1. Chapter One #3
No is such a simple word. Yet, it’s possibly the most terrifying one in all of existence, freedom or not. Not that I could say it if it wasn’t.
Nolan nudges me. “Do you think you can do that? I can help, too.”
“If nodding or shaking your head is too much right now, that's okay, Matt,” Dr. Deacon adds. He’s trying to help, but he’s just adding to the mess.
I’m trying to think, trying to decide, and he keeps talking.
“You can do 1 finger for yes and two for no.
Or you can tap something once and twice for no.
Snapping your fingers works too. Or I can get you a pen.
I want you to think about those options.
Take your time. I'm writing them down so you can point to what one you'd prefer.”
I start to pick at the tab on the folder, the little square that sticks up further than the rest of the edge.
It has Matt written on it. I wonder if it has my real name inside, or if that's all they ever found out about me. If they have my real name, my real records from before, then they know about my allergy, right? Does that mean they finally understand what happened that night? Or did they understand all along? Did Benny - wait, no, Jake, his name is Jake, or he at least says his name is Jake, he could be lying, but either way he wants to be called Jake and I don’t want to be punished so I have to remember to think of him as Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, make a J sign, then an A, then a K - the one you always mess up, don’t mess this one up - and then the E, Jake, Jake - did Jake know Mica was lying that night, then?
Did he just not care? Was my life not worth blowing his cover for?
It’s just a name. I know that. I am fully aware of how stupid this is. Who cares if they have the wrong name? What does it matter?
It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter at all. My real name being written in the file won’t fix a single thing.
I tell myself to open the file. To just look.
To just get the answers, any answers I can, and go from there.
My hands aren't moving any easier than my mind, though. All words and thoughts and actions - it’s all stilted and blurry and wrong.
I’m not even frozen, not locked up with fear or anxiety.
I’m just… wrong. Nothing is working right. I’m not working right.
What if I can never figure out how to work right again?
“Matt?” Nolan asks. “Hey, Matty - you with me?”
How am I going to answer anything like this?
I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling useless. What am I, even? What life is this? I'm half a person. I'm a ghost. They killed me that night and I'm left haunting the world.
I open my eyes, the world around me as blurry as the things inside my head. I can't tell if it's because I'm going to cry or because the world is just continuing to separate itself from me. Maybe it’s realizing I’m a ghost. Maybe it knew all along, just waiting for me to catch up.
Dr. Deacon is suddenly sitting on his stool in front of me, making him 6 or so inches shorter. Now I can easily meet his eyes while still looking down. My folder is on the floor at his feet, papers scattered. I must have dropped it.
He gave it to me and I dropped it. He doesn't look mad, though. He just smiles when our eyes meet and says, “Your hands are being assholes, huh?”
It's out of the blue enough to startle a huffed breath out of me, nearly soundless. He nods like that’s an answer. “Yeah. That happens. Fucking rude of them. How about we blink? Can you do one for yes, two for no?”
I can do that. I can blink. I show him and he grins and I hear Nolan say, “Perfect, Matt. That's perfect.”
It's so small that I want to feel stupid for feeling proud, but Dr. Deacon pushes forward with the exam before I can get the chance. “Alright. One blink for yes, two for no. Or you can always switch to any of the other options if those suddenly feel better. Deal?”
I blink once.
“Now, I have a lot of questions for you.
In this situation, I find it best to start with the most important stuff.
It's not rare for survivors to not make it through their first appointment.
A lot leave. That's okay, Matt. I want you to know that if you need to leave, it's okay.
You can always come back again. As often as you need, until we've got the full picture.”
Nolan wraps an arm around me, squeezing me to his side. It feels like answer enough. It's the only response the doctor is going to get, at least. It wasn't a question, so I've got nothing for him. I'm not sure I even believe him anyway.
“Unfortunately, the most important questions tend be the hardest questions. I'm sorry for that, okay?”
I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, bracing myself.
God, I'm already so tired. How much longer?
“Matt, have you spoken at all since the night you were nearly killed at the party?”
