by Sue Wallman
At the back-door fire exit I push the shiny metal bar with both hands, holding my breath in case an alarm goes off. The door opens with a loud jolt. Noah startles me: he’s right there, holding a large stone the size of a brick.
“What’s—”
“Shhh,” he whispers. “I’m going to wedge the door open so you can get back in later.” He’s wearing long shorts, a hoodie with a distorted pocket, which must be where the iPad is, and sneakers; I’m dramatically underdressed. The sky is the dark of blueberries, the half-moon white-bright against it. The stars are like pinpricks of light showing through from another universe. My skin goosebumps, but not just because the air is cooler than I expected. I’m alert like I’ve never been before, fuelled by terror and anticipation.
We dodge the gate cameras by ducking and crouching. There’s no light coming from any buildings except for the security building. Yellow light shines from the window at the front. Nothing’s floodlit tonight. After the gates, we stay down, and keep to the shadows near the fence, but not so close that we’re picked up by any of the cameras. We sprint and catch our breath at the ladder.
I climb up first, faster and faster, and at the top I can’t stop myself gasping at the 360 degree view. It’s familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. On the occasions I’ve been allowed outside at night-time, there have been people around. Noise and bustle. This evening the Creek is showing me another side of itself, one I’ve never properly seen before. The glimmer of the uncovered pool. Shape-shifting shadows. Crops that make a shushing noise in the slight breeze. The fresh smell of foliage. Skittering dry leaves in the parking lot, the first sign of impending fall. The beauty of it hurts me.
Noah stands next to me. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Even without the floodlighting.”
I nod. Now that I’m standing still, I’m even colder. What was I thinking, coming out here without a sweater? I rub my arms.
“You cold?” asks Noah. My skin itches with the thought of his skin touching mine, but he doesn’t place his arm round me. He takes a small, slim iPad out of his pocket. The unlocker of secrets. Silver and perfect.
“Oh. Wow.” Everything about this moment has an unreal quality.
“Hang on,” says Noah. He peels off his hoody and hands it to me. It smells differently from clothes washed in the Creek laundry. It smells of his other life. Of a house, not a psychiatric facility, and of a washing powder that wasn’t bought in industrial quantities. And of Noah himself.
“Are you sure?” I ask, but I have my head already inside it when I ask and he laughs.
Rather than wriggling into it, it sort of falls on to me because it’s so big, and the hood flops halfway on my head.
I push back the hood properly and Noah hands me the iPad. “Thank you. Thank you a thousand times. No, a million…”
He smiles. “You’re welcome.”
As I look to see where to switch it on, he says, “Wait. Think about what you’re going to search. We have to preserve the battery.”
My mind races. Drew. HB. Callie Ridgeway. Dr Hunter Ballard.
“It’ll be easier if we sit down,” says Noah.
We sit on the towel that was sopping wet last time we were here. It’s dry now, but greyer.
I tell him how I’m destined for Pattonville College, followed by a job in the Creek. Saying it out loud makes it sound even bleaker. “It’s no longer about surviving two more years,” I say. “It’s about finding out what Hunter’s doing to me, and to everyone else.”
I stroke the iPad.
“I’ve been into the settings, and set up the wifi,” says Noah.
Thank God for the patient who overheard Abigail tell the password to the new receptionist. I just hope it hasn’t changed since.
“Let’s do this,” I say. Except I don’t know what to do. I’m still as clueless as I was in the computer store. I have to let Noah show me. He shuffles closer and leans in.
My stomach twirls like the glittering spirals in the vegetable garden to keep the birds away. He’s pressing against my shoulder. His leg touches mine and I swear I can feel each individual leg hair against my skin. The iPad makes a soft chiming noise as it powers up. The outside world is breaking through into my Creek world. We both lurch forward to muffle the sound, and Noah flicks a switch at the side to mute it. We’re so close our lips are less than a hand-width apart.
