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Every morning, Dr Steinbecker asked me the same three questions.

“What’s your full name?”

“Martha Ella Poole.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Saint Dymphna’s Institution for the Emotionally Unwell.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes.”

Before they locked me up in there, there had never been any doubt that I was real. It was everyone else that wasn’t real. I struggle to remember when exactly it started. I was always a strange kid but never that strange, never hurt someone kind of strange. Until I was. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Well, I did mean to but I didn’t know what I was doing. Dr Steinbecker called it a ‘break from reality’ or in more fancy terms ‘a psychotic break’, apparently very common for university students. The difference between most university students and me being that most university students don’t stab their roommate to make sure they’re human.

Dr Steinbecker said it would do me no good to think about what I did, Layla was fine she didn’t even need surgery in the end. I got kicked out of uni and now I’m with the crazies. At first he had a fourth question asking me the date but between the thrice daily intravenous sedatives and us never being able to get through a meal time without someone doing something to get us all sent back to our rooms, I had totally lost track. There wasn’t even daylight down there, just these horrible buzzing white lights that they didn’t turn off even at night. I only slept because of the pills they gave me. But they said I had made progress. I remember, my first week or two I was still convinced I was the only real person here. They had to pull me off a nurse as I checked her neck and scalp for a printed barcode. I wasn’t allowed pens or pencils or fabric clothing in case I tried to open myself up again. They called it ‘self-harming behaviour’, I called it making doubly sure I hadn’t been replaced.

I gave up telling Dr Steinbecker every bad thought I had. Every time someone stared at me a moment too long, which the people in this place loved to do, the bad thoughts would flit through my mind. Were they frozen? Glitching? Real humans don't stare like that. They don’t eat microwaved oatmeal with chia seeds and organic honey at exactly 6:01 am every morning for two years like Layla did. There was other stuff she did, not just the oatmeal but every time I looked back at what I interpreted as her defects, I realised that maybe this place is where I belong. Fuckin’ robots, fuckin’ doll people, they don’t exist. People exist, human beings exist. Dr Steinbecker says I was probably just tired, overworked, read too many sci-fi books and stayed up too late watching horror films. 

I didn’t have the thoughts as much anymore. I took the little yellow pill and the little pink pill as soon as I woke up. Then with breakfast I took the two little white pills and the big peach and cream one. Then at night I took the dark pink ones, they were different to the morning pink ones, they made me sleepy. I spent two hours a day sitting in a circle with people who strangled their kids and starved themselves into heart attacks and talked about how I was the girl who thought everyone in my life had been abducted and been replaced with human flesh toting dolls. Suddenly, I was the craziest bitch in the room. Fuckin’ arseholes. 

I got an hour of recreation where I had to choose the music room, the art room or the TV room. I hated music, all of it, it made my ears ring. I couldn’t draw or paint very well. Everytime they told me to paint my feelings I would mix the whites and pinks and browns to get my skin colour and slop it all over the paper. They told me that was wrong, bad. So it was easier to go to the TV room, they played funny old cartoons. Then someone would come and take me to Dr Steinbecker. 

Dr Steinbecker scared me at first, I mean everything scared me at first. The white walls with odd mouldy stains, the screaming during the night from down the hall, the occasional body bag wheeled past your door like it’s nothing, the bi-hourly blood withdrawals when you woke up with a student nurse digging about in your arm because she couldn’t find a vein in the dark at four in the fuckin’ morning. He was probably about the same age as my Dad. He had thin, wispy brown hair that was starting to grey at the roots and a big bald patch right on the top. He was short, barely reaching my shoulders so I saw that bald spot a lot. He wore these thick spectacles that looked like two cleaned out jam jars were hanging off his eyes. He always wore brightly coloured ties and matching socks. He would talk to me about my life, what triggered my ‘episode’ as he loves to call it, what they were going to do with me when I got out. 

I hated it when the nurses made me take all my clothes off so they could check my body. I hated how all the food left me constipated to the point they’d started giving me a liquid laxative every morning that gave me stomach cramps that landed me in the infirmary at least once a week. I hated the reflection room where we got sent when we couldn’t calm down. It was barely a room as much as it was a mattress with four point restraints in a broom cupboard. If you couldn’t behave you went in there. They’d strap you down, switch on the little red light bulb that spun gently and put on a little cassette of the Springhollow school choir massacring some old hymns. You’d stay there until you were calm or someone remembered you were in there. I only went once and learnt very quickly to never ever call a steward a pervert again even if he was touching my breast through a tear in my paper shirt. 

