by Máire Fisher
Right. His desktop. She sits in his chair and hits the keyboard. A password screen pops up and Maddie looks at it in dismay. That’s it then, there’s nothing in the study that she can explore. Nowhere to snoop, sneak into. Nothing to lift and look under. No loose papers. Not even a plant that might have a key under it.
There’s nothing on the walls either. No photos of Mom, or of her and Noah. Just his desk, an angle-poise lamp and the chair she’s sitting in. Maddie sighs. Juliet and Noah are going to be disappointed. She’s no super-sleuth, that’s for sure.
She knows what they asked her to do isn’t that difficult, so why does she feel so worried? She’s not really scared of her dad catching her, she tries to reassure herself. Noah has it so wrong. He’s exaggerating. It’s not like an id is such a big secret, is it? Everyone has one, after all.
But they’d been adamant.
‘Try to get into the study when he’s at work, Mads. We don’t know why he won’t tell Noah.’
Even though she can see how much better he’s getting, she really misses her brother. Noah may be weird, but he’s her weird, and she just wishes she could sit on the rug near his desk and talk to him, about everything and anything. At Greenhills, Noah’s truly beginning to seem at ease – he’s more content, lighter somehow. No one taunts or bullies him, and he doesn’t have to deal with the deepening rift between her parents.
Her mom doesn’t much like Juliet, but Maddie’s glad Noah finally has a friend. She’s happy that he’s becoming happier. But that doesn’t stop her from wanting him to come home.
161.
Day 53 / 09:00
Down the passage, 30 steps, and Noah’s outside Ms Turner’s room.
Down-up-down-up-down and he opens the door.
She’s not sitting behind her desk. He knows why. Of course he does. They’ve been talking about this for the last 2 sessions. She’s not in her sugarbird chair, which is where she belongs, or even on the sofa, where she often sits. She’s waiting right next to the door. He takes 1 deep breath and steps into the room. Another deep breath and Noah fills himself with as much power as he can.
The air around her is growing thicker, darker. He watches her mouth. It opens, wide and wider. Noah’s anger answers from way down deep. Fine then, Ellen Turner, fine, they’ve talked and talked about this, but does she really have any idea of what she’s asking him to do? Does she know there are days when the Dark refuses to vanish? Today is one of those days. It took Noah ages just to be ready to leave his room.
But no. Here Ms Turner is. She’s clueless. Trying something different, something new, is the very last thing Noah wants to do today. But he promised. He committed to this, like a dumb-ass.
He’s bathed in sweat and fear. Then it comes, the feral stink. Dread is rising, clawing at his throat. He can’t breathe. He can’t see.
‘… new … different … try. Just try, Noah. Give it a go.’ Ms Turner’s words make their way through.
Her words are buoyant, they’re holding him up. Shadows shift and stir, but they don’t disperse. There’s a glint in the Dark, a silver gleam.
Noah breathes. In, out.
He taps. It doesn’t help.
He hears it, a rasping breath. He tastes blood. He feels it, squeezing his windpipe.
Ms Turner touches his arm. A feather of a touch, but—
Get her away! Who does she think she is?
She’s speaking and Noah has to listen because he promised he would.
‘It’s difficult, isn’t it?’ she’s saying, ‘I know.’
What could this bitch possibly know?
He nods.
And then it roars.
What are you? Some dumb animal that can’t speak? Use your words. Tell her – We do not want this.
Noah finds his 5s, finds his breath. In, out. 1 2 3 and pulling close, 4 and 5.
‘Ready, Noah? Take a minute and then we can start.’
Start? He’d laugh, but he’s too busy counting.
This all ‘started’ when you opened her door.
That’s so true. Noah wishes he’d never pushed that handle down (up-down-up-down). He wishes he’d gone back on his contract with her. He wishes he’d never said, All right. I’ll try.
Now, all he wants is for this to finish.
The only way that’s going to happen is if he really does try. He puts his fingers to his wrist, feels his blood pulsating. He knows what’s coming next.
Exposure to fear. Preventing response.
No!
Spitting in Noah’s head now.
