Slated Page 4

  They lift me back into bed while Amy holds up an IV bag. One of them fixes it up, the other injects something into it and warmth slides into my veins, starts to take the pain away. My eyes close.

  Voices mix and fade.

  A nightmare did that? Disbelief.

  She could have died…

  Keep in bed for a day or two…

  Pain management…

  If Amy hadn’t woken when she hit the floor, she would have died…

  Last Chance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  ‘Can I at least have a book?’

  ‘No. You’re supposed to be resting,’ Mum says, and crosses her arms.

  ‘I can rest, and read.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They would let me in hospital,’ I lie.

  ‘You’re not in hospital, you’re on my watch, and you are resting. Go to sleep,’ she says, and leaves again, shooing Sebastian out and shutting the door.

  I can convince myself she means well. But it is hard to rest with someone sneaking up on you every two minutes to make sure you are resting.

  I close my eyes. My head still feels like it is being crushed in a vice, though it is better than this morning, when even the sound of Sebastian purring vibrated through my skull like drums, and I’d asked for him to be kept out. But I’m afraid to sleep. Afraid that dream will find me again. Now the injection has worn off, anything could happen.

  My nightmares in hospital were terrifying, but vague. Most of the time I couldn’t remember much of what happened; I just woke up screaming. Often running from something, without knowing what it was.

  But this one was different. I remember it as vividly in my mind as if it is happening on replay before my eyes, right now, over and over again. I can feel the pain, see my broken, bloody fingers. It is so real.

  Real like a memory etched within, stark and clear; the kind so horrible you can never forget, no matter how hard you try. But memories are one thing I am not supposed to have. Nothing from before being Slated. It is almost like drawing with my left hand yesterday brought it back, from some hidden place, up to the surface.

  Who is he? Is he real, or just some nightmare creature that inhabits my mind? In the dream I never see his face. First the light dazzles my eyes, then I can’t see through the pain and tears. But my dream self knew him, even recognised his footsteps.

  One thing is certain and sure. If he is real, I don’t want to know.

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Sorry. Did I wake you?’ Amy.

  I was actually asleep; in a black and silent place, dreamless and still. Maybe the drugs haven’t worn off.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m sick of being in bed. Can I get up?’

  Amy shakes her head. ‘She’ll never let you. They said you were to stay in bed all day. Mum always follows the letter, whether she believes it, or not.’

  ‘I’m so bored.’

  ‘Poor you. How is your head?’

  ‘Not great.’

  ‘Can I get you anything? Are you hungry yet?’

  ‘No.’

  Amy turns to go.

  ‘Wait. There is one thing you could do for me.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My sketch pad. She took it away so I can’t draw.’

  She hesitates. Goes into her room and comes back. ‘Is this any good?’ She holds out a small blank notebook and pencil.

  ‘Perfect. Thanks.’

  ‘Keep it hidden.’ She winks.

  I prop myself upright on pillows, and turn away from the door so my body shields the notebook. Listening carefully for any little creak that might be Mum sneaking up the stairs.

  But with the comforting scratch of pencil on paper, I get more and more absorbed. Escaping from myself, the dream; everything.

  I am somebody else.

  ‘Lucky that was me.’

  I jump.

  Amy shuts the door and puts a tray with soup on the table next to me.

  ‘What are you drawing?’

  I show her. Half-Mum, half-dragon. In a variety of poses. Breathing fire; flying over the house.

  She laughs. ‘Oh, God. Don’t let her see those. We’ll have to hide this away, and—’

  She stops and frowns, looking at my hand. My left hand, holding the pencil. Dread trickles into my stomach.

  ‘I thought you were right-handed. When you drew me, you used your right hand.’

  ‘I am! I was drawing with my right hand. I just shifted it across to pass you the notebook.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry; of course,’ she says and smiles again.

  My Levo vibrates: 4.6.

  ‘Chocolate?’ she asks.

