Hearing Voices

by E. C. Bell

  “Wrapped around her neck, yeah. That’s Phillipa.” I shook my head and tried to think. She’d told me she was going to stay away from Marie. And she hadn’t. Worse than that, she’d tried to convince Marie to leave me alone. What was she up to? “I’ll keep her away from you. She can get mean.”

  “She doesn’t worry me,” Marie said. “Just so you know.”

  “All right,” I replied. “But I’ll make sure she stays away from you until you’re out of lockdown. Which should happen soon, unless you’re dangerous.” I smiled at her. “You’re not dangerous, are you?”

  “I’m here because the cops believe I put a guy in the hospital,” Marie said. “Does that make me dangerous?”

  “Maybe, I guess we’ll see how you respond to therapy.” I headed for the door. “I’ll go find Franklin,” I said. “And see if he’ll teach me sign language.”

  Marie:

  To Sleep, and Dream

  NURSE MELODIE BROUGHT in a tray with a covered plate and, I noticed wryly, no utensils. “Sorry that took so long,” she said. “The kitchen staff wasn’t sure what would be vegan enough for you.”

  Vegan. Parkerson said she’d get that fixed.

  I lifted the lid of the plate and stared at the sad excuse for a green salad wilting in the middle of it. “I’m not actually vegan,” I said.

  “You’re not?” Nurse Melodie frowned. “I am absolutely positive Dr. Parkerson noted vegan on your file. You better talk to her about that, tomorrow.”

  “Whatever.” I picked up a chunk of cucumber and popped it in my mouth. I was so hungry it tasted like heaven.

  “Good, huh?” Nurse Melodie smiled. “Eat it all up now. You’ll need your strength.”

  “For what?” I rolled up a limp piece of lettuce and stuffed it into my mouth. Even that tasted all right, which showed just how hungry I was.

  “Why, for tomorrow, of course,” Nurse Melodie said. “You’ll meet some of the other patients, after breakfast. Dr. Parkerson’s slotted you into the morning group.”

  “Group?” I felt my stomach shrivel. The thought of going to a group therapy session and “talking it out” with other patients sounded like the worst idea in the world.

  All right, so Jasper told me to just go to the things, and not piss off the staff, but I was not interested in talking to anybody about my issues. Especially my issues around seeing ghosts.

  I pushed the plate away, and Nurse Melodie’s face tightened. “Is that all you’re going to eat?” she asked.

  “I’m not—not that hungry,” I said, then proved it was a lie by scooping up a half ripe chunk of tomato and popping it in my mouth. “There,” I said, around the tasteless hunk. “That’s good. I feel better. Almost full, in fact.”

  “I didn’t realize you had an eating disorder,” Nurse Melodie said, her face a sudden mask of disapproval. “Perhaps we’ll get you on some Boost. Just to keep your calorie intake up.”

  I didn’t know what Boost was, but thought it had to be better than a heat-shrivelled salad. “I don’t have an eating disorder,” I said. “I’m just—not hungry.”

  “That’s what they all say,” Nurse Melodie muttered, then smiled as though embarrassed that she’d spoken the words aloud. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you with that, too.” She picked the pill container up off the tray and held it out to me. “Med time,” she said, and rattled the pills.

  “How many of them are there?” I asked. It sounded like more than I’d taken that morning.

  “Dr. Parkerson doubled the dosage for your anti-anxiety meds,” the nurse said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “But I can’t function on the pills she’s got me on now,” I said. “Why is she doubling the dose?”

  “It’s important we get you up to the proper dosage as quickly as possible,” she replied. “Don’t worry. All this is going to do is help you sleep. And, it is time for you to go to sleep, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” I said. Took the pills from her and glanced into the plastic container. Counted four pills, so at least Nurse Melodie was telling me the truth about Parkerson doubling only one of them. I wondered what the others were, and looked up at the nurse, but she shook her head before I could speak a word.

