Sceptic

by Lilliana Rose

  Bertie returns to the room later in the day. I’ve been practising while he was away. Trying to push through this fear that’s taken hold of me. I haven’t made any progress. I’m beginning to doubt myself.

  He sits on the bed. It’s weird seeing him unrestrained in the room. I’m tempted to sit next to him, but I stop myself just in time. I don’t want a flood of images from the past members of this room. I do want to get closer to him but because he’s free to move around means I have to be careful. I don’t want to accidentally pass through him or him through part of me. That would be too much for me to cope with right now.

  I’m preoccupied with getting myself through the wall and proving to him, and myself, that I can do this. I’ve picked up this challenge with both hands, and I want to do this today. I want to show Bertie I can do this. Before he leaves. But I remind myself he’s come back to the room before the other patients were told to return to their rooms, which is a good sign. He hasn’t forgotten about me. For some reason, I don’t think that this arrangement will be everlasting. After all, he’s in the world of the living, and I’m not. Even though I want to be. I want to go back to my body. Well, you know what happened there. So I can only look forward. The only thing I can do with that is to try and walk through walls.

  ‘Have you made it to the other room yet?’ he asks.

  ‘Not yet but I’m close.’

  He seems quiet. More than unusual. Like he’s got something heavy on his mind. Maybe one of the other patients here upset him. They do that a lot. I hear them stirring each other up. It’s like being in school but with grown adults.

  ‘Why don’t you try for me? I think you’ll make it this time.’

  It’s like his words unlock the fear that’s building inside of me, and it disperses, like light refracting through a prism, and I imagine the rainbow forms around me.

  I move to the end of the bed. Now is a good time to try too because the patients are downstairs in the day room. The occupant next door isn’t there, which is a good thing.

  He moves the bed away from the wall. ‘Just making sure you have more room.’

  ‘All right.’ It was a little odd, but I’m pumped to try and make it through to the other side of the wall this time, and now the fear of succeeding is less I’m ready to give it a go. I know Bertie will be here when I get back and he’s the anchor I need to achieve this.

  I stand at the wall with the bed behind me. I square my shoulders and step through. Immediately I reach the point where there’s tension, so I don’t push so hard. Instead, I ease myself forward. I focus on imagining myself on the other side of the wall and put my hands out as if to balance myself. I find it easy to move my arms upwards through the bricks. I can feel the images pressing on the cracks in my mind, but I don’t let them in, and I don’t let them scare me.

  I keep moving. Slowly. Pushing forward. Not even thinking about going backwards. Then with a gasp as if I’ve been holding my breath underwater I make it to the other side of the wall.

  I stumble forward into the room.

  I did it.

  Excitement floods through me making my molecules vibrate faster. I spin around and see the wall that I’ve just come through. It’s like I’m full of adrenalin. If I knew it would feel this great, I would’ve attempted to do this sooner and not tried to delay everything.

  The room looks exactly like Bertie’s except for the position of the window which is on the wall opposite to the door. Of course, because Bertie’s room is at the end of the corridor.

  I’m amazed that I’ve finally achieved my goal. I allow myself to levitate upwards enjoying my moment. I’ll go and tell Bertie in a minute. Or maybe I could see if I can make it to the next room and keep going until I get to the end of the row of rooms.

  But then the chain snaps.

  It’s like something’s ripped out of me.

  I fall to the ground.

  Everything goes black.

  I think I’m on the ground for a while. I don’t know. Time’s all messed up I know that much. I realise the chain which was connecting Bertie and me is no longer there. Dread knots within me.

  Something terrible has happened.

  I get to my feet. I have to get back. I’m not sure I can. Fear mingles with the dread inside of me, filling the gaping hole in my heart space where the chain was ripped from. I’d tried to get rid of that chain so many times, and now it’s gone I want it back. Things were changing for Bertie. For me. Things were getting better, and there was potential growing between us. Now I can’t feel any of that. It’s gone.

  I rush to the wall. Not thinking about anything except getting back to Bertie, I force my way forward and burst back into Bertie’s room.

  It’s all wrong.

  The bed’s no longer where I’d left it.

  I can’t see Bertie.

  I look around. Frantic.

  Then I see him.

  Hanging in the door frame.

  I rush to Bertie and grab his legs and push him upwards.

  ‘No. No. No,’ I yell. He can’t have done this to himself. Somehow I manage to hold on to his legs. I take some of his weight. I’m not strong enough to hold him for long. I push myself. I will hold Bertie until help comes.

  ‘Help. Help. Help,’ I scream and scream.

  No one comes.

  My grip is slipping.

  I fall to the ground sobbing. Why didn’t I see this? Why couldn’t I see he was close to the edge? I’ve been there so many times myself. I should’ve been able to see it. Of course, that’s probably why there was a connection between us. I just didn’t want to see that reflection. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d done to myself. I don’t want to be reminded now. I see the mandala within me, I feel another row of knots being added in the colour of blood red. I don’t think that this is something I can hold inside of me.

