freeze. I recognise that voice.
“Is someone there?”
I don’t make a single sound.
“Do you want to play?”
Chapter Thirteen
I run my hand around the walls, searching for the vent. It has to be here somewhere.
“Come play my game,” the voice muffles through the door. It’s deep and slow. I imagine the wide smile, black marble eyes and spidery fingers.
Gethen .
Of course it is. I should have gue ssed. He works across from palliative care. He’s worked here for an age, so he’s had time to build up trust… he’s a doctor.
“ Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, which crazy bitch are you?”
I edge around the room. There has to be a way out. There has to be. I bend down to my knees and softly let my palm trail along the bottom of the wall, my fingers desperately searching in the darkness. Damp padding has peeled away, leaving exposed brick and crumbling plaster.
Closer and closer come those dreaded footsteps.
My fingers graze metal. My heart leaps into my mouth. Now all I need to do is prise it away from the wall without making a sound.
“Here piggy, piggy, piggy. Here loony, loony, loony. I will find you.”
I pull at the grid with my finger nails. It’s stuck.
“I can do whatever I want, as well. No matter what you say, you’ll be crazy.”
The grid comes away from the wall and almost slips through my fingers. I have to calm myself and catch it before it clatters to the floor. I lay it down noiselessly and slip into the air vent. Gethen’s footsteps move ever closer, echoing in the emptiness. He must have been through almost every door on the ward. Now he’s come to the final room—the old white room. I replace the air vent. It’s cramped, more cramped than the crawl space, and I have no choice but to wiggle forwards on my chest. I don’t dare breathe. I push myself forwards with my toes against the smooth metal of the vent. I can’t make a single sound.
There’s a scraping. I want to scream.
He’s in the white room. If he sees the air vent, I’m done for. I freeze, not sure whether to hurry forwards or stay still, in case I make a sound.
I inch forward.
His footsteps travel around the room.
“There’s no point running,” comes his deep voice. “I will find you. Mark my words.”
The door scrapes.
His voice comes again, more muffled this time. “I wonder who isn’t in their bed right now. Maybe a tour of the ward is in order. Then I’ll know who you are.”
The footsteps recede. The door scrapes. I collapse onto my chest, the breathe exhaling from my lungs. I have to get back to my room or Gethen will know it was me. But how am I going to do that when I can’t go back through the ward? That’s what he wants me to do. He’s trying to flush me out. I have no choice. I go forwards.
Using fingers and toes I slither through the air vents like a lizard. Occasionally , I see the grid of a vent and am able to spy down to Magdelena. I see straight into the white room. Mo lies on a padded bed, his eyes closed. I long to talk to him, to get his help, but what can he do? If Gethen finds me in the white room with Mo, he’ll know it was me. I continue.
Another vent is directly above the boys’ bathroom. It’s empty and dark. Moonlight glints off the taps. If I can angle myself right I could drop down onto a toilet. First I have to work out the screws. My fingers shake and I have to turn the torch back on. It takes ages for my stupid, fumbling hands to work, long enough for Gethen to get back down to Magdelena. Maybe he’s still up there, trying to catch me on the way down. I picture him, sat on the sofa, drinking our vodka, tapping his spidery fingers against the fabric.
The vent comes loose. The screws slip from my fingers and tinkle down onto the toilet seat below. I catch my breath, waiting to see if he comes running into the bathroom. What if he’s outside the door, listening in? What if he is stalking the corridors right now?
I can’t think like that. All I can do it get to
“Is someone there?”
I don’t make a single sound.
“Do you want to play?”
Chapter Thirteen
I run my hand around the walls, searching for the vent. It has to be here somewhere.
“Come play my game,” the voice muffles through the door. It’s deep and slow. I imagine the wide smile, black marble eyes and spidery fingers.
Gethen .
Of course it is. I should have gue ssed. He works across from palliative care. He’s worked here for an age, so he’s had time to build up trust… he’s a doctor.
“ Eeny, meeny, miney, mo, which crazy bitch are you?”
I edge around the room. There has to be a way out. There has to be. I bend down to my knees and softly let my palm trail along the bottom of the wall, my fingers desperately searching in the darkness. Damp padding has peeled away, leaving exposed brick and crumbling plaster.
Closer and closer come those dreaded footsteps.
My fingers graze metal. My heart leaps into my mouth. Now all I need to do is prise it away from the wall without making a sound.
“Here piggy, piggy, piggy. Here loony, loony, loony. I will find you.”
I pull at the grid with my finger nails. It’s stuck.
“I can do whatever I want, as well. No matter what you say, you’ll be crazy.”
The grid comes away from the wall and almost slips through my fingers. I have to calm myself and catch it before it clatters to the floor. I lay it down noiselessly and slip into the air vent. Gethen’s footsteps move ever closer, echoing in the emptiness. He must have been through almost every door on the ward. Now he’s come to the final room—the old white room. I replace the air vent. It’s cramped, more cramped than the crawl space, and I have no choice but to wiggle forwards on my chest. I don’t dare breathe. I push myself forwards with my toes against the smooth metal of the vent. I can’t make a single sound.
There’s a scraping. I want to scream.
He’s in the white room. If he sees the air vent, I’m done for. I freeze, not sure whether to hurry forwards or stay still, in case I make a sound.
I inch forward.
His footsteps travel around the room.
“There’s no point running,” comes his deep voice. “I will find you. Mark my words.”
The door scrapes.
His voice comes again, more muffled this time. “I wonder who isn’t in their bed right now. Maybe a tour of the ward is in order. Then I’ll know who you are.”
The footsteps recede. The door scrapes. I collapse onto my chest, the breathe exhaling from my lungs. I have to get back to my room or Gethen will know it was me. But how am I going to do that when I can’t go back through the ward? That’s what he wants me to do. He’s trying to flush me out. I have no choice. I go forwards.
Using fingers and toes I slither through the air vents like a lizard. Occasionally , I see the grid of a vent and am able to spy down to Magdelena. I see straight into the white room. Mo lies on a padded bed, his eyes closed. I long to talk to him, to get his help, but what can he do? If Gethen finds me in the white room with Mo, he’ll know it was me. I continue.
Another vent is directly above the boys’ bathroom. It’s empty and dark. Moonlight glints off the taps. If I can angle myself right I could drop down onto a toilet. First I have to work out the screws. My fingers shake and I have to turn the torch back on. It takes ages for my stupid, fumbling hands to work, long enough for Gethen to get back down to Magdelena. Maybe he’s still up there, trying to catch me on the way down. I picture him, sat on the sofa, drinking our vodka, tapping his spidery fingers against the fabric.
The vent comes loose. The screws slip from my fingers and tinkle down onto the toilet seat below. I catch my breath, waiting to see if he comes running into the bathroom. What if he’s outside the door, listening in? What if he is stalking the corridors right now?
I can’t think like that. All I can do it get to
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