Chained Soul – Part Twenty-Seven

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-Six, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-Seven

Kathy hasn’t come in yet today. I don’t know if she will. I don’t know if she did the report too late – what if she forgot to send it in? She doesn’t seem like the type of person to forget about something like that, especially not with how wound up she was about it all. But maybe that was the problem – people forget things when they’re stressed, right?

Maybe that’s why I can’t remember anything. To be fair, I’ve been pretty consistently fucking stressed since I’ve been in here. You can’t blame me, but I guess it’s also not going to be helpful for trying to… do whatever I’m supposed to be doing.

I’m not recovering – like, how the fuck am I meant to recover from something when I don’t know what it is? I think the only goal I’ve been trying to go towards is getting out of here, and maybe getting at least some of my memories back. Just trying to figure out what’s going on and why I’m here.

Huh. If you took that out of context then it’d sound really fucking philosophical. But it’s not. It’s just me going round and round in my head, trying to knock something loose. I’d honestly try banging my head against the wall if I wasn’t meant to be on my best behaviour.

And that’d probably hurt. I learned my lesson from banging on the door, however long ago that was.

Wait.

It was twenty-seven days ago, wasn’t it? Because I’ve numbered this thing. Jesus, I’m getting stupid in here. Or maybe I was always stupid. I guess I have no idea. Wouldn’t it be something if I was a PhD-having know-it-all? But then I guess I’d be smart enough to not get thrown in here in the first place.

Unless it was a properly organised thing. And I mean government conspiracy sort of level. I know Kathy said there was a trial or something, and that means I was in court. So they got me on some sort of charge. But it might’ve all been a set-up. Or maybe I was being an expert for a trial or something and then did something stupid and got held in that contempt thing.

I’m not going to be a mega-intelligent expert, am I? Fuck, I can keep dreaming though. I could be an expert at something really, really specific, like… jeez, I can’t even think of anything. Smells, or something. No, what the fuck am I thinking? You don’t have evidence of smells. It’s all fingerprints and scraps of fabric and skin under fingernails and stuff. Maybe I’m a fingernail expert.

No, that just sounds weird.

And it hasn’t ‘unlocked’ anything. My memories are as far away as ever. I keep going over the conversation with my mum and the memory of the kid in the supermarket – the image of all the sick everywhere makes me shudder every time – but I just can’t link them, or come up with any new ones. There has to be a thousand scenes that fill the gaps between them, but I’ve lost them all.

I’m not ruling out that they brainwashed me. That would explain everything. Or that the drugs are keeping my memories away. Or that they did something so traumatic to me that my brain just refuses to remember it. It might not be my brain’s fault.

On the other hand, it could completely be my brain’s fault. Neither of those would surprise me too much, to be-

Hang on.

Some Very Alarming Shouting Through The Wall

-so I’m writing down the bit that’s above this bit, but then there’s some sort of bang and a load of screaming through the wall, so I jump up and start panicking because that’s where Helen is and she’d been going on about all that conspiracy doom-and-gloom stuff the last time we spoke, and I basically glue myself to the wall trying to make out the words-

Her: Get out! I won’t let you do it! I won’t!

Someone: -muffled words that are a lot quieter than Helen-

Her: You can’t do this! It’s illegal!

Someone: -some more equally quiet words that aren’t fucking helpful in the slightest-

Her: I’ll kill you before I let you take me!

Someone: (much louder) Stop that! Put that down!

-here, there’s another bang, and some more shouting and sort of wordless screaming, which is obviously all quite concerning, but I can’t fucking do anything because Kathy seems to think I’m on the brink of getting out of here and I can’t risk banging or screaming myself in case that chance goes away-

Her: I’ll get out! I’ll tell everyone what’s happening here!

Someone: Stop now, or we will use force!

Her: Like that’s ever stopped you!

I don’t think there’s much more point in me trying to write down the words now, because I can’t hear any of them properly. Helen screams, something bangs, then there’s shouting from whoever’s trying to do whatever they’re trying to do with her. It must be one of the guard-looking people. Or a psychologist, I guess.

It’s happening. I can’t do anything to stop it, and acknowledging it feels bleak as fuck, but Helen was right. They’re doing something. They could be getting rid of her, or moving her to some tiny box where she can hardly sit or stand, or doing who the fuck knows what. They can do anything they want in here, I guess.

I’ve never had a visitor. I can’t talk to my mum. How would I tell anyone what’s happening here? Even if they did let me send emails as well as receive them, they’d probably be so heavily censored that they’d be useless. I’m stuck here and I can’t do anything or tell anyone about it.

And now she’s screaming, but the sound is moving. I’m trying to follow it across the wall. I’m trying to hold onto her even though I’m too scared to say anything, even to whisper anything.

A door bangs shut, and everything is quiet again.

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