Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (140 page)

Chapter Seven

"It was the wallpaper," he says, staring straight ahead with sweat dripping down his forehead. He's huge; he must weigh at least four hundred pounds, but he's young, perhaps even younger than me. If I had to bet, I'd say he's still a teenager. But he has glazed eyes, and an almost blank tone of voice, and he sits hunched over on his chair. I don't think he's made eye contact with anyone else in the group, not even Dr. Campbell. "At first," he continues, "I thought it was... behind the wallpaper. And then I thought it was in front of the wallpaper. And then I realized it...
was
the wallpaper."

There's a pause as we all wait to see if he's finished. There are six of us in the group, plus Dr. Campbell. A guard is standing over by the door, ready to jump in if one of us becomes aggressive. So far, though, aggression seems to be the last thing on anyone's mind. Frankly, I'm probably the most awake person here; the others all seem borderline catatonic.

"And then the scorpions came..." says Dr. Campbell, gently nudging Mark to continue.

Mark nods, still not looking at any of us. He wipes his brow against the back of his hand. "They came out of the wallpaper," he says. "They stung me."

Dr. Campbell clears his throat. "Mark, how would you react if I told you that there were no scorpions? Because... that is, in fact, the truth."

Mark shakes his head.

"But if you were to accept that they're not real," Dr. Campbell continues, "then do you think there could be an alternative explanation?"

"If they're not real," Mark says, "then where did they come from?"

"Okay," says Dr. Campbell, writing something on a chart that's attached to his clipboard.

"The burned man saw them too," Mark says.

"That's fine for today, Mark," Dr. Campbell says firmly, clearly wanting to end Mark's contribution to the group session.

"But he saw them!" Mark continues, turning to look straight at Dr. Campbell. "He told me he saw them!"

"You saw the burned man?" I say. It's the first time I've said anything during the session so far; in fact, it's the first time anyone has said anything other than Mark and Dr. Campbell.

"Annie," Dr. Campbell says, turning to me. "Why don't you tell the group about your own story? What road brought you to us?"

"I want to talk about the -"

"We're talking about you now," Dr. Campbell says. "That's because it's your turn."

"Mark -"

"I saw him in the mirror -" Mark says, a desperate look in his eyes.

"It's not Mark's turn anymore," Dr. Campbell says firmly, and I can tell there's no point arguing with him. I don't want him to start thinking I'm difficult or aggressive. Damn it, though; I wish Kirsten was here. She'd back me up.

"It's okay," Mark says.

"It's not okay," Dr. Campbell says. He sounds a little angry now. "Are we going to get this session back on track?"

Mark takes a series of deep breaths. "Can I just say one thing?" he asks.

Dr. Campbell sighs. "Go ahead."

"I saw him in the mirror," Mark says. "All his skin was burned off, and his -"

"That's enough," Dr. Campbell says, interrupting. "One more word about this and I'll get Nurse Winter to come and take over the session. Is that what you all want? Frankly, I think she might decide to take some of you away for special treatment. Do you really want to take that risk?"

It's weird, but I can immediately see the fear in the faces of all the other patients. It's as if the mere mention of Nurse Winter's name is enough to crush them all, and to make them all retreat into their shells. Whoever this Nurse Winter is, she's obviously made sure that everyone in this hospital is terrified of her.

"Good," says Dr. Campbell. "Now. Annie?"

"I killed my little brother," I say. I look around at the other members of the group. They're all carefully avoiding looking at me, but I know they're listening. The only one who's staring straight at me is Dr. Campbell, even though I guess he's read my files and knows exactly what happened. "I know what you're thinking," I continue, "but I had a really good reason. And I know what you're thinking
now
, which is that you think I'm nuts, but I'm not. And I definitely know what you're thinking now, and it's what I'd be thinking too if I was in your position. But I really did have to kill him, for the sake of the world. If I hadn't..." I pause, letting my words sink in. "If I hadn't," I continue, taking a deep breath, "he would have become too dangerous."

"Dangerous in what way?" Dr. Campbell asks.

"Power," I say. I swallow, but my throat is so dry it hurts. This is the first time I've really talked about what happened since... Well, it's the first time. During the investigation and trial, other people went over the story again and again, but I was always the one doing the listening. Now I'm talking, and I'm explaining things the way I've been working them out in my head. It feels liberating. "He was... He was powerful. He looked like this sweet little kid, like this normal little brother, but he wasn't. He was all mixed up in the signal in the woods. He was evil."

"How old was he?" asks a voice to my left. I turn to see that one of the other patients, a painfully thin girl with skeletal features, is looking at me. She's clearly anorexic or bulimic, and her round pink eyes stare out at me from a pale, spoonish face framed by thin, lifeless greyish hair.

