by C. L. Taylor
*
A white ceiling with inset lights but no light switch. A shiny metal floor, slanted at a strange angle. White walls, covered in some kind of soft, quilted plasticky material. It gives slightly as I press a hand against it. On three walls there are strange black and white pictures, screwed to the wall at odd angles. They’re of geometric shapes, wavy lines and repeated patterns. They make my eyes go weird if I look at them too long. There’s also a metal bed in the corner of the room with a single rough, grey blanket folded on top. No windows. A metal hatch low down in the wall to my left. I pull on the handle but it doesn’t open. A metal toilet in the opposite corner of the room. Thick, waxy toilet paper. A sink with no plug. Only the cold water tap works. I pace the room, touching and testing the few bits of furniture in the room. The bed is fixed to the floor. So are the toilet and sink. There are no air vents but there’s a black CCTV unit on the ceiling near the door. Out of curiosity I run from the hatch to the opposite wall and barge into it with my shoulder. I bounce straight off.
‘Hello!’ I shout. ‘Can anyone hear me?’
My voice reverberates off the padded walls but no one answers. The CCTV unit continues to blink.
‘Hello! What am I supposed to do now?’
Still no reply.
I walk laps around the room. I sit on the floor and pull at the hatch, jamming my feet against the wall and tugging with all my might. It doesn’t budge. I throw myself at a different wall and bounce off. I tug at the door handle.
‘I know you’re watching me! Just tell me what I need to do, OK?’
No one replies and nothing happens. I sigh heavily as I plonk myself down on the hard, metal bed and pull the itchy grey blanket around my shoulders. Is this it? Is this the treatment? I’m almost disappointed. If they think they’re going to brainwash me by leaving me alone in a white room for a few days they’ve got another thing coming. They might have been able to scramble Israel’s brain by isolating him but he didn’t know what was going to happen to him. He wasn’t prepared. I studied brainwashing before I left. I need to keep my brain busy. I need to hang onto my sense of self. I’m not going to let them beat me.
*
I jerk awake, smacking my hand against the cold, padded wall as I sit up. At some point while I was singing ‘Ten Green Bottles’ I must have fallen asleep. I glance at my watch: 4 p.m. Wow. I was asleep for two hours. I must have needed it. I roll my shoulders backwards and forwards and then stretch my hands above my head. My whole body feels tight and sore from sleeping on the metal bed. I need to do some stretches and maybe some jumping jacks or press-ups or something.
I scoot off the bed and stand in the middle of the metal floor.
‘One, two, three, four,’ I count out loud as I pretend to jump rope then burst out laughing at the image of the CCTV operator watching me jump an imaginary skipping rope. In a weird way I’m kind of enjoying this and –
I jolt in surprise as the hatch in the wall suddenly slides open and a voice booms, ‘Remove the uniform from the hatch.’
‘Ok.’ I pull a white long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of white leggings from the hatch. ‘Now what?’
‘Change into the uniform and deposit your own clothing, including jewellery, watches, belts, shoes and laces in the hatch.’
I shake my head. ‘I’m not doing that.’
Talk about predictable. If you strip a prisoner of their own clothes you’re stripping them of their individuality and sense of self.
‘Remove your clothing and place it in the hatch.’
The voice seems to be coming from beneath the CCTV unit.
‘No,’ I say, looking directly at it. ‘I’ve got no privacy. You can’t make me do that.’
I wait for them to respond.
Nothing.
‘I’m not giving you the white stuff back,’ I say. ‘It’s freezing cold in here and if you’re not going to turn the heating up I’m going to wear this stuff under my clothes.’
Still, nothing.
What is this? Some kind of call my bluff game?
‘You may as well shut the hatch,’ I say, ‘because I’m not giving you the – Aaarrgh!’
It’s as though the soles of my feet have been stung by a thousand bees. The sensation travels up my legs and my body jerks up and into the air. When I land it happens again. It’s an electric shock, conducted through the metal floor.
