Nikki Owen - Spider in the Corner of the Room

‘People have been tested on,’ I blurt. ‘I have been tested on. I have seen the document. They have been using me to experiment on. Ask Balthus. Ask Harry Warren. They will both verify what I saw-what we saw.’ I feel for the wall behind me.

A tiny tut. ‘But, Maria, I have already spoken with both Harry and Balthus. They have no idea what you are talking about. In fact, they paint another picture entirely-of a delusional inmate, turning up unannounced at the Governor’s office several times a day; of a woman for whom reality is a distant dream and an unwelcome nightmare…’

‘What? No. That didn’t-’

‘You pestered the Governor each day with a new, crackpot theory about who was after you, who was protecting you. You even brought your own family into it, claiming they were in danger. Governor Ochoa has told me everything.’

I shake my head. ‘No. No.’

‘Yes.’

‘But…but we found the web page. My notebook, the codes, the algorithm from Bobbie Reynolds. We saw the eyes-only data. I hacked into it all. Harry and Balthus-they both saw it, too.’

‘They were just humouring you, Maria, playing along. Why do you think you needed so many appointments with Dr Andersson? Why do you think she had to take blood samples? You were unstable.’

Blood. The vial in my fist. I hold it out. ‘So, how do you explain this?’

Kurt flashes one short smile. ‘What? An empty glass tube?’

I stare at the vial. There’s nothing in it. ‘No. How can that be?’ I turn it, tip it upside down, but still it is bare. ‘But there was blood in it. I know there was. I saw it.’

‘You saw what you wanted to see, Maria.’

I rub my eyes. What is happening? The vial was full. Thick with red blood.

‘Tell me, have you not been sleeping very well?’

I dart my eyes around the room, frantic like some wild animal caught in a trap. ‘You have drugged me.’

‘No.’ He sighs. ‘You are paranoid. It is very common among schizophrenics.’

‘I am not schizophrenic!’ I touch the wall, move my body a fraction.

‘It’s okay. I can help you.’ A line of sweat trickles down his temple.

‘You do not want to help me.’ I move one step to the right.

‘Yes, I do.’

I take another step.

‘Maria, stop!’

I freeze. My heart bangs against my ribcage, threatens to break free of my chest entirely.

‘This cannot go on,’ Kurt says. He shakes his head. ‘You are clearly unwell, more than I initially thought.’ He looks round him. ‘Where’s my cell?’

And then it comes to me. ‘Daniel!’ I say, fast. Kurt stops. ‘Your real name is Daniel.’

He stands still.

‘There is a message on your phone.’ I point to it. ‘Your girlfriend.’ He glances to where the mobile lies. ‘Dr Carr wants you to cut it-that means he wants you to stop interviewing me, doesn’t it? He said you have enough recording material, that the tests are all confirmed and neutral. The geese, she said, are on your trail now. That you need me out and on your side.’ I pause, chest heaving, air flying in, out. ‘She said, “NSA is blown.” NSA is the National Security Agency in America. What does it mean, “it’s blown”? Why the NSA?’

When he does not speak, I keep going, desperate to break free. ‘It’s time. She said, “It’s time.” So you can stop all this now and tell me the truth.’ I exhale, long, deep. ‘Tell me the truth.’

I wait, not daring to move. Kurt keeps his eyes on me, inches towards the phone, picks it up. He listens to the message. Done, he slips the phone into his pocket. His eyes stay on me. One second, two. My body presses against the wall, frantic for a way out, an escape.

‘Your brother,’ I say for some reason, out of hopelessness, ‘was he a part of all this?’

A flicker, there, in his eyes, a flicker of the lids. ‘Don’t mention my brother,’ he says, voice deep, scratched.

‘Is that why you are involved? Because he was killed by terrorists on 9/11?’

‘I said, don’t.’

But he is wavering, a wetness to his eyes. I keep going. ‘Is that why you are watching me? Because I am part of this conditioning programme and you think I can stop terrorists like Al Qaeda?’ The glass vial presses against my palm, and it suddenly all connects, all makes sense. ‘You drugged me, didn’t you?’ I nearly laugh at the craziness of it. ‘That’s why I thought there was blood in the vial.’ I shake my head. ‘All this time, you were drugging me.’

‘Versed,’ he says after a moment.

‘What?’

‘Versed. It’s a drug that makes you forget what has happened, any discomfort and…unwelcome effects of certain procedures.’

I look at the vial now, glass glinting in the sunlight. The memory of Black Eyes branding me to see if I could feel it. I touch my stomach where the scar sits. That’s why I can’t remember experiencing the pain. They were drugging me even when was a child. I look at Kurt now, my body shaking. ‘The…the hospital, the doctor with black eyes-’

‘Dr Carr. That’s who we took you to see.’

His name. Black Eyes has a name. ‘Then it all happened?’ I say, half of me not believing, half knowing it’s true. ‘You took me in a van during therapy?’

‘Yes.’

I slap my hand to my mouth. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. ‘And the Banana Room was…?’

‘An hallucination. Side effect of the drug.’

I shake my head, press into the wall harder, not wanting to hear any of it, eyes darting around the room. And then I see it: the cobweb.

I look back to Kurt. When I speak it is like steel, like the deepest cut. ‘There are no spiders are there? They were all hallucinations, too.’

But Kurt does not reply this time, instead his eyes are on the ceiling now, too. On one thing. One thing that seems as if it is there, real. I can tell he sees it, too.

Because when I look closer now, when I squint my eyes as tight as I can, I see it for what it really is: they were all hallucinations except one spider. One tiny black spider.

‘Dr Carr said to cut it,’ I say, frantic to say anything to keep him distracted from what I can see. ‘You need me on your side, they said. Your girlfriend-she said they have enough recording material and…’ I pause, shoot a fast glance at the spider now. ‘That’s how they knew what I was doing,’ I say, stopping, realising. ‘When I needed to go to Callidus for testing. They-you-were recording me the whole time. I just didn’t know.’

I take one step to the corner. ‘It is a real spider,’ I say aloud, not caring any more what Kurt does or says. Connections race through my brain. Like a fire sparking, they ignite, flames licking, growing bigger, hotter until my head is filled with a blaze of answers, questions, accusations, every one of them threatening to scorch me, to burn me to a cinder.

‘It’s a real spider,’ I shout. ‘Real!’ I have to get it, prove it. I scan the room. Kurt’s chair.

‘Maria. No! Please, don’t. We need you.’

But I ignore him, and instead, race over and, grabbing Kurt’s seat, drag it to the corner.

‘Maria, stop!’

‘Are you MI5?’ I shout to him. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes.’ He shakes his head. ‘No. I was. Let me explain.’

‘Liar!’ I yell. ‘You fucking liar.’

I position the chair underneath the cobweb and clamber onto it. Raising my arm, I aim to wrench the spider from the web, but I have forgotten that the glass vial is still in my hand. It comes loose and drops to the floor.

I watch it. Kurt watches it.

It smashes into thousands of tiny pieces.

Kurt stares at it then looks straight at me. He holds my gaze for one, two, three seconds.

Then, quick, Kurt scrambles towards me. I move. Fast-I have to. Thrusting my hand as far as possible to the ceiling, I rip the spider from the corner of the room.