She has no right to ask you to do this.
Noah can’t shut it out, he can’t shut it up. The Dark bellows, trying to drown out Ms Turner, but her quiet words are more potent. ‘Remember, Noah, you’re going to try to respond differently to the demands your fears make on you.’
They’ve talked about this step. It’s a big one.
This is not a big step. This is an unacceptable step. Do you hear?
‘Noah,’ Ms Turner’s voice is cool, like cool water, and she touches his arm again. Today, she wants him to try not to react like he normally does. Doing so is up to him, and only him. He’ll give it his best shot. ‘That’s all anyone can ask of you, Noah.’ Ms Turner’s been saying this for the last 2 days.
That’s all he asks of himself. His best effort yet, on his 53rd day in Greenhills.
He breathes in, 2—
The numbers are there, but Noah bites down on them. He will not call on 3, 4 and 5.
The Dark pulls back, scalded. Noah has seared it and it’s hurt. But not for long. Soon it will gather strength.
Okay, okay. We can discuss this.
It’s paler than usual, conciliatory. Noah almost wants to say anxious, but he’s not sure if he’s reading its mood correctly.
Perhaps we can amend the rules.
The sound is a wheedling whisper and Noah’s inclined to listen, but … Ms Turner’s voice reminds him she is there, outside. ‘I know it’s hard. But you’re doing so well.’
Noah’s white shirt sticks to his back, his hands are clammy. The Dark is lifting, heat boiling out of it.
He clenches his teeth, remembers what Ms Turner said: ‘Make it into something absolutely ridiculous’. A feather-shaped cloud, misty and light. Noah places it on his palm and blows the Dark away.
Is that the best you’ve got?
He breathes in again, resists his 5s. Steadies himself. Watches the Dark gathering.
Ms Turner’s hands are on his. He feels their calm pressure. His feet twitch but he will not let them tap.
It’s crawling back now, and this time it’s a little old lady, escaped from her bed. A blistering glint in her squinty eyes. Furry neck straining against a lacy collar. Big ears, big eyes, big teeth – ‘All the better …’ Noah hears his mom’s voice, the mock growl that used to make him squirm, half delighted, half in fear, and a laugh rises, from deep, deep down. Way deeper than the place where anger lives. Not a child’s giggle, but a wild laugh, a maniac’s laugh. Noah daren’t let it explode.
Stop! Stop this at once. This is no laughing matter. You stupid, stupid—
Ms Turner reaches across to her desk and holds up her phone. ‘Let’s keep on going, Noah, and afterwards, I promise, we’ll phone your mom.’
Your mother? She can’t help you.
Ms Turner’s voice breaks in before it has a chance to say anything else. ‘She’s waiting for us to call, Noah. She’ll be able to tell you everyone at home is safe.’
Liar! liar! This woman lies!
Eyes flare gold under a lace-frilled cap. The wolf leaps up, and the nightgown tears across its brawny shoulders. It bounds towards him, baring its long claws. Sharp-fanged, drooling, growling, What about your parents? Your sweet, little sister? You’re going to put all of them—
Ms Turner’s voice is firm. ‘Noah,’ she’s saying, ‘Noah. Don’t think about anything else.’ Her voice engulfs the Dark; it’s not strong enough to drown it completely, but it fade
s, and now he can see Ms Turner’s hand. It’s moving to the handle of the door. It doesn’t stop.
A deep breath in, and out, 2 3 4 5. Noah has to call upon his 5s, call on them as his number for being human, his symbol of balance. He fills himself with power.
Ms Turner’s hand pushes down and the door opens a crack.
It’s there and it’s bloated—
INVINcible. Try that for size and power.
It balloons forward, but before Noah can scream, ‘Watch out!’ Ms Turner pushes the door to.
Click.
Such a quiet click. The door shuts and there’s a frenzied fuming on the other side.
‘See, Noah?’ Ms Turner says. ‘Let’s do it again.’ And there her hand is and the door opens a fraction.
Through the gap comes a shrunken whisper.
Who does she think she is? And who exactly do you think you are?
