by Susan Harris
On his way to collect her, Connors let me know that Alana was awake, and I assured him again that what had happened to Alana was not his fault. He immediately dragged me in for one of those awkward man hugs, saying that he was honoured that I had placed the love of my life in his care. Connors took that responsibility to heart and swore he would not let her come to any harm again. They had never met, Alana and Connors, during our six months together, but I had told him all about her. At the time, my friend replied in only the way he could… that the girl was far out of my league. I knew he was right, but it didn’t matter.
Calmly, I had walked into the dining hall in time to see Alana limp over to an empty table and sit. A slow smile quirked my upper lip as my girl dived into her food like a starving animal. Her eyes scanned the room as she took in everything around her. Hidden in the shadows of the doorway next to Connors and out of view, I watched as her eyes latched on to Veronika’s. Tension built in the room as the two exchanged non-verbal threats to a captive audience.
One careful step forward and I eased up to stand by Connors. He leaned in and whispered that the guards were placing bets on when the next fight would be. I shook my head in disgust, but when I spotted Alana’s eyes firmly focused on me, I nodded at Connors as if I understood his comment. Whatever he had said to me went unheard as I held Alana’s gaze. She must have read something in my expression because she pushed her food away and got up to leave, her arm wrapped around those bruised ribs. With one final look in my direction, she ducked into her cell. That’s when I remembered to breathe again.
Left to apprehensively wait for Alana to arrive at her next session, I found myself unable to relax. What had she read in my expression that stopped her from goading Veronika? Had I given something away? Was she suspicious? If I told her who I really was, would she think I was the crazy one? My stomach did somersaults while I kept checking the time. I made a conscious decision to broach this session from a different perspective.
Stepping away from my desk, I walked to the side and pressed the button to heat the water on the percolator. Opening up the cupboard, I removed two mugs, putting a sachet of coffee in one and a tea bag in the other. Coffee is okay, but I was jittery enough already. As the machine beeped to let me know the water was ready, I took turns putting the mugs beneath the stream of hot water, filling them and adding condiments to our liking. I set them on the coffee table between the chairs in front of the desk.
Soft, hesitant footsteps echoed down the hall, and my heart raced slightly. No banter or chat accompanied the forward progress, only awkward, irregular thumps in the hall. Soon after the keypad was accessed, the door slid open, and I settled into one of the chairs and waited.
Alana limped into the room, her dark hair falling over her forehead, blocking her eyes from me. She slowly approached her favourite chair across from mine and started to sit with her legs tucked under her, but her knee was far too sore for that. I waited while she settled in and gave Connors a nod. He almost laughed when he spied the mugs and winked, a familiar grin returning to his face.
Before I realized he’d left, the door whirred closed, and we were alone. Alana eyed the mug suspiciously and then looked at me. I smiled, hoping to ease some of the obvious tension that had built up in her shoulders, but her gaze only narrowed.
Pointing to the mug, she asked in her softest voice, “What’s that?”
“Coffee,” I said. When she didn’t respond, I continued, “Coffee… three spoons of sugar and just a smidge of milk so as not to dampen the sweetness of the sugar. Or did I get it wrong?”
Alana did not answer but simply leaned over and wrapped her fingers around the mug and lifted it to her lips. A dazzling smile lit up her face and eyes as she swallowed the liquid and exhaled.
“How do you know how I like my coffee?” Her voice was accusing but without a hint of malice darkening her tone.
Mimicking her actions, I sipped my tea and leaned back in my chair before answering, “I did my research. I thought after the last few days… you would like something… I dunno… nice.”
“Thank you.”
Her eyes returned to glance at her mug, and we sat in a comfortable silence for about twenty minutes as she savoured her coffee. I had finished mine well before her but waited, giving her time to feel safe before we got down to things.
When she laid her mug down on the table and sat back in her chair, her fingers started twirling the ends of her hair in a nervous attempt to avoid eye contact. “Do you want to talk about what happened with Veronika? Or would you like to tell me what you hoped to achieve by antagonizing her?”
