Winter

by Raven Taylor

  I punched the mirror and the glass cracked in several places. I looked again at my reflection on the now broken surface, liking the way it was now refracted, cut into pieces, no longer perfect.

  I reached out and shook the mirror. Pieces fell away and landed on the desk, sharp shards gleaming against the pine, each one reflecting the moonlight from the window. I picked up one of the shards and studied it. It was a jagged, elongated triangle and its fine edges seemed to call to me.

  I was smiling as I drew it across the back of my arm. Smiling like a crazed lunatic as the blood welled and then began to spill thickly across my skin. I focused on the pain, on the powerful, liberating ebb of my blood. This was real. This was art. I did it again and again. Not so perfect now. More a Picasso than a Raphael. I grinned to myself at the analogy. This was fun.

  I stopped what I was doing abruptly. There was someone in the room with me. Someone standing right behind me and I hadn’t even heard them enter. I could hear breathing, steady intakes of air, feel eyes boring into the back of me and the hairs on my neck stood on end. It didn’t feel like one of the nurses, the presence was darker, stifling somehow. Getting up my courage I prepared to face this silent watcher. The curtains stirred and a breeze came form nowhere to caress my bleeding flesh.

  "You were sent here with a purpose," I did not know if the low hissing voice was real or in my head but the sound of it was so familiar it made my flesh crawl, "Stop wasting time feeling sorry for yourself and get out of here, go to her, time is running out."

  I turned around slowly feeling like I was trapped in a nightmare, certain that it was him, that shadow that stalked my thoughts, here now, whispering in my ear.

  There was no one there. Just the shadowy room looking back at me. I was loosing what was left of my mind. Only true lunatics heard voices in their heads that told them what to do. I looked back at my arm and the oozing blood. It was a mess.

  I rose from my chair and crept quietly towards the door. It was late now and I had no desire remain on my own in the darkness with these destructive thoughts. I stole down the quiet corridor and made my way to the reading room and, just as I had hoped,I found Ransley sitting there in the dark. I paused in the doorway, stupid really but I think I was waiting for an invite. This was her thing and I didn’t want to intrude without permission.

  “Hey there,” she called in a low but cheery greeting, then, seeming to sense something was not right, she added, “Is everything ok?”

  Without a word I shuffled across the floor and held out my injured arm to her.

  "I have to leave Ransley."

  “What happened to you?” she demanded, pulling at my arm with all the care of an angry bear, “Oh shit, you don’t want to be doing things like that. Here, have a drink.”

  I gladly accepted the bottle and was happy to let the familiar warmth run down my throat and fill my stomach with fire.

  “I need to get out of here,” I repeated, "There is something I'm supposed to do, I don't know what, but I think it's important."

  “Oh yeah? and where would you go?” she blew smoke at me.

  “To Edinburgh, I think I might know people there, I think if I could only get there it might help me to remember. Being in here isn’t doing me any good, if I’m not crazy already I certainly will be if I don’t get away soon.” I looked at my arm again.

  “Yeah I know what you mean. The shrinks don’t really help much.”

  "Ransely, I keep seeing things, hearing things."

  "Uh huh?"

  "A shadow with a cigarette and a bottle of Jack," I told her, "It said I had something to do and time was running out. And dates. I see people with dates tattooed on them, you, the doctor, Caroline. What does it mean?"

  "That your head is well and truly fucked!" she tapped her temple to emphasise each word.

  Seconds passed and neither of us spoke. She leaned back in the chair and slowly dragged on the cigarette. I waited forever before she eventually stubbed it out, took a drink and said, "Come on then, we going?"

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah, why not, good a time as any. Fuck it.”

  “You’re serious aren’t you?”

  “Course I am, I’ve still got my flat and my savings out there. I’ll help you get to Edinburgh, but only if you think it’ll help, I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.” she banged her fist on the arm of the arm of the chair in a gesture of defiance.

  “You really mean it?” I asked staring at her with the wide eyed awe of a child.

  “Sure. I’m sick of this place.”

  “We’re really going to go aren’t we?”

  “We are if you hurry up and go and get your things together.”

  The only thing I really had that I needed to take was the notebook. I didn’t have much in the way of possessions. When I got back downstairs Ransley was waiting by the fire exit holding the half empty bottle and smoking.

  “You ready?”

  I glanced around nervously and nodded.

  Outside it was freezing and the snow, which had begun to thaw, had frozen over again and become treacherous sheets of ice. It was a clear night and stars shone above our heads and somewhere in the distance I could hear the faint sound of crashing waves. Yes, we were definitely near the coast. The air had that salt tang to it that was blown in from the sea. I followed Ransley across the grounds as she crunched her way through the snow in her heavy Doc martin boots. I kept thinking at any moment Dr. Kingston would step out from behind a tree, shine a torch in my face and tell me to get back to bed. An insane notion really because he would be at home by now. Ransley looked strange in the half light that bounced off the snow; an old school punk with all her tattoos and piercings and her green hair standing on end. I wondered how old she was? Older than me anywhere. I guessed she was probably early thirties. I shivered against the cold, I did not have a jacket, and my injured arm ached painfully.

