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Hayley sat there; on the cold bed, day in, day out. Hands clasped in her lap, and her back as straight as a ruler. Her hair was in clumps, the red strands straggly, and full of split ends. Her normally short fringe wasn’t there any more; instead the shortest strands being a few inches past her chin. It was dirty, and felt like chalk.
Her room was always quiet; so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Until she screamed. She screamed about many things. Her clothes; which were a white long sleeved shirt with equally as bright slacks, and run of the mill trainers. Her family and how they had left her here. How her meals were infrequent and always cold, when in reality she had little sense of time and ate only when her mind caught up with the world around her.
The subject she screamed about the most though, was a boy. He had been down the hall from her. Just a few rooms had separated them. She had only ever seen him once, on her entry to this foul place. Names were written on the outside of doors, and his had caught her eye. Oliver. Hayley had committed it to memory. He had walked out his room a few moments later, glancing in her direction. With a wry smile he was off down the hall, back where she had just walked. A few days later, and the nurses had heard her screams.
“Oliver,” the word escapes her lips, a single cry, “Oliver, please.”
A nurse is standing outside the door, loose fist raised to knock. She knows she needs to stop Hayley, before she injures herself, but she can’t bring herself to calm the erratic girl. Just another patient with problems. Just another soothing lullaby to say with no reaction.
“Oliver, please.” She’s shouting now, her voice echoing back to her, resonating in her brain. She is sick of her voice, she wants it to stop. “Oliver, get me out of here!”
The nurse can hear every word perfectly, each syllable is uttered clearly. Then, an animalistic scream. It sounds like Hayley’s ripping her vocal cords out from the inside. The nurse knocks on the door, and feigns politeness as she steps in.
“Is something wrong, sweetheart?” She asks, voice small compared to Hayley’s outburst.
“Oliver.” Hayley replies. She’s strewn across the hard bed, one hand curled around the frame and the other tugging at the sheet. She turns her head into the pillow, “Oliver!”, and starts thrashing, legs kicking wildly. “Save me!” Her breathing is short, coming out in gasps.
The nurse rushes over, kneeling at the side of the deranged girl. “Calm down, shh, it’s going to be okay,” she says in a low, calming tone. Hayley’s still convulsing, oblivious to the gentle hand on her back.
“Oliver,” her voice cracks, broken. She bolts upright, startling the nurse. There are traces of tears in her eyes, and a single track marks her dirty face. “Where is Oliver?”
Hayley blinks, turning her head to look at the door. She heard it creak a moment ago, a sign that someone was coming into the room. “Who’s there?” The room collapses into a heavy silence following her brief words. Upon hearing no reply, she tries again. “Come in, who’s there? Macy, is that you?” The name of her nurse slips off her tongue easily. Who else would come and see her?
“Extraordinary.” A male voice breaks through Hayley’s worry. She turns, heart hammering, shrieking when she lays eyes on the middle-aged man sitting on the bed beside her. She scrambles backwards, once again shouting.
“Macy!” Her back hits the concrete wall and her eyes widen.
“Hayley, calm down, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Macy walks the few steps from the opposite wall to Hayley, extending her hand. Hayley clutches her safety net, their appearances differing extensively. Hayley, with her pale, sallow skin and bitten, chipped nails. Palm rough with callouses from slamming her hands against the wall numerous times. Macy, with healthy tan skin and manicured nails. Hands delicate and extremely soft from extensive cleaning.
“Safe?” Hayley murmured, eyeing the man.
“I guarantee it.” Macy assured the small girl, pulling her forward. “Hayley, this is -” Macy was cut off by the man introducing himself.
“I’m Joey Williams, your dad.” Her heart plummeted into her stomach as she heard this. Her eyes ran over the man’s - Joey’s - face, trying to recognise any of it.
“Joey,” Macy scolded him, “I told you not to tell her.” Hayley whipped her head around, squeezing her nurse’s hand.
