Sceptic Page 14

  ‘But why would she do that?’ I persist. I’m no longer trying to be a shit at him. I genuinely want to know.

  ‘Shame.’

  It’s a powerful word. I go to speak, but Bertie lifts a finger and somehow the images that I’m going to send to him stop.

  ‘I shamed her. And my parents for what I did. And God. And I’ll burn in hell for what I tried to do. But God helped me and forgave me, it’s not like I could take the pressure anymore. All those figures to add, the work to do, day in day out, always pushing me down. Never been good as my father. But it was more than that. I can’t explain. There was no hope for me no matter what way I looked. I couldn’t take it. I’m not strong. I’m pathetic. Good thing my parents weren’t around to have to deal with it. But Chloe had to. And in a small growing town like Adelaide, she had to walk around knowing what I’d done. I hope she made up a story that I went interstate or something. I’d rather she thought of me alive.’ He laughs. A crazy little laugh that chills me. ‘Alive and not dead.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ There’s so much for me to say at once. All the images are pushing forward like horses out of the gate in a race, and they are competing to be heard. ‘You are strong. You’re smart, and you are helping me so much.’

  ‘But you can’t go through the wall yet? I’m not helping you at all.’

  His sadness transfers to me not only through the chain that connects us but also through the air in the room.

  ‘You don’t know how much you’re helping me. I’m changing.’ I didn’t want to add that I wasn’t sure it was much help because I’m a ghost and all, but then again I think some change is better than none, right? That’s what people had been saying to me all my life.

  ‘Good. So show me by trying to go through the wall.’ His challenge is clear.

  I stand up in acceptance. I’m thinking if I can show I can go through the wall, then maybe he’ll let me take the straps off. He can still pretend to be tied up, but he can also be free. I’ve seen the raw skin on his wrists, Smithy does them up too tight. At least he’s got socks around his ankles. And he doesn’t complain at all. All part of his fucked up plan I suppose. Whatever. I’ll convince him that my way will be better for him.

  I move to the wall to the usual position by the end of his bed. I dunno why I keep going to this spot but I do. I should try and walk through the door and then walk up and down the corridor. Then I could really go exploring. But I don’t feel like exploring. I know too many of the people here already, and I feel the others through the vibrations in the air. I don’t want to get to know them. I don’t want to see them. I just want to get out of here. But then I don’t know where to go. I’m all sixes and sevens all fucking right.

  I press into the wall, pushing away the images that seep into my mind of people who have left their mark on the paint and bricks in the past. That part is getting easier. I struggle this time, but I don’t know why. Maybe my heart isn’t really into trying. Dunno. But it’s harder to get to the same point as I did last time. There are cracks in my mind. I can feel them opening. They’re letting in the images. I push them back. But then I can’t move forward.

  Just a little further, I tell myself. I want to test myself. Maybe it will give me an idea of how to help Bertie differently. I’m not interested in helping myself. He might think there’s hope for me, but I know otherwise. I know what I did to myself. So many people want to live, and I just couldn’t wait to die. But hey that’s life. We don’t always get what we want, right?

  I manage to push a little further before I can’t hold the images back. They flood my mind at the same time that the bricks spit me back out into the room.

  ‘Well?’ asks Bertie.

  ‘A little better.’ This time I’m not lying. It feels good, to be honest, with Bertie. And myself.

  I’m not sure if it’s becoming an addiction or not, but I’m trying to go through the wall without Bertie prompting me. I’m getting a little further each time. My arms are through the wall if I hold them out in front of me zombie style. I wave them around while the rest of me is held within the wall. It’s an odd feeling, but then everything about me being here is odd. So why not add another thing to the list. It’s not going to matter.

  I find the pressure point where I can’t go any further. The images are pressing down through the cracks in my mind but I can hold them away, and I don’t let them in. I want to tell Bertie about all of this, but I don’t want to freak him out. It would sound freaky.

