Nillium Neems (2 page)

I waited till I was sure he was gone and
then sat up, mulling over the events of the day. As my mind
wandered, so did my eyes, roving the room with no particular goal
and finally coming to rest on the little shelf they’d given me. On
it sat my only three possessions.

1. A Charlie Brown baseball cap, which I was
rather fond of since it had Snoopy on it. I rarely got the chance
to watch TV, but almost every time I did, it seemed to be playing
Charlie Brown. No idea why. And Snoopy was my favorite character.
If I ever got sane, I intended to get a dog and name it Snoopy.

2. A small pocket watch made of nickel. It
didn’t keep time very well and ticked slower than it should have.
Sometimes if I held it the wrong way it stopped ticking all
together. But I liked it nevertheless. Its tick was comforting, and
someone had even engraved a poem on the back.

Is it time?

The pocket of watch

can’t tell of time.

It’s for the preceiver

to present in time.

I had no idea what it meant. The word
perceiver was even misspelled, assuming that’s the word it was
supposed to be. I’d certainly never heard the word ‘preceiver’ but
I didn’t write it off entirely. Maybe it meant something
special.

3. A copy of the Bible. I hated that book
with a passion, because it always seemed to be watching me.

My mind wouldn’t stop thinking of that
possibility. I stared at the book for a while, feeling like it was
somehow staring back at me. Finally, lunging off the bed towards
it, I grabbed it in both hands and slammed back the cover.

Sure enough, there was that flame-red,
almost reptilian looking eye in the middle, pupil wide with
surprise. It faded into the pages as if it had never been, but the
ruse was useless. I’d caught it in the act this time.

With a smug look on my face, I closed the
Bible and put my Snoopy Cap over it, so maybe it wouldn’t see me as
I wrote in my journal. After scribbling down the events of the day,
I picked up the Pocket Watch and lay back against my pillow,
holding the Watch to my ear.

I fell asleep listening to the tick. Tick
Tock, Tick Tock. It was comforting, the gentle clack of its gears
drowning out the lonely beating of my heart.

Till tomorrow, my Bookish Friend.

Nil, Out!

(By the way, I’m referring to you as ‘My
Bookish Friend’ from now on. I can only assume you’re a bookish
sort, if you’ve managed to stick with my mad ramblings for this
long.)

Day 4

This morning was not good. Not good at all.
Dr. Higgins, my psychanalyst, woke me up an hour early according to
my untrustworthy clock. Though I suspect it was actually much
earlier than that. He wanted to ask me about my dreams again.
Supposedly his job was to monitor my mental health, play the role
of a psychologist if you will, but dear Dr. Higgins was more of an
oneirologist than anything else. A man who studies dreams.
Apparently no one at Atrium cared if he did the job or not, just so
long as he clocked in on time. Sigh.

Higgins started to walk slowly around my
bed, a vulture circling its prey. I must admit, I felt a little bit
smug that my bed was tucked against the wall. It didn’t allow him
to walk a complete circle around it, forcing him to keep changing
directions. Kind of ruined his intimidation a little.

Back and forth he walked, kind of like my
clock, tick tock, tick tock, for two minutes at least before
finally speaking.

"So, you are still claiming to be unable to
dream..."

His voice was precise and slightly clipped,
like some high-minded college professor giving a lecture to a room
of students considerably less intelligent than he was. Or at least,
less intelligent than he believed himself to be.

"We’ve been over this before, Dr. H..."

"And we will go over it a thousand more
times until you tell me the truth, Miss Neems."

I suppose this is the part where I show my
disregard for the good doctor by spitting in his face and saying
something suitably rebellious. I’d tried that once, a long time
ago, and it did not end well. These days I make do with lying back
in bed and closing my eyes.

"It is impossible to not dream, Miss Neems."
he continued.

My eyes were closed, but I could tell by his
voice that he was still circling around me. Tick tock, tick tock, a
human clock with a broken gear.