  I shake my head. ‘Sebastian.’

  She opens the door and moments later returns carrying Sebastian, and dumps him on my lap. He meows, indignant at being kept out all day. I pet him and he flops down, purring. His paws knead against my side through the quilt, claws in and out.

  ‘Will you eat a little?’ Amy says.

  ‘In a while.’

  Once my levels get back to 5 she leaves to watch TV downstairs. I wrap myself so tight around Sebastian, that he squirms and protests until I loosen my arms.

  Why did I lie?

  In that moment, I was afraid. Of Amy? This is insane. But the fear was there, it was real. As if Amy could be another one wielding a brick.

  I hold up my left hand. Turn it side to side. The fingers are whole and perfect; there are no scars. I can almost convince myself it never happened, that my subconscious mind made it all up. That realising I could draw better with my left hand somehow triggered the dream. It can’t be a memory. I’m Slated; I don’t have memories.

  But somehow a sick certainty sits like a crushing weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Every instinct of self-preservation screams inside and won’t be ignored.

  No one must know.

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  ‘Everyone, we’ve got somebody new today!’ Nurse Penny says, her voice almost bright enough to match the yellow jumper she wears.

  Everyone is a dozen or so Slateds like me, gathered from surrounding villages near and far, sitting in a loose circle in a draughty high-ceilinged hall.

  Nurse Penny gives me a push. ‘Go on. Introduce yourself, and grab a chair.’

  ‘Hi. I’m Kyla,’ I say, and find a chair in a corner, pull it into the circle.

  The others smile at me and each other, most years younger. Except one girl, about my age, sitting with her arms crossed and looking out the window into the darkness.

  Oh, joy. First day at Group. Just what I need with this blackout headache still heavy behind my eyes. They usually take two to three days to go. Mum had said maybe I could leave this until next week, but then I decided I felt well enough to come tonight. At least this way I finally get out of the house. Besides, there is no point putting it off: it will be every Thursday at seven until further notice. Amy doesn’t have to go any more so I’m assuming ‘further notice’ is until they are convinced you don’t need constant monitoring.

  We had Group at hospital also, so I know the story. We’re supposed to talk about our feelings in a ‘supportive non-judgemental atmosphere’, but it usually seems to me that they tell us what we are supposed to be feeling.

  Penny crosses her arms. ‘Does anyone remember what you need to do now?’

  They look at each other.

  This is painful.

  Until finally the older girl turns away from the window, and rolls her eyes. ‘You lot are like watching paint dry. Introduce yourselves before we all die of old age.’

  I feel my eyes widen along with everyone else in the circle. She was saying, out loud, the kind of stuff I say in my head. How did she dare?

  Penny frowns. ‘Thank you for setting us straight. Perhaps you’d care to begin?’

  ‘Sure. Greetings dear Kyla; I am Tori. Welcome to our happy Group.’

  The others begin to chime in with their names, one after another. Smiling. Unaware t
hat Tori’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. All that is, except for Penny, who still frowns at Tori.

  Once the introductions are over, Penny glances at the clock: ten past seven. ‘Well, I suppose we had better…’

  But then the door flies open at the back.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ a voice says. Male. I turn just as a chair is dragged across the floor; Tori pushes hers to one side to make room, and he sits next to her.

  Penny pretends to look stern. ‘You must learn to be punctual, Ben. How’s the training going?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’ He smiles, and as Penny smiles back, I see it in her eyes: Nurse’s pet. He’s not the least bit worried about being late, and neither is she. He is the favoured one.

  Not surprising. He’s obviously been Slated longer than everyone here, except perhaps Tori. His smile is real rather than dazed, the sort of smile that makes you want to give one back. Training, Penny said: he is wearing shorts although it is a cool night; his legs are well muscled, a long sleeved T-shirt clings to his back and shoulders. His skin is a light bronze that says he is outside more than in. And Tori is smiling her first real smile of the night at Ben. It transforms her face: she is stunning.

