Brett smooths back his perfect hair. “I don’t know, Naida… Why do the police want her?”
“Because they’re idiots,” Ari says. “But if you’re too scared, we can do it without you.”
“Forget it!” Kaitlyn snaps. “I don’t need help—”
“No, wait,” Brett says, cutting her off. He smiles. “I’m sorry. I want to help, if I can… Kaitlyn.”
“I really think that I’m the only one who can get Carly back,” Naida whispers. “I’m the only one who knows about Mala, and about Grúndi. I’m the only one who can deal with this… and it’s a big responsibility.”
Kaitlyn clenches her jaw and glances at Naida, perhaps still wary, but she says nothing.
Ari folds his arms and frowns, and with a glance at Kaitlyn, says, “Back from where?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to research, as I said. Have to find out the time frame, look for clues.”
“What about Juliet?” Brett asks. “Could she have been taken too, like Carly? Could they be in the same place?”
Naida shakes her head. “I think Juliet… I think human evil was responsible for her disappearance. I don’t sense anything spiritual. I think she was kidnapped, or—I don’t know.”
There is a long moment of silence.
“In any case,” Naida says at last, “you should know that someone’s working against us.”
“What do you mean, ‘working against us’?” Ari says.
“I mean someone took Carly—someone took her soul and trapped it. Now that someone is going to do his damnedest to try to stop me from going after her.”
“Is this dangerous?” Brett asks.
Naida nods, and Scott lets loose a vehement exclamation.
“But I can do it. I just need time. I need you to keep Kaitie safe for me until it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
Naida looks at Scott, whose eyes are locked on her face. “Just time.”
Scott shakes his head, and Brett pulls on his lips in thought.
“How exactly are we going to do this without the teachers noticing?” Scott says. “You know that Coach O’Grady and Mrs. Mayle both stayed over Christmas, right? And they both live in this part of the school. What happens if we’re caught?”
“Make something up. But try not to be caught. These stairs”—Naida nods towards the door behind her—“they used to be the old servants’ stairs. They lead up between the walls and into the kitchen. We’ll be safe to use them after supper at night and early in the morning. Then out into the main hall. Other times, use the broken window at the other end of the main basement, okay? But make sure no one sees you.”
They all nod, with varying degrees of confidence.
“We should get going soon,” Naida says after a while. “The dinner bell will ring any time, and if we’re all missed, they’ll know something’s up.”
“Do you all have to go?” Kaitlyn asks.
Brett raises a hand, then realizes what he’s done and puts it down again. “I don’t. I’d booked out to go to dinner with my dad, but he canceled.”
Naida checks Scott’s watch, then claps her hands. “C’mon, chop chop”—clap, clap—“See you later, Brett. Stay safe, Kaitie.”
Kaitlyn nods, and everyone files out.
“Need me to stay?” Ari asks at the door.
“No. They’ll miss you. It’s okay. Later, though, yeah?”
He glances at Brett, nods once—tightly—and then vanishes up the servants’ stairs with the others.
Brett wipes his hands on his jeans and rocks up onto the balls of his feet, while Kaitlyn sits down on the mattress.
“How… how does it work?”
“I come out at night. Carly during the day.”
“Oh, right, yeah.” He nods, seriously.
Kaitlyn rolls her eyes, but Brett pushes on.
“That’s why… at the party—you said to talk to you during the day. That you’d be more yourself.”
Kaitlyn regards him. “And you said you preferred me at night.”
“It’s true.” He steps closer, then pauses, tilting awkwardly forward. “I do prefer you at night. Like that night on the field, we talked, remember?”
“Hm.”
Kaitlyn shuffles back on the mattress, her face lost in shadow.
“You’re more, I don’t know, confident. So… do you remember stuff that happens during the day? Like, do you remember when we talk during the day and stuff?”
“No. Because it’s not me.”
He looks around. “So… you’re stuck down here, then.”
There is a beat of silence before Kaitlyn speaks again. “Hey, Brett?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m actually kind of tired. I think I’m going to sleep for a bit.”
“Oh—I, yeah… yeah, okay.”
He teeters for a moment, steps forward, then back, and with continual glances behind him, shuffles out of the door and up the stairs.
“I’m sorry… but it’s not you I want,” she whispers.
[END OF CLIP]
70
When introduced to powerful emotional stimuli, the individual who is dealing with personality disorders—especially those that are trauma-based—and who is at risk of experiencing psychotic thought patterns is in a very fragile state. The effect of such emotional intensity may be invigorating or even calming at first, but this is merely the silence before the hurricane. Care must be given and precautions taken.
—DR. ANNABETH LANSING, 2010
Criminal Investigation Department, Portishead Headquarters
Avon and Somerset Constabulary, Portishead, Bristol
Friday, 7 June 2005, 10:00 AM
AUDIO INTERVIEW #1, PART 2: Detective Chief Inspector Floyd Homes (FH) and Dr. Annabeth Lansing (AL)
(FH): During treatment, did Carly Johnson know the details of her parents’ death?
