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#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Eighteen

12 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

18. Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

"How did it go at the hospital?" Lara asked.

"Dr Asref has written me a prescription for two medications and he's made the referral to the crisis team" Neil replied.

It was the third time he'd visited the small community hospital as an outpatient and the second time he'd met the psychiatrist. Lara had never even heard of the hospital, even though it wasn't far from their home. The hospital mainly dealt with mental health patients.

The first appointment Neil had as an outpatient was for an assessment with a mental health nurse, 8 weeks after his doctor had made the referral to psychiatric services. He'd spoken to the nurse for about 90 minutes, while a trainee listened in and furiously scribbled notes. The nurse was kind and easy to talk to. He seemed to know exactly what kinds of things Neil was going through and was able to second guess what Neil was about to say, which made Neil relaxed and chatty for the first time in months.

The second appointment was with the consultant psychiatrist. He was not particularly conversational and seemed to be almost rambling to himself about various diagnoses and treatment regimens. He had presented Neil with a stack of photocopies of information on various medications and the consultation was suddenly over. Neil was confused and a little cut adrift. Asking what happened next, he was told to wait for another appointment where he could say which medication he'd like to try.

"Did you get the mirtazepine?" asked Lara.

"Yeah, but the consultant said I should take venlafaxine with it"

"Two medications?"

"That's right" said Neil, rattling two boxes of pills at Lara with a grin.

He seemed happier but his behaviour was worryingly erratic and childish. He would say and do regrettable things with no care for the consequences, or he would burst into tears and leave things in a mess if anything didn't go well.

One day, Neil had suddenly decided to demolish the garden shed with the supposed intention of building another one, but he hadn't purchased any materials to construct a replacement. Lara found him in bed when she got home, dreadfully upset and stressed about what he had done. That evening, she had to move the contents of the shed that could be damaged by rain and store them in the spare bedroom, while Neil cowered under the duvet.

His energy levels had improved, but often he would stay awake all night on the Internet. When Lara came home he would want to tell her about all the things he'd found out about UFOs, conspiracy theories, quantum physics, stock market trading and chaos theory. Neil's eyes would be flashing wide with wonder and excitement, but his thoughts were jumbled up and he was talking so fast she could only pick up every third word. He would get frustrated that she wasn't understanding and storm off in a huff.

"Did you get a new diagnosis?"

"He can't make up his mind. He said he's still convinced that it's major depressive disorder, but he also mentioned borderline personality disorder and bipolar disorder. He wants to treat me as if it's treatment resistant depression" Neil replied.

"Who are the crisis team?"

"Well, it's a number to phone if I'm thinking about hurting myself"

"Are you still having suicidal thoughts?"

"Not really. I'm too busy with my project"

Since losing his job Neil had been obsessed with the idea of creating an out-of-the-box security system bundle that would include wireless CCTV and motion sensors. The house had become increasingly full of equipment from Far-East manufacturers that Neil was tinkering with. Lara worried about how much it was all costing. How did he intend to sell this system if he could even make it work?

"Can I have the crisis team number?"

"Yeah. I'm supposed to give it to you and family so they can phone if they're worried about me" he replied. "And to any employer, but I don't want work sending round their goons to spy on me" he spat.

Neil's employer had become concerned that he hadn't turned up for work and had called his emergency contact - Lara - to see if he was OK. Lara was working and hadn't been able to answer her mobile, so the police had been phoned out of concern for Neil's welfare.

Neil had ignored the knocking on the front door, hoping that the police would just go away. A neighbour let the police into the back garden and they jumped over the fence. Neil heard the officers shouting at the back of the house and knocking on the back door. Yelling from the back windows, the police had insisted he come to the door so they could see he was OK. Neil had begrudgingly complied.

Lara was weary from constant worry about how Neil. She was very much relieved that there was now somebody else to contact in an emergency.

"People care about you, Neil." said Lara.

"Why are you using my name?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is there anybody else here? Why have you got to refer to me by name?"

"I don't know what you mean"

"You're so fucking patronising" said Neil, storming off.

Lara could hear him go into the box room upstairs. She knew he would be pretending to fiddle with stuff, brooding angrily. He would probably sleep in the guest bedroom again, even though it was packed with junk and the bed was covered with stuff from his project. Perhaps he would be awake all night surfing the Internet, following some thread that captivated his interest. They were definitely not going to have any further cordial discussion tonight.

Picking up the tablet on the coffee table - an impulse purchase that Neil had made - Lara searched the Internet. Typing "borderline personality disorder" she wondered what borderline meant. Did it mean that it was a milder form of the illness? As she read the symptoms she decided that it didn't really seem like Neil at all. They'd been together for so many years and they were engaged to be married. The part about unstable relationships didn't seem to fit at all.

Searching for "bipolar disorder" she came across a number of symptoms that sounded much more like Neil's recent behaviour. Rapid speech and disordered thinking, irritability, spending money and risk taking. She read the word "hypersexuality" and felt a knot in her stomach. He'd shown relatively little interest in her recently, but she knew he was watching more and more pornography. With a kind of shamelessness she heard him masturbating at night and found discarded tissues littering the floor. He made little effort to hide his Internet browsing history.

"Delusions of grandeur" and "psychosis" were things that were a little hard to place. Lara had worked a night shift and she heard him on a phone conference call during the day with his boss and human resources. Neil had ended up yelling about how he knew more than "all of you put together" and how he would create a competitor company that would "crush you like a bug". She knew that he had become frustrated and enraged by the conversation which had been ostensibly about sacking Neil, but his crazed response was completely out of character. She put it down to the extreme stress of the situation.

He was withdrawn and distant. It seemed inconceivable that he would be hearing voices or suffering with hallucinations. In her eyes, Neil was still strong, rational, intelligent and in control. She trusted him. They had always been open with each other about household finances and shared the burden of balancing the books. Even though she was cross that he'd thrown away his job, she thought that it was necessary for Neil's health and that he'd easily get more paid employment when he was ready to go back to work. They had enough savings to cushion their loss of earnings in the short term.

Two days later, Neil had disappeared.

"What do you think I should do?" Lara asked on the telephone.

"Have you rung the crisis team?"

"No. I don't know what the best thing to do is"

"Well, he didn't like it when the police got involved" Neil's dad replied.

Neil's dad was a practical man and had become a useful person to phone when she didn't know who else to speak to. Lara's parents were very sympathetic towards Neil, but it meant that they tended to share and exacerbate her worries rather than offering simple clear-cut advice.

The crisis team had promised to arrive within an hour. That was early on a Saturday morning. Neil had returned home in the afternoon, but had barricaded himself in the box room and refused to talk to Lara. Some eight hours after she had originally got in contact, there was a knock at the door.

"Hello, Lara?" asked a balding man, slightly overweight and wearing rimless spectacles. A mousey woman waited nervously behind him in the darkness, clutching a bulging ring binder.

"Yes, Hi"

"I'm Dan. This is my colleague Sue. Can we come in?"

"Please. Please do. I've been waiting all day" said Lara, ushering the two visitors into the hallway. "Neil, there are some people here to see you" she called upstairs.

Dan and Sue stood awkwardly and Lara gestured towards the snug, where they entered and sat down.

"Sorry... Lara was it?" Dan said.

"Yes, Lara"

"We had a number of urgent calls come in."

"That's fine."

"I'm a social worker and my colleague Sue is a nurse. We're here to make an initial assessment and see how we can help. Can you tell me what's been going on? It's Neil isn't it?"

"Yes, it's Neil I phoned about."

Lara noticed that Neil was hovering by the door.

"Ah Neil. These people are from the crisis team. They're here to see if you're OK."

"I'm not" said Neil, half entering the room but not sitting down, surveying the scene with distrust.

"Hi, Neil. I'm Dan. This is Sue" said the social worker, leaping to his feet and offering his hand. Neil took it and shook it. Sue half stood up, but remained quietly in the background. "Can you tell us what's been happening with you?"

"I can't cope anymore. I feel desperate. Suicidal"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Neil. How long has this been going on for?"

"On and off for months. It got really bad this week."

"OK, I need to ask you some basic questions." said Dan, now looking at Sue. Sue opened her binder and readied her pen.

"Do you know what day it is today?"

"Yes. It's Saturday the 20th of August, 2016."

"Do you know who the Prime Minister is?"

"David Cameron. No, er, I mean Theresa May"

"OK, and where are we?"

"We're in my house"

"Are you hearing or seeing anything unusual. Any voices?"

"No"

"Are you receiving any instructions, do you believe you are able to make people say or do things you want?"

"No"

"Is there anything you're anxious or concerned about right now?"

"I'm worried I'm going to kill myself"

"OK. Thanks, Neil" said Dan, glancing at his colleague. "It says in my notes that you've never been in hospital, because of your illness. Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right. I've never been in hospital in my life except as an outpatient."

"Well, I think the safest place for you right now is at home. Where your partner and family can keep an eye on you. The crisis team can come and check on you, to make sure you're OK. How does that sound?"

"I want to die"

"OK well psychiatric hospitals are pretty crazy places. You wouldn't get a lot of rest there. The staff don't have a lot of time to help everybody. You'll be much better looked after at home. Do you have anything to help you sleep?"

"I've got mirtazepine. That makes me really sleepy"

"That's great. Do you know where it is?"

"It's on my bedside table."

"Lara, do you want to get it for Neil? And a glass of water" Dan prompted.

While Lara was gone, Dan and Sue sat quietly smiling and then Sue's mobile phone rang. She stepped out of the room and let herself out of the house while taking the call.

Lara returned with the medication and a drink.

"OK, Neil. What you're going to do is take your usual medication and then we're going to come and see you tomorrow and the day after. We're going to come and visit you here at home every day until you're feeling better."

Sue now let herself back into the house and popped her head around the door.

"Dan, we've got to go."

"Alright, sorry it was such a flying visit, but we have to attend to an emergency situation" said Dan, standing up and smiling. Pausing for a moment and taking on a more serious expression he said "everything's going to be OK. Hang tight. We'll be back tomorrow."

"OK, thanks" said Lara, following Dan to the door. Sue was already outside, eagerly wanting to get away. Neil was sat on the sofa, a little dumbstruck by the whole experience.