But none of that mattered anymore. I knew that day was different when Dr Steinbecker asked me his questions that morning. He never said anything to me or gave away any inclination of his mood until I had answered my questions correctly. He came in, it was an orange tie and socks day, and he sat on the end of my bed.

“What’s your full name?”

“Martha Ella Poole.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Saint Dymphna’s Institution for the Emotionally Distressed.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes?”

He cracked a little half-smile as he put his pen behind his ear and laid his clipboard on the bed next to him. “I have another question for you.”

“TV room.”

He chuckled quietly. “Do you know how long you’ve been here, Martha?”

I shook my head. I could make guesses but I’d stopped bothering to count a while ago.

“Ninety days. You did it.”

Ninety days. The golden number. The number that had been swung in front of my face like a carrot on a stick since the moment I got here. Ninety days meant… 

“I’m OK? I can go home?”

“There’s some paperwork that’s still being processed but I think you are ready to get back out there. You’re no longer having your delusions, your hallucinations, you are no longer seeking destructive behaviours. Miss Martha Poole, I think you’re sane.”

I could’ve burst into tears, I was so happy. In my head I was already planning what I was going to do, where I was going to eat. “So what happens now?”

“Your discharge papers are with the admin staff, with any luck they’ll be signed off by lunchtime. We tried calling your mother and father, we got their numbers from your file but neither of them responded. Is there someone else we can call to come and pick you up? We’re legally not allowed to let you go off by yourself.”

I didn’t expect them to answer. Mum cried the entire drive up here, she hadn’t spoken to me since the day I hurt Layla. Dad had started telling people I was dead, he claimed that was easier. “Maybe my brother? Sheldon Poole, I don’t know his number by memory but he works at the museum, he gives tours to school kids.”

“Ah yes, your hero. If he’s half as incredible as you sold him to be, I am sure you will be in great hands. Now there is still work to be done, once you’re settled in a month or so someone is going to come out and help you look into employment, education things like that. You will need to pick up your prescriptions every week without fail. I will ring you every Friday around noon and we can talk just like how we do here. I’ll relay all this information to Sheldon of course I understand it’s a lot to take in.”

“Thank you, Dr Steinbecker.”

“A nurse will be in soon to bring your clothes and personals back and they’ll show you where to wait until your brother gets here, alright?”

“Alright.”

“Lovely. Alrighty then, it’s been a pleasure, Miss Poole, I hope we never meet face-to-face again.”

My cheeks were hurting from how hard I smiled. “Me neither.”

“Take care, kiddo.”

“You too.”

He swept out of the room. I could barely control my squeals as I kicked my feet against my mattress. A nurse was in within the hour. Sheldon had picked up and was already on his way. He was even swinging by my parents place to pick up some of my stuff. They were fast-tracking my paperwork and everything. The grey joggers she gave me hadn’t been washed. Layla’s dried blood still clung to the thighs. It was crusted on there really deep, I couldn’t scratch it off with my nail. At least my pink sweatshirt was clean. It smelt a little funky but I would only be wearing them for the car ride home. 

Sheldon was my best friend in the whole world. He was my big brother but only by eleven months, we were basically twins. We had the same face and the same hair. His chaos matched mine. But he’d never stabbed anyone with a cheese knife, at least not to my knowledge, though I wouldn’t put it past him. 

I sat on the frayed cushion of the waiting room sofa with its stained, deep brown, geometric print whilst a receptionist typed frantically on her computer ignoring me entirely. My leg bounced as I wrung my hands. My head popped up to gaze out the door at every tiny sound or sign of movement. Eventually I saw his loud, dying car park crookedly outside the double doors. I bounded to my feet as he beamed at me running for the handles. He struggled against them, knocking on the glass until the receptionist pressed the little buzzer that unlocked them.

“Sheldon!” I ran to him, throwing my arms around him.

“Baby sis!” He rested his big, warm hand in the back of my blonde hair, pulling me against his chest. “Wow, you smell like shit.”

“Fuck you,” I laughed.

Was it possible he had gotten taller? His chest was firmer, musclier. I had been away for three months. He’d gotten a haircut, the same he got every time he got it cut but it was longer when I last saw him. “Hey, excuse me,” he shouted to the receptionist, letting me go before I was truly done embracing him. “They said I had to sign something.”