‘Stop it! Stop!’ I launch myself across the room and onto the bed but that’s made of metal too. So are the toilet and sink. There’s literally nowhere to escape. My teeth judder against each other and I wince in pain as I’m shocked and shocked and shocked. ‘Please, please,’ I beg in between shocks. ‘Please stop. I’ll put the clothes on. I’ll do it.’
The shocks stop as suddenly as they started I slump onto the blanket, sobbing and exhausted.
‘Put on the uniform now,’ the voice orders.
‘OK, OK.’ I tentatively place a foot on the floor then, turning my back to the CCTV camera and throwing the blanket over my head, I strip off my hoody, trainers, jeans and T-shirt. I unfasten my earrings and bracelet and slide my rings off my fingers then yank at my watch strap. I stare at the shiny, glass face. If I give them the watch, I’ll lose all sense of time. But if I try to hide it – in my mouth or under the band of my bra – and they discover it, they’ll shock me again, or worse. I need to act like I’m playing along. If they think I’m subservient and obeying orders they’ll go easier on me.
I shuffle over to the hatch, the blanket still over my head, and drop my clothes, jewellery and watch into the square, metal basket, then I pull on the leggings and long-sleeved T-shirt.
‘There.’ I pull the blanket from head and look up at the CCTV unit. ‘I’ve done it.’
‘Open your mouth and your hands,’ says the voice.
I do as I’m told.
‘Now sit on the bed.’
The moment my bottom makes contact with the metal bed the hatch slides shut.
‘Now what?’ I say.
But the voice doesn’t respond.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘You are not an individual. You are not free. You do not have control over your life.’
The cold, emotionless voice in the corner of the room has been repeating those three phrases over and over again for what feels like hours. At first I replied, shouting back, ‘Yes, I am,’ after every statement. Then, when my throat became scratchy and sore, I put my hands over my ears and began humming every song I could think of – the entire backlist of my favourite band and then, when I’d done that twice, all the nursery rhymes I could think of. At some point, I fell asleep and dreamed about white robots with red eyes marching towards me, repeating the phrases over and over again. In the dream the words were red ribbons that they fired at me. I tried to run away but the ribbons wrapped themselves around my arms and my legs, my face, my eyes, my ears and my mouth. I woke up gasping.
I force myself to get off the bed and march round the room with the blanket draped over my shoulders. It’s still freezing cold and the bland, tasteless egg salad that was shoved through the hatch a while ago didn’t help. It came in a white, polystyrene box – the sort you get a takeaway in – and there wasn’t any cutlery. I took it out of the hatch and put it on the floor. There was no way I was going to eat it, not when it could have been laced with something, but when the voice ordered me to eat or I’d be shocked, I shoved every last bit in my mouth and then threw the container back into the hatch. The food doesn’t seem to have affected me. Other than making me feel a bit sick.
When I haven’t been singing, shouting or humming I’ve been thinking about Mason and Mouse. I was an idiot to think they’d let me see them before starting my treatment. Poor Mouse will be absolutely terrified by all this and I can’t stand the thought of my brother being in pain or upset. Other than the voice, I haven’t heard a single sound since they shut me in here and, if Mason and Mouse are in identical cells to this one, they won’t even know that I’m here. I
just have to hope that they’re strong enough to resist the brainwashing.
‘You have let down your family,’ the voice says. ‘You have disappointed everyone who loves you. You have failed your mother and father. You have failed your brother. You have failed your friend. You acted aggressively. You have no self-control. You have an inflated sense of your intelligence. You are proud. You are a failure. You are alone. No one is proud of you. This is all your fault. You have let down your family. You have disappointed everyone …’
What? I look in horror towards the CCTV unit. No. That’s not true. I haven’t …
‘You have failed your brother.’
‘This is all your fault.’
‘Failed your mother and father.’
‘Failure.’
I press my hands to my ears to try to block out the voice but it only gets louder and the words seem to burrow themselves into my brain. I haven’t failed Mason. I’ve been trying to help him. OK, so the escape didn’t work out as planned but that wasn’t because …
‘You have an inflated sense of your own intelligence.’
