Isle of Noise

by Rachel Tonks Hill

  “I’ll get the lights.” Gemma moved out of her seat and away from Mark’s stare. She felt like his personality would rub off on her if she spent too long talking to him. Best to wrap it up quickly. “How do you feel about today’s progress?”

  “I didn’t like it, but I can see what you were trying to do.” Mark began untying the straps that held him in place. “Dr Hallam didn’t try anything like that.”

  “I know, I’ve read the file,” Gemma winced, she wasn’t supposed to say anything like that, but today seemed to be a day for breaking the rules. “I just thought it would be good to try something new. Did you like Dr Hallam?”

  Mark nodded, “Yeah, he was great... even if he did separate us, he thought it was for the best.”

  “Everyone did,” Gemma walked over and helped Mark with the straps he couldn’t reach. “He retired a little while ago. Still pops in from time to time to have a chat with the nurses, and he taught Ian, which is why he’s on your case.”

  “Is Ian... new?”

  Gemma shook her head, and changed the subject. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. But no more short cuts. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She smiled, and as the door closed, Gemma pulled her papers towards her and wrote up the progress they had made that day. The foundations of trust had been built – albeit in an unusual way – but Mark was bound to have expected a friendly, falsely smiling approach. This way was better.

  * * * *

  While Ian drank himself into a dreamless sleep, Mark sat up in bed, unable to sleep. Insomnia was a common side effect of the treatment, with too many people walking around inside your head. It would make the next day more dangerous, for all of them. He held a packet of sleeping pills in one hand, weighing up his options. In the end, he put them down on his dresser, unopened. If Gemma and Ian were going to play games with him, well, maybe he would too.

  * * * *

  Gemma decided to try something different. She waited in the treatment room with a cup of tea, until Ian appeared. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine.” He said. That small word betrayed the alcohol on his breath.

  “We’re going to start with a little talking today, try doing things the old fashioned way,” Gemma said, frowning. This translated to ‘we’re going to spend as little time in Mark’s head as possible, because he doesn’t like it, and neither do I.’

  There was a knock at the door, and Mark smiled as he entered. He walked straight to his chair and sat down.

  “Would you like some tea, Mark?” Gemma asked, noting the bags under his eyes and how his hair had not been brushed properly at the back.

  “Coffee, thanks.”

  She nodded at Ian, who went to fetch the drinks. He walked slowly, as though he had to think about each movement. Gemma watched him go, and then turned to Mark. “I thought we’d start with some talking this morning,” she began. “To make sure we’re all on the same page.”

  Mark nodded.

  “Why did you come to us in the first place? Why remove Claire, when you so clearly want her back?”

  Mark opened his mouth to reply as Ian kicked the door open. “Here you go.” He handed out the drinks. Gemma scowled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Carry on, Mark.”

  “We started to have... problems.”

  Ian coughed as he sat down.

  “We argued. A lot. I’d realised other people couldn’t see her, or hear her. They found the notes she’d left for me, in my handwriting. They didn’t understand.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘they’?”

  “My parents, other people at university. She turned up during secondary school, but it was easier then. I didn’t live with so many people.”

  Ian coughed again and shuffled in his seat, as though getting comfortable for a long story. Gemma and Mark scowled at him.

  “Ian. We’re talking about an important relationship here.” Gemma’s words stung both men; Ian set his tea down and looked like a chastised schoolboy, and Mark blushed.

  “Um, I don’t know. We were just, inseparable. Until I came here.” Mark’s cheeks burnt with embarrassment and began to fuel the anger he’d unleashed the previous day.

  “Tell me,” Gemma said quickly. “When did you decide to come to the Morpheus Institute?”

  “I didn’t really. My Mum found out about it, and pestered me. The arguments with Claire got worse, and eventually I caved in. I came here for a visit, and Claire was yelling. I sat in a chair and told Doctor Matthews to do it.”

  “But it didn’t work? You came back to us several times.”

