Chained Soul – Part Twenty-Four

Welcome back to Chained Soul, my new serialised novel that I’m releasing right here on my blog, as well as on Tapas and Wattpad. Quick warning: this series does contain strong language, so if that’s not your thing, you’re free to skip this one!

Check out Part One, including a synopsis for the whole series, here!

If you missed Part Twenty-Three, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-Four

One Of The First Non-Threatening, Non-Hate-Filled, Non-Angry Emails I’ve Got

Hi, uh… I’m not going to use the name ##### put on the website because I don’t really trust ##### to be honest, but hello anyway. I’m ##### – everyone says you won’t be able to reply, but I suppose you’re still a person on the other side of the computer, and it’s nice to have names to remember people by.

I just want you to know that lots of us out here ##### I mean, not everyone, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be sat here typing this out to you, but there’s still some #####. A little, but we’re here. Not everyone agrees that you should be in #####, especially not me, and everything about the ##### was so messed up. One of my friends said that she’s bets you were ##### by the ###### because you looked so tired and out of sorts on the #####.

But you probably don’t need reminding of that! I guess I wanted to bring some happiness into your ##### but I’m not doing the best job at that, sorry. Why don’t I tell you about my dog? He’s called ##### and seeing him curled up next to me every morning makes me so happy – I wish I could send you a picture or an attachment somehow, but I think text is the only thing this ancient ##### can handle…

It went on. The person, whose name was reduced to censored hashtags, talked about their dog, and their job at an advertising agency, and so many things that I can barely remember them without going back to the computer and reading through the email again. I have to rummage through the dozens of other emails that have come through since, but it’s worth it. There’s not an ounce of hate in that sender’s soul, proper pure-hearted and all that. Not like the other bored bastards who I swear are only sending me random shit and censored death threats because they have nothing better to do.

And yet I, the person in a situation with quite literally nothing to do at all, don’t have the ability to write any strongly-worded-and-censored emails back. Fucking inequality, huh.

Anyway, aside from checking on the emails – an apparently mandated task now, which I couldn’t fucking hate more – I’ve noticed something else that’s interesting. You know how in houses you get those cracks that run down the walls? You notice one in a corner one day and then suddenly they’re spreading across the ceiling and up the walls and you’re kinda scared that the room is gonna collapse down on top of you?

Well, my room’s got those. And as soon as my eyes fixed on one of them, another one appeared. And then another. And now all I can see are these bloody cracks and it would’ve just annoyed me, but then I got an idea.

I could scrape at the cracks and dig myself out, like in that movie that I must’ve watched at least once when I was a bit too young. Dig, dig, dig, and then I should come out the other side, right?

I’ve got to be tactical, though. If I go through into Helen’s room then all I’ll have done is relocated myself, but I need to get outside. I’ve seen that the room on the opposite side to Helen is just the same as hers and mine, at least in how the door looks, so I reckon my best chance is the remaining wall – obviously not the one that’s got a massive door in it.

While I’m thinking about all of this and wondering whether I should sit by the wall for a bit and listen out for any activity on the other side, there’s a knock at the door.

Conversation With Psychologist Lady

-she knocks and then lets herself in, like she always does, only this time she’s armed with a stack of papers that looks like it could be a weapon if you brought it down hard enough on someone’s head-

Her: Good morning.

Me: Is it morning?

Her: It is – you’ve not had your meal yet.

Me: The meals are actually at lunchtime?

Her: I- that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I want to have a calm, level-headed and serious discussion with you about your next steps.

Me: That sounds ominous.

-she comes to sit down on the bed next to me, and plonks the papers down on the other side of her-

Her: A place has opened up on the assessment pathway.

Me: …cool.

Her: The assessment pathway, or stage, is your ticket out of here. Your only ticket out of here.

Me: I thought you said if I fucked around I would get kicked out and sent somewhere worse?

Her: I didn’t say that exactly, thank you very much, but yes – the assessment pathway is your only option to leave the facility with your freedom. However, normally we wouldn’t dream of offering it to patients who are still experiencing their initial stages of memory loss caused by the transition into the facility.

Me: So that means me.

Her: You are very much an anomaly. None of your medical records or family history indicate anything that would lead towards complications with the process, but I suppose these things happen, and we’re just going to have to deal with that.

-she pauses here, and almost starts bristling or trembling or something, and it’s very weird seeing her all worked up-

Me: I’m getting the feeling there’s some sort of important reason that you’re trying to rush me onto this assessment bullshit and get me the fuck out of here, but you’re probably not gonna tell me what it is because of the memory shit.

Her: I couldn’t have put it better myself. I… I know this must be hard to believe when it comes from me, and especially when I can’t give you all of the information to make a proper, informed decision, but believe me, you have to take this opportunity now. There will be certain… changes made, after this latest group of patients go through the assessment stage. Out of everyone I see here, I can whole-heartedly tell you that those changes will absolutely impact you, and in my medical opinion they will be disastrous for your progress here and also your general mental wellbeing.

Me: And you promise this isn’t some shitty scare-mongering thing ‘cause you’re sick of the sight of me?

Her: I’d come up with a much better story if that was the case.

Me: That tracks. Might actually tell me something for a change.

Her: Anyway, there is no time to waste. I’ve already informed my supervisor of my recommendation for you to be put onto the pathway. Today, I need you to sit here, go through these papers, fill in the forms, and just… try to prepare yourself.

Me: Prepare myself for something that I’ve got no fucking clue about?

Her: Yes. Please. Mentally prepare yourself for the worst. The assessment might save you from a horrible time in here, but it’s no picnic itself. I’d lose my job if I told you any actual details but just try to imagine the worst case scenario and then multiply it by… by whatever number you like.

Me: So, papers, thinking about being tickled to death, and then you’ll come get me in the morning and I’m out?

Her: It’s not quite that quick. I’m hoping that if I get you into this latest group, then you might be processed out in the next few days, but it could take up to a week. The important thing is that you get out with this group, and that you’re not here when they move on to… well, the changes.

Me: Well… thanks, I guess? I think?

Her: You can thank me if you get through to the assessment, and you might not feel like thanking me after that, but I promise it’s for the best.

She left pretty soon after that. The papers were kinda shit – despite there being so many of them, half of them were censored so heavily that they’d only left in words like ‘The’ and ‘And’. Very fucking helpful.

So I moved onto the next stage of the psychologist lady’s plan: daydreaming about the worst ways I could be tortured, which means I’m probably setting myself up for the worst nightmare ever tonight.

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