by Tom Kavanagh
“You seem to have rallied after that little Great Escape impersonation you pulled with poor Rebecca. But with that behind us, I think you’ve greatly improved. I don’t believe that we can do anything more for you, so I think it’s best to part ways.”
“You do?” I asked in the feeblest voice that I could muster.
“Yes, I really do. I think you’re ready to rejoin your family and classmates and try to get back to some normality. It’ll do wonders for you, as opposed to staying in here. So what do you think?”
Why were they letting me get away so easily? Especially after I tried to escape. Surely they would want to keep me around to make sure I didn’t cause any more problems. Maybe they wanted to deal with me outside the centre so that they wouldn’t leave any evidence. Either way, it seemed that I had no choice. I would have to leave the centre and fight them from the outside.
“I agree.”
“You do?” she responded, sounding slightly surprised that I’d taken the bait. Knowing Nurse Smith, she had probably geared herself up for an argument or at least a slight confrontation, so I must have thrown quite a big spanner in the works by agreeing with her.
“Yes. I think I’m ready, too. I’m feeling . . . I’m feeling much better now.”
I smiled at Nurse Smith through gritted teeth, hoping that I would be able to stay calm enough to keep my cover from being blown. I didn’t really want to go, but if I fought her on it, she might crack. And who knows what she would do to me if she did crack?
She smiled back at me, but she seemed dead behind the eyes as always. There was no substance.
They must have got to her before I came to the centre.
They were taking over more and more people, surrounding me on all sides. I’d need to keep my guard up if I was going to survive. And just for a while, I needed to give up on saving those around me who had been taken by them. I’d be no good to them if I were weak or were caught. I needed to fly under the radar for a while and bide my time until the moment was right.
“Well, I’m so glad that you feel the same. I would have hated for us to argue at our last meeting. It’s always better to end on a positive note, especially seeing as we may never see each other again.”
I bet you can almost count on that, can’t you?
“So, I think we can call your dad today, and he can come and pick you up tomorrow.”
“That quick?”
“Yes, that quickly. We wouldn’t want you staying here for any longer than you have to.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I’m surprised that you aren’t more excited about this, Isabelle. After your little . . . incident, I thought you’d be jumping for joy.”
“I’m very excited, Nurse Smith. It’s just a lot to take in. I didn’t think I would be leaving for quite a long time. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I’m glad that you’re excited, Isabelle. This is the first day of the rest of your life.”
First day of my life? Or is it the last day?
“So, you should probably go and get your stuff prepared for tomorrow. Would you like any help?”
“No. I should be alright doing it on my own, thanks.”
I contorted my face into one last smile before I left, receiving an equally disturbing smile in return from Nurse Smith. If I had been unsure about who she really was, I was sure now.
She was one of them.
I made my way back to my room, closed the door, and once again sat and stared at the picture I’d always used as a bookmark. Tears began to fall from my eyes as I wondered whether I’d ever be as happy and content as I was in that picture. I was doing better mentally, my mum wasn’t sick, and everything seemed to be going better. My future was in front of me, but I couldn’t have known that it would all be leading me to this.
I slept with the picture that night, unsure of what would happen the next day when my dad picked me up. But that didn’t matter; I was content living inside the picture, trying to capture the same, small bit of peace I’d once known, even if only for a night.
* * * * *
Dad was waiting outside for me when I came downstairs the next morning, although he hadn’t actually got out of his car or cut off the engine. There was urgency within him, a nervous energy that was unsettling. His fingers were tapping aggressively against the steering wheel, causing the anxious feeling in my gut to grow.
What was he so anxious about?
And why hadn’t he come to meet me inside the centre?
Once he saw me, he seemed to straighten himself up and wave, as if he needed to put on an act. I threw my bag in the back, becoming even more worried when I saw the shovels and tarp in his boot.
Was he planning on driving me somewhere and finishing me off?
“Hi, Dad,” I said in the chirpiest voice I could muster, not wanting to show the growing fear inside me.
“I’m glad that you’re back, Isabelle. And I’m even more pleased that you’re feeling better. I was really worried about you for a while there.”
“Yeah . . . I’m glad to be back, too,” I replied, wanting to seem as normal as possible. I didn’t want to raise suspicion.
“It’ll be good to have a pair of hands back to help with stuff on the farm. I’ve fallen behind a little bit.”
I guess he was going to work me until I died instead of just killing me.
“And Mary was really relieved to hear that you’re better.”
“So you’re still seeing her?”
I tried to sound happy about it, but I couldn’t hide some of my disappointment that they were still together. It was enough dealing with the fear I felt when with my dad, but knowing that Mary was going to be around was too much to handle.
“Yes. I am still seeing her.” He grumbled, obviously picking up on the negativity in my voice, “and she completely understands why you were acting . . . strange that night. She knows that you weren’t well, and she said she’d love to start fresh. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I guess so . . .”
