The Mental Patient

Chapter 6 - That Dark Place

THE basement door howls open; the darkened deepened dip downwards dauntingly destroys all desires for Jessica's distressful discharge. I push onwards down to the place where good children are drenched and reflectively caked with blood and bruises, that dark place, that's what Jess called it; hello again, my own personal Hell.

"Jessie, you down here, honey? I can't see well, make a noise if you can hear me..." I spin around in the darkness looking for a voice before the monsters down here awaken; they can smell my fear and gobble scared little pussies up in one gulp. The jingles of loose chains tingle from the basements far corner, passed the boxes of happier times when Mom was here. Nudging into boxes and dusty cracked picture frames, I notice a photo, I see the outline of mam's smile, I already know what picture it is; it was the day Mam took me to see Jurassic Park, we sat in the front seats, she always jumped every time she saw the velociraptors, one of my happiest memories. She spoiled me that day with ice-cream and goodies; I can't believe that's what I remember most about the movie, just her being there.

This is pain. She hung there battered, clawed and mauled. Half missing with no more appeal for life, just from the look of her, her last word was my name. I am knee riding, the ground keeps me aground as I am swaying with her as her body lays in limbo from the chains, we are almost dancing again. To wrench my guts and scream her name at the same time is an impossible leap, but I cannot do this one thing without the other.

There is no lighting, no moonlight; everything is hiding but the shadows, which have come to collect my sister and me. How do I fix her? I unhoop the chains from the walled hook. I want to scratch at my face until I have reached my brain and have pulled out an idea on rebirth. Her sanity has been tested tonight, this only adds insult to injury and tears to tears.

Once we were a nuclear family, no wonder I blew my top and became a radioactive mutant. I feel out for Jessica's hair and hit face, whoops, sorry sweetheart; I scoop her up in my hands.

"Are you okay baby?" Slow fingers brush away the hair, which clings to her; tears and boogers are the true glue to a sibling's love.

"Let's get you out of here and back into the land of the living." I whisper a helping hand in her ear as I lunge my arms around her, I know your legs turns into collapsible jelly when standing on your feet for hours on end, hon'; I'm a pro at this.

In our shared bedlam of a bedroom, we lived with the bare minimum. House cleaners and servants had more than we did. A single bed each, Jess was the only one with a pillow, we were only given the one. I didn't mind though, I was used to not having one, as well as quilt covers, sheets, or even a bed base; we weren't made of money. Both our mattresses were separated by clothes, sweet wrappers and white ripped wallpaper from our own walls, full of small inscriptions only I could read, tiny stories I had jotted down to entertain and drain my border-lined bored brain. Not like our dad would notice something like that, he wouldn't give a shit, he never did; plus, it was Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, it was for toddlers, no one ever thought to redecorate after we were about four-five years old.

No light bulb, missing floorboards, no curtains but a pinned up raggedy old red and brownish-yellow knitted sheet. Our bedroom had no door; it was punched out from the hinges to stop any conspiring or barricading for when he was on a hammed ramped rampage. No chest of drawers, the walk-in cupboard in our room laid a mound of shared clothes too small, most haven't been washed. Aged cobwebs have collected years of dust, abandoned by the hungry spiders, which have fled to be fed. One has a green plastic army soldier hanging in it, boredom has a funny face. We live in a five-star home; no really, you can see five stars through the holes in our roof.

Living here was usually easy, if the cleaning, paying bills and shopping had been done on a weekly basis, keeping up appearances was Dads main concern, this was for a tick on the social services clipboard. Putting on a good act every fortnight and getting his money was as far as he really goes to be part of our childhood. Unless you count the beatings, but I think that comes under a different category, doesn't it?

"Here you go sweetheart, just lie there and rest." I clonk down on the floor, overlooking Jessica and the predicament of placed anarchy on her portrayed artwork of a face. She comes too, jittering her eyes and licking her dry lips.

"A home is supposed to be a sanctuary, Jess. Don't you think it would be wise for us to come up with some sort of a backup plan, like in the movies we sneak to watch when The Dick-wad is knocked out? We need to do something, now and fast. I won't let him attack you like that again, it's not on, it's not going to happen again." Standing up, I pace the floor in precocious pre-plan periodic mode. The pain in my feet is dying, just as I am with every flick of thought. Abseil down the rabbit hole and bring something back with you.

She shuffles further into her limp yellow drool stained pillow with besmirched thoughts, which I see I've clearly planted a forming uncomforting fort within her. Sorry honey, but I need you on my page for this to be accomplished. Jessica, you know what answer I'm looking for, bless my ears with the words, c'mon, three little letters, put them together and what have you got?

I pick up one of my literary ledgers I wrote and begin to read the potential dream in an epoch of innocence I can't go back too, not now, not after all this.

I'm trying to escape from this haunted house from my bedroom window, the room has started to bring all my nightmares to life; but as soon as I do I am dangling from my ankles from the windowsill, the evil is keeping me here. I shouldn't have told my pillows what scares me at night. The whole neighbourhood has come to have a gander at something more damaged than their own self-hatred. Don't help, I'm not scared to be dragged under this bed again, there is no solace within this home. Come live with us, Kyle, you are one of us.