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Alex woke up to a soft electrical hum. Ceiling tiles were stained in the hazy yellow light above him. His mouth and throat itched, the discomfort loud and bright against the absence of sensation in his body. Each breath grazed his awareness, slowly coaxing unfocused eyes towards the glowing pattern of squares in front of him. A muscle twitched, blinking, swallowing, creeping, the full weight of his lungs as they pressed against his sternum. From behind his own eyes, Alex saw the tiles blur and bend, slipping out of view as his weight shifted to his shoulder. The same noise, louder this time, brought his body into motion. The room was a plain of flat colours, a blue draped object slowly approaching, mumbling. A prehensile tremor ran through him and something tightened, forcing itself up and against the wall. The soft sound of a persons voice and a vague impression of movement, as though under water, had filled the room.It took the nurse a moment to recognise her effort wasn’t working. Her weight shifted from one leg to the other, hesitance passing in an outward breath as she placed a plastic cup of water on the bedside table and withdrew. She watched from the visitors chair, wedged beside the doorway, as her patient held himself upright, his congested breathing audible. His mouth parted and hung open, allowing a kind of panting as his eyes moved in directionless glaces. Her hands were held within eachother, tucked in her lap as she waited for his jaw to tighten, muting the grinding of his teeth against eachother. There was a quiet rustle as his back curved, head dipped down and inwards to his chest. His body seemed to invert, shoulders rising forward to shelter his curled form. Then a quiet humming, breathy and toneless, marked the time as he stared at his bedside table. When Alex moved towards it the motion was juvenile- one limb at a time, as though the navigation of his body was an unnatural process. The nurse watched in silence as two streams of water formed dark stains on the collar of his hospital gown.Again. Buzzing, warm light interuppted by hushed visits from the nurse. He could hear her make small, even sounds. When offered a cup of circular tablets his head moved sharply, a heavy breath forced out of his chest and catching something vocal in his throat. Not like a child, unable to speak, but like an animal shying away from an unfamiliar touch. A door clicked shut, a nurse nodding evenly at the man in front of her. "I understand, Detective, and appreciate that it must be weighing on you-" His face twitches with reflexive discomfort, the instinct to interject cut off immediately "-But given the circumstances of his treatment, this is absolutely a positive outcome. His condition is no longer critical and he is responsive." Again, another reflexive tic. The nurse watches him- no sign of pity, understanding or ridicule could penetrate the terse professionalism meeting his gaze. Her posture shifts, a quiet exhale acknowledging him before she continues. "The physical injuries are extensive, he's going to be here for several more weeks and will probably require intensive outpatient. There are fractured and broken bones in his hands, face, ribs, and pelvis. Muscular damage in the right shoulder, chest and legs. Second degree burns, lacerations and superficial infections all over his body. He suffered significant head trauma and was severely dehydrated and malnourished- without a medical history it's too early to tell in terms of sight loss or traumatic brain injury. You provided the attending doctor with what was available when he was brought in, correct?" The detective nods, watching as a sheet of paper is deftly removed from a clipboard and replaced. "I'm afraid we will have to wait for his condition to improve for anything certain." She turns, scrawling something on a piece of paper before handing it to him. "This is the contact information for his attending. If the issue of guardianship is resolved, I'd appreciate if you passed it on to them."
