She supposed that was the reason why she looked pristine, and her sister-in-law looked like she hadn’t washed in weeks.
“Do you want a cuppa?”
Debbie shrugged again. She couldn’t care less, but she prayed Mandy might leave her in peace and disappear to the kitchen for a while, so she asked for a sandwich as well.
Giving very particular instruction, she made it sound complicated—this amount of butter, that thickness of bread, this mayonnaise not that mayonnaise, triangles not squares—in the hope that Mandy would be conscientious and take her time. She needed to ease into to the idea of company to cope.
“So, what’s the plan now?” Mandy sat cradling a hot cup in her manicured fingers. Debbie dragged her gaze from contemplating the steam rising from her tea and stared at her sister-in-law. “Do you have any plans?”
She was trying to help, and she deserved her attention, so, grudgingly, Debbie sat up, cleared her throat and dug deep. “I’ve done everything I can think of. I badger the police and missing person’s bureau every day. I’ve put his photo all over social media…”
“I saw. A lot of comments. He’s very popular, my brother.”
“Lots of comments, none of them useful.”
“I’ve seen your posters. Anything from them?”
Debbie tried not to glare.
“I suppose you’d look a bit happier if there had been news.” Noticing Debbie flush red, she probed, “What is it? What have you heard?”
Debbie shook her head. “Nothing. But, sometimes I’ve been pleased that no-one knows where he is…”
Mandy’s eyes clouded as she awaited what she could possibly mean.
“… rather than hear he’s left me for some floozy!” and she broke down into silent sobs, pounding her thighs with enraged fists. “Abi thinks so! Look at that card. Go on, read it!”
Mandy slid the Valentine’s Cards from the mantelpiece. She wouldn’t rather her brother stay missing than having left Debbie. She didn’t care about Debbie that much. She was just her brother’s wife. She supposed she loved her, well you have to love family, don’t you? But if it came to choosing loyalties between her and Matthew, there was no contest. Whatever he’d done, and however selfish and misguided he’d been. He was her brother.
“She’s just trying to make you feel better. And she doesn’t understand. To her, anger at her daddy leaving you is marginally more palatable than the alternative, and for you too by the sounds of it.” Wondering where she was going with her point, Mandy tried to dig herself from the depths. “But I’m sure there’s another explanation.”
“Thanks, Mandy. Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but you’re right. I probably would cope better with him leaving me than something terrible having happened to him. Wanting to leave me, I can understand. I’m not all that. I’m just… Debbie.”
Mandy rushed to hug her; a rare occurrence. She knew at once she’d been too harsh. Replaying her own opinion in her head sounded so unfair. “He loves you, Debbie.” Kneading her shoulders, she added, “I’m his sister. We’re close. I’d have got a hint if he wasn’t happy. Mum would’ve too. He said he was the happiest he’d ever been…”
“But maybe not with me.”
“Yes, with you! He adores you.”
A smile flickered onto Debbie’s face for a mere second, before sinking into the quagmire of reality. “So something terrible has happened to him, then. That’s the only explanation, isn’t it?”
Mandy’s mouth opened and closed. They’d come full circle and she had nothing else to add. “He’ll turn up,” she said unconvincingly. “You’ll see.”
Debbie sighed and shut her eyes. She supposed they would see, one day. And when they did, she couldn’t imagine anything but the very worst. And she envisaged it in so many upsetting ways.
Matthews’s stricken face loomed at her from every angle. Pain, torture, streaming from his eyes as someone valuing money more than human life, and the devastation taking it leaves behind, cast him away like the flotsam of life. The rage boiling up for whomever could do that consumed her, but was quickly offset with exasperation at his carelessness in showing his thick wallet to anyone in the vicinity.
But then she imagined him throwing away his own life with no-one else to blame. What was it the police called it? “Death by misadventure?” something like that. He was a gung ho type who may well have got too close to the river and fallen in. She didn’t know what sort of drunken state he’d been in, but he’d been drinking since breakfast… their special Christmas Day breakfast.