  ‘Hello, are you the new girl? I’m Ben,’ he says, and I realise I’ve been staring. Colour climbs up my cheeks.

  ‘Kyla?’ Penny prompts, and I jump.

  Tori rolls her eyes. ‘Yes, Ben, you’ve missed the introductions. Ben, this is Kyla; Kyla, this is Ben.’

  ‘Welcome,’ he says and smiles right into my eyes.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say and look at my feet.

  ‘Shall we get started, then?’ Penny says. She looks around the circle at every face, then stops on mine. ‘Kyla, why are you here? Why are we all here?’

  I stare at her blankly.

  The answer in my mind – because we have to be – may be factual, but isn’t the right answer. I’d worked out at the hospital Group that although it is meant to be a safe place where you can say anything, it is best not to be too honest. Too much honesty landed me several times in with Dr Lysander for a tinker in my brain that left me exhausted and fuzzy for days.

  I smile widely and don’t answer. Nurses usually fall for that if they don’t know me too well.

  ‘Kyla, we are here to support each other in our transition from hospital to families and society,’ she says, answering her own question. ‘Now, why were you in hospital?’ She smiles brightly.

  This is more interesting. I mean, I know what they did to me, in general terms. They wiped the synapses and linkages in my brain that added up to me: my personality, my memories. And I know the usual reasons Slating is done: danger to self or society being the most common. But I don’t know why they did it in my particular case. Is this in Nurse Penny’s files some place?

  ‘Well, Kyla?’ she says.

  ‘You tell me.’

  Tori looks up, meets my eyes. Interest and amusement dance in hers.

  Penny frowns. I’ve been to enough of these things to know no real answers will be forthcoming. Before she can react, I am saved by Ben putting up his hand.

  ‘We were given a new beginning,’ he says. As he smiles at me again, I feel a shock, a recognition: liquid brown eyes, dark hair pulled back that curls just past his ears, all somehow familiar. As if I already know him. I shake myself internally, force my eyes away.

  ‘Exactly,’ Penny says. ‘Now today, everyone, we are going to pick up where we left off last week. Does anyone remember what we were talking about to tell Kyla?’

  She looks around but nobody volunteers.

  ‘We were talking about maintaining our levels. What is everyone right now?’

  We dutifully check and call out. I am lowest at 4.8.

  Penny looks concerned. ‘What are your strategies?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If your levels are dropping. What do you do to bring them up again?’

  ‘Eat some chocolate. Hugs from people. Or, lately, stroke the cat.’

  ‘These are all external things to make you feel better. What about things inside yourself?’

  Well, maybe we are actually going to learn something useful.

  ‘What level are we aiming for?’ She addresses the Group. Discussion follows and I tune out. I’ve heard it before, many times.

  Level means between 5 and 6.

  10 is complete joy; 1 is anger that could kill or misery so black you can’t move. If you go below 3 you are heading for la-la land: the Levo zaps the chip in your brain, and you black out like I did the other night. Just in case there are any violent impulses lurking within that Slating somehow missed, if you somehow drop below 2 without blacking out, it goes more than a zap. More like a barbeque. Seizures follow, and if you come around at all, you’ll be a drooling idiot.

  Penny scans through files on her netbook, tsk tsking. ‘I see you have quite a history, of nightmares and blackouts. Let’s see if we can help Kyla with strategies. Everyone?’

  She doesn’t seem to know anyone’s actual name. Doesn’t she know even Slateds don’t answer to ‘Everyone’?

  She points at one after another for an answer, and I listen, interested despite myself.

  A range of suggestions follow; some I already use.

  Distraction: focus on something else. Repeating times tables, counting tiles on the floor. Ben runs: I know that one. I used to spend hours on the treadmill at the hospital gym, until feelings fade away and all that exists is the thump-thump of feet. Or my other version: organising the unknown into faces made up of lines and shade, drawing maps of corridors and doors and everything between to create boundaries. Is that why I do it?