“Isabelle, I know you’re finding this whole situation difficult, but Mary makes me happy. It’s the first time I’ve felt . . . good since your mum passed away.”
My eyes became misty at the mention of my mum, her face appearing in my mind, burned in after staring at her picture for most of the night. Dad reached out and squeezed my arm. I pulled away, feeling revulsion towards my dad that had been growing inside me for the past few months.
“Look, I’m not trying to replace your mum. No person could ever replace your mum. You know that. But you can’t expect me to be on my own forever.”
“What about me?”
“You know what I mean. Besides, you’ll be gone soon. I can’t be rattling around that farmhouse on my own. I’ll end up going insane. You don’t want your old dad to go insane, do you?”
I’ll be gone soon . . .
“No, I don’t want that.”
I didn’t want my dad to go insane, but this wasn’t my dad. He was an impostor, so I didn’t really care what happened to him. But I couldn’t let him know that. I needed to make it seem like it was just a daughter and her dad having a normal argument.
“Good. And I’m not saying you have to love, or even like, Mary. But I do hope that you two can get on. You’re both very important to me. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Good. Now, let’s get home. There’s something waiting for you there . . .”
I shivered, remembering the last time he had told me there was someone to meet. I’d been ambushed with Mary and had run away, resulting in me being sectioned and put into a centre.
The whole ride home was agony. I couldn’t help but think about what horrors were waiting for me at home. Who knew what had gone on while I’d been away?
I’d been cut off from the world for weeks, so any number of terrible things could have befallen the people of my town, school, or even the world. Everything appeared the same outside the car window. There wer
e the same rolling fields sprinkled with bulbous drops of morning dew. There were the same potholes and bumps that rocked the car. And the people of our small town, people I’d known my entire life, all looked the same. But I knew they weren’t the same. I knew that this was all just a screen, like the painted background of a theatre set.
As we made our way down the final dirt track to the farm, I couldn’t help but be struck by a number of different emotions. I was afraid to be back on my own with Dad, but I also felt somewhat safe at the old farm. It had been my home for my entire life, and so there was familiarity and stability in seeing it again.
“Welcome home, Isabelle. And here’s that something that was waiting for you.”
Pickle raced towards the car and jumped up and down excitedly in front of my car door. I got out and threw my arms around her, getting an ear full of her tongue as I did. That was one good thing about coming home: I could see Pickle again. They didn’t allow dogs in the centre, so I hadn’t seen her in weeks. She was so excited she couldn’t stop whining and barking, and I was almost making the same sounds right back at her.
“Dad, could I take her out for a walk?”
“She’s overdue for one,” he said as he passed me her collar and leash.
I was glad to be able to escape. I’d only been with Dad for an hour or so, but I couldn’t handle the anxiety that came along with it. Walking with Pickle gave me peace and let me rediscover all of the areas around the farm that I loved. There were trees I would sit under when the rain came rolling in, streams I’d throw sticks into, and fields that seemed so much bigger when my legs were shorter and the days much longer. By the time we got back to the farm, the sun had begun to retreat under the surrounding hills, and long shadows came out of their hiding places.
That night, instead of the picture, I slept with Pickle, feeling the gentle rise of her chest and the beating of her heart.
* * * * *
I woke with a start the next morning. I’d had a horrible dream where I was being pursued by them—hundreds of shadows all chasing me through the misty country roads around the farm. Whichever way I turned, I couldn’t escape them. More and more came, each one growing in size, until finally they overcame me, dragging me away into a thick fog.
I knew that the tense feeling in my stomach would be there for the whole day and would only get worse seeing as I was going back to school. I’d wanted to have a few more days away from school, but Dad and Nurse Smith had been pretty adamant about me going back as soon as possible.
I made my way slowly through my regular morning routine, hoping that it would calm my nerves and trick my brain into thinking it was just a normal day, even though in my heart of hearts I knew it wasn’t.
After finally plucking up the courage to put my school uniform on, which felt more like prison clothes, I took a deep breath and then made my way downstairs. But instead of finding my dad in his usual spot, listening to the radio and having his regular breakfast, I saw something much, much worse.
Mary was sitting at the kitchen table with my dad, their hands entwined as they slurped at their tea.
“Oh. Morning, Isabelle,” she said with a chirpy tone, whipping her hand away from my dad’s as if it had just become a snake. But she wasn’t fooling me. Her voice was full of guilt, thick with regret that she’d been caught.
“Dad, what’s Mary doing here?”
“Well, that’s complicated,” Dad responded, his voice becoming quieter with each word spoken.
It wasn’t complicated at all. I knew what was going on.
“Complicated?”
“Yes, it’s complicated. You see, since you were gone, Mary has been staying over a few nights a week. She’s a bit overwhelmed with the farm at the moment, so it’s nice to be able to come here and relax.”
“When did she even get here last night?”
