by Sarah Dalton
After group therapy, Dr. Harrison lets me know that they’ve extended my stay to the end of the month. My parents have been notified. This time I’m glad for the cotton wool padding, otherwise that would’ve hurt. Still, at least it gives me time to figure out my vision.
So I spend my days searching for Johnny. I need to find out what he knows about the hospital. He must still be here, somewhere. I end up stalking up and down the corridors, hunting for his trainers or his green eyes, shining out of the darkness. At one point I sneak into the boys’ dormitories and I am dragged back by a porter. At least I didn’t end up in the white room again. It’s just after that incident that Mo corners me and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“What’s happening, Mary?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I give a hopefully nonchalant shrug. “Keeping busy, you know.”
“Keeping busy?” He stares at me like I really am crazy, like I’m the craziest crazy in crazytown. “Mary, it’s a little bit more than that, isn’t it?”
His dirt brown eyes bore into mine and something cracks inside. It’s like I’m made of egg-shell and he’s tapped me against the pan. Tears build and my lip wobbles.
“Come with me, before Granger sees.”
I let him lead me away to the furthest sofa. He sits me down with my back to the hatch, so Nurse Granger can’t see me cry and run off to Dr. Harrison to up my dose again.
“What’s happening, Mary? Talk to me.”
“I’m not crazy,” I say. “I’m really not. They’re real. I swear.”
“Okay,” he says. “What are?”
I sigh. “If I come right out and say it, you’ll never believe me. You’ll think it’s like what happened to you with the soaps, but it’s not. It’s really not.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” he suggests. “Everything has a beginning, right? Start there and I promise I won’t judge.”
I hesitate. I want to talk to Mo, but there’s a part of me thinking that he wants to fix me like he tried to fix Marcus. Will I end up some pet project? Does Mo think he’s my mentor or something?
I search his face—his lovely, open face—and I have to talk to him. So I tell him all about the Things and how they appear to me. I tell him about their messages and how they come true. I tell him about the fire. I tell him how it started, with the Thing writing on the wall. Then I stop, because that’s all I can say.
“Someone died, didn’t they?” he says.
My mind closes. It’s done for the day. My tears stop and I get up to walk away.
Mo grabs me by the wrist and pulls me back down. He hardly uses any force whatsoever. “Mary, listen to me. I’m about to give you some advice that could get me chucked out of here, but I can’t sit back and watch you get worse. When you arrived I thought: what’s this girl here for? There’s nothing wrong with her. The first two days, you were fine. Then this place got on top of you and I saw the way you withdrew into yourself. I knew something was going wrong. They’ve upped your dose, haven’t they?”
I nod.
“Is it making you worse?”
I nod again.
“Mary, you need to cheek them.”
My eyes open in shock. “What? I can’t do that—”
“You can. Look, I’m all for drugs, of the medicinal kind. I take mine every day because they work and without them I’d be talking to the TV again. But I’ve seen what happens when doctors get it wrong. It’s awful. You’re one of those people. There’s nothing wrong with you, Mary.”
“You believe me?” I say. My heart soars.
“I dunno if I believe it, exactly. I trust my instincts and my instincts say you’re not psychotic. I guess I believe in you, even if I don’t believe in your visions.”
It’s nice to have someone believe in me for a change. A weight lifts from my shoulders.
“Do you think there’s something wrong, here? Do you get a weird vibe? Like… something really creepy is going to happen?”
“Of course. It’s a mental institute.”
“No, something else. Like there’s a presence,” I say. I laugh without humour. “You must think I’m paranoid. Still want me off the meds?”
“I get paranoia, sometimes,” he says. “It made me do some really crazy shit.”
“Is that to do with Yasmeen?” I blurt out. The expression on his face makes me wish I hadn’t.
“Who told you that?”
“Lacey,” I admit. “She said you two went out.”
“Yeah and what a fucking car crash that was. Listen, I wasn’t obsessed with her. I was just in a dark place, back then.”
“Was that pre-meds?” I ask.
He shook his head. “No. It was when I thought I needed a double dose. I’m all evened out now.”
