Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
CARA
A fter the long morning of crafts and an interesting lunch, I find myself back in my room and freshly showered following the food fight that had the patients relegated into lock down and half the staff sent to their rooms to clean up.
Towel drying my hair, I cross the room in my robe and tap the butterfly glass trinket hanging in my window that’s made up of various shades of green and amber—it seems I certainly could fuck up a simple colour by numbers suitable for a five-year-old, but I like this better; the comfort of the melding colours swells inside me as I imagine the man I haven’t been able to push from my mind—two eyes: one green, one amber.
Watching how the low-slung sun beams through between the bars, I smile at the wash of colours now painting my walls.
Maybe I could hang this over my bedside lamp when it’s dark out, falling asleep with these colours splayed across my ceiling.
A boisterous knocking at my door shakes the mirror that hangs on the far wall, and I hurry to the door, tying the belt of my robe closed as I patter on bare feet across the room.
My gut lurches as my hand hovers on the door handle.
“Hello?” I call with my mouth almost pressed up to the beaten wood.
No one answers, so I open the door enough to peek out into the hallway.
A heavy boot suited for a marine or, in this case, more likely a Unabomber, slides in to stop me from closing the door, and I take an unconscious step back, as though the distance might protect me should I need it.
My gut somersaulting—if it had a voice, it would be yelling “stupid bitch” at me full pelt.
Because opening the door wasn’t the finest decision I’ve ever made.
“Cara, as always, a pleasure.” The word pleasure from his lips has a zap of unease skirting up my spine.
There is something unnatural about Simon’s smile; too forced, too wide, like a predator trying to coerce its prey into a trap.
Of all the people I’ve met here, he has me most on edge; I’d happily take the willy wavers while wearing a blindfold over this guy.
The silence around him as he waits for me to speak is too loud, as though the universe is blocking out all other distractions and begging me to take note of the roiling disgust shifting in my belly.
“Simon,” I remark chipperly in greeting, my faux smile just as forced as his as I try to appeal to his ego, his sleazy gaze raking down the part of my body not hidden by the door.
“I wanted to check you were okay after the fight at lunch.”
“It was Jello, not rocks; I’m sure I’ll survive.
” My laugh is broken as he leans in. “Thank you though, for checking on me,” I say, mentally noting what in my room I could use as a weapon for protection if he doesn’t remove his foot from my doorway and pushes inside.
He may be tall and skinny, but he is still a man, and I don’t much like my odds of getting the door closed and keeping it closed if he decides he isn’t taking no for an answer.
“I’m here to help,” he titters, and a chill creeps up my spine, the unseen hand of warning brushing against my skin as my gut instincts kick in.
“I have my friend on the phone—would you mind if we pick this up later, preferably downstairs in the dinner hall?” I lie, leaving off the ‘in a place with witnesses’ because I don’t want to tempt fate and fuck with what I’m realising is an already very unstable man.
I know the patients are allowed to roam free around here, but I’ve noticed Lenora keeps this guy closer than most, and his affiliation with my new boss does nothing to settle my nerves.
My pulse quickens as I wait a beat to see if he’ll move his foot.
Another genial smile seems to satisfy him—for now.
He’shesitant as he slides his foot out of the way, grinning when he says, “Later then.”
I push the door closed and grab for the chair I keep to the side to wedge under the handle, but the tinkling of a chain attached to a key in a brand-new lock installed above me on my door grabs my attention.
I hadn’t noticed it before. The chair clatters to the ground as I twist the key and pull it out, looping the chain over my head and backing away slowly towards the bed.
The door handle twists, but doesn’t open, relief filling me as I hold onto the key around my neck like it’s my lifeline.
“I forgot to tell you, I have some forms I was meant to leave you. There’s been some changes in your shifts.” Simon’s voice is muffled through the wood, but I can still make out the brusqueness in his tone; he was expecting to barrel in here when my back was turned.
I’ve met your kind, fucker.
He always seems to eye me like I’m his next meal and not in the fun fuck-me-six-ways-from-Sunday way that Ezra does.