“You were asleep.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about all this in the car yesterday?”
“Well, you’d only just got out of the centre; I didn’t want to throw all of this at you.”
“Oh, so you didn’t want to annoy the crazy person just in case she snapped again?”
“That’s not what I said. For god’s sake, Isabelle, can I not say anything without you taking it the wrong way and attacking me?”
“And are you ever going to stop holding back information and coddling me just because you don’t want to have an argument? You know what? I don’t want to do this today.”
“Isabelle, we need to talk about this.”
“I have to go; I’m going to be late for school.”
“Isabelle, please. Isabelle!”
I ran from the house and headed to the main road. I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this moment, and the night I was committed. Dad had thought I’d got better; it must have been clear to him now that I wasn’t.
Things didn’t get much better when I finally got to school. It wasn’t rare for people to stare at me before my little trip to the centre, but rumours fly around quickly in little towns, and so I was being stared at by basically everyone in my year group. I couldn’t go more than a few steps without hearing hushed whispers or seeing fingers pointing at me. They weren’t even trying to hide it. I spent most of the morning walking with my head bowed, pretending that it wasn’t affecting me, when deep down, I was at the lowest point I had ever been.
Even being in classes couldn’t save me. It just trapped me with a captive audience. When the teacher wasn’t talking, it gave students the opportunity to pass notes and drawings, and even a few choice words that I’d never want to repeat.
I was glad to escape at lunch break and finally have the chance to be on my own. As soon as the school bell rang, I made my way hurriedly to the farthest spot on the school field, sitting just under an old oak tree that had seen better days.
“Isabelle?”
I guess I couldn’t have even one minute alone.
I looked up and saw Simon. He was the first person I was actually glad to see.
“Hey, Simon.”
“Where the heck have you been? One day you were here; the next you were gone. I was worried!”
“No one told you where I was?”
“There were rumours you were in hospital or that you’d moved away, but no one was really sure. The teachers kept pretty quiet about it.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. They probably didn’t want everyone talking about the local nutjob.”
“So, come on. Where were you?”
“I was in a centre. It’s where you go when you have a lapse.”
“Oh. Well, it’s good to see you back.
Simon awkwardly shuffled his feet, occasionally glancing up at the sky. His mouth opened and closed, obviously trying to find the words. I knew that he wanted to ask me how it was, to know what a real centre was like. But I wasn’t going to help him. If he wanted to ask, he needed to ask himself. After a few more tentative mouth movements, he finally got up the courage to speak.
“So, how was the . . .”
“The loony bin?” I cut in, just to see how much it would make him squirm. It was probably a little mean, but after everything I’d been through, I just wanted to have some fun.
“No. No, not the loony bin. I was going to say centre. But fine, if we’re talking like that, how was the loony bin? Are we talking One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Or like a spa but with ‘nutjobs’?”
“Nutjobs?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“It was okay. It wasn’t really a loony bin. It was more like a ‘relaxation centre’ with counsellors and nurses. But I’m glad to be out. I felt more insane in there than I did out here.”
“So, do you still think those things are following you?”
I moved closer to Simon, not knowing whether any of them were in earshot.
“Yes, but I need to act like I don’t. Everything needs to look normal. If I don’t act normal, they might send me back to that place, and there’s no wa
y in hell I’m going back without a fight. So you need to keep your mouth shut about everything I say, okay?”
“Okay.”
Being that it was a Wednesday afternoon, I had a special tutoring lesson in the afternoon. I don’t think that my school understood that I wasn’t mentally challenged; I just had schizophrenia. But every week, every single Wednesday, I was dragged into a room with lots of pillows and pictures of flowers and forced to learn about social skills. It was demeaning and never got any easier. In fact, it had only got worse in the last year. I’d been feeling more and more alone, and now that I didn’t know whom I could trust, I only felt more alone.
My tutor, Ms. Jones, was waiting patiently for me when I arrived, a blank expression on her face, like a kids’ TV show presenter going into his or her twentieth season.
“Isabelle, come in. How are you? Are you feeling alright after your time away?”
“My time away,” meaning my time away in the loony bin. She knew where I’d been, but she was using her exhausting, compassionate voice, making it seem like I’d been away on holiday and was suddenly well rested and better.
“Yes, I’m much better.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look a bit under the weather.”
“No, I’m fine,” I replied, putting my hand up to my forehead to test my temperature.
Had they slipped me something in the centre?
She was acting strangely.
I needed to ask her my set of questions to see if she was now one of them. She could have been turned while I was away at the centre.
“Miss, could I ask you some questions?”
“Of course you can, Isabelle. Go ahead.”
“Have you killed an animal in the last week?”
“Have I killed an animal in the last week? What kind of question is that? Of course I haven’t. I’ve eaten meat, though. So I guess in a way I have killed an animal.”
Strike one.
“What would you do if an animal were sick?”