Without looking up from the blue screen illuminating her face she placed a stack of forms and a half-empty ball-point pen on the desk in front of her. He skim read through the dense walls of text that basically boiled down to if I killed myself after leaving the car park the institution isn’t liable. After seven signatures and the grand revelation it was June 5th, we were home free. He reached down to the wrist and tore off the little paper wristband with my birthday and blood type on it. He handed it to me like a souvenir. I scrunched it up and dumped it in the little black bin. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and walked me back to the car. Hot summer air without breeze had never felt so good.

“How are you feeling? Better?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“You really did give us a scare back then, sis.”

“Have you heard from Mum and Dad?”

He opened the car door and eased me in without answering. When he sank into the driver's seat, he dragged his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Mum is still really upset at what you did.”

“But that wasn't my fault.”

“I know that but she’s old school.”

“And Dad?”

“I haven't heard from him. At all. Not even a happy birthday.”

“I'm sorry, Sheldon.”

“Don't be he's always been a twat anyway.” He put the keys in the ignition and the sputtering engine roared to life. “So you're going to be staying with me for a while.”

“You and Lucy.”

He laughed nervously as we pulled out of the car park. “Lucy and I actually separated.”

“What?”

“A few weeks back. She moved out already.” He was half-smiling but I could see the sadness deep in his eyes. 

“Is it because of me? She broke up with you because I'm staying, didn't she?”

He stuttered trying to spare my feelings. “It was a…potentially contributing factor.”

“Shit, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be stupid, Martha. You were sick, it wasn't your fault. You're better now, that's all that matters. We don't have to think about that again. Are you hungry? We could stop off somewhere?”

“Is that burger place still open? The one that puts like three different cheeses on the fries?”

“Coming up, my lady.”

We drove home fairly silently after that. I danced my hand through the wind out of the window. I was finally free. I was exhausted, dirty, overwhelmed and starving but I was free. We drove through the greasy little burger shack we used to eat at every weekend as kids. I don't think fried onions had ever tasted that good before in my life as they did that day. We didn't talk whilst we ate unless we were asking to wipe ketchup off of each other’s cheeks. My stomach was growling so loud after ninety days of unseasoned fish and chicken with boiled to death vegetables. 

“When did you start eating meat again?” I asked as he picked at a crispy piece of bacon stick between his teeth.

“What?”

“You used to go to those little meat is murder rallies every weekend.”

“We’re celebrating you not being crazy. Let me eat my damn bacon,” he laughed.

When we got back to his roomy but ill furnished house, he had already laid out my bags. I didn’t remember him ever saying he was living here but those last few months I was pretty out of it. It was a nice house, an older semi-detached house with herbs growing out of window boxes and a little golden knocker on the door.

“It's not much but it's home.”

“It's perfect.”

“Bathroom is just down to your left, you can have a shower whenever you want and all your clothes are hung up in the spare room past the kitchen. I didn't know what shampoo and stuff you use so just use what Lucy left behind and we'll go shopping properly tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sheldon, for all of this.”

“Don't even mention it, you'd do the same for me. I’ll give you some space to get situated.”

I turned into the little baby blue painted spare room with the rough cream carpets and the twin mattress with obnoxiously floral bedding. The whole room smelt of artificial vanilla and the big light was a warm yellow. It felt like a real bedroom and not a hospital bedroom. The sheets were so soft I fell asleep as soon as I laid down. There were no beeping monitors, no weird white lights, no nurses stealing my blood whilst I slept, no people screaming. The bed had springs and the pillows had covers and my clothes were warm. I could’ve slept for days. I woke up to Sheldon nudging me two hours later with two pill bottles in his hand.

“Sorry, sis, but I think it’s time for these two.”

“If I take them now I’ll pass out in the shower.” I dragged my heavy body up with a grunt. “Fuck, I feel shitty.”

“They said on the phone you’d be a little rough for a while. Go take a shower, I'll find a movie or something. Just don’t lock the door, I won’t come in I swear, I just…worry.”

“I’m fine, Sheldon. But I will, for you.”

I had missed the basic comfort of a non-communal shower without anyone watching me. I set the water as scolding as I could take as I scrubbed my skin with Lucy’s old coconut oil body wash. I ran two shampoos and a conditioner through my hair until it no longer resembled knotted yarn. I looked almost human until my fingers found the scar across my arm. I didn’t try to kill myself, contrary to popular belief, I just wanted to make sure my skin was skin and my blood was blood and that it would hurt if I did it. Maybe it was a bit of an overreaction but to violently overreact is to be human. Humans are not rational beings. The light bulb flickered until it eventually plunged me into darkness which was probably a good sign to get out of there.