  “If you have any questions about your medication, please remember to ask Dr. Parkerson tomorrow,” she said. “But I think after you have a good night’s sleep and a nutritious breakfast, you won’t be so worried about the number of pills you’re taking.”

  I seriously doubted it, but obediently tossed the pills into my mouth and took the proffered glass of lukewarm water. Drank some to wash the pills down, and then, when instructed, opened my mouth so the nurse could see that I had, in fact, swallowed the pills.

  She nodded, satisfied, and set the glass down next to the plastic pitcher. Picked up the tray and headed to the door.

  “Good night,” she said. Before I could answer, she was through the door and gone. I heard the key turn in the lock, and then I was alone. Again.

  The lights clicked off, and my room was bathed in darkness. Only one weak shaft of light leaked in from the small scratched Plexiglas window on the door.

  “Guess that’s it,” I said, and pulled back the blankets and got into bed. Figured it was probably a good idea, because those pills hit like a ton of bricks—and it didn’t take long for them to kick in.

  I was just tucking myself in when I realized that the light in the room was brighter, as though someone had turned on a nightlight.

  “What the hell?” I muttered. I threw back the blanket and sat up, and then groaned when the room swirled briefly. There, in the corner, was a dead girl. She looked confused. Lost, almost, so I didn’t do my usual “Get the hell out of my room,” routine.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and I noticed that ecto goo was leaking from her eyes in iridescent tears.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I just wanted to meet you, is all. My name’s Miranda, and I’ve never met anybody who could actually see us before.”

  “Want an autograph?” I asked before I really thought, and then shook my head. “Sorry. They’ve got me on some pretty strong drugs.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “They do that.”

  I noticed she was wearing blue pyjamas. “So, I take it you were a patient,” I said.

  “Yeah, I was. I had an eating disorder.” She smiled. “Didn’t quite work out how to get over it. Know what I mean?”

  “I do,” I said. “Nurse Melodie figures I’ve got an eating disorder too. I couldn’t convince her that the food was inedible. Any idea what Boost is?”

  “Chocolate flavoured chalk,” she said shortly. “Luckily, it comes up as easily as it goes down.”

  I blinked. “You used to—”

  “Yeah, I was bulimic,” she said. “You gonna give me a hard time too?”

  “No,” I said. I personally couldn’t imagine eating—or drinking— something just to throw it up. Well, maybe drink. I’d done that a few times and couldn’t imagine doing it for fun. Then I really looked at the girl, and decided that if she was doing that, she definitely wasn’t doing it for fun. “No, won’t give you a hard time. How long you been dead?”

  “Fifteen months,” she said, and sighed. “You know what I miss the most?”

  “No idea,” I said.

  “The smell of chocolate,” she said. “But not the Boost chocolate. Those Hershey bars. The really big ones? I loved the smell of those bars.” I could see how thin she was. She looked like the pale blue pyjamas weighed as much as she did. “At least I hit my goal weight before I bought it. Made it all worth it.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Really,” she said, her face stone.

  I honestly didn’t know what to say to her, so we stood in silence for a moment. Then the room swirled, and I abruptly sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry, Miranda,” I said, “But I just took a fist full of medication, and I believe th
e staff is trying to knock me out. Think we can finish our conversation some other time?”

  She nodded, and then her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear a word.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t hear you. It’s the pills.”

  Her mouth made an “O” and then she turned toward the door. Waved a brief good-bye, and then disappeared.

  I laid down and willed the room to quit whirling quite so enthusiastically. A lot of ghosts were dropping by for visits. I needed to gather my strength, and it was easier to do that with a good night’s sleep.

  And then, I was unconscious.

  I’M AT THE ball diamond. The dark above is absolute, but I can see everything in front of me clearly, like I’m wearing a pair of night vision goggles or something. The ghosts are a mass of green light. Screaming green light, and they flow toward Andrew. The guy who killed Karen, who is now one of their own.

  I should be warning him, or trying to save him, but I’m not. I’m sitting on one of the bleachers, eating peanuts, and every time he screams I clap and cheer.