This one is actually easy, really. A simple fact. I blink twice for no.
“Including when you've been alone?” I waver, not sure if yes or no is the right way to answer the strangely worded question. He seems to understand, re-wording it. “Sorry - have you spoken out loud while alone?”
I blink twice.
“Can you speak?” he asks, his voice softer now.
I consider blinking, but I don’t want to look at him anymore. At either of them. I don't want them to see the hurt as I remember the times I've tried. I don't want to see whatever that makes them feel written all over their face. It's hard enough to cope with my own feelings.
I duck my head, switching to signs again. Two fingers because I’ve tried - oh god, how I’ve tried - but the answer is always the same. I can’t speak.
I can’t speak at all.
“Okay. Good. You’re doing great, Matt. Can you make any sound that isn’t created by air alone? This would be anything that uses your vocal chords. Laughing or crying. Humming. Screaming. Can you make at least one sound with your vocal chords?”
I hesitate, considering. Then one finger. Yes.
I can whimper. Grunt. Sometimes I make soft sounds when I cry. No laughing, but that's probably linked to something other than the mute thing. Who would want to laugh in this kind of world?
“He screams in his sleep, sometimes,” Nolan whispers.
I startle at that, unable to help the way my gaze snaps over to him.
Do I?
“Does he scream words?” Dr. Deacon asks. “Or is it just sounds?”
“Just sounds. Like he - it's like that night. The screams, I mean. They're-” Nolan shudders. I feel it where we're pressed together, the tremor moving through me. It feels only fair. “They’re just like the screams from that night.”
I didn't know.
I didn't know those screams haunted him too.
The guilt of it is thick and vicious, filling my throat, swelling up in my mouth, until I swear that I’ll choke.
I want to apologize to him. I want to tell him how grateful I am for his friendship.
To promise him that those screams still ring in my own ears every day too.
I am so sorry he can’t escape them. I’d give anything for us to be able to escape them.
But my tongue is thick like concrete and my hands are stuck.
How can I tell him how sorry I am if nothing is working?
I'm so sorry, I think as strongly as I can. I don’t care that he won’t be able to sense it, especially when he’s still avoiding looking at me. I have to think it anyway, helpless not to.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Lo siento tanto.
Perdóname.
A fist - the letter ‘A’ sign - in a circle against my chest.
None of it would be enough, even if I could get anything to work as it should. None of it would erase the sound of those screams. None of it will stop me from being the ghost that I am, cursed to haunt even my best of friends.
“Did you hit your head that night, Matt?” the doctor asks. I think, maybe, that I heard him ask the same thing a minute ago. He sounds a little worried now. Like I missed it and he had to repeat himself.
I don't know the answer. I don't know how to tell him that I don't know. There wasn't an option for that, in all the ways we discussed. There was only ever yes or no. Even if my hands were working or my eyes weren’t so heavy with exhaustion, there wasn’t an option.
There wasn't an option, there wasn't an option, there wasn’t a-
“He didn't. Not that I saw,” Nolan says for me. He sounds like he’s very far away, even as I feel him pressing harder against me.
His hand is on my knee. It’s squeezing, not painful, but not comfortable either.
Maybe he can tell that I’m drifting away.
Maybe he’s trying to keep me from disappearing altogether.
“Do you remember if you hit your head, Matt?” Dr. Deacon asks. A yes or no question.
No. Two fingers. They tremble.
“That's okay. That's normal. I'm going to see what we can do about getting you a scan. There was no head injury reported by Jake, but he wasn't there for the entirety of the incident.”
Incident? Just… an incident? Is that all it was to them? Just a little incident to write down before moving on?
“However, he was able to extimate that you experienced 10 to 15 minutes of extended partial deprivation, which can do lasting damage.”
“Damage?” Nolan asks. “Like brain damage?”
“In severe cases, yes. Jake did say that the complete oxygen deprivation only lasted about 45 seconds, so there is a possibility that the damage is minimal and not permanent.”