Don’t or you’ll die.
The bright orange sphere she so rarely saw was huge now, filling the room, and she smiled faintly. Buddy. Thank you, dear Lord. It was all part of the plan, part of her journey, and she must overcome this physical weakness. God, how her head was banging. She put fingers to her temples and waited for the dull thumping to abate so she could see clearly what was being shown to her. The vision was weak like through an old black and white television set with a poor signal, and came loaded with a sickly wave of migraine, but it was there. Becky. Had she got the diary from Kristy? Had she read it? This job was not finished until she saw her. Oh God, the pain in her head…
Forcing herself to stand up, she managed to get to the landline in the hall and speed dial the local taxi. She must see Becky, after which she’d check into a hotel for the night. She would not be coming back to this house again. Not ever. Then she slipped her coat on and grabbed the overnight bag she kept in the cloakroom in case Gerry was urgently rushed to hospital, closed the front door behind her and locked it.
Despite the freezing night air, the second she stepped outside the oppressive sickness lifted and her head cleared. She stamped her feet to keep warm until the taxi arrived, hoping it wouldn’t take too long; while all around, on the periphery of her vision, brightly coloured orbs danced and flickered in the garden and along the driveway. He heart swelled. She had not been forsaken.
***
Chapter Fifteen
Drummersgate Forensic Unit
Sunday Evening
After handing over to the night staff, Noel decided to make one final check on Ruby before going off duty. Taking the stairs two at a time he bounded up to the first floor. The corridor was fully lit and all the consultation rooms empty. Apart from Ruby, who was in the isolation room, there was no one else up here and his footsteps clicked smartly on the tiled floor.
It would be nice if she could come back to her own room: the upset had been violent but fleeting, and she’d switched out of her aggressive teenage boy character, Dylan, pretty quickly. The poor girl had been through enough without being left up here on her own all night.
He looked through the viewing panel into the padded room. She was sitting quietly on the mattress, staring absently into the middle distance. He tapped the door and her gaze shot hungrily towards him as he walked in amid a jangle of keys.
“How are you feeling, Rubes?”
She nodded, smiling shyly.
“Do you remember anything?” he asked, leaning against the wall, hands casually in his pockets. “Do you know why you’re here and not in your room?”
“No.”
“Do you remember being in the dayroom watching television this afternoon?”
A cloud passed behind her eyes. “Yes, I think so.”
“What was on? Anything interesting?”
Her pale blue eyes stilled to a vacant expression. She was going to switch again.
“Ruby?” His hand hovered over the panic alarm. When Ruby switched to the Dylan character she had no problem overpowering either him or any other grown man; but he hesitated for a moment, waiting to see which of her alters would appear.
As usual, her face registered mild surprise as if she was falling backwards, before she eventually focused on him once more – only this time with different eyes. The whole personality switching concept never failed to unnerve him. It really was like talking to an entirely different person but in the same body.
The woman looking at him now had the same features, which wasn’t always the case, but this time wore a much harder, more challenging expression, the eyes glittering from within; and she seemed younger - more self-assured. “It was love. I loved him.”
Noel shook his head. “Who am I talking to?”
“Eve.”
“Eve, where’s Ruby?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s had a rough day. You’ve got me. Anyway, we work together now – you know that.”
He nodded. “That’s good, I’m glad you talk.”
In truth, Ruby was only skirting the surface of her condition when she said her alters talked to each other. The woman had hundreds of them. Mostly though, it was the cocky teenager, Eve, who presented herself; occasionally it would be Marie or one of the younger children. Before Amanda, her psychologist, had resigned, Ruby had drawn a picture of her ‘inner system’. Where most people had one personality they referred to as their true self, usually containing memories and information, Ruby had a network of corridors with compartments for each person within her mind. Each corridor and each room had a different colour and a different name. Some of the compartments were locked and the alter could not get out without a key; others lived in vaults which were never to be opened; many roamed the corridors as ghost children, and then there were those in the control room, and of course there was a gatekeeper in charge.
