Shattered: A Shade novella (21 page)

Martin
lays a tentative hand on my head. When I don’t react, he begins to stroke my
hair. Long, simple, undemanding strokes. Not like a parent, but not like a
lover, either. Just like him.

My
eyes close as
The Snowman
’s lilting
score fills my ears. Soon the song ‘Walking in the Air’ begins, telling me the
lad and the snowman are flying to the North Pole now. It’s a young choir boy
singing, high and clear as a lass.

My
scalp warms and loosens, and eventually the rest of my muscles follow, starting
with my neck and descending inch by inch.

When
I was a wean and still believed in ‘Father Jesus Christmas’, as I used to call
him, there’d come a certain moment every holiday season, a minute or two of
pure stillness and peace. It always took me by surprise. It couldn’t be staged
or planned, and it never happened in church. Sometimes it would come in
solitude, sometimes among family or friends.

I
thought I’d outgrown this peace, that I’d experienced too much of the world to
ever settle fully into any moment. But it’s happening now, of all times, when
I’m teetering between life and death.

A
jolt drags me out of drowsiness. I lift my head to see the closing credits roll
up the screen. The camera pulls back on the boy kneeling beside his melted
snowman, holding the magic scarf he got from Santa.

Martin
sniffles hard. ‘Sorry, did I wake ye?’

‘What’s
wrong?’

‘I
just finally – I get now why this made Moira cry. It’s so fucking sad.’
He lets out a sob, and I
realise
that was the jolt
that woke me.

I
squint blearily at the screen. ‘It’s the same
programme
we watched as weans, right? They’ve not changed it?’

‘It’s
the same, but different. Why do kids love this? The snowman dies in the end.’

‘Snowmen
don’t last forever. That’s why they’re special. Children get that.’

‘Children
are stupid. They don’t know what it’s like to watch someone melt.’

My
heart seems to stop. I try to speak his name, but only the barest breath comes
out.

‘I
won’t lose you, mate.’ Martin pounds his fist on the arm of the sofa. ‘I won’t
lose you like I lost Finn. Banish me all ye want, but I won’t leave
yer
fuckin
’ side until you’re
with Aura. Okay?’

‘Okay.’
I fumble for the remote control. ‘Can we watch this again?’

He
lets me start the DVD over, and this time I keep my eyes open. I can’t decide
if the ending is sad or beautiful or both. It makes me feel a thousand things
at once.

I do know
one thing, lying here with my arm wrapped around Martin’s knees as if his lap
were a life raft: I will never love or be loved again with such purity of
heart.

Chapter
Sixteen

Monday
noon finds me at
Dr
McFarlane’s office. Mum’s taken
the day off work to accompany me, though she stays in the waiting room.

My
psychiatrist and I talk for over an hour about nothing but my suicidal
thoughts:

—When
they started (this summer, though I share no details of my time in 3A.
Hopefully it seems reasonable to want to end one’s life when one’s life appears
to be that of an eternal prisoner).

—How
often they happen (I tell her it’s only when I’m drunk,
cos
there’s an easy cure for that: not drinking. If I tell her how often the
thoughts truly come, I’ll be locked up, and frankly I’d rather die).

—How
many attempts I’ve made before (none, technically, as I never drank the drain
cleaner).

She
seems to know I’m holding back, perhaps because the teddy bear in my lap is at
serious risk of decapitation.

So I
admit to the flashbacks as well. Again, no details, just that they take me back
to 3A. They turn Then into Now and Now into Never. And when I slide into Never,
I’m completely lost.

Dr
McFarlane sets her pen upon her notebook and removes
her glasses. ‘Normally with attempted suicide and the blurred reality that you
describe with your flashbacks, I would strongly recommend full
hospitalisation
. Your safety is of primary importance.’

I
squeeze the bear’s head, digging its button nose into my palm. Should I run now
before the men in white coats come through that door, or is it already too
late?

‘However,’
she continues, ‘given your incarceration this past summer, my concern is that
institutionalisation
could be counterproductive. We want
you not only safe, but also capable of learning and making real progress.
Feelings of being trapped or powerless might hinder that.’

‘Yes,
they would.’ Locked up in a hospital, I’d be in a constant state of panic. And
then what? Lifelong sedation and captivity, like Finn. I’d never see Aura
again. ‘I can’t do that.’

Dr
McFarlane gives me a reassuring smile. ‘There’s
another option, partial
hospitalisation
, what they
call a “day hospital”. Basically, you’d go there from eight a.m. to six p.m.
weekdays. A psychiatrist would manage your medications closely to find the
combination that works best for you. You’d participate in group therapy and
meet with an individual therapist as well.’

It
sounds awful. ‘But I’d go home at night?’

She nods.
‘The fact you live with your parents and you’ve so far been compliant in taking
your meds makes you an excellent candidate for this modality.’

Sometimes
I wish she’d speak English instead of
Medicalish
.
‘How long would I have to go?’

‘Depends
on your progress. Anywhere from a week to a month is my guess. And if down the
road you find yourself in crisis again, it’ll always be an option for you.’

‘So
they wouldn’t lock me up?’

The
doctor hesitates. ‘Well, you’d be at a regular hospital, where there are,
em
, security measures to keep the overnight patients safely
inside. But you and the other day-patients can leave any time you like.’

The
thought sends my heart racing. How do I know they’d let me out if I asked? What
if it’s a trap?

