The Cabin II: Asylum Page 3

  She asked again, “You okay?”

  I sat up and leaned back against the wall, my favourite position in this little box room of mine.

  “It looked like you were having a nightmare.” She barely stopped for a breath, “They look sore,” she continued. She was looking at my fingers.

  They felt sore too.

  “I’ve not seen you before,” she said.

  The gown she was wearing, the blank expression on her pretty face - a look achieved through a high dosage of medication - all signs she wasn’t one of the many doctors who patrolled the area. Not a guarantee though. Some of the doctors here...The way they act...I often wonder if there’s substances flowing through their sadistic veins.

  “Are you coming out today?” she asked.

  Every day we had the opportunity to leave our cell to go to the day room; a room filled with various tables and chairs, a television in the corner of the room which was hidden behind a cage to avoid being damaged if a fight ever broke out, board games - no doubt with pieces missing...A nurses’ station in the corner of the room, which led onto a larger - and plusher - office in which they were able to relax. It was from this station that they issued the meds out at a certain time.

  In a room full of crazy, I’d rather stay in my cell.

  “There’s a card game happening.”

  If she wanted to tempt me to leave the relative safety of my cell, she was going to have to do better than a card game.

  “I heard you killed your family. That true?”

  I shot her a look and tried my best not to react to what she said. It’s one thing having to go over the same story again and again with the doctors. I didn’t need to relive the experience with a crazy too.

  She crept into the room and leaned against the wall opposite me. For the first time ever I wished they left the cell doors closed for the people who didn’t want to leave them; the people who wanted to keep some privacy in their already ruined lives.

  “Vicky.”

  I presumed that was her name.

  I didn’t respond with mine as I didn’t plan on being here long enough to make any new friends. We both sat there, in silence, for what seemed to be an eternity. It reality it was probably a few seconds but everything here...Everything seems to go on for longer than what it actually is - including uncomfortable silences.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said when I could no longer take her impenetrable stare, “I’d like to be by myself,” I finished.

  “You want to convince them you’re not broken?” She must have sensed my look of confusion as she went on to explain, “The doctors...If you want to convince them you’re okay to leave, you need to act normal. Locking yourself away in a small room isn’t what they’d consider normal,” she said. “You do want to get out, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer her. It seemed as though she already had the answers; sometimes before she’d actually have the question.

  “They say you want to leave. They say you don’t belong here.”

  “They say a lot,” I said - more or less to myself as I struggled to hide the fact this stranger was annoying me.

  She smiled at me, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” She clambered to her feet and offered her hand to help me to my mine.

  Maybe, leaving the room will help convince the doctors I’m okay to leave?

  Whatever.

  One thing it will show them is that I’m not scared of them.

  Especially after last night.

  I’m not scared of them.

  I’m not.

  “You should be,” Vicky whispered in my ear.

  3.

  I always envisioned places such as this asylum, to be clinical - with their white walls, white floors, various security points and reception desks - due to the nature of what they were about. Inoffensive colours so as not to antagonise the patients, everything white so it was easier to keep clean when the janitors passed through with their mops and buckets. Security points just in case of trouble breaking out. Reception desks to help the few, and far between, visitors when they came to see a loved one or near-forgotten friend...I just thought they might have stretched to a few paintings to make the place feel more homely and a little less clinical; something, I’m sure, which would help the patients settle in easier. Perhaps, even, paintings - or sculptures - made by some of the inmates here during one of the many arts and craft lessons I’d heard the doctors and nurses seemed to favour.

  I was following Vicky as she led the way to the day care room; a room I had caught a glimpse of on the many walks to the doctors’ rooms. A room I had never had the inclination to visit on my own. Vicky was relishing the opportunity to be the perfect tour guide; telling me about anything and everything as we passed what she believed to be points of interest - one of which was a dirty-looking drinking fountain in one of the many aged corridors. She informed me the water tasted funny from here. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t have sipped from it if I were dying of thirst and my miserable life counted on it.

  We turned into the day room.

  “And here we are.”

  It looked the same as when I had first caught a glimpse of it; various patients sat around at the tables - some playing games whilst others simply dribbled on themselves - nurses working at the station, behind the glass shield at the back of the room, a television - not switched on - in the far corner of the room, attached to the wall by a rusty looking mount and tucked behind a protective cage which would surely obscure most of the picture had it been showing anything.