I found an old fluffy pair of grey and white pajamas with little bear ears on the hood of the shirt. Mum had washed them in the nice fabric softener and they still smelt a little bit like the old family home, somewhere I doubted I would ever see again. I took the pills I had left out on the side and joined my brother on the second-hand brown leather couch in front of the second-hand flatscreen with fuzzy pixels in the top right corner. 

“Hey, tomorrow when we go shopping I need to pick up some tampons, I couldn’t find any in Lucy’s leftovers and I think I start next week.”

He didn’t respond. He was staring at the blue screen and the small white circle buffering around and around and around.

“Sheldon?” I slapped his arm.

He blinked rapidly. “God, sorry, zoned out there. What were you saying?”

“I need tampons.”

“Like now?”

“No tomorrow, when we go to the supermarket. You need a new lightbulb too.”

“Right yeah. Martha, about that, I’m not sure you should come with me tomorrow. Maybe just write me a list or something.”

“Why can’t I come?”

“I just don’t want you getting overwhelmed. Plus you know how Springhollow is, how people can, you know…”

“Stare at the girl who shanked her roommate because she thought she had been replaced by a robot?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“You don’t need to protect me, Sheldon. I’ll cope just fine.”

I did in fact not cope just fine. Dr Steinbecker had warned me the medications would make me more sensitive to light but I never realised quite how fluorescent supermarkets were. The place was so white I felt like I was under police interrogation again. The radio kept playing these horrible high pitched songs with repetitive, pounding, blaring noises that assaulted my ears as they seemed to get louder and louder. There were so many smells– meats and baked goods and stay at home mums wearing floral deodorants. I know we came on a Saturday morning but it had been so long since I had been around this many people, I could barely breathe. Each time someone banged into me, or a toddler wailed in the distance, I wanted to curl up into a ball and have Sheldon carry me home. Back in Saint Dymphna’s, if we got overwhelmed like this they'd run us a cold bath and let us sit in it until we had calmed down. It was a shock to the system at first but was ultimately relaxing. I'd have to run one when I got home. That's providing I could survive the Hell on earth that was basic grocery shopping. Sheldon put his hand on my shoulder seeing me stood frozen, white knuckling the handle of the trolley. 

“You OK?”

I obviously was not OK but I didn't want to worry him. “What's next?”

“Toiletries and sanitary products, next aisle over. Then I need to go get some batteries and stuff, a new lightbulb for the bathroom but that's right on the other side.”

“Let me grab the toiletries and you can go get your stuff. I'll be fine by myself for a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” His voice told me he wasn't.

“You don't need to see me buying tampons, that's weird.”

“OK, well, I'll be quick, I'll come to you when I'm done so just stay in that aisle so I can find you.”

I nodded as we parted ways. I found my old shampoo, soap, conditioner, shower gel, lotion and moisturiser. I went to grab tampons when I heard the worst sound in the world. 

“Oh my God, Martie? Martha fucking Poole? Is that you?” The woman with green hair and an eyebrow ring seemed to know me but as I stared at her face I couldn't put a name to her. “It's Elsie? From class? I used to sit behind you.”

“Elsie, of course.” Nope, no idea. 

“How are you doing, sweetheart? We were all so so worried when we heard about what happened.”

“Everybody heard?”

“Oh yeah, you were all anyone could talk about for like a month.”

“How’s Layla doing?”

“Eight stitches and a night on morphine and she was fine. She barely even has a scar. She still brings it up all the time though, like you almost killed her or something. But you're doing better?”

“I think so, I got out yesterday, I'm signed off, medicated. It was just an episode, it shouldn't happen again.”

“You probably shouldn't call it an ‘episode’, it implies that psychological wellness comes and goes in waves rather than being a consistent life issue for patients.”

“But it was just an episode.”

She sounded like she was choking on a laugh. “Yeah, well, that's just an offensive term so you should probably call it something else.”

“I don't want to call it something else. I want to call it what it was. I don't know who that is offending.”

“People with mental illness. Disabled people. Neurodivergent people. I get panic attacks sometimes like this one time when my girlfriend was going down on me and I totally freaked out. It was like so traumatic and I wouldn't want them to be called episodes, don't you think it downplays the severity of our symptoms?”