“Drew’s last name?” asks Noah. He searches quickly, trying different social media, logging in as himself. An endless river of photos and messages, and snatches of video flows past. Noah points to a photo of a girl who looks a bit older than Greta, with the hairiest dog imaginable on her lap. “My sister. Our dog who thinks he’s the most important member of the family.”
I love the smile in Noah’s voice but it makes me lonely.
“I can’t find Drew straight off,” says Noah. “Can you think of nicknames? Or places he might have gone?”
Drew will have to wait until another time. I do a search for HB, and wade through sites that show the initials are used for many products including pencils, ice-cream and cigarettes. I skim-read information about vitamin H and vitamin B. Minutes of battery-sucking time go by. I give up and move my focus to Callie Ridgeway, trying the first of the many ways I’ve thought her name might be spelled.
“I want to see if she knows anything about my real dad. She was mom’s best friend,” I explain to Noah.
Did you mean Callie Ridgeway-Morris? the search engine asks me.
I click on the name and there’s a photo of her right in front of me. She looks about Mom’s age. Petite with drawn-on eyebrows and blonde hair fanning out from a ponytail high on her head. More clicking. Through to a social media site.
I look at Noah, and I say, “Can I message her?”
“Sure. Let me set up a profile. You’ll want an email address too.” I watch his fingers move fast over the keyboard, creating an anonymous online version of myself.
Hi Callie,
You don’t know me but I think you knew my mother when you were younger. Her name is Louelle Ballard but before she married she was Louelle Hill, and she had a brother called Frank. She loved horses. I think she knew some horses called Sunny, Barney and Rhonda.
I stop.
“Give her your date of birth,” says Noah. “Tell her you’re looking for your dad, and that you’d be grateful for any information about him.”
So I do, and I ask her not to contact Mom under any circumstances. It could be very difficult for me if you do, I type. I change difficult to dangerous. Hunter is capable of making my life a living hell if he finds out about this.
My fingers tremble as I press SEND.
TWENTY-NINE
“You’ll have to find somewhere safe to keep the iPad,” says Noah. “Balance it on your toilet cistern?” He doesn’t understand why I’m smiling. “What? I watch a lot of films. The sort where people hide things in toilets.”
“I’m glad you came here,” I say.
“Me too, though it’s been surprisingly unrestful,” says Noah.
“You’re in better shape now, anyway. Eaten more healthily. Escaped your cousins.”
You met me.
There’s silence. I’ve killed the mood.
“Give me the iPad a moment,” he says.
I hand it to him and squeeze my neck slightly to stop the pins and needles. I’ve learned it helps the prickling from becoming too bad. “What are you doing?”
“Starting your address book. I’m giving you my email and my sister’s email. If you memorize them you’ll always be able to contact me at some point, even if something happens to the… Oh.” He looks at his watch, then taps on the keyboard and frowns.
“What is it?” Has Callie already replied? Is it Drew?
It’s almost as if he’s forgotten I’m there.
“Noah? What’s up?”
“What time does your watch say?”
“12.25. Why?”
“It’s showing the right time zone on here but it
says the time is 03.42.”
“So the time isn’t set up right on the iPad?” I ask.
Noah shakes his head. “I checked the time on a couple of websites. Your watch is wrong. Mine too.”
“The watches are wrong? I’m surprised admin hasn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, it’s strange,” says Noah. “But it’s way later than I thought.” He gives the iPad back to me and stands. “Time to go.”
I pull one arm out of the hoody sleeve but Noah says, “Hang on to it for now. Put the iPad in the pocket. Even if you get caught on camera, it’s hidden.”
I’m nervous again at the thought of the journey back to the apartment. We run as quickly as we can, crouching along the security building, crawling past the gate, back into the shadows of the trees towards Hibiscus. The stone is still in the fire door. We say goodbye by waving, not talking, and I slip inside, kicking the stone free and controlling the door so it closes with the tiniest of clicks.
I leap up the stairs, easing myself against the wall in the right places. I’m getting more adept, but the level of fear is still the same.
