by Amy Cross
“Yes,” I say. “That's what happened”. I look at Shelley. She doesn't seem to want to make eye contact with me. Somehow, I don't think she's going to corroborate my story so we can get out of here.
“You said...” Dr. Penfold looks down at his papers. “You said that she went down to the vampire's lair with you and helped you defeat a man named Martin Keller who was trying to kill the vampire. Is that right?”
I nod. “That's what happened,” I say.
“A modern day Van Helsing,” says Dr. Penfold, smiling. “And you believe your friend here actually met the vampire and saw him in action”.
“She did,” I say. I don't bother to look at Shelley. I can tell she's avoiding looking at me, so I don't want to exacerbate an already uncomfortable situation.
Dr. Penfold turns to Shelley. “Did any of this happen?” he asks her.
Shelley shifts awkwardly in her seat. “Well...” she says. “I mean... We are friends and all. I don't want to call anyone a liar...” She drifts off, clearly not sure what to say.
I turn to her. “Did it happen, Shelley?” I ask.
She looks at me, her eyes filled with... what is that look? Sadness? Concern? No, it's pity. “I just want you to get well,” she says eventually.
“Are you saying none of it happened?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath. “None of it happened,” she says eventually. “I'm sorry, Sophie. I want to believe you. I really do. But all this stuff you're saying I saw, I didn't see any of it. None of it happened at all. It's just...”
“In my head,” I say flatly, with no emotion in my voice.
“It's stuff you need to get over,” she says. “I just want you to get better and get out of here. I've missed you”.
“I've only been here a few days,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, “but you were missing for nearly a year”.
“I didn't go missing!” I say, starting to get annoyed. Why do they all keep saying this? How have they managed to get Shelley to agree to their insane claims?
“I was worried about you,” she says. And the thing is, looking at her now, I believe her. She seems genuine. But then there's the stuff she's saying about having never met Patrick, and I know for a fact that's not true. So how have they got her to lie?
Dr. Penfold looks at my mother, and then back at me. “I would like a moment alone with Sophie, if that's okay with everyone?”
I don't look at them, but I hear the chairs move as my mother and Shelley get up and head to the door. Once they're gone, I try not to look at Dr. Penfold. There's something deeply strange going on here, and I can't work out what it is, but people are saying things that I know aren't true. It's like some kind of conspiracy. I know Patrick is real, and I know I wasn't gone for a year. I remember everything that's happened to me over the course of these crazy few months.
“I have to discuss something delicate with you, Sophie,” says Dr. Penfold. “I asked your mother and your friend to leave the room because this is a medical matter and it's entirely up to you whether you want to tell them the nature of what I'm about to discuss with you. There's no right or wrong answer, you just have to decide for yourself. Do you understand?”
I look at him. “Yeah,” I say. I'm starting to get worried. This sounds serious.
“We performed a pregnancy test on you,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Am I?”
“No,” he says. “You're not pregnant. We double-checked to confirm”.
I relax a little. After what happened with Patrick last week at Gothos, I was convinced I'd turn out to be carrying his child.
“But Sophie...” Dr. Penfold continues, “we did find some other indications. I went back over the results of the medical exam you had when you were first brought here, and it's absolutely clear that at some point in the past month you have in fact given birth to a child”.
I stare at him. “I've what?”
“You've carried a child through a full pregnancy, and you've given birth. Do you remember any of this?”
I shake my head. “I haven't had a baby,” I say. “There's no way. I'd remember having a baby!”
“You don't seem to remember anything from the past year,” he says.
“There's nothing to remember!” I shout back, getting to my feet. “I haven't been missing, and I wasn't pregnant!”
“Please calm down,” he says. “Haven't you noticed any breast tenderness? Anything unusual about your menstrual cycle?”
I look away. The truth is, I have noticed some tenderness in my breasts, perhaps even some swelling. But that doesn't mean I've given birth. You can't give birth without noticing.
“There's an additional consideration, Sophie,” he says. “If you've given birth, I'm required by law to notify the authorities. There's the very serious question of where the baby is now. If you really don't remember, I'm going to have to assume that there's a real possibility that the child is at risk. I'm also inclined to believe that your amnesia might be your way of covering up the trauma of whatever happened”.
I sit back down. “I can't have given birth,” I say. There's no way I could have lived an entire year, including a pregnancy and childbirth, and forgotten it. Is there?
“To start with,” says Dr. Penfold. “I'm going to need to know the name of the father, if you know it. It's possible that you left the child with him. And please, we must be serious here, Sophie. None of this vampire talk now”.
“Patrick...” I mutter.
“Sophie, please!” He seems annoyed, as if he's losing patience with me. “There is a child's life at stake here. You have to at least tell me who the father might be. If there are a number of possibilities, you must let me know all of them”.
“Patrick,” I say. “Only Patrick”.
“Patrick doesn't exist,” says Dr. Penfold. “Or... if he does exist, then he's not a vampire. He's an ordinary man. You must tell me how I can reach him. If he has that child, it's important that we track him down”.