“I don't…what are you saying to me?”

“I said don't you think it downplays the severity of our symptoms?” She was grinning at me with her eyes so wide I'm surprised they weren't burning.

“Sis, you alright there?” Sheldon said, turning into the aisle. 

“My brother, I should…” I grabbed the tampons, threw them in the trolley and joined him. I couldn't get away from her fast enough. “Can I go and sit in the car please?” I whispered to him.

He handed me the keys. “Remember where we parked?”

I nodded, letting go of the trolley and bolting for the exit. My heart was pounding so fast and I could feel myself flushing red. I found my way to the car and sat there in silence with the air conditioning blasting into my face until I felt human again. Sheldon hurriedly dumped the bagged groceries in the boot and came to join me. He flicked off the AC. 

“Who was that back there?”

“I don't remember her. She knew me though. She said from class but, I don't know.”

“I knew this would be too much for you,” he mumbled.

“It's not your fault. I need to learn my limits. It'll come in time, that's what Dr Steinbecker always says.”

“Maybe you can give him a call when we get home?”

“I think I'll just take a nap maybe.”

“Yeah, that's a good idea. I have to drop some of Lucy’s stuff off so I might not be there when you wake up. Will you be alright on your own?”

“I think so.”

“Right then.”

When we were home I offered to help him tidy away the shopping but he ushered me straight into the bathroom. He opened my pill organiser and tipped my morning pills into my hand and stood vigilante as I took each one, letting him inspect my mouth. He told me to get some rest, he'd be home soon. I must’ve only slept an hour before the phone rang. The landline was in the living room so I kept my duvet wrapped around myself as I dragged my creaking body to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Martha, hello. How are you feeling?” Dr Steinbecker’s comforting tone lilted down to me.

“I’m OK. Tired mostly. We went to the supermarket this morning and I think I did OK.”

“Well, that’s incredible, you should be very proud of yourself. I don’t suppose your brother is there, perchance?”

“He’s out right now, he’ll be back soon.” I picked up the small wooden photo frame of Sheldon and Lucy he had on the small table near the sofa. If I had really been responsible for them parting ways, I don’t even know where I could begin to apologise.

“Well, there’s just some things we need to discuss with him concerning your long term care and progress so when it is convenient, could you have him return my call.”

“Yeh, I can do that. Can I ask what exactly you need to talk to him about?”

“Just some general tips to make your recovery and reintegration as smooth as we can. Nothing for you to worry about. Just have him call me back. You have a nice day now.” He couldn’t hang up fast enough. He didn’t even say goodbye.

I was already settled on the sofa with my duvet bunched around me, I didn’t see much point in moving. I fell right back asleep where I sat and didn’t wake up until Sheldon staggered in teary-eyed with a black bin bag in his hand.

“Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?” he whispered.

“It’s fine. How was Lucy?”

“Who?”

“Lucy? Your girlfriend? You were dropping off some stuff?”

He didn’t sound angry, more confused. “No, I wasn’t.”

“But you said…”

“I had to pick up some stuff from work. Remember?”

I could’ve sworn he said… “Right, yeah, of course, sorry.”

He dumped the bag in the kitchen before coming to join me on the sofa.

“Dr Steinbecker called. He said you need to call him back to discuss my long term care.”

“The bin needs taking out, it’d be a big help to me if you could go and do that and I’ll call Dr Steinbecker.”

“OK, is it just outside or…?”

“It’s down the side of the house, just drag it down the steps and leave it by the gate, the wagon normally comes around in the next hour or so.”

“I’ll go do that now then, just call Dr Steinbecker.”

“Will do.” His eyes watched me intently as I stood and went for the door. It was comfortably warm outside, that’s what I was trying to focus on as I heaved the weighty bin down the small concrete steps to the side of the house and left it by the gate. We were the last on the street to put out. There was an elderly woman in a fluffy pink dressing gown across the street standing in her window, glaring at me. She didn’t blink, or move, or breathe. She just stared. I closed my eyes and breathed for a moment just like Dr Steinbecker had told me to and sure enough when I looked back she was gone. 

I could hear Sheldon muttering down the phone as I approached the door.

“No, no, she’s fine.” He paused. “I’ll stop her if she does, it won’t happen again.”

