“So, Mr. Matthews. Tell me about your dream?”
“My dream…?”
“Yes. Tell me what you saw. In the forest…”
The therapist relaxed in her green, leather backed chair. She might have been in her early thirties. Young in years and a little soft around the edges. But she seemed like the intelligent type. Well-versed in the subtle art of persuasion…
“Well…” I began wearily, noticing the name ‘Ms Marlowe’ embossed across the edge of her desk, “…it was around one in the morning. I couldn’t sleep. There were noises…voices…I went outside, outside in the forest…and then…then…”
“It’s ok, Mr. Matthews…” the therapist spoke once more, “…why don’t you lean back and face the ceiling? It might help you to remember.”
I immediately did as I was instructed, without objection.
The woman perched opposite was something of an enigma. She sparked a range of paradoxical feelings inside me, representing someone who was kind but stern, warm yet distant, undoubtedly unrecognisable…yet at the same time, oddly familiar.
Her office, however, possessed little in the way of inspiration or charm. The olive-green wallpaper and dark mahogany textures felt like something out of an old, outdated movie. Whilst the four windowless walls succeeded only in suffocating those within.
“Now…” Ms Marlowe proceeded undeterred, “…before we continue, I must ask one thing. If that’s ok?”
“Sure…” I said, observing the tight-lipped clinician as she slowly rose to her feet.
“Would you like a glass of pink lemonade?”
“…I’m sorry?”
“…a glass of pink lemonade,” she affirmed, “…but I must warn you, Mr. Matthews, this will be the one and only time I make this offer. Once I put this jug away, there will be no going back. Do you understand?”
All I could do was stare back with wide eyes and a broken smile. My newfound conversation partner, meanwhile, reclaimed her seat and crossed her legs.
“Very well then…” the therapist continued, “…let’s proceed, shall we? What can you tell me about the incident in the forest, Mr. Matthews?”
It was a loaded question. And, naturally, my answer would prove more than slightly tongue-tied.
You see, the details were somewhat complicated. The fine points and particulars were…hazy, at best. I distinctly remembered spotting three blonde-haired little girls. In-fact, there was little chance I would ever forget them. They each bore the resemblances of miniature angels, their innocence and purity gleaming like rare gemstones in the darkest depths of the forest. Yet, they were young. Too young to be wandering around alone in a place like that…
“Did you approach these three girls?” asked Ms Marlowe, reaching for her pen.
The truth is, I did.
I observed the girls at first, wanting to believe that my mind was playing tricks on me. Making me see things that were not really there.
“Yes…” I answered, finally, “…they spoke to me…in their gentle voices…they insisted that they had gone searching for wild strawberries. They were just…just about to leave, when…”
“When, what…Mr. Matthews?”
“…when the devils showed up.”
There it was. Even the mere mention of those foul and evil spirits was enough to knock me off my chair. I drew back in horror. The palms of my hands were sweating and my legs had started to shake. I was about to regurgitate this sordid account of woeful misfortune. A tale of terror and turmoil…
…ready to burst open at the seams.
“Who are these devils you speak of?” the therapist posed, abruptly leaning forward and staring gravely into my eyes, “…this is serious, Mr. Matthews. Did they say anything to you?”
“No…” I replied, “…they were completely silent, except for the rustling…the constant rustling…and the flapping of their hoods against the wind…”
“And what did they look like, Mr Matthews?”
I cast my mind back, long, and hard…
“They were…tall, and powerful…each and every one of them. They circled in on those poor girls! Their faces…obscured by the shadows…their feet hidden beneath their long, black robes. Only…only their eyes could be seen. And their smiles…their smiles…”
“Go on...” the therapist ushered, “…I feel like you might be holding something back, Mr. Matthews. Something significant…”
“No…” I whispered, squirming in my seat, “…no…I…I can’t…”
“Yes, you can, Mr. Matthews…”
“No, I can’t…I won’t…pink lemonade!”
“It’s too late for pink lemonade now, Mr. Matthews…” Ms Marlowe grimaced, “…let’s go back to the forest. What happened next?”
What happened next was an onslaught. A misadventure of otherworldly proportions. I did everything I could, I swear it! Using every source of strength I could earnestly muster. But it was not enough. It was out of my hands, I tell you…
“The devils…” I muttered under my breath, “…they showed no mercy. They were relentless. I tried, but…I…I just couldn’t. There were too many…there was nothing I could do to save those poor girls, from…from what happened…”
The therapist, now somewhat tired-eyed and weary, drew back her head and let out a long sigh.
“Mr. Matthews…” she stated in no uncertain terms, “…I must inform you that what you witnessed that night in the forest was very much real. The victims you speak of are currently missing and unaccounted for. The fates of those three girls may very much lay in your hands...”
I gazed frantically around the room for something to nudge my fleeting memory. The wooden bookcases on either side of me seemed to be closing in on themselves, as were the dusty oil paintings hanging high upon the wall…
“No!” I shrieked, “…I don’t want to play anymore! Pink lemonade! Pink lemonade!”
“No, Mr. Matthews. No pink lemonade for you. It’s too late. You need to tell me what happened to those little girls…”
“I didn’t touch them, I swear! It was the demons, you have to believe me! Those black hooded freaks! Those devils in the dark!”
“Very well…” the therapist sighed one final time, taking to her feet, “…I tried to give you a chance, Mr. Matthews. I really did. But now, you leave me no choice.”