Halting her thoughts, trying to release some of the grief in concealed weeping didn’t help. Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to take her, to offer respite in the world of dreams. But she knew, if unconsciousness did claim her thoughts, it wouldn’t take her somewhere nice. Instead she’d be forced to relive the torment she endured every waking moment, adding new terrors to suffer as soon as she reopened her eyes.
“Another cuppa?” Mandy’s bright voice echoed in her ear after an attention grabbing pat on the arm. Debbie didn’t remember drinking the first one, but she nodded and closed her eyes once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Matthew sat in the rec room. He had a cup of tea he’d allowed another patient to bring him and, under their scrutiny, he was even debating taking a sip.
“So, why are you in here, Natasha?” he broached. “Is it okay to ask?”
The girl nodded. “It’s fine.” She appeared completely normal, but when she pushed up her sleeves, her arms heating with the conversation, the raw scars of a hundred attacks on herself were striking. She held them up on display. “I get pretty down… Hear voices that tell me this’ll help… and it does in a weird sort of way. But I bloody wish I didn’t have to do it.”
Matthew nodded, cupping his mug and finding the tea surprisingly tasty. “How long have you been in here?”
Resting her own cup on the arm of the chair—its precariousness causing Matthew to grimace in nervous anticipation—Natasha hooked her feet up, crossing her legs. Collecting her cup up again and hugging it to her concave chest, she gladly lay herself open. “On and off… about two years.” Sipping her tea as punctuation, she smiled, her face emitting a welcome warmth.
“On and off? You go home, then? How often?”
“Most of the time, I’m home. But when things get on top of me,” she pointed to her right arm with a bony left index finger, “I act up.”
“What sort of things get on top of you?”
Natasha shrugged and lowered her cup. Looking away, her eyes stared out of the window, when their gaze finally returned, Matthew cringed at their wetness. He’d been unfair, but Natasha was the realist person he’d met. Talking to her was a relief, and he hoped she might be able to provide useful information about this place.
But she didn’t deserve this interrogation. He should do less talking and more listening. “Sorry. It’s just that you seem nice and I’m interested.”
The smile returned and she attempted to answer. “Just stuff… you know?”
Matthew took that to mean it could be anything, and it didn’t matter. Everyone’s troubles were different. It was of no consequence if he considered what had been Natasha’s tipping point would also be his.
“Does being in here help?”
Natasha resumed sipping her tea. Pausing before nodding, she decided to add, “Defo, man.” With a chuckle, she gurgled in-between sips, “I think it’s because I fucking hate it in here! My brain reboots just to get me out!” Slopping a small amount of tea from her mug as she shook with mirth, she stopped and grinned. “Great. This is my best top as well!” Her laughing grew louder as she mopped at the stain on her standard issue grey T-shirt with a tissue. “How about you?”
Matthew told her everything, ending with his failed escape attempt and grabbing at Malcolm’s phone.
“Whew!” she whistled. “You’re going through a rough time, aren’t you?” A final swig of tea made her gurn in revulsion. �
��Blah! It’s cold.” Arcing forwards, she eased the mug down, clutched in her long fingers at the end of her gangly arms and set it on the floor in front of her. “But I don’t know why you’ve had so much bother. I can walk out of here anytime I want.”
Matthew gasped. Why?
“I think it must be cos you’ve been a bit aggressive by the sounds of it. But if you want me to get you something from the shops, just say the word.”
Matthew gasped. Natasha was a godsend! “A phone? Could you pick me up a phone?”
She snorted. “Nah, man. I ain’t got them sort of readies. I mean sweets or a cake, or a paper.”
Matthew couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Thanks. I guess a newspaper might be good.”
“Any one in particular?”
Matthew shrugged.
“I’ll get the cheapest then, if that’s okay?”
“When will you go?”
