The Dead House, стр. 35

“Now, Carly,” Dr. Sparrow says, coming closer, “I have a small shot here for you. It won’t hurt.”

Kaitlyn’s head snaps up. “What is it?”

“It’ll calm things down.”

Kaitlyn reacts as though shocked by a live wire. She jumps to her feet, pressing herself against the padded wall, and holds out her arms, palms forward.

“Get that away from me,” she gasps.

“It will help you sleep, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to sleep! Stay away from me!”

She looks left, then right, eyes wide and wild, in an attempt to seek an escape. After realizing that she has been backed into a corner, she hesitates, then presses violently off the wall and makes a dash for the door. She slips easily by the elderly Dr. Sparrow, narrowly avoiding a collision with Dr. Lansing, and almost gets past the burly health-care assistant. At the last moment, however, he grabs her around the waist and pulls her back. Her legs lift off the ground, and she kicks out violently.

“NO!” she screams, wrestling the assistant with all her strength. “Please, please!”

He stumbles back into the wall, still holding her against him. She bites down hard on the arm restraining her; the assistant grunts and lets go. She falls to her knees, and then scrambles out of the room.

Ignoring the blood running from his arm, he grabs for her foot, and yanks her back inside, then straddles her, pinning her arms down above her head.

“Calm,” the assistant says, his voice deep and heavily accented. “Calm now.”

Kaitlyn shakes her head violently left and right, the blood from the assistant splattering her cheeks and hair. Her teeth, too, are stained red with his blood.

“Nonononononononono!” Her screams seem endless.

“Oui, Doctor,” the assistant grunts. “I have her steady now. S’okay.”

Dr. Sparrow, paler, bends down and injects Kaitlyn in her left thigh.

“Don’t! Don’t put me back there!”

She continues to struggle and groan, and eventually falls limp. The health-care assistant gets up and gently pulls down her hospital gown, which had ridden up to her waist.

“Poor little girl,” he says, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “She is calm now. She will sleep.”

Dr. Sparrow and Dr. Lansing—who seems harassed and alarmed—both stare down at Kaitlyn, who does now seem to be very calm indeed.

56 48 days until the incident

Inpatient Therapy Notes

Dr. Annabeth Lansing

Patient File [Johnson-C-0399524], Session #72

Thursday, 16 December 2004

Carly Johnson has been unconscious for fifty-six hours. After the intended twenty-four-hour period, we were unable to wake her. With little other choice, both amantadine and Ritalin were administered, but to no avail; I fear that we may have triggered a new catatonic episode. Carly Johnson seems trapped in unconsciousness. I question my judgment in sedating her now. I am alarmed by her final words before going under, and our inability to wake her. I confess I am at a loss as to my next course of action.

57

The Johnson Claydon Diaries

Twenty-first Entry

What did they do to me? God, Dee. I am lucky to be here. The Dead House descended like music curdling into time; and as it did, I grew wet and cold, and it was dark, and I was so alone…

It had devoured me. Eaten me.

You belong to me. The Voice was ancient as stone and fleeting as the wind, yet familiar and intimate as a caress. It rumbled through the walls and floor, and shook me and stirred me.

I ran for the door, but the corridor changed, stretching on and on; my cries echoed and carried forever. Always the door stood, tiny and hopelessly appealing, at the very end. A speck of hope the house knew I couldn’t stop seeking. I ran for days, weeks, centuries. I died and revived, and still the door stood, waiting.

And then I heard her.

Carly.

She was calling for me. Screaming. She was in agony! The moment I realized it, I was out. Out and awake and coughing up water from my lungs. Only it wasn’t water, it was vomit, and I was choking.

I went to the window, and I stared at myself—and the dead girl—until the sun began to rise over the sill.

“Carly?” I kept calling, waiting for her reflection to show.

Crazy Kaitie, crazy Kaitie.

Those dicks forced me back into the Dead House, and now it has something. It got a bite out of me as I ran, a little shadow of a bite, but it will have a piece of me forever.

58

Inpatient Session Recording #74 [Ref: Johnson-Inp-0033]

Friday, 17 December 2004, 5:17 PM

Claydon Youth Psychiatric Facility, Somerset

Dr. Annabeth Lansing (AL) and Carly Luanne Johnson (CJ)

(AL): So why do you think you’re afraid?

(CJ): You ask me questions that I… that I can’t—

[Breathing]

(AL): Tell me what you want.

(CJ): I want Carly.

(AL): You want more than that. [Pause] Would you like to stop talking?

[Rustling]

(CJ): Yes. No.

(AL): Why don’t you take a breath, sit for a moment, and when you feel like you want to start talking, then talk.

(CJ): About what?

(AL): Whatever’s on your mind.

(CJ): You want to talk about Elmbridge. The roof that night. Why I was up there.

(AL): Why did you go up there?

(CJ): [Loudly] You won’t believe me.

(AL): I believe that you think Carly is gone. I believe you think your Voice is somehow responsible. Aka Manah.

(CJ): Don’t say his name.

(AL): Why not?

(CJ): Just don’t. Everything’s different.

[Heavy breathing]

(AL): Carly? [Sigh] How about we try talking again? Let’s just try. Last session we failed, but maybe this time we’ll succeed.

[Pause]

(CJ): Okay.

(AL): Okay. Tell me the first thing that comes into your mind.

(CJ): The Viking.

(AL): The Viking?

(CJ): He… he was a friend. From… before.

(AL): Excellent! Tell me about him.

(CJ): [Takes breath] The Viking… he used to give me sunflower seeds. [Pause] “You’re a fucking bird,” he’d say, holding them out. “This is bird food.” The first time he did it, I tried to knee him in the nuts. [Laugh] He just picked me up and dumped me on his shoulder, laughing as he carried me away. “A fucking pesky bird, at that. You’re a tiny little falcon hawk, always nipping at something.” He always said that. I was a falcon hawk. It became our thing. My big Viking friend bringing his pesky little falcon some seeds. [Pause] I haven’t had seeds since my parents… died.

(AL): Why did he stop?

[Silence]

Try to articulate that emotion.

(CJ): [Voice low] You know why.

(AL): You blame being admitted into Claydon?