I think about it for a moment. “If he has a child,” I say eventually, “there's no way he'll let you track him down”. Could it really be true? Did I have a child with Patrick, and then I forgot all about it? And if that's what happened, did Patrick take the child? And how did I end up here?
“What happened on Monday?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Dr. Penfold says.
“People keep saying 'what happened on Monday', as if I did something on Monday. I don't remember anything. What happened?”
“It's not important right now,” says Dr. Penfold. “Your health, and the health of your child, must take priority. Please, Sophie, as a mother, think of your child”.
I shudder at the words he uses. As a mother? There's no way I'm a mother. I'd know. It might sound crazy, but I feel sure that I'd sense it if I had a child. I'd know he, or she, was out there somewhere. Wouldn't I? Isn't that something mothers can do?
“You have to talk to me,” says Dr. Penfold.
At that moment, there's a knock at the door and an orderly enters. He seems to be pretty flustered. “Problem with John Tarmey,” he says. “He's started banging on the walls of his room”.
“I'll come,” says Dr. Penfold. “Take Sophie back to her room”. He turns to me. “You need to think about whether this continued denial of reality is worth maintaining if it risks harming your baby”.
Once he's gone, I follow the orderly to the door. Outside, my mother and Shelley are sitting waiting.
“What did he want to talk to you about?” my mother asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
“I'm sorry about what I said in there,” says Shelley. “I just wanted to tell the truth”.
I look at her. “You really don't remember meeting Patrick?” I ask.
She sighs. “No. And you really don't remember where you've been for the past year?”
Disgusted by her refusal to help, I start walking away. As I head to my room, I start to hear some kind of banging in the distan
ce. I turn to the orderly. “Who's John Tarmey?” I ask.
“Freak in the basement,” he says, letting me into my room. “Fucked-up my face. Fucks up everyone who goes near him”.
“Must be pretty strong,” I say.
The orderly says nothing. He just pushes the door shut, leaving me alone in the room. I walk over to the mirror, lift up my shirt and look at my belly. It looks normal, maybe a little larger than normal. Is it possible that I really gave birth without remembering it? And if I did, what has Patrick done with the baby?
Dr. Penfold
This has never happened before. John Tarmey has always been a problematic patient, one who refuses to follow orders and who often acts up. But he always has a reason for his bad behavior, whereas this... Well, this just seems like attention-seeking. He's banging on the walls of his room, making as much noise as possible, which seems completely at odds with his stated desire to just stay down here and rot without anyone paying him any attention.
“John, can you hear me?” I ask, calling through the door. Usually I'd go into his room but, given the circumstances, I've decided such a move would be too dangerous. “John, answer me!”
The banging stops.
“He's here,” John says.
I peer through the little glass window. The light is off inside, but I can just about see John. He's on the far side of the room, naked.
“Who's here?” I ask.
John walks over to the door. “Earlier, when one of your idiots opened the door to bring me some food, I sensed him. He's here. I could smell him. I could smell his scent. What's he doing here? How did he find me?”
I stare at John for a moment. “I don't know who you're talking about,” I say.
“Tell him to come down here and fight me,” John says. “Tell him I'll take him on. Tell him I'll fucking kill him if he comes anywhere near me. Do you understand?”
Finally, I start to realize part of the mystery concerning John Tarmey. He wants to stay down here in this lead-lined room because he's scared of something. Or someone.
“John,” I say, trying to soothe him by keeping my voice calm, “why don't you tell me who it is that you think is here. I can check, but I need a name. I need to know”.
“Patrick,” says John.
“There's no-one named Patrick here,” I say. I turn to the orderly. “Are there any members of staff named Patrick?” He shakes his head. I turn back to John. That name Patrick seems to be coming up with alarming regularity these days. “You're mistaken. But I'm very keen to learn more about this Patrick person, and the reason you fear him”.
John stares at me. “If he's not here,” he says, “then someone here has his scent. Someone here has been with him. And that means he'll be here himself soon enough”.
This is all very strange. John Tarmey might be many things – a genius, a thug, an egomaniac, a psychopath, an enigma – but he's not delusional, nor is he mad. And I have never, ever seen him lose control until now. But he seems genuinely panicked, as if he can't keep control of his thoughts.
“Would you like to schedule a session?” I ask.
“Fuck you,” he spits back at me.
“Would you like me to open the door and come inside with you?”
He grunts and walks away from the door. I pull the key from my pocket, open the big lead door and enter the dark room.
“You have to be more careful,” says John, staring at the wall.
“More careful about what?” I ask.
“You have to make sure he doesn't know I'm here,” John replies, still not looking at me. “Please, it's the only thing I ask you to do”.
I sigh. “John, we have to work through this. We have to get to a point where we can start to understand your irrational fears so that we can roll them back. Don't you want to ever get out of this box?”
“No,” he says. “Not until... Just no. I don't. I'm happy here”.
I turn and head back to the door. “I'll come down again tomorrow,” I say wearily. “We'll talk about it some more, and you can tell me about this Patrick fellow”.
