White Silence Page 7

  A number of small tables were arranged in rows, and I noticed that despite being able to seat two or four people, most people sat alone. The fresh flowers on each table were a nice touch, as were the larger floor arrangements between the windows, but there was no getting away from the fact that this was a hospital. Sorry – clinic. There were knives on the tables and so several people had a member of staff sitting with them. Within arm’s reach. Just in case.

  Michael Jones came in just as I was ordering the chicken. His eyes passed vaguely over me. The message was obvious. We were near-strangers to each other. He too chose a small table against the wall, but on the other side of the room.

  The food was good, but the atmosphere subdued. Most people ate alone. I was informed that coffee was served afterwards in the library. I was in two minds, but I was so sick of my room and there wasn’t anything else to do, so off I went.

  This was not the sort of establishment that had anything as mundane as a TV lounge. There was no big, bleak room with chairs around the walls, all pointing towards a speckled TV, screwed high up on the wall, with its blurred picture and blaring sound. No heavily drugged, blank-faced occupants sitting quietly, waiting to be instructed to be somewhere else. For a start, we all had a TV in our own nicely appointed rooms. Videos, CDs satellite TV, interactive whatnots – everything was provided – so the library was the nearest thing to a communal lounge, with its groups of tables and chairs, its comfortable armchairs, magazines, and of course, books. A large table stood against the far wall with flasks of coffee, cups and saucers and after-dinner mints. I poured myself a cup, snaffled a mint, paused, and then took another. Perhaps I could destroy Sorensen by bankrupting him.

  One or two people sat together, talking quietly and another two sat at a table doing a crossword puzzle, otherwise we were determinedly unsociable. Jones came in just after me, settled himself in an armchair and read his newspaper while I concentrated on my book. A lot of people just stared into space, lost in their own unhappy thoughts.

  There were no staff present. I gathered there was a kind of gentlemen’s agreement. We would sit quietly and behave ourselves while they had their evening meal and wrote up their notes.

  I finished my coffee and sat quietly, holding up my book as a shield against the world. I was reading Three Men in a Boat, normally a source of comfort and enjoyment to me. I was just thinking it had never seemed less funny, when it happened. One minute, everything was perfectly normal, and then, without any sort of warning, the page darkened in front of my eyes, and for a moment, the world swam away from me.

  My first thought was that I was having some sort of neural event. The second, that Sorensen had drugged the coffee and somehow, I hadn’t noticed. The third was that I was going to be horribly sick.

  I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving my skin cold and tight. My book fell from my hands, bounced in my lap and fell to the floor. Instinctively, I bent to pick it up, and as I did so, a head appeared through the wall at the far end of the room.

  I was still leaning down and we were on the same level. The lighting was good. My eyesight is good. There was no mistake. A head was slowly emerging from the wall. At floor level.

  I picked up the book and shot a swift glance around the room. No one was taking any notice at all. Everything was perfectly normal. People were drinking coffee and sitting quietly, and all the time, a head was coming through the wall. It was obvious no one else could see it because there was no screaming and running, which there certainly would have been if it had been visible to anyone else, because it was hideously ugly. Frighteningly so. The head was hairless and eyeless, its skin burned black in places. And it was coming through the wall.

  Shoulders followed, and then first one bony stick that turned out to be an arm, and then another, pulling itself silently through the wall and into the room.

  Around me I could hear the gentle murmur of voices as the crossword puzzlers got into their stride, while ahead of me, the creature was nearly through, dragging itself with painful slowness across the old parquet floor.

  The smell was awful and I felt my stomach heave. Burned meat. Not in itself an offensive smell, but this was burned human. A badly burned human. A few scorched rags of clothing were visible on its upper body, apparently seared into its flesh by a fire.

  From the waist down, everything was burned, black and twisted. There were no legs. Wherever and whenever this person had burned, the fire had started at the legs which were completely burned away. Only two blackened stumps remained, terminating just below the knee. The feet were completely gone.

  Slowly and with great determination, it pulled itself across the floor. I could hear the scrape of bone on wood. I could see the strain as it raised itself on stick like forearms, dragged itself another inch or so, rested a moment, and then did it again. And again. And again.

  I glanced around again. Everyone was completely immersed in their own world, completely oblivious to this creature … this monster … which would surely send them all screaming from the room if they had any idea it was here.

  And what did I do? I was an unwilling inmate in a secure mental establishment, and the last thing I needed to do was to run to a member of staff and tell them an invisible monster had just crawled through the wall. That sort of thing does not get you released the next morning.

  Actually, I was wrong. Someone was watching, but he was watching me, not the thing on the floor. Jones had lowered his newspaper and was staring at me. I didn’t have time for him right now, because the creature had stopped. Now, almost in the centre of the room, it paused and looked around. An eyeless skull it might be, but it could see. I was certain of it. For what or whom it was looking, I had no idea. I remember offering up a fervent prayer that it wasn’t me.

  Apparently, it wasn’t. It shifted slightly on its elbows and set off in a new direction. It had located its prey.