The main characters were Eve, Dylan, and Marie. Ruby now maintained that the previous gatekeeper had kept them all terrified; the children had bars and bolts on their bedroom doors and no one dared come out. Since he’d gone, though, they’d gradually emerged and begun to talk to each other. Marie was the new gatekeeper and she held the keys, deciding who could speak and who couldn’t, although there were some children who would never be able to communicate and some best left, she said, in the vaults.
Mostly Ruby would switch to Eve. Eve said she was sixteen and Eve was borderline feckless. Eve was the one who dreamed of riding pillion on a Harley to Paris, or going to all night raves and snorting cocaine. And Eve had absolutely no fear of authority.
Noel looked into the laughing eyes. “Loved who?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out. Have you got a fag on you, Noel?”
“Don’t smoke, Eve. Now listen, it’s late so why don’t you do us all a favour and let Ruby speak to me, eh? I’m off work now. I’m knackered and I want to go home, but what I thought I’d do – out of the kindness of my poor old heart – was give you the chance to go back to your own room tonight.”
Eve pulled her bottom lip out. “Aww, poor you.”
He stood up. “All right, I tried. Tell me something though, so we can avoid a repeat performance. What made Dylan appear like that? Was it something on the television?”
Eve shrugged but looked down, pretending to examine her bitten fingernails.
“Eve?”
“Okay, I’ll do you a deal. If I tell you what upset us can we get into our own bed cos we hate it up here and Chantelle gave us a book we wanna read?”
He nodded. “A book? What kind of book?”
She grinned. “Jane Eyre.”
“Really? That’s brilliant – you’ll love it. Okay then Eve, your turn!”
“Right, well it was that programme on holidays. They were showing caravans and that’s one of our things – we can’t...”
Noel crouched down so he was level with her. “Okay, okay. Stay with me. What kind of caravans?” he asked softly. “Something to do with the gypsies where you grew up?”
Eve turned her head to one side so he couldn’t see into her eyes. “No. They weren’t gypsies.”
“Well…?”
“The park at the back of the woods. That’s where they took us. To the men.”
She turned back to face him, her features blank as if she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. “Eve? Ruby?”
A few minutes elapsed. He couldn’t leave her. Overhead the fluorescent lights buzzed and he looked into the camera high up on the wall. He really should be halfway home by now, flying over the moors on his motorbike to freedom. He sighed with fatigue.
“Ruby? Come back, Ruby. It’s okay. You’re in hospital now and you’re safe.”
Her eyelashes flickered slightly and her lower lip trembled. One of her youngest alters had surfaced, little more than a terrified toddler. The child’s persona would not lift her head and her body began to tighten into a ball. A single tear dripped down her cheek and she brushed it away. Then another and another.
He soothed her with his honey voice. “Come back Ruby. It’s all right. You are safe now. Come back, Ruby.”
She would lose time now – this was one of her worst ones: the toddler was very badly traumatised and would lie in a foetus position sucking her thumb for four hours or more at any one time. He stood up and made a call. A few minutes passed and then one of the night staff appeared. “Help me get her into the bed and wrapped up, would you?” Noel said. The two male nurses lifted her onto the mattress and pulled the covers over her slight childlike form. “She’s going to wake up and wonder where she is. You’ll need to check on her every hour at least.”
Unexpectedly, Ruby suddenly started to kick at the sheets, her feet lifting up repeatedly as if she was dancing on hot coals. And then a high-pitched voice none of them had heard before cried out, “Not my feet, no, no, not my feet. No, please…” And then the screaming started like it would never stop.
***
In the end Noel stayed on for another hour. Ruby had to be sedated for her own safety and the on-duty psychiatrist called from another hospital. By which time she’d divulged quite a lot of information. Or the latest alter to start talking had. Seven year old Tara.