“Maybe I should speak to Dr. Harrison, try and get him to lower my dose?” I suggest.
“You could, but he’s not going to believe you while you’re acting crazy. And you’ll only keep acting crazy on that dose. Cheek them, get your head down, interact with people. Always talk in group therapy. It’s the only way out, once you’re in.”
“What about Natalie? She never did any of that stuff and still got out.”
“Natalie’s over eighteen. She can do whatever she wants, as long as she’s not deemed a danger to herself and others. Besides, everyone knows Natalie. She usually needs a few days to clear her head, work through some shit and then leave. She’s cool, really… except for the suicide.”
“This place is bizarre,” I say. “Did you ever think you’d be sat around, chatting about suicide and psychosis as though it’s the weather?”
“No, not really!”
We both laugh. My first genuine laugh in days. Mo’s really cool. I’m at ease with him. We could chat for hours and it would only feel like minutes.
“I did get freaked out when Marcus went a bit ape-shit. I guess I realised that we’re not staying in a hotel, you know? It hit home.”
“Shit got real.”
I laugh again. “Yeah, exactly. Shit got real.”
“Don’t you just hate it when that happens?” he says.
“Not really. Not when you’re in a mental hospital for psychosis. It’s actually kinda refreshing.”
*
Mo taught me how to cheek the pills and I took his advice. Not sure why I decided to take the advice of a guy who once phoned into a daytime TV show to accuse the host of killing his hamster, but all I can say in my defence is that it feels right. You could say that I live my life via instincts. If there’s a bad vibe, I get the hell out of there. That’s why staying in this hospital is so weird. I’d usually run a mile without looking back.
Lacey stops ignoring me and we begin our ‘banter’ again, which usually entails her babbling on and calling me a ‘quiet one’ or telling me I’m giving her earache. “There she is, off again. Bloody motor mouth.”
“Lace, you talk enough for both of us,” I say with a laugh.
“Well, at least you’ve cheered up. I thought we’d lost you for a bit, there. Kept expecting to find you hanging from the ceiling with the bedding around your neck…” her voice changes. It goes quiet as she trails off.
“Did that happen?” I ask.
She nods.
Poor Lace. Her ramblings and her energy hide so much.
Group therapy does seem to get better if you join in. Without that foggy veil, it’s very different. Mo encourages me with little glances and smiles. They don’t go unnoticed by Lacey. Yasmeen gives me the stink-eye every now and then.
“You know what we should do?” Lacey says at breakfast one day. “We should go up into the ceiling again.”
Anka jumps up and down in her seat. “Voddy voddy voddy, oi oi oi.”
“Shhh, Granger will hear you!” Helen gives her a shove. “When do you want to do it?”
“Tonight,” Lacey says. She turns to me and explains. “There’s a cavity in the ceiling where they plug in the electrics. You can crawl through to the empty ward on le
vel seven. We’ve got a stash up there—booze.”
“How do you get up there?” I ask.
“Well, one of the ceiling tiles is loose in our room. We climb on my bed and wiggle it loose. Easy.”
“But how does everyone get into our room? Won’t someone notice? Granger?”
“Granger doesn’t work nights. On a Friday it’s Betty. She’s about seventy and falls asleep every time. She literally sleeps ‘til the morning, unless someone wakes her,” Yasmeen says.
“Yeah and there’s only temping nurses on tonight. They sit around watching telly while Betty sleeps. Granger hates Betty. It’s right funny when they work together,” Lacey says.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, impressed.
Lacey taps the side of her nose. “Oh you know, little of this, little of that.”
“You’re a clever girl, Lace.”
Chapter Eight
When my parents visit in the afternoon, Dad grins the entire time. “You seem so much better, Mares. I’m proud of you.”
They stay for the entire hour of visiting time and I even manage not to upset Mum, which is pretty impressive. She gives me a desperate hug on the way out. It’s probably a bad thing that the reason I’m in a good mood is because later that night I plan to sneak into the ceiling for a boozing session with my new loony-friends.
