Free My Daylight Monsters by Sarah Dalton Page B

psychiatric ward. Who would believe me? How could I get out to find evidence?”
    “Spoken like a quitter.”
    I flash him a glare. “I don’t see you doing much. You won’t even tell me what you know. It can’t be that important if you’ve not done anything either. You’re all talk.”
    “Okay, if that’s what you think.” He shrugs again. It’s infuriating.
    “You’re a dickhead.”
    “You’re immature.” He starts to laugh and I reach out to shove him on the arm but he leaps to his feet and backs away. He stops laughing immediately. “Don’t touch me. People don’t touch me.”
    His outburst is so sudden that I find my mouth gaping open. “I-err-I I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
    Johnny shrinks back against the wall. “No one touches me.”
    For a moment his big green eyes make him look like a little boy.
    “I’m really sorry. I won’t touch you, I promise.”
    He pauses, the torch still in his hand. He seems unsure whether he wants to approach me or not.
    There’s a knock at the door. “Is everything all right? We heard you shouting.” It’s Mo.
    “I’m fine now,” I reply. “I got a bit freaked out but I’m fine now.”
    Johnny backs away from me and heads to the air vent. I don’t stop him from going. For some reason, I don’t want to tell the others he was here.
    “Well, it’s almost fifteen minutes so I’m letting you out,” Mo says. The lock unclicks. Johnny’s torch goes out and he replaces the air vent. The door scrapes open and I quickly slip through the gap, out of the room. “You all right?”
    “Yeah, I say.” I find myself facing Mo, we’re pretty close to each other. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. You were right. I probably shouldn’t have done it. It did freak me out.”
    “I wanted to let you out earlier but they wouldn’t let me,” he said. “Did you hear a noise or something?”
    “I dunno,” I reply. “It was probably my imagination.”

Chapter Ten
     
    The next day, I had to wonder: did I imagine my conversation with Johnny? Was he really there? I couldn’t help but question whether cheeking my pills was helping me or not. Maybe Mo got it wrong. Maybe I really am psychotic and I need the double dose Dr. Harrison gave me.
    At 9am , Dr. Gethen stares at me as he passes the small plastic cup. He never says a word. You walk up, give your name, wait as he pours pills into a cup, and then walk away. He has long fingers, like spider legs.
    Lacey once told me that he administers the odd injection and passes out the medication in the morning , but apart from that he has very little to do. Dr. Harrison is in charge of the therapy. It makes me wonder why he doesn’t do more. It’s not like Dr. Harrison isn’t always busy
    “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak,” Lacey says as we walk away.
    “He creeps me out.” I shudder, imagining those long fingers on my skin.
    “He creeps everyone out.” Lacey waggles her eyebrows.
    We head to the sofas and sit down for some TV watching before group therapy. To tell the truth, I need it. My stomach churns from the alcohol the night before. I didn’t have too much, but it was enough to make me regret it. Lacey seems fine—damn her—and she drank twice as much as me. Yasmeen is suffering the most, and she has Granger on her arse, checking she eats enough and doesn’t throw any of it up. Helen also appears worse for wear. She hugs her body and stares intently at the screen, as though she really doesn’t want to talk to anyone.
    Marcus flicks through the channels until he finds cartoons. He’s quiet this morning, probably regretting telling everyone his big secret. No one has mentioned what we said about the palliative care unit. No one has mentioned about me freaking out in the dark room, or Mo’s story about the bodies in the wall. I’m not sure we ever will discuss it properly, unless we go back into the ceiling and bare our guts again.
    In the morning air, things are chilled. For the first