Sceptic

by Lilliana Rose

  ‘Is that what you want?’ he asks.

  I don’t like how Bertie’s heard me. ‘No.’ But it might be. At least it would be an option of getting out.

  ‘So let me help you.’

  Before I realise I answer. ‘All right.’

  I don’t really think Bertie can help me leave this room. Maybe that’s why I agree to let him help me. Either that or I knew I wasn’t going to win any debates with him. Though I plan to delay having to torment myself from banging up against the wall. Who knows I might be doing permanent damage to my ghostly form? And if this is the only form I have then I don’t want to be doing that.

  Then I get a crazy idea. See, I knew this would happen from being trapped in this room for so long.

  ‘If you help me, then you have to let me help you,’ I say confidently. I’ve never been so confident before in my life. Yeah. High fucking five. Pretty sure I wasn’t that confident even when I was learning to walk, but of course I can’t remember that shit.

  ‘What?’

  The surprise in Bertie’s voice spurs me on.

  ‘We gotta make a deal. I’ll help you. Then you can help me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Scared?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we have a deal.’ I’m pushing Bertie hard. I need to help him as much as he needs me to let him. Yeah, I’m going crazy. But I don’t let go of this idea. It’s taken hold in my mind, like an oak seed, its roots have pushed down into my grey matter, and there’s a little green shoot that’s pushing upwards. It’s strong. Come to think of it, I’ve never had an idea like this before. Mum would be fucking proud of me.

  ‘Hang on. I’m not agreeing to anything.’ Ordinarily, the defensiveness in Bertie’s voice would quell my enthusiasm. Not now. I’m on fucking fire with this idea, one that’s not going to burn down my little oak tree. And yeah, I know I’m mixing metaphors, but it’s a great throwaway line, so I’m keeping it in.

  ‘Like I said, are you too chicken liver to agree?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we have a deal.’ I’m pretty fucking impressed with my line of arguing. For sure it’s a little weak, but I’ve cornered Bertie and isn’t that the whole point of debating?

  ‘You don’t understand…’ he begins. I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t.

  ‘I’m listening. Tell me.’

  ‘I don’t think you can help me. I’m beyond help.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘No you’re not, Honey Pot.’

  I weaken. It’s because he’s used his pet name for me. I can’t help it. ‘But I am. I’m here. A ghost trapped in a room. That sounds beyond being able to help me.’

  ‘Honey Pot, I’m not going to agree. I don’t want to disappoint you.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  There’s a sadness filtering from Bertie. It’s scaring me. I don’t understand, and it’s fogging my mind.

  ‘You’ve already agreed I can help you. You can try to help me, but there’s no deal. There can never be a deal. Ever.’ His words are firm. Final.

  I’d lost the first debate I’d ever tried, and I thought it was going so well.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’ There’s an edge to his voice that cuts away at my inner strength and chops at the little shoot of my oak tree that had been forming in my mind.

  No. No. No.

  ‘Please, Honey Pot.’ His voice is warm, firm, yet it gets under my skin. ‘Don’t argue with me on this one. I’d hate for you to try, and then I let you down. It would break you.’

  ‘It won’t.’ Bertie isn’t making any sense, but I’m yielding to him.

  ‘You will. There’s a side of me…’ He closes his eyes.

  ‘You told me you wouldn’t hurt anything living.’

  His silence aches inside of me. I want to hold him but I can’t. I stand in my confusion.

  ‘And I wouldn’t,’ his voice is so soft I barely hear him. ‘Just like I wouldn’t make a promise I could never keep.’

  I’m not about to give up on him. I have nothing else to focus on in this fucking room except him, and I’m going to help him whether he likes it or not. k·1·2

  ‘We’ve got a lot of work to do,’ says Bertie.