“So it’s true?” She whispered, voice cracking. Why can’t I recognise him then? His balding head was new to her, as was the kind, rounded face now that she could see he wasn’t a danger. His shining brown eyes, faking happiness to cover up the pain, had no recollection. She took a moment to compose herself, taking a shuddering deep breath. Fake it until you make it. “I mean, of course it’s true. You’re my,” she hesitated not quite willing to outright lie to the stranger before her, “dad.”
“I told you she knew me, Miss Stone!” The man’s face leaped with glee, and Hayley received a sharp slap on the arm for her false words.
“Don’t lie to him.” Macy said, staring at Hayley until she bowed her head, muttering an apology under her breath. Joey’s face fell, and Macy looked at him. “Mr Williams, I think it’s best if we discussed this outside. Hayley,” she looked up at Macy, expecting an order to come out of the older woman’s mouth, “eat something. I’m sure Mr Williams would be much happier to see you taking care of yourself.” Hayley nodded, picking up the plain sandwich that had been left on the tray for her. She takes a bite as the man watches, a distraught expression across his face.
I shouldn’t have lied. Hayley looks down, unwilling to look him in the eye. She hears her door shut, and then lock. She places her sandwich back on the tray when she’s sure Macy won’t come back in. They’ve walked down the corridor, to the unknown place. The place Hayley only visited once. “Oliver.” She mumbled, “Oliver, please come save me.”
“Mr Williams, I’m afraid that Miss Williams isn’t able to leave just yet.” Joey looked at her scathingly.
“I know you said things were bad, but I didn’t know they were this bad. She doesn’t even know me. Me. I’m her goddamn father!” He shouted, landing a fist down on the desk.
“Mr Williams, please calm down.” Macy said, voice steady. She helped the distressed man into a seat, murmuring soothing phrases. “Now,” she began, sitting across from him and assuming a relaxed position, to convey that everything was going to be okay. “Lucky for you, Hayley has retained some memory. Not from her past,” she added, seeing Mr William’s hopeful eyes, “but from her entry to here. I believe that he is the only way she shall remember, if she does at all.”
“You think a boy’s going to be the answer to all her problems?” He replied doubtfully, leaning back.
“I do. She is, to be frank, obsessed with him. In her tantrums she screams for him. Not a day goes by where she doesn’t mention his name at least once.” Macy insisted, smiling. “I’m not supposed to do this,” she added, pulling out Oliver’s file, “but I believe this a delicate matter. He could be her only hope.” Opening the file, she retrieved Oliver’s personal details, which included his phone number. Passing it to Hayley's father, she looked at him intently. “At your request, I can call him and ask him to come back, explaining of the problem. I have asked my superiors, and they have agreed. They have entered Hayley’s room and seen with their own eyes of her level of perception. She needs help, and we believe he is the answer.” Macy tried looking into Mr William’s eyes, searching for the small piece of hope that had registered in her brain before.
“Oliver Scott Sykes,” Mr Williams mused, scanning the information.
“Hayley!” She’s running, faster than she ever thinks she can. She jumps over a stray tree root, pressing a small hand to her mouth to stifle the high pitched giggles that wish to escape. She ducks under a low - hanging tree branch, backing herself up against the tree. She can hear her pursuer nearby, their footfalls heavy. They pause for a moment, unsure of where the small girl has gone. Tapping her fingers against the bark, she shrieks, alerting them of her general position. The chase is back on through the forest near her house.
Her hair flying out behind her and her dress snagging on several branches, she called out again, “You'll never catch me!”
“Oh yeah?” The voice was close, and a hand fell on her shoulder a few seconds later. She gasped, fear spiking through her body momentarily.
“Taylor!” The ten year old scolded her friend, scrunching up her face at him and slapping his hand away. “You scared me!” Taylor chuckled, and two other boys ran up behind him.