  A man sat some twelve or fifteen feet away from me, alone in an armchair pulled well away from everyone else. His coffee sat untasted at his elbow as he stared, sightlessly, at something only he could see. Occasionally, his right hand would twitch with a life of its own.

  His colour was dreadful. What had, I suspected, been a soft, gentle blue, had deteriorated to a thin, muddy yellow. Occasionally, it gave a little flutter that reminded me of a dying bird. A black patch sat over his heart, tenuously connected to another black patch around his head. Even as I watched, his whole colour grew darker and thinner. There wasn’t much of it left.

  I jerked my eyes back to the creature which now, apparently with great pain and effort, was crawling towards him. As I watched, it reached out a blackened claw and seized the man’s ankle. He gave no sign that he knew what was going on, but the sad remains of his colour swirled downwards towards the creature and enveloped it.

  With an abrupt movement, he thrust back his chair and got up. He stood for a moment, as if, having got this far, he was unsure what to do next, then he turned and slowly walked towards the door, seemingly unaware of the thing he was dragging behind him.

  They had to pass me to get to the door. Instinctively, I drew my feet back well out of the way, and as I did so the creature turned its head and looked at me. For a long second, we stared at each other. It had no eyes, but I knew that somehow it could see, and it was seeing me now. I clutched my book as if my life depended upon it, and then it was gone, dragged towards the door by a man who had no idea it was there.

  I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t know what to do. My dad used to say I saw things for a reason and that reason would become clear one day. It hadn’t yet. Was this that day? But what could I say? What could I do? I had to do something. No matter what sort of trouble it got me into, I couldn’t do nothing. My dad wouldn’t have liked that.

  I made my way to the door and looked out. The man was already half way up the stairs, moving slowly and heavily, leaning on the bannisters. His colour had almost completely disappeared.

  I ran to the reception desk
. The man looked up in surprise. I wasn’t famed for chatting to the staff.

  ‘Mrs Cage? What can I do for you?’

  ‘That man.’ I pointed.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s very well.’

  ‘Really, in what way.’

  What could I say?

  ‘He seemed … agitated. Distressed even. And he left very suddenly. His behaviour made me … uneasy.’

  He stared after the man, now disappearing around the landing, but made no move to get up or pick up a phone.

  ‘I think someone should check it out,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll certainly mention it to the duty nurse.’

  That was no good. I sought for something to say. Something that would galvanise them into action.

  ‘I thought I saw him slip something into his pocket.’

  Suicide was a big fear here. There were people here on suicide watch who never had a member of staff further than three feet away from them. We were all checked hourly at night, a torch appearing briefly through the dark. There would be a pause as someone made the appropriate annotation on a clipboard and then the torch would move away again.

  ‘Oh? Did you see what it was?’

  Now what did I say? I was spared the trouble. Michael Jones stood behind me. ‘Is there a problem here?’

  ‘Mrs Cage has some concerns about a patient, sir.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Mr Johnson.’

  ‘Then I suggest you check it out.’

  ‘The duty nurse …’

  ‘Now.’

  I jumped at the tone in his voice and the receptionist reluctantly reached for the telephone. I moved away. I’d done my duty. They could all sort it out among themselves. I wanted to be alone to think about what I’d just seen. And have a quiet cup of tea and wait for my heart rate to return to normal, as well.

  I was worried they’d confine me to my room again, but no one tried to stop me leaving the next morning. I made my way to the dining room, only to be intercepted by Michael Jones who didn’t seem in any way to be familiar with conventional behaviour, grabbing my arm and whirling me at top speed into the library.

  ‘Come on, Cage, out with it.’

  ‘Out with what? Let go of me.’

  ‘I saw your face last night.’

  I’d been an idiot. I should have kept quiet, but I’d had to do something. I tried to undo some of the damage. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, you do. I saw your face and I wasn’t the only one. You saw something. You couldn’t hide it. By now, Dr Sorensen will know you saw something. You need to be very careful.’

  ‘I suspect it’s too late for that.’

  ‘It’s never too late.’

  I went to move away and he pulled me back.

  I was angry. ‘Will you stop doing that?’

  ‘Aren’t you the slightest bit curious?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘About what you saw. Last night. In the library. When you had your I’ve just seen something horrible face on. When you watched something move across the room. Something only you could see.’

  I stared at him. ‘Why should I trust you?’

  He let go of my arm. ‘I let someone down once. Let’s say I’m returning the favour. Even if it isn’t to the right person. Now tell me so I can help. You can trust me.’

  I stared at him. The golden peachy red of his colour was beginning to reassert itself. The dark areas were shrinking and his whole colour had more movement and move vigour. More life. Could I trust him? I felt I could. On the other hand …

  I said bitterly, ‘I trusted Ted.’

  ‘Listen to me. Ted had your best interests at heart. And he wasn’t stupid. You can’t live with someone for years and not know all about them. He knew there was something different about you. He could have turned you over to Sorensen at any time and he didn’t. For God’s sake, Cage, who do you think has been protecting you from Sorensen all this time?’