  ‘Fine.’ Agreeing the only way I can think of that I can try in order to change things around. But my old sulking self is there on the edge. I can’t help it. There’s a lot of change happening inside of me, some I’m aware of, and some I’m not. Plus, I’m not actually myself, now that I’m a ghost and all. So there’s a lot I’m having to adapt to. And I’m not so sure I’m doing all that well at adapting. Obviously, I’m not. I’m trapped in a room.

  ‘Right, I want you to walk up to the wall.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Honey Pot.’

  The sound of my pet name motivates and helps me to push through my fear.

  ‘Good,’ says Bertie. I can hear the excitement in his voice. ‘That’s all for now.’

  Maybe I’m actually helping him by letting him help me. That sounds a little fucked up for even me to think of, but I decide to go with it. Fuck, it wasn’t like there was anything else to do.

  ‘What did I feel like?’ I ask Bertie as the light fades in the room. I don’t want to be here for another night. I don’t mind being with Bertie, even in this room, but I think another night of screams will push me closer to the edge. I don’t have Frank to tell me what to do, but the screams awaken something similar within me. I don’t want that to happen again. Maybe it will be quiet tonight?

  ‘What do you mean?’ asks Bertie. He turns his head towards me even though he can’t see me. I look into his eyes. They are calm, but there’s a depth there, beyond the surface. I try to go deeper, but somehow he pushes me out. There’s something he doesn’t want me to see about him. This makes me even more curious.

  ‘When you came back, your hand passed through me.’

  ‘Oh.’ He turns his head to look up at the ceiling. I miss being able to look into his eyes. ‘That.’ He sounds dreamy.

  ‘Yes, that.’ I’m a little more abrupt with my tone. I notice there’s a flutter inside of me, I’m not sure where exactly. Every time I try and locate the source, it moves. It feels good. I pause. I’ve never felt something like this before. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for someone like me.

  I didn’t even feel good when Nick in grade five had a crush on me. He was considered the cutest boy in grade five, and he took a very big risk by making it known he liked me. He kissed me on the cheek when we were coming back from recess. I’d been sitting by myself at the back of the oval like I normally did. Bree was sometimes with me, but she’d been away that day. Nick had been playing footy and instead of running back with the rest of the boys, he lingered behind and walked back with me. I ignored him. It was grade five after all. I hadn’t discovered boys. Hey, I hadn’t even discovered myself. Then bam. He landed his lips on my cheek. I pulled away. Come on. I wasn’t expecting him to slam his lips on me and I made a grossed out sound. Mainly because I was surprised. Guess he took it as a rejection. Told me I was cold as a fish. Then ran off. He was in love with Jessica by lunchtime, and my name was mud. It was a long day. I must say it didn’t put me off boys, I just didn’t think anything of them.

  Then things started to change for me. Not in the getting my first period, tits growing, or pubic hair sort of way. I mean in the way of how the darkness lingered thicker within me. Around then, Frank became more vocal too. Wanting me to do stuff. It was getting harder and harder to ignore him. So I gave in. Released the pressure a little.

  No one found out. By then I was in grade seven. And I did have my period, so the blood was easy to hide. But Frank’s voice was louder.

  Then I made the mistake of going too far, and everything sharp in the house was hidden. Except great grandma’s letter opener that she’d given to me. I can’t help think about the letter opener. It wasn’t sharp but edgy enough to slice through paper. I loved the sound it made. One d
ay when alone I took a whole packet of envelopes, sat in the lounge and licked the disguising glue on the back of the flaps to seal them. Mum had taken Ashla to dance class and Dad was at the gym. They didn’t know what I was like yet. Besides they had forgotten about the letter opener when they went through the house from top to bottom analysing each item to make sure there was nothing I could hurt myself with. They did a good job. Of the things that were left I would have had to work hard to hurt myself with.

  I’d hidden the letter opener within my desk. Frank told me to. That was one time I listened to him without protesting. I didn’t want them to take away my only way out of life. Great-grandma would be disappointed in me for sure, for the misuse of her prized possession, one of the few things she’d brought over from England when she migrated in 1879 which she managed not to have to sell for money. But she was long gone before I was born so how would I really know. It was grandma who gave me the letter opener. She’d have been disappointed but I’m used to people being disappointed with me.