She stood firm and edged towards me with something in her hand. I subsequently attempted to wriggle free from her oncoming embrace, but it was useless. Soon, Ms. Marlowe had engulfed me in a warp of warm body heat and green velvet drapery. And then…
…nothing.
*
I finally awoke some time later with a hazy head and a muddled mind. The well-worn interior of Ms Marlowe’s office had somehow dissipated, leaving behind a small, blue-bricked room in its place. In the middle of the room sat a large wooden interrogation table housing two glasses of water and a rolling tape machine.
Yet, the aforementioned therapist was no longer perched on the other end. She had been duly replaced by a gruff, cigar-munching police officer. Who, incidentally, appeared mightily displeased to see me…
“Right, Matthews…” he posed venomously with both fists slammed down upon the desk, “…you know you did it. And I know you did it. So how about you come clean already and stop wasting both of our time!?”
“Did what…?” I replied, still a little foggy.
“You tell me Matthews. You tell me where you hid the bodies of those poor, defenceless little girls…”
It was only then that I noticed the large two-way mirror running parallel alongside us. It was only then, that I finally observed ‘Officer Shelton’s’ name tag hanging proudly from his chest. But right from the very outset, all the way back to the humble beginnings of our conversation, I already felt my fortunes slipping dangerously through my fingers.
That, and the cold metal handcuffs strapped across my wrists.
“I won’t ask you again, Matthews…” the officer chimed in once more, “…you’re already looking at a life sentence for this one. Ain’t no more rainbows and sunshine where you’re going, buddy. You better tell me where those bodies are before it’s too late…”
I reeled back in my chair, knees trembling and mouth agape.
“You...you…” I began, “…you need to…I can’t!”
“Spit it out, Matthews!”
“…you need to speak…to the demons.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” the officer spat in disgust, “…the only demons involved here are the ones in your head! Now, start talking sense before things take a turn for the worse…”
He was wrong. Those devils in the dark were very much real. They were as real as my filthy rich landlord, pounding at the door of my rented apartment. They were just as lifelike as the raging car horns keeping me up at night, forbidding me to sleep. And, of course, those demons were just as genuine, and just as honest, as the voices in my head. The same voices insisting that I enter the forest that night…
“I’m giving you one last chance, Matthews...” the officer insisted as he leant in and grabbed me by the collar, “…where are they? Where are the girls!?”
“It was the devils! They took them, I swear it! There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say…”
“Where the hell are they!?”
“…I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to...”
“Think of their families, Matthews! Tell me where you hid the bodies…”
“…pink lemonade!”
“Matthews!?”
“…pink lemonade! Pink lemonade! Pink lemonade!”
Officer Shelton had reached his limit. He rose to his feet brashly, dusted off his shoulders, and reared over me like some kind of fired-up school principal. He then proceeded to smother me with a blue dishcloth he had somehow procured from his back pocket. The officer suppressed me with all his grit, all his mettle, and all his rugged conviction…
…until, once again…
…nothing.
*
I awoke…tired…and groggy.
I knew not where I was.
Nor what was happening…
A white straightjacket cruelly locked me in my chair as a series of wired electrodes remained attached to my warped and coiled body. The lights above were bright and sterile whilst the walls were all heavily padded. The door in the corner, however, had been left slightly ajar…
Outside in the corridor, two individuals could be overheard murmuring to one another in hushed tones. I listened carefully for their whispers in the wind, desperately clinging to their every word…
“Dr Marlowe, have you finished the report yet?”
“Not quite, I’m still adding the final touches…”
Their words were short and brief. A man and a woman; conversing with academic accuracy and never straying too far from the topic at hand.
“This is too much…don’t you think, Dr Shelton? We are doctors, not a pair of jumped-up homicide detectives with a bee in our bonnet…”
“Remember Dr Marlowe, we are not paid to think. Patient Matthews will be discharged shortly, and then…they will have little choice but to send him straight to the chair. We will no longer have to concern ourselves with his fate after that.”
“But, how can we be sure?”
The aforementioned Dr Shelton paused for a while before continuing. I could just about make out the crinkle of his cigarette as he smoked it down to the end and pondered up at the ceiling.
“We can’t…” he eventually admitted, “…our experiments have failed, Dr Marlowe. We have attempted the soft approach. We have tried to be hard on him, too. In truth, we have exhausted every type of hypnosis, and every kind of experimental role-play option available to us. But whatever demons or devils plague this man are beyond all compare. He is either way out of his mind, or the poor guy was somehow telling the truth. We may never be sure.”
“But what about the safe word?”
“…pink lemonade?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t mention it in the official write-up. Ideally, we would have got him out of there the moment he first uttered that phrase. We were supposed to conclude our findings indefinitely at that point. But, as you know, we didn’t. Better to leave that particular aspect out of the report, Dr Marlowe.”
I could hear the doctor scratching away at her notepad. Ready to seal my fate.
“Ok, then…” she said, “…that just about concludes the report.”
“Good.”
“Dr Shelton, this could define our careers. One way or another…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are we really going to pin him for this?”
That’s when I heard it. The executioner’s axe whistling sinisterly beside my ears, calling me into the ether…
Dr Shelton stood resolutely and straightened his lab coat.
“Let’s pin him…” he spoke clearly, “…better the devil we know…
…than the ones we don’t.”
Comments