Barry Milland’s biological mother had visited multiple times. The lead detective of the case had sat with her, and a doctor, to discuss what would happen next. The officer had seemed desperate to talk with him, citing information gathering on the Jones household prior to his hospitalisation. Barry's attending doctor had shut this notion down immediately. His mother seemed distant, nodding silently whenever required. “Barry will need guardianship. He was, before his hospitalisation, not deemed capable of living on his own. We’re going to keep him here for a few more weeks to ensure his physical recovery will not be impaired, and after that we have considered outpatient treatment for the physical therapy and psychological treatment needed. The issue of guardianship however- Ms Milland, we understand you haven’t seen Barry since he was very young. You would be considered the first person viable, however the responsibility and the stress of this situation on you, of course I can’t imagine. There are other options available if you aren't sure.” The doctor looked at her with a sincere concern. Ms Milland shifted; hands pressed together. Her previous visits to Barry’s room had been eventless- a stranger curled up in a hospital gown, awake enough to look in her direction with vacant eyes. He was nothing like the child she had lost, a bright, energetic and sensitive boy. She had listed what she could see between the patches of healing skin- the colour of his eyes, the shape of his mouth- and had felt for the first time that she understood the aprehension of a stranger, dailing a number from a missing poster. When she approached his bed the size of him became more apparent: tall and broad, like her husband. Silent panic seemed to run through his body, every muscle tensing at her footsteps, and any maternal impulse she had tried to muster with her list evaporated. Barry had always been such an affectionate child. The doctor was cut off by the detective, a gaunt, fidgety man with deepset eyes. “Ms Milland, I understand how difficult this must be." He blinked, appearing to consider how to phrase his point without losing his moment to speak. "I interviewed Alex, at the station and at the house. He- obviously he needs taking care of, but when he lived with the Jones'" he blinked heavily, glancing back at her face as he spoke- "He had some independance. The RV that got smashed up- he had a license. It's where we first picked him up.” The detective glanced to the doctor across from him, and then back to her. "We don't know to what extent his condition was produced by living there. He could, in some time-" The doctor spoke harshly, clearly uncomfortable with his contribution. “I don't think- regardless of who takes custody of the patient, we will ensure that Barry recieves treatment for both his recent and extended traumatic circumstances. Detective, I sympathise with the desire to correct what has been done here, and I also understand that you are hopeful the patient could provide testimony and closure to your case, however I must emphasise the severity and complexity of caring for someone in the patient's condition, and any decision made surrounding custody should not hold any pretense regarding it." The doctor was scowling, her voice cutting off sharply. "And, I don’t think there is any indication that, upon entering Ms Milland's custody, his current state will eleviate.” As the doctor and the detective bickered Ms Milland glanced again to her hands. The officer who had arrested her son knew him better than she did, had an opinion on what to do to look after him. In a small way it frustrated her; she was robbed now, just as she had been robbed all those years ago- in front of detectives and doctors and, before the news cycle had died down, journalists. The frustration was just a grating feeling now, it was picking of a scar rather than the wound. The argument ceased the second she spoke, both expressions morphing into attentive and professional neutrality. “I think, when Barry is alright to leave, I could take him back home. Bring him to these appointments." She shifted her gaze once again. "To be honest, I don’t know the boy-" her voice was flat, tired. She paused as she spoke, seeming unable to finish whatever sentiment she was trying to express. The two both nodded.
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A woman with brown hair was standing by Barry’s bed. She had tired, sagging eyes and a washed out complexion accentuated by her blue scrubs. “Alex” Her voice was impossibly soft, a tone she wasn't sure she'd used since she was a child mumbling to a sleeping companion. He had been lying on his side, facing away from her, but had slowly pushed his palms against the mattress to move himself. She placed some water beside him, waiting a step away from his bed. “Do you want your glasses back?” his chin was tucked down, eyes obscured by strands of hair as he carefully handled the cup. His voice was a single tone of humming, a short burst of low noise as he held the cup to his face. A few pieces of hair managed to get submerged as he drank. “We have doctors that can give you an eye test, so you can get them back. Does that sound alright?” She waited for him to finish drinking, eyes half lidded. About a week ago she had written a note that he was avoidant of eye contact, unable or unwilling, but he sometimes turned his head to face you when his name was used. He shifted awkwardly, shoulders tensing and relaxing as he positioned himself towards her. A blank expression, eyes unfocused with his jaw awkwardly closed. His lips parted, the single toned hum stopping as a quiet, high pitched syllable was made. His head dipped down again.
