Юхан Теорин - The Asylum

She closed her eyes and went into the chorus:

Jan was so taken aback by the words that he almost lost the beat. It sounded as if he and Rami were together , but they weren’t. He had been aware of the scent of her, but she had never even touched him.

When the song ended Rami went straight into a different chord, keeping the same beat. She leaned towards the microphone and looked straight at the audience for the first time. Jan could see that she was smiling as she said, ‘This is a song about my psychologist.’

She played a loud riff on the guitar and nodded to Jan to join in.

Rami found the rhythm, closed her eyes again and began to intone the lyrics with a harsh, thrusting pulse:

Then she took a deep breath before starting on the chorus, almost spitting out the words:

The chorus just went on and on. Rami stood there straight-backed; she wasn’t even singing notes any more, she was just chanting the words Stop talking, stop talking crap! over and over again. No music was coming from the guitar, but Jan kept up a steady rhythm, beating time to the words.

He could see everyone in the Unit, inmates and staff, simply sitting there as if someone had cast a spell on them; the teenagers were all listening intently.

But the Psychobabbler had got to her feet over by the door. She didn’t look happy, and with every word that Rami chanted she took a step closer to the microphone. Eventually she was standing half a metre away from Rami, and about a metre from Jan. Rami hadn’t seen her; she had her eyes closed and was still singing, ‘Stop talking! Stop talking crap!’

The Psychobabbler grabbed hold of Rami’s shoulder; Rami opened her eyes, but ignored her and carried on singing. However, it sounded more like a battle cry now: ‘Stop! Stop! Stop!’

The Psychobabbler seized the microphone stand and moved it away, but Rami carried on yelling without the microphone. She opened her throat and let out a piercing scream that made those sitting on the floor recoil in shock. ‘Die! Die!’ Rami bellowed, then hurled herself at the Psychobabbler like a wild animal.

They crashed to the floor in the middle of the audience, rolling around as if they were locked together. Two wrestlers. Jan stared at them, but carried on drumming. He could hear Rami’s screams, he could see her scratching and tearing with her fingernails — not at the Psychobabbler, but at herself. She raked her arms until they bled, she smeared streaks of bright-red blood all over herself, over the floor, over the Psychobabbler’s face and her black clothes.

‘Calm down, Alice!’

Jan heard the sound of running footsteps as Jörgen and a colleague arrived and dragged Rami off. But still she carried on screaming, her arms flailing wildly.

‘Stop drumming!’ Jörgen bellowed at Jan.

He stopped at once, but still the noise continued. Rami screamed and screamed. The two men had her in a firm grip by now, and dragged her out of the room. Jan heard her cries disappearing down the corridor, and then there was near silence.

The only sound in the television room was of someone panting. The Psychobabbler. Slowly she got to her feet and adjusted her bloodstained jumper. A colleague passed her a handkerchief.

‘Now do you see?’ said the Psychobabbler. ‘Do you remember my diagnosis?’

The concert was over, but Jan stayed where he was for a little while before picking up his drum kit. His arms were trembling.

The boy in the denim jacket looked around with a nervous smile, then went over and switched on the TV.

Jan walked out alone. He went and put the drums back in the storeroom. He was intending to go back to his room and do some drawing, but when he saw Rami’s closed door he stopped, looked at it for a moment, then knocked.

There was no answer, so he knocked again.

No answer.

‘She’s not there,’ said a voice behind him.

Jan turned around and saw a girl in the corridor. One of the ghosts.

‘What?’

‘They took her down to the Black Hole.’

‘The Black Hole... What’s that?’

‘It’s where they lock you up if you kick off or something.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Down in the cellar,’ said the ghost. ‘It’s got a door with a whole load of locks.’

The Black Hole?

Jan crept down into the underworld, to the long, silent corridors. He found the right door and knocked. There was no answer this time either; the door was made of steel, and no doubt swallowed every sound. But there was a tiny gap at the bottom.

He went back up to his room and fetched pens and a piece of paper. He didn’t know what to write to Rami, but he had to cheer her up somehow, so he wrote: GOOD GIG! JAN

He slid the paper beneath the door, and managed to push a pen under as well. After a minute or so of absolute silence, the paper reappeared. Just one sentence had been added: I AM A SQUIRREL WITHOUT TREES OR AIR.

He looked at the piece of paper. Then he sat down and began to draw a picture of a girl with a guitar, standing on an enormous stage in front of a huge audience, all with their hands in the air. He made as good a job of Rami’s face as he possibly could, then he pushed the picture under the door and quickly crept away.

The following morning he heard noises out in the corridor. Heavy footsteps and loud voices, then the sound of Rami’s door slamming shut.

When everything had gone quiet he went and knocked on her door.

‘Who is it?’ she asked tonelessly through the door, her voice lacking any hint of curiosity.

‘Jan.’

There was a brief silence, then she said, ‘Come in.’

He opened the door very slowly and carefully, as if it might break. The room was in darkness, but he was used to that.

‘Thanks for the picture,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome.’

Rami was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, with the guitar beside her like some kind of pet. Jan couldn’t see if she was restrained in any way.

He wasn’t afraid, but he stayed by the door. ‘It went well yesterday,’ he said. ‘Really well.’

Rami shook her head. ‘I’ve got to get away from this place, they’re going to break me in here... You want to get out too, don’t you?’

She had raised her head and was looking at him. Jan nodded slowly, even though it wasn’t true. He wanted to stay in the Unit until he was old enough to leave school; he wanted to eat, sleep, play table tennis with Jörgen and play the drums with Rami.

She looked up at the ceiling again. ‘But first I’m going to get my revenge on her.’

‘On who?’

‘The Psychobabbler. She’s the one who had me locked up.’

‘I know,’ Jan said.

‘But that’s not the worst thing,’ Rami said, nodding in the direction of her desk. ‘While I was locked up she came in here and took my diary. I just know she’s sitting there reading it now. From cover to cover.’