  I’ve been called that before. Freak. I don’t like that name. I don’t like being called that. But the kids at school called me that name. No one else dressed quite like me, but it was more I know. It was the way I behaved. It was because of the stories that circulated around between the groups of friends, and they were scared of me. Scared if I walked past them some of my darkness would rub off on them. That if I touched them they would become like me. Idiots. It’s not at all like that. But I wasn’t about to go up to them and tell them they were wrong and explain it all to them. How the darkness was like a snake in my mind and how I also had a monster called Frank walking around my grey matter. Freak. They couldn’t even work out that Bree wasn’t affected by me then they wouldn’t be either. At least I know about fear. It makes you behave in odd ways. It can’t be controlled. It bubbles up inside of you like an unwatched pot of boiling water.

  I don’t blame them. Back then I wanted to be alone. Now, being here in this room with Bertie I’m learning the benefits of having someone close. He hasn’t engulfed me like how an amoeba eats. He’s shown me how to make a friend. I trust him. I like him. But I wish to be back home, in my body, with my family so I could try this connection developing process with them.

  The images push through one of the cracks in my mind. A sharp pain bolts through me. I cringe and step back from the wall.

  ‘What about trying another place in the wall?’ suggests Bertie.

  I stop myself from smiling. He’s doing it again. Telling me what to do and I’m not causing a scene and fighting back with all the strength I can muster.

  ‘Good idea.’ I move to the left of the door where there’s space for me to attempt going through the wall. I could try the door. Maybe I will later. There are only two walls where I can try, the one I’m about to which will lead me into the corridor, and the other wall along the bed with a room next door. The other walls lead to the outside, and there’s a big drop to the ground since this is level two of the building.

  A wave of daring within me builds. I could try those walls. If I fall, it’s not like I’ll end up like Humpty Dumpty.

  I’m not so sixes and sevens anymore. Not so in between, even though I’m still a ghost and not sure where I belong. But not knowing where I belong isn’t a new feeling and I can put up with it. At least for now. I reckon I’m a seven not a six. With Bertie for company, I’ll be walking through walls and meeting more people soon.

  I pause.

  Do I want that?

  Suddenly, I’m back to being somewhere between six and seven. I’d like to say I’m six and three quarters or six and five-eighths, but that would suggest I know where I am and I don’t.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Bertie’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

  ‘Slow.’ I send him an image of a turtle.

  I press into the wall, bracing myself against the images I know will come. They do. Stronger. Different. And with a force I’m not expecting. I stop, partly in the wall, entering the bricks which have held people here before against their will. Their images are telling me. I feel their anger, their frustration and their desperateness. I’ve forgotten what this feels like. It wraps around me like an old friend who I haven’t seen for years. Even though it’s only been a few days. I can’t push it away. I’m frozen, stuck in the wall, back in my old habits of being, and the images flow around me. There are new images, but they all speak of the same torment. Of the darkness pressing down on them, of the voices telling them what to do. And the despair that fills them
up and pushes them towards the edge of life. I know what that’s like all too well. I remember more than I’d like to. I don’t want to. I want to go back to how I was learning to live without this and keep changing.

  I’m pushed out of the wall, and I stumble back in the room. Changing. Is that what I’m managing to do really? I think that’s a good thing, but I’m a little confused. It’s got to be because I’m in this form. A ghost. I couldn’t do this any other way. The despair clings to me like the fog in my mind that used to be there all the time, building in intensity. I know this path. I know what happens, and for the first time I don’t want it to. I want to fight it. I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure I can. I’m so used to failing at life, why not fail at being a ghost too.

  What is the point of changing now? It’s all too late.

  ‘Try again?’ asks Bertie.