The front door closed, Lara returned to the snug.

"That went OK. There'll be somebody coming to check on you every day. That's reassuring isn't it?"

Neil simply looked at her blankly and then went upstairs to bed.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Seventeen

12 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

17. The Holiday

"What do you mean you're not offering the service anymore?" Neil asked as courteously as he could, although he was aware that his question was put through gritted teeth and a fake smile that looked more like a grimace.

"It's not something this post office is doing anymore."

"But when we spoke, you said you were able to receive my mail."

"Yes, but then I discussed it with my manager and he contacted the regional manager and we decided that our branch was too small to offer the service."

"So what's happened to my mail?" asked Neil.

"We had to return it to the sender."

"OK. Thank you" Neil said curtly, tapping the counter top lightly as he turned and left. There was no way he could conceal his annoyance but he knew there was no sense in kicking off, creating a scene. He knew that if he pressed the matter further it was likely that the other post offices in the area would be told they couldn't accept poste restante mail.

It wasn't a complete disaster but having to wait a couple of weeks for two envelopes to wing their way around the globe would be agonising.

"Why didn't you deal with this earlier?" he muttered to himself under his breath on the street outside.

The town was filled with market day traders and shoppers and he was drawing unwanted attention to himself as he walked slowly along the pavement. His cheekbones stood out prominently on his face and his eyes were sunken in dark hollows. He'd been able to do little more than smear dirt around his face with a wetted rag and his baseball cap did little to hide his greasy matted hair. Now back in the open, his odour wafted away in the breeze, but the person who had queued behind him in the post office had left a considerable gap because Neil desperately needed a wash.

Neil had not planned on buying more than a plastic bag full of food & drink as soon as he had collected his third envelope. He hadn't really got a plan B. He'd been worried that there would be a problem at one of the post offices, but he was also desperate for things to go his way. Today, they hadn't. He was still dealing with his disappointment and annoyance. He wasn't thinking clearly.

Walking all the way back to the van, he cursed under his breath.

"Fucking hell. What a fucking shit. What a fucking pain in the arse. Shit. Fuck. Piss. Bollocks."

He'd started to walk more briskly now that he knew what must be done, but he had none of the energy and sense of urgency that he would usually have when returning with his envelope. He stared down at the pavement a little way ahead of him, blinkered to everything around him, lost in a world of his own.

"What an absolute shit. What a total fuck up" he muttered.

Finally reaching the van, he opened the back doors and got out a small blue rucksack. He slammed the door closed and locked it. He raised his eyes momentarily, realising he was drawing attention to himself on the quiet residential back street where he had parked. There didn't seem to be anybody around.

Jumping in the driver's seat, he got his laptop out and powered it up.

"Fuck. Fucking idiot country bumpkins. Fucking backwards cocksuckers" he said to himself, hitting the steering wheel and slamming the lid of the laptop closed.

Stepping out of the van and locking it, Neil now walked back into the town centre.

"What a waste of fucking time. What a waste of fucking energy" he muttered over and over again. He was passing people on the pavement again and held his tongue, knowing that a wild looking man talking to himself was liable to be alarming sight for the local people.

Entering a pub, Neil approached the barman.

"Excuse me. Do you have Wi-Fi?" he asked.

"Yep. For customers" the barman replied with hostility.

"Half a lemonade, please."

Unplacated, the barman poured the drink.

"And a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, please."

"That'll be two pounds fifteen. The Wi-Fi password is on the blackboard in the back by the pool table" the barman said, now satisfied that Neil had spent an adequate amount of money to be considered a customer. Too many people used the pub's toilets without even buying a drink on market day and he was not in a good mood.

Whipping out his laptop, Neil positioned himself with his back facing the corner of the room so that nobody could see the screen. Connected to the Internet wirelessly, he plugged in a memory stick and opened a password-protected document. Pasting links, usernames and passwords from his document into the web browser, he did everything that he needed to do within ten minutes. His lemonade and crisps were untouched when he left the pub.

The Chinese working day was over and it would take the postal service 7 to 10 days to deliver, which meant he had at least 8 days to wait. Envelopes usually cleared customs without any delays, but he was dreading the day when something went missing in transit or took much longer to be delivered than expected. 

Feelings of exhaustion and depression swept over him as he trudged along, walking the same route for the 4th time that day. He felt tearful. He felt anger and frustration. At times he would look up and glance at the people he passed. Was he angry with them? He was angry with somebody, everyone, anyone.

Driving back to the caravan he had the heater turned way up. He was sleepy and he wasn't concentrating. He got lost a couple of times on the back lanes.

"Stupid fucking time-waster. What a waste of fucking space" he yelled at himself.

Eventually he parked up in the forest. He didn't really want to turn the engine off because he was cosy and warm. He sat in the van as it got darker and darker and the warmth seeped away before stiffly easing his way out of the driver's seat and staggering back to the caravan. In the bedroom he wrapped himself up tightly in the sleeping bag and curled up in a ball. His hands and face were freezing and he was trembling. His whole body ached.

He woke up knowing he'd slept for a long time but he was still really tired. He was hungry and thirsty and he needed to go to the toilet. He felt cold but he really didn't want to get out of the sleeping bag because he knew it would be even more cold. He wasn't comfortable, but he wanted to lie there on the bed, curled up.

Eventually, the discomfort in his bladder drove him to get out of bed and go outside to urinate. He hopped lightly back into the caravan, hugging himself to keep warm even though he was fully clothed. Going to his rucksack, he went to the top pocket and pulled out a strip of pills. Popping two pills out of the blister pack he paused for a second and then popped out two more. He paused again and then popped out a fifth. Necking the tablets, he then looked around for a bottle with any liquid left in it. There was a water bottle with barely a mouthful left, which Neil snatched up, unscrewed the cap and tipped into his mouth with his head back, swallowing.

After a cursory glance around confirmed there was nothing else to drink in the caravan, he returned to bed. Soon, he fell into a comfortable drugged sleep. He woke up feeling groggy and hung over. His thirst and his hunger were now unbearable, but he slowly surveyed the scene of the caravan with one eye open, groaning as he rolled over in his sleeping bag. Eventually, he dragged himself out of bed.

Unsteady on his feet, he straightened out his clothes and sighed. Rummaging in his rucksack, he pulled out the black duffel bag and left the caravan.

In the car park by the convenience store in the first town he'd visited, he knew he was taking a huge risk, but he desperately needed supplies. He felt hot and cold flushes and his joints ached. He was weak and he shuffled along, but he didn't have far to walk to get to the shop and to drag his bag back to the van.

In the shop he bought a 5 litre bottle of mineral water, shower gel, deodorant, disposable razors, toothpaste and a toothbrush, toilet roll as well as 10 cans of caffeinated energy drink, a large bottle of cola and several Cornish pasties.

"Big night last night?" the young shop assistant chuckled.

Neil replied with a grunt. He swayed a little at the counter as he waited for the items to be scanned.

"Are you OK?" the young man asked.

"I'm fine. How much is it?" Neil replied.

Packing all his shopping into the black bag, Neil was slow and clumsy. Other customers were waiting to pay, but he didn't notice: his mind was cloudy; he was sick and exhausted.

In the van, he downed an energy drink which slaked his thirst. The brief boost to his blood sugar meant that he felt OK driving back and he managed to drag the duffel bag into the caravan. After three bites of a Cornish pasty, he curled up by the dining table and fell asleep.

For four days he felt too unwell to leave the bedroom except to eat, drink and go to the toilet. He had cold sweats and his whole body ached. Waves of nausea swept over him, but he managed to avoid throwing up and held his food down.

On the fifth day he felt a little better and he thought about going home, to his home town, his house. Maybe he could get in contact with Lara. Maybe she would come and look after him. He knew it would be a horrible journey on public transport when he was still feeling very unwell, but he could manage it. Perhaps his journey was at its end.

He ate his remaining food, drank the last of the cola and had a couple of energy drinks. With the help of a couple of sleeping pills, he managed to get a good night's sleep.

Waking up, he felt refreshed and a little energised. It was a cold day, but he knew that he had to wash. Rinsing the soap out of his hair with freezing water gave him an ice-cream headache, but it felt nice to be taking care of his appearance after so long. He flanneled himself with a soapy rag, getting rid of the worst of the dirt and smell from his body. Brushing his teeth and spraying deodorant all over his body, he felt like a new man. He put on his set of clean clothes.

There was no doubt in his mind about what he was going to do next.

"Hi. Is there any post for me?"

With the envelope in his hands, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes this time. He rushed to the hardware store and bought some self-adhesive plastic to obscure the caravan windows, a stanley knife, a staple-gun, a bolt for the bedroom door, a screwdriver, a hammer, some masking tape, insulation tape and duct tape. He drove to the supermarket on the edge of town and parked in the car park. He bought 6 large bottles of mineral water, 6 large bottles of cola, 5 tins of baked beans, 5 tins of spaghetti hoops and 6 packets of salted crisps.

Driving home, he was struck with the urge to stop outside the fish & chip shop and get a takeaway. He bought a large cod and chips and a pot of curry sauce.

"You're looking well" the woman behind the counter said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I saw you in Axeton the other week. You looked like death warmed up"

"Yeah, I wasn't very well" he replied.

"Well, it's good to see you're on the mend. All the colour has come back into your cheeks"

Sitting down at the caravan's dining table with all his purchases, Neil unwrapped the paper of the first hot meal he'd had in over a month. The food had gone a little cold but delicious smells wafted up: battered fish, golden chips, salt and vinegar. He ate quickly and soon he felt uncomfortably stuffed, because his stomach had shrunk.

Why hadn't he just gone to sleep and then gotten himself away from there?

Now he lay contemplating his fate. He was a little appalled that he threw away such a great a chance to escape; to run for his life. For a brief moment, there had been a glimmer of hope, of redemption, but he hadn't cared at the time. He hadn't given it a moment's thought, but now he considered how close he had been to avoiding his current predicament, if only he had made a different choice that night.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Sixteen

9 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

16. Self Inflicted

"I should be upstairs saving lives and instead I'm here wasting my time here talking to you" the consultant harshly chided. "I'm needed in surgery helping patients who don't deserve to be here" he continued.