  “It happened slowly. She was quieter after the first day, and after the first few appointments it felt like she gave up on me. But I don’t think I ever wanted her to go. Not really. But everyone kept telling me I’d done something great. Mum seemed happier, I made new friends.” Mark frowned, and didn’t continue. He seemed to be thinking, staring at a spot on the floor.

  After a while, Gemma whispered, “Mark, are you alright?”

  He nodded.

  “And you’re sure that you want her back... after all your hard work?”

  “Yes.” Mark began buckling himself tightly into the chair. “It’s so strange being the only one inside your head. Everything echoes. She has to be in here somewhere.” He sat up straight. “I want you to find her.”

  “Alright, I’ll get the metronome.” Gemma had barely lifted herself from her chair, when Ian set the instrument on the table in front of them all, and was holding the pendulum between thumb and forefinger. “When we begin, I want you to bring us somewhere that Claire liked... likes. You take over.”

  Mark looked up from buckling himself onto his chair. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re used to the Morpheus instruments now. Use them. If your mind wanders, I’ll take over. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ian flipped the lights off, and settled in his chair. “Ten, nine, eight, seven...”

  * * * *

  I was very aware of my hands as I pulled Gemma and Ian into my mind and moulded the world around us. It was like holding something fragile, like an eggshell, both hollow and strong. I knew at once where to go.

  The theatre was empty, apart from the rows of red velvet seats, and the three of us sitting in the front stalls. There was an orchestra pit, but there were no musicians there. Just a single violin. The bow was laid beside it on its chair, and did not move – but there was music, an amateurish music.

  “Gemma? Is that you?” I could imagine her, small and angelic with a polished instrument in her hands, grinning at adoring parents.

  “Sorry. That’s mine,” Ian said. “Just drop it.” He looked like the inside of his mind had slept in a waste paper basket. “How can such an untidy mind be trusted to enter others?” I wondered, but luckily this was my mind and I had control, and my thought did not escape.

  Ian focused on his hands, concentrating. I did as he asked, and let go. Before it hit the floor, the violin shattered.

  Music began again somewhere. I recognised a piano playing the hopeful strains of Au Clair de la lune. The curtains began to creep upwards. “Look!” I whispered, but we were all watching.

  “Aren’t you doing it?” Gemma asked.

  I didn’t bother answering. The first thing we saw were her shoes. Black heeled, perfectly respectable shoes on the end of long pale legs which disappeared under a sweep of fabric. Ian watched the tantalising way Claire appeared to us.

  “There’s a lady who knows how to make an entrance,” he said. I turned to scowl at him, and missed the final uncurling of fabric and curtain. But there she was, smiling at me. There was a gentle hunger in her smile, and a look of pity.

  “Claire?”

  The music stopped.

  “Who else, silly? Get yourself up here. I want a hug.” Her voice was full of playful notes. I rushed to her.

  I heard Ian titter.

  Half way to Claire, I turned and shouted “What is your problem?”


  He just shrugged. I turned back to Claire, ready to say something and hold her and never never leave her, and never be lonely again. But she wasn’t looking at me.

  “It’s alright Mark. Without Ian here, I wouldn’t have been able to find you again. I’ve been hunting for you for quite a while now.”

  As she said the word ‘hunting’, the devilish look crept into her eyes again. I tried to remember if it had been there last time. I don’t think it had. “You’ve changed,” I said. “I’ve missed you.” I tugged her arm, and delighted in the solid feeling beneath my fingers, and drew her close and smelled her hair. “I’ve missed you.”

  If ‘completeness’ was a feeling, I felt it.

  Her figure within my arms, the soft fabric of her dress stroking my arms.

  “Yes, I’m home,” she said, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was winking at someone else behind me. Ian.

  * * * *

  The boys didn’t look at each other as Gemma congratulated them both on the day’s work.

  “Shall we keep tomorrow’s appointment, just for a final check-up?” Gemma’s enthusiasm sounded hollow, even to herself. Mark gave a voice to the nagging doubts in her mind.