  He deserves to die for what he did to Karen, and what he tried to do to me.

  He does . . .

  I’M AT MY old high school, and Rosalie has the gun pointed at me. I don’t feel afraid though. I’m eating peanuts as I watch Arnie try to stop her. I cheer and clap him on, but when she decides to kill herself so she can stay with him forever, I sigh and brush the peanut dust off my fingers before I perform artificial resuscitation on her. I can feel the blood and sinew of what’s left of her face as I try to figure out where her windpipe is so I can save her sorry ass. But she deserves to die for what she did to Arnie, and for what she tried to do to me.

  She does . . .

  I’M—SOMEWHERE. I don’t know where. I look at my hands, wondering where the peanuts are because I’m starving, like I’ve been without food for days, and my fingers look small, like a little kid’s. I look around and see the underside of my bed. My old bed, at my old home, from before my parents split up. I’m under my bed, hiding from—something. And this time, I’m afraid. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, in my ears, and I wish there was some way to shut it off so that the something can’t hear it and find me. Because if he finds me, he’ll kill me. Kill me or worse.

  I’m a kid, and my parents left me alone with a monster. Where are they? Where are they? Where are they?

  Where is the monster?

  I WOKE UP with a scream, and then grabbed my throat because it felt like it had been scrubbed raw.

  “You’ve been yelling a lot,” Jasper said, from a spot over by the locked door. “Bad dreams, huh?”

  “What the hell are you doing in my room?” I gasped, and pulled my blankets up to my neck like a character from a romance novel. “You realize that is creepy as heck, right?”

  “I guess,” he said, and shrugged. “I just wanted to keep an eye on you. First night’s always the hardest. I thought maybe you’d want somebody to talk to, if you woke up.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I was trying for sarcastic, but he didn’t seem to get it, because he beamed a huge, relieved smile.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied. “Glad to be here for you. What drugs are you on?”

  “I—I’m not sure,” I replied, “Something called Seroquel, I think, plus something else, but I can’t remember the name.” I stopped with the maiden in danger thing with the blankets and tried to sit up, but it did not go well, so I stayed flat on the bed. “For anxiety, I think.”

  “Well, those nightmares are going to get your dosage upped,” he said. “Staff, generally, would rather you didn’t scream.”

  “Oh?”

  “Way too loud,” he said. “It gets everybody else going.”

  I could hear shrieks and yells and hoots in the hallway outside my locked door. “That’s because of me?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. Then he smiled. “Well, not all of them. Some just like to yell. But a few are because of you.”

  “Damn,” I said. “That sucks.”

  “Once they get your meds right, you’ll never have another dream,” Jasper said.

  “Not one?” I asked.

  “Not one,” Jasper said.

  “Well, that sucks too,” I said. “I’ve had some pretty good dreams, in my time.”

  “Kiss them goodbye,” Jasper said, and the smile left his face. “The staff would rather not have to deal with any of them, good or bad.”

  “Oh.” I yawned, a jaw-cracking affair, and covered my mouth with my hand. “Sorry man, I gotta go back to sleep.” One eye slid shut, and I tried to keep the other open but I couldn’t manage it, and then I was in the dark.

  I rolled over onto my side, hoping to change things up so I wouldn’t have the nightmare again, even though I could feel it hovering just over my shoulder, waiting for me to drop off.

  “All right,” Jasper said. “Want me to stay?”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. I struggled briefly to open my eyes, but could not do it. It was comfortable in the dark behind my eyelids. “Really.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

  The darkness pulled me down, down, down.

  “See you later, then,” I said. Or tried to say, but my mouth wouldn’t work, and the nightmare grabbed me . . .

  I AM AT the ball diamond, eating peanuts . . .

  Jasper:

  Group

  AFTER MARIE WENT back to sleep, I wandered around the grounds for most of the rest of the night. It was dark, so it was easy to see where the other dead were—their weak lights floated in the rooms of the mostly deserted and mostly wrecked buildings. Sometimes together. Sometimes alone. I didn’t visit though. I had a lot to think about.