We agree to meet in our room at exactly midnight. I love it, because midnight is such a magical time. It’s zero. It’s the beginning of things. I once said that to someone at school and she said I was a bit mental. Maybe I am.
Lacey sticks her head out of the door and peeks around at the communal area. It’s ten to midnight. “I can see the hatch. I think Betty’s asleep against the glass. Yup, and I can hear the TV. I reckon we’ll pull it off.”
“How many times have you done this?” I ask.
“Oh, like three times.”
“Ever been caught?”
“Nope.”
Mo sneaks in first, bang on time. “I had to make sure I didn’t wake Frankie.”
“You share a room with Frankie? That’s crap,” I say.
“They moved him in a few days ago,” he says. “Apparently he’s been doing better recently and they wanted him to have some independence. It’s not so bad. He sleeps through, sometimes. It’s kinda like having a new-born baby to take care of.”
“That sounds awful,” I say. We both laugh.
“Urgh, if you two end up getting off with each other, please do it away from me.” Lacey wrinkles her nose in disgust.
Mo makes a face but his eyes linger on mine long enough to make me wonder if he doesn’t mind the idea of getting off with me. I can’t decide if I like the idea or not. His lips are full and his eyes are brown and deep. There’s something kissable about him. Maybe it’s this place. Maybe it’s because I’m supposed to be here to get better and figure things out. I shouldn’t be going around snogging boys and getting my emotions in a mess. That’s not what I’m here for. Before I make up my mind, Marcus and Yasmeen burst in. Yasmeen’s hair is dishevelled.
“See, these two decided to get it on in private before coming here. Follow example, lovebirds,” Lacey says.
I glower at her and shove her arm. “Shut up, Lacey.”
The door opens and Tom and Anka join us. Helen is right behind them.
“If these two get off with each other.” Lacey points at me and Mo. “And you two get off with each other.” She points at Tom and Anka. “Then it’s just you and me, Hels.”
Helen looks her up and down. “Meh, I’ve had worse.”
“Come on, get the ceiling open, man. I’m parched for a drink, yeah,” Marcus says.
“The addict has spoken. All right, I’ll get it open. Keep your knickers on.”
Marcus notices my expression. “I was a crack addict, not alcohol. Alcohol doesn’t even touch the sides, so don’t worry.”
“I, umm… wasn’t,” I mumble, all too aware of his bad temper.
Lacey loosens the ceiling tile. It leaves us with a space that appears way too small for a person to fit through. The others follow Lacey up. Miraculously, they don’t have any trouble getting through. I hang back. Fear creeps in. What if I have a claustrophobia freak out?
“You all right?” Mo asks. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want.”
“I want to. It’s a bit narrow, though.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll go up first and help you through.” He climbs onto Lacey’s bed and pulls himself up through the fairly low ceiling. When I stand on the bed I can put my palms on it, and I’m pretty short. Mo is quite tall and lean, so he makes it seem easy.
“Come on.” He extends a hand for me to grab.
I climb up onto the bed and take his hand. It’s warm and strong. With one hand on the ridge of the tile, I pull myself up, and let Mo take some of my weight, wiggling into the cavity on my belly.
“Follow me. There’s some crawl space and then we go up into the next floor.”
With my heart hammering in my chest, I watch Mo turn around in the confined space and crawl along the boards and fibreglass. With even ion in my body I hope to goodness that there aren’t any spiders. Luckily, it isn’t too far. We reach an open air vent and Mo helps me out.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Believe it or not, the old psychiatric ward,” Mo says.
It’s clearly disused. There are cobwebs all over the place. The carpets are threadbare and the sofas sit abandoned, strewn with disused magazines. A layer of dust covers everything. There’s an atmosphere to the place, like someone left in a hurry. Medical notes are strewn across the floor. A mop and bucket stand upright against a wall, still with its dirty contents inside. The glass in the TV has been smashed.
“Why would they leave it like this?” I say. “Surely the hospital needs the space.”
“No one knows,” Lacey says. “I don’t think anyone comes up here. Maybe it’s haunted or something.”