“I wasn’t trying to antagonize her. My purpose was the opposite. I needed to stop her continued efforts of intimidation, to prove that what she did meant nothing. People needed to see someone stand up to her because she will continue picking on the weaklings if they show fear.”
“And is it important to you not to show fear?”
“Yes, because bullies can’t be allowed to win.” Alana folded her arms across her chest and winced as her elbow dug into her rib.
I drummed my fingers against my leg and waited, contemplating my next question. “Why was it important to protect Afsana? Why did you not call on Connors and let him remove Veronika from the showers? Have you thought about why it had to be you to save Afsana when it didn’t need to be?”
Alana mumbled under her breath so I couldn’t hear, so I asked her to clarify. She exploded, her voice ringing in my ears as she snarled.
“If I let that psycho beat up Afsana, the mouse, then it confirms that I am the monster they tell me I am. If I stood by and let Veronika torture that poor girl, it makes me think that I might have actually killed my sister in cold blood. Maybe, in my mind, getting my ass kicked means that I’m not evil.”
“So by helping Afsana you feel you might be able to redeem yourself… even if you killed your family?”
Alana’s shoulders shrugged, and she slumped down in her seat. She appeared pitiful, defeated, hopeless, and my heart banged like a drum against my chest. I wanted to wrap her up in cotton wool and protect her, but with the grains of sand dropping in the hourglass, we didn’t have time for subtle. When she remained quiet, I pressed on. Anger was good, but I needed her to feel it, really feel it.
“Did you practice the technique I asked you to during our last session? Did it bring anything to the light, anything at all?”
“I did as you asked and cleared my mind and all that, but it turned out to be useless. I dreamed of a memory I already had, me and my sister in our garden, the night before I headed off to the centre. It was a time before I lost my memories. She asked me not to forget her. That’s all.”
Instinctively, I reached over and took her hand in mine, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to her touch. “But it has worked, can you not see that? Your sister and your memories of her are what will set your mind free, Alana. I know it’s hard. Time is not on our side, but try with me now, please. I promise you are safe here.”
Alana pulled her hand from mine, and I missed the warmth immediately. She swept her hair away from her face, and I got a view of those brown eyes again. As she inhaled and then lifted her head, those deep, thoughtful chocolate eyes stared at me as she spoke.
“Okay, let’s give it a go… I have nothing left to lose.” God, if she only knew.
“Right. So what I need you to do is sit as comfortable as you can and close your eyes.” She wiggled around in her seat before closing her eyes, waiting. “Now, Alana, I want you to count backwards from ten until you reach one. When you get there, I want you to picture your house as you remember it. Are you okay with that?”
No answer. Alana simply started counting down from ten and stopped at one, her eyes clenched closed. “I see it,” she said in a bland voice, trying to avoid the emotion that occurred while dredging up her past.
“Can you describe the room you’re in for me, please?”
“It’s the front room. There is this hideous olive
carpet on the floor, and the walls are painted sunshine yellow. Along the fireplace are family pictures, even more hang on the walls. My dad’s armchair sits beside the fireplace with a coffee table in front of it, and a couch runs along the wall barely inside the door.”
I leaned forward, clasping my hands in my lap. “That’s very good, Alana. You’re doing great. Now can you put your parents in the room for me, please, and tell me what you see.”
She swallowed before speaking, but this could be it—the breakthrough we were waiting for.
“My dad sits in his chair, piles of hard copy files all over the coffee table. He has his work frown on, scowling at the paperwork. Mom is on the couch, her legs crossed like a proper lady, her feet hooked, one behind the other. She has one of Sophia’s school dresses in her lap and her sewing kit next to her.”
Alana’s voice trembled, but we still had a way to go. “Now, Alana, it may be hard, but I need to see Sophia in the room. Can you tell me where she is?”