  At the gate Ransley paused and threw her spent cigarette onto the ground.

  “I don’t suppose you know Dunoon at all do you?” she turned to me.

  I shook my head. I had never even heard of the place.

  “Yeah well it’s a shit hole that’s about all that can be said. Dunno how I ended up here. Come on, we can walk to mine, it’s not far.”

  “I won’t trouble for you long,” I assured her, “I just want to get to Edinburgh really.”

  “Mmm hmm,” she mumbled through the fresh cigarette she was lighting, “It's not too far but cos of where we are it's a bit of a pain in the arse to get to. You'll need yo get the ferry across to Gourock. From there you'll get a train but you'll have to change at Glasgow central and the get a train the rest of the way from Glasgow Queen Street. Fuck it, I might even come with you, there's nothing here for me, one last adventure, you know?"

  I shivered as I followed her though the snow? What did she mean by that? One last adventure? She made it sound so final.

  “Just one more thing though kido,” she said as we passed through the gates, “No more self harm when you’re with me.”

  “There won’t be,” I muttered, hiding my arm behind my back, feeling embarrassed by my earlier outburst.

  “Good, now we’re just going to have a good time, get drunk and pretend we’re just normal people and go traveling, you and I, to Edinburgh to find out who the hell you are!"

  I agreed. Normal. How nice it would be to be normal. She threw a heavy arm casually around my shoulders as if we were old friends.

  “Here take another drink, warm you up a bit.” she handed me the bottle, “I certainly will be glad to see the back of that place. Probably better off dead than spending any more time in there.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I can't explain it but it felt good to be somewhere that was a home. Ransley's tiny flat up two flights of stairs that smelled musty and badly needed fresh paint was by no means a palace, more of a hovel, but it was hers. The tiny touches she had added herself, from the posters of various r
ock groups that she had used to try and hide the flaking paint and peeling wall paper, to the picture of her with a small group of colourful looking characters that clung to the fridge, had a something of a comforting feel to them. All things someone had amassed during their time on the planet. All evidence of a past, of a life. They said that Ransley existed. She had been there when that photo was taken, had attended that rock concert three years ago and kept the ticket stub, had once loved that bear that sat on the window ledge and had never thrown it away. These where things that could ground a person, that bound them to the world and stopped them floating away and to be invited to be a part of this in my small way meant so much to me. It made me feel part of something and therefore made me feel grounded too. Suddenly I existed in a way I had mot before.

  "Home sweet home," she declared as she flung her jacket on the back of a chair in the kitchen and went to the fridge, "Yep, we're ok." she said handing me a beer.

  Everything in Ransley's flat had a faint yellow tint. Anything, the paintwork on the doors, the ceilings, the fridge, that should have been white was now discoloured on a count of her endless chain smoking. She showed me into the living room and we sat down on a couch that had seen better days and she put her feet up on the table without even removing her boots. I myself had taken my shoes off at the door, a gesture that had made Ransley laugh with loud amusement. None of the furniture in this place matched. It was a cobbled together collection of charity shop finds and most of it either leaned precariously as though it were about to fall apart or was covered in scratches and holes. She had done her best to keep it tidy however, and to make it her own and overall it felt comfortable to me and I was happy to be there with her.

  She told me that she had lived in this town all her life. She had planned to travel and wanted to live in London one day but so far money had prevented her from doing so. She had attended college studying graphic design but had dropped out because she couldn’t keep up with the work. She had suffered from depression her whole life but she told me most of the time she was able to manage it. Sometimes she could not though. She had attempted suicide four times over the years since her late teens.

  “The first time was when I was still in college,” she said, “I don’t think I was really serious about wanting to die that time, it was more a cry for help. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and my flat mates found me passed out as I knew they would and I was saved. The second time was after my boyfriend dumped me. I’d dropped out of college by then, had lost my job and I just didn’t see what I had to live for. Same thing again, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to die so I took another overdose. Third time was yet another overdose, I don’t even know why I did it that time. The fourth time I was serious though, you bet I was. I genuinely did not want to go on. My mother died, she was my only family and all my friends had gotten good jobs, long term partners and had moved away, on to bigger and better things. I felt like I was alone and was never going anywhere so this time I slit my wrists.”

  Ransley leant forward to show me the scars, “It would have worked too but I had had music blasting all evening to see me on my way, Rammstein to be precise, and there had been complaints about the noise. The police kicked the door in after my continual refusals to answer their knocks or turn the music off. So they came barging into my home right while I was lying on the bathroom floor waiting to die. That’s when I agreed to go to Greenleaf for a little while.”