“Your turn to chase us.” One announced, grinning at the petite girl. She stuck her tongue out at him, before dramatically falling and leaning on a tree.
“One, two, three,” she begins, the boys scattering. She continues her counting, becoming bored and her voice dipping to a low monotone. She begins tapping her leg as she nears the agreed number where she could start chasing - sixty - and picks up her counting. She shouts the number, before turning and letting her eyes adjust to the light. She sets off at a quick pace towards the sounds of cracking branches. More jumps ensue over exposed roots, and even a climb over a fallen tree.
She pauses atop the trunk, crouching down and looking for signs of movement, her eyes scanning the shrubs. A sharp snap to her left causes her to bolt in the direction. Stepping down easily from the trunk once she reaches a thinner area, her feet hit the dirt. Rounding a tree, she trips, finding herself hitting the ground. A scream erupts from her mouth at the impact, and tears spring to her eyes. Sniffling, she opens her eyes and checks her hands; they feel sticky and wet. Viscous red liquid coats them and confusion crosses her mind. Surely it's not hers. She reaches her hands out to help herself stand, and she feels the warm blood engulf her hands. Shuddering, she looks up.
A real scream this time, and it’s from her mouth. She bolted upright, chest heaving. “Not real, not real, not now,” the string of words slipped from her mouth, and she gasped air into her lungs. Her hands go to her head, and she digs her nails into her scalp, the pain bringing her back to reality. “No! Stop!” She yells, standing and throwing her body to the side, slamming into the wall. She slides down it, muttering, tears dripping down her face. “Not real.” Her voice breaks, and her breathing is not quite yet under control, but she's getting there. She takes her hands away from her head and sees a drop of blood on her nail. It sends her back into her frenzy. Images swamp her mind, the woman, blood, no, no, no! Hayley screams again, hitting her hands across the wall.
Hayley was sitting on the floor cross - legged when Macy opened the door, hopefully for the last time. A few days earlier she had had her nightmare, after which Macy had burst into the room, calming her down effectively. She hadn't made a peep afterwards. Always sitting, always in this one position. She had barely ate, and refused to leave her room. At least, Macy assumed she had refused. She hadn't wanted to move the girl in case she became distressed. As a result, she reeked of sweat and piss. Macy was sure she was in her broken reality again. This was the longest of her spells though.
It had been one week since she had had her father visit with Macy by his side. This time, a tall, young man accompanied her. His hair was curled slightly, and he had a few facial tattoos. More permanent ink swirled down his throat, disappearing under the neckline of his tee shirt, only to reappear along his arms, the tattoos at his wrists marred. Plain black jeans adorned his long, thin legs. Macy had warned him of her current condition, but even with her warning he was surprised.
“Hayley,” Macy caught the girl’s attention, her voice breaking through her reverie. “I brought someone to see you.”
Hayley's eyes trailed over Oliver, drinking in every aspect. Her eyes were glossy, and Oliver's jaw set. He had been promised a quick trip, but the girl was taking forever. He had seen her only once, but it was a distant memory. Be grateful you can help, he scolded himself, remember what it was like for you in here. If anything, her hair had only become more dull over time. He could remember the bright flame sitting atop her head as she walked down the hall; it was nothing to the drab flecks of colour now.
“Hayley,” he greeted her, his voice gruff. He winced at the timbre of the word and cleared his throat, not wishing to rattle the poor girl. He tried again; “Hayley, it’s me.” He had been told not to say his name, she had to do it. Macy watched the exchange intently, and she moved an arm behind her back, crossing her fingers. Come on, Hayley, she willed, remember him.
A few moments passed with breath held by both Oliver and Macy. “Hayley, darling, it’s Oliver.” The nurse finally said, uncrossing her fingers and fighting an urge to bite down on her tongue. Hayley looked up at her caretaker, recognition sliding over her glazed eyes as her gaze landed on her.
“Who’s Oliver, and why is this man in my room?”