed Anne to drag her out into the hallway by the elbow, down the corridor and into the men’s wing.
Before she knew it, she was thrust into a room exactly like her own, except for a few significant differences. The main one being Freddy Parks sitting crossed legged on the floor, devouring a box of Turkish Delights and Caramel Creams. He looked up and beamed.
‘He’s been asking about you all week.’ Anne watched as Freddy stared at Sam without blinking. He stopped in mid-chew. ‘Aren’t you going to say hello, Freddy?’
He nodded to Sam and spoke in a sugary voice, ‘Hello, Freddy.’
Sam laughed and Anne shook her head. The nurse was about to leave the two alone when she turned once more and spoke in the stern voice that Sam knew was an act.
‘Now you put that junk away before breakfast, Mister. It’s seven o’clock in the mornin’. If I see you’ve eaten so much as one more bite outta that box, every one you get sent thereafter will become my daily afternoon tea. You got me?’ Freddy’s eyes widened and he nodded so rapidly that he looked like a bobblehead. He placed the lid back on the half-empty box and slid it under his bed. When she saw this, she winked at Sam, and then left the room. For some reason, Sam became uncomfortable.
Freddy broke the silence. ‘George has two big, fat black eyes.’ Sam sat down to listen.
‘He’s not a bad man,’ Freddy insisted. ‘He just doesn’t know how to show his good. I think you really hurt him. But it was the best thing because everyone is talking about how much nicer he is now.’ Freddy studied her. ‘You fixed him up, Sam. He was broken and you broke him just right enough to fix him.’ Freddy burst into laughter.
Sam giggled and watched him deep in thought. He was unlike any person she’d ever met. She recalled him laughing up at the sky and dancing in the rain. But that wasn’t crazy, was it? Wasn’t that more like being free – more childlike – not giving a damn what other people thought? A few years back, people were spending fortunes searching for their ‘inner child.’ Freddy found his with no help at all, and they locked him up for it – go figure.
‘You know,’ Freddy continued, ‘I don’t know how you could do so much damage to a grown-up man. Must be you’ve had a lot of practice. But if you go around hitting people in the eyes like that, they won’t let you out, you know … not ever.’ He nodded so sagely and Sam had to hold back a giggle. ‘So why did they put you in here? For fighting?’
‘I have Antisocial Personality Disorder.’
Freddy felt around under the bed, located the box, and shoved another chocolate into his mouth. Then, remembering his manners, offered one to Sam. ‘You know that’s not why you’re here.’
She accepted the sweet. It made her mouth water. ‘What do you mean? Why else would I be here? Well, to get better I suppose,’ she said.
‘You’re a strong person and I think we have all been put here to make right all that has gone wrong.’ He nodded vigorously, again.
‘Is that so?’
‘When the end comes, Dr. Thatcher will save us all.’
This is getting interesting. ‘You think the end is near, Freddy?’
‘The trains will wipe out the owls that sit on the tracks. There are some up in my basement.’
‘Okay.’ Speech disorganisation.
He burst out laughing once again. ‘I’m just joking, Sam. I’m not that crazy!’
She shook her head at him. ‘That’s not funny, Freddy.’ He looked displeased and so she changed the subject. ‘Would you like to know why I hit George?’
‘You hit George because you were angry.’
‘That’s right, but also because he was being so awful to Dr. Thatcher who was trying very hard to help us. It just came over me and I couldn’t help what I did. That seems to be the problem every time I get myself into trouble.’
‘Hmmm. I like you better than George.’ Freddy spoke to the room rather than to Sam. Sometimes it was as if he appreciated that all the energy in the universe was one, and consequently, the direction in which he spoke was irrelevant. ‘You’re violent and hurt others but only when they hurt someone else first. Two wrongs don’t make a right, Sam.’ She noticed his voice change when he made this last statement, as if he were channelling some authority figure.
‘Yes, Freddy, I’ll try to remember that.’
‘Sam?’
‘Yes?’
‘Would you like to be my friend?’ His eyes sparkled.
She felt awkward. Her throat tied itself into a gigantic knot and her shoulders suddenly weighed a tonne. It seemed to take forever to get her voice around that knot, but finally, she managed it. ‘Absolutely.’
Freddy Parks paced back and forth across his room while shovelling the last pieces of chocolate-covered Turkish Delights into his mouth, in case Morty the night-shift nurse saw. He’d been sneaking them all day and was surprised they’d lasted him this long. As tempting as it was to eat the entire box, Freddy made sure to save at least two pieces.
It was all overwhelming. Freddy was nervous to the point that he was biting the sides of his mouth as he chewed. He was so distracted he didn’t feel the skin tearing between his teeth.