"We're picking up the pieces of your self-inflicted mess and that's not fair."

The staff and patients within earshot of the ward could not help listening in to the consultant's angry tirade. They cringed with embarrassment on behalf of the petite and ghostly white girl who looked the angry doctor straight in the eyes with a contemptuous stare. She seemed completely unmoved, which only enraged him further.

The consultant briskly walked off. Everybody in the vicinity had stood spellbound, watching the scene unfold and there was a moment of hesitation before anybody started to move around. It was deathly quiet before people resumed talking again. A male nurse who had been hovering near the girl's bed now came over to replace an empty drip bag. He studied her face.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. I didn't choose to come here" said the girl.

"He's very good at his job. He's very respected in this hospital" the nurse replied.

"I don't dispute that. But I didn't want to come here and take up anybody's valuable time" she said.

The nurse stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

"The police brought me here. It wasn't my choice. I didn't want to come."

The nurse wanted to tell her to keep her voice down, but he knew that it would be hypocritical, given that the consultant had launched a loud verbal assault on the silent girl. She hadn't spoken a word to contradict him. In fact, they had never spoken. He had read her notes and marched into the ward to give her a lecture. The other staff were quite sympathetic towards this fragile creature who had been so apologetic that she had ended up in hospital.

Lara had to put two canulas into the girl's pale skin when she arrived on the ward. Inside the crook of her arm and down the length to her wrists, there were scarred track marks and pus-filled abscesses. Lara searched the back of the girl's wrists but couldn't find a single vein that hadn't collapsed.

"I'm sorry. That hasn't worked. We'll have to try again" Lara said as she pushed the thick needle of the canula into a vein in the girl's ankle.

"It's fine. Don't worry. I'm sorry it's so hard. I'm used to it" the girl said.

Lara knew that it must hurt, but the girl didn't make a sound, even when she slightly flinched with pain.

"I bet she can't feel a thing" muttered one of the other nurses to Judy, the ward manager. They were watching through the glass from the corridor.

"She detoxed in intensive care. She's probably in a great deal of pain and discomfort" said Judy with a stern look at her colleague.

The hospital was a fairly nonjudgemental place. Even when the radiographers would gossip about the strange objects that they had seen on X-rays, that had been inserted into mens rectums, there was still a lot of sympathy amongst the staff and sensitivity for the feelings of the patients. "Imagine shitting that out" Anne cackled, talking about a toy car that a man had "accidentally sat down on" and had been unable to remove himself.

On a general ward, those who stayed for any considerable length of time were the geriatric patients. The patients Lara looked after either got better and were discharged, or they got worse and were rushed off to surgery or intensive care. The old people took a long time to recover and had multiple health problems as their aged bodies slowly shut down and died. Young people were a relative rarity on the ward and there was something shocking about seeing somebody unwell when they had their whole life ahead of them.

The young girl on Lara's ward had been admitted with pneumonia, septicaemia - blood poisoning - as well as a number of infected abscesses. She had hepatitis B and C. She was HIV positive. Her blood borne diseases were not affecting her health but would severely shorten her life expectancy. This shocking prognosis was at odds with the defiant and beautiful patient who seemed so strong despite being critically unwell.

As an emergency admission, the girl was still wearing the same clothes that she had been when the police had brought her to hospital. Her thickly applied make-up was still plastered to her face. Her short skirt, boob tube, mascara, black eyeliner and bold lipstick unmistakably identified her as a sex worker. Her uncovered arms betrayed the fact that she was an injecting drug user, but the men who picked up street walkers wouldn't notice or care about such things.

"Do you want me to find you some pyjamas?" Lara asked, trying not to stare at the small scars all over the delicate flesh on the underside of the girl's arms.

"Only if it's no trouble" the girl replied with a grateful smile.

Rummaging in one of the store cupboards, Lara managed to locate some pale green pyjamas and a pair of beige disposable slippers wrapped in cellophane.

"Here" said Lara. "I'll put these on this chair and we'll get you unhooked from all this stuff when that drip bag is next empty" she said.

A drip fed into the canula in the girl's ankle. She had a blood pressure cuff and oxygen level monitor attached to her arm. A machine pumped fluids into her body. A catheter bag hung below the bed, half full of urine. The tentacles of cables and tubes spread out from the white sheets of the bed where she lay, to the surrounding machines and equipment.

Changed out of her clothes and into clean hospital-issued pyjamas, the girl had managed to quickly clean her face in the bathroom. Her complexion was unhealthy but she was clearly very young. Without her makeup, she was just a helpless sick child.

"Are you OK in there?" Anne asked. "Lara, is that you?"

Anne was stood outside the ladies' staff toilet. She had heard somebody sobbing inside. Lara emerged sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with toilet paper. Anne looked around to make sure nobody had noticed them, while Lara fussed with her handbag and tried to walk away as if nothing had happened.

"Whoa there girl! You're not going anywhere. We're going to mine. No arguing" said Anne.

Lara had stifled her sobs as they exited the building and headed to the nurses' accommodation block. It was the end of their shift but Lara had obviously been locked in the toilets for some time because the rush to leave the building had quietened down.

No sooner had Anne closed the front door of her studio apartment behind them, Lara burst into tears again.

"What's wrong? Is it that girl in ward D?"

"She.. she... she's so young" Lara snivelled.

"Yeah. Heartbreaking" said Anne in a flat tone.

"But she's got nobody. Did you hear the way Osborne spoke to her?"

"Well, he's got a point. Nobody forced her to start taking drugs" Anne said, pouring out two large glasses of white wine.

This made Lara sit up and stop crying, although her eyes were still filled with tears.

"That's such a cliché. You think she's to blame for her own problems? You think she chose everything that's happened to her?" asked Lara.

Anne sat down on the sofa next to Lara and handed her a glass.

"No. I'm sure she was abused as a child. I'm sure she was raised in foster care. I'm sure she's had a hard life. I just mean, some kids turn out alright and some don't. They're not born with a crack pipe in their mouths" said Anne.

Lara knew that her friend wasn't being harsh. It was no use for them to wallow in misery over every tragic case that crossed their path. Anne was being supportive and kind by looking out for her and giving her space to talk about this girl away from work, even though she was challenging Lara's sympathetic stance.

"I don't think it's as simple as Doctor Osborne makes out" Lara said, taking a gulp of wine, still unable to look her friend in the eye.

"He shouldn't have spoken to her like that. He was shouting. Everybody heard him."

"Yeah" said Lara weakly.

"I bet he feels bad about it now. He was just mad because it's so tragic that she's messed her life up so badly at such a young age."

"He's not her dad" said Lara.

"Yeah, but he probably feels a bit protective, like a parent. Like you say, she's got nobody."

"There were people from social services, the police, addiction support workers. They're all worried about her. Lots of people want to see her get better. She doesn't seem at all afraid about how sick she is."

"You know this is her third hospital admission this year? Doctor Osborne is as worried as anybody" said Anne.

"You can't lecture somebody like that" said Lara, catching her friend's eye now.

"You can't get so personally involved. I bet that's why you were crying, wasn't it? Because you didn't want to leave her and go home"

"Yeah. Everybody is judging her. Because she's a junkie and a prostitute" replied Lara, starting to cry again.

"It's not your battle. You can't save her. All you can do is make her as comfortable as possible while she's on the ward"

"During my shift" said Lara.

"Yes, that's right. During your shift. You have your own life too."

"Can I sleep on your sofa tonight? I want to get drunk" asked Lara.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Fifteen

12 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

15. The Chase

Ten days had elapsed since he'd collected his first envelope from the post office. He'd slept twice, eaten all the food and drunk all the water. He needed to restock but his mind was fixated on collecting one of the other two envelopes.

Checking his appearance in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, Neil decided that he would look OK if he wore his baseball cap to hide his dirty hair. Giving himself a liberal spray of deodorant and donning his clean clothes, he set off for town.

In a convenience store, he bought a few snacks and some bottles of drink. The post office handed over his letter with minimal fuss and Neil started his journey home. He had planned to stop at a village shop on the way home, in order to buy more supplies, but he was in too much of a rush to get back to the caravan.

While he had been staying in the caravan, he had felt exposed with the gaps in the curtains and the lack of window coverings anywhere else. He wanted privacy when he left the bedroom. He started to make a mental list of things he needed from a hardware store in order to better obscure him from prying eyes.

He hesitated for a moment before opening the second envelope. Was he already too sleep deprived and hungry? Had he been careless in not drawing attention to himself on his visit to the other town? He felt perfectly awake and alert. He didn't feel hungry. He'd made a reasonably rational appraisal of his appearance and ability to drive, to interact with people. However, he knew that the small worries would soon mushroom as he got more tired and hungry. He knew that he should have taken the time to buy more food and drink, as well as making the caravan feel more private.

Feeling slightly nauseous and nervous, he tore open the envelope and pulled out a leaflet advertising soldiers made of pottery. With absolutely no interest in or ability to read the Chinese text, only the vacuum sealed foil packet sellotaped into the back of the leaflet was of interest to him. Tearing the foil, there was a resealable plastic bag inside. He grabbed a bottle of drink from the kitchenette worktop, went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Minutes later, he was flooded with worries that he might have been followed back to the caravan. He started to worry that there was no way to lock any of the doors and an intruder could walk right in. He picked up a pair of tracksuit bottoms and tied one of the legs to the bedroom door handle. Now where would he tie the other end? He was afraid to release the tension that he was applying on the door handle with the tracksuit bottoms, as if somebody was about to attempt to try and open the door at any moment. He fumbled in the darkness, trying to find something at the right angle to secure the door closed.

There was a small amount of hanging space in an open wardrobe on one side of the bedroom and Neil tried to make the untied leg of the tracksuit bottoms stretch to the flimsy metal rail, but it was just too far away. He could tie the leg onto the curtain rail, but it was only made of plastic. Neil wanted the handle to be pulled upwards, so it couldn't be depressed, as well as pulling away from the door so it couldn't be opened.