What a day! It was a relief to get outside into the fresh December night air. The car park was floodlit and his Kawasaki ZZR stood alone, bright red and gleaming, at the far end. The ‘Mean Machine’ he called it, enjoying the familiar surge of pleasure as he walked towards it. Age thirty he’d now kind of got the life he’d been after for a while – a stylish loft apartment in Leeds Docklands; the powerful bike; spare time spent in the gym or out walking in the Yorkshire Dales – stopping for a pub lunch in one of the many beer gardens in summer or by a log fire in winter. The only thing missing was someone to share it with. The gay scene in Leeds wasn’t for him after a couple of encounters had left him disillusioned. And of course, working shifts didn’t help. Still…maybe one day. Right here though, and right now, with fatigue setting in and the day behind him, it was good to be young and fit and free.
At ten o’clock in the evening there was no one else around, and once out on the open road the Kawasaki roared across the moors. The wilderness held a strange beauty at any time of year but in the winter when the ebony sky was studded with a galaxy of stars, it was breath-taking, and already the stale heat and stifling mental anguish was way back there in a time capsule. What a God-given pleasure it was to be speeding home after a hard day’s work. Already the sensation of falling into crisp, white sheets after a long hot shower was reeling him in, when he suddenly remembered – damn - he was supposed to call in to see Becky.
A little bit of his joy ebbed away at the required effort that would involve. Surely he could go tomorrow afternoon after the early shift? He was only going to manage about six hours sleep tonight as it was. Whatever it was about the diary could surely wait until then? He’d phone when he got home. Yes, that was a plan. He’d do that – she’d understand. She knew what it was like to be totally done in.
At that moment and out of nowhere, a large black car showed up in his rear view mirror, inches from the tail yet making no effort to overtake. He put his foot down, expecting to leave it standing but several seconds later it was still there, practically welded to his bumper. His heart skipped a beat. Hey, this is fucking dangerous, man!
Glancing into the wing mirror he frowned, puzzled. The bike was clocking up 90mph now and he’d be damned if he’d go faster than that on a public road. He slackened off on the throttle – the road was dry and the other side moonlit clear. “Overtake me then, you bastard!” he shouted inside his helmet. But the car surged forwards with what sounded like a V8 engine, closing the gap further – so close the rear guard was now being shunted.
“Fucking hell – do you want to kill me?”
Opening it up, Noel accelerated rapidly to over 100mph and then 110 mph, hoping to leave the car well behind, but fast approaching that hair’s breadth borderline between top speed and loss of control. If he came off now he’d die instantly.
Still the tailgater matched his speed, shunting the rear guard in several second intervals. The Kawasaki could top 180mph but this was a public highway and it was dark; there were blind bends and humpback bridges. Even more alarming and confusing was that the car didn’t seem to have a problem gaining on him, no matter how fast the bike accelerated.
He was going to die. Any second now it would all be over.
Perhaps, he thought later, he had a guardian angel? Or maybe it was pure adrenalin that made him go for it, but when a sharp, right fork appeared he didn’t think twice. Decelerating rapidly he veered off the road at a crazy speed, almost losing the bike to the boggy moorland in the process, before quickly recovering and accelerating hard down a single track lane. Surely the sedan couldn’t follow? Surely? Either side were dry-stone walls and he tore through the night at break-neck speed not daring to even check the mirrors until some house lights came into view.
There was a village ahead and he realised it must be Cloudside. Easing off the gas slightly he risked a fleeting glance in the wing mirror and did a double-take. All was black dark. He checked again. No, there really was nothing there. Slowing down rapidly now, the bike juddered to a halt at the T-junction to the village and Noel checked the mirrors once more, just to be sure. Nothing.
Fuck, did that really happen?
Every bone, every muscle, every sinew was shaking as he rode along the quiet high street to the main square, where he parked on the cobbles. Taking off his helmet he sat and stared at the empty street for a full minute. If he didn’t know better he’d say that was attempted murder. Either that or he’d just had the misfortune to lock horns with a psychopath.