I pushed the door open silently, trying not to announce myself. Sheldon’s head whipped around and smiled at me. “She’s here now, Doctor, but don’t worry she’s in safe hands. Alright, same to you, bye now.” He hung up the phone.

“What were you talking about?”

“Your care. He seems nice enough.”

“No, just before I came in. You were talking about me.”

“No, not really just basic stuff: no citrus fruits on your medications, plenty of water for dehydration, extra suncream for the sunstroke risk. Just stuff to keep you safe. Don’t be so para.”

“I’m not being para.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he came over to me, hugging me. My instincts told me to push him away but I’d missed the feeling of being held. I closed my eyes and snuggled into him. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now right now.”

I caught his repeated phrase. “What?”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now.”

I unhooked myself from his grasp. My head was thick and my stomach was starting to churn. “I’m going for a bath.”

“Leave the door unlocked, please, for me.”

I ran a cold, shallow bath with just enough water to cover my legs, it always worked back at the Institution. I scraped my hair back, pulled the deadbolt on the door and flicked the lightswitch. The whole room was instantly bathed in red. The red bulb hanging from the fixture seemed to taunt me. I felt my heart stop in my chest as my throat seemed to seal up. The room at the Institution. The vague smell of blood and piss and pain. The gentle pressure of restraints. I struggled with the latch on the door as I ran out of the room, only a towel covering me. I stumbled onto my knees. “Sheldon!” I called for him. I staggered into the living room only to find it empty. “Sheldon!”

He came sprinting out of the bedroom. “Why are you screaming?”

“Why did you put a red fucking bulb in the bathroom? It scared the shit out of me, I can’t go in there.”

“Red bulb? What are you talking about?” He disappeared into the bathroom. He re-emerged with a look on his face I can only describe as incredibly confused. The glow of the bathroom was a warm white light. 

“No, it was red, I swear.” 

“Go for your bath, I’ll make you something to eat and get your pills ready.”

“The room was red.”

He sighed heavily, offering me his hand. He gripped mine tightly as he led me back to the bathroom. The bulb was white. “Leave the door unlocked,” he ordered me, squeezing my hand.

I closed the door, not locking it. I dropped the towel and got into the icy shock of water. The first few moments always bordered on pain whilst the body adjusted to it. Eventually, it became quite calming. The pressure headache behind my eyes was ever building and the frozen chills shooting through my body were finally starting to dissipate. There were two potential truths in my life at that moment. Either my brother was lying to me, trying to trick me, messing with my head, or alternatively, I was fuckin’ mental. I reached up over to my small pill organiser on the side of the sink and the slot for that morning held the pills I could’ve sworn I took. I remembered taking them. Sheldon had watched me take them. I threw the collector against the wall, sending a week of pills scattering across the floor. I had had enough of this. I pulled the plug, dried off, changed into some clean clothes. I left the pills and chipped plastic on the dirty bathroom floor. I stormed straight past my brother and went to check the small bin in the kitchen. I reached my hand in and felt something sharp and warm wrapped in tissue.

“What are you doing?”

Glinting red glass pierced through the paper. I pulled it out and threw it on the kitchen floor. A red bulb. “Why are you doing this? You’re trying to fuck with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you fucking with you.”

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?” He stepped towards me.

“You keep repeating your words. You keep staring off into space. You are lying to me.”

“When have I lied to you?”

“You told me you were going to see Lucy this morning, I know you did.”

I could see him fighting the urge to match my angered tone and screaming volume. “Who the fuck is Lucy?”

“Your ex-girlfriend. She has ginger hair and green eyes and a big tattoo of a crucifix down her right forearm and she fuckin’ hates me.” I stormed over to the table to grab the photograph he displayed there. It was different. It was Shledon and I when we were little kids, all bright eyed and clear skinned. “You’ve changed this picture.”

“I’m calling Dr Steinbecker.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“You’re being crazy, Martha.”

“Am I? Am I really? Is this fuckin’ crazy?” I smashed the frame onto the ground, shattering the fragile glass. Nestled behind our photograph was the same one from before. Him and Lucy. The small shards of glass cut into my hands as I pulled it out and showed him it. “What’s this then?”

“That’s me and Lucy, my girlfriend. You two have met, you know her.”

“I know her. Why don’t you?”

“When did I say I didn’t know her?” 

“Just now, Sheldon, fuck.” I threw the photograph onto the ground. I barged past him to grab the house phone from the charging block and headed for my room.

