The Stuff of Nightmares (8 page)

Joe raised his upper body by pushing against the side of the chair in which he was tangled. As gently as I could, I tried to disentangle his twisted leg from the metal surrounding it, but the moment I touched it, he howled with agony. I let go like it was red hot. Beads of sweat glistened on Joe’s forehead and above his top lip.

‘Oh, hell! I’m sorry,’ I said at once. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK …’ Joe said, his voice getting lower and slower.

‘Joe? Are you OK?’

‘Kyle, promise you’ll do … something …’ Joe struggled to get the words out. ‘Promise you’ll tell Jon—’

‘I’m not telling your brother anything,’ I interrupted with more force than I’d intended. ‘When we get out of here, you can tell him yourself.’

‘Tell Jon I’m sorry,’ Joe continued, talking over me.
He
slowly fell back to his original position, the effort of keeping himself upright clearly too much.

‘Sorry for what?’ I asked.

‘For … for hating … him …’ Joe’s voice now trailed off altogether.

Hating him? What was Joe on about? OK, so they didn’t get on, but surely hate was too strong a word to describe their relationship?

‘
Kyle, where are you? I need to see you
.’

There it was again, that chilling voice, quiet and insistent and ringing straight through me as well as all around me. Each word was like a tiny shard of ice scraping down my spine. The feeling was so real, so tangible, that my hand involuntarily snaked towards my back, rubbing up and down my mid-spine as I twisted my head this way, then that. How I longed to get out of there, to be anywhere but where I was.

‘Kyle …’ Joe breathed.

‘
Kyle, where are you …?
’

I squatted down beside Joe. ‘Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll tell Jon if I need to, if I have to. I promise. But we’ll get out of this.’

Joe didn’t reply but he didn’t look terribly convinced. When I remembered how the chopper had deserted us, I couldn’t blame him. Was it going to come back? Now that it had gone, the rain had lessened and the wind was dying down. Joe carried on looking at me, not saying another word, not even blinking. But that was OK because I was blinking enough for both of us, my eyelids moving in time to
my
rapidly increasing heartbeat. And each time I blinked, Joe’s face changed. Subtle changes. More stubble above his top lip. Slightly longer hair. His face was filling out so slowly that it was only because I had his true image behind it that I could tell. It was disconcerting. Different, almost transparent, images of Joe were superimposed on the real one. And then the images stopped. Joe’s image was solid, more instantly recognizable than Steve’s had been. Joe was older but not by much – a couple of years at most. One blink later, and all at once Joe wasn’t in the train any more. And neither was I.

7

Joe’s Nightmare

Muffled footsteps sounded in the darkened bedroom. Dim torchlight danced eerily across the walls. The footsteps slowed as they approached the bed. Carefully, silently, the torch was placed on the bedside table. A brilliant flash of metal glinted in the torchlight. The glare of a knife blade … And as the blade flashed downwards, it seemed in the dim light to be winking. Winking. Winking …

‘OF COURSE NOT!
To tell the truth, I feel kind of sorry for him. It would’ve been better for him if he’d died …’

At first I thought I was still dreaming, but then I realized that the voice was outside my head – for once – not inside. So I had to be awake. I turned my head in the direction of the woman’s voice and opened my eyes. It was Nurse Holmes. She jumped back and stared at me. She’d obviously thought I was fast asleep. She was ancient – forty-something at least – with brown hair highlighted with streaks of brassy blonde and swept back into such a severe ponytail
that
it pulled her eyelids out towards her ears.

‘I just came in to make sure you were all right.’ Nurse Holmes’s voice was steady but her lips were a thin slash across her face. ‘Can I get you anything?’

I shook my head. She left the room without a backward glance. I closed my eyes wearily and was instantly asleep again. My nightmare washed me away like a tidal wave.

A brilliant flash of metal glinted in the torchlight. The glare of a knife blade … And as the blade flashed downwards, it seemed in the dim light to be winking. Winking. Winking … Arms came up to ward off the flashes of light, but it did no good. The flashes just grew harder and faster.
HARDER AND FASTER
… HARDER AND FASTER …

When I woke up this morning, my left arm had been taken. I knew it was no longer there because it hurt so much. My left shoulder roared with pain. I’d only experienced pain like it once before – when they took my right arm. That was just under (just over?) a day ago. (A week ago?) In this place I’ve lost all track of time. But this place is all I have.

