The Sandman

91

At nine o’clock the staff turn out the ceiling light. Saga is sitting on the edge of her bed. She’s got the microphone tucked into the lining of her trousers again. It seems safest to keep it close until she’s able to put it in position. Without the microphone, the whole mission will be pointless. She waits, and a short while later a grey rectangle becomes visible through the darkness. It’s the thick glass window in the door. Shortly after that the shapes of the room appear as a foggy landscape. Saga gets up and goes over to the darkest corner, lies down on the cold floor and starts doing sit-ups. After three hundred she rolls over, slowly stretches her stomach muscles and starts doing push-ups.

Suddenly she gets the feeling that she’s being watched. Something’s different. She stops and looks up. The glass window is darker, shaded. Hurriedly she sticks her fingers in the lining of her trousers, takes the microphone out, but drops it on the floor.

She hears steps and movement, then a metallic scraping sound against the door.

Saga sweeps her hands quickly over the floor, finds the microphone and puts it in her mouth just as the lamp in the ceiling comes on.

‘Stand on the cross,’ a woman says in a stern voice.

Saga is still on all fours with the microphone in her mouth. Slowly she gets to her feet as she tries to gather saliva.

‘Hurry up.’

She takes her time walking towards the cross, looks up at the ceiling, then down at the floor again. She stops on the cross, turns her back nonchalantly towards the door, raises her eyes to the ceiling and swallows. Her throat hurts badly as the microphone slowly slips down.

‘We met earlier,’ a man says in a drawling voice. ‘I’m the Senior Consultant here, and I’m responsible for your medication.’

‘I want to see a lawyer,’ Saga says.

‘Take your top off and walk slowly over to the door,’ the first voice says.

She takes her blouse off, lets it fall to the floor, turns and walks towards the door in her washed-out bra.

‘Stop and hold both your hands up, turn your arms round and open your mouth wide.’

The metal hatch opens and she holds out her hand to take the little cup with her pills.

‘I’ve changed your medication, by the way,’ the Senior Consultant with the drawling voice says.

Saga suddenly grasps the full significance of being in these people’s power as she sees the doctor fill a syringe with a milky-white emulsion.

‘Stick your left arm through the hatch,’ the woman says.

She realises she can’t refuse, but her pulse quickens as she obeys. A hand grabs her arm and the doctor rubs his thumb over the muscle. A panicked desire to fight her way free bubbles up inside her.

‘I understand that you’ve been getting Trilafon,’ the doctor says, giving her a look that she can’t read. ‘Eight milligrams, three times a day, but I was thinking of trying—’

‘I don’t want to,’ she says.

She tries to pull her arm back, but the guard is holding it tight, she’s capable of breaking it. The guard is heavy and forces her arm down, making her stand on tiptoe.

Saga forces herself to breathe calmly. What are they going to give her? A clouded drop is hanging from the point of the needle. She tries to pull her arm back again. A finger strokes the thin skin over the muscle. There’s a prick and the needle slides in. She can’t move her arm. A chill spreads through her body. She sees the doctor’s hands as the needle is withdrawn and a small compress stops the bleeding. Then they let go of her. She pulls her arm free and retreats from the door and the two figures behind the glass.

‘Now go and sit on the bed,’ the guard says in a hard voice.

Her arm stings where the needle went in, as if it had burned her. An immense weariness spreads through her body. She hasn’t got the energy to pick up her blouse from the floor, just stumbles and takes a step towards the bed.

‘I’ve given you Stesolid to help you relax,’ the doctor says.

The room lurches and she fumbles for support, but can’t reach the wall with her hand.

‘Shit,’ Saga gasps.

Tiredness sweeps over her, and, just as she’s thinking that she’d better lie down on the bed, her legs give way. She collapses and hits the floor, the jolt running through her body and jarring her neck.

‘I’m going to be coming in shortly,’ the doctor goes on. ‘I was thinking we might try a neuroleptic drug that sometimes works very well, Haldol depot.’

‘I don’t want to,’ she says quietly, trying to roll onto her side.

She opens her eyes and tries to overcome the dizziness. One hip hurts after the fall. A tingling sensation rises from her feet, making her more and more drowsy. She attempts to get up, but doesn’t have the energy. Her thoughts are getting slower. She tries again, but is completely impotent.