After a considerable amount of time battling with the different angles and options, the knot on the handle came undone and Neil tumbled back onto the bed. The caravan rocked slightly and made a loud creaking noise.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he whispered to himself.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

Then, he reattached the tracksuit bottoms with a double knot - making them even shorter - and reapplied pressure to keep the handle pulled upwards. His heart raced and he was sweating profusely. Spying the tracksuit top, he tried to reach it while awkwardly trying to maintain tension on the handle. With his left hand held aloft while his right hand reached down to pick up the other garment, his muscles were tense and his body contorted as he struggled comically with a task that he had needlessly overcomplexified.

At the limit of his strength and endurance, his arm weakened and buckled and he accidentally pulled the handle down with the tracksuit bottoms. The handle sprung back up with a loud clunk. He picked up the tracksuit top. His muscles ached and he was breathing noisily.

"Stupid fucking idiot" he whispered very loudly.

"Shut up! Shut up!" he whispered more softly but with a very angry tone.

Now he knotted the leg to one arm of the tracksuit. The other arm he looped around the rail in the wardrobe and started to pull. The rail sprang from its mounting and there was a a metallic crash as a pile of coat-hangers tumbled onto the bed. Neil was suddenly unbalanced and stumbled backwards, having to steady himself on the opposite wall and disturbing the curtains. The caravan rocked, creaked and groaned.

"STOP IT. STOP IT. STOP IT" he breathlessly whispered, fussing over the curtains to make sure they were still closed. He returned to the bedroom door and held the handle, as if somebody was about to burst in at any moment,

Neil's heart was thumping in his chest with his pulse throbbing at his temples and in his throat. He was breathing rapidly and wheezily. Sweat was running down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them. He tried to calm himself down while still holding the door handle with a vice-like grip. His legs and back ached from standing awkwardly. He was shaking.

He lay down on the bed and held the door handle up with his foot. He was more relaxed and comfortable than he had been and the change of position gave his aching muscles some respite. He started to relax and calm down a little bit, even though he maintained pressure with his foot to make sure that nobody could press the bedroom door handle down.

After a while, holding his leg in that position started to hurt. He moved his foot so that his heel was on the door and the underside of his foot was supporting the handle underneath. Then, his heel slipped and his toes pulled the handle down. The bedroom door banged open with considerable force.

"SHIT."

Neil leapt up, slammed the door closed and lay on the bed with fear coursing through his veins. He tried to calm himself down again. It was dark now but shadows danced on the ceiling above him, where the curtains didn't completely block out all the light. He was hyper-alert now, hearing every tiny noise of the forest and studying the shapes that he could see moving in the darkness.

As time wore on, he was convinced that there was a bluish tinge to the light he could see and it was flashing. He felt rising terror. The police had either followed him back from town or his noisy exploits in the caravan had alerted somebody to his presence.

There was nothing in the caravan to connect him with his real identity. He needed to hide.

Quietly he unknotted the tracksuit and put it on. Then he opened the bedroom door and slipped on his trainers. There was no sign of blue lights but he was now intent on escape. He was convinced that police officers were now fanning out in the forest, trying to find him. They had probably switched off their blue lights so that he didn't see them and try to run away.

Opening the caravan door there was an awful creak which panicked him. His pulse started to race again and he was breathing heavily as he pushed through the branches of the trees out of the clearing. He wasn't being quiet at all, because he was so terrified.

Sprinting through the trees, he realised that he had been heading towards the edge of the forest where it thinned out. He could see open fields lit up by moonlight. Hiding behind a tree trunk, he surveyed the landscape and tried to calm himself. Dark shapes seemed to be hugging the hedgerows and making their way towards the forest from that side of the hill.

Now with more self-control and purpose, Neil moved soft-footed between large trees and paused to put his back to the thick trunks while he caught his breath and decided which tree he would move to next. Making his way back deeper into the forest, it became darker and darker as the trees were more densely planted. He found a tree that had branches that almost reached the ground and made his way to the trunk, hidden in the gloom.

At first, he held his breath and tried to move noiselessly around the tree, checking all angles to see if he could see anybody. He couldn't see anything moving in the forest, but he decided to try and be as still and quiet as he could, and silently observe.

He intently watched the trees around him for any movement and listened for any sounds. He saw torches flashing and saw men wearing black uniforms, sweeping the forest several hundred metres away. Then, behind him, he heard twigs breaking as a man walked right past his tree. He tried to keep his breathing as shallow as possible and stood as still as a statue. He knew that it would be very unlikely that somebody would see him unless they approached from precisely the right angle. He turned his head away from the man so that his pale face would not light up in torchlight and closed his eyes so they didn't shine in the darkness.

Standing so still and tense became extremely uncomfortable and his muscles started to cramp, but he was calm and patient. The sounds and movement seemed to subside, but Neil was still very afraid. He decided to climb the tree.

The tree that he was stood by had a thick trunk and lots of branches that would support his weight. Climbing was easy and relatively quiet because most of the foliage was at the end of the branches. Provided he kept his weight close to the trunk, he didn't cause the branches to sway too much. The sound of his clothes brushing the rough bark was the loudest noise, so he would climb and then pause for a few minutes before resuming.

In the darkness he had little way of gauging how far up the tree he was, but he climbed until the branches felt dangerously thin. He imagined that the canopy would give him excellent cover and anybody searching for him would be likely to be looking at ground level anyway.

He was worried about falling to his death if he fell asleep, but he was wide awake and it started to get light sooner than he thought it would. As dawn broke, it became apparent that he was not particularly well hidden in the treetops and he was much higher than he had imagined. The climb down was going to be terrifying and he could barely bring himself to begin. Reaching the ground became a much bigger concern than evading police capture.

Neil's descent was noisy and destructive. He was exhausted and had little strength to lower himself down from each branch. His choice of where to put his feet was much harder going down and he snapped several dead branches, sending them crashing to the ground. If there was anybody within earshot, they would be in little doubt where he was, but he was concerned that he might lose his grip completely.

Dropping to the forest floor at last, he was covered with bark, moss and tree sap. His body was bruised and grazed; his hands were scratched and sore.

There was a thick mist of low-lying cloud making everything damp and cold. Not a single animal or bird stirred throughout the forest. Neil stumbled through the undergrowth and soon he saw the trees that surrounded the clearing. He was surprised at how little distance he had covered in the night. Everything looked very different in daylight and he wasn't sure if there had been any police at all.

In the caravan, he collapsed in bed and managed to fitfully doze, relieved to have made it back in one piece. He resolved to buy the things he needed to make things secure and private, when he went to the third town for his remaining envelope. For now, he had everything he needed. He just needed to be more careful so that his own mind didn't get the better of him.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Fourteen

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

14. Unsuitable Friends

He would always be in a different mood when she turned up. Sometimes he would be locked away in the darkness and would have to be coaxed out. He could be sleepy, so sleepy, struggling to keep his eyes open. Other times he would be on edge with his eyes wildly casting around and not seeing her, biting on his nails and pacing the room. Sometimes he would make it clear that he wanted her to leave; he wanted to be left alone. Other times he looked so content and peaceful. She thought he looked so angelic when he was like that, but the other moods were also intriguing even though it was a wholly confusing and upsetting experience to see his emotional state shifting so rapidly.

Lying with him, stroking his face or just holding him, she studied the ceiling. Painted white, it was streaked with rust where iron girders ran across it. Industrial lighting hung on chains with fluorescent tubes. There were black cobwebs caked in dirt in the corners of the room and thin wispy ones that clung to the ceiling and to the lights. Draughts blew dust from the top of the grey metal trays that held the lights and the sun would illuminate the individual particles as they swirled in the air.

In the day, the room was brightly lit by windows that ran the entire length of one wall. The glass was re-inforced with wire mesh. The windows were divided into a grid of squares by a sturdy metal frame that was painted gloss black. The windows were dirty because it was impossible to clean them from inside. The middle panes of glass had been frosted for privacy and the lowest ones had been painted gloss white.

The walls were unplastered and painted matte white like the ceiling. The texture of large concrete blocks contrasted with the smooth cement in-between each brick. Pipes and wires were attached to the surface of the wall, and their path could be traced to the sink, bathroom, light switches and electrical sockets. There were red wires that connected a point where you could break the glass to set off the fire alarm and a shiny red plastic siren. The pipes and nozzles of a sprinkler system hung suspended a few inches below the ceiling, crossing the huge room three times.

In one corner of the room there was a part that had been partitioned off with unpainted plasterboard walls. A half open door showed that one of the small inner rooms contained a toilet and a shower. There was a second door that was closed. That was where he slept, but she had never seen inside that room.

There were no soft furnishings anywhere. No carpets, no curtains. The only comfortable items were an armchair and a double futon which was laid out flat like a day-bed in the middle of the room. There were big cushions and several quilts and blankets, which were necessary to snuggle underneath in winter. There was a gas heater, but the bottle was empty and it could do little more than take the chill off the cavernous space. The floor was cold polished concrete painted glossy blue, scratched, gouged and flaking in places.

The one door into the room was painted battleship grey and had a huge shiny metal door handle. There was a bright green sign above the door that said "FIRE EXIT" and had a picture of some steps leading down. The sign had special paint on it which glowed in the dark.

She was fascinated by the objects that filled the room. In one corner there was a drum kit, a red electric guitar and big black amplifier. There was an acoustic guitar leaning up against a round stool with chrome legs. Sheets of music, hand-written lyrics and songbooks littered the floor nearby, along with a broken drumstick, used guitar strings and some colourful plectrums. Along the length of one wall was shelving that had many bottles and tins containing turpentine, thinners, white spirit, lots of different paints, varnishes and other things. Glass jars were filled with paintbrushes, some of which were turned so their dry bristles were upwards and others were soaking in murky liquid. On top of the shelves were various tools and half-finished, discarded or drying pieces of artwork.

On the opposite side was a large sturdy table with a glossy worktop. Stencils lay scattered and huge pieces of paper had been stuck down with masking tape: works in progress. An enormous green cutting board was criss-crossed with a white grid pattern and three steel scalpels lay on it along with offcuts which spilled all over the table and onto the floor.

Several paint-splattered stools and collapsible steps were sat around the large table. The stools were made of a bright yellow wood and had blue leather seats. The steps were made of dark wood and had a shiny metal tube bent as a handle above the top step.