"He was seven," I say.

Her eyes widen with shock. "And he was evil?" she asks.

"Evil is a subjective term," Dr. Campbell says. "I'm sure Annie had a reason to think that her little brother was evil, and there certainly are people in the world who are evil. But most experts would agree that a seven-year-old child hasn't had time to become evil yet." He clears his throat. "Annie, my approach in these sessions is to challenge certain assumptions that you might have, to make you think about things differently. I don't think describing your brother as 'evil' is going to help, so let's think of a different word."

"He
was
evil," I say. "You never met him. You don't understand. He was
born
evil."

"And what makes you say that?" Dr. Campbell says, with a hint of a smile that tells me he doesn't agree with me.

"I was told," I say.

"By who?" he asks.

"By..." I pause. It makes total sense in my head, but I'm worried that I'll sound crazy if I say it out loud. "By God," I say eventually, leaning over in my chair and looking down at the floor. "God told me." I stare at my feet. Damn it, I feel like such a fool. I know that everyone in this room must think I'm crazy, and I don't blame them. If I was listening to someone else say the stuff I'm saying, I'd think it sounded crazy. But I'm not insane. My little brother really
was
dangerous.

"And did God tell you to kill him?" Dr. Campbell asks.

I nod, not wanting to look up. There are tears in my eyes. How can it be that everything makes so much sense in my head, but it all falls apart when I start speaking? In my head, none of this sounds stupid, but as soon as I open my mouth, it turns into some kind of garbled fantasy. This is why I'm never able to persuade people to understand me, and it's why they all look at those photos of my brother's dead body and assume that I must be some kind of monster.

"Did God tell you to kill him?" Dr. Campbell asks again.

I nod again. I'm finding it hard not to think about the sight of my brother on the forest floor, blood pouring from his head. I remember there was so much blood, a leaf floated on top like a little boat.

"I want you to say it," Dr. Campbell says. "I want to hear you say the words."

I open my mouth, but my lower lip won't stop quivering and there are tears streaming down my face. I can't speak, because if I do, they'll all hear that I'm sobbing. Then again, they probably all know that anyway, because tears are now dripping from my cheeks onto the floor. I'm kind of curling up into a ball while I sit on the chair, putting my face down against my knees. I know they're all looking at me, but I can't look back at them. Suddenly, I realize I've started holding my breath. I have no idea why I'm doing it, but it's like I don't want to breathe.

"Okay, Annie," says Dr. Campbell. "We'll move on for today. Is there anything else you'd like to say before I invite someone else to speak?"

I'm getting really short of breath now. I start rocking backwards and forwards on the chair, trying to find a way to breathe without needing air, maybe through my ears, but finally I can't hold it any longer and I let out a loud gasp. Seconds later, I feel thick, heavy arms wrap around me and lift me from the chair. The guard has come over to remove me, and although I try to stand up properly, the guard just drags me away, my legs banging into my empty chair and knocking it over. I struggle to get free, for no reason other than I have this instinctive need to not be manhandled, but his hold on me is too strong. Finally, managing to twist around a little, I bite down hard on his arm, sinking my teeth so deep that I strike bone. He doesn't even flinch; he just drags me out through the door. Whether intentionally or by accident, he slams my head against the door jamb on the way. There's nothing I can do except gasp for air and hope that the others don't judge me. Why can't God make them understand?

Chapter Eight

The guard locks me in a small side-room, the walls of which are covered in a kind of padded material. I guess the idea is that I can't hurt myself in here, which is just as well because all I can think about is that I want the pain to be over. I walk around and around in the room, trying to stop myself crying and hoping I can think of a way to put all my thoughts back in order. Before I went into that session, I understood myself perfectly, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I was wrong all along? Maybe God never told me that my brother was evil, or that I should kill him?

No. That's crazy. I know what really happened. I know what God told me, and I know that I'm just being tested. God has a plan for me, and sooner or later he'll reveal everything. I just have to stay strong and make sure that my faith doesn't falter. They'll all understand one day.

"Dear Lord," I whisper, "grant me the strength to -"

Suddenly I feel someone standing behind me. I spin around and find there's a man standing there, but there's something wrong with him: he looks like he's been horribly burned all over, his skin charred black with patches of moist red meat oozing yellow pus. The hair on his head has been burned away, leaving just a few strands, and there's a thin cloud of smoke rising from his entire body. On top of that, there's a strong smell of burned flesh. Even his eyes, which are staring straight at me, are burned yellow and black, and when he blinks I can hear his burned skin make a kind of crinkling sound.

I instinctively turn and run to the door, but of course it's locked. I turn back, but the burned man is gone. I look all around the room, but there's no sign of him.

