The Dead House

(AL): [Sighing] Astonishing. Catatonic episode passed without the patient noticing. More analysis required.

[End of tape]





45



Scattered diary entries from throughout Kaitlyn’s readmission period can be found clumped together at the back of the journal, folded on letterhead paper with the Claydon crest at the top right-hand corner. Some of the entries are undecipherable, while others are very clear. There are several stops and starts in the diary over the following weeks, but, for expediency, only entries that are legible have been collated. Any that are confused have been excluded, excepting when they mention Carly directly.

None of the entries are dated, and many seem to be a stream of consciousness in which Kaitlyn tries to piece together her thoughts. It seems that she was, as Dr. Lansing advised her to do months previously, getting her thoughts out of herself and onto paper.



The Johnson Claydon Diaries

First Entry

They gave me a pencil to write with. A fucking pencil. Lansing is all smug that her “therapy” has worked. She sees this desire to write to you, Dee, as a success for her, since she gave the diary, the object, to me. But I’d never tell her what a friend you’ve become, how much I need you. How real you are, and how vital. So she thinks she won because I want to write, but really she handed me her weapons, which I use against her. She has no idea that you are completely separate from these pages and wholly mine.

Can’t believe I’m back here. In Claydon. In a yellow institutional room with a little window on the door where they can peek their ugly, fat faces in and “check” on me.

Dee… Carly is gone. I still can’t bring myself to leave that word on the page. Gone. Absent. Missing. None of them will do.





46


70 days until the incident




Inpatient Session Recording #58 [Ref: Johnson-Inp-0033]

Wednesday, 24 November 2004, 3:12 PM

Claydon Youth Psychiatric Facility, Somerset

Dr. Annabeth Lansing (AL) and Carly Luanne Johnson (CJ)

(AL): How are you feeling today, Carly?



(CJ): I told you not to call me that.



(AL): Kaitlyn, then. How are you?



(CJ): You already know.



(AL): I thought we could continue our talk from last session.



(CJ): I told you everything.



(AL): Yes. But you haven’t let me tell you anything yet.



(CJ): I don’t belong here.



(AL): Kaitlyn, we found you up on the roof of the school. You had lesions and bruising on your head, presumably from repeated impact. You need treatment.

[Silence]

I’m happy to send you back to Elmbridge eventually, but you need to show me that you can cope on your own.



(CJ): I’m taking the meds.



(AL): That’s a start. A good one. But you need to talk to me.



(CJ): I don’t see the point! I don’t know what you want me to say!



(AL): The first topic that comes into your head. Just start.



(CJ): This is stupid.



(AL): [Quietly] Try. Please.



(CJ): [Mumbles]



(AL): Come on, you can do it. The first thing.



(CJ): I… I can’t. I want to stop.



(AL): Kaitlyn, you have to try.



(CJ): I said I want to stop!


[End of tape]





47



The Johnson Claydon Diaries





Second Entry

I’m not me,

And nor is she,

Who sits upon the bed?

But then who,

Is me, is you,

Who sits here very dead?




Third Entry

It’s been a week, I think… and I can just about hold my pencil steady. Reliving it is hard, but if I don’t get it down while it’s fresh, it will change like water and then I’ll never find her.

I can’t remember everything that happened the morning I woke. It comes to me in terrible slaps that are sharp like glass on my memory, and I’ve been trying to piece it together. I remember that there wasn’t enough air, and what air there was, was hot—too hot. I couldn’t breathe because it boiled my lungs, and I gagged on the alveoli bubbling up into my throat. I ran—ran out the door and maybe down the corridor, maybe down the fire escape—that part’s foggy.

I fled the room, fled the wing, fled the school. Fled my mind, Dee.

I remember running, and things in my way, and knocking into people who were all arms trying to catch me. I remember drowning in the open air, and everything being painful on my eyes. I remember someone’s voice calling Carly’s name, and I remember covering my ears and screaming as I fled.

I remember writing, so maybe I told you all this already. I can’t be sure, though, until I get back to Elmbridge. So here it is again, maybe. Not. I don’t know.

The rest is muddled. There was the roof, rain, thunder—someone carrying me away, and my heart broke that I had lost my chance to fly. Lansing is going to lock me up forever now.

Carly was gone. Carly was nothing. I’ve lost her. I’m in her space… her space is empty. It’s been so many days, Dee, and Carly is still gone.