"Perhaps you do not
remember your dreams, Miss Neems, or pretend not to remember, but
you
do
dream. To
not dream, would indicate that your very brain has shut down during
the night."

"Maybe it has," I replied brightly. "Maybe
all of your endless droning about dreams has finally killed me
mentally."

The sound of footsteps ceased as he paused.
I’m sure his eyes were narrowed at that one. Higgins was not
amused. His footsteps continued a moment later, a slightly quicker,
more frenetic pace.

"Galantamine." he said after a while. I
heard the rustle of what I could only assume was a pill bottle
being pulled from the deep pockets of his white doctor’s coat.

I cracked my eyes open a tadge and sure
enough, he was holding a shiny white bottle of pills. There was no
label on it and somehow, that worried me.

"Galantamine?" I asked. "Sounds like a
parasite."

He smiled at that, but his smile held no
mirth in it. Just coldness.

"Galantamine is a drug used
primarily for Alzheimer’s and other memory impairments. What I
have
here
," and
he brandished the bottle at me, "Is Galantrasol, an experimental
derivative of Galantamine, which is supposed to be much, much
stronger. Perhaps it will help in your... inability to remember
your dreams."

"I’m guessing it’s not FDA approved?"

He smiled again in response.

"I did say it was experimental. Now open
wide," and he shook two pills into his hand, holding them out
towards me.

It was about then that I tried to bite him.
Hey, you would have too in my position. Of course Higgins was used
to such antics, and pulled back immediately from my lunge, then
lunging forwards himself with one arm outstretched, catching me
around the throat and pushing me back onto the bed. He squeezed,
holding me down till I started to choke for air.

The moment my mouth cracked open he dropped
two pills inside, loosening his grip around my throat so I could
swallow while moving his other hand to press against my mouth,
forcing me to do so. The pills slid down my throat and I felt like
I’d just swallowed slime. Which I guess wasn’t a feeling too far
from the truth.

"There," he said, letting go and leaning
back from me. "That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now be a good girl and
get your sleep. And remember," here he tapped his forehead smartly
with a finger, "if you just dream, it will all get better. I
promise you that one."

Higgins turned on his heel
and left. I lay there, defeated, starting to feel weird from this
new poison. I thought I was a mushroom after a while, growing out
of the mattress and just searching for sunlight, yet always living
in darkness. Mind you, that might not have been the drugs talking.
I
am
crazy after
all, and tend to think a lot of weird stuff.

My limbs felt off and my brain a bit fuzzy,
but after an hour or two it started to wear off. In all honesty, I
would have quite enjoyed it if the pills had worked, since I’ve
never been able to experience the sensation that people call
‘dreaming’. But of course, they didn’t. Now I just felt tired and
angry.

My anger only grew as I lay
there, anger at my helpless nature. I decided to take it out on
something, anyone,
anything
just to show that I wouldn’t put up with this any
longer. I thought about my untrustworthy clock at first, but it was
too high for me to reach. Beating up my Bible wouldn’t do any good
either, for I suspected it would find a way to get back at
me.

Then I thought about Mousy. I leaned over
the side of the bed to check beneath it, but he wasn’t there. The
smug little rodent never is about when I need him!

A lack of targets to let my rage out on only
made me angrier, until I was on the verge of mindlessly banging on
the door like some kind of lunatic. I actually was going to,
leaping off the bed and running towards the door, raising a fist to
begin. But I stopped as soon as I looked through the little window
and saw the Hooded Man standing outside, leaning nonchalantly
against the wall.

Out of all of the inhabitants of my Home, he
was the only one that I really, truly feared. I feared him so much
that the mere sight of him sapped all of the anger from my soul and
sent me fleeing back to the safety of my bed. I spent the rest of
the day huddled under the covers so that he couldn’t see me. This
has not been a pleasant day.

Nil, out.

Day 5

Lockdown has finally been lifted. Yay. The
wardens must have decided during the interval that all of us lucky
patients needed a treat. Something to calm down our emotions before
any more killings happened. Fat chance. I would kill the first
monster that gave me the opportunity and that was that. Anyways, as
our little treat, they decided to take us all out to the Yard.