The thought of going to sleep sent a shiver down his spine. Bloody-faced, sharp-toothed creatures haunted his dreams – even more so lately than ever before. The worst thing about them was that they’d follow him in both sleep and waking states. But it was when he dreamt them that they were actually able to touch him with their claws. They stroked his hair as he cried and the thought of it made him very sick. Evil.
So Freddy put off sleeping for as long as he could.
He walked across his room again, checking outside the dark window for Trackers. Flickering shadows, slight but certain, were enough to convince him. They were always spying. Freddy had moments of bravery, where he’d point at them and yell that he wasn’t scared. Regret always followed, along with a fear that he shouldn’t provoke them.
Freddy’s mind moved back to scheming. His latest plan was to insist Morty should spend more time with him. Freddy had begged and pleaded for Morty to stay and play poker, without the gambling, or go fish. But Morty was having none of it and told him to go to bed. He was becoming desperate. The second that Morty came back to check on him he ran over to embrace him.
‘Time for bed, Fred.’
‘Drop dead! Hahahaha!’
Morty snorted. He did understand his patient’s anxiety with all the nightmares he’d been having lately. Morty walked over to sit down in the visitors’ chair beside Freddy’s bed.
The room wasn’t exactly inviting and he could unde
rstand Freddy not wanting to spend the night in it, especially on a night like this. He’d slept in the rooms of the home before. When it stormed the trees scratching the windows could be mistaken for claws, if one was imaginative, and the roof creaked so much it sounded like something was inside it. The room was lonely, even with the two of them in it. Perhaps it was the stark walls with no paintings, no colour at all. There could be no decorative objects that could be used as weapons by the patients, against others or against themselves. Morty’s heart ached for Freddy.
‘I’m sorry, buddy.’ He wanted to take the man home with him and make him feel warm and comfortable. Wrap him up in normality with warm toast and paintings on the walls – small comforts that existed around us that we all took for granted. It was why he kept photos held dear, in their frames, inside drawers rather than on his walls. When he opened it he would notice them. He’d seen the idea in a movie once. Even still, he would get used to them being there and would be forced to move them again in order to surprise himself.
Blood dripping from the corner of Freddy’s mouth brought Morty back to the here and now. ‘You’re bleeding. What have you done to yourself?’ Morty took a tissue out of his pocket. It was one of the things a nurse always had handy for running noses, falling dribble or minor blood-loss issues. There was always some mucus situation popping up, or out – so to speak – of some bodily orifice.
‘Stop biting the insides of your mouth.’ As he wiped the blood from his patient’s lip, Morty understood that his friend was anxious. He turned Freddy towards him so that he could look into his eyes. ‘No matter what, Fred, I will hear you call out the moment you need me and I’ll wake you straight up, okay?’
‘Okay, Morty.’
‘Right. Under the covers, now.’
Freddy complied. His screams could be heard all the way down the halls lately and no matter where Morty was in the hospital, he was certain to hear them. As he tucked Freddy in, Morty convinced him that this was an unbreakable promise, and so the defeated man finally surrendered and shut his eyes.
Freddy was relieved he didn’t have to stay up any longer. The effort was wearing to the point that he was ready to burst into tears with either fear or sheer exhaustion. He was grateful his friend was clever enough, and kind enough, to realise what was going on. He was comforted by Morty’s words.
Freddy listened for Morty as he locked the main door to the wing. After a few moments the sound of a television commercial could be heard and Freddy took this as his cue to sneak out into the hall.
Although he was brutally tired, there was one last thing he had to do. He passed door after door down the corridor. Some were shut. Some were wide open with faces that could be seen through the dim light, poking out from under their blankets.
The door of his new friend sat open. He’d walked all the way to the end of the wing to say goodnight to Damon. No one liked the cranky loner but he was still nicer than George. Freddy felt sorry for him, and always made sure to go out of his way to talk to him.
Damon was on his bed and looked startled when Freddy poked his head around the side of his doorway. He’d been reading.
Freddy grinned at him. It put Damon at ease. The man put his book aside and stared in question.
‘I have something for you.’ Freddy moved over towards the bed, removed a large box from under his shirt and placed it beside him.
‘Thank you.’
Damon couldn’t help but smile at his present: a mostly eaten box of Turkish Delights and Caramel Creams. It dawned on him that he hadn’t been missed by Freddy’s magical arrows of affection. They seemed to shoot out in all directions, hit their marks, then return to this lovable man.
Damon couldn’t really tell how old he was but there was something very powerful about the way he made him feel. Freddy was like a small child. When he was sad, he cried. When he was angry, he would tell you why, albeit at the top of his lungs. When he was happy, his smile was infectious. Damon was irritated with himself for feeling such fondness towards Freddy. It wasn’t going to make things easy. In fact it was going to make things difficult beyond measure.
‘How are you, Freddy?’ Freddy looked at the wall for a moment before responding, his frightened expression odd – as if he thought something might explode from the blank white expanse and attack him.