Because I can’t remember …

What’s wrong with me? Why did they take both my arms? I don’t know. My mind’s an empty box. I want to remember. I really do. I get the feeling the doctors don’t believe me when I say that, but it’s the truth. It’s just that, every time I try to force myself to remember what happened, what brought me here, the memory
dances
away from me like a shadow in a darkened room. Every morning I wake up and the memories are
almost
there. But when I reach out for them, they slip away, elusive, like water running through the cracks in my mind.

My name is Jonathan, Jon for short, and I’m sixteen, almost seventeen. Just remembering that much leaves me exhausted. I turn my head from left to right, looking around. I’m in hospital. I’ve been in hospital for a long time – only I can’t remember why. I can’t remember seeing this room before either. Have I been moved? If so, from where?

It’s a small room, with light-coloured walls and a door to my left, but apart from the bed I lie on (I assume it’s a bed), there is nothing else in it. The only light comes in through the small, frosted pane in the door.

Remember, Jon. Remember
.

The door to my room slid open. I waited a few moments before turning my head. In spite of the pain, I had to be careful. I couldn’t show anyone just how terrified I was. And how lonely. I looked at the nurse who stood by the door. His eyes were chips of blue ice. He didn’t like me, that was obvious. But why?

‘I’m Nurse Jennings,’ the man said, looking away.

I wanted to ask about my arms, but my voice refused to work. And the nurse still refused to look at me.

‘I’ve come to give you your medication,’ he continued. ‘I’m going to roll you over onto your side
so
that I can give you an injection in your thigh. Doctor Jacobs will be coming to see you soon. She’s a psychiatrist. Just a moment.’

Nurse Jennings went out of the room, only to return moments later with the elderly nurse who’d checked on me during the night. Her expression was hostile, which she was trying and failing to hide behind a mask of professional detachment.

‘Joseph Forman, number J42935,’ the elderly nurse said.

‘Joseph Forman, J42935,’ Nurse Jennings repeated.

I shook my head. That wasn’t right. My name was Jonathan, not Joseph. They’d got the wrong name.

The elderly nurse scooted out of the room without another word. Nurse Jennings rolled me over and jabbed me in the thigh. It should’ve hurt, but it didn’t. I couldn’t feel a thing. Nurse Jennings turned me onto my back. I smiled at him. I wanted so much for him and all the other nurses to like me. Being so alone was hell.

‘Keep smiling,’ Nurse Jennings said, straightening up. ‘It won’t do you any good. You won’t pull the wool over Doctor Jacobs’s eyes. And I’ll tell you something else—’

‘Thank you, Nurse Jennings. That will be all.’

‘Oh, Doctor Jacobs, I was … I was just …’ Nurse Jennings trailed off.

Nurse Jennings and Dr Jacobs stood watching each other for countless silent seconds. I gave up trying to smile. It didn’t feel right anyway. Nurse Jennings left
the
room without another word. Dr Jacobs slid the door shut and walked over to me. My head began to feel fuzzy, muffled, like it was being stuffed with cotton wool. And heavy. So very heavy.

‘That’s it, Joe. You go to sleep. It’s the best thing for you.’ Dr Jacobs’s voice came from long ago and far away.

It’s Jon, not Joe
. I wanted to tell her that, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I fought against falling asleep. I
couldn’t
fall asleep. That was when the nightmares came … But it was no good. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Moments later I was washed away again.

HARDER AND FASTER … His legs kicked off the bedcovers, kicked up towards the glinting and winking. The flashes of light moved up and down, up and down – striking at his arms, his legs. He twisted and writhed …

I opened my eyes slowly. The room was dim with evening light. And then the pain started. My knees were on fire. I knew what that meant. They’d taken more of me. My legs below the knee were gone. I bit down on my bottom lip until my mouth filled with blood. My whole body shook with pain and dread. Whimpering noises burst through my lips even though they were still clamped shut. I couldn’t help it. Scalding tears burned my eyes. If only the pain would stop. If only …

The door to my room slid open. Dr Jacobs entered.

‘Good! You’re awake.’ She smiled. Then she saw the tears on my face.

‘D-Doctor Jacobs, please,
please
don’t take any more of me,’ I pleaded. ‘I didn’t say anything when my arms were taken but you shouldn’t have cut off my legs as well. I didn’t deserve that.’