“Push it under the door, please.” The cordial edge to my voice is all a show; I’m shaking like a leaf and thanking all my lucky stars for whoever it was that installed the lock on my door.
The brown envelope is pushed under my door, and Simon’s retreating footsteps are music to my ears.
Falling down on the edge of my bed, I sit there, staring at the door and fiddling with the key resting against my thumping heart.
It doesn’t bear thinking about how differently that could have gone.
I know I should feel worried that someone had to gain entry to fit the lock, but for now, I’ll just appreciate that ensuring my safety was on someone’s to-do list. I think I can check Simon off that list considering he tried the handle to no avail, plus I don’t think my safety is high on his priorities.
The weight of Simon’s disgusting fascination still lingers on my skin, and the idea of a second shower of the day is welcomed.
“Room 401. Room 401,” I say into the void as I walk down yet another hallway on the lower level of Blackwood; the maze of rooms seem to have no correlation in numbers jumping from odd to even.
I woke up early to get this done, thinking it wouldn’t take me long - forty five minutes later and i’m not ashamed to admit - I think i’m lost. “169.” I balk as I round a corner and come face to face with yet another identical brown door.
I could give up, I could try and find my way back to the main staircase and wait until someone can lead the way to the laundry room so I can get a spare uniform, but the thought of that someone being Simon has me venturing on deeper down the dimly lit hallway alone.
I can’t imagine there is anything worse than him down here. I’ll take my chances.
I’d expected the papers that Simon had left me with to be a rundown of the day-to-day tasks I’d be responsible for.
The bright yellow note stapled to the front page from Lenora is why I find myself here, lost in the depths of a mental asylum with nothing but the ability to inflict papercuts as a way of protection.
A suitable backup uniform for when yours is spoiled can be found in room 401. I suggest you make this your first point of call. Failure to do so will be frowned upon.
I’ve reread the note aloud, applying the unfeeling coldness that Lenora Blackwood will forever be synonymous with to my voice.
Chuckling to myself to fill the silence that hangs heavy in the air the further away I get from civilisation.
The map included in the envelope is about as useful as pedals on a wheelchair, and no matter how many times I twist it to try and make sense of the layout, I come up short.
Each time I think I’ve gotten somewhere, I seem to hit a dead end, as though the building is fucking with me just for kicks.
The rumble of tumble dryers down a hall to my left attracts my attention, and I hurry towards it. Where there are dryers, there are clothes. It’s the only logic I have right now, so I run with it.
“Hello…” I poke my head inside room 401, the door missing both the 4 and the 1; the discolouring of the wood where the brass numbers once sat is the only proof that I’m in the right place.
The room is empty of life, an industrial dryer the only sign of movement in the cramped windowless space that has machines stacked on top of each other against every available wall.
Racks of clothes and fresh bed linen hung on a rail that circles the room above my head.
A garment bag with my name scrawled on a tag hanging from the zip saves me trying to work out where I need to look, and it takes me all of three minutes to slip into it.
I decide to save my spoiled uniform and fold it neatly to take back upstairs.
I know it’s likely the lingering memory of Ezra that has me believing I can still pick up his cedarwood and leather scent on the material, but I’m not ready to part with it.
Tucking it away into my satchel, I make sure I leave the room as I found it and step back out into the quiet hall, trying and failing to remember if I had come from the left or the right, the hallway in both directions looking too similar.
Something in me screams RIGHT, so with no other way of remembering where I came from, I go with it.
When in doubt, go with whatever internal voice yells the loudest.
Now that I’ve got the appropriate backup uniform and hopefully made a stride towards Lenora not completely hating me this week, I slow my pace, getting a good look at the bare bones of Blackwood.
I’m not on duty until this afternoon, and a little exploring won’t hurt anyone.
The floral threadbare runner beneath my feet is stained and fraying at the edges, the garish damask paper on the walls a forest green, peeling and mottled black with mould around where it meets the cracked ceiling.