  “Did you want to play a game?” asked Vicky. “They have quite a good collection.”

  I shook my head.

  “How did you kill them?”

  “What?”

  I wasn’t sure whether Vicky even knew how blunt she was being. Her small, dilated pupils hinted she wouldn’t care though, nor remember the following morning.

  “They have Snakes and Ladders,” she continued.

  I shook my head again.

  “You shot them, huh?”

  “Daddy!” I heard a faint whisper from the doorway and turned to see Ava standing there, a trickle of blood running down the centre of her forehead. She didn’t wait for an answer, she turned her back on me - the back of her head was a bloody mess. She whispered my name again and disappeared around the corner.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Vicky.

  I didn’t answer her. I stood up and walked towards the door where I had seen my daughter. Beyond the door was a corridor. It looked different compared to the way it had looked when Vicky and I just walked down it. Darker. Colder. So cold, in fact, that I could see my breath as I exhaled.

  “Ava?” I called out.

  One by one the overhead fluorescent lights switched off plunging me into near darkness. The only light was coming from the daycare room I had just left and the far end of the corridor, the only direction she could have gone in. The light, down there, was flickering on and off. One second darkness, the next it was light.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Am I asleep? I can’t be. I never sleep during the day and I didn’t feel tired. It’s just the stress of the situation. The stress playing tricks on my already broken mind. It has to be that. None of this can be real. If it were then the others would have noticed it too - unless they’re all too medicated.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Darkness.

  Light...

  “Ava?” I called out again and again. There was no answer. I turned back to the daycare room. I know I should go back in there. Go back and sit with Vicky. Ignore what is happening out here. If anyone sees me acting strangely, they’ll keep me here longer and I desperately want to leave. I don’t like it here.

  I needn’t worry about anyone noticing my odd behaviour. The quick glance I stole into the daycare room shows no one is looking. No one. I guess they’re used to ‘crazy’ around here.

 
“Daddy...” another whisper. This time it came from around the corner where the light still flickered.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  Darkness.

  Light.

  The pull of my daughter was too strong to ignore and I started walking down the poorly lit corridor towards the flickering light at the furthest point. I haven’t even thought about what I’d do, or say, if I did bump into Ava.

  I walked down the corridor and turned the corner. Another corridor. Again, all the lights were off except for the one at the other end; this one was on - not even flickering. A sign on the far wall pointed around the corner. A sign which read ‘Morgue’.

  None of this was here earlier when I came through with Vicky. Am I losing my mind? Is it already lost?

  I froze about mid-way down the corridor. I don’t want to see what Ava is leading me to. I don’t. Not in the morgue. I turned back in the direction I came from only to see a sign on the wall I just passed pointing me to the morgue. What? That’s not possible. That wasn’t there. The daycare room is down there. Not the morgue.

  “Daddy, please...” little Ava’s voice sounded desperate and sent a chill down to the base of my aching spine. “Please, daddy...”

  Please let her voice be in my head.

  Don’t let her be haunting me.

  It’s bad enough she’s dead.

  It’s bad enough that I killed her.

  I don’t want her to be stuck.

  I want her to be resting.

  I want her to be at peace.

  My heart sank. When do people like me get what we really want and not what we deserve?

  “Ava?” I called out to her.

  “Quick, daddy...” her voice was coming from around the corner in what must have been the morgue.

  I can’t not go.

  I walked down the corridor with my heart beating hard and fast. I felt sick.

  What do I say to her?

  The next corridor was shorter than the previous two. At the far end some double doors with a ‘mortuary’ sign; a window in each of the doors revealing bright light from the room beyond. It looked warmer through there. It looked deceptively inviting compared to these dark corridors.

  “In here,” whispered her delicate voice from behind the doors.

  Slowly I walked towards them and stretched my hands out, ready to push the doors open. It’ll be okay. I know it will. I know there’ll be nothing in there. It’ll probably be the daycare room. Yes, that’ll be it. I would have walked in a big circle; my brain playing tricks on me. That girl...Vicky...She’ll probably be sitting in there asking me where I went. What am I talking about? I doubt she’s even noticed I’ve left.

  I stopped next to the doors.

  Okay.

  This is it.