  “That’s it? Is it that easy?”

  “We’ll find out tomorrow. I must admit, I’ve never tried to put two personalities back together before. But if separating you stuck, I expect this will too.”

  * * * *

  Later, when Gemma had filled out the necessary paper work, she went to the archives. It was a labyrinth of filing cabinets, and more complex than many of her patients. She stuffed Mark’s file into her ‘current patients’ drawer, and headed deeper into the room. “H, H, H, oh come on. H, here we go. Hallam, Charles.”

  She flipped the file open. She had to check. “Morpheus institute, listed known syndromes and blah, blah, blah...” Gemma’s eyes fell on a name, listed under the ‘Symptoms’ heading. It was an odd place for it. There was only one word under the heading. Just one word, ‘Claire.’

  Holding the file with one hand, she dialled his number and held it up, muttering a prayer, “Please pick up, please pick up.”

  “Hello?”

  “Oh thank goodness. Charlie?”

  “Gemma?”

  “I need your help. It’s Claire.”

  * * * *

  They talked for hours. Charles had asked a hundred questions that Gemma couldn’t even begin to understand the significance of, but she answered. She recognised a master at work.

  “Will you come to the session tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m packing a bag now. I’ll see you at the Institute. But... Gemma you have to listen to me, I made a terrible mistake in separating Mark and Claire. A terrible mistake. She is everything that’s bad about him. But he’s not human without her. He needs her. They need each other. But I think she’s found other people.”

  “What do you mean? Found other people.”

  “I’ll explain tomorrow. You’ll see what I mean. In the meantime, get some sleep. You’re going to need it.” He hung up.

  As Gemma packed up, she smiled. Trust Charlie to feign the mysterious. He must have been reading too many spy novels in his retirement. But she had no doubt that he would explain tomorrow, and that everything he had said was true. It didn’t take long for her to pack up her things and drive home. As she opened her bag for her keys, she took care not to let them make a sound.

  “Gemma, get in here,” Joel yelled. Gemma had shut the door gently, but he still heard her. “Come give us a kiss then.”

  In the living room, Joel had made progress on moulding himself into the sofa. If he left the chair – which only happened if he needed the loo or she wasn’t there to make him food – she was sure she would see a deep butt-print in the leather. He hadn’t shaved, again. She leant down to peck his wiry cheek, but that wasn’t enough. He grabbed at her and dragged her down for a snog.

  When he let go, Gemma was dizzy from holding her breath too long.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, pressing the buttons on the remote. “There’s that new film on tonight. Fancy watching it?”

  “Sure,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen. She leant against the counter. In her head, a nasty voice made itself known.

  “Why don’t you leave him?”

  Gemma blinked.

  “Or you could put something in his drink.”

  Gemma pushed herself away from the counter and turned around.

  “You alright, love?” Joel asked, looking up from the TV.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

  Sometimes she wished that things hadn’t changed at the Morpheus institute. She hadn’t minded the week-long mind sessions. Coming home every day – that was what she struggled with.

  * * * *

  Ian stared into his glass. It was empty. I can’t keep drinking like this, he thought. I can’t afford it.

  A woman with brown hair took a stool next to him at the bar.

  “Hello,” she said, and Ian watched her lips form into a little smile.

  There was something about her, something familiar. “Do I know you? What do you do, actress? Model?”

  Her smile turned into a grin. “Nothing so glamorous. But you’re right, we’ve met before.” She lent her elbows on the bar, and absent-mindedly ran her fingers through her long brown hair and down over her tight black dress to rest on a knee of her dark tights. “You know Charlie.”

  Ian blinked. “Charlie? Oh, Dr Hallam,” Ian nodded at the barman. “A drink for my friend. What will you have?”

  The barman looked up from mopping a spilt drink. His mouth was slightly open, he looked a little stupid and a little surprised.