Walking across the corridor floor produced a soft slapping noise on impact. Ahead, heavier footsteps of the figure guiding him. She would point at doorways as they passed, saying their names. When she brought her hand to his back, ushering him into a room, his body shyed away from it. The testing room itself was brightly lit, glowing. A man with grey hair explained what he needed to do. “Is that one better?” Barry paused, before moving his head to the side. The doctor nodded and moved quickly to write something down. “We’re going to need a stronger prescription than your last pair. When you were admitted I understand there was a CAT scan- neurological damage might have impacted your vision. Are you seeing worse in brightly lit areas? Any strange shapes or movements in front of your eyes? I’m afraid those most likely will be permenant. We can give you medication for headaches or migraines if they occur, which may help somewhat with your vision. As for your glasses-“ he turned, gesturing him to the open door “- you can pick the frames”
Barry didnt touch any of them. He stood over the display, looking between them slowly. A pair of men's frames, square with rounded edges, looked the most like his glasses. They had a second metal wire that ran across the top of the frames, above the first that would sit on his nose. The doctor smiled, told him he thought they would suit him, and said he could leave.
Barry wasn’t sure where his room was exactly. Each corridor was the same dull green, outlines of patterns and shapes marking their surfaces. A loud buzzing noise came from inside a closed door as he passed it. There was a thin glass wall, breaking the field of colour across from him. Through it he could make out colours and shapes scattered across a wooden floor, a melodic sound, colourful light. He was careful, inspecting the objects littering each surface. Small toys, paper, crayons. He lowered himself to the floor, tucking his legs beneath him. A poorly constructed stack of tapes dislodged from the TV stand and clattered to the floor, nudged by a body too large to position itself here. His head snapped to the side, eyes rapid and useless as his hands curled around themselves. One of the fallen tapes seemed to grin at him, a familiar title with a smiling brown dog curled underneath the type. They looked at eachother, Barry's chest rising and falling as they waited for a sign that no one had heard him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A pair of large, silver glasses sat on the table besides Barry’s bed. A knock, followed by the sound of the door opening, had brought his attention back to them. He unfolded the stiff joints and placed them onto his face. The unrecognisable blur of a nurse had slid into a clear image, trailed by another body. A man with dark hair and a black coat stood in the doorway, holding a box. Barry recognised him. The detective glanced his way, eyes fixed on him as the nurse spoke. “Barry, do you remember detective Loki?” Barry slowly turned his head back to the nurse, nodding once. The nurse smiled, ushering the tall man in. She sat by his bed, unfazed by Barry’s heavy breathing audible through his nose. She spoke gentler this time. “He’s brought some things from the house, and your car-” the box made a thump as Loki set it down on the windowsill.
Alex hadn’t stopped looking at him. It agitated him, he had felt uncomfortable around the kid before, and now the swelled bruises on his face distorted his vacant expression more. Purple and yellow splotches indicating a kind of violence that would make anyone uneasy. “from the RV.” He spoke gently, but it still came out blunt. The room was quiet except for the rustling of bed sheets. Alex was propping himself up, giving Loki a reprieve from the glossy eyes that had followed him to the bedside. He placed the box on the corner of the mattress.
One by one Loki pulled a variety of objects from the flimsy cardboard. A green shirt with long sleeves and grey stripes, a pair of plaid pyjama pants with a frayed cord, a washed-out button up, a few white t-shirts with faded, illegible designs, a dark green fleece, a pair of jeans patched at the back with dark fabric- also fraying. Alex didn’t move much, just a small nod when asked a direct question. He didn’t say anything either. Loki pulled out a big coat- dark blue with white stripes along the sleeve, fleece lining. They’d found it at the dover house- clean, unlike the rest of the clothes he’d been found in. Alex sat still, looking dead ahead at it as he rubbed one hand with the other. “Alex” detective Loki’s voice was calmer. “do you want this back?” Barry looked back down. “yes”, he rubbed his palm over the blanket. More clothes, a few cassette tapes and a small toy RV were all unpacked carefully. When presented with a dog collar he reached out, taking the tag between his fingers. He made a humming noise before speaking. “Where’s Tucker?”