‘Zachary,
I
realise
it will take a leap of trust for you to
accept this treatment. Though we’ve not discussed details of your captivity,
the mere fact you were held against your will for so long …’ She shakes her
head sadly. ‘I can only imagine how hard this must be.’

I
shut my eyes. I know it’s time. For months I’ve tried to stand on my own, only
to fall again and again.

I
search my soul for the last scrap of strength to say ‘yes’.

*
  
*
  
*
  
*

‘Your
father’s illness has made you a prisoner.’ Mum presses a tissue under her leaky
nostrils. Though we’re the only passengers on the bus but for an old man
sleeping in the rear seat, she’s trying not to cry. ‘I’m so sorry we did this
to you.’

‘Caring
for Dad is the only thing made me feel sane. It gave me a reason to get up in
the morning.’ Afternoon, technically.

‘Then
you’ll have to find other reasons. From now on, you’re not to care for him
until you’ve cared for yourself. That’s the first rule of caregiving: you’re no
good to him if you’re unwell.’

‘Same
goes for you. If you lose my help, you’ll be even more burdened.’

‘I’ll
hire help. I can get a night sitter so we can sleep, and someone to bring in
meals a few times a week.’

‘Can
we afford that?’

‘NHS
will cover some respite care. Even if we pay for the rest, we can’t afford
not
to do it.’ She takes my hand firmly.
‘We’ll make it work, Zachary, all of us. Just get well, alright?’

I
nod, then turn my attention out the window. The trees are bare now along
Buckingham Terrace, revealing the row of stately grey Georgian homes, many of
which have been converted to small hotels or blocks of posh flats.

A
For Let
sign in an upper window catches
my eye. For a moment I let myself dream of living here with Aura. A life for us
in my home. Our home.

Then
I wonder if we’ve a future at all. Will she ever forgive me for shutting her
out? She’s had one boyfriend disappear on her already. How much can one girl
take?

I
think of Logan and the flashback that invaded my mind Saturday night, of him
saving me from myself. I know he was just a hallucination. But why would my
mind conjure my old rival, of all people, to comfort and protect me? Why not my
parents or Martin or Aura? Was I so unreal to myself that only a ghost could
feel real to me?

Regardless
of who or what he was, his voice held my mind together long enough to keep this
body alive. After Logan came, I started eating and exercising again. I
constructed a fantasy world where he and I hung out together like old mates.
Sometimes he’d sing to me, or we’d talk of music, Aura, Ireland – all the
things I had to look forward to.

With
Logan’s help, I could pretend I had a future, even in a hopeless pit like 3A.

So
why is it so hard to do here?

*
  
*
  
*
  
*

As
Aura’s face comes up on my brand-new laptop screen, I notice that for once, it’s
lit by natural light from her window. We’re video chatting earlier than usual
from now on. She knows only that I’m trying to sleep more human-like hours, not
that I need to be at the day hospital eight a.m. Wednesday.

‘Hey,
how are you?’ I ask her.

‘Worried.
Where have you been?’

Hell and halfway back.
‘I’d a bad
weekend.’

‘Oh
my God, what happened? Is it your dad? He had chemo on Thursday, right? Did
that go okay?’

‘No
worse than usual. Look, Aura.’ Cold sweat forms on the nape of my neck. ‘I love
you.’

She
pulls back in her chair. ‘Is the next word “but”?’

‘No!
What I’m trying tae say is, I know how much you want to help me, and I know you
feel frustrated
cos
I can’t –
cos
I won’t ask you for it. Just believe me when I tell you
I’m safe. I’m getting help.’

‘Like
your shrink? Does she even know about your redness?’

‘No,
but—’

‘Zach,
I may be far away, but I know you better than anyone. You’re not the average
mental patient. You have paranormal powers.’

‘But
I don’t experience them unless I’ve kissed you. That’s the only time ghosts are
part of my life.’ Except for the ones I hurt just by existing. ‘Inside, I’m a
regular guy.’

‘You’re
the least regular guy I’ve ever met! This is insane.’ Her mouth shuts with a
clack of teeth. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t use that word. What I mean is, it’s
illogical.’

‘From
where you’re sitting, aye. You feel helpless, but please know, you do help me,
just by being there. Let that be enough for now. In twenty-six days we’ll be
together, and – and things will be good between us.’

She
purses her lips and nods. ‘Okay.’

My
hands curl into fists. She probably thinks she can just turn around and get
information from Martin. I should tell her she can’t now, that he’s on my side.

Then
I remember there are no sides here. She went to Martin because she loves me,
because I gave her no choice.

‘I’m
sorry,’ I tell her. ‘For shutting you out. You don’t deserve my silence.’

‘No,
I don’t.’ She sighs. ‘But you deserve patience. Especially after you put up
with me last year when I was grieving for Logan. I wasn’t always easy to deal
with.’

‘Aura.’
I gaze straight at the camera so she’ll see me look into her eyes. ‘Dealing
with you was an
honour
.’

‘That’s
how I feel about you.’ Aura folds her hands in supplication. ‘Last year, you
were so strong for me through everything. Please let me be strong for you now.
Not because I owe you, but because I love you.’

I
shut my eyes to let her words echo within me. Do I dare nudge the edges of my
circle of trust, expand it to include one more person? None of those inside it
now – Martin, my parents, my doctor – knows all my secrets, so why
not reach out to Aura, too? The bond we share is like no other on earth.

But
that bond’s not invincible. It’s been weakened by time and distance and the
forces allied against us. Most of all, by my neglect.