  “Doctor Hallam is too serious. Don’t worry about the drink – you can’t afford this one anyway. I’ll have whatever you’re having,” and she took a sip from his drink. “That’s nasty. Try something sweeter, next time?” The woman hopped off of her stool. She threw her coat around her thin shoulders.

  “Next time? I’ll be seeing you around then?”

  She grinned, “Oh yes. I’m looking for someone. A friend of yours. Tall, brown hair. Do you know him?”

  “Well, if that’s all – I might do.” He winked, and smiling hoped that she wouldn’t notice that his teeth were a little crooked. “It’s a bit early to go. Tell me more about your friend.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I think you know him. That name’s Mark.”

  “I know a lot of guys called Mark.”

  “Yes. Well,” she gave the smallest of sighs.

  Lucky bastard, Ian thought.

  “This one’s a little bit special.”

  “At least give me your number – or your name.”

  “Claire,” she said as she leant to kiss him on the cheek. Her lips were warm. A loose hair tickled his cheek, and Ian realised that she hadn’t touched him before, not even a brush of fingers.

  Then she’d gone, he stared at his empty glass for a long time before waving to the barman, “A large whisky, no ice.”

  “Been stood up?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  * * * *

  As soon as I woke, I felt for Claire in the rooms of my mind. She didn’t answer. I grumbled into my pillows, a stream of half-words, curses, and called out for Claire, “Where are you?” She sent me no signs, no phones rang, no writing appeared. “Damn.” I lay in my bed, arms thrown wide.

  My phone rang.

  I forced myself up and snatched it from the table. “Mark.”

  “Good morning. I hope you’re still coming in today,” Gemma’s voice was loud, too loud for... I checked my clock, seven am. I could also hear Gemma’s breathing, as though she’d just run a race. “Erm... am I late?” I asked, wondering if I’d promised to a ridiculous meeting time.

  “Oh no, I just wanted to be sure,” and with a click, she hung up.

  It was still early, too early to get up, but now I was awake. I threw myself onto the sofa, turned
on the TV, turned off the TV. I crossed the room, only to turn and walk back. “Eugh,” I grumbled to myself, kicking at a chair leg – only to be rewarded with a sting of pain. “What is wrong with me today?”

  Someone in the empty room answered, “Nothing, you’re looking healthy.”

  It was Claire.

  “You didn’t answer before!” I yelled, scrabbling towards her and kneeling before her. Tentative, I put out my hand and stretched towards her bare feet. She was all glory, dressed in my old university track suit she used to use as pyjamas, her hair a mess.

  “I’m not a dog.”

  “No. You’re me. And you should be here when I need you.”

  “I’m here now, aren’t I?” There was a coldness in her voice. It was new.

  “You’re different,” I whispered.

  “I’ve been travelling.”

  “I’ve been waiting,” and I didn’t – couldn’t – look into her face. Her hand flew to my chin, and gently, gently she raised my head.

  “Stubborn today, aren’t you? Well, what shall we do?”

  “Do?”

  “It’s my first day back, I was thinking the theatre. I’ve such a craving, and then maybe drinks afterwards with whatshisname, Ian?”

  “I don’t go drinking with him. And anyway we’ve got to go back to the hospital.”

  “Why?” she asked, stroking the strands of my hair. Her voice was comforting, the smell of her and her warmth, just an arm’s length away. “You don’t need them any more., you’re cured. I’m back.”

  “Are you? Do you promise?”

  Claire looked at him, really looked at him. “You didn’t used to be so... clingy.”

  * * * *

  Ian’s shoes squeaked on the polished floor as he ran into work. “Sign me in,” he called to the intern on the front desk. “I know I’m late.” Patients stared at him as he hurried past, tugging his white coat over his shoulders.

  He kicked open the treatment room door. “Sorry.”

  The room had changed. Furniture had been moved around. His chair had been moved to the side of the room. Another chair took pride of place. It had more buckles and straps than Mark’s chair, and there was an ugly stain on the seat. “Gemma? What’s this?”