‘I just don’t want to go to bed.’
Damon understood. His friend was having nightmares more frequently and the episodes seemed to last longer each time. The screams that came from his room were ghastly and Damon had jumped out of bed on many occasions to check on him. After a warning of being put under lock-down from Morty, he made sure to stay back. ‘Nightmares?’
‘Yeah. Do you get them, too, Damon?’
‘I do, buddy. I think that people with good imaginations have strong dreams.’
Freddy’s eyes widened. ‘I have a good imagination.’
‘You sure do.’ He nursed the box of chocolates. ‘Thanks for my gift. It was thoughtful of you.’
‘You’re welcome. Well, good night.’ Freddy beamed at him until the moment became so awkward, that Damon had to look away, and try not to laugh.
Freddy moved off down the halls so quietly that that Damon had once asked him his secret. Socks, Freddy had insisted. Socks stopped his sweaty feet from getting stuck and making suction noises on the floor. Shoes were no good, as they squeaked. Damon had promised to keep this in mind. It was very amusing to think of Morty watching on the cameras, as Freddy snuck ever so quietly and carefully around the halls, in his red fluffy socks.
Damon Speirlsman finished off the two slightly melted chocolates left inside the box and switched out his bedroom light, before checking that his weapon was tucked away into his mattress.
Freddy rolled over under his blankets and watched the wind outside jerk the trees in different directions. When the shadows moved across his window he called for Morty. He received no reply, and so the frightened man got up, opened his door, then raced across his floor and jumped back into bed, hiding under the covers.
He was unsure as to how long he lay awake before the shadows came into his room. They looked like the trees again but Freddy knew they weren’t. He stayed still and stiff, too scared to move or even breathe.
The gentle man trembled.
He heard something.
Someone was moving towards him.
No!
They were almost standing over him. He thought about whether he should jump up and try to hurt them before they hurt him, but couldn’t make up his mind in time before he felt something cold and sharp slicing into the back of his neck.
He stifled a scream.
The person rolled him over and put the knife up to his head. He couldn’t see the face properly in the dark. Freddy waited for it to happen, wanting it to happen – wanting the pain to sink into his flesh and for the dark to take over. Then he would never wake up and never have to hide from anything scary ever again.
The knife pushed in but he could no longer feel anything; and although Freddy finally did scream, it was too late.
The blackness closed in.
Freddy wondered how long he would have to lay there dead before he started to smell and someone came to find his rotting body. He imagined vultures, like in the scary movies, swooping down and attacking what was left of him.
The night thieves.
The Trackers.
They haunted him, and had come to collect their loot.
He would miss Morty from the bottom of his heart, now that he was dead. Where was the white light? Wasn’t he going to heaven? He started to think about all the things he’d done wrong and why he probably deserved to be sent to hell.
Freddy’s shriek was long and agonising.
‘Freddy!’ Morty held him.
It was such a relief when he woke up and saw Morty’s face staring down at him. He threw hi
s arms around his dear friend.
He checked the back of his neck for blood … and there was nothing. He was fine. The nightmare had left him unscathed once more, and his heart was able to finally leave his mouth and return to his chest, where it belonged.
Morty stroked Freddy’s hair, until he was fast asleep. The night nurse watched the pinched expression on his patient’s face fade away. For the past three nights he’d woken Freddy, and saved him from whatever he was screaming bloody murder about. He wondered why it was taking so long for somebody to find something to help this poor guy.
Entering the staff kitchen, Morty found Martha-Jane dunking her tea bag. She was on call on the weekends, instead of Anne, and lived so far out of Fairholmes in rural butt-crack Australia, that she found it easier to sleep at the home, instead. She didn’t seem to mind. Her husband worked weekends and they had no children. Morty thought she was probably lonely, too.
Martha-Jane looked different with her hair falling softly down her back, but the ring on her finger caused any indecent thoughts to die in his pants.
‘Settled down?’
Morty raised a brow in question.
‘Freddy. Has he settled down?’
‘Oh, yeah. He’s okay. It was a good one, though. He was sweating like a pig on a spit. Poor guy.’
Martha-Jane had to raise her voice a little, over the storm. ‘I’m going to lie down. Night, Morts.’ She took her steaming cup of tea and moved off down the hall.
Morty moved over to the kettle to make himself a cup of barely tolerable instant coffee. He was exhausted and his back ached from lifting his wheelchair patient, Roger, incorrectly. Morty had an uneasy feeling and wondered if Freddy’s nightmares were starting to affect him, too.
For as long as she could remember, Jade Thatcher had wanted to save the world. She believed that with hard work and determination she could make a difference. If she were given the chance, she could fix anyone. Any problem could be solved with logic. It had only been after years as a therapist that she’d realised how far from the truth that really was.