As I go past Ben, Luke and Joanie’s apartment on the third floor, there’s the sound of what might be a toilet flushing. Two more floors to go. My Converse make tiny tapping sounds on the marble stairs.
I stumble through our front door, closing it as quietly as I can with fumbling hands. Along the hallway to my room, and into the bathroom.
I have the cistern lid lifted when there’s a knock on the door. Not my bedroom door. The actual unlocked bathroom door.
“Yes?” I call out. I can’t risk putting the lid back in case it clanks, but it’s hideously heavy.
“What’s going on, Mae?”
Dad. Hunter. Did he hear the front door click, or the noise of my bedroom door closing?
“I can’t sleep. Stomach cramps. Like my period’s about to start.” My period is about to start, and Hunter can check that out in my medical records.
“Well, keep the noise level down. Be mindful of others around you.”
“Sorry.” I wait until I hear him leave the room, then I carefully lower the lid to the bathroom floor, my muscles in spasm from holding it so long. I wait until I’ve stopped trembling, then I place the iPad on top of the plastic parts that stick up above the water and return the lid to the cistern.
When I come out of the bathroom, achingly tired but my brain racing, I see Noah’s hoody on the floor. Hunter would have seen it. He’d have known it wasn’t mine. Swapping clothes with patients is a no-no.
Why didn’t he say anything? Is he watching me?
THIRTY
My watch alarm goes off at seven a.m. as usual. In the bathroom, I check the time on the iPad. It says 5.23 a.m. If the iPad’s right, that means I’ve had very little sleep. I can’t say anything to admin about the watches being wrong, of course, because then I’d have to say how I know, but I’m surprised they haven’t figured it out themselves by now.
The home screen shows I have a message pending. I take a deep breath and click.
It’s from Callie, sent an hour ago:
Oh my God!!! Louise’s daughter got in touch!!! A bolt from the blue OR WHAT? Where do you live?
Yes I knew Louise until she ran off with the creepy guy at the clinic. Hugh he was called, or something like that. He made her cut off all ties with her family and friends, a real control freak. He was the one who renamed her Louelle. We tried to stay in touch but you can’t keep on when you never hear anything back, can you?
Your mum never told you about your real dad? But she told you about the horses? That figures. I hope she’s not in trouble and you are OK. Your email was very dramatic.
I moved away from the area when I got married so I don’t know anything about her family these days. She was Louise Eleanor Hill – we called her Louise or Lou.
Call me, and I’ll tell you about your dad. I’m not much of a writer as you can probably tell! lol!!
Underneath is a long row of numbers.
I search for Louise Eleanor Hill on the internet. There are loads, but no trace of Mom.
At breakfast, I look for Noah, but he’s not there. Neither is Thet. They must have had earlier exercise times. It’s no big deal, but my heart still squishes like a lump of soft clay.
As I sit down with my tray, I see Will leaving. I shouldn’t do this – draw attention to myself – but I get up and follow Will out of the cafeteria. He hears me behind him and says, “Mae?”
I indicate that he should keep going down the corridor, past all the exercise studios, and then I usher him along until I’m pretty certain we’re not on any cameras.
“Will. Sorry. Have you seen Noah this morning?”
He screws his face as he thinks. “Yeah, he had the first exercise session. He and Thet left the cafeteria as I came in – the supervisor told them not to be so slow next time. What’s up?”
I breathe out. Noah’s OK. “Thanks. I wanted to tell him something. Listen, I’m really sorry about Dr Jesmond and my dad not letting you go to Austin’s funeral or memorial service. I wanted to go too. My dad told me it would be too far away.” I hate calling him my dad, but it’s better Will doesn’t pick up on anything.
“I don’t care about distance,” says Will. “I’d go wherever it was.”
“Could you discharge yourself?”
“That’s the thing,” says Will. His voice is low but angry. “I told Dr Jesmond I wanted to be discharged. You know what he did? He phoned my parents, right after that conversation. Told them I’d become fixated on Austin and attending the memorial service would set back my recovery.”