  Once all one hundred envelopes were sealed, I took the letter opener and sliced through each of the envelopes. It was winter, and we had a fireplace in the lounge, so it was easy to destroy the evidence.

  I can’t help wondering if my great grandma is alive right now, you know since I’ve gone back in time. I assume she is and she’d be living here in Adelaide.

  ‘What year is it?’ I ask Bertie.

  He stirs a little. His breathing quickens. I realise he had been close to sleep. ‘You are a lost lamb now aren’t you if you don’t know the date.’

  I hug my legs closer to my chest. This is my new sitting position in the room, under the window, not leaning against the wall, just sitting hugging my knees and looking at Bertie, and thinking. Turns out there’s a lot for me to think about. Things I’d never thought about before. A lot I blame the confusion Frank stirred in my head. He was clever. I like to think of him in the past tense and that he isn’t coming back to me. I hope.

  ‘1880…’ Bertie pauses then sighs. ‘You must have gone through something terrible you poor thing.’

  I’m not used to getting a response like this, and I squirm trying to find a more comfortable sitting position. My family were always supportive, but for whatever reason, I didn’t believe what they told me. They had to say shit like that, they’re family.

  I wonder if I’ve gone through something terrible. My entire life seemed like it was something terrible.

  ‘No. Just ended up in the wrong place.’

  ‘You certainly don’t belong here.’

  I agree with Bertie on that point.

  ‘You should try and go through the wall now.’

  I don’t want to. ‘My head hurts,’ I lie. For some reason I know he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push the point. I like that about Bertie.

  ‘My great grandma is alive now,’ I say. I don’t know what that means. Maybe it has something to do with the letter opener. Or maybe something entirely different is going on here. So far, either way, I don’t like it. I want to close my eyes, go to sleep and wake up back on my bed, except for the letter opener bit. I regret that. And I hate myself for that. And Frank. I want to blame him for it, but I don’t know that I can. I can’t help but think he only stirred up the dark desires which were already there. Damn his footsteps.

  ‘You could go and see her?’ His voice is dreamy like he’s nearly asleep. I keep quiet. He deserves to get some rest. So far the screams haven’t started tonight. I don’t need to sleep. I do feel tired, but I don’t sleep. His question takes root in my head. Do I want to find my great grandma? I don’t know. It was never anything I thought about.

  My grandma died about three years ago. I was never close to her. I’m not close to my family, so why bother seeing my great grandma. I’m also not stupid. I know about the Butterfly Effect. I’ll go see my great grandma, then I’ll disrupt the future time events, and I might never end up being born. That would be all right. But not if it meant my mum never was born, or if she never found my dad, and as much as Ashla shits me, she doesn’t deserve being wiped from the timeline of life because I was bumbling around in the past as a ghost.

  Dunno if a ghost could actually change events, but based on my current levels of luck, I reckon even if I couldn’t I would, and I’d fuck it all up for everyone and myself. I could also end up changing events and still be born. Now that would be annoying. Best I don’t play around with shit like that or even try.

  Besides I can’t get the fuck out of this room. But even if I could, would I? I doubt it. Whoever’s put me here has done so for a reason. If I was meant to see my great grandma, then I’m sure I would’ve materialised in my spooky, ghostly form in the place where she was living in 1880. She lived at the Port, but I don’t know exactly where. For a second or two, I wonder if that’s the reason why I didn’t go to her home. But then I had known about the insane asylum but not exactly where it was in my city. And here I fucking am. Stuck in the ward of an insane asylum for criminals.

  Is that what I am? A criminal?

  I also know all about the Law of Attraction. How you attract like-minded people into your life. People like yourself. You know, birds of a feather flock together as my grandma used to say. I shudder. I’m not a criminal. Though plenty of people would look negatively at me because of my attempt to take my life.

