interesting subject.’
I jump. Amy: somehow she must have opened the door, crossed the room and looked over my shoulder, all without me hearing a sound.
I snap my sketch pad shut, and shrug. Calmer, now that the drawing is finished: the bricks cover every space on the page. Somehow, this is very important.
Why?
I almost forget about the wall during dinner. The surprise announcement from Mum that she and Dad have decided, Slated or not, Amy is old enough to see Jazz if she wants. Washing up, which I am starting to hate now the novelty has worn off. Homework – real homework, this time.
But before I go to sleep I pull out the drawing, checking there are no gaps in the wall, no imperfections that can be got through. By what, I do not know. I shade in around the edges and finally put it down, close my eyes. Seeking blankness, nothingness, sleep.
But all I see are bricks being slapped in place, one after another.
Bricks…cement…
Wall.
Pain fills my legs, my chest. There is no going on, not for me. I collapse on the sand.
It doesn’t matter how he shouts or threatens or pleads, nothing he can do to me will matter soon.
It’s getting closer.
He kneels and holds me and looks in my eyes. ‘Never forget who you are. It’s time. Quick, now! Put up the wall.’
Closer.
So I build it, brick by brick; row by row. A high tower all around.
‘Never forget who you are,’ he shouts, and shakes me, hard, as I put the last brick – clink – into place. It cuts out all light.
All there is now, is blackness, and sound.
Horrible screams split my skull. Terror and pain, like an animal backed in a corner. Facing death.
Or something worse.
It is a while before I realise.
It is me.
Then, it is as if I step through a kaleidoscope; everything shifts and changes. Grasses tickle my bare feet. Children’s voices sound through trees, but I lay down, hidden in the long grass, and watch clouds drift across the sky. I don’t want to play today.
Gradually the clouds and the grass drift away. I open my eyes, dreaming over for tonight. I won’t shut them again.
It worked, once again – going to my Happy Place in the middle of a nightmare.
But this time, I hadn’t wanted to leave it, no matter how horrible. I was sure I was about to find out something, something important. As if seeing bricks cemented into place today, one after another to form a wall, somehow triggered something deep inside. Some recognition, a trail that if followed may help me finally understand who or what I am, what is wrong with me.
What was chasing? Who was the man? Never forget who you are , he said.
But I have.
Most of all: why – and how – was I building a wall?
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
----
It feels strange to be heading back to the hospital, the first time since I left. That day I was so scared to leave its walls and venture into the wider world: it feels eons ago, a whole other lifetime, yet is more like days.
But we might not make it in time for my 11 am appointment with Dr Lysander. In fact, we might not make it at all. Amy has the map out looking for alternatives, and Mum is cursing under her breath and flicking between radio stations for traffic reports.
‘Twenty minutes it has taken us to go the last mile. We might as well turn around,’ Mum says.
‘What if we get off at the next exit?’ Amy suggests. She’d been so keen to come today, she’d somehow convinced Mum that if she did she might be able to meet Dr Lysander. She didn’t want to lose her chance now.
Mum turns off the radio. ‘No reports.’ She frowns. ‘I don’t like this. Something is going on. Amy, find my phone, and call Dad.’
Amy finds it in Mum’s bag, and pushes buttons on it as I watch, surprised. Mobile telephones are forbidden to anyone under the age of twenty-one. Maybe it is all right because Mum is next to her and told her to do it?
‘There’s no answer. Should I leave a message?’
‘Yes. Tell him where we’re stuck, and ask him to call.’
We crawl along, up a
I jump. Amy: somehow she must have opened the door, crossed the room and looked over my shoulder, all without me hearing a sound.
I snap my sketch pad shut, and shrug. Calmer, now that the drawing is finished: the bricks cover every space on the page. Somehow, this is very important.
Why?
I almost forget about the wall during dinner. The surprise announcement from Mum that she and Dad have decided, Slated or not, Amy is old enough to see Jazz if she wants. Washing up, which I am starting to hate now the novelty has worn off. Homework – real homework, this time.
But before I go to sleep I pull out the drawing, checking there are no gaps in the wall, no imperfections that can be got through. By what, I do not know. I shade in around the edges and finally put it down, close my eyes. Seeking blankness, nothingness, sleep.
But all I see are bricks being slapped in place, one after another.
Bricks…cement…
Wall.
Pain fills my legs, my chest. There is no going on, not for me. I collapse on the sand.
It doesn’t matter how he shouts or threatens or pleads, nothing he can do to me will matter soon.
It’s getting closer.
He kneels and holds me and looks in my eyes. ‘Never forget who you are. It’s time. Quick, now! Put up the wall.’
Closer.
So I build it, brick by brick; row by row. A high tower all around.
‘Never forget who you are,’ he shouts, and shakes me, hard, as I put the last brick – clink – into place. It cuts out all light.
All there is now, is blackness, and sound.
Horrible screams split my skull. Terror and pain, like an animal backed in a corner. Facing death.
Or something worse.
It is a while before I realise.
It is me.
Then, it is as if I step through a kaleidoscope; everything shifts and changes. Grasses tickle my bare feet. Children’s voices sound through trees, but I lay down, hidden in the long grass, and watch clouds drift across the sky. I don’t want to play today.
Gradually the clouds and the grass drift away. I open my eyes, dreaming over for tonight. I won’t shut them again.
It worked, once again – going to my Happy Place in the middle of a nightmare.
But this time, I hadn’t wanted to leave it, no matter how horrible. I was sure I was about to find out something, something important. As if seeing bricks cemented into place today, one after another to form a wall, somehow triggered something deep inside. Some recognition, a trail that if followed may help me finally understand who or what I am, what is wrong with me.
What was chasing? Who was the man? Never forget who you are , he said.
But I have.
Most of all: why – and how – was I building a wall?
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
----
It feels strange to be heading back to the hospital, the first time since I left. That day I was so scared to leave its walls and venture into the wider world: it feels eons ago, a whole other lifetime, yet is more like days.
But we might not make it in time for my 11 am appointment with Dr Lysander. In fact, we might not make it at all. Amy has the map out looking for alternatives, and Mum is cursing under her breath and flicking between radio stations for traffic reports.
‘Twenty minutes it has taken us to go the last mile. We might as well turn around,’ Mum says.
‘What if we get off at the next exit?’ Amy suggests. She’d been so keen to come today, she’d somehow convinced Mum that if she did she might be able to meet Dr Lysander. She didn’t want to lose her chance now.
Mum turns off the radio. ‘No reports.’ She frowns. ‘I don’t like this. Something is going on. Amy, find my phone, and call Dad.’
Amy finds it in Mum’s bag, and pushes buttons on it as I watch, surprised. Mobile telephones are forbidden to anyone under the age of twenty-one. Maybe it is all right because Mum is next to her and told her to do it?
‘There’s no answer. Should I leave a message?’
‘Yes. Tell him where we’re stuck, and ask him to call.’
We crawl along, up a
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