(AL): No. She could never remember the incident, and I never revealed the details.
(FH): Why?
(AL): Because it might have resulted in a psychotic break.
(FH): Wouldn’t you say that the psychotic break was inevitable?
(AL): Now… yes. But at the time, I had no way of knowing that, and medically I couldn’t risk it. My duty was to my patients.
(FH): Forgive me, Doctor. But don’t you suppose that if you had told Carly the details and she had experienced a break, at least she would have done so in a safe environment, rather than out there in the world?
(AL): We didn’t expect her escape from the facility. We were working towards disclosure. These things take time, Inspector. And with all due respect… you don’t know anything about mental disorders, particularly those rooted in trauma. It was my job to protect Carly, not to inflict yet more trauma on her.
[Squeak as though of chair]
(FH): With all due respect to you, Doctor, you failed to prevent the death of several people and the serious injury of another. Not to mention the two we can’t even find.
(AL): Carly was unstable, which is why she was hospitalized. She had delusions about flight and a fixation with putting herself in danger. She had a history of reckless behavior even before what happened to her parents. When she escaped, she was delusional. She behaved in the manner of someone hiding something, and I think that something was what she called “the Voice.” Aka Manah, the voice that tortures the mind. I did everything to help that girl—I was there for her, at her beck and call, all hours of the day and night, should she have chosen to talk to me. But, like everyone who suffers from paranoid personality disorder, she made me into the enemy, saw my attempts to help her as trickery, and pushed me away. Then, after she was readmitted to Claydon, she began to see that she needed help. She began to let me in. Until Naida Chounan-Dupré insisted on seeing Carly.
(FH): Do you think Naida has something to do with Carly’s escape?
(AL): You know better than I do what happened, Inspector. All I know is that Naida came, and then Carly regressed, an
d then she escaped. Smashed right through the window in her room.
(FH): Did you ever meet Naida face-to-face?
(AL): Yes. Directly before she went in to see Carly.
(FH): Is that meeting on tape?
(AL): No. Only the meeting room is recorded.
(FH): Did Naida seem normal to you when you met her?
[Pause]
(AL): What do you mean?
(FH): Do you think that Naida herself might have been… emotionally unstable?
(AL): I never had any professional dealings with Naida, so I don’t know.
(FH): And if I were to inform you that Naida was a patient at Claydon for a summer some years ago?
(AL): I was unaware of that.
(FH): Her records are sealed, but her consultant, a Dr. [name omitted], stated that she had an anxiety disorder that was brought under control.
(AL): Then I expect that’s correct.
(FH): Is it possible that Naida, a girl with a history of anxiety and hospitalization, might have been… influenced by Carly in some way?
(AL): Mr. Homes, I think you’d better be frank with me if you expect a helpful response.
[Pause]
(FH): What is your opinion on group hysteria?
(AL): My opinion?
(FH): Myth or fact?
(AL): It’s very real. I think you’d better tell me what you’re getting at.
(FH): Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been helpful. I’ll be in touch.
[End of tape]
71
31 days until the incident
Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson
Sunday, 2 January 2005, 7:00 pm
Attic
These are what my thoughts sound like.
Have you ever heard glass sing? It’s so beautiful. Delicate, crystalline—it’s a sound you think should be relegated to the happiest places and the friendliest gestures.
I hear glass splintering… no, not even glass, really. It’s too soft for that. More like the glass equivalent of toffee… more like… a mirror. A mirror, squeaking and snapping as it splinters and begins to break. On and on.
Chip… crack… squeak…
A plastic sound, not quite real, but real enough to cut if you grab too hard. And I always do, so I always bleed.
These are what my thoughts sound like.
The house is mine.
I hear him in the day now too. I feel him, the way I felt the house in that nightmare. I feel the house like my own heartbeat.
Later
What do you think, Dee?
Naida Camera Footage
Date and Time Index Missing
Basement
A succession of days and nights follow, all of them with Kaitlyn waiting, restlessly pacing in the dank cellar room. Occasionally she examines her arms, pulling back the long sleeves of her top to stare down at her stitches. Scott brings food and drink, then Brett, who stays to chat with a fairly unenthusiastic Kaitlyn, then Scott again. Naida is rarely seen.
“Naida’s busy again?” Kaitlyn asks Scott one night. “Am I too much… am I a burden?”
Scott puts down the tray of food he has brought with him. “Just hang in there, I guess. I know it’s hard—”
“No, you don’t! It’s more than hard, Scott—I’m going crazy in here! I’m losing my mind!”
Scott, in a yet-unseen act of kindness, pulls Kaitlyn into a hug. “She’s been working hard to find out what’s what. Waiting for a sign from the Shyan bloke, watching students around her, performing rituals, and laying—whatever she calls them.” He releases her. “I’ll tell her.”
Kaitlyn shakes her head. “Don’t. Carly’s more important.”
He nods. “I can stay for a while, if you want?”
