ALICE'S CELL, THE RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM, OXFORD
S leeping has become increasingly hard since I learned about my boyfriend, Adam. It's not like I remember him or the incident of killing my classmates on the school bus. But Adam, to me, is like Wonderland. I can't remember them, but something tells me they are real.
What bothers me about Adam is that I am, strangely, mourning his death. I don't know if science has an explanation for my feelings, but I can't escape it. I feel I want to cry for him, visit his burial ground, say a little prayer, and leave roses on his tomb. To me, it's a genuine feeling. I don't think I even feel this way about my family.
I wonder if it's possible to forget about someone but still experience a feeling toward them. It's as if I have written his name on the inner walls of my heart. As if I am stained with his soul. Whatever we shared is buried somewhere in the abyss of my mind. I just don't know how to swim deep enough and return to the surface with it. My thoughts are interrupted by Waltraud's knock on the door. Sometimes it feels like I am the only patient in the asylum.
"I am really tired," I say. "I don't want to eat, go to the bathroom, or meet anyone. Leave me alone."
"It's Dr. Tom Truckle," he says and enters my cell. He has never entered my cell before. When he steps inside, his hands are behind his back. "How have you been, Alice?" He has never asked me so politely.
"Mad." My favorite answer. I think I should copyright it.
"I'll make it short," Dr. Truckle says, discarding my complaint. He looks disgusted with my cell. "This might be outrageously silly, but I really need to ask you something." He shrugs. I have never seen him shrug. He looks uncomfortable with Waltraud's presence. "How much is four times seven?" he asks quickly as if embarrassed to say it. Waltraud and Ogier try their best not to laugh behind his back.
"Twenty-eight." I shrug. Then a surge of emotion hits me. It reminds me of my buried feelings about Adam. A light bulb flickers in my head. Suddenly, I realize I know the right answer to the silly question. Whoever told Tom Truckle to ask it of me is sending me a code. I don't know how, but I know. "Wait," I say, interrupting Dr. Tom's departure. "It's fourteen," I answer with a hint of a smile on my lips.