“How do you know?”
“I kept telling Dr J that I needed to speak to my parents, and when I was finally allowed my call, they were like, Your doctors say it’s a no. They wouldn’t listen to me.” He rubs his eyes. “I’m finding all this really hard.”
“Do you mind me asking what medication you’re on?” I ask.
“None. Your dad doesn’t like people to be on other medication, does he?”
“Do they give you vitamins?”
“Yeah. Everyone gets them.”
“Beige ones? How many?”
He thinks. “Er … three of those. Used to be two, and now it’s three.”
Three. “Do you know how many vitamins Austin was taking?”
“No idea, Mae. He once told me if someone shook him he’d rattle with those vitamins, so it must have been more than me. They gave him other things occasionally. To calm him down, they said.”
All those pills, not rattling but dissolving into his bloodstream.
Will comes closer. “What do you know that you aren’t telling me? Are you saying they aren’t really vitamins?”
I’m scared what will happen if Will storms into Karl or Hunter’s office to demand an explanation.
“Could Austin’s death have been prevented?” he asks, almost in a whisper.
I look round. A member of the kitchen staff is carrying a large bowl of bananas from the other direction towards the cafeteria. “Please,” I say. “Don’t say anything. I’m trying to find out. I promise I’ll tell you if I do. Just…” I know he thinks he’s protected because his parents are loaded, but he’s seen how easily Dr Jesmond manipulated them. “I don’t want you to get hurt or … punished for speaking out when we don’t know anything for sure.”
“I don’t care,” says Will.
“Not yet,” I say, far too loudly. The woman with the bananas has stopped by the cafeteria entrance and is looking at us. I cut the volume. “Promise me? Will, you have to promise me. It’s important.”
Will slumps a bit. “OK.”
Before lessons, I type back a quick message to Callie:
Hi again,
I can’t phone you. Please can you tell me my dad’s name and anything about him. You are the only person who can help me.
Yours,
Mae
While Greta attempts to teach us simple algebra on the white
board, Ms Ray sorts out the stationery closet. Lessons have become a slow death. I hold my tongue as long as I can, waiting for Greta to notice that the answer to her sum is obviously wrong. She writes another one on the board and shouts at Luke when he can’t remember what he has to do.
Ms Ray looks round from the closet. “Greta,” she says. “It works best if you give more than one example.”
“If you interfere again with my teaching, I’ll report you,” hisses Greta. She rubs her eye angrily, so that when she removes her hand it’s much redder than the other one.
An uncomfortable silence descends, punctuated by Luke’s sniffing.
“Luke?” says Greta.
“For goodness’ sake, Greta,” I say. “You got the first sum wrong, so how do you expect Luke to know what he’s doing.”
Greta leaves the whiteboard and walks up to my desk. “I don’t like your attitude, Mae Ballard.”
“I don’t like your teaching, Greta Jesmond,” I blurt.
Joanie giggles, Zach sucks in a lungful of breath, and I’m done for.
Greta swallows and straightens up. “Mae, take a book and sit outside for the rest of the morning. Tomorrow you’ll be working in isolation.”
As soon as I see Ms Ray’s slight smile, I realize that for once, things might have unexpectedly gone my way.
As Greta has reported me to Hunter, I have to endure a talk about manners, gratitude and humility. “I imagine Greta needs more practice at teaching,” says Hunter at dinner, as he delicately separates the fish flesh from the bones. “Your job is to support her, not undermine her. Until you can do that, I’m backing her recommendation that you do your work booklets in isolation. Tomorrow you will go straight to the office in the main building which you were in before.”
I nod.
“Greta is an asset to Hummingbird Creek. Loyal and reliable. These are qualities I value. There seems to be an unpleasant air of discontent among some patients, and I will not have it spreading. As I am unfortunately having to remind some people, I have zero tolerance for those who are seeking to spoil our harmonious environment. Not even my daughter gets special treatment.”