by Amy Cross
"Dangerous in what way?" Dr. Campbell asks.
"Power," I say. I swallow, but my throat is so dry it hurts. This is the first time I've really talked about what happened since... Well, it's the first time. During the investigation and trial, other people went over the story again and again, but I was always the one doing the listening. Now I'm talking, and I'm explaining things the way I've been working them out in my head. It feels liberating. "He was... He was powerful. He looked like this sweet little kid, like this normal little brother, but he wasn't. He was all mixed up in the signal in the woods. He was evil."
"How old was he?" asks a voice to my left. I turn to see that one of the other patients, a painfully thin girl with skeletal features, is looking at me. She's clearly anorexic or bulimic, and her round pink eyes stare out at me from a pale, spoonish face framed by thin, lifeless greyish hair.
"He was seven," I say.
Her eyes widen with shock. "And he was evil?" she asks.
"Evil is a subjective term," Dr. Campbell says. "I'm sure Annie had a reason to think that her little brother was evil, and there certainly are people in the world who are evil. But most experts would agree that a seven-year-old child hasn't had time to become evil yet." He clears his throat. "Annie, my approach in these sessions is to challenge certain assumptions that you might have, to make you think about things differently. I don't think describing your brother as 'evil' is going to help, so let's think of a different word."
"He was evil," I say. "You never met him. You don't understand. He was born evil."
"And what makes you say that?" Dr. Campbell says, with a hint of a smile that tells me he doesn't agree with me.
"I was told," I say.
"By who?" he asks.
"By..." I pause. It makes total sense in my head, but I'm worried that I'll sound crazy if I say it out loud. "By God," I say eventually, leaning over in my chair and looking down at the floor. "God told me." I stare at my feet. Damn it, I feel like such a fool. I know that everyone in this room must think I'm crazy, and I don't blame them. If I was listening to someone else say the stuff I'm saying, I'd think it sounded crazy. But I'm not insane. My little brother really was dangerous.
"And did God tell you to kill him?" Dr. Campbell asks.
I nod, not wanting to look up. There are tears in my eyes. How can it be that everything makes so much sense in my head, but it all falls apart when I start speaking? In my head, none of this sounds stupid, but as soon as I open my mouth, it turns into some kind of garbled fantasy. This is why I'm never able to persuade people to understand me, and it's why they all look at those photos of my brother's dead body and assume that I must be some kind of monster.
"Did God tell you to kill him?" Dr. Campbell asks again.
I nod again. I'm finding it hard not to think about the sight of my brother on the forest floor, blood pouring from his head. I remember there was so much blood, a leaf floated on top like a little boat.
"I want you to say it," Dr. Campbell says. "I want to hear you say the words."
I open my mouth, but my lower lip won't stop quivering and there are tears streaming down my face. I can't speak, because if I do, they'll all hear that I'm sobbing. Then again, they probably all know that anyway, because tears are now dripping from my cheeks onto the floor. I'm kind of curling up into a ball while I sit on the chair, putting my face down against my knees. I know they're all looking at me, but I can't look back at them. Suddenly, I realize I've started holding my breath. I have no idea why I'm doing it, but it's like I don't want to breathe.
"Okay, Annie," says Dr. Campbell. "We'll move on for today. Is there anything else you'd like to say before I invite someone else to speak?"
I'm getting really short of breath now. I start rocking backwards and forwards on the chair, trying to find a way to breathe without needing air, maybe through my ears, but finally I can't hold it any longer and I let out a loud gasp. Seconds later, I feel thick, heavy arms wrap around me and lift me from the chair. The guard has come over to remove me, and although I try to stand up properly, the guard just drags me away, my legs banging into my empty chair and knocking it over. I struggle to get free, for no reason other than I have this instinctive need to not be manhandled, but his hold on me is too strong. Finally, managing to twist around a little, I bite down hard on his arm, sinking my teeth so deep that I strike bone. He doesn't even flinch; he just drags me out through the door. Whether intentionally or by accident, he slams my head against the door jamb on the way. There's nothing I can do except gasp for air and hope that the others don't judge me. Why can't God make them understand?
Chapter Eight
The guard locks me in a small side-room, the walls of which are covered in a kind of padded material. I guess the idea is that I can't hurt myself in here, which is just as well because all I can think about is that I want the pain to be over. I walk around and around in the room, trying to stop myself crying and hoping I can think of a way to put all my thoughts back in order. Before I went into that session, I understood myself perfectly, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I was wrong all along? Maybe God never told me that my brother was evil, or that I should kill him?
No. That's crazy. I know what really happened. I know what God told me, and I know that I'm just being tested. God has a plan for me, and sooner or later he'll reveal everything. I just have to stay strong and make sure that my faith doesn't falter. They'll all understand one day.
"Dear Lord," I whisper, "grant me the strength to -"
Suddenly I feel someone standing behind me. I spin around and find there's a man standing there, but there's something wrong with him: he looks like he's been horribly burned all over, his skin charred black with patches of moist red meat oozing yellow pus. The hair on his head has been burned away, leaving just a few strands, and there's a thin cloud of smoke rising from his entire body. On top of that, there's a strong smell of burned flesh. Even his eyes, which are staring straight at me, are burned yellow and black, and when he blinks I can hear his burned skin make a kind of crinkling sound.