  ‘Not yet,’ I answer. I can’t shake off the despair I felt from the others which were here before me. It’s helped to connect me to the despair I’d experienced before coming here. I want to forget about that time. But I can’t. I want to forget that I tried to kill myself. About how my mum and dad are feeling, and my sister. Maybe they’re simply getting on with their lives. The twist in my stomach suggests otherwise. I feel terrible for what I’ve put them through. I’ve been pushed into a melancholy state. I remember what comes after this. How I wander in my mind, guided along by Frank and how I move closer to the dark hole within me. Even though Frank isn’t with me, and neither is the snake or the fog, the memory is. The path I used to travel inside my head is there, and I’m walking on it.

  What’s the worst that can happen to me as a ghost? I think recklessly. I’m already dead, sort of. I still remember to breathe, I can still feel pain, but I’m essentially dead. Maybe I would unravel, and be blown away like a cloud in the sky, broken up into the individual molecules that make me who I am in this form. Then I could forget about everything I’ve done. I wouldn’t need to feel guilty. Or lost. Or inadequate. Or how I’ve even failed as a ghost.

  Somehow I hold together.

  I start walking on the familiar path within me. Moving towards the edge. But I’m staying together.

  I look down the black hole. I stand on the edge. Then I do something I’ve never been able to do before.

  I walk away.

  I continue trying to walk through the walls in this room. I’m getting a little further. I’m keeping the images from seeping into the cracks in my mind. I’m changing. Whether it’s too late or not, I’ve decided this is what’s happening. Bertie’s a great motivator. There’s nothing else to do. It’s a good distraction from the noises in this building. Billy’s having another bad day. Arguing with himself and kicking the door. It sounds like he hurt himself, but no one’s rushing to help him.

  Trying to walk through the wall is better than sitting hugging my knees in the room with Bertie. I don’t know how he blocks it all out. But he says he can. Guess he’s thinking about his plan. That’s the hope he’s clinging to. I’m not allowing myself to do that. Well, I’m trying not to. And I’m trying not to think about why I’m walking through the wall. I’m not convinced I want to get out, or that I want to stay. Like I mentioned it’s a good distraction. See, I’m back at being all sixes and sevens. Fuck it. How can I walk away from the edge one minute and then the next be all confused again? This is doing my head in.

  I’ve read somewhere about how to break a habit. I don’t think for one moment my problem is habit related. But this is what I’m thinking about. The darkness is so much bigger and more powerful than a habit. I found in the information when researching, you know how it is you’re looking up stuff on the internet and then the next thing your reading about how to break a habit in four weeks. During that process, there are times when you fall back into old ways. Is this what’s happening to me? I’m not failing as such, just reverting back to my default? But I don’t like my default. Not anymore. Not when I’ve experienced what it’s like to have more freedom in my mind without Frank, the snake, or the fog.

  It’s at this point in reading about habit breaking they mentioned not giving up. Bloody hell. If that’s all I need to do, then I’m going to give it a shot. I’m at the end of the road here. Even though I like being here with Bertie, deep down I know this probably won’t last forever. He has plans of getting out. He will leave me. And I want to be ready to go with him.

  I move to the wall and try again.

  ‘Today’s the day, Bertie,’ says Smithy as he enters the room.

  Bertie doesn’t say anything as Smithy approaches him. Bertie holds his breath. I’m not sure what Smithy is referring to, but then he starts to unbuckle the straps. He’s come in here alone.

  ‘You’ve been behaving yourself so reckon these can come off now,’ says Smithy. He pauses and looks sharply at Bertie. ‘You won’t cause me any trouble now will you?’

  ‘Of course not, Smithy,’ answers Bertie, his voice all sounding innocent-like. ‘You know I won’t.’

  My jaw drops a little. I can’t believe it. Bertie’s plan is working. He followed the rules, was compliant and now the buckles are coming off. I wouldn’t have put money on his plan working. Instead of being grumpy that I was wrong I’m happy for Bertie.

  While I don’t like being close to Smithy, I don’t mind because Bertie’s going to be free. I can’t wait for Smithy to hurry up and unbuckle the last strap around Bertie’s left ankle.

  ‘There you go, Bertie. You can come and go from this room as you please during the day. Just don’t go doing anything stupid.’ Smithy’s voice changed when he gave his warning.