Dr Jacobs frowned deeply. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your arms or your legs. Look for yourself. You still have limbs. We haven’t done anything to them.’

‘
Don’t take any more of me!
’ I shouted at her. ‘You all skirt around me and whisper about me. You want to drive me crazy. But I won’t let you do it. D’you hear? You’re the ones who are crazy. This isn’t a proper hospital. It can’t be. You just wait till my mum comes to see me. I want to leave this place. I need to leave—’

‘Joe—’

‘
I want to leave. Now!
’ I yelled. ‘
Now! Now! Now!
’

A nurse ran into the room.

‘Get me fifty milligrams of pethidine,’ Dr Jacobs commanded.

The nurse dashed out again.

‘Now then, Joseph—’ the doctor began.

‘Stop calling me that. My name is Jonathan.
Jonathan
. I know what you’re doing. You drug me until I’m senseless and then you cut off my limbs one by one …’ Unbidden, unwelcome tears streamed from my eyes. Snot ran from my nose, but I couldn’t wipe it away. The pain in my knees was easing slightly now, but what did that matter? I’d lost more of myself. I’d
cried
in private for my arms. But to take my legs as well …

Dr Jacobs walked over to me and threw back the bedcovers. ‘Look! There are your arms, your legs …’

I glanced down in spite of the fact that I knew she was lying. My legs below my knees and both my arms weren’t there – I knew they wouldn’t be.

The nurse came back carrying a small tray. Dr Jacobs picked up the hypodermic syringe from the tray and immediately injected it into the top of my thigh. Within seconds my head was fuzzy again. The doctor handed over the needle to the nurse, who left the room at once. Nobody lingered around me. Except maybe Dr Jacobs. She laid a cool hand on one of my thighs.

‘Joe, can you feel that?’ she asked. Her frown was so deep it cut parallel grooves like train-track lines between her eyebrows.

‘My thighs are still there,’ I sniffed, impatient with this game the doctor was playing. ‘It’s the rest of me I’m talking about.’

I swallowed hard.
Come on, Jonathan, control yourself. Don’t let them mess with your head. Don’t let them make you cry. Don’t let them
.

Dr Jacobs just shook her head slowly.

‘Can I have some water, please?’ I whispered. It was a question I’d given up asking any of the others. They either looked at me with a loathing that dazzled so much, I had to look away, or else they told me to get it for myself – or both.

The doctor picked up the plastic tumbler beside the
bed
, filled it and held it out to me. I just looked at her. She pulled a tissue out of the box on my bedside table and wiped my eyes and nose. Frowning, she bent over me and placed the tumbler to my mouth. I drank thirstily, while sniffing inaudibly at the scent of Dr Jacobs’s flowery perfume. I would’ve drunk the whole glass of water but Dr Jacobs removed the tumbler before I’d finished. I licked my lips slowly. My tears slowed. The pain in my knees was reduced to a dull throb.

‘Doctor Jacobs, please don’t let them take any more of me,’ I begged softly. ‘Please …’

I wanted to grab her arm, hold it and not let go until she promised. I tried to raise my arm, until I remembered that there was nothing there any more. The doctor regarded me, shaking her head again. I wondered at her strange expression. It was a mixture of pity and something else that I couldn’t quite make out. There was a knock at the door.

‘Joe, you have to go for an X-ray now. I’ll see you when you get back,’ Dr Jacobs said.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, turning away.

But they knew how to get round that. Two nurses I’d never seen before lifted me up against my will and put me in a wheelchair. Then a porter appeared and wheeled the chair along the hospital corridor.

‘Why did you do it?’ the porter asked suddenly.

‘Do what?’ I asked slowly.

‘Do what? Are you serious? You … you …’ The porter spluttered and coughed as his words crashed
into
each other in their haste to be heard. I tilted my head back to look at him. The porter clamped his mouth shut when he realized how ridiculous he sounded. I too kept quiet. I hadn’t been trying to wind him up or goad him. I genuinely didn’t know.
I couldn’t remember
. As he pushed me along, I struggled to keep my eyes open as the painkiller took over. I failed.

The flashes of light moved up and down, up and down – striking at his arms, his legs. He twisted and writhed. His legs kicked out, kicked hard – but it didn’t do any good …