Crunch of a key and the door clicks open.
Tom moves his eyes from the ceiling to see who has come into his room.
It’s Rob, the nurse. ‘Tom. Visitor. Solicitor.’
* * *
As Tom enters the plain white-walled visiting room, Rob tucks himself against the wall inside the door and surreptitiously slips his phone out of his trouser pocket.
The same clock upon every wall in every room here. Click. Stutter. Click. Stutter.
Tom draws out the plastic chair before the blank table. He sits down opposite a woman who is not his solicitor, but whom he is sure he’s seen before; his dim sense of recognition flickers but offers no satisfaction. He knows her face but doesn’t know her. It’s almost there.
Almost.
Click. Stutter. Click. Stutter.
‘Hello, Tom.’ Without standing up, she extends a hand towards him. Her skin is pale, the fingernails blood-red.
Wary, Tom refuses the proffered hand.
‘I’ll be looking after you from now on.’
Tom frowns. ‘I have a solicitor. My appeal was refused.’
The woman retracts her arm. ‘I’m here for another matter with the same desired outcome.’ The woman smiles again and there is something inappropriate about her expression, perhaps frivolous, even sly.
Tom turns his head and looks at Rob, who stares at his phone screen. And then he remembers.
Over a year ago, before he was sectioned, he saw this tall, slender woman outside the neighbours’ house. This is the smartly dressed visitor he once saw standing upon his neighbours’ drive, not long after they moved in. So long ago now, but he’s had plenty of time to explore those final weeks of his old life since arriving here.
This woman had a nice car. This woman kissed Medea’s hand. Now, she’s smiling at Tom. A smart black leather briefcase lies before her upon the table.
‘It’s quite simple,’ she says. ‘So I’ll get right to the point. Bottom line. What would you like more than anything else in this world?’ Her expression grows a touch salacious. She has lovely eyes and a thin nose that makes her clear, lively eyes appear even lovelier and darker. Tom can’t remember ever seeing hair so black, so perfect. It is pulled tightly into a short ponytail, and the top of her head catches the institutional light and glosses.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
‘Someone very special owes you a very big favour. For assisting in her release.’
Tom draws back. More suspicious than baffled, he glances again at the nurse, who still peers at his phone.
Click. Stutter. Click. Stutter.
‘He can’t hear a word,’ she says.
Click. Stutter. Click. Stutter.
‘No one in here can. Don’t worry about the cameras and the staff looking at the monitors. They’re seeing something else.’
Click. Stutter. Click. Stutter.
Tom looks at the clock. The second hand clicks and judders but does not progress around the face of the clock. So he was right, it can happen. He watches the second hand for some time until the snap of the latch of his visitor’s briefcase distracts him.
Still smiling, as if she’s done something clever, she raises her elegant hands from the interior of the case and cups a concealed object upon the table surface. When she removes her hands a white mouse is revealed, sniffing at the air. Beside the little creature, an antique iron sewing pin idles incongruously, as if recently emancipated from a museum display. ‘One drop of blood. Left hand. And we can begin.’
Tom swallows. As if he is a child seeking a teacher’s protection, he looks again to the nurse.
Rob continues to peer, entranced, at the screen of his phone.
‘Go on,’ his visitor says. She uncrosses legs concealed beneath the table. They whisk. ‘You won’t remember but it’s all been explained to you. Promised. ’
Tom’s alarm drains and he feels the strange excitement of anticipation, though is not sure why. As if compelled by a decision already pondered and made, he reaches for the pin and raises the brittle black spike from the white surface of the table. Then he looks at the woman, not sure whether he’s seeking direction or a sign of trickery.
She smiles, nods. ‘She’s in the world now. Because of you. She’s … so capable .’ The woman shows him her lovely strong teeth between the scarlet of her painted mouth. ‘She’s wonderful. And terrible. Be grateful you are in her good graces.’
Tom winces. Then it’s done. On the pad of his index finger, a drop of blood forms a shiny dome. He extends the pricked finger towards the mouse.
Across the table, the woman speaks quickly but silently, her mouth moving so fast that Tom is sure that no language could be intelligible at such a speed.
A tickle upon his finger as the white mouse feeds.
Tom looks down as the smiling woman’s alabaster hands cup and cage the mouse. The creature is gathered and slipped inside her briefcase. She snaps the lid closed.
‘One last thing and then you can go and see her whenever you like. If you do exactly what I ask.’
Tom stays quiet and watches the woman’s eyes closely. She lowers them to the table and smiles wickedly, whispers, ‘On your knees. Sup her wine.’
Tom watches the plain table top between the woman’s lovely white hands. He imagines that his eyes would follow those hands anywhere, desperate for a caress. One of her fingers rises. A blood-red nail taps the table’s laminate surface.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Again, Tom glances at the nurse. A man oblivious, who listlessly gazes at the screen of his phone.
Lowering his head, Tom peers beneath the table.
And sees the glimmer of patent court shoes, then the woman’s shapely legs, skinned in sheer black hosiery. Her ankles are set apart, her glossy knees spread wide.
Dipping his head further down, Tom peers along the underside of the table.
The visitor’s pencil skirt is rucked to her waist. Amidst the erotic view of her legs, dimly shimmering to her stocking tops, the grotesque is immediately visible. Upon an inner thigh, a wrinkled nipple extends.