I sit down on the ground, curling up into a ball. It must be the drugs. Nurse Perry mentioned a burned man, and so did Mark, and the drugs must have made me unusually open to suggestion. There was never anyone in the room, it was all in my head and I just have to make sure that I don't allow myself to believe that these hallucinations are real. I close my eyes tight and tell myself over and over again: God will protect me. Nothing bad can happen to me.

A few minutes later, the door opens and Dr. Campbell comes in, followed by the guard. "How are you feeling, Annie?" Dr. Campbell asks, a faint smile on his lips.

"Good," I say, getting to my feet, but I'm pretty sure he can see it's a lie. I'm still upset and confused, I'm still crying, and I feel like I might vomit at any moment. But I'm not going to tell them that I saw the burned man. If they think I'm crazy, they'll give me stronger drugs. I'm going to keep it all in.

"Good," he says. "I'm glad you're feeling good." He sighs. "Believe it or not, you reacted more or less how I expected you'd react. You've been through a lot, and it's natural that you face problems when you're confronted with the truth. You've been living in a bubble of fantasies and delusions, and we're slowly pulling you out into the real world." He pauses. "It's part of the process."

"Okay," I say. I don't want to fight. I don't want to cause any more trouble. I just want to go back to my room and go to bed. I want to think, and to sleep, and to get away from everything for a while.

"You know," he says, "I've been talking to Nurse Winter about you. A lot. She's quite interested in you. She thinks your case is very interesting. We all do, actually. We read about you in the newspapers long before we knew you'd be coming to join us here. You're quite a famous young lady." He pauses. "I'm sorry," he says finally, "I shouldn't be talking about that."

"You want an autograph too?" I ask.

"You need to take this situation more seriously," he says humorlessly.

I smile. What else is there to do? He's right. My story was all over the media. There were people calling for me to be executed, even though we don't have the death penalty in this state. Angry opinion-formers called for an exception to be made so that Evil Annie Radford, the girl who shot her little brother dead in cold blood, could be dispatched from this world by lethal injection or electric chair. One columnist even suggested that it would be poetic justice to execute me by firing squad. I guess I can see their point, in some ways. They don't know the truth about what happened, so it's natural that they think I'm a monster.

"I think you're probably okay to get back to the ward," Dr. Campbell says eventually, as he finishes adding something to my chart. "We'll just give you a little shot to calm you down." He pulls a syringe from his pocket, removes the cap and fills it from a small vial. The syringe is long and large, and the liquid looks thick and milky; whatever it is, I hate the idea of it being in my body.

"No thanks," I say.

"It's for your own good," Dr. Campbell says, "and it's not optional."

"Is it Duodraxadine again?" I ask.

"No," he replies, stepping towards me. "It's just a mild sedative. It'll take the edge off things for you."

I want to fight him, to stop him, but the guard is also coming over and I know he'd just hold me down. Sighing, I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm.

"Good decision," Dr. Campbell says, "but I can't put this in your arm. Turn around and bend over."

I stare at him. "Seriously?" I ask.

He nods.

I turn around and bend over. This is ridiculous, but I'm determined not to cause trouble. I just have to believe that God is testing me, and that there's a reason for all of this. I feel Dr. Campbell lift up the back of my gown, and then he places a cold hand on my ass and gently parts my buttocks. There's a pause. What are they waiting for? There's silence for a moment, and then I swear I hear the guard let out a small chuckle.

Moments later a large needle slides into my flesh. The pain is sharp and intense, and I swear I can feel the liquid entering my body. The sensation seems to last forever, but eventually the needle slides back out.

"There," Dr. Campbell says. "You'll feel sleepy, but after that you'll be fine. It's for your own good. You don't want to spend all your time here being upset, do you?"

I stand up straight and turn back around to him. "No," I say. I hate how compliant and accommodating I must sound, but I know that there's no point wasting energy on pointless fights. I really just want to keep my head down and get through all of this.

"You'll have another group session in two days," he continues. "I want you to plan for it. A little light homework. Think about what you'll say, and how you'll say it. Choose your words carefully. Don't worry about trying not to get upset, but try to think of a way to at least not get so angry, okay?"

I nod, already feeling a little drowsy.

"I like you, Annie," he says. "I want to help you. And I
will
help you. Sooner or later, you're going to walk out the door of this place and go back to being a productive and happy member of society. You just need a little work first, and fortunately you've got people here who care. A lot of people go through their entire lives without any support. In some ways, you're very lucky."

I nod again. All I want to do right now is go to sleep. I take a step forward, but the room starts spinning and my bare feet seem to get stuck together. I'm unconscious before I hit the floor.