“Who are you calling?”

“None of your business.” I slammed the door and sat with my back to it, blocking him out. He pounded on it, yelling my name in the same toneless, dead voice. 

“Fine, be like that. I'm going to Lucy’s to pick up some stuff.”

I sat there until I heard the front door lock. I started dialling the number for Dr Steinbecker but something stopped me from punching in the final digit. I don't know what stopped me. Intuition maybe. I erased it and dialled a different number. My Mum. 

“Hello?” her sweet voice soothed me oddly despite all the harsh words when we last met.

“Hi Mummy.”

There was a silence before she gasped loudly. “Martha? Martha, sweetie, where are you? We've been so worried, we hadn't heard from you.”

“I was in the hospital, Mum. I got discharged yesterday. They tried to call you but you didn't answer.”

“Hospital? You were in the hospital? Are you alright, sweetheart?” She could barely get the words out fast enough.

“Mum I…I have been in psychiatric care for the last three months.”

“Why didn't you say?”

“I did, you drove me to the hospital. I stabbed my classmate.”

“You did what? Martha, what are you talking about?” She was practically shouting.

“They called you yesterday to ask you to come and pick me up but you ignored the call. You drove me to the hospital three months ago. I had a break from reality and I really hurt someone.”

“No one called me, sweetheart. I would've come and gotten you right away. Martha, are you in trouble? Where are you?”

“I'm at Sheldon’s. He picked me up when you and Dad didn't answer.Where did you think I was for the last three months?”

“Well, when we called the university your lovely roommate Elsie told us you wouldn't be coming home for Easter because you needed to study. She's been very kind on the phone. Layla too.”

“You spoke to Layla?”

“Of course. Aren't the three of you friends? You share a flat?”

“I've never shared a flat with Elsie. I don't even know who Elsie is.”

“Hold on a minute, sweetheart. Reg!” she yelled for my dad away from the phone.

“What?” I heard the faint murmur of him yelling back.

“It's Martha, she's OK. She's been in the hospital. She said they called you yesterday.”

“No one called me. Is she alright?”

“Your dad wants to know that you're alright,” she turned her voice back to me.

“Yeah, I'm fine, Mum.”

“Good. She's fine! You're staying with Sheldon, did you say?”

“Yeah in his house.”

“You really should be at home at a time like this, if you've been poorly. Not in London.”

“London? Mum, I'm in Springhollow with Sheldon. He has a place over on Chantry.”

“That place on Chantry Drive? No, he moved away, sweetheart. He and Lucy got engaged whilst you were away, they moved down to London last month. We phoned you.” She made it sound as if it was so obvious.

No, it couldn’t be. There had to be a reasonable explanation for everything. I couldn’t give into the thoughts. “Then who the fuck is in this house with me?”

“Sweetheart, where are you? I'll come and get you?”

“It's on Chantry, number 48.”

“Alrighty, sweetheart, you stay there, me and Daddy will come and get you.”

“Mummy, what's happening to me?”

“Stay there, sweetie. We'll be there in an hour.”

“OK, Mummy.” I clutched the phone a little tighter. 

“Your dad’s just putting his shoes on, sweetheart, I'm going to hang up, we'll be there soon. I love you, Martha.”

“I love you too, mummy.” I desperately didn't want her to hang up but if it would get her here quicker then I'd allow it.

When the line crackled dead, I finally found the balls to call Dr Steinbecker. The line rang and rang and rang. He didn't answer. I tried again and met the same result. I left my bedroom and grabbed two black bin bags from the kitchen to pile all my stuff in. My heart was pounding in my chest sending blood rushing to my head causing my ears to ring and my eyes to blur. I had to get out of here, this place. These people weren't real, that was a fact, not an episode, not a break, not a delusion. Whilst rummaging through the few belongings I had, my hands fell upon a flimsy stack of photos, hidden amongst my underwear. They were a bunch of photos from first year. In the spirit of team bonding and posterity our lecturer had made us take a class photo of that year's cohort. I saw myself, hiding in the back row. I recognised some of the faces but couldn't put names to most of them. Layla was there at the front with her perfect face and perfect body and perfect hair.

I heard the front door swing open as my brother’s voice drifted in, a distantly familiar female voice following. Lucy, I recognised her accent.

“Is she here?” Lucy asked.

“She'll be having one of her calming baths,” he mocked me. 

I tied up the bin bags and returned to blocking the door.