Maybe I do.
No. I don’t. I’m not the most intelligent person in the world, or even in my school, but I’m not stupid.
‘You acted aggressively.’
I hit Lacey. I pushed Jude. But I had to. I was tired of being pushed around. I was tired of feeling afraid. Of being a victim.
‘You have no self-control.’
I do. Don’t I? Yes, I’ve been controlled before. No, that’s not what I mean. I had self-control … I had to be controlled when … when … the voice is so loud I can’t think straight.
‘I am kind,’ I shout as I wrap the blanket around my head and continue to march around the room. ‘I am loving. My dad would be proud of me. Mason knows that I did what I did for him. I tried to help Mouse. I am not a bad person. I haven’t done anything wrong.’
But even as the words leave my mouth the voice continues to burrow its way further and further into my brain, spreading unease and doubt, until, finally, it settles in my heart.
*
‘Sit in the centre of the floor,’ the voice commands.
I drag myself off the bed and onto the metal floor. I pull the blanket tighter round my shoulders but it does nothing to stop the shakes and shudders that pulse through my body and make my teeth chatter. I was asleep. Or I think I was asleep. When I close my eyes I see white. When I open them I see white. I hear words. I see words. They’re imprinted in the whiteness. I cry words. No, no. But I do cry. I’ve been crying a lot. This is all my fault. I could have stopped Mason being sent here. I was pleased because he was annoying and I thought he deserved to be taught a lesson. I should have stood up to Tony. I could have convinced Mum not to send Mason away but I didn’t. I was selfish. I was only thinking about me. And Dad. What would he think if he knew what I’d done? He’d be horrified if he knew that I’d hurt people. That wasn’t how he brought me up. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’ve screwed up and I’ve only got myself to blame.
‘Repeat after me,’ the voice says, ‘I was wrong.’
‘I was wrong.’
‘Repeat. I have no free will.’
I shake my head.
‘Repeat. I have no free will.’
I shake my head again. I have free will. I know I have free will.
‘Aaaagh!’ I scream in pain as an electric shock pulses through my body.
‘Repeat. I have no free will.’
‘I have no free will.’
‘Repeat. Everything I believe is wrong.’
I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders and grit my teeth. I’m not going to say that. It’s not true. Not everything I believe is wrong.
‘Aarrgh!’ I flip onto my side, the force of the electric shock is so strong. It’s as though a thousand tiny wires are threading their way inside my body.
‘Everything I believe is wrong!’ I scream.
‘Repeat. I do not know what is best for me.’
‘I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS BEST FOR ME!’ Tears stream down my cheeks as I shout the words. I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could withstand anything. Mason would be so ashamed if he could see me now, his big sister crying and screaming and denying everything she believes in. My dad would be so disappointed. He brought me up to believe that I could do anything, that I could be anything, but I’m not indestructible, I’m not undefeatable. I’m shallow and weak and I just want them to stop. I don’t want them to hurt me any more.
*
I don’t know what day it is. I don’t know what time it is. Sometimes, when I open my eyes, I think I am upside down and I reach my feet towards the lights on the floor and I try to stand up. I have stopped humming and singing. My voice sounds strange, as though it belongs to someone else. When I try to say a word, it is shapeless and nonsensical, a raspy, squeaky sound that reverberates from my throat to the roof of my mouth and out of the top of my head. Food. Food is limp, wet, dry. It lies on my saliva-less tongue, like it’s waiting for orders. I tell my teeth to mash together and my throat to swallow. When it gets stuck because I forget to do the second part properly I have to put my lips to the tap and wash it down with water. I cry continuously and I don’t know why. The padded walls pulse. In, out, in, out. I match my breathing to the motion. It’s the only way I can stay calm. I know they’ve forgotten about me. The other people. The voice hasn’t spoken in years. A robot puts the food in the hatch. There are no humans here. I am the last one. They are never going to let me out.