  Deep breath.

  I pushed the doors open.

  Not the daycare room.

  There were cold, metal tables lining the middle of the room. Three bodies, covered by white sheets, on the last of the tables. I swallowed hard. Harder when I noticed the trolley next to one of the tables; various sharp implements, coated in blood, laid across the top.

  Slowly I walked across the room, towards the far tables. My hand was shaking - no doubt anticipating having to pull the sheets off; worried about what laid beneath.

  Silly.

  There’s nothing to worry about. It won’t be my family. They won’t be here. They were buried. They had a funeral.

  “Did they?” hissed a voice from behind me.

  I twisted my head and saw the doctor standing in the shadows of the corner behind me, “You weren’t there...” he reminded me. “Maybe we dug them up again as part of your ongoing treatment?”

  “My ongoing treatment?”

  “Clearly you’re not well.”

  “I am. I told you. Everything about that night...I was stressed...”

  “You were lying. You screamed. Remember? Unless...” the doctor looked to someone behind me. I turned around and saw his helper standing in the opposite corner of the room. He continued, “...Unless you want to retake the test?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m supposed to be here for evaluation. You’re supposed to be seeing if I’m fit enough to stand trial.”

  “You think you’ll be leaving here?” the doctor laughed. “There’s only one way you’ll be leaving. You’re here until we say you’re mentally fit enough to leave...”

  I turned my back on the doctor; my attention stolen by the three bodies lying on the tables. Would they really have dug them back up? I’m being haunted by Ava because her sleep was disturbed?

  Sleep?

  She’s not asleep. She’s dead. I killed her.

  “Yes, you did...” the doctor agreed.

  I turned back to him, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because people like you deserve it. To fix you, you must first realise the true nature of what you’ve done.”

  “You think I don’t already know? My family is dead.”

  “And you need to be punished. You come here hoping for an easy path. You come here hoping you can avoid doing your time. You’re mistaken. We all need to pay for our sins.”

  “Who is under the sheets?”

  “I told you.”

  “You lie.”

  “Do I?”

  “You wouldn’t dig them up. There’s no need.”

  “You need to understand what you’ve done.”

  “I do.”

  “You will.”

  “It’s not them.” I turned to the tables and slowly walked towards them. It won’t be them under there. It’ll probably be some of the other patients; people who have succumbed to madness or the various cruel tests performed on them by the just as mad doctors. I’ll prove it’s not them. I’ll prove he’s lying.

  I was standing next to the tables now and the dirtied sheets - stained with blood, potentially caused by the wounds on the bodies. The smell is rancid. Whoever’s underneath smells as though they’ve been under there for a while. I held my breath; not only to stop the smell invading my nostrils but also to try and hide my nerves from the doctor and his helper.

  Need to be strong.

  Need to be brave.

  I just need to pull one of the sheets back.

  Just one of them will reveal it’s not my family underneath.

  Just one.

  “What are you waiting for? Take a look at what you’ve done.” asked the doctor.

  I closed my eyes and took a hold of the sheet with my left hand. A second later and I gave the sheet a sharp tug. Whoever was underneath was clearly visible now. All I had to do was open my eyes. Just one, even. A quick look and then I can close them again.

  A quick look.

  Five seconds.

  I’ll open my eyes in five seconds.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two...

  One.

  I opened my eyes and screamed as I looked at the table; a loud scream which echoed around the room even after it had been cut short when I realised there was nothing on the table. No body. Nothing. Not even a sheet in my hand although I didn’t recall letting go of it. I turned to the doctor only to notice he was no longer standing in the room. Neither was his helper. There was no one. I turned to the other tables - also empty.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  The tray of bloodied equipment wasn’t even there anymore. There was nothing. The room was derelict. Even the paint, once white and clinical looking, was now peeling off the walls and looking aged.

  I shut my eyes again.

  This isn’t happening.

  This is impossible.

  None of this is real.

  “What are you doing?” Vicky asked.

  Slowly I opened my eyes. I was standing in the mortuary still. The walls were once again coated in fresh white paint. The tables which lined the room were more or less empty with the exception of one of them - the one I was standing in front of. The body of a young boy l
aid open it. His eyes fixed to the ceiling, skin pale and puffy looking. A terrible scar running down the centre of his neck.