I instinctively turn and run to the door, but of course it's locked. I turn back, but the burned man is gone. I look all around the room, but there's no sign of him.
I sit down on the ground, curling up into a ball. It must be the drugs. Nurse Perry mentioned a burned man, and so did Mark, and the drugs must have made me unusually open to suggestion. There was never anyone in the room, it was all in my head and I just have to make sure that I don't allow myself to believe that these hallucinations are real. I close my eyes tight and tell myself over and over again: God will protect me. Nothing bad can happen to me.
A few minutes later, the door opens and Dr. Campbell comes in, followed by the guard. "How are you feeling, Annie?" Dr. Campbell asks, a faint smile on his lips.
"Good," I say, getting to my feet, but I'm pretty sure he can see it's a lie. I'm still upset and confused, I'm still crying, and I feel like I might vomit at any moment. But I'm not going to tell them that I saw the burned man. If they think I'm crazy, they'll give me stronger drugs. I'm going to keep it all in.
"Good," he says. "I'm glad you're feeling good." He sighs. "Believe it or not, you reacted more or less how I expected you'd react. You've been through a lot, and it's natural that you face problems when you're confronted with the truth. You've been living in a bubble of fantasies and delusions, and we're slowly pulling you out into the real world." He pauses. "It's part of the process."
"Okay," I say. I don't want to fight. I don't want to cause any more trouble. I just want to go back to my room and go to bed. I want to think, and to sleep, and to get away from everything for a while.
"You know," he says, "I've been talking to Nurse Winter about you. A lot. She's quite interested in you. She thinks your case is very interesting. We all do, actually. We read about you in the newspapers long before we knew you'd be coming to join us here. You're quite a famous young lady." He pauses. "I'm sorry," he says finally, "I shouldn't be tal
king about that."
"You want an autograph too?" I ask.
"You need to take this situation more seriously," he says humorlessly.
I smile. What else is there to do? He's right. My story was all over the media. There were people calling for me to be executed, even though we don't have the death penalty in this state. Angry opinion-formers called for an exception to be made so that Evil Annie Radford, the girl who shot her little brother dead in cold blood, could be dispatched from this world by lethal injection or electric chair. One columnist even suggested that it would be poetic justice to execute me by firing squad. I guess I can see their point, in some ways. They don't know the truth about what happened, so it's natural that they think I'm a monster.
"I think you're probably okay to get back to the ward," Dr. Campbell says eventually, as he finishes adding something to my chart. "We'll just give you a little shot to calm you down." He pulls a syringe from his pocket, removes the cap and fills it from a small vial. The syringe is long and large, and the liquid looks thick and milky; whatever it is, I hate the idea of it being in my body.
"No thanks," I say.
"It's for your own good," Dr. Campbell says, "and it's not optional."
"Is it Duodraxadine again?" I ask.
"No," he replies, stepping towards me. "It's just a mild sedative. It'll take the edge off things for you."
I want to fight him, to stop him, but the guard is also coming over and I know he'd just hold me down. Sighing, I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm.
"Good decision," Dr. Campbell says, "but I can't put this in your arm. Turn around and bend over."
I stare at him. "Seriously?" I ask.
He nods.
I turn around and bend over. This is ridiculous, but I'm determined not to cause trouble. I just have to believe that God is testing me, and that there's a reason for all of this. I feel Dr. Campbell lift up the back of my gown, and then he places a cold hand on my ass and gently parts my buttocks. There's a pause. What are they waiting for? There's silence for a moment, and then I swear I hear the guard let out a small chuckle.
Moments later a large needle slides into my flesh. The pain is sharp and intense, and I swear I can feel the liquid entering my body. The sensation seems to last forever, but eventually the needle slides back out.
"There," Dr. Campbell says. "You'll feel sleepy, but after that you'll be fine. It's for your own good. You don't want to spend all your time here being upset, do you?"
I stand up straight and turn back around to him. "No," I say. I hate how compliant and accommodating I must sound, but I know that there's no point wasting energy on pointless fights. I really just want to keep my head down and get through all of this.
"You'll have another group session in two days," he continues. "I want you to plan for it. A little light homework. Think about what you'll say, and how you'll say it. Choose your words carefully. Don't worry about trying not to get upset, but try to think of a way to at least not get so angry, okay?"
I nod, already feeling a little drowsy.
"I like you, Annie," he says. "I want to help you. And I will help you. Sooner or later, you're going to walk out the door of this place and go back to being a productive and happy member of society. You just need a little work first, and fortunately you've got people here who care. A lot of people go through their entire lives without any support. In some ways, you're very lucky."
I nod again. All I want to do right now is go to sleep. I take a step forward, but the room starts spinning and my bare feet seem to get stuck together. I'm unconscious before I hit the floor.