The asylum that I live in
is basically shaped like a square, with the middle bit cut out,
which is where the yard is located. And the Yard is
huge
, probably as big as
a football field.

We always look forward to spending some time
in it, since other than a bunch of wardens to keep an eye on us we
are pretty much left to ourselves. Some of my fondest memories are
of wandering peacefully around the Yard. Not quite frolicking, but
close.

I did feel a bit weak today, not having
eaten anything. But you wouldn’t either if you had bloody oatmeal
and something weird with bugs in it as your only options. I just
hope they don’t force me on one of this IV-drip things to keep me
alive. I’d eat, if only they’d give me something edible. Maybe I’d
find some mushrooms or something growing amidst the grass.

I avoided the other patients. I rarely got
along with them that well to begin with, and after everything else,
I didn’t want to be taken by a Monster unawares. And yes, some of
my fellow patients are Monsters too, though you usually can’t tell
unless you’re up close.

So I headed for The Tree and sat down on the
grass beneath its canopy. We all call it ‘The Tree’ even the
wardens. Primarily, because it’s the only tree in the Yard. But
also and perhaps more so, because it had to have been a good three
stories high! It reached the roof of the surrounding complex, not
quite towering over Atrium Psychiatric Ward, but coming pretty darn
close all the same.

Most of the bottom branches had been hacked
off of course, so that us patients couldn’t attempt to climb it.
Not that we’d be able to anyways, since most of us are in pretty
bad shape.

I like to sit under the Tree when I’m out
here, since the stars in its upper branches are so very beautiful,
twinkling even in the bright light of day. Sometimes I wonder what
it would look like at night, the stars the only source of light.
Turning the Tree into a supernova of glowing wonder, something
magical beyond words. I doubt I’ll ever get to see it though. They
only let us out in the Yard during the day.

I heard the shuffle of footsteps
approaching, and woke from my ponderings to see Jeremy approaching,
followed closely by Harold. I wouldn’t have minded Jeremy’s company
much, but Harold freaked me out. Out of all the patients he was one
of the few that I felt truly deserved to be here.

Small in stature, only a little taller than
me, he always walked in a slightly hunchbacked manner. His nearly
bald head revealed every ugly pore on his skin, which constantly
seemed to be lightly sweating

The few times I had tried to talk to Harold
he would never meet my eyes, staring past me instead, his own eyes
shifting back and forth, as if watching things that weren’t there.
Nut job. They shouldn’t let people like that near us innocent
patients.

"What do you want, Jeremy?" I asked, my
words stopping him a few feet from me. Harold kept moving, walking
right up to me and shoving an angry finger towards my face.

"I. Saw. You." he said, accusingly.

I raised an eyebrow in question, and glanced
over at Jeremy, who gave me an apologetic shrug.

"Saw me?" I asked. "You mean saw me standing
over here by the Tree?"

"I... S-saw you!" he repeated, more
forcefully as if I’d been caught out in some great crime.

I turned once more to Jeremy, hoping he
could interpret.

"Harold saw you... stab the guy in the
breakfast hall," Jeremy almost whispered, as if afraid his words
would provoke some kind of punishment.

I got an awful sinking feeling in the pit of
my stomach. If he had told the doctors, then I would be moved to a
much higher security section of Atrium. Probably treated with
electroshock therapy too, or something worse. Much worse.

"Harold," I spoke slowly, "does anyone know
what you saw?"

"I. Saw you. And. I’ll tell."

Needless to say, the little maniac wasn’t
being very helpful. So I grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and
lifted him off the ground. His eyes roved wildly in every
direction, looking at everything but me.

"If you tell
anyone
," I growled at
him, "I’ll make you regret it."

"Hey, are you crazy!?" Jeremy shouted,
horrified. Harold didn’t say a word, eyes still spinning like a
top.