“Sis,” he knocked. “Are you still mad at me?”

I stayed silent. I didn't know what the fuck he was. 

“I know you called Mum. Why did you do that? You've upset her now. Dad called me and told me everything. So are you going to come out here and talk to Lucy and I or are you going to stay there all night?”

“I'm going to stay right here.”

“Let me try,” Lucy whispered before tapping gently at the door. “Martie? It's Lucy. You remember me, don't you? I have that big tattoo down my arm. You need to come out and talk to us, or we'll have to call Dr Steinbecker. Do you want us to call Dr Steinbecker?”

“Well, he sure as shit isn't answering me.”

“Call him, I'll get her out. There’s a payphone across the road.” Sheldon’s voice was dark, low. It didn't take more than two kicks to spend me flying forward onto my face as the flimsy door gave in. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” I scrambled to my feet, wielding the small but hefty brick of a house phone by my head. “I know you're not real, you're not my brother.”

He approached me, his vice-like grip clamping down on my wrist. “You're sick, Martha. Really sick, sick, sick, sick…”

I don't know what came over me. It was the same blinding whiteness, the same overwhelming fear, the same numbness that overtook me when I stabbed Layla three months ago. I brought the phone down onto the back of his neck. He barely had time to scream before he fell to the ground. The thud was dull, empty, hollow somehow. I checked the phone for damage, there was no blood. There was nothing. I knelt down next to his silent and unmoving body. His corpse. I was trembling violently. His skin had slightly split where the phone had struck him. I could see the brittle white bone of the top of his spine, but there was no blood in him, no red. He wasn't human. He wasn't. I worked my fingers into the wound, if you could even call it that. There was a carving on the top bone, something engraved into it. I worked my fingertips along the grooves.

#0000-0001

The ringing of the phone cut short my investigation. I jumped with a yelp, answering it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Kiddo.” Dr Steinbecker sighed. “What have you done?”

“They're not real, Doc. None of them. You have to help me, they're not real.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Martha Ella Poole.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“I'm in a house. 48 Chantry.”

“Are you real?”

“Yes. Yes I am. My brother isn't my brother, this isn't my brother. He has a serial number in his spine.”

Dr Steinbecker sighed again. “We’ll try again next time.” 

He hung up just as Lucy returned. I found myself shouting down a dead receiver. Lucy didn't scream when she saw her boyfriend ‘dead’ on the floor. She didn't react at all. Her fair hand pointed at me as she raised her arm. 

“Her.”

Two men followed her in. Police officers. They didn't even give me a chance to explain before one of them was on top of me, wrestling the phone out of my hands. 

“Help me, please. They're not real. Neither of them are real. They're not humans.”

“I don't think she's been taking her medications,” Lucy's voice was suddenly filled with sadness and a forced tremble. “He took her in when no one else would but she's crazy, she's unstable, I begged him not to.”

“Don't listen to her, she's not real, she's not.”

He yanked my arms awkwardly behind my back as he slid handcuffs onto me, his garbled words barely reaching my ears. 

“They're for your own safety, love,” he said gruffly as he dragged me onto my feet.

“She's dangerous!” Lucy yelled as tears began to stream down her face. I got a good look at her now. Her tattoo was on the wrong arm. 

“No I'm not, please. My mummy is coming to pick me up.” I was crying too loudly to hear what the officers were saying. One consoled Lucy whilst the other gripped me tightly. “Check his neck, he's not human, he's not.”

“Alright, that's enough of that. You need to calm down, Miss.”

He heaved my outside, unresponsive to my kicks and screams as I tried to dig my heels into the filth carpet. “Fuckin bitch. You fucking monster. What are you?” 

Lucy tilted her head as I passed her. For a moment it looked as if her hand was waving.

Every neighbour on the street had gathered to stare at me. And all of them stared. They didn't move, they didn't blink, their chests didn't move with breath. 

I expected a police van ready to take me somewhere dark and horrible and not a shitty little yellow rust bucket. They opened the front passenger door and threw me in, closing the door and hitting the roof of the car. The girl Elsie was behind the wheel.

“What is this?”

“It's progress, Martie. It’s the function of all humanity.”

“Why me? Why is this happening to me? What are you? What are they?”

She didn't answer. She kept driving. 

“Are you real?”

“Define real?” She laughed.

“Are you human?”

“No less human than you. Are you human, Martha?”

“Yes.”

“But are you real?”

I don't know.