  I don’t remember anything. Just blankness. I call it blankness because I’m used to feeling the darkness, and this is different. There’s a gap in my memory. I assume I’ve been engulfed in darkness, but I don’t really know. I suspect I’ve finally tipped over the edge and fallen into the hole within myself. That’s where I’ve been. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing. It was bound to happen. Eventually. I always skimmed around the edge so much that I was eventually going to fall into the hole. I guess I fell. Maybe I actually jumped. That would be more like something I’d do.

  I’m not one to leave things to accident. It’s no coincidence where I’ve been. I mightn’t be sure what happened to me there in the hole in the blackness of time and space, but it’s not accidental. I don’t feel different, but it’s too early to tell. I haven’t unravelled. That’s what I thought would’ve happened if I ended up over the edge. That I would be lost in thousands of molecules which once made me who I am, and they would scatter around and be absorbed by other molecules, or maybe they would engulf others, and they would move around and look like stars in a night sky, except they could move, get bigger or disappear.

  Why didn’t I disappear? That would’ve been the best outcome for me. I don’t want life, death isn’t what I expected, and just when I’m opening myself to a person my heart is ripped out.

  Where am I now?

  That’s a more important question. My awareness has come back to me. I’m in darkness. It’s around me. The blankness is replaced with darkness. Guess it’s hard to imagine nothing. I’m in the hole. At least that’s where I think I am. Maybe I hope this is where I am. At least, if I think this is where I am, then I can trick myself into believing I know where I am. Better than not knowing. I’m tired of not knowing. I’m sick of being in between. I want to be somewhere definitely. But I’m not.

  I look around me. There isn’t a gap in the ground. The walls of the hole are smooth, so I can’t climb up using foot holes to hoist me back to… now that’s another question.

  Where would I go back to?

  To the room where Bertie killed himself?

  To my body?

  T
o hell?

  Definitely wouldn’t be to heaven.

  I don’t like any of those options. Each of them scares me. Opens the cracks in my mind. I’m not sure I want to know what will come into those cracks now.

  I’m most definitely all sixes and sevens now. I’ve broken the Law of Attraction by attracting nothing and making something up in my head, and fuck knows what I’ve done to the Butterfly Effect. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t save Bertie. I’m not able to change events which are not in my timeline. Fuck that. I don’t buy it. But this is my timeline. Ghost or not, for whatever reason I’m meant to be here. So why can’t I change things if this is where I’m meant to be? Why couldn’t I save Bertie?

  Something weighs heavy on me, pushing me deeper into the darkness that’s around me. I push back. Instead of allowing it to consume me I meet the darkness. I stand firm holding my ground.

  I might not know where I’m going to end up. Each of the options I can think of where I might end up, scare the shit out of me but I don’t let that stop me. I need to get back. One step at a time. The first is to get out of this hole. I need to push the darkness away.

  Now, how the fuck am I going to do this?

  There’s so much I don’t know. I vaguely remember back when I was four when my memories were forming I used to think I knew everything. Then I got older, went to school, sort of learnt, but I still had that arrogance of youth where I knew everything. Even when starting high school I thought I knew it all and school was a waste of time. This didn’t help my attitude which was already tainted with the darkness. It was written in most of my reports for many years, how I would go further if I didn’t show so much attitude or some shit like that. I didn’t pay any attention to what my teachers wrote, or what my parents encouraged me to do. I thought I knew it all.

  Now I realise how much I don’t know. It’s like my brain is actually working and it’s now able to think logically through questions and process my surroundings whereas before it didn’t. It couldn’t. Because of Frank, the snake, and the fog. But being free of these monsters in my mind has left me with so many questions I don’t know the answer to. Before that would weigh down on me. Now I’m not going to let it take me down. I’m feeling strong. It’s the change in me which is motivating me to go forward. That I can sit with the questions and not be overwhelmed and not want to go into the hole and be consumed by darkness and lost forever. I don’t want that as an option. Slowly, I’m illuminating the choices in front of me. I might not know which one I really want right now, but I know what I don’t want.

  First, I want to lift the darkness away from me so I can have some space.

  It’s like I’ve become a weightlifter. In the heavy division. Lifting the heaviest weights for a gold medal. That’s what the darkness feels like around me. A weight for me to lift.

  I feel the heaviness lifting away. Then I start to move. I know what direction to go in because I figure it’s the direction that the darkness is pushing me away from. It becomes difficult to move. Like I’m wading through marshes. I don’t look down because I’ve watched enough movies to know there are dead bodies in marshes and I don’t want to see them, especially if arms lift up to clutch at my legs to stop me.

  I look ahead. There’s no light to guide me. Just a feeling this is the way to go and that I must keep going no matter what.

  My legs hurt from moving, my shoulders ache from holding back the heaviness that surrounds me. Somehow I don’t collapse. I don’t stop. I’ve forgotten about everything else. I’m just thinking of getting out of here. It’s important that I do. I want to try again. Or at least, I don’t want to end things permanently just yet. Not like Bertie.

  My knees buckle.

  Bertie.

