Day 50 / 08:58
He has to tell Ms Turner about his mugs, how it felt to see them out of order.
Out of order. The worst phrase Noah can think of. Once Juliet leaves and he’s alone in his room, he stands there, tapping, not caring that the door’s open and anyone passing can see him. He has to gather all his strength, draw on his 5s as fast as possible.
Then there’s the violation. His space at home, it’s his, no one ever enters without asking. Not Maddie, not his mother, not even his father. The few times he’s come to Noah’s door, he’s always made sure to knock.
The indigo mug means he wasn’t mistaken about his desk organiser. Someone has invaded his space, and not once, but twice. And now he has a witness: Juliet.
Maybe more than twice, Noah. Have you thought about that?
He’ll have to do another check, and another, to make sure that’s not true. He’s going to be late for Ms Turner, but that can’t be helped. He has to inspect every corner, look under his bed, inside his cupboard. He wastes minute after minute. Tries to calm down, sits at his desk and looks around again.
He’s trying to call on his senses, follow Ms Turner’s advice. Move from 5 to 4 and down to 1, but he can’t. Everything around him is a possible area of attack and he can’t narrow his focus and pull himself back into the Here and Now.
What if they’d stood at his wall, laughing at his charts, his Family Tree? Even if they didn’t move anything else (and he’s still not sure they haven’t), they’ve stood in his space, looked where they shouldn’t. He will have to check at least 4 more times to make sure he hasn’t missed another cruel trick. He looks at his desk. The organiser is in the correct place, they haven’t messed with that again. His desk drawers—
His journal! What if they’ve been inside his mind, too, reading about things he can’t even tell Ms Turner? He slides open the top drawer – slowly, carefully – and his heartbeat slows a fraction. It’s still there, in its correct place, and as far as he can tell it hasn’t been moved.
But who’s to say it hasn’t been? If they could get in and move your mugs—
There’s a terrible banging in his head and it’s getting worse.
He reaches into his drawer and takes out his journal.
What’s that for? What are you doing?
Noah pushes against the Dark as hard as he can, he starts counting his way down the corridor, 1 2 3 4 5, and he doesn’t care who hears him. Not Simon on his way to the bathroom, nor Morné or Sadie standing in the doorway of Morné’s room. Not even Mr Bill, who passes him on the stairs. ‘Everything all right, Noah? Off to see Ms Turner?’
He nods, walks faster, keeps counting.
He’s going to Ms Turner and he’s taking his journal with him.
09:22
‘The thing is,’ he says, after he’s told her about the organiser and mug, ‘I have to tell you everything, but I can’t. But if I don’t, I won’t know how—’
What are you doing, Noah?
His hand is in his pocket, fingering his pebbles. His journal is on his knees.
‘Take your time, Noah,’ Ms Turner says. ‘Remember, Here and Now.’
‘I need to explain something. But …’ He opens his journal. ‘Can I read it out loud?’
‘Of course.’
He looks at Ms Turner’s kind face, sees her kind eyes. Then he opens his journal to the page he thought he would never reveal.
Stop this.
The Dark is swirling closer and closer. A furious roar fills Noah’s ears, but he has the words … all he has to do is read. Noah is still in control, and this time he’s not going to be defeated.
‘Dear Ms Turner, I’m writing this in my journal because I can’t use words to talk. You say writing things down makes them easier to deal with …’
09:47
‘So, Noah. Who, or what, can keep the Dark from growing?’
He wants to answer her, but he’s exhausted. Reading from his journal was hard enough. He leans his head back, closes his eyes, and breathes, slow and regular, each inhalation steadying him. He feels for his pulse, counts the beats there. His feet are quiet on the floor.
Ms Turner allows the silence to linger for a few moments after he opens his eyes. Then she says, ‘We’ve come a long way, you and I, Noah.’
Noah agrees. Ms Turner knows what’s lurking, how hard Noah has to work to keep calm.
Does this woman know what she’s dealing with?
‘Look at me, Noah,’ Ms Turner’s saying. ‘Pay attention to me, don’t listen to anything else.’ Her voice is firm and the Dark pulls back, sulking.
‘You’ve got a phenomenal imagination, Noah,’ she’s saying now. ‘You’ve created the Dark, and you’ve given it power.’
He tries hard to listen, give her words space to land and make sense, but—
Imagination? Imagination? You’re the creator? She has it all wrong.
Noah’s shaking so hard he doesn’t think his body will ever be still again. His feet start tapping furiously, his fingers are blocking his ears, but still Ms Turner’s words get through.
‘Every beast has its nemesis, Noah,’ she says.
‘Shut up,’ he’s saying. ‘Please, please just shut up.’
Ms Turner carries on talking.
Get her out of here. Get her out—
‘What does the Dark fear, Noah? What is it afraid of?’ Her voice is insistent.
What does it fear? You’re the one who’s petrified. What does she think? That anything’s afraid of her?
And then all goes quiet.
Noah lowers his hands, looks around cautiously. Listens.
Nothing, not a sound.
‘What’s it afraid of Noah?’
‘You,’ he says. ‘It’s afraid of you.’
She smiles. ‘I’m so glad.’
She looks at him intently. ‘Now all we have to do is make it scared of you too.’
He listens. Still nothing. She’s got it well and truly whipped. He’ll pay for it later, but for now he soaks up the silence.