An easel with a canvas attached to it stood with the picture facing towards the windows. Sack cloth had been draped over it so the picture underneath couldn't be seen. A mixing board hung on the back of the easel, covered with a bright array of colours and thickly textured with paint. On the floor nearby there was a jar filled with long-handled brushes.

Near the door there was a small bookshelf, writing desk and some shelves with a record player and retro hi-fi system. Large wooden speakers sat on the floor. The only comfortable seat - a Chesterfield armchair - had battered brown leather and a deep imprint in the seat cushion. Sheaves of paper with pencil, charcoal and ink drawings were scattered nearby, along with many leather-bound notebooks of various sizes, some of them with their pages open displaying row upon row of neat handwriting, as well as sketches and diagrams.

Over by the windows, there was a two-plate electric hob, a toaster, a kettle and a microwave. The opposite side of the door, near the bathroom, there was a small sink with a single tap which dispensed cold water. Milk, sugar, tea and coffee were on a tray on the floor along with the other appliances. Several jam jars were arranged near the tray as makeshift mugs for hot drinks. There were some cereal boxes but not much other sign of any food or cooking activity.

A number of modern angle-poise and antique lamps filled the space with harsh and warm patches of light. The room was zoned, so that the art table was lit with bright white clean light, while around the futon daybed and in the snug corner with the Chesterfield, there was much softer and yellowish lighting.

She hadn't dared to disturb the art, the instruments, or the vinyl, but after some time she had figured out how to operate the cassette deck and play some of the compilations of music that had been recorded onto blank 90 minute tapes.

She felt it would take her a lifetime to explore all the wonderful things in that big loft space and she adored spending time there with him, even if he was sleepy and absent or increasingly anxious and cranky. How could anybody live like this? This mysterious alien environment was so intriguing.

"Should I go?" she would ask. When he was sleepy and content, he would open his eyes and tell her to stay. He would reach out for her hand, put it on his face and put his own hand over it. He liked her being there. He found it comforting. When he was growing uncomfortable and restless, he would distractedly say "Yeah. Whatever" but she didn't feel rejected. There was clearly something that bubbled up inside him that he was dealing with. Sometimes he would have to go out and he didn't seem to mind if she stayed or if she went. When he was gone, she didn't dare to get up and nose through his stuff, but she liked being there, spending time in that place.

Lying next to Neil in bed on a Saturday, Lara could remember every sight, sound and smell of Sam's loft. Her present environment was so familiar, so unstimulating, so boring.

The plain cream curtains, the simple modern light fitting on a smooth white ceiling. The walls were painted a tasteful neutral pastel shade and their bedroom furniture was practical and affordable Scandinavian flat-pack, with bland doors. Her bedside table was neatly arranged with a glass of water, an alarm clock and the book she was too stressed and distracted to read. Neil's bedside table was crammed with several dirty glasses and a stack of plates and bowls. Neil's side of the bed had become a no-man's land, littered with food wrappers, newspapers, unopened post, various electronic items and half-eaten meals. Lara would occasionally collect the crockery when there were only a few clean items left for her to be able to use.

Neil was present, but cold and passive-aggressively hostile. He would sleep with his back to her and he seemed to recoil from her touch. Just switching her bedside light on or rummaging quickly in her wardrobe for clothes seemed to cause him to toss and turn in bed, hiding his head under the covers and making little sighs of frustration. When she came into the bedroom, she could sense him stiffen and hold his breath.

Sam had been affectionate in a strange way. He had been grateful that she was there in his life, even though his moods were so unpredictable, so volatile. Neil and Lara hadn't made love in weeks, but it was the small displays of affection that Lara missed more than anything. Neil no longer seemed to want to hug and kiss her, to squeeze her, to spoon, to caress her skin and tickle her with his nose. She often used to fall asleep on Neil's chest in bed or watching TV together, but now they lived completely separate lives.

She started to feel unwelcome in her own home. She listened to the TV at low volume, worried about Neil in the bedroom above. She worried about the noise she was making when she left in the morning, or when she was doing housework. She wondered what she was even doing, watching crap TV series that they used to enjoy together. Many things were less interesting without another person to share the experience with. It started to feel as though she was making things worse, not better, by being around him.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Thirteen

11 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

13. The Post Offices

In the United States, a letter for general delivery can be addressed to any town with a post office. The U.S. Postal Service will then hold the mail for the recipient to collect. In Europe as well as several other countries throughout the world, letters can be marked as poste restante and will be held at the post office that they are addressed to.

In the United Kingdom, Neil knew that post offices would hold mail for him sent from overseas for up to one month. Near the caravan, there were three local towns with post offices which could receive poste restante mail.

Having spent his first night in the forest in the back of the van, Neil awoke cold and uncomfortable. The van was small and the floor was bare corrugated metal. Even though his sleeping bag was good quality, lying on a cold hard surface meant that any warmth was quickly leached away. The small amount of moisture in his breath was enough to condense on the inside of the windscreen and on the walls, so that it was soon damp and unpleasant in the van.

Stretching his aching body in the chilly morning air, Neil then made his way quickly to check the condition of the caravan. Things were much how he'd left them many years before, when he had stayed there with Matthew. This was a relief, because he didn't want to spend time and money modifying the back of the van to make it more comfortable.

It was early and he wanted to avoid the school run and people travelling to work, but he was also impatient. Sleeping in the van and the coach station waiting room had been uncomfortable, but also his eager anticipation kept him awake during the night. There was a tension in his body that made him shudder as if he was cold. He felt a little bit nauseous, with butterflies in his tummy.

Driving to the nearest of the three local towns, Neil parked on the first side street he came to on the outskirts. The street had dark black newly laid tarmac. There was a row of identical red-brick starter homes on either side of the street, each with a driveway leading to a glossy white plastic garage door. Some of the houses had cars parked on the driveway and others had "For Sale" signs outside. This new housing development was only part-sold and building work was continuing at the far end of the street. Neil left his van outside an empty house and started the walk into town. It was over a mile to the town centre.

Ambling along at an unhurried pace, he knew that he had to kill some time before the post office opened. Very few cars were travelling in or out of the town on the back road because it was early, but he could hear buses on the main road as he made his way down a gently sloping hill.

The first shop that Neil came to was a TV repairman. The paint was flaking and the plate glass was dirty. It was unlikely that the proprietor ever opened the shop anymore. Then, he came to a large empty car park which had a sign saying that the next market day would be the following Wednesday. Opposite the car park was a large convenience store with a lorry parked outside delivering stock. Continuing towards the centre of town, he passed a launderette, a Chinese restaurant and a chip shop. Reaching a cross-roads, there was a pub on one corner and a hardware shop on the other.

In the middle of the town there was a green with a church, which was surrounded by shops and other amenities. There was a bank branch, a small department store, two delicatessens, a bakery, a grocer and the post office. Everything was closed except a large newsagents. Neil went inside and bought a local newspaper and a national daily broadsheet. Paper boys were making their way out to start their delivery rounds with bulging bags.

"Is there somewhere round here I can get some breakfast?" Neil asked the man behind the counter, as he paid for his newspapers.

"There's a greasy spoon out towards the station"

Neil continued downhill, leaving the centre. He passed another pub and a petrol station. There was a large supermarket and an agricultural supplies depot and the small train station was on the other side of a roundabout. A flat-roofed building next to the station advertised itself as a café and there were lights on inside.

Sitting down at a formica-topped table, there were already several other people eating, most of whom were wearing dirty work-boots or wellies. This was clearly a favourite haunt of builders and farmers who were on their way to work. Neil picked up a laminated plastic menu, even though he knew that the breakfast choices would be much the same as anywhere else like this in the country.

"What can I get you?" asked a rotund and friendly looking lady with a flushed face.

"Full english with a mug of tea please" replied Neil.

"White or brown bread?"

"White please."

With remarkable speed, a plate of fried eggs, bacon, sausage, baked beans, fried mushrooms and tomatoes arrived, along with a smaller plate with two slices of toast and a mug of milky tea. Neil ate slowly and read the newspapers, killing time. Finishing his food as it was almost stone cold, Neil ordered a second and then a third mug of tea, waiting until the post office was about to open before settling his bill and setting off back into the town centre.

At the post office, a flustered lady was filling the till with bags of coins from the safe.

"Hi, I'm here to collect a letter you've been holding for me. Poste restante" said Neil, offering his Estonian driving license.

"Poster what?" asked the lady.

"Poste restante. You're holding some mail for me to collect" Neil explained.

"Do you have a P.O. box?" she asked.

"No, the letter was sent here poste restante for me to collect" he said.

"You can't collect mail from here unless you have a P.O. box" she said.

"It was sent here poste restante. I don't need a P.O. box. I spoke to somebody before about this. Pete, maybe?" he said.

"Pete's not here. He's not working today"

It was clear that the lady now considered the conversation to be over. Neil simply stood where he was and waited patiently. She busied herself refilling the change in the till again, but she was unable to ignore Neil, who was silently stood by the counter. He caught her eye.

"What's this poster thing you said?" she asked.

"Poste restante" he replied.

"OK, I need to ring my manager and ask how to handle this. I've never dealt with it before. I can't phone him until ten thirty at the earliest"

"Alright, I'll come back later. Thanks for your help. Much appreciated" said Neil and then turned and left the post office with the nicest smile he could muster. Outside, he grimaced. This was so frustrating. He was now faced with a dilemma.

In anticipation of this problem, Neil knew there were letters waiting for him at another two post offices in the area. He could drive to one of the other towns and attempt to collect his mail, or else he could wait here and persevere. He decided to stay and wait until later, given that he wanted to be sure that at least one local post office knew how the obscure poste restante system was supposed to operate.

Returning to the newsagent and purchasing a glossy magazine about electronic gadgets, he then walked back to the café and got another mug of tea. After killing an hour or so, he went to the supermarket and bought cornish pasties, pork pies, sausage rolls, pre-made sandwiches, energy drinks, bottled water, fruit squash, chewy sweets and some cakes. He spent time browsing all the shelves even though he knew that he was only buying some very specific items.

He walked back into the post office at 10:35am. The lady was serving another customer and Neil waited in line.

"Hi" said the lady.

"Hi. I was here earlier" said Neil.

"Yes. I haven't phoned my manager yet" she said.

Again, Neil didn't reply or move. He just stood expectantly waiting. The post office was now empty.