‘I can help you.’
I sit up suddenly, too suddenly, and black spots appear before my eyes. I sink back onto the bed and close my eyes. I thought I heard the voice but I must have imagined it.
‘What do you miss about home?’
I open my eyes again. The black thing in the corner of the room blinks its red eyes at me. It’s speaking to me again.
‘What do you miss about home?’ it asks again.
I part my lips, inhale, then exhale heavily, forcing a word out. ‘Everything.’
‘Look in the hatch. I have a gift for you.’
I attempt to swing my legs out of the bed and land in a heap on the floor. I crawl towards the hatch. The voice is tricking me again. It’s asked me to look in the hatch before and there’s been a spider, an eyeball, an image of a child screaming. I hook my fingers over the metal and peer inside. A single piece of paper. A glossy piece of paper. Colours. Faces. It takes my eyes a couple of seconds to focus in on it. It’s a photograph of my family. My real family. Mum and Dad, me and Mason. We’re on a beach. Dad’s squinting into the sunlight with one hand curved over his eyebrows. Mum is wearing shades. Mason’s sticking out his tongue. I’m holding a bucket and spade.
I reach out a hand then snatch it back quickly. The voice is going to sting me again. It’s a trick.
‘You may take it,’ the voice says.
I shake my head. I don’t want to be hurt again.
‘You can trust me. It’s a gift. Take it.’
My hand darts towards it. I snatch it back. I try again. The edge of the paper grazes my fingers. I snatch my hand back. On my third attempt my fingers grip one corner of the photograph and I hug it to my chest, waiting for the shock. But none comes.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re feeling a lot of pain inside,’ the voice says, as I stare at the photo, my eyes blurred with tears. ‘Would you like me to help you get rid of it?’
I nod my head. ‘Yes. Yes, I would.’
‘Repeat after me. I am not a bad person.’
‘I am not a bad person.’
‘But my belief system was wrong.’
‘My belief system was wrong.’
‘I did some stupid things and made some stupid decisions. Being at Norton House has taught me how foolish I was. Now I want to learn how to be a better person and contribute to society.’
I nod in agreement as I repeat the sentences, word for
word.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I do not jump as the door slowly swings open and a man with a bald head and a neatly trimmed beard steps into the room. Instead, I stand up, smile, reach out a hand and cross the room.
‘Doctor Rothwell, how wonderful to see you.’
He shakes my hand. It is the firm, confident handshake of an admirable man.
‘Drew.’ He smiles warmly. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, Doctor Rothwell. And you?’
‘Well, quite well.’ He looks over his shoulder and nods at the two orderlies standing behind him. I have the distinct impression that I’ve pleased him in some way and feel a warm glow of happiness.
‘You’ve been given an opportunity to reflect on the past and your future during your stay with us, Drew,’ he says, looking back at me. ‘Would you mind sharing any insights you’ve had with me?’
‘Of course. I was very troubled when I came here, Doctor Rothwell. I was full of rage, self-loathing and resentment. I had a very narrow, very blinkered outlook on life and I was unable to see the bigger picture. I didn’t appreciate how much those around me were doing for me. I didn’t realize that all the decisions they were making were with my best interests at heart.’
‘And your brother? Did they also have his best interests at heart?’
‘Absolutely. Mason was as immature as I was. Sending him to Norton House was the best decision my mother could have made. We’re both extremely lucky to have had this experience.’
‘And the future? How do you feel about that?’
‘I’m very excited. I’d like to do a degree in psychology and then work here. If you’d have me. Or perhaps a role in Government. I’d love to work with the Home Secretary. I think he’s doing such valuable work. If he can get the National Service Bill through Parliament I think it would transform this country. Such an incredible opportunity for non-academic students to contribute to society.’
‘Well, well, well. Isn’t that wonderful.’ Dr Rothwell’s face lights up and I couldn’t be more delighted. He approves of my career choice. ‘I think you’d be a valuable asset wherever you decide to work.’