“Soph… Sophia is sitting on the floor reading one of Mom’s old books, ones she thought we would like to read from a proper paperback instead of on our computers. I think it’s her favourite, Alice in Wonderland. Her hair is pulled back into a French plait, and her mouth moves as she reads the words in the book.”
Now for the hardest part. “Brilliant, Alana. You are doing so well. Next, I just need you to think back and try and picture that room as it would have been that night. Don’t visualize it as others have told you it was. Try very hard to think about it as you imagine or believe it to be. I know it’s difficult, but all I ask is that you try. Can you do that?”
She must have tried because her eyes darted from side to side behind her lids. I also watched as her breathing became laboured, and she bit her bottom lip so hard it bled. “Alana, please describe what you see.”
“Blood, so much blood, it’s everywhere… I never knew a person could bleed so much… Oh god, I can’t… Sophia… oh god, I’m going be sick.”
Her eyes sprang open and she bolted, faster than her sore limbs would have normally allowed… into the bathroom where she wretched into the toilet. I thought about leaving her to her privacy, but a voice inside my head said screw that, and I softly rubbed her back as she vomited. When she had emptied her stomach, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and I returned to my seat. She collected herself, wiping away a few tears and sat back down.
“Can you tell me what you saw?”
“I don’t know if I can without being sick again.” Honest words.
“Whatever you can say will help.”
“I was standing in the doorway looking in at my parents’ dead bodies. My dad had a bullet hole between his eyes, and something oozed from it. Mom’s blouse was soaked through with blood, spilling out onto that horrible olive carpet. I braved a step into the room, and that’s when I saw her… Sophia. Her empty eyes just stared up at me. Her hair was matted with blood and… did I do that? Daniel, please tell me I didn’t do that.”
It was my turn to ignore her question because I didn’t have an answer for her. My silence must have confirmed whatever ran through her head as she rose to her feet and spoke in a hushed tone. “Can I go back to my cell, please? I don’t feel very well.”
Looking at my watch, I said, “We still have time left, Alana. Do you not want to talk about it more thoroughly?”
She inched closer to the door. “I want to go now, please.”
I sighed internally but went to my desk and lifted the telephone to ask Connors to escort Alana back to her cell because she was unwell. Replacing the receiver, I waited about five minutes, watching as relief sagged her shoulders at the sound of Connors’ boots down the corridor.
When the door slid open, Alana stepped out with some trepidation, and I bristled at the sound of my name on her lips. “Daniel?”
“Yes, Alana?”
“If that was a memory, and I did remember it, then where was my dad’s gun?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t get your meaning.”
“If I did all that. Where was my dad’s gun? I didn’t see it in my hand or anywhere in the room when I pictured it. If I killed them, would I not remember the gun?”
She left me to mull that detail over as the door closed. It had always been a sore point for the investigation. How could a left-handed girl use her father’s right-handed gun? And why… if she had remembered that night correctly, did she omit a gun from the memory?
Hope rushed through me. Finally, we were getting somewhere. I allowed myself the time to rejoice before my next patient arrived. Sitting behind the desk, I opened up my notebook and jotted down a few questions from today’s session. Why had Alana escaped from being shot? The logical reason being that she had committed the crime and was guilty. The gun also played in my thoughts as did Alana’s reaction to the blood. She had been physically sick at the recollection of it… how could she have had the stomach to gun them down in cold blood? Even if she had shot one family member, would her weakness for the sight of blood have allowed her to continue and kill the others?
The door slid open and my next patient strode into the room, escorted by Connors.
“How was she?”
“Quiet, Danny-boy. She seemed as though she were on auto-pilot. Went straight to her cell without a single word.”
“We might be making progress,” I said.
“Hopefully, Danny-boy. Hopefully. We have all worked far too hard for there to be any fuckups now,” Connors retorted before he left the room.
I turned my attention to the boy sitting in front of me and couldn’t help but laugh as he put his feet up on my desk and waited.
