I'd like to wash my hands and face, to brush my tangled hair, to rinse out my furred-up mouth, but there's no means to do those things here.
Hannah jerks her head at my breakfast so I perch on the edge of the mattress, whose coarse ticking, I now see, is grimy and stained. The mug contains cold water and I gulp it down gratefully, even though it tastes bitter. I pick up a broken crust from the plate, but, at the first bite, my throat closes.
I can't help it, I can't eat it.
"Right then, get yerself laid down."
I feel so dizzy, I'm glad to lie down again. But then Sal gingerly takes hold of my ankles and I know she's going to fasten them. "Please..."
"Please" Hannah mocks. "Polite, aint we? But orders is orders and ours are to see yer tied, tight as a tick, my lady."
It's no use struggling—they'd easily overpower me.
Hannah watches while Sal ties the canvas straps that fasten my ankles to the bolts, then she checks them. Satisfied, she nods, and Sal moves to my wrists. I can't help clutching the glass more tightly and a drop of blood falls and stains the floor. It's all over in a second—Hannah darting at me, prying open my hand and wresting the sliver from me. With an exclamation, she brandishes it in front of my face.
"So! Not do us no harm, would yer? What's this for, if not to put our eyes out?"
"No," I protest. "It's not for that."
The expression on Hannah's face changes. "Hear that, Sal? We'll have to report this to Matron. This one wants watchin' or she'll do 'erself in."
Sal's mouth is hanging open and Hannah nudges her. "Stop gawping, will yer! Get 'er fastened."
When Sal has done, Hannah checks her work and pulls the straps a notch or two tighter. Sal picks up the mug and plate, they're moving towards the door.
They've gone, leaving me alone in the dark.
I don't know how long I've been in here. The light fades... returns ... they come with the mug and the plate.
At least I think they do. Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm awake or dreaming. I sleep a lot. They must be putting a sedative in the water. When I do wake, I feel very drowsy and my mind's ... blurry.
Perhaps it's for the best. Better not to think.
Sometimes I hear that rustling and I tell myself it's a tree in full leaf, rustling in the wind. I like to think of this tree, my tree, with its sturdy trunk and roots deep in the ground. I imagine myself perching on its high branches, like a bird ... and then I spread my wings and fly...
It's peaceful here, with no one to bother me and everything slipped away from my mind except for my tree. So when they come one day and I've used the pot and drunk some water and someone, I think it's Hannah, says, "It's time to go," I don't want to go anywhere.
"It aint no use clinging to the mattress. Get 'er hands, Sal."
Between them they manhandle me to my feet.
I'm so weak I can hardly stand but this doesn't bother them. One on each side, with a firm grip on my arms, they drag me along corridors, my feet trailing. Where are we going? I must have spoken this aloud without realising it, because Hannah says shortly, "You'll see, soon enough."
When we stop in front of a door, Hannah takes a key from her pocket and inserts it in the lock. She winks at Sal and then says to me, "We hope yer like yer new home, my lady. You'll find it very comfortable." Hannah turns the key, and opens the door. "Welcome to the Fifth Gallery."
I stare at her, numb. Before I can gather my wits, I'm pushed into the room.
A stomach-churning stench makes me catch my breath. And the noise—after the silence of my cell, it's magnified to a painful pitch—and it sounds inhuman, more like the baying and howling of wild animals. There are bodies, bodies everywhere, in a turmoil of restless motion that makes my head spin.
Hannah prods me forward.
A blue uniform emerges from the confusion. "This her, then, what had a go at Weeks? She don't look like a goer."
This one has a deep voice, like a man's. She's big too with broad shoulders.
"Oh, yes, she's a vixen, all right," says Hannah. "And watch her—she might try to do herself in."
"One less for us to worry about then, eh?" The attendant laughs, a deep throaty laugh. "Right-oh then, Hannah, leave her with us. She'll soon settle in."
She grips my arm and steers me between the bodies. Those that don't move aside fast enough are knocked out of the way.
I look back over my shoulder at Hannah and Sal, faces that I know. But they've already disappeared.
"This is yours." The attendant points at a bed covered with a grimy blanket. I look around. The room is full of beds. No other furniture, just beds with a shelf above them. Most of the shelves are empty.
I swallow. "Where's the day room?"