Detective Loki shifted his weight between his feet. It seemed like a good idea to try and avoid talking about what had happened to Alex shortly preceding the death of his dog. “He wandered into the road.” Alex was looking at him with the same glossy eyes, face unmoving from the blank, cautious expression he’d seen in the interrogation room. “I’m sorry. He was in the road and he got hit.” Alex looked down at the collar in his hands, face unchanging. Loki glanced at the nurse, who said nothing. The box was nearly empty, a small stack of drawings, photos, and a ragged snoopy doll. Alex had made a descending murmur, shaking his head at the photographs and drawings. He took the toy though, brushing a thumb over the flattened fur. He moved it close to his stomach, eyes no longer fixed on Loki. The detective closed his eyes. The notebook in his pocket pressed against his leg. It would have to wait. The idea of information slotting neatly into place felt absurd now- exploitative and naive to have thought Alex would be able to even answer his questions if he had tried. The cold, sterile room, the dark bruises, the pictures from the dover house. He could see him now, cowering in the interrogation room. His eye twitched. Picking up the box, Loki walked out the room.
Barry watched the detective leave. The nurse picked up the scattered items, neatly stacking them into a plastic basket by the windowsill, before leaving also. He could feel the cold leather of the collar between his fingers. He carefully wrapped it around the well-loved dog’s neck, pressing into a dent left by the thin, red collar that had been lost years before. The metal slid into place, collar hanging loose but securely around the plush neck.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Alex” White light streaked across the detective’s wet hair as he shifted in his chair. “I know this is a lot to take in at once.”
Barry’s socks brushed the floor, hanging limply from his bedside. He looked at the woman sat in front of him. The detective glanced her way, and then back to Alex.
“but given everything that’s happened, we think its probably better if you stay with your mother for a while. Do you understand why we’re saying that?”
He didn’t move.
Detective Loki shifted again, leaning back into an armrest. The woman unfolded her hands from her lap slowly. “Detective Loki has been very helpful, Barry. He’s told me a lot, and I want-” her voice strained, seemingly lacking the words rather than overcome by emotion. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t look after you when I wanted to, and you needed it. I want to try and look after you now” She looked and sounded tired. Detective Loki fiddled with the corner of a paper folder in his lap. He tried speaking softly, betrayed by a restlessness slipping through into his speech. “The doctors are saying you can go home now. I know this is a lot, but it’s going to be better for you. We’re done with your RV, if Ms Milland is ok with the repairs, we can even get that back in a couple weeks. I know you want to go home Alex.”
Barry looked his way, head turning with more intention and speed than the detective was used to from the boy. His mouth hung slightly open, synchronised with the movement of his chest. His lips closed, eyes lowering as he nodded.
“I’d like that.”
The woman smiled, reaching out a hand to pat Barry’s shoulder. He didnt look up. Detective Loki stood up sharply. “I'll talk to administration. You should get dressed.”
Barry sat still, head low, for a few minutes after they had left. He reached out for the weathered dog that was tucked under his sheets, holding it limply in his lap as he ran a thumb back and forth across the back of it’s head. The collar made a small clink with each motion. He stood up, moving slowly to the dufflebag propped up on the windowsill containing his belongings. He thought each motion out before taking it, making a low humming noise as he unzipped the bag. His humming formed words as he tentatively removed a folded pair of jeans, some scrunched up boxers and a soft white shirt. He removed his glasses. Pulling one leg through the boxers, then another, took concentration. He shuffled his legs to keep his balance, finding his jeans baggier than expected. Finally, he removed the gown that covered his torso. He hunched, allowing the fabric to hang around his arms and cover his chest, before pulling it off entirely. He then pulled the shirt over himself, struggling against the fabric until his arms had slotted into the holes. He tugged it down with a little more force. Next to the bag sat his big jacket, folded neatly, which he carefully picked up and pulled on. The fleece was soft, and heavy. He pulled on the walking boots he had arrived in, slowly sliding the lace into each notch with care. Focusing on tying the knot, the low singing returned to a hum, pitching up as he wrapped the lace around his thumb. Finally, he carried the bag to his bed, pushing the toy RV that sat by his lamp and a cassette tape tucked under his pillow between clothes. The zip made a drawn-out noise as he closed it, before he pulled it over his shoulder. He sat back down on the mattress, feet flat on the floor. The familiar weight of his clothes made him uncomfortable in this environment, the sound of electricity felt loud in his ears. The small dog was sat again in his lap, two hands holding him close to his stomach as he waited.
