Flying The Coop

This young man, George, is helping me out. If they hadn’t had those tubes in my arm the past days, I would probably have killed him. But I didn’t. They don’t feed me much, the tubes, but they do keep me sated. Docile. I don’t know how many years I have lived from those indescribable fluids. They dim my mind. My memory. My senses. Clog up my joints. At least they have long since stopped force-feeding me with porridge.

Then sometimes they make mistakes, the nurses. Forget to strap me down properly or one of the fearful youths in their rustling dresses slack on concentration. Those days I get to feed. The best is to wait for the strap to be loose or open. It is a balance. I risk they notice it and tighten them. But if I dare to wait and they don’t notice, I get to leave my bed. Then I slip out and follow my nose, moving silently towards the door or the window. If I am lucky one is unlocked. If not, I hide and wait for someone to come. It has been long now. My last feed was a woman in a bed in the building. An excursion. I got out of my room at night and followed her scent to a bed quite like mine. She too was tied down. They had put a stick in her mouth, so she couldn’t even scream when I embedded my teeth in her. All she did was wiggle like a tadpole in a puddle. She didn’t taste very good, though. I had sunk my teeth in her forearm and begun to suck, but her skin felt strange; waxy. As I foraged, I got a bitter sensation in my mouth and my senses began to betray me. Could she have eaten something unbecoming? Perhaps been given a condiment of salts? For whatever purpose? I put my right hand on her chest to soothe her, just in case her taste was due to anxiety. Her heart was racing behind her soft breast. It is not easy to drink and smile at the same time. I did smile. She may not have tasted well but she felt wonderful to the touch. Mmmhhh.

Mostly I get back to my bed before anyone knows I am gone. A few times, I have been caught in the corridors but never in the act. They just think I am lost in the halls in all my blindness and push me back. The new nurse with the stick is the first I think have been suspicious of me. As for my dinners; my supplements. Well, I don’t know what happens to them. I don’t leave them dried out to die but I firmly believe their minds are gone once they awaken. No one seems to take notice here.

“George, what is this place.”

“You don’t know?! It is a booby hatch. An asylum. This is where they put insane people.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. Are you?”

I giggle and hold his arm a bit tighter.

“My mind is a dried prune, young man, and just as clouded but it is not upside down.”

George makes a squirting sound. I guess it is a form of stifled laugh. He moves quickly ahead. I am hanging in the nook of his elbow, trying not to stumble. I so do hope I can get some of my strength back.

“Hush!”, I whisper. 

“George, I hear someone in front of us.”

“I don’t hear anyone. To your right or left?”

“Slightly to my left. It is faint but there are more than the one.”

“Jumping golly, you have good ears... or a good imagination.”, I can hear George opening a door,

“We will hide here until they are gone.”

It is not a steel clad door like my own but a lighter, purely wooden door, by the sound of it. It is a very small room. Stale. Maybe just a closet. George drags me backwards into the small enclosure and shuts the door very slowly. His breathing is controlled. I can feel him behind me, pressing at my back. His chest is heaving with every breath. He still smells of O’Brien. I start wondering if I can turn him. Do I want to? You see; those stories again are not entirely correct. The bite itself does not turn. Otherwise, we would have a party with many guests and very little food. No. Turning is intricate. He must want it yet not purport it. He must be drawn in; enticed. Not seduce but willingly bled - and reciprocate.

“What are you doing?”, George hissed almost inaudibly.

My mind must have lingered off and perhaps I moved. I can only assume that for a moment I have leaned against him. My unsteady legs are the best excuse I have on hand. I try to straighten a bit and move forward, away from him in the process.

“Sorry, my legs are old... The people are moving further away.”

“You can hear them? Jeez, you are something.”

Very slowly, George opens the door. He pushes me in front of me and leans out to survey the corridor.

“All clear. Let us find a way out of here. Make sure to tell me if you hear anyone, ya’ hear?”

“I will. I will. There is no one there now.”