"OK. Give me a second" she huffed.

Getting out her mobile, the lady tapped at the buttons and half-turned her back on Neil as she raised the phone to her ear. After a brief conversation she hung up and turned back to Neil.

"Alright. We've got something for you. I've just got to try and find it" she said.

Neil couldn't stifle a broad smile that spread across his face. A huge weight of tension was released from his body, but also a nauseous feeling twisted his stomach into a knot. His heart pounded, his face felt hot and his palms started to get sweaty.

The lady went into a store room in the back and spent a long while rummaging in various boxes and bags before eventually returning with an envelope. Neil's pulse raced and his breathing quickened as he saw her holding a white letter.

"Can I see your ID again, please?" she asked.

Neil fumbled for his pockets and got out his driving license, which he offered with a slightly trembling hand.

"Romet Kukk?"

"Yes. That's me" Neil replied.

The lady momentarily studied the photo. This didn't worry Neil. It was his photo, even though it wasn't his name, address or nationality. She handed over the envelope.

"Thanks" said Neil.

He walked so fast that he was very hot and sweaty when he reached the van. Tossing the bags of shopping into the passenger footwell, he carefully stowed his envelope in the glove compartment and started the engine with shaking hands.

It was hard for him not to drive back to the caravan excessively fast, but he had to be careful. A road accident would spell disaster. He was so close to reaping the rewards from his well-executed preparations. He knew that he needed a little more patience in the final leg of his long journey, even though it had been an agonising wait.

Back in the caravan, Neil dumped the shopping bags on the kitchenette worktop, which had nothing on it except a little dust and dirt. There was no rubbish in the caravan, nothing on the floor, the curtains were open and the windows were not obscured by anything except dirt. He sat down at the dining table, tore open the envelope and pulled out a leaflet with a picture of an oriental temple on the front. Unfolding the leaflet on the table, there was something sellotaped inside, which Neil tore off the glossy paper.

Although he had felt that the caravan was perfectly private, isolated, remote and hidden by the dense foliage of the trees on all sides, he still felt a momentary pang of paranoia - like he was being watched - which drove him into the bedroom, where he closed the curtains and shut the door behind himself.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Twelve

6 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

12. Enough Rope

"We could lose the house."

"You're getting hysterical. Calm down."

"You're jeopardising everything. Don't tell me to calm down. It's so patronising."

"I'm not well."

"Well, why don't you go back to the doctor and get another sick note then?"

"Now who's telling who what to do? Now who's being patronising?"

"Don't be so ridiculous. I've been so supportive of you while you've been unwell."

"Yes, and now you're acting like I'm doing it on purpose. Like it was deliberate."

"I know you didn't mean to get sick. I am sorry. I am sympathetic. But you have to be responsible too."

"I can't face it. I can't do it."

"You don't have to go back to work yet if you don't feel up to it, but at least see the doctor."

"What am I going to say? I feel the same as I did a couple of weeks ago."

"Say that. You need a sick note if you're going to keep your job."

"It's such utter bullshit."

"What is?"

"Everything. That job. This fucking treadmill. Our whole pointless existence. Working until we die."

"You know I can't pay the mortgage on my salary alone. How are we going to avoid reposession? How are we going to pay the bills?"

"I can't think about that stuff at the moment. I can't deal with it."

"All you need to do is go and get signed off work for another couple of weeks."

"I can't do it anymore. When's it going to end?"

"We can't do anything if you don't play by the rules. You'll get fired and you won't even be able to claim benefits."

"I don't want to be on benefits."

"I know, but how are we going to pay the bills if you're not working?"

"I don't know. Don't you think I worry about this stuff too?"

"It doesn't seem like it if you can't be bothered to go and see the doctor."

"It's not that I can't be bothered. I just can't face it. I can't face anything at the moment."

"Look, I'm sorry you're sick, but you're going to have to man up over this. It's already been two days since your sick note ran out and they're expecting you back at work."

"They shouldn't expect me back. I'm not well. I feel terrible."

"Well go and tell that to the doctor."

"How ridiculous. Expecting me to have to go to the doctor when I'm not well, to get these stupid pieces of paper to send to work. How can you expect that of a sick person?"

"That's the way the system works. Deal with it."

"I dealt with it for years. I kept this roof over our heads while you went off to university. I've been responsible. Now I'm sick. Somebody else needs to be the responsible one."

"I phoned in sick for you didn't I? I've had to answer all the questions your boss and your work colleagues keep firing at me. I'm sticking up for you. You just need to do this one thing."

"I can't do it."

"Fine" said Lara, storming out of the snug and up the stairs to the bedroom.

Neil slumped back down onto the sofa. They had both risen to their feet in the heated exchange. Neil thought about switching on the TV, but instead he just sat slowly stroking his eyebrows and staring blankly into space. His mind was locked on a single thought: "I can't".

Everything had ground to a halt at home. Neil barely washed, he never cooked, he never cleaned, he never left the house, he had switched his phone off and avoided all social contact. Lara didn't resent having to do everything on her own, because Neil was quite neat and tidy, but she couldn't understand why he wouldn't go and get another sick note from the doctor.

"He's driving me mad, mum" Neil overheard Lara say loudly from the bedroom above the snug.

"He's not well my love" Lara's mum said at the other end of the phone.

"I know, mum, but he's going to lose his job pretty soon" said Lara.

"Try to be supportive. It must be hard for him."

Lara made a noise of annoyance.

"I have been SO supportive" Lara replied through gritted teeth.

"Look dear, it's late. Let's speak another time" said Lara's mum, sensing that the conversation would soon descend into an unpleasant argument.

"OK mum. Bye."

Lara hung up her mobile phone and let her arm flop down to her side on the bed next to her. Her grip relaxed and the phone slipped from her hand and dropped onto the bedroom floor. Lara's eyes remained glazed and impassive, fixed on the ceiling with an unfocussed stare. She exhaled very slowly, letting the air noisily blow through her lips as if she was deflating.

It would be impossible to force Neil to do anything, but why would she have to? It was obvious what he had to do. The rational course of action was indisputable. The negative consequences of inaction were inevitable.

He hadn't come to bed by the time she fell asleep but when she woke up in the morning, he lay next to her fully clothed, asleep. She wanted to wake him up and resume the discussion but she couldn't; she had to get up and get ready for work.

Before she left, she looked back into the bedroom at his face. At that moment he seemed so untroubled, calm, relaxed. It was infuriating, enraging even, that he appeared unperturbed by a threat to their financial security, that he could easily solve.

What did he even do all day, when she was at work?

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Eleven

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

11. The Shadow People

It had started out as a joke. Had he read about The Shadow People somewhere or had somebody said something to him? Neil couldn't remember. However, they seemed very real when they turned up in his life. It was always "they" or "them". When he started to try and explain who they were and how he knew that they were watching him, antagonising him, he struggled to put things into words. It was such a strong feeling, being stalked by them, but yet it was something that could not easily be expressed to people who had never felt so persecuted.

Neil had grown immensely frustrated, first with Lara, then with concerned family members and later with his doctors and other healthcare professionals. He quickly figured out that he couldn't very well say "The Shadow People are out to get me" without being locked up in a mental institution for the rest of his days, but he remained convinced that there were very real malevolent forces that were targeting him. It was difficult for him to try and explain things to people, when he himself saw that The Shadow People had just melted away in the cold light of day.

Earlier in the year, Neil began to believe that Lara was becoming hostile towards him and he started to become afraid and mistrustful of her. He started locking himself in the bathroom. Then he started barricading himself in rooms. He even locked the doors to the house. Lara's parents had come to help her to move out for a short time, to look after her while the couple was going through this crisis. Neil was convinced that they were all conspiring against him. When his doctor and his own parents showed up at the house at the behest of Lara, Neil felt totally besieged and betrayed.

The involvement of the police at times meant that Neil often imagined officers kicking the door down and dragging him away against his will. The escalating crisis had meant that the police were concerned about Neil's welfare. He knew the police had been looking for him and trying to get in contact whenever he went missing, but his very worst fear - apprehension by the long arm of the law - never actually happened. However, Neil was sure that he saw blue flashing lights outside his house and he could hear police officers communicating with each other via their radios.

As the crisis dragged on, everybody seemed to be antagonising him even though he wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be isolated in privacy, barricaded in a safe cocoon. Lying in the bedroom, he thought he could hear his mother speaking to somebody on the street outside. He heard car and van doors slamming and boots that sounded like the police force about to mount an assault on his home. Pretty soon the front door would be battered off its hinges and somebody would shout "POLICE! STAY WHERE YOU ARE". Then, he heard the TV in the lounge turn on. The TV wasn't tuned in to any channel and he could hear the hiss of static roaring out from the loudspeaker.

It took a long time to build up the nerve to go and investigate the TV, because Neil was sure that the police were going to storm the house at any moment. He crept down the stairs. He thought he could see people moving around on the porch outside, through the frosted glass above the front door. They would surely break the front door down at any moment. Growing impatient, he made his way to the door of the snug. He could hear the TV hissing with static quite loudly now. Stepping into the room, he looked at the TV screen. It was black. There was no sound of static anymore. He switched it off at the wall just to be sure.

Having returned to the relative safety of the bedroom, he heard the radio in the kitchen start to blare out static hiss. Entering the kitchen, the radio seemed to be off but it was still crackling and hissing. He turned it off at the wall and there was a kind of popping noise and the hiss stopped.

Later, the TV started up again. He knew that was impossible because he'd switched it off at the wall. The sound was unmistakable though. He wandered around the bedroom, trying to figure out precisely where the sound was coming from. It was definitely the TV in the snug. Creeping down the stairs and into the room, the TV was silent and there was no red standby light glimmering in the darkness. Who the hell was playing tricks on him? Neil was certain that the TV had definitely been turned on a moment before he came into the room. He unplugged it from the wall so that it was impossible for any power to flow down the cable. He assumed that the socket switch must be faulty.

The radio started hissing with static and Neil rushed to the kitchen to unplug it. This was becoming hard to explain. It had to be somebody playing tricks on him.