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The sheets on Barry’s bed had orange, brown and white stripes running across them. Laid out on top of them were roughly folded shirts, a jacket, some pyjamas and a half empty duffle bag. Barry’s room had blinds, exposing the dimming light that fell on the lawn. There was a splintering wooden fence across either side. The walls were a cream colour, it’s lower half spotted with areas of peeled back paint, marking where stickers had been removed crudely. There was an electric alarm clock sat beside the small mattress, displaying harsh red lines that illuminated the room. The carpet was a dirty white fabric with long strands that hunched under their own weight. They mingled uncomfortably with the denim of Barry’s jeans where he sat, legs folded in front of him as he leaned back against the bedframe. There was a heavy tv unit on the floor, attached to a VHS cassette player, which displayed a blank screen. Barry looked over his shoulder towards the door as he heard footsteps. A soft voice came from outside. “Barry?” There was a pause. “I ran a bath if you want it. Dinner’s in an hour.” He waited for her footsteps to pad down the hallway. Slowly rising to his feet, Barry looked around the dark room. His thumb brushed over the matted down fur of the toy in his hands as he carefully picked some clothes from the bed. He walked with heavy steps, dulled by his socks on the carpet into small thuds. The door opened slightly, allowing him to inspect the cream-coloured corridor. There was a dim yellow light leaking out of the living room, from the kitchen attached. The bathroom door revealed green tiles on the walls, with a darker, bluer green linoleum on the floor. The bath itself was white.
Alex pulled the latch across, turning towards the mirror. His hair was knotted, unevenly cut around the matting he had arrived with. His nose was unevenly cracked to one side. His skin still had yellow and purple spots around his chin and eyes. The reflection looked familiar. There was stubble poking out from either side of his jaw. He looked down, starting to hum quietly as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His jeans were left folded on the toilet lid, shirt and socks placed neatly above them. He looked into the mirror again, now only in his boxers. His body was covered in the same dark bruises as his face, clustering on his upper torso. His hands were held over his stomach. Removing his glasses, he climbed into the bath, still wearing his boxers and holding his toy. He sat for a while before methodically removing the washcloth from the side and rubbing it with soap. Piece by piece he cleaned his body, pushing the cloth hard across his skin as his humming hitched and loudened. He dedicated his focus to the process of it. He took the soap and rubbed it into the small dog with a similar forcefulness, taking his time to knead it into every part of the doll’s fur. He dunked it in the water, stroking it to dislodge the soap and dirt that had formed brown foam. Finally, he was placed on the side of the bath. Barry poured some shampoo into his hand and raised it to his head, rubbing it slowly into his hair. It was an uncomfortable, rhythmic pressure on his scalp as he closed his eyes. Finally, holding his breath, he lowered himself under the water entirely.
The warmth submerged him. It was a weird feeling, the tension in his body more accute as his other senses dulled. His hands hovered above his body, slowly sinking to his stomach. The sensation was unfamiliar and strange in the water. His hands moved to his hips, following the gentle curve outwards to the elastic waistline of his boxers. Neither the skin on his hands nor the skin on his body felt as though it was his own, the touch too light and weightless to feel purposeful. The pressure moved from his waist upwards to his ribs, feeling the faint invisible outline underneath the pads of soft tissue on his chest. His arms wrapped around themselves.