  ‘Ted …? He did that?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He’s been quietly lying to Sorensen for years, and he got away with it because everyone always believed him. Trusty Ted.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he loved you, you idiot.’

  ‘Why would you help me?’

  ‘Because I’m Ted’s friend. Because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know what she’s got herself into. Because I’ve lost someone and I know it’s no fun being the one left behind. Do I have to go on with this sickeningly sentimental conversation? Tell me what you saw.’

  I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come out.

  He shifted impatiently. ‘Someone will have seen us come in here and I want my breakfast. Tell me.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll tell you. I saw something come through the wall and take hold of Mr Johnson’s ankle. When he left, he was dragging it behind him.’

  There was a long silence and then he said quietly, ‘Johnson died last night. He hanged himself with his own dressing gown cord.’

  Everything suddenly flew away from me. Shards of darkness shattered in all directions. He grabbed my arm. ‘For God’s sake, sit down. You’re a bit girlie, aren’t you?’

  I snatched my arm back. ‘Yes, I am. And I’m the girlie who lost her husband last week. And you didn’t have to fling it at me like that.’

  He paused. ‘No.’ He paused again. ‘No, I didn’t.’ His colour flowed towards me. ‘Sorry.’

  I nodded. He was sorry. I could see it.

  ‘So, do you think the thing I saw attached to Mr Johnson was connected with his death?’

  ‘I’ll go further. I think it was the cause of it.’

  I nodded. That made sense.

  He was frowning. ‘There’s something …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t remember. Something I heard once. Nurses’ gossip. Let me see what I can find out.’

  ‘What can you do?’

  ‘I can talk to people.’

  ‘Will they let you?’

  ‘Oh yes, they’ll be so pleased I’m rejoining the human race that they’ll tell me anything. Besides, nurses like to gossip. And they always know far more than the doctors do. And the orderlies know most of all. Leave this to me. Now, we shouldn’t leave together. I’ll go first, because I’m hungry. Give it a minute or two and then you leave. And don’t not look at me in the dining room. That’s a dead giveaway.’

  I don’t know what made me say it. ‘Are you a spy?’

  He made his mouth prim and said nothing.

  I stood in front of him. Between him and the door. Or between him and breakfast would have been a better threat. ‘I told you my secret. Now you tell me yours.’

  He sighed. ‘I wish I’d never met you.’

  ‘You and me both, buster.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I was bewildered. ‘Yes what?’

  ‘Yes, to your question. I’m a sort of spy.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You sound disappointed.’

  ‘Well … do you have an Aston Martin?’

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘A watch that doubles as a nuclear bomb?’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. You leave first. Now would be a good time.’

  I looked around the library. ‘Could you kill someone with a brochure?’

  ‘Hand me a brochure and we’ll see.’

  I left. Before I killed him with a brochure.

  Chapter Eight

  I honestly thought he wouldn’t get anywhere. I’ve seen one or two things in my life, and believe me, it’s not like the story books where there’s always a neat explanation for everything and a satisfactory resolution at the end. I see something – usually a piece of someone else’s story – and that’s the end of it. I don’t know the beginning and I certainly don’t know the end, so I really didn’t expect Jones to discover anything.

  I spent the morning in my room, thinking about what I’d seen. And thinking about Ted. Who had loved me. I was sure of it.<
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  Just before lunch, someone scratched on my door. Before I could say or do anything, Jones slid into the room. There was a regulation about patients not being in each other’s rooms. It was pasted on the back of the door, along with the fire instructions. I’d never before met anyone with such a blatant disregard for the rules.

  ‘You’re not supposed to be in here.’ He grinned at me.

  ‘I suppose you think that because you’re a spy you don’t have to follow the rules like lesser people.’

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, I never followed them before I was a spy, either. I would, however, be grateful if you could lower your voice when discussing my spyness. If Sorensen knows, you know neither of us will ever leave.’

  I didn’t know if he was joking. His colour was ambiguous, but surely spies shouldn’t be so light-hearted about what he referred to as their ‘spyness’.

  ‘Are you here for a reason or am I just on your quota of Rules to Break Today?’

  ‘Ted never said anything about you being so sarky. I’m beginning to feel quite sorry for the poor bloke. Living with you must have been a nightmare.’

  ‘You sound like Sorensen.’

  ‘What’s he been saying now?’

  ‘Oh, nothing important. Ted had to be plied with alcohol before he’d marry me. He was having an affair with a nurse … you know, little things.’

  He regarded me with exasperation. ‘Again. Ted loved you. Only you. Would you like me to write it down?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said meekly. And then remembered. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I just came to say – I’ll meet you after lunch. Something to tell you,’ and he whisked himself out of the room.

  We met again after lunch. When I say met, I mean he was hiding in my bathroom when I returned to my room and nearly gave me a heart attack.

  ‘I thought my nerves were bad,’ he remarked, making himself comfortable in the only chair.

  I sat on the bed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my nerves. The problem lies with the company I’m keeping these days.’