As we pad across the room, I get the same creepy sensation as when I first arrived, that badness seeps through the cracks in the walls and floors. I imagine that if I could see it, it would be like treacle. It would coat the floor in a sticky layer, pulling my feet into it, chilling them to the bone. I wrap my arms around my body. I haven’t brought my hoody. Mo immediately pulls his off and passes it to me. He wears a t-shirt with short sleeves. He has nice arms, lean but with definition. It surprises me.
Anka already has a drink in her hand when we meet the others. “Oi oi!” she says. “I miss vodka so much when here. In my country we drink it every day. And it is stronger.”
Lacey offers me a glass of clear fluid. “Get this down yer neck.”
I take the plastic cup with some trepidation. “How did you get the booze?”
“Combination of luck and skill,” Lacey says. “Some of it was smuggled in by Tom’s mate.” Tom pretends to tip his cap. “Some we found up here, in a doctor’s desk.”
Marcus clears a space on one of the sofas and sits down. “Oh, this will take the edge off nicely.” He smacks his lips after a gulp. Yasmeen sits next to him and folds her legs up underneath her body.
Lacey and the others find spaces on the floor and the adjoining sofas. We gather round in a circle, each with our cups.
“We should play truth or dare,” Lacey says.
“Or spin the bottle,” adds Anka. She glances at Tom. She’s obviously pretty sweet on him. Tom grins.
“No way, there aren’t enough people to snog,” Lacey says. She’s probably right. Besides, it would be awkward if Mo and Yasmeen have to kiss each other. That wouldn’t go down well with Marcus. “Truth or dare! Truth or dare!” She bounces up and down on the sofa and Tom almost loses his drink.
“All right, all right,” Mo chimes in. “We’ll play truth or dare. But you’re going first.”
Lacey shrugs. “Okay. Then I pick truth.”
That hardly seems fair. I’ve never known anyone spill their guts as often as Lacey. She doesn�
�t mind sharing anything.
“Who would you snog, marry or avoid in this room?” Mo asks.
Lacey makes a face. “Well, I don’t fancy any of you. But if I had to, I’d snog Mary, marry Anka and avoid Marcus.” She stuck her tongue out at Marcus. “No offence.”
“Like I give a crap,” Marcus says, rolling his eyes. He actually appears as though he gives many craps.
“Yasmeen next,” Lacey says. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” she replies.
“Down your vodka,” Lacey challenges.
Yasmeen stares at her half full plastic cup. It’s about three measures. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” everyone says simultaneously, except me.
Yasmeen takes a sip and makes a face. “What if I puke?”
“Then you lose a few calories for the day,” Anka says. “Come on, it’s only vodka.”
“Only vodka?” Yasmeen sighs. “All right.”
“Chug, chug, chug,” we chant, goading her on. Afterwards she clamps her hand to her mouth and Marcus rubs her back.
“That was minging!”
“Who’s next?” Lacey beams at each of us in turn. “Helen, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she says, “I ain’t downing my drink.”
“How much food you got stored under your bed, innit?” Marcus asks.
“That’s cheating. You’re gonna make me bet on them all!”
A wicked grin crosses Marcus’ face. “You knows it.”
“It’s the rules of the game, Hels,” Lacey adds.
She sighs. “Fine. Five packets of ready salted, four Double-Deckers and a packet of After-Eight mints.”
“Bare stash,” Marcus says. “I’m coming for your After-Eights. You know it.” He winks at her.
Helen tuts. “Great. I was saving them for a special occasion.”
I sip my vodka and giggle along with the others.
“Right who’s next?” Lacey’s sharp eyes survey the room. I try and shrink into the shadows. “Tom, truth or dare?”
Tom chooses dare and has to lap the room in his underpants. They’re the kind of underpants mothers give their sons in films—the ones with their names stitched into the waistband—which makes it even funnier. At least Anka enjoys the show. Marcus has to tell us the truth about his addiction days. Apparently for months he’s been saying how he was addicted to crack. We find out that it was prescription drugs he’d raided from his mum’s bathroom cabinet and it turns out that he’s originally from Chelsea, not Camden.