We turn right and walk down the corridor. I can hear George’s bare feet on the tiles. No wonder he can’t hear anything with all that noise he makes. We stop at a door or gate. I reach out and touch it. It is glass. At waist height, there is a bar across it. It must be a doorway to another part of the building or perhaps even to the outside. It creaks a bit as George pushes the door ajar. A moment later he pushes it open and drags me through the doorway. The floors here are made of wood. Warm to the touch but also deceptive. The wood dampens our steps as it will everybody else’s. But something else is new. I can feel it on my skin as we walk slowly down the new hallway. There are open doors and behind those open doors are windows and outside those windows there is light. Sunlight. The light is not yet direct. It must be reflecting from surfaces. Still, it stings.

“George! I can’t go here. The light is too bright. It burns me.”

“What! There hardly is any. Can’t you close your eyes?”

“No. It is not just my eyes. My skin burns.”

“Bugger me! How the hell can it? Geez...”

“Can you find a blanket to put over me?”

“A blanket? You want me to escape this fucking place with you wrapped in a blanket?!”

“Then leave me. I will go back, then.”

“Hold your horses. I will take a look...”

He leaves me and walks off. I can hear him stop a few times and then his footsteps fade. He must be in a room. I wonder where we are since there are no people here. I step a bit backwards to get in the shade of the corner where we entered. I hold out my arms and touch the wall and the glass door. The glass is smooth and cold. The wall is light. A drywall or wood panelling with wallpaper. Not the painted or tiled concrete in the other building. I glide my palm over the wallpaper. It has a structure. Embossed. My hand hits a picture frame. I wonder what would be on a picture sitting behind a door.

“Hey, I found this for you.”

George is back. He is handing me a bundle.

“I can’t see it, George. What is it?”

“A full set of clothes. I think they will fit you. I changed myself back there. Quick, take the pants.”

He has picked out a piece from the bundle and hands it over. I pull the robe over my head and take off the trousers George found for me back in my room. To cover my butt, he had said. I turn the pants to get my bearings and pull them on.

“There were no underpants.”

“Do I need them?”

I giggle as I button the trousers. He gives me the items one at a time, growing more and more impatient with every piece. But apparently, I manage to get it on in good order, for he doesn’t complain.

“Is it sitting right?”

“Yes, you look fine. Let me just straighten your lapels. There.”

“I still need something for my head and eyes.”

“Yes, I got that bit. I found a laundry sack or something. Since you can’t see anything, I thought you could put that over your head and put this here cap over it. I also found a pair of oven mittens. You will look like a fucking lobster in a suit.”

Chuckling he pulls a hessian bag over my head. It has a linen liner on the inside. Not entirely uncomfortable. He then pushes a cap over it and adjusts it.

“Well, you look all birdy. But no more than so many others. It’ll have to do. Let us go. No, wait! The shoes. See if you will fit these...”

I feel a cool leather shoe on my left foot. I step into it and wiggle my foot around.

“It fits well enough.”

“Good. Here is the other one.”

I get the other shoe and tie them both. The trousers cover my ankles. I bury my hands in the mittens and George grabs my elbow. We are leaving.

“Do you know where we are, George?”

“No, not really. It is not the reception wing. I think this is part of the staff quarters. Be very quiet, just in case someone sleeps here.”

“I will.”

We walk quietly down the hallway, only stopping when George needs to look through a door.

“Here!”

George is excited about something and pulls me into a room. Suddenly I feel a rush of fresh air. He has opened a window.

“There is a fire escape here. It leads into an empty ally. We are fucking out of here! For a minute I thought we would have to fight our way through the reception.”

The rungs clatter as he steps out of the window and onto the grating. With obvious excitement, he steers me out of the window and onto the platform. I can’t quite tell how far up we are, but the street noise seems to come from quite a steep angle.

“How far is it?”

“Not much. Three platforms and we are down. You can make it.”

I grab the handle and step backwards down the ladder. It is not entirely vertical but almost. Step after step after step. Despite the thick wool suit and the coarse hemp bag, I can feel the strong sunlight. Even if there’s shade at the bottom, we still have to get away from the building.