  She told me she used to play guitar in a punk band but that they were never really any good and she said she’d let me hear the song she had been playing on the stereo that night of the serious suicide attempt as her life slipped away. I thought that was a bit morbid but I did not protest. It was German, an industrial band called Rammstein, and it sounded hauntingly familiar to me. Maybe I had also been into this band at some point. I could not make out what they were singing about so I obviously could not speak German but as I listened a lyric jumped out at me.

  “Gott weis ich will kien engel sein.”

  I was suddenly very alert. I definitely knew that line.

  “God knows I wont be an Angel when I die.” I repeated the translation.

  “Yeah, you know this then?”

  “It seems so but that’s new to me.”

  I took a note of this next to all of the other fragments that didn’t make any sense.

  Ransley said that we should leave as early as possible the next day in order to catch the first Ferry from the port. She said that the home would send people to her house to look for us as soon as they knew we had gone.

  "They can't make me go back," she said, "But I'm not so sure about you, you're different, so it wouldn't do for us to stick around here in such a small town, you'll stand out like a sore thumb, you'll be ok in Glasgow and Edinburgh though." she insisted.

  I spent the night on the saggy couch and was woken early in the morning when I heard the front door slam. It was still dark and the clock on the VCR told me it was 5.50am. I wondered where it was that Ransley was going so early in the morning without telling me? I got up and put the light on. It was cold in the small flat and frost was clinging to the windows.

  "Can't afford the heating bills," Ransley had said the night before, "So most of the time I sleep with my hat and gloves on."

  She was not gone long and when she returned the purpose of her trip became apparent. As she stepped into the living room I saw the dog at her heels, a docile, uninterested looking British Bulldog.

  "This is Winston," she said, "A neighbour a few blocks down was watching him, couldn't leave without Winston could I?" she patted the dogs head and he made a vague attempt to wag his stump of a tail, "Now come on, the Ferry leaves in half an hour."

  In the bitter cold we made our way through the deserted streets to the ferry port. The terminal was quiet as we approached the ticket booth and Ransley handed over the money for our fair. I was still overwhelmed by her generosity and could not understand why she was going out of her way to help me.

  "I'll pay you back when I can," I muttered, feeling like a parasite leaching off her funds and good will, but she just snorted and told me not to be stupid.

  "Come on, let's get a coffee before we freeze to death."

  We were a strange trio and the official eyed us suspiciously as we boarded the boat that would take us the short journey across the firth to Gourock. The inky black waters lapped the sides of the ferry as I stood on the deck and gazed at the departing orange lights of Dunoon. Was I doing the right thing in running away from the people who where trying to help me? What if today was the day that you, Caroline, picked up the phone and called Denise to ask about visiting me? Was I making a mistake in putting all of my trust in this ageing, unstable punk and her round barrel dog? I glanced over my shoulder at Ransley where she stood some way off, leaning back against a wall and blowing smoke into the air. I wished her life could have been better.

  The crossing was smooth and we almost made it without event, I say almost because we were just docking at the port in Gourock and preparing to step back onto dry land when a harsh voice stopped us where we were.

  "Greta Ransley?"

  I saw the look on Ransley's face as she swore under her breathe and tightened her fist round Winston's chain. We had almost made it but I think she had been half expecting something like this.

  "Don't turn around," she hissed at me and quickened her pace, "It's Greenleaf, they've put the word out, they must have known it was a pretty safe bet we'd get the ferry if we were going anywhere and we're not exactly hard to recognise."

  "Greta Ranseley! You and your friend need to come with us."

  This time I did turn around, despite her warning not to, and I saw two of the ferry's crew hurrying down the ramp towards us. Even worse, ahead of us, on the road, was a police car.

  "What the fuck?" Ransley exclaimed on seeing the flashing lights, "Run Winter, and if you can't keep up I won't be waiting for you."

  She dropped Winston's lead, knowing the dog's s
tubby legs would only hinder our progress, and gave him an anguished look as she began to run. I followed her, not really understanding why we were running or where we were running to. It didn't matter. It seemed the only thing that mattered in that moment was escaping the people who were now in pursuit of us.

  Our careering flight took us along the docks, weaving a mad dance through rows of storage containers and mechanical cranes and levers. It seemed, however that we were in luck, because the course Ransley took us on left them lagging behind and soon we had lost them completely.

  "What the fuck Winter?" she shouted at me when we had stopped for breath. We had the left the port behind us now and were now in a side street somewhere in the town. The light was beginning to creep into the sky and the clouds above us where starting to turn a sickening shade of early morning pink.

  She grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall and something flashed across my mind; a young girl struggling against a dark figure in a shadowy alley.

  "What the hell is going on here? You tell me right now! They don't send coppers out for people who suffer from depression, so you tell me, why do they send coppers out? Who are you and what did you do?"

  "I don't know!" I wailed miserably.

  "Fucks sake!" she let go of me and took a few steps back, "It's that fucking girl they found in the woods. They still think it might have been you."