He remerged for air, placing one arm on either side of the tub to pull himself out. He dried himself briefly, methodically removing the wet underwear and replacing it. He rubbed the towel over his head with a rhythmic motion. In his mind he mapped out each action before calling his body into movement- the cotton pyjama pants, a shirt, his socks. He took some time thoroughly drying the dog with a towel, holding the damp toy by it’s paw as he replaced his glasses on his face. The latch on the bathroom clicked, and he stepped out into the hallway.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The sound of cutlery scraping ceramic made Barry uncomfortable. The woman sat across from him was talking through the pasta in her mouth, chewing momentarily before beginning again. “I’m going to the store tomorrow- do you have any food you’d like me to buy you?” her voice was slow. She was watching him as she ate, glancing occasionally down to her meal. He chewed slowly with his eyes vaguely directed to the tablemat. After a few seconds he looked at her and shook his head. Then he returned to staring into the table. She sighed, raising more food to her mouth. He was sat at the same table her son had, large and awkward in his place. His face was still painfully bruised. She noticed the small white dog propped up on his lap was soggy. She placed her fork down and stood up. Barry looked back towards her at the movement, slowly lowering his own fork but sitting still.
“Did you take that into the bath with you?” The tone of her voice was less flat than normal.
He breathed in and out through his nose, eyes tilted up from his lowered face to watch her as she stood. Her brow furrowed a little as she walked to his side of the table, holding out her hand.
“Here, I’ll put it in the dryer.”
Barry sat still, eyes still trained on her. He handed it to her, watching carefully has she placed it into the machine by the sink. She sat back down and continued eating. After about half a minute Barry continued too.“I can do that”
Mrs Milland turned around to look at him. The big ceiling light filled the room with a yellow saturation that shadowed Barry’s eyes behind his glasses. She stepped closer to him. After a moment of hesitation she patted his arm, mouth tightening to a kind of smile. “Thank you, Barry.” He looked down at her where her hand had been as she walked away. He turned the tap on. The water ran for a few seconds before he placed his hand under the water, letting the lukewarm water run from his knuckles to the drain below. He stood there until it turned hot, picking up a sponge from the counter and a plate. The repetitive motion of circling it’s surface with the sponge was done over and over, and then another plate. He concentrated on each action, eyes unfocused as the water rushed over his fingers in a blurred streak. The hot liquid made it’s way up his wrists, the steam clouding his glasses. His hands moved around the pan in a simple motion. The heat made his jaw lock, an uncomfortable tightness in his stomach. The water spattered onto his forearms. The steam now mingled with sweat as he opened his mouth, taking shallow breaths. He placed the pan on the side. He picked up a fork and ran it directly under the tap. The water was too hot, burning his fingers where he watched it run. He felt like something was restricting his chest. Finally, he lowered the sponge and reached both hands under the pressure. He held them there, staring at the skin turn red. The hands held in front of him glistened in the yellow light. The tap sputtered and a boiling drop splashed his face. He breathed in sharply, pulling his hands out of the running water and turning the tap off. Picking up the towel to dry the plates, his hands were both numb and sensitive. The fabric was uncomfortable, each movement requiring some effort to put into motion. When he was done, he left the light on.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A blue tow truck was making a loud beeping noise as it pulled across the driveway. Barry stood by his mothers side on the porch, watching Detective Loki paced ahead of it’s path. His hand rested on his hip, the other moving in agitated signals to the driver. The vehicle finally halted it’s movement along the curb, leaving a busted white RV slotted in the property’s allocated segment of road. Aside from a shiny new windscreen it showed remarkable signs of damage- dented and dirty at the front with a knocked-out light. Once the detective seemed satisfied he turned and walked briskly towards them. He started talking, in a breathless, serious tone to Barry’s mother.
When they had gone Barry felt his mother rub his arm briefly before stepping out to the driveway. Her face scrunched up looking at the thing. She stood, hands on her hips, for a few seconds. Turning back to him, her facial expression changed to a more neutral, tired look. “Here it is. We should probably clean it up before you try and drive it around, it’s a mess. Still, are you happy it’s here?” Alex tipped his head in a small nod.