“I have to ask, then they arrange it. Do you want me to ask if you can come too?”
Eyes wide, Matthew nodded. He didn’t imagine they’d say yes, but what if they did? What if him not asking personally made a difference? “Yes, please.” He hopped off his seat to give his new best friend a hug. Regretting it mid-step; she might hate physical contact; he was relieved when she clutched him to her tightly.
The closeness pierced the boil of emotion he had repressed for weeks and it cascaded from him in a torrent of tears and body-shaking sobs.
“Ah, it’ll be okay. You’ll see,” she said, stroking his hair.
“Thank you,” Matthew managed through his thick throat.
Days passed with Matthew not seeing Natasha. He hoped he’d not put her under too much pressure. He was musing the point whilst watching the most incredibly unskilled game of pool he’d ever witnessed when she came skipping up to him.
“They’re not keen. I don’t know why, but you have seriously blotted your copy book, Matthew! I’ll try again another time, but I didn’t want to push it. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.”
“Thanks. What did you say?”
She pursed her thin lips; everything about her was thin. “I asked if I could go to the shops. They said ‘Fine.’ And then I said I’d made a new friend and wondered if they could come too. They were fine until they realised it was you! Then they warned me to keep away. Said you weren’t to be trusted.”
“I’m not to be trusted? Cheek!”
Keeping his voice low as a nurse walked into the rec room, he smiled his warmest smile. “Are you looking for me?” he greeted, none of the hatred he felt at his imprisonment showed in his voice. He knew the game now, and he was going to win.
The nurse nodded whilst ticking his name on her clipboard. “Doctor will see you now.”
It was his weekly ward round, Matthew thought. He’d lost track of time, his mind numbed by stress and the medication they insisted him taking every morning and evening. A small nugget of his brain stayed focussed; honed on his plan to get out of here. But it was surrounded by the cotton-wool of his intoxicated grey matter and was struggling to be heard. But Matthew was unwavering in his determination to listen.
Striding into the side room with unnatural poise, Matthew sat neatly on the nearest chair to Doctor McEvoy, nervous of his ability to remain calm and unthreatening. It was vital for his escape.
“You look… well, so ye do,” he nodded in Matthew’s direction. “How are ye feeling?”
Matthew’s brows knitted, demonstrating his careful consideration of the question. “Much better, thank you.”
The doctor nodded. “Any visions?” Matthew shook his head. “Of your sister? Or your wife? Or your daughter, or anyone else?”
Matthew smiled as he could answer quite truthfully. “No, I haven’t seen them at all.”
“And what about wanting to phone them? You still thinking that’s a good idea?” Matthew shook his head again and allowed a little chuckle to fall from his lips. Once more, he could answer honestly.
“No. I realise that was a mistake now. Foolish of me.”
The doctor nodded, but Matthew thought his honest replies were not hitting their mark. They sounded too diverting. So, he decided to lay it on thicker. “I think the medicine’s doing the trick. I’m a lot calmer. I wondered if there might be some talking therapy I could do? To understand why I have these hallucinations in the first place, rather than just keep on medicating? I do feel a bit groggy.”
Other patients had reported the doctors lapping that up. They loved their therapies. Although, in reality, they tended to be baby-simple advice dished out in the most patronising tones, they were generally considered preferable to medication side-effects.
It was with surprise then, and some dismay, that Matthew greeted the doctor’s response.
“We’ll keep things the same for now. Perhaps we can look at adding more therapies when we’re sure you’re stable, yeah?”
Matthew hid his white knuckles beneath his thighs as he prized a smile onto his lips. “Sure. Whatever you think.”
“I’ll see you in a week or so, then, okay?”
Matthew maintained his smile as he left the room. What could he do to ingratiate himself? Nothing. He wasn’t like the others. All the therapy and the medication had only one purpose: to keep him here. But why?
The idea that kept coming back was the only explanation that made any sense to Matthew. The work he’d done designing and building a military craft was a lot more important and secret than he’d understood.
