Page 41 of Madness

Al’s voice slightly trembles with worry as he asks, “Have you seen Red?” His eyes dart around the room, settling on the teacups in front of him as if they were bombs about to blow. He twitches, his fingers tapping restlessly against the wooden surface, the plate of food in front of him untouched.

He’s been like this for weeks, progressively getting worse since we first met him, and I worry that Nurse White has fucked with his meds.

Dusty sits next to me, his eyes fixated on the ticking clock on the wall abovethe door.

“We’re going to be late, Des,” he leans into my space to whisper to me, and I nod my head in acknowledgement.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m one of the only sane people in here, my games with the guards enough to spare me from what the others have been through.

Bud walks past our table, nodding his head in greeting but not stopping as he rushes out to therapy.

“I’ll go check on her,” I volunteer, already leaving my seat to go in search of her since none of us have seen her in a week now.

She’s even missed therapy, and you never miss therapy in this place – it’s mandatory.

Dusty’s eyes widen with panic, and his hand snaps out, gripping my wrist like a vice as if letting go would have him spiralling further. “But we’ll be late,” he pleads.

I look him in the eye, hoping that he’ll be calm enough to let me go and infuse as much calmness into my tone as possible, even when I don’t feel it. “We won’t be late,” I reassure him, squeezing his hand slightly and trying to hide my wince of pain as he repeats my movement, “Al will go with you, and I’ll go get Red, okay?”

He nods, his head jerky, but he releases my arm and drops his hands into his lap, his head downcast in defeat.

“Deep breaths, Dus, you’ve got this. We have four hours until we need to be there. How many minutes?”

He breathes in, holds, then slowly breathes out, “Two hundred and forty.”

“How many minutes do you need to get there?”

“Ten.”

“So, you have two hundred and thirty minutes to go for a walk or watch a movie in the lounge room, okay?”

“Okay. Ok. I’ve got this,” he smiles at me, and his eyes that match my own crinkle at the sides.

“Red?” I hesitantly knock on her door and wait a moment for her to call for me.

When no sound comes, I twist the handle, push the door open, and step inside, intent on figuring out where she’s gone. All those plans die as I take in a stricken-looking Red, cutting at the skin on her wrist and smearing the blood over her wall in a chaotic mess.

Red’s hands tremble as she feverishly tries to recreate the famous mural on her wall. Everyone in Wonderland knew about her other one, but now, in its place, is a blank wall with streaks of crimson red.

The cuts that crowd her wrists seem to get deeper as she’s spiralled into her mania, and I can’t watch her hurt herself anymore.

Cautiously, as if she’s an injured wild animal, I take slow, measured steps towards her and gently pull the blade from her hand.

Taking her hand, I pull her over to her bed and shuffle the bedside table between us, the legs scraping against the floor.

The deck of cards feels like home as I pull it from my pocket, a move I’ve made so often since I came here. I place them on the wooden surface. “If you win,” I start shuffling the cards, “I’ll smuggle in some art supplies for you.”

Red’s bright blue eyes flick between my own, a spark of hope that’s entirely engulfed by hopelessness, “It’s impossible.”

“Nothing here is impossible, Red. You just have to know the right people.”

I don’t say anything more.

I may like Red, but I know the relationship that both she and Nurse White share and that the Jabberwocky is obsessed with her. I see the cameras pointed around the room and how they move with her, and I know that they’ll have sound, which means whatever is said here is not private, nor is it safe.

Red hesitates. Her eyes track my every movement, but she gives a jerky nod, “What if you win?”

“What are you willing to give?”

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