But Noah can’t listen because Ms Turner lets go of the handle. ‘Noah? You try this time.’
Noah is frozen in place. Only her words are moving, landing on his ear, crawling into his head to where all that is frightful and fearful and terrifying lives.
‘Put your hand here. Open the door.’
Noah uses his 5s.
He grabs hold of the handle and he pushes down – once. The door opens.
He opens the door 4 times more, and each time he pushes the handle down only once.
162.
09:49
Noah stops.
He collapses onto the sofa, too tired to fight the screeching that fills his head, no words, no power left. Nothing to hold off the black and terrible fury.
‘Breathe, Noah.’ Her voice filters in. ‘Slowly. In, 2 3 4—’ She’s leading him, and he breathes with her, in 5 and out. He lets his fingers find his pulse, breathes and breathes again until he feels it slow.
‘It’s angry,’ he manages to say. ‘With me. You.’
‘That’s great!’ Her voice is jubilant. ‘It didn’t stop you, though! You did it. The most difficult thing so far. I’m so proud of you.’
Let her have her little moment. It takes more than opening a door, you know.
The voice is sullen and Noah raises his tired head. ‘5 times,’ he says, his voice a croak.
Ms Turner smiles broadly. ‘Five times, Noah.’
163.
Day 54 / 13:14
‘So Ellen’s got me talking about my dad again and my mom, and how she’s stopped drinking: “And would you like to talk more about that, Juliet?’’.’
Juliet’s wandering around his room, inspecting his shelf with its kettle and mugs and packets of biscuits. She’s bored, looking for something to do, something to talk about. But she knows the rules. Walk, but don’t talk; look, but don’t touch. If you do move something, make sure you put it back exactly where you found it.
There’s a rustling behind him.
‘I wonder,’ she’s saying, ‘if these …? Yes, they do.’ She laughs. ‘Hey, Noah! Did you know, these biscuits may contain nuts?’
He swivels his chair and looks at her.
‘Get it? Nuts. Even a packet of biscuits contains a warning. Whereas here—’
He smiles. ‘Yeah. Greenhills could also do with a health warning.’
Juliet laughs. ‘Exactly.’
‘Greenhills Clinic,’ he says. ‘May contain nuts.’
She laughs again, and suddenly he’s smiling too. Laughter’s rising and—
Stop this now.
The Dark is steaming with frustration, but it can’t surpress the gurgle in his stomach, laughter, bubbling and irrepressible, his throat vibrating, lips twitching and his mouth open and—
STOP!
But it’s too late.
Mr Bill glances in and sees them, tears streaming down Juliet’s face, Noah laughing uncontrollably.
‘What’s the joke, guys?’ he asks, and Juliet holds up the biscuits.
‘May—’ she splutters.
‘May contain—’ Noah manages and they’re off again, riding waves of glee.
‘You wouldn’t get it,’ Juliet says. ‘Sorry, Mr Bill.’
He shakes his head and continues down the corridor, their happiness trailing behind him.
164.
Day 54 / 14:05
‘Today,’ says Ms Turner, ‘I want to try something different.’
Everyone groans.
Noah lets a sigh escape. Not 1 session follows any sort of structure. They’ve all been different; that’s the only consistent thing about group so far.
Ms Turner’s handing out sheets of paper. There’s his name in the middle of the circle in the very centre of the page. Radiating from it are spokes, each with a new circle at their end. Inside each circle are words: hobbies, food, music, holidays, time of day, relaxation, clothing.
What does she want now?
‘This is an extension of your “5 Things” sheets,’ says Ms Turner. ‘I’d like you to create a mindmap about yourself.’
She’s standing at the whiteboard at the end of the room, drawing a circle around her own name. Ellen Turner. Inside another circle at the end of a spoke, she writes Clothing, then comfortable, casual. Another circle, another line and then the words hates high heels. Now she’s writing Food, and then, in a series of circles and lines, some of the things she likes or hates to eat (including pears).