The inside of the van had been tossed up- most of his belongings were piled on countertops and seats. “Lord.” His mother said behind him. “I’ll get some bags.”
Now alone in the RV, Barry stood looking around. Everything was still here, thoroughly inspected and tossed aside. He reached down and picked up a thick blanket that was lying on the floor. He placed it slowly into the bed above the driving seat. The whole place smelled of chemicals. His mother remerged from the garage with a hastily packed box of cleaning supplies and plastic bags. She shuffled in, rubbing his arm again as she passed him to inspect the damage.
“I don’t like how it smells” his mother looked back, surprised. Barry was standing awkwardly in the middle of the ‘kitchen’, picking at his fingers. “I’ll open a window.”
Barry and his mother worked in silence, him slowly picking up his strewn items and replacing them while his mother wiped down surfaces. She was scrubbing at the cooker, which was covered in grease and burnt on pieces of charred food, as she watched him slowly palm through a stack of tapes. He was stood up, bending awkwardly to duck into the drivers seat. His movements were small and slow, methodically placing one plastic case under another until he had settled on one. He cracked the case and slid the tape into the dashboard, reaching to turn the ignition key with a low rumble. The tape made a whirring noise, followed by a quiet guitar. Barry fiddled with the volume for a moment before climbing back out of the cabin, leaving the case on the dashboard. He picked up a pillow from a pile on the table, effortlessly reaching it to the bunk above. After a few minutes Ms Milland looked back again, realising her son was humming in a soft, high tone to the music.
When the inside was mostly restored they trailed into the kitchen to eat. While Barry washed the dishes, his mother made her was to a the hallways and opened the door set into the stairs. She hadn’t gone down to the basement for a while. Seeing what she had come for, she picked up a dusty cardboard box and turned back. She made her way upstairs and placed it on the kitchen table.
“Barry?” The sound of running water squeaked off, her son turning around to face her with a distant expression. She opened the box, not looking up as he slowly approached the table. “This is from the basement, it’s got all your old stuff in it.” She removed a knit blanket to reveal a collection of photographs, blank drawing books, sets of crayons all neatly piled. She removed them slowly. There was a short electronic keyboard at the bottom. Barry picked up an old film camera. “That was mine. I used to take a lot of pictures when I was younger, I travelled more.” Barry placed it carefully down on the blanket and reached into the box, pressing down on the keyboard. It didn’t make a noise. “You used to play on that a lot, do you remember?” Ms Milland’s voice sounded odd as she said that, more hesitant than her normal flat tone. Barry kept pressing it, not looking down to meet her. “No, I don’t think so.”
They stood for a while as Barry sorted what he wanted from what he didn’t- taking the camera, keyboard, drawing stuff, blankets and a few small soft animals. He hesitantly held a picture of a young boy and his mother. He was about the height of her waist, with loose clothes that hung off his body as he wrapped his arms around her. He starred at it intently. Putting it with the others, he carried them out to the RV as his mother packed the rest back up.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I know it might be scary to think about, Barry.” There was a soft hum of electrical lighting filling the room. It hurt the doctor’s head, pressing out against his skull as the seconds passed. He watched his patient staring, eyes facing his own with an unreadable, somewhat unsettling look that gave him absolutely no indication as to how much, if at all, his words were reaching him. He breathed out through his nose, compassion supressing any frustrated sigh that might have come to him naturally.
“Sometimes, when scary or painful things happen to us- especially when we’re young- it can feel like you can’t escape them. They might come back in your thoughts, or you might have dreams about them.”
His patient made a noise of affirmation, his gaze having wandered to the wallpaper. The doctor leaned forward slightly, shifting for his own comfort and to give the impression of attentiveness.
“I know it’s probably been difficult going back home after all this time. How has it been for you?”
Barry’s eyes returned to the doctor’s, hands pressed together awkwardly as they rubbed over one another. He made a soft humming noise before he spoke, thinking.
“It’s been okay. They brought my camper back so I’m going to drive it again soon.”
The doctor nodded intently.