  Sadness fills me when I think of him. Then anger. I push that away. I can’t afford to feel these emotions. If I do, I might not make it out of here. I have to keep moving. I have to hold the darkness up from myself, which is like a leaded blanket that’s been cast over me. I keep my aching arms up. I don’t want to suffocate. There are still things for me to do. I might not know what. But I have this deep urge within me I can do things in my life, and right now that’s all that matters. There’s a limit to how much I can carry and think of at once. I’m close to my limit. Very close. It would be so easy for me to let go. Stop moving. And then allow the darkness to sweep me away on a tidal wave of doom. I don’t.

  Before, when I’d given up on life, I would’ve sat down and waited for the Grim Reaper, or some monster to come and take me to hell. I’d not bother to fight like I am now. Even though each step is getting harder and I don’t know when this will end or where I will go back to. Home? Room? The fires of Hell? Or some other place I’ve not thought of or don’t know about. It doesn’t matter. I just have to get out.

  I keep thinking as I’m moving. It’s a good distraction. Look how much I’ve changed, right?

  I play a game with myself. If I could start over, no matter what, if I were given another chance, what would I like? I nearly pause when I realise the answer is clear in my mind. I would go back home, to my body, to my parents, my sister and try and turn my life into something. Not sure what, but I don’t actually care. I can figure a detail like that out later. I’ll have plenty of time. I know, because oddly being a ghost I realise that time is short and there isn’t enough, but there’s a sort of flow within time. So I’d have enough. Besides my parents are supportive. They would help me through this. Not make the decision for me, but support me so I can make it for myself. My heart twists on itself. I miss them. I never thought that could ever be possible.

  I stumble forward. If this is some purgatory, holding up darkness from suffocating me while I wade through mashes of death, I might have to do this for a long time. Maybe forever. I can’t think about that. Instead, I keep going. I’ve got a plan. Bertie taught me this. I’m going with the flow, in my own unique way, because there’s an end game in mind and it’s not death.

  I’m leaving behind the feeling of being lost. It’s clear. If I have to decide, then I would want to go back to my body. Try again. I reckon I’ve learnt a few things now which will be able to help me.

  Then it’s like when there’s fog, and it suddenly lifts. The marshes become firm, and it’s easier to walk. The darkness I’m holding back with my arms lightens. Light bursts around me and I step into it.

  I’m back in the room. My chest tightens like it’s been stabbed with a knife. I remind myself that I had to get through the first step. I’m out of the hole. That’s good. Now I’ve just got to find the next step to take. This might not happen quickly. The stuck feeling returns. It’s overwhelming.

  I force myself to look around.

  I’m so used to being here with Bertie that it hurts.

  Whatever nightmare I’ve left, I’m now in another version. I don’t want to look at the door. I don’t want to see him hanging there. It’s not how I want to remember him. But then the only other way I’ve seen him is tied to the bed or being escorted to and from the room.

  It hurts.

  This feeling I’d pushed back rushes over me now, and I can’t ignore it.

  I fall to my knees.

  I look at the door. It’s closed.

  Bertie is gone.

  I never got to say goodbye.

  I remember the look in my parents’ eyes when I threw the peas on the table all those years ago during one of my episodes. The horror, the disappointment, and most of all the intensity of the sadness in their eyes. I felt satisfied. I knew what sort of person I was, not consciously but subconsciously, it’s a sort of an innate behaviour. Now their expressions are in my mind as I remember. The same sadness is within me. It’s heavy. I feel like I’m sinking that I’m in an ocean of emotion, and I’m a rock with only one direction I can go which is down to the bottom. To rest there and have coral make their home out of me, and maybe provide shelter for some of the bottom dwellers. That’s where I deserve to live. That’s what I attract. There’s no escaping t
hat. What am I thinking that I could change myself? This darkness is part of me. It always has been. It always will be. I might not have Frank telling me what to do, but the darkness is still there in my mind. Ready to come through the cracks.

  I never meant to hurt my parents that day. But I did.

  Now, I not only see what they felt, I’m experiencing it too. It hurts.

  Bertie.

  I scream out his name. I hope he’s a ghost and will come back to me. But the room is empty. There’s no old book feeling that he evoked in me. No warmth. Only the weightiness of sadness. The depressive feeling of loneliness. I would prefer nothing. I wonder if it was worth enduring making my way through the darkness like I did for fuck knows how long to only end up here in this room thinking of Bertie.

  You fucking bastard.

  The scream rips through me. Painful with sharp edges. He planned this deliberately. He knew what he was doing. He wanted to get me out of the room so he could do away with himself. How could he? After all we had talked about. After all the comfortable silences. The connection between us. How could he still want that out?

  Even as I ask the questions, I know the answers don’t matter. Not really. Not now. It’s all too late. I’d been there myself. It’s hard to explain. There’s an urgency, a motivation to go ahead and end things. No matter what. No matter how much you might hurt others around you. It was an unfortunate consequence. But I wasn’t connected to my parents or my sister. Or anyone. I had made sure of that. Bertie and I were connected and yet he still left me.

  I tried to remind myself that I was a ghost. He couldn’t connect with me, but the chain between us had been real. I couldn’t remove it. I felt it when it was pulled from me.