A door opened from somewhere and the sound of pub chatter burst into the evening air; the warm lights of ‘The Hare and Hounds’ beckoning with a siren call. God, he needed a drink.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Doncaster Royal Infirmary
Sunday Evening
Becky found Callum alone in the side ward where she’d left him earlier that day. Fury swept through her as she walked into the unlit room. His drip had run dry – clamped off but un-replaced; his lips were parched and flaky, and his catheter was full to bursting point. Clearly he hadn’t been washed or shaved, and there wasn’t a nasogastric tube in situ to feed him either. Worse still, his skin was shiny with sweat, his respirations were rapid and shallow, and the cardiac monitor showed he had tachycardia. Where was everyone? This was way not good enough!
She marched to the nurses’ station. “Who’s in charge here, please?”
A hard-faced woman of indeterminate origin took her time looking up from the notes she was reading, and said in staccato English, “I am Sister in Charge. Is there problem?” Her name badge stated ‘Anna’ and her expression was unreadable.
Something about her lit Becky’s fuse. “Oh yes, you bet there is!” Listing all the tasks needing immediate attention she found herself raising her voice and blinking away tears of frustration. “He’s a man in his prime and he’s not waking up. His pulse is ninety-eight, he’s sweating and dehydrated and no way should he be abandoned in a side ward. Doesn’t anyone care?”
Anna registered zero emotion at the outpouring before replying, “We can move Mr Ross into the main ward. I will see the drip and catheter are changed. What else?”
“I think he’s in pain and he needs a wash.”
Anna nodded. “Okay.”
It was the best she was going to get for now, so Becky bit her lip. “I’ll expect someone in his room in the next ten minutes then?” she said to Anna’s back, as the other woman began to unlock the drug trolley with a self-important rattle of keys.
Back in the side ward, she did her best to calm down. What if no one had complained? Would he have been left here in discomfort all night? And why hadn’t his family arrived? And what if he was reliving a horrible nightmare but couldn’t call out or ask for help? It didn’t bear thinking about.
She took hold of one of his clammy hands. God, she was so tired she could weep. Please don’t let him die.
Before, when he was missing, she’d resigned herself to the possibility that he might be lying somewhere in the undergrowth or left for dead in the woods. But at least it would have been a hero’s death whilst doing the job he loved. Dying here in a flowery hospital gown, with a catheter in full view was hardly the same. He was a dignified man. Always had been. She wiped away the tears as they welled and dripped down her cheeks, remembering the moment he’d first approached her in front of all his jeering mates at a sixth form dance with an awkward, ‘All right, Becky?” The way he’d insist on walking her home, gently pushing her against the front wall of her parents’ 1930s semi, running his hands up and down her spine, seeking out her lips with his. Oh, and daft things, an earworm… Still Waters… Suddenly she was sobbing hard – huge racking sobs that started in her solar plexus and choked in her throat.
Please don’t let him die. Please, God, please don’t let him die.
The world would be so bleak and so empty without the shape of Callum in it. A person she had loved with all her heart and sorely missed all these years – and she’d had him back so briefly – a good man! Those bastards.
She looked up to find a student nurse staring at her in dismay.
“Was I talking out loud?”
She shook her head. “No, but you’re dead upset. Can I get you anything?”
“No thanks, honestly I’m fine. I’d just like Callum to have what he needs, please.” She pointed to the drip and the catheter.
“I’ll sort it. Sister will do the drip in a minute. We’ve been short-staffed and the nurse assigned to him was suddenly taken ill and had to go home.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t’ know that.”
“Yes. She had three patients needing hourly care but she’d only been with Mr Ross for about ten minutes when she started with nausea and vomiting. She looked awful – really ill. Anyway, Miss Brent – you know, our nursing officer from hell – sent her home so she must’ve been bad; and then we had a couple of emergency admissions.” She looked at Callum. “I’ll make a start, I’ve got half an hour before the end of my shift. Sorry.”
Tanners Dell: Darkly Disturbing Occult Horror Page 12