  I thought about finding Franklin Gilroy, to talk him into giving me a lesson in sign language. But I didn’t. I really didn’t want to have to sit through another of his stupid war stories, and that was kind of the price of entry with Franklin.

  Then there was Phillipa. She had told me she was going to stay away from Marie, but she went to her room anyhow. She lied to me, and then she’d tried to talk Marie into not seeing me anymore. She was planning something. I had to figure out what that was, because I was afraid that if Phillipa got her hooks into Marie, I would be out in the cold, and that was not going to happen.

  What was Phillipa planning?

  I didn’t have a clue, and I felt uselessly angry at the thought. Why hadn’t I ever thought about what she was capable of, before? Why had I always focused on what was wrong with me, and everybody else?

  “’Cause I’m stuck in a mental institution,” I muttered. “And that’s the focus here. What’s wrong with everybody.”

  The whole idea of it depressed me, so I snuck back to Marie’s room and watched her sleep until it was time for group.

  We met in Building One. It had started as a hospital for First World War veterans suffering from shell shock until it was deemed unusable and abandoned. There was lots of talk about razing it, but that never happened. There were actually a lot of buildings that had been abandoned, and none of them had been knocked down. Most of us figured that there wasn’t enough money in the budget to do it, but we didn’t mind.

  We used One because it was away from the living—it was a mess, no doubt about it, but at least it was ours.

  We had one group session a night. Night time was perfect. We were all more focussed, more goal oriented, as though the dark of the night sky helped us keep on track.

  I was one of the last to arrive, and almost felt relief that I didn’t have time to talk to Franklin, who was in attendance. After, I thought. If there’s time.

  I saw Phillipa at the other end of the room and felt a thin rush of anger. She’d lied to me. Gone behind my back, even when she told me she wouldn’t. I thought about confronting her and decided against it. I didn’t want a confrontation. Not in front of everybody. Phillipa had a bad temper and she didn’t mind usin
g it on anyone who got in her way. From what she’d mentioned to me, she was this way when she was alive, and she hadn’t changed after she died.

  Just like my depression. Her evil temper stuck around. So, it was best not to cross her.

  The room slowly quieted, and then Miranda put up her hand. “I’ll go first,” she said. “If that’s all right.”

  No one said no, so Miranda did. She told us all about meeting Marie, the girl who could talk to ghosts.

  Was everybody going to bother her?

  “We talked for a while, then she couldn’t hear me anymore,” Miranda said. “’Cause of her meds, I guess. But, hey, looks like she’s another eating disorder, so at least I’ll have somebody to talk to. Someone with some control.” She sniffed, like she could smell something bad.

  “Shut your cake hole, Miranda,” Phillipa said. She looked furious, and I almost laughed out loud.

  Miranda turned on her, seventy-five pounds of fury. “You can’t talk to me that way,” she said, but Phillipa just sneered.

  “Sit down and shut up,” she said. “You’re not supposed to be looking for others of your kind. You know that. You’re supposed to interact with normal people.” She gestured around the room. “You know, like us.”

  Miranda sneered back. “I wouldn’t call myself normal, if I were you,” she said. “Not until you figure out how to get that noose off your neck.”

  “Shut up, bitch,” Phillipa snapped.

  “And maybe lose fifteen pounds,” Miranda continued. “You fat cow.”

  That would have finished group under normal circumstances, but for once Phillipa took the high road. Miranda would have to watch her back after group, though.

  We continued going around the circle we’d all learned from group before we died, and everybody had a chance to speak.

  Mostly, everyone talked about being bored, and how they wished they could touch things, and one guy—Richard Harris, who’d fallen down the back steps on his way to lunch two years ago and broke his neck—spoke at length about wishing he could have just fifteen minutes alone with his wife Matilda, because he really wanted to have sex one more time. He went on and on, describing in excruciating detail what he’d do to Matilda, and what he expected from her in return.