  Visualisation: go some other place in your mind. A ‘Happy Place’, in nurse-speak.

  Transference: put your feelings on someone else.

  Dissociation: become somebody else, leave your feelings behind.

  I’m becoming an expert at that one.

  Aren’t we all?

  Later Penny tells us to split into small groups, to practise conversation. Today’s assigned topic: to talk about our families.

  And everyone begins to move their chairs around into twos and threes, without discussion: they all know where they belong. I hesitate, unsure what to do, then jump as a warm hand rests on my shoulder: Ben. He leans over.

  ‘Join us?’ he says, smiles, and I find myself staring up into his eyes. Close up there are warm gold flecks mixed in with the brown: they’d be a challenge to paint, to get the colours mixed right, and—

  Amusement crosses his face. ‘Well?’

  ‘All right,’ I say, and stand. His hand drops from my shoulder, and he lifts my chair and puts it next to Tori, then pulls his to sit opposite us both.

  Tori’s eyes narrow. She starts to say something but stops as Penny comes over to join us.

  Soon I learn that Ben’s dad is a teacher, his mum is an artist and works in the workshop at the Dairy; Tori’s dad is a councillor in London, and she stays with her mum in the country. He’s just home some weekends and the way she says it, sounds like she thinks it is a good thing. At seventeen they are both a year older than me, and know Amy from school. The same school I’ll be going to as soon as they let me.

  ‘Where’d you really come from then?’ Tori demands as soon as Penny moves out of earshot to see how the next group is getting along.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Where were you, before here.’

  ‘At the hospital. I just got out last Sunday.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Tori,’ Ben interrupts. ‘Play nice.’

  She smirks at him. ‘There is no way she was just released, the way she talks. You know it as well as I do. We’ve both been out more than three years; you know how the new ones are.’

  ‘I was in hospital longer than most,’ I say. ‘Because of nightmares.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Nine months, or so they tell me.’

  ‘Even so. You’re different.’


  And I want to protest, argue. My mouth half opens, but then shuts again. There is the proof. Most Slateds would just smile and agree with anything you said to them. What is the point in denying what is so obviously true?

  I shrug. ‘So what if I am?’

  ‘Ah ha!’ Tori says.

  Ben leans forward, searches my eyes with interest. ‘What is wrong with being different?’

  Tori scowls, then Ben gives her a hug and the scowl goes.

  ‘Want to meet up with us on Sunday?’ Ben looks at me, his arm still across Tori’s shoulders. ‘We’re going to the county show.’

  Tori looks both surprised and annoyed.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to check if I’m allowed.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘Sure. Whatever.’

  And I get the distinct impression that if I want to get along with Tori, I’ll need to keep well clear of Ben. And somehow, I don’t think that’s what I want to do.

  Penny corners me as everyone is leaving.

  ‘Kyla, stay. I want to talk to you alone.’

  She waits until the last one goes, then sits next to me.

  ‘I heard about your blackout a few nights ago. I need to check your Levo.’

  She pulls out a handheld scanner, like the ones in hospital but smaller, and plugs it into her netbook. She holds it over my Levo and graphs flash across the netbook screen.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, Kyla. See for yourself.’ She touches the screen, selects a graph marked 15/09. A whole section of it, in the early hours of Tuesday morning, is in the red. She touches the points and numbers appear on the screen.

  ‘Kyla, you were 2.3. That is too close. What happened?’

  I stare back at her. Just 0.3 away from not waking up at all. My stomach twists.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had a nightmare, that’s all. I didn’t wake up. Next thing I knew the paramedics were there, injecting me with Happy Juice. I still have the headache to prove it.’

  ‘Your Levo isn’t affected by dreams, you know that. It is when you wake up afterwards.’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t remember waking.’

  ‘What was the dream?’