“That’s exciting, what does your mother think about that?”
Barry looked down, eyebrows furrowed, before looking back up again.
“mmmmh, I think she thinks it’s dirty.”
The doctor smiled, waiting for him to continue. He stared at him; mouth open slightly.
“She helped me clean it so it wasn’t too dirty.”
The doctor nodded again, leaning further forward.
“Do you like it in there? We talked last week about how certain places can make you feel scared, or trapped, because you might have felt that way before when you were there. Do you feel scared in your RV?”
Barry’s head tilted back as he shook it.
“I don’t think so.”
The doctor was still smiling.
“That’s good, I’m happy to hear that.”
He walked Barry to the waiting room, where his mother was sitting. She stood to greet him with a light touch on his arm. The doctor nodded politely to her and she thanked him as they left. He returned to his office to summarise the hour-long session: the patient was notably more talkative and did not seem distressed, however seemed uncomfortable and did not respond to discussion of potential traumatic or emotional implication. He appears to be integrating into new living circumstances with minimal issue. No notable cognitive issues with verbal understanding displayed- IQ test results prior to admission may be misdiagnosis of complex trauma disorder as intellectual disability.
He sighed, opening his notebook to read the minimal writing he had made during the session.
‘Poor eye contact.’ He wondered if it was worth adding to the summary.
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The RV was cold, windows open to the late-autumn air as the noise of the radio competed with the sound of the engine rumbling. Barry drove slowly through the suburbs, passing rows of the same houses each spaced out by flat lawns and sparce pine trees. He to the song playing through the crackling car speakers- mumbling a few lyrics where he knew them. It was a song he’d heard before, the station he kept his radio tuned to was limited to evangelical folk music mostly comprising of women singing tenderly about the countdown to Christ’s return. The air from the window smelled damp but fresh and mitigated the chemical residue and bleach that had perforated the camper earlier and given him a headache. Barry drove slowly past more houses, a sparse retail area with empty parking lots and a few stores, a turn off into the highway and finally the empty area leading out of the suburbs. There was a lot of flat, empty fields that abruptly transitioned into thinned logging forests full of pine, leading into denser, deeper areas where people hunted deer. Barry kept driving, watching the fields and trees stretch out further and further.
When he eventually parked he sat for a while in the driver’s seat, leaving the key in the ignition so the radio would continue. He had used to take his dog for walks around the unpopulated areas of town, as his aunt had encouraged him to. He scratched the soft, sparce hair growing on his jaw. The radio shut up as he removed the key from the ignition, reaching into the passenger seat to remove a small film camera from the pile of belongings he had left stacked there- opening the door and slowly climbing out. His boots made of crunching noise as he walked across the gravel road, transitioning into a softer, tactile sound as he made his way to the grassy, grown over woods. As he walked he looked around for something to take a picture of- some formation of trees or an animal. It was quiet, some wind and the falling of water from the trees accompanying the lone sound of his boots stomping across moss and twigs. He walked further, watching a small animal run across his path too quickly to capture in the blurred photograph he took of the forest floor. The tree’s thinned, opening into the vast stretch of grass he had passed before. He was far enough away from the road to be unable to see anything except flat, ragged land. The sky was grey and a moderate wind was brushing long grass against his jeans, cold but not harsh enough for Barry to care. It was raining slightly, leaving a few drops on the camera lens as he raised it to his eye.
Twigs cracked underfoot as he walked back towards the road, the pine trees around him growing denser yet again. He heard a cracking noise ahead of him and stood still. A deer was dipping it’s face low to ground, far ahead. Barry raised his camera, stepping forward with a crunch. The deer looked up, ear twitching. It had gaunt, long limbs and undergrown antlers. It moved quickly, darting out of view once again. Barry continued to walk.
The drive home was the same as it had been on the way, long stretches of flat grass, sparse houses slowly giving way to the dense, uniform rows of neighbourhoods. Barry pulled into the driveway carefully, taking the camera with him as he entered the house through the garage door.