That was how The Shadow People slowly entered his life. They would come when he was tired and it was dark. He knew they existed because he could hear them whispering to each other, he could see them moving around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he watched the faintest light dancing on the walls, on the curtains, underneath doors, through cracks. Neil didn't dare throw open a door or switch on a light, because he was worried that other people were watching too. What if the police were there, waiting to make their move? What if his neighbours happened to be looking at that particular moment and saw him wild-eyed and sleep deprived, acting strangely?

Neil crept around the darkened house. All the curtains and blinds were pulled closed. Sometimes, he didn't know whether it was early morning or late evening. He didn't know what day it was. During daylight hours everything seemed a little more normal and he relaxed. Sometimes he would doze for a few hours. Daytime was confusing, because many of the threats seemed to have vanished. The police had given up and gone home. The Shadow People had disappeared. His persecutors seemed to know when he was at his most vulnerable.

Using his expertise as a CCTV engineer, Neil rigged up cameras to watch the front of the house and the back garden. The cameras had night vision, which gave blurry monochrome images in low light conditions. Watching the monitor screen intently for hours on end, Neil never saw anything that conclusively showed evidence of any untoward activity. He set up motion sensitive triggers and recorded video footage 24 hours a day. The only thing he captured was the postman delivering letters. This gave him little comfort. Instead, he wondered if The Shadow People had gotten more sneaky. Perhaps they had figured out a way to get into his house without needing to come in the front or back door.

Venturing into the attic, Neil knew that there were gaps into the attics of the terraced houses on either side. For hours, Neil crawled around in the roof. He spied into his own house through gaps around the lighting fixtures in the ceiling. He looked down through the hatch and imagined that he could escape the police if they broke in, by hiding up in the attic.

Covered in dust and fibreglass insulation, he finally descended down the ladder from the attic. The town and the street were too "hot". There were so many noises of human activity around him and people knew exactly where to find him. If he truly wanted privacy and to avoid being found, he would have to come up with an escape plan. Neil started to imagine how he could slip away and find some remote corner of the world where Lara, family, police and The Shadow People wouldn't be able to track him down and harass him.

Having a few good meals, getting some sleep, thoroughly washing and putting on clean clothes, Neil was in good shape for the journey down to the caravan. He looked after himself better than he had been doing for weeks, if not months. It was important to look as presentable as possible if he wasn't going to draw attention to himself when he ventured out into public.

When he was well rested and well fed, The Shadow People retreated, but it was important that he put his plan into action so that they wouldn't bother him when he was vulnerable. He knew that his fears of being dragged out of his safe space by the police, or persecuted by The Shadow People, would diminish whenever he slept, ate and took his medication, but those things conflicted with other strong forces that were driving him.

It had taken patience to execute his escape plan. As soon as he was freed from the clutches of psychiatrists, police and The Shadow People, he was sure that his life would be amazing. It had been exhausting, fighting the forces that conspired against him and living in constant fear.

At first, living in the caravan had been everything he'd hoped for. For about a fortnight, his plan had slotted into place perfectly. Then, everything had slowly crumbled. All his well laid plans seemed to fall to pieces and he felt as persecuted and afraid as he ever had done before.

When wind and rain lashed the aluminium skin of the caravan and the branches of the surrounding trees brushed the walls and the roof, Neil found the noises soothing, but soon he started to hear things that sounded like dog walkers, horse riders and nosey neighbours, all intent on discovering his private hideaway. Every trip out for supplies brought worries that he was leading people back to his secret sanctuary.

Now, he felt just as besieged as ever, but also dangerously isolated given the precariousness of his life and his survival prospects. The Shadow People would let him rot and die in that caravan, knowing they had successfully hounded him to his death. Nobody else would ever understand what had driven him into his current situation.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Ten

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

10. Waiting Room

"Do you want me to come and see the doctor with you?" Lara asked.

"No, it'll be difficult for you to take the time off" replied Neil.

"I don't mind. It's important. I can do it if it will help" she said.

Neil was now in his third week off work and he was starting to get anxious about returning to his job.

"I just wish I felt better, but I think I feel worse than I did a few weeks ago" he complained.

"Try not to stress about things. Go and see the doctor again and see what they say" she said in a comforting tone.

He'd left it almost to the last minute - Thursday - but Lara was now coming home expecting to find out what had happened at the doctor's. Neil was sat on the sofa as she came in the front door and hung up her coat. There was no new prescription on the coffee table in front of him.

"So, how'd it go?" she asked.

"They're referring me to a psychiatrist."

"Well that's good. You'll get a specialist's opinion" she said.

"Yes, but it could take weeks, months even before I get an appointment to see a consultant."

"What's the plan for the interim?" she asked.

"The doctor's signed me off for another two weeks. I said I was getting very stressed and anxious about going back to work. He said I should contact my HR department who can involve occupational health."

"He?"

"Yes. I saw a different doctor this time."

"Doctor Hughes?" she asked.

"I can't remember. It'll be written on the sick note, I guess."

"How do you feel about things?" asked Lara.

"I'm anxious about what it's going to be like, going back to work after five weeks off. It's a long time, you know?" he replied.

"People get sick. It happens all the time" Lara said as reassuringly as she could.

"Yes. But not me. And hardly ever anybody else at work" said Neil.

"Everybody will be happy that you're feeling better again when you go back to work. It'll be fine" she soothed.

"We agreed I would keep taking the same antidepressants. It's too early to tell if it's going to have a positive effect yet. It could be weeks before it helps my mood improve" he said. "I've got enough to last me a couple of months now" he continued.

"You refilled your prescription?"

"Yeah. I felt embarrassed in the chemist. All those pills. All those sick people and then there's me" he replied.

"Lots of people have to take medication for all kinds of reasons. There's no shame in it"

"Yes, but I still felt ashamed. I didn't want anybody we know to see me, walking home with that paper bag full of pills from the chemist" he said.

"Awww. You'll feel better soon" she said, pulling his head into the crook of her neck and cradling him slightly. His eyes were downcast and sad.

"The doctor said to keep an eye on things. Go back if there's any problems. There's not going to be any follow-up appointments or anything. I've just got to wait for a letter with an appointment date to see the psychiatrist" Neil said with a resigned tone.

Psychiatry. Lara's only real first-hand experience with psychiatry was helping patients with their prescriptions when they were on the ward. The patients were often quite difficult to deal with, but not because of behaviour that she understood as classical mental illness. She would be pestered all the time by the patients - "Nurse, it's time for my medication" - who would get extremely upset about the disruption to their normal routine. There were endless arguments about their prescriptions.

On the ward, the nurses would do three medication rounds per shift, plus respond to patients who were allowed a certain amount of pain medication on request. Unless otherwise indicated in the patient's notes, Lara could only dispense small doses of paracetamol, taken orally. The patient's own medications were usually locked away in a bedside cabinet that only the nurses had the key to. Any medication that the hospital's doctors had prescribed would be dispensed by the nurses at set times and that was when they usually unlocked the cabinet if there was something else that the patient was taking.

Psychiatric inpatients had their usual medications meticulously recorded in separate notes. Although the patients often knew which pills they had to take and how often, Lara had to follow the notes to the letter. The routine of the general hospital was different from the psychiatric wards the patients were used to and they could get very agitated if they felt they were overdue getting their pills.

It was surprising just how many medications some patients had to take each day. There were mood stabilisers and antipsychotics. There were antidepressants and anxiety drugs. There were sleeping pills and tranquillisers. The night shift would start with two hours of hell, as patients begged for their sleeping pills. The first dispensing round of the night shift wasn't until 9pm, so the nurses would get no peace until then. Mercifully, the psychiatric patients were often knocked out cold until the next morning though, which meant they were less trouble through the night than the others.

When on night shift, trying to sleep during the day was hard. Slamming car doors, traffic noises, people yelling in the street below, children screaming in the back gardens. The world was set up for the 9 to 5, Monday to Friday worker. Nearby builders and roadworks could mean a week with barely any sleep at all. Lara often longed for some sleeping pills herself and she knew that some of her colleagues did use medications to help them get some quality sleep during the day.

The few psychiatric patients Lara came into contact with were the most extreme. She saw the aftermath of self harm, suicide attempts and psychotic episodes. However, on the general ward the patients were heavily medicated. They were dazed and confused, with cloudy minds. They shuffled around. Some of them had uncontrollably dribbling mouths and involuntary tics.

She knew that Neil was going to see a psychiatrist - as an outpatient - but Lara made no association between him and the kind of extreme cases of mental illness she occasionally encountered at work. Neil seemed perfectly healthy and normal to all outward appearances, although she could tell that he was lethargic and more anxious and negative than she'd ever known before.

Later that Thursday evening, Lara attended an engagement party for a couple they distantly knew through other friends. Lara had started to socialise again, but on her own. She could see an expression of exhaustion and stress spread over Neil's face when the topic of going out was ever discussed. It was clear that he really wasn't up to socialising yet.

"How's Neil?" asked Katie.

Katie was Russ' new girlfriend. She was still slowly ingratiating herself with everybody and Lara felt sorry for her, as she struggled to become included in the group. Katie was young and pretty and the other girls treated her as if she wasn't worth getting to know. "She'll just be another casual fling" the girls said behind Katie's back.

None of the other girls had really asked about Neil. They had decided to just ignore the issue. If anybody else had asked, Lara would have dismissed the question with a cheery "he's fine". However, Katie was somehow disarming and approachable. Lara drew her to one side. The rest of the group were engrossed in their usual comfortable conversational routines.

"He's ever so depressed. It's sad to see him like that. I don't know what to do" Lara confided.

"There's not much you can do. Don't beat yourself up. Is he taking anything?" Katie asked.

Lara was taken aback by Katie's directness, but it was good to talk to somebody who seemed to immediately understand what the couple were going through.

"He started antidepressants a couple of weeks ago" said Lara.

"Well, it can take time to find the right one. Don't lose hope if you don't see any quick improvements" said Katie.

"Do you?..." Lara tailed off, worried her question was too personal.

Katie gave a little chuckle.

"It's fine. You can ask. Yes, I've been on antidepressants for a few years now. They do help, when you find the one that works for you" said Katie.

"But you seem. You seem so..." Lara stumbled, not knowing how to finish her question.

"Normal? Happy?" Katie said, grinning.

"Yeah" said Lara, nervously.