“No. Help Naida if you can. But… maybe you can find Ari first? He’s doing extra-credit work after school, but… ask him to come?”
“Right.” He grins. “You and the army brat getting close, huh?”
“Did he say something?”
Scott laughs, the sound echoing through the chamber. “Are you insane? Ari never says anything. He’s about as chatty as you. But I saw you two at Naida’s party. You seemed really comfortable. I’ll tell him to get his arse over here.”
“Thanks.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Carly—I mean, Kaitlyn…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you believe this stuff? The Mala stuff?”
Kaitlyn stares at him for a moment and then gives one sad laugh. “I… don’t know.”
“Kind of sounds…”
“Crazy?”
“Yeah. Crazy.”
“I guess it fits me, then.”
Scott laughs, then notices Kaitlyn’s face. “I joined her Mala group last year because I thought she was hot. Now I’m up to my neck in it.”
Kaitlyn smiles. “Life is weird.”
“Major understatement.”
“So you’ll get Ari?”
“Yes, ma’am! At your service, ma’am!”
She nods, and he leaves, closing the door behind him. Kaitlyn stands for a moment, looking down at the soup, then walks over to the old mattress and picks up her pen and journal. She writes a sentence, smiles, and shuts the book, before walking slowly over to the light chain and pulling it once. The room is flooded with blackness.
Then she begins to hum.
Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson
Sunday, 2 January 2005, 10:00 pm
Basement
They’ve cleared it all away. All the stuff from our dorm room. Everything we wore, used, owned. Everything she touched. Naida came to tell me. But she salvaged the box under the bed, the most important thing. I’m so glad she brought it to me, but I don’t feel like I thought I would. One box, and it holds a whole life of love—almost every letter Carly and I have ever exchanged. Seeing it here, all together, three big bundles of paper… is that all we were? Dying pages, fading ink?
[Kaitlyn has pasted several letters into her diary over the following pages, allowing us a unique insight into her relationship with Carly.]
Kaitlyn to Carly, 3 October 1997
Carly, there’s something at the window! There’s a big storm. I’m scared! What do I do if it’s a monster?
Carly to Kaitlyn, 4 October 1997
Monsters can’t get inside the house, because I planted magic stones outside. It’s the wind blowing on the window probably! So don’t be scared! The storm is gone now.
Carly to Kaitlyn, Undated
Happy birthday to us!
Happy birthday to us!
Happy birthday, CarlyandKaitieeeeeeee…
Happy birthday to us!!
(Look under the bed.
I hope you like it!
Happy 14th birthday, Kaybear!)
xxx
Kaitlyn to Carly, 28 August 2003, Claydon
In London, we’ll have our own place. It’ll have huge windows to let in the sun for you, moon for me. We’ll have our own rooms, our own wardrobes, our own food. We’ll be able to choose where we go, who we talk to, and I’ll be able to go shopping and see movies and go to a West End show. You’ll be able to go to university and buy books from shops, and everything will be the way we want it. Exactly as we want it. I can’t wait. This will end, Carlybean. It will end.
They wouldn’t want you to be sad.
Carly to Kaitlyn, 29 August 2003, Claydon
I can’t stop crying. I miss them. I totally took them for granted. Having no one believe us is so much harder than they said it might ever be. I understand why they told us to keep it a secret. This is hard, Kaitie. I can’t do this without them.
Talking about London makes me feel like there’s hope. We have a life waiting for us. We just need to get there, I guess. In London, our apartment will be open plan, no barriers. We’ll get a cat and call her Freedom. You’ll have a room just for all your books, and I’ll have a little place to study. We can each go and see the same film on the same day and talk about it. I want that, Kaybear. I w
ant our life to start. But this place… it gets to me sometimes. Dr. Lansing gets to me sometimes.
Kaitlyn to Carly, 29 August 2003, Claydon
Screw Lansing. She doesn’t know us. A cat called Freedom. It’s a promise.
Kaitlyn to Carly, 22 July 2002
I know you’re pissed at me, but I wanted to keep him to myself for a while. I’m sorry, C, but you have school, and you have some friends (yes, you do!), and I just wanted a friend of my own. His name is the Viking, and he is the tallest, biggest boy I have ever seen! I think you’d like him; he’s really funny. And honest. We met in town, and he’s a child of the dark, just like me. Well, not really like me. He has insomnia. I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to make you angry. Do you want to meet him?
Carly to Kaitlyn, 23 July 2002
I think I was in shock. Mostly. You just dropped this mention of a random guy, and you made it sound like you’d known him forever. How long have you known him? Does he know about us? The truth? Are you, like, dating him? That’s totally fine, but if you’re going to… you know… um, could you give me a bit of warning? You know I hate surprises, and that would be a big one. How is this going to work? I wish I could talk to you. I feel nervous. Do you love him? How will that work? It’s kind of… weird. What if he doesn’t like me?
Kaitlyn to Carly, 23 July 2002
The Dead House Page 18