“If I told you to get your feet down, I suppose you would just ignore me, right?”
“Sure… but you have to be nice to me because I’m helping you.”
“And you get nothing from our arrangement?”
Grinning even wider, he snorted. “Of course, I am. It’s why our friendship works, Daniel. We both get something out of this.”
Yes, we did. I was quickly amassing a network of people to help me with my plan, and this boy was only a minor piece on the chess board. I rested my chin in my hands and simply said, “I think it’s time for phase two. You know what you have to do?”
The boy nodded. “Yup. Once you don’t forget our deal, everything will run smoothly.”
Soon after that, he left me alone in my office again. Phase two would now be set in motion, hopefully leading to an acceptable outcome. My hands were clammy, and I stared anxiously at the telephone. Time to pick it up and proceed.
I focused on Alana and how brave she’d been as she fought to remember things that were surely more horrific than not suppressing the memories. Drawing on her strength, I picked up the receiver and dialled a number that replayed over and over in my head for the longest time.
The call connected, and I waited as the dial tone sounded in my ear. It rang five or six times before a familiar gruff voice answered. For a second, I couldn’t speak, but when the voice repeated his greeting, I finally answered.
“Hi, Dad. It’s me, Daniel. I need your help.”
8
Alana
“So I’ll stare into the darkness just to see how deep it goes.”
(Young Guns: DOA)
Last night I dreamt of nothing but blood. It wasn’t the same as what I had pictured during my session with Daniel, but it seemed everywhere I turned the world was haemorrhaging blood. I had been walking down to breakfast with the hallways eerily quiet, and there were no guards around. Stepping out into the hallways, I stopped abruptly. My hands were firmly on the railings as I looked down into the mess hall, full to the brim with prisoners. All at once, hundreds of inmates turned and focused up at me. Blood seeped from their eyes, noses, ears, and mouths. Every colour of jumper was drenched in crimson, and while the blood dripped into their porridge from their orifices, I felt a strong urge to vomit. They continued shovelling the blood-covered cereal into their bleeding
mouths. My nose itched, and when I wiped it with my hand, my fingers were soaked with blood.
The beige walls bled, red dripped down in long streams until it pooled on the floor causing puddles of blood that I had to step over on my way. The puddles spread across most areas of the floor. If I kept walking, I soon would have to wade through an ocean of blood.
Then, without knowing how it happened, I was back in the room and my hands were covered in blood. I could not escape it as it trickled down from my nose. I cried uncontrollably and tears of blood spilled from my eyes, blurring my vision. When I heard a voice call my name, Daniel ran towards me. His eyes were full of fear, and a loud bang echoed through the wing. Daniel keeled over, his knees hitting the hard ground as a gaping hole appeared in his chest, blood gushing down his shirt. He tried to say something… his mouth was moving… but I could hear no sound. Staring back at my hands, I saw my dad’s gun. It was pointed directly at Daniel. I raised the weapon and placed the barrel calmly at the side of my head. In slow motion, I pulled the trigger, screamed, and woke up. The piercing scream continued even after I was fully awake, only muffled when I clasped a hand over my mouth.
My nose tickled, and sure enough, as I pulled my hand away from my mouth, little drops of blood stained my pale fingers. Carefully, I swung my legs out of bed, trying not to aggravate the broken and bruised ribs, and I hobbled into the bathroom. Filling the sink with cold water, I proceeded to splash it on my face in the hopes of waking from the nightmare. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, it was a scary reminder that the last few months had been less than kind to me.
My skin was pale, surely due to the lack of sunlight available to me since I had not seen the outside in a long time. Eyes that I once believed were pretty were sunken into my skull; large bags drooped beneath my eyes, making me appear even more pathetic. How could I have ever thought that Daniel or even Connors found me attractive? Yeah, sure. Skeletal features are all the rage among the prison community these days. I shook my head at the reflection in the glass before throwing another handful of ice cold water on my face and pulling my hair back into a ponytail.