"Well, I have my bad days like everybody, but life is mostly OK now. A few years ago I just closed the curtains and didn't get out of bed for what felt like forever. I couldn't face the world"

"That sounds like the stage Neil's at" said Lara.

"Well, it does get better; easier. Recovery can be slow and nonlinear. Or it was in my case, anyway" said Katie, with as much reassurance as she could muster.

"He's just so desperate to get back to work, but at the same time I can see he's anxious. I know he can't face it at the moment. He's barely left the house in weeks" said Lara.

"There's no rushing these things. Tell him there's no rush. It can be a long road"

There was something harsh and brutal about this, even though it was spoken kindly. Katie spoke directly, truthfully, sympathetically. Lara had read things like this on websites, but it hadn't sunk in until now. There had been a sense of denial; there had been false hope.

"Look. Phone me. We'll meet up, just the two of us. You need support. You need to think about yourself too" said Katie.

Lara felt strong emotions welling up inside. She had been holding it all down, holding things together, acting like everything was going to get back to normal overnight. She was worried she was going to cry but she didn't. She was stronger than that.

Katie reached down and squeezed Lara's hand and made a sympathetic face. Lara was grateful to have made a friend who talked so openly, so freely, so directly.

The party was starting to disband and Russ was making his way over to the girls. Katie's face immediately switched to the bright happy expression she usually wore. It didn't seem fake to Lara. It made sense, to present a front and avoid discussing things that most people wouldn't understand.

 

Next chapter...

 

#NaNoWriMo2016 - Day Nine

10 min read

Poste Restante

Contents

Chapter 1: The Caravan

Chapter 2: Invisible Illness

Chapter 3: The Forest

Chapter 4: Prosaic

Chapter 5: The Van

Chapter 6: Into the Unknown

Chapter 7: The Journey

Chapter 8: Infamy

Chapter 9: The Villages

Chapter 10: Waiting Room

Chapter 11: The Shadow People

Chapter 12: Enough Rope

Chapter 13: The Post Offices

Chapter 14: Unsuitable Friends

Chapter 15: The Chase

Chapter 16: Self Inflicted

Chapter 17: The Holiday

Chapter 18: Psychosis, Madness, Insanity and Lunacy

Chapter 19: The Hospitals

Chapter 20: Segmentation

Chapter 21: The Cell

Chapter 22: Wells of Silence

Chapter 23: The Box

Chapter 24: Jailbird

Chapter 25: The Scales

Chapter 26: Descent

Chapter 27: The Syringe

Chapter 28: Anonymity

Chapter 29: The Imposter

Chapter 30: Wish You Were Here

 

9. The Villages

Within 20 minutes drive in his van, Neil could reach a number of village shops, roadside convenience stores and petrol stations that sold food and drinks, as well as a few other useful items. He wasn't able to carry everything he needed on his coach journey to the caravan, so being able to buy things locally was vitally important to his plan.

Because he wasn't driving a road legal vehicle, Neil had to stick to small country lanes. Where there was a major road, Neil would find a crossroads so he never had to drive any distance on a route where he might encounter police.

It hadn't been Neil's intention to stay so long and he had planned to avoid visiting any establishment more than once. It was winter and there were few tourists in this remote rural area anyway, except further towards the coast. Inland, it was quite possible that residents would start to discuss where he was living, if he started to be recognised more and more in the local viscinity. However, he had been getting more and more tired and sick and had little option other than to visit the places that were most likely to stock whatever he needed at the time.

Living in a caravan without running water for weeks and months, posed some practical issues when Neil came into contact with the general public. The caravan's water tanks were empty, so he washed with bottled water. In fact, buying and carrying back as much water as he could, without attracting undue attention, was his main problem. Washing himself used a lot of his precious drinking water, but it was necessary because his appearance and odour would otherwise betray the conditions of his existence.

At first, Neil had set aside some clothes to be kept clean and only used for his forays into the civilised world. With wet wipes and deodorant spray, he spruced himself up adequately. However, he had become thin, pale and sickly. He looked exhausted. He was dirty and smelly. Washing his hair and cleaning his body became necessary to attain the bare minimum standard of presentability to allow him to even enter shops without risking shock, fear and mistrust.

Knowing that there was a wild and dangerous looking vagrant sleeping rough somewhere in their community, the local residents would be on alert to find whereabouts this frightful creature kept appearing from. Neil was afraid that somebody would tail his van, as he made his way back to the caravan, to see him disappearing deep into the forest.

Buying larger and larger quantities of food, drink and other supplies from small local shops meant that he had to make fewer trips, but it drew considerable attention when he would clear the shelves of all the bottled water and a substantial proportion of the tinned goods. Neil's diet consisted mainly of cold beans, cold spaghetti hoops and cold ravioli, all in sweet tomato sauce. He ate very little anyway. He was increasingly gaunt and malnourished each time he went out for supplies.

Neil considered various cover stories he might use if confronted by 'innocent' smalltalk with the shopkeepers. Every story he could conceive of was likely to generate more questions that he didn't want to answer. At some point he might give a hesitant or regrettable reply. Instead, he chose to say that he was "just restocking" to which he had received mirthful replies to say that the shop would have to as well after his visit.

"Restocking again?" one woman had asked him, worryingly. He vowed never to return to that particular shop, which was frustrating because it was conveniently nearby and had most things that he needed.

Being deliberately vague was becoming increasingly hard.

"Have I seen you around here before?" asked a man.

"I don't think so" replied Neil, although he had seen him before.

The man hadn't pressed him further, but he knew that the questions would not always be so easily dodged.

"Do you live locally?" asked a female shop assistant.

"No, I'm just visiting friends" replied Neil.

"Oh. Where abouts?" she said with raised eyebrows, studying him.

Neil said that he had friends in a couple of the nearby towns. He had started to get to know the area quite well, and was able to name two towns that meant it was plausible he was travelling between them. The towns were larger than any that he would visit and outside his area of operation.

"I know Harminster quite well. Where abouts do your friends live?" she pressed him.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I've really got to hit the road. I'm running late, sorry" he said with an apologetic smile, picking up a couple of bags of shopping. Embarrassingly, he had to return to the shop a moment later to collect the bottles he had bought, which he carried loose. The shop assistant held the door open for him, watching him load everything into his van and waving as he drove away. Another source of supplies was off-limits. His paranoia grew.

Neil cursed not using his expertise in CCTV and intruder detection to allay some of his fears of discovery. There were battery-powered motion sensitive cameras that had night vision, that could transmit their pictures wirelessly. Installing one of these cameras, hidden in the trees, would be able to monitor the track. It would be an early-warning system to know if anybody entered the forest while he was inside the caravan. When he parked his van, Neil would walk down the track to see if there were any tyre tracks or footprints indicating activity other than his own, but it didn't allay his fears, when he had only the sound that penetrated the walls of the caravan to alert him of approaching danger.

How much sleep had he lost? How many meals had he skipped? He reckoned he slept only a few nights each week. He would go days without eating. His stomach had shrunk and he didn't feel hungry very often. He was hypersensitive to noise and movement in the shadows. He was on high alert, despite his exhaustion and malnourishment. He had stopped sleeping in the conventional sense and instead started to micronap with his eyes open. The real world and the dreamworld sometimes melted into one. He would have blackouts and jolt suddenly back into consciousness, suffering confusion about where he was and what was going on.

It was thirst that usually spurred him into self-preservation activity. Despite a sense of hopelessness accompanying his pain, discomfort and suicidal thoughts, he was desperate for something potable to drink.

Neil wondered if he should waste time and energy trying to rescue some knotted and stretched clothing, damp and dirty, lying on the floor. The urgency of his thirst drove him to abandon his worries and make his way painfully to the outside door or the caravan. An immense fear of what was outside caused him to hesitate, swaying as he tried to support himself on his damaged legs.

Finally finding the nerve to open the door, Neil was blinded by daylight even though it was grey and overcast. The clearing was shady, but his eyes struggled to adjust from darkness inside the caravan. His temples throbbed with pain.

Deposited by the entrance was a shopping bag. Neil reached down, grabbed the plastic handles and hauled the bag into the caravan. He shut the door to stop heat escaping and the warm moist air inside being replaced by the cold dry wind that blew through the treetops outside. Depositing the shopping on the kitchenette work-surface which was covered with dirty food wrappers and empty plastic bags, he began to rifle through the contents in search of something to drink.

Bright blue mould completely covered a loaf of bread inside its plastic wrapper. Sliced ham and chicken were well past their sell-by date. Neil couldn't possibly risk food poisoning in his fragile state. He had purchased these food items when his eyes were bigger than his belly. Eating had become a sporadic thing where he greedily gulped down the contents of a can before curling up in a ball and falling asleep, with uncomfortable sensations of nausea and indigestion washing over him.

There was a bottle of Worcestershire sauce that he had purchased in order to add more flavour to his bland diet of canned food. There were bags of jelly sweets, containing high quantities of glucose that his body desperately needed. There were salted crisps intended to keep up his salt intake, but he had previously found these to be inedible with his mouth dry and full of sores and ulcers. Then, finally, Neil spotted a can of cola amongst the food that he had bought. Grabbing the can, Neil didn't allow his hopes to soar too soon. Too many times he had picked up a container with joy, only to find it opened and the contents consumed.

The sweetness and the refreshment of the liquid in the can was divine and Neil guzzled as fast as he could without burping or throwing up. It was unfortunate that the cola was fizzy, as it meant he had to take small hiccuping gulps rather than quickly pouring the can down his parched throat into his empty stomach.

Neil paused to momentarily examine the rest of the contents of the shopping bag, but he knew he had purchased only this one can of drink, as a treat that he had intended to consume on his drive back to the forest.

After his last trip for provisions, Neil had hastily made his way back to the caravan after parking the van, only bringing with him a single bottle of water, bag of shopping and the precious envelope that he had collected. With his heart pounding with excitement, his body shaking with anticipation, his palms sweaty, he dumped the shopping bag outside the caravan and went inside with only the bottle of water. How long ago was that? A week maybe?

The envelope was now torn open on the floor with a leaflet for a tourist attraction half unfolded next to it. The writing on the leaflet was in Chinese.

 

Next chapter...