  ‘I won’t,’ says Bertie. He looks Smithy right in the eyes which I think is pretty brave considering I didn’t like what I saw when I did that. I shiver. The images in my mind are still fresh and clear like the first day I saw Smithy’s eyes looking through the peephole. It wasn’t that long ago I remind myself.

  Smithy leaves with the straps. I look at Bertie. I expect to see him smiling, but he isn’t. At least he’s sitting up in bed and stretching his legs over the side.

  ‘Looking forward to sleeping under the blankets tonight?’ I ask him.

  ‘Yeah,’ Bertie answers. He looks in my direction. There’s something odd about the way he looks at me. ‘Guess I better go get some food.’ He hesitates.

  ‘Go on. You’re free. Don’t stay here because of me.’

  ‘Well, unless you learn to go through the wall before I get back, I guess you’ll still be here.’ He stands and pauses by the bed.

  ‘I’ll be here. If I do manage to get through the wall, I’ll come and find you.’

  ‘Good. See you in a bit.’

  I watch him walk out of the room, the door remains open. His shoulders are droopy, and he walks without confidence. I figure it’s because he’s been stuck lying on the bed for the last few days. I feel a ripple of what I can only think of as happiness. Don’t know, it’s not an emotion I’ve felt in my life so not sure if that’s really what I’m feeling now. I hope it is.

  Standing in the room, alone, feels different this time. I’m not sure why. I guess in the past I could be sure that Bertie would be coming back. The orderlies would take him and bring him back to the room, not always on time, but Bertie would be back. Now he can spend the rest of his day in the room downstairs with the others and not be with me.

  Loneliness burns through me. I haven’t felt this for a while now. Not with Bertie nearby. We’re still joined by the chain, but it’s not the same. So many different things can happen now, and I’m not sure I quite like being thrown back more into the unknown. It’s been tough enough for me to be changing and adapting to this form, and this situation, and to have to do it again so soon sends a current of annoyance through my form. I feel the cracks open a little wider in my mind. More darkness comes in. I don’t feel it. Not yet anyway.

  I don’t want to be this way. I wanted Bertie to fight, and he didn’t, and it’s worked out for him. But I don’t think I could be s
o passive. I need to do something, but I’m not sure what, or what the consequences will be if I succeed. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

  I move to the wall, the small space at the foot of Bertie’s single bed. Trying to go through the wall is better than doing nothing. I’m done thinking. I’m done being the way I was. It’s time for me to change and trust myself that I can handle whatever happens.

  I gently push my form into the wall. It doesn’t take long for me to get to the point where the tension builds, and I’m stopped from going forward. I hold that position. Bracing myself for the images to press harder through the cracks. I hold my ground. I push back gradually. Imagining myself going further into the wall, like the way that Bertie explained how he finds me. I slip forward. I know I can make it the rest of the way through the wall. At least I think I can.

  Suddenly, I’m thrown back into the room. I should be used to being spat out by the wall by now but I’m not, and I stumble around. This time it’s different. I actually thought I could make it through then something went wrong. What? My old friend has returned. Fear. I can feel the emotion grinding its way through my form. This is something different to the fear that I’m used to. I return to my position on the floor. This is the fear of success.

  I don’t think I need to try so much anymore, I think I’m close to being able to get through the wall. It’s getting easier to hold back the images when I touch objects. As long as I can control the fear of success, then I reckon I’ll make it through to the room next door, and I would make it back to this room.

  A sense of knowing builds strongly inside of me. Yet, I’m not sure if I can do this myself. I need a little extra help from Bertie. If he’s in the room, I know I could beat this fear a lot easier. I don’t want to give up. I’m so close. I’ve never been so eager to try something constructive before, and I like it. This could be the day for me too, where I end up going through the wall. A thrill of bouncing energy flows through me. I’m excited for Bertie and myself. Things are changing for the both of us, and it’s for the better.