  I thoroughly regret that now, I’d just like to note for the record.

  See clichés again. Can’t avoid them sometimes. Like the people who are attracted to you. Like the Law of Attraction.

  I’ve never attracted anyone. Nick aside, but that hardly counts. There weren’t even other people like myself at my school. Though, maybe, there were. I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. Just Bree. Because we had attended kindy together and our parents knew each other. Her mum and my mum, you know that boring shit. I think her mum made her be friends with me a lot. I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted. She’s a kind-hearted person to have stood next to me. It’s more than I deserved. It’s not easy being in other people’s darkness. I hope mine didn’t affect her. But still, she wasn’t always there, we just sorta hung at school. She’d stopped coming to my place long ago after school. After I was caught hurting myself.

  I was sent straight to a psychiatrist. The first of many sessions I’ve had over the years. I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t asked for help. I didn’t say much. I had to fill out a form which I thought was pretty harmless. Apparently not. Suddenly, Mum and Dad were going around the house taking any objects that I might use to harm myself. I don’t know how the psychiatrist managed to work it all out. I thought I was being pretty tight-lipped with Tanya. It was that damn form. I shouldn’t have listened to Frank when I filled it out. He put all the wrong sort of ideas in my head that I didn’t want there. Or at least he stirred them up so I couldn’t ignore them. And since there was nothing sharp when I was filling out the form, pens don’t really do it, I got my release by listening to him and answering the questions on the white page. I should’ve dug my fingernails into my palm instead. But I guess that would’ve been a dead giveaway too. Pun intended.

  The Law of Attraction makes me think how Bertie is like me. He’s tried to take his own life. I’ve seen that in him but I don’t understand how it’s landed him here in Z Ward. I move closer to him. He looks peaceful. Sleeping, even though he can’t move. I wish they would release him. I hate seeing him like this, so I shimmy back to my position.

  He’s here because of some serious reason, though. I’ve seen the depth in his eyes. There’s something he’s hiding. We are similar and have been attracted to each other. I think I might be on to something. I know because knots form inside me. Tight, aching knots that pull me in all sorts of directions. It happens when I’m onto something. It happens when there’s something I don’t want to see. I certainly don’t want to be reminded of what I did to myself, of what I had hoped to have happened. I regret that. But I can’t do anything about it now. What’s don
e is done. I have no idea where these bloody clichés are coming from. But they’re filling me up like a leaky tap filling a sink when you don’t want it to. I’d take the plug out if I knew where it is in me. I’m thinking metaphorically, of course. Strange the thoughts I have in here. In this room, with Bertie.

  An electrifying scream sounds out through the building.

  My thoughts shatter. The screaming starts again. Bertie bolts awake straining with fear at the straps. I have to work out how to get him out of them. That’s what I should be doing. Sitting here thinking about how to help him, not ruminating over my situation, which I can’t do anything about.

  Bertie sighs back into his bed. The screams get louder. It’s going to be another long night. More screaming starts.

  ‘Shut the fuck up.’ I send the image out as hard as I can.

  The screaming becomes worse.

  Instead, I’m the one who shuts the fuck up.

  I keep thinking about the Law of Attraction, and why I’m here in Z Ward, and how that could relate to Bertie and me. I reckon this is a very good clue and I’m on to something. I try and organise my thoughts. I’ve never done anything like this before. I even like trying something new. I like not having Frank’s whispers in my head, it frees up me to try something like this. And I have to because I don’t want to stay here forever.

  This isn’t working as well as I thought it would in my mind. I don’t know how I was feeling when I was doing what I did with the letter opener. I do know that I was happy to be going on the journey because I was choosing death. A lifetime of not feeling like I had any choice was liberating at the time. Here I’m a caged bird. Great. That’s not working. But I do know there’s a glimmer of regret. Sadness. Loneliness. That when the darkness was claiming me, when the pain had taken hold of me, it was then I wanted to change my mind. Desperately.