“Just keep the door shut as much as possible,” says John. “And if there's anyone new here, get rid of them. I don't want them attracting unwelcome attention, even if it's indirect”.
“I'm sorry, John,” I say, “but I'm afraid you don't have the power to tell me how to run this facility. I will take your words into account, of course, but other than that, I won't take orders from you regarding the way I keep this place in order. You can't tell me what to do”.
John laughs. “You sound just like your grandfather”.
“Excuse me?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
John smiles broadly. “Ennis Penfold. Your grandfather. He had that same sense of self-important arrogance that you carry around every day. Even when he was tying yellow ribbons around oak trees, and hauling men to secluded spots for a private lynching. You remind me of him”.
“I don't think you know what you're talking about,” I say tersely.
“Your grandfather wasn't a very nice man, was he?” John stares at me. “I guess you loved him when you were a kid, but I'm sure you've read about him since then. One of the most feared men in the state, and with good reason. But the books don't even scratch the surface. There's so much more to know about him, more than the books could ever tell you. Do you want to know more? Do you want me to let you in on a few little secrets about your grandfather? The kind of things you've always suspected, always feared, but always hoped weren't true?”
I turn to walk away. Patients are strictly forbidden from such personal information about staff members. I have been far too generous with John Tarmey, allowing him to have all the books he wants. There will have to be restrictions from now on. I can't allow him to try to gain any kind of leverage over me. For the sake of our doctor-patient relationship, it's vital that I retain some kind of dominance over him.
“Did I hit a nerve?” John calls after me.
I don't bother replying to him. Once I'm out of the room and the door has been locked, I head back upstairs. It has certainly been an odd day, with the links between Sophie Hart and John Tarmey becoming increasingly apparent. I suspect it would be wise to keep the pair of them apart. If they start talking, they could just end up forming some kind of connection, and that's the last thing that I want. For now, John Tarmey serves his purpose just fine as he is, especially since we secretly removed a small section of lead protection. Slowly, imperceptibly, his scent has been escaping. And somewhere far off, a vampire is sure to have picked up on that scent.
Sophie
The next morning, straight after breakfast, Alex pushes the door open and we peer down the corridor. There's no-one about, which is odd in itself: every part of this entire building is usually swarming with orderlies, nurses, doctors and patients. To find a peaceful area, where no-one seems to be doing anything, is something of a privilege. I'm tempted to just abandon the plan and sit here instead. It'd be nice to have the peace and quiet for a change.
“Down here,” says Alex. “Do you understand?”
“I understand, Alex,” I say, pushing past him and leading the way, even though I'm not the one who really knows where we're going. “I always understand. You don't need to keep asking me”.
“I understand,” he says. “This way”.
He leads me along another corridor. It's strange being down here in the basement. For the past four days, I've basically shuffled between the same three rooms: Dr. Penfold's office, the recreation room, and the room where I sleep. I haven't even been out in the garden.
“There,” Alex says finally, as we stare at a door at the far end of another corridor. “Reinforced lead walls. No-one's allowed down here except members of staff with special clearance. John Tarmey isn't even mentioned on most of the patient lists. He's like a ghost patient, someone who doesn't really exist, but then sometimes you hear him yelling at night so, er, I think he is real. I don't really know, though. It's hard in a place like this, yo
u never really know if maybe you're imagining stuff, but I know other people have heard Tarmey yelling. Or maybe I imagined that too. It's complicated. What do you think? Do you understand?”
I start walking toward the door. “I understand, Alex,” I say. “Are you coming?”
“I'll wait here,” he says. “Do you understand?”
I keep walking.
“Sophie!” Alex shouts.
I turn to look at him.
“I said I'll wait here. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes, Alex. I understand”. Sighing, I turn back and walk over to the door. I can tell immediately that it's a thick, sturdy door designed to keep something inside the room. There's a small glass window at eye-level, but it looks to be completely dark inside. I try the handle, but of course the door is locked.
“Hello?” I say, not too loud. I wait. If there's really someone in the room, will he even be able to hear me? “Are you there?” I wait a little longer. “John Tarmey, are you there? My name is Sophie Hart, I came to talk to you”.
After a moment, I hear a noise from inside the room. I can't even tell you what the noise is. It's a kind of shuffling sound, like someone moving about but... There's something odd about it, as if he's struggling with every step.
“Can I talk to you?” I ask. “It's just... I've heard some pretty interesting things about you, and this place is pretty boring, so I guess I've come to find out if you're as interesting as people say you are”.
I stare into the darkness visible through the little window, and suddenly I see a face emerging from the gloom. He's older than I expected, maybe in his 40s, with dark eyes and an intense stare.
“Can you hear me?” I ask.
“I don't get many visitors,” he says. “Where are the guards?”
“I don't think there are any,” I say, looking along the corridor. “You're in luck”.
“Luck?” he asks. “I need guards. I need more guards. But... even then, they won't be much use”.
“My name's Sophie,” I say. “You're John, right?”
“What do you know about me?” he snaps back, his voice filled with fear and suspicion.