Chapter Nine
I wake up back in my room, flat on my back on the bed. Staring at the ceiling, I listen to the silence all around me, hoping against hope that God will speak to me again. He's said nothing since the moment he told me to aim the gun at my brother and pull the trigger. I thought he'd stay with me as things got harder, and that he'd remind me that he's on my side. But his silence is deafening, and no matter how hard I try to remain strong, it's so difficult to ignore the doubts that are starting to creep in at the edge of my mind. I don't know if I can keep my faith much longer. It's terrifying, but I feel like I'm starting to fall apart.
"Nurse Winter came to see you," says Kirsten, out of nowhere.
I turn and see that she's sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching me. She was being so quiet, I had no idea she was there. It's funny how, no matter what happens here, I always end up back in this room with Kirsten. It's almost as if some higher power is pushing us together.
"She did?" I ask.
Kirsten nods. "She's heard a lot about you from all the others. She wanted to see how you're doing."
I pause. I still haven't had the 'pleasure' of being introduced to the notorious Nurse Winter, but it sounds like I'm on her radar now so I guess I'll get my chance sooner rather than later. "That's nice," I say eventually.
Kirsten bursts out laughing. "Nice?" she says. "Nice? Fuck it, you've got a lot to learn." She pauses. "So I heard you wigged out in Dr. Campbell's session today" she continues.
"It was emotional," I say.
"I heard you bit Eddie."
"Eddie?"
"The butt-headed guard who dragged you out."
"Oh, yeah," I say. "Yeah, I bit his arm. I guess I shouldn't have done that."
"Don't worry about it," she replies. "He deserves it, trust me on that. So..." She pauses again, as if there's something she wants to say but she's not sure how to phrase it. "I hear you're part of the God squad."
"I believe in God," I say.
"And he talks to you," she says. "That's what people are saying. Or rather, you think he talks to you."
"He used to," I tell her. "Not any more."
"What's his voice like?" she asks. "I imagine it's deep and authoritative. Does he sound like Orson Welles? Or the Cigarette Smoking Man from The X Files? Or -"
"He just sounds like a guy," I say.
"Cool," she replies. "And he told you to kill your little brother?"
I nod.
"Why?"
"It's complicated."
"What a fucker," she says. "I mean, sorry, but if I was God, I wouldn't just go around telling people to kill their brothers and then let then look like assholes in front of the rest of the world. I thought everything God did was supposed to have some kind of moral to it. Like a little lesson at the end, you know?"
"Maybe we're not at the end yet," I say.
"Good point," she replies. "I hadn't thought of that."
I sit up, still feeling a little groggy. I have no idea what day it is, with all the days kind of merging together and being punctuated by regular periods of drug-induced sleep. It's as if the whole world has started to get smudged.
"Have you seen the burned man?" I ask.
She pauses. "Burned man?" she says eventually, seeming a little uncomfortable. It's the first time since I met her that Kirsten has actually seemed bothered by something.
"There was a guy in my group session today who said he saw a burned man. And apparently that's what I saw the other night, on my third night here. Have you seen him?"
Kirsten stares at me, and I can immediately see that she knows something. "Nurse Winter doesn't like us talking about it," she says stiffly. "So let's not, okay?"
"Why not?" I ask. "Who is this Nurse Winter, anyway? Why's everyone so scared of her? This is a hospital. She's not allowed to actually do anything bad, is she?" I wait for her to answer. "Is she?"
"You're new here," she says, sounding a little unsure of herself. She looks over at the door, apparently to make sure that no-one's listening to our conversation.
"So tell me about this place," I say. "This burned man. What is he? A ghost? I don't believe in ghosts, but what do you think he is? Is he just, like, a group hallucination?"
"I have a session soon," Kirsten says, getting up from her bed. "I should go and get ready."
I stand up and grab her arm to stop her from going to the
door. "Why won't you talk to me?"
"You don't need me," she replies, a hint of scorn in her voice. "You can just talk to God, can't you?"
"That's not fair," I reply.
"Isn't it?" She stares at me with an intense look in her eyes. "I'll tell you something, Annie. The world is shit. The world is full of crap and garbage, and that's how people like us end up in here. So when you talk about God, as if there's some big space fairy floating around making sure everything's alright, it really fucking offends me, okay? Because you're basically saying that there's some moral supervisor who looks after people who are good, except he's left people like us behind. And what does that make us? Sinners? I'm no sinner!"
"Then why are you here?" I ask.
She sighs.
"You know why I'm here," I say. "I shot my brother dead. Point blank, cold blood, in the head. I did it on purpose. But why are you here?"
She smiles. "Come to my group session some time and you might find out." She turns and opens the door, which seems to have been left unlocked. I sigh, feeling like I'm going round and round in circles in this place, when suddenly I hear a terrifying scream from somewhere nearby. It sounds like someone's dying.
Chapter Ten
Running out into the corridor, I hear another scream. It's the same person, louder and more pained. I run toward the door to the recreation room, where I find that Mark - the guy from the group session earlier - has been cornered by three guards. He's got a large steak knife in his hand, and he thrusts it towards the guards every time they try to get close to him.