Brian had warned him not to get involved. And now, at the whim of some secret bloody agency, these people were keeping him locked away: away from his family, away from his life; and away from his work.
They would be in full production soon; the amphibious tanks. The contract had been agreed, the design paid for, the raw materials procured. They were notorious locally, maybe even nationally. So what did Matthew know that was worth keeping him away? What was worth this ridiculous charade?
Matthew was going to escape, and he was going to find out. He just didn’t know how.
They would never let him walk out with Natasha. He wasn’t operating under the same rules. And despite only being a hospital ward, the prison capabilities of these walls were undeniable.
The line for medicine was beginning to form. Matthew joined, grateful for the chlorpromazine to take the edge off his anxiety. Maybe tomorrow he’d wake with a plan.
Chapter Twenty
“I can help you out of here!” The small man crouched in front of him, peering at him through bulging eyes, and Matthew half expected him to shriek ‘My precious!’
It was hard not to raise his hopes, but anything he suggested was likely to be insane. And he didn’t disappoint.
“I can organise a crack team. They’ll smash through the windows.” He leapt up, animated now, thumping an angled, bony fist into his waiting palm. “Smash!” he pointed a window, and then another, “Smash, smash, smash!”
Perching on the arm of the chair, he breathed heavily. “You just say the word,” he winked, “and I’ll get it done.” And with that, he slid off the chair and sauntered away muttering military plans to himself.
“You’ve met Wayne, then?” Empathetic eyes met his through thick lenses from across the room. Sliding the tortoiseshell glasses back up his nose, they promptly returned to the thick red ridge further down. He thrust himself up, giant palms with thick long fingers pushing against long muscular legs.
Striding across the room, he paused halfway to blink hard three or four times, then hunched his hefty shoulders and rolled his head on his solid neck.
Slotting his mountain body next to Matthew on the couch, he pressed one of his huge hands on Matthew’s thigh and leaned in. “You wanting to escape again, then?”
Matthew didn’t consider his last attempt to have been an escape, but he nodded anyway.
“I’ll help.”
Matthew’s forehead puckered. “Go on?” he invited.
“When you get out, you’ll have to do m
e a favour.” Matthew nodded readily. “Bring me back a cheeseburger! I bloody hate the food in here.”
“If you can get me out, why don’t you get out yourself?”
The man looked down at his boat-like shoes. “Nah. I’m good, thanks.”
After the upset he’d caused to other patients, Matthew didn’t pry. “What’s your plan?”
It was simple. He would go outside in the enclosed garden, making sure to leave the door ajar for Matthew. He insisted he could lift and even throw the metal benches, and he’d do so in such a way they could provide a ladder up the wall for Matthew to scale.
The nurses would be distracted by the raucous rage he’d enact and Matthew could disappear from the ensuing chaos.
“Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Don’t matter. We were close, you and me. Before you left last time.”
“Last time? What do you mean?”
The man shrugged. “You don’t remember. Doesn’t matter, I remember; you helped me. You’re a clever one, you. And now I’m gonna help you.”
Matthew’s mind whirred. What did he mean, ‘last time?’ Was he in on it? Could it be a trap? He seemed so genuine.
Suddenly it clicked. He was confusing him with someone else. Easily done when you’re on this medication and you’re not quite with it in the first place. Matthew would trust him. His heart fluttered. This could be it. At last.
Anticipating time to plan; to prepare, Matthew didn’t react when the man stood up. It wasn’t until he heard the grunts and strains from outside that he realised it was time for action.
Nurses rushed past him, and the other patients in the room crowded at the window to watch the show.
“Now then, Adrian. What do you think you’re doing?”
The bench snapped away from its rotten floor bolts, something Adrian must have noticed and kept stored away in his weary head. Tossing the bench aside, narrowly missing the approaching male nurse, he immediately turned his attention to the table.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 12