‘List them as you think about them,’ says Ms Turner. ‘The things you like to eat, or the things you hate to wear. You can move on to what you like to do for fun, your favourite places.’ She’s handing out pencils and clipboards for them to lean on. ‘This shouldn’t take more than ten minutes or so,’ she says. ‘And then we can compare notes.’
165.
18:34
Noah didn’t find it easy to fill in Ms Turner’s mindmap.
There’s plenty he needs (clothes of the same make and colour, an accurate clock); lots he has to do (checking, counting and so on), but there’s not all that much he likes. If anything. By the end of the 10 minutes his sheet of paper was still largely blank. So when Ms Turner said, ‘Noah, anything you want to share?’ he’d said no, because all he had were 5 names: Mom, Maddie, Spit, Spot, Juliet, and then, further down the page, Dad, with a question mark.
Noah’s trying to write it down now, figure out what it is that rises up every time he thinks about his father and, for that matter, every time his father sees him.
He does like his father, but he’s not sure if his father likes him back. If someone doesn’t like you can you add them to a list? Ms Turner wants him to lead some of their conversations, find useful ideas to discuss with her, and that’s one. The question mark next to his father’s name.
Things he doesn’t like are easier. He could have filled those circles in no time. His non-favourite colours for example. Just thinking about them he needs to breathe a few times, feel the security of 5 gathering.
But Ms Turner had said something else the other day. ‘Try to write out the tough stuff if you can, Noah. If you do, it will lose some of its power and then you might be ready to talk it through with me.’
She’s patient, Ms Turner. She doesn’t rush him, but he’s going to have to rush himself, pick up his pen (definitely down-up-down-up it) and scribble the tough stuff as fast as he can. It feels like the words he writes will burn the paper.
Here goes.
He never wears red or black. (Just writing the words is hard.)
Danger colours. They scream. Red yells warning, black booms danger.
Danger is coming, danger is upon us.
Red is a spark in the Dark. Red is darkness flashing.
Black is a yawning hole with nothing to hold on to, everything to be terrified of.
166.
Normally Maddie’s full of bounce when they’re on their way to meet her brother, but today she hardly answers when Kate talks to her.
‘What is it, Mads?’ Kate asks, and is alarmed to see her daughter’s eyes fill with tears. ‘What’s the matter, darling?’
‘I miss him so much, Mom. I love seeing him every Sunday, but I hate him being there. I hate Kyle Blake and his stupid parents. Why can’t he just be at home with us? We could look after him. You and me, Mom. We could help him if Ms Turner told us what to do.’
She doesn’t mention her father and neither does Kate. Staring out the window, tears streaming, Maddy says, ‘When I’m older, I’m going to buy a house, with a separate flat, and I’m going to live there with Noah. Not with all those other people. Maybe not even with Juliet.’ She sounds like a little girl again, not her adolescent self. ‘I wish I could do that right now.’
‘Noah might be lonely if you took him away from Greenhills,’ her mom says. ‘He’s settling in there. Making friends.’
As she says the words, Kate feels as if part of her is breaking off, breaking away. Until now, she hasn’t thought of Noah being away from her permanently, but it will happen, one of these days. Even now, in Greenhills, Noah’s happier than he’s been at home for a very long time.
‘I don’t care,’ Maddie says. ‘I don’t care if he gets lonely. I want him back.’
167.
Week 9: Day 58 / 12:11
Noah’s life is full of dangerous edges. A step too far this way and he’ll tumble into the Dark, a step too far that way and he’ll fall, like Alice, down a deep, deep hole. Only for him, there will be no bumpy landing. He will fall and keep falling, further and further from the people he loves, the family he has sworn to protect.
He’s boxed in by demands. Never mind what Ms Turner says, Noah can’t afford to mock the Dark, he can’t ignore the words that thump into him whenever he tries to banish it entirely.
What if he stops trying, and gives up on his 5s? What if his rational mind is wrong when it says he cannot possibly be responsible for shielding his family from harm? Because, if he’s not wrong, by stopping his protection of them, he’s inviting the Dark to step right in, he’s giving it the power to destroy them. What if …?
He can’t risk it. He just can’t.