Poppet

Monster Mother

NO ONE HAS said ‘kidnap’ and no one has said ‘abduct’, but the words are there, as clear as can be, in the gaps between what the police are saying and what they’re not saying. He doesn’t tell them what he knows about Melanie’s role in releasing Isaac. It’s not ironic or deserving, the way it’s backfired on her. She is going to pay for her mistake a hundred times over. He feels like throwing up. And him – a psychiatric nurse. He’s supposed to be able to deal with stress. Ha fucking ha.

He gives the officer his statement, tells them as much as he can remember about Melanie’s Beetle (limited – he knows it’s black, but he can’t recall the number plate). When they’ve finished with him, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s tried calling Caffery, but he’s out of signal range, and the receptionist at MCIT keeps repeating, He’s out of the office, I’ll get him to call you …

The idea of going home fills AJ with dread. Patience isn’t going to be sympathetic. She has no idea about the weight of guilt he staggers around under daily – that he blames himself for what happened with Mum, and that it’s happening again. Once again he’s failed to be there at the right time.

Now without having given it any conscious thought he finds himself back in the unit – standing outside Gabriella’s room. He must be expecting some glimmer of hope or a reassuring word from her, because the moment he looks through the wire-reinforced window and sees her, his spirits sag even further. He’s not going to get happy Monster Mother. He’s going to get the dark heart of the storm.

She’s crouching in the corner. Nursing her non-existent arm as if it hurts. Her dress is of an indigo so dark it looks black. When he knocks she doesn’t answer. He understands she’s taken off her skin again and is hiding.

‘Gabriella?’

He steps inside. Doesn’t look at her, keeps his gaze steady.

‘Gabriella – where are you?’

‘I’m here,’ she hisses. ‘AJ, over here in the corner.’

He looks at her. ‘Hello,’ he says, pathetically. ‘Hello.’

Her smile is sorrowful. ‘You can feel it, can’t you, AJ? I can see it all round you – you’ve got the aura. It’s hurting.’

AJ is almost knocked over by the tenderness in her voice. It’s like being touched on the forehead by Mum when he was a kid having a nightmare.

‘Yes, I’m … I’m …’ He can’t get the words out. ‘Can I sit down?’

She gives a gracious nod. ‘But don’t look at my skin. If you look at it The Maude will know.’

‘And your skin is … ?’

‘Over there, hanging on the bed. Don’t look!’

AJ turns the chair so his back is to the bed, where her skin is hanging. His hands and feet are jittery with adrenalin. Like having air pumped around his arteries and veins.

‘Gabriella, things are happening. Out there – in the world – things are happening.’

‘I know, AJ, I know. It’s coming back.’

‘What’s coming back?’

‘You know what I mean. I mean the one who sits.’

AJ stares at her. She’s insane, he repeats to himself. She is completely insane. She doesn’t know anything. She’s picked up on his tension about Isaac and what he’s done with Melanie and has converted it into a fantasy.

‘Gabriella, do you remember the man who used to teach art in the unit? His name was Jonathan Keay? He left about a month ago.’

Monster Mother’s face twists. She rubs her non-existent arm convulsively.

‘Jonathan. Yes – Jonathan. I remember you all, you see, AJ. Each one of you – whatever you’ve done – whatever’s been done to you … Jonathan is one of my children, but he’s in pain – he isn’t the person he should be.’

‘What sort of person should he be?’

Monster Mother shakes her head. ‘It’s coming now, AJ – it’s getting nearer.’ She raises her hand to the door. ‘It’s so near it’s going to come through there – this minute – it’s going to come through the—’

Before she can finish the sentence, the panic alarm starts to wail. It’s not the usual ward alarm – that has a different cadence. This is the unit-wide alarm – it means a serious incident.

‘See?’ Monster Mother says. ‘I told you – it’s coming back.’

AJ checks his pager. There’s a message: AJ – security central please. He stares at it.

He doesn’t want to, but he gets to his feet.

‘Gabriella,’ he says, in that weary monotone all the staff adopt when they have to instruct the patients. ‘This is a lockdown – you’ll have to stay in here for now, OK?’

Monster Mother nods solemnly. ‘Good luck, AJ. Good luck.’

He opens the door. Looks from side to side. There are one or two patients with their heads out of their doors, wondering what’s happening. Others are being herded from the day room into the corridor. The Big Lurch is there, helping get patients into their rooms, quickly locking doors. He sees AJ and waves frantically.

‘AJ – AJ! Unit-wide alert, mate. Get to the security pod – the supervisor wants to talk to you now.’