The Devil Inside, page 5
Phil wrapped the blanket around her as he yelled, ‘Jerry? Help. There’s something wrong.’
The doctor on-call rushed in with Jerry and after a quick examination, said, ‘I think it’s shock after the nightmare. Let’s give her something more to help her sleep, Jerry.’
The nurse nodded and began to prepare the injection.
She wanted to tell them she didn’t need it but couldn’t seem to stop shaking long enough to make her mouth form the words.
The medication hit her system in a rush and she sank back into the pillows behind her, sinking down, down, down. It was lovely. She was floating and …
Fire. Blood. Screaming. They rose up to pull her back down into the dark.
Chapter 5
Karl had come through. Two police constables arrived half an hour later, Craig and Jerry close on their tails to give Phil support. Mel was asleep, so they couldn’t take her statement, but they talked to Phil, Jerry, the other nurses on shift and the on-call doctor, then looked through the security footage for the unit.
They didn’t see anyone who they didn’t know and there was no sign of anyone heading towards Mel’s room just before she screamed. There was an orderly called Martin who had up and quit a few days ago—texting in his resignation—so it couldn’t have been him. The camera didn’t capture her door, but it showed the corridor up to a few metres away.
‘What about the emergency exit?’ Phil suggested. There was one just down from Mel’s room and the camera angles didn’t cover it.
The young police constable—David Creeson—who Phil had met last year when Mel was injured, shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s possible, but someone would have had to prop the door open for him to have slipped in from outside—it only opens from the inside.’
Phil had to concede it was unlikely and that it was looking more and more like Mel had simply had a bad nightmare.
But she’d been so certain.
After the police left, he said to the on-call doctor, ‘I want to make arrangements to transfer my wife to Storm Haven as soon as possible. I can protect her from this kind of crap there.’
The doctor gave him the look of blank patience workers in hospitals had to perfect when dealing with unreasonable patients and their families. ‘Let’s not make rash decisions right now. It’s best to wait to talk to her doctors in the morning. They’ll know what’s best for your wife.’
Unfortunately, Prof Alan who came in first to check on Mel wasn’t onboard with releasing her. ‘I understand your concerns, Phil. But for her recovery to continue making positive steps, it’s important we maintain stability. She knows the hospital. She doesn’t know Storm Haven.’
‘But seeing it might help bring her memories back.’
He nodded. ‘True. That could help. It could also overwhelm her right now. I think it’s better if she stays here so we can monitor her more effectively, especially after such a vivid hallucination. We need to ensure this was a singular episode and not a sign of some deeper issue.’
‘How long?’
‘I can’t put a date on it, as you know. But I would think she needs to be here for another couple of weeks at least. I’m sure Doctor Seggers would concur.’
He was about to argue when Jerry said, ‘I know you want her back at Storm Haven, Phil. But Prof Alan is right. Here is the best place for her at the moment. You want her to get the treatment she needs, right?’
What could he say to that?
‘I think you really need to come home with me, man, and get some rest,’ Craig said. ‘You’re strung out and won’t do Mel or Arwen any good if you’re exhausted and unable to think properly.’
‘I don’t want to leave Mel alone again. What if this guy comes back?’
‘I’ll stay with her,’ Jerry said.
‘Are you sure?’
Jerry nodded. ‘Absolutely. I was coming in this morning to help with her physical therapy anyway. Go get some rest. I’ll stay until you come back.’
Phil clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Jerry, you are a godsend.’
‘No, mate. Just doing my job.’ He gestured to the door. ‘Now, go home. You look wrecked and Craig’s right. You’re not going to be of use to anyone if you don’t take care of yourself first.’
Mel was out for the count when he went in to kiss her goodbye. He ran his finger down her cheek, tucking a short curl behind her ear. ‘I’ll be back, my love. Jerry is staying with you to make sure that reporter won’t get in to bother you again. Sleep well. I’ll be back later.’ He kissed her cheek again, mind flashing to that moment when she’d cupped his face and looked like she was about to kiss him. He wanted to kiss her lips but held back. She still didn’t remember him and he had to wait for her to instigate.
He nodded to Jerry who was sitting in the chair, phone in hand, but halted at the door, looking back at Mel. Should he leave?
‘Come on, mate.’ Craig touched his arm. ‘You are beyond exhausted.’
‘I want to go kiss Arwen first.’
Twenty minutes later they were well on their way back to Storm Haven when Craig asked, ‘You okay, mate?’
Phil stared at the road. ‘I’m fine.’
‘It was a tough night. I don’t think anyone would be fine.’
It had been tough. More than tough. But he didn’t want Craig to know how on edge he truly was. ‘I’m just tired. It was a good idea to come home and get some rest.’ He flicked a smile at his mate and then scratched at the stubble blackening his chin.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Craig said into the silence as he took a tight curve, the small township of Merrijig before them. ‘She’s going to remember.’
He tried to smile but couldn’t. They didn’t know if she would remember. Nobody could say for certain. And if she didn’t …
His mother’s words rang in his head once again.
‘Stop the car. I’m going to throw up.’
Craig pulled over and Phil spilled out of the car, managed a couple of steps before landing on his knees and retching into the grass on the verge. He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, but thankfully, Craig didn’t touch him or talk. He just handed Phil a tissue to wipe his mouth when he stopped heaving, then a water bottle. Phil rinsed his mouth a few times, spitting into the long grass, before taking a long swallow of water to wash away the bitterness in his throat. ‘Sorry.’
‘You don’t ever have to apologise for this, mate. But what was that about?’
‘Just nerves. Worried about Mel.’
Craig’s brow raised, but he didn’t push, just held the passenger door open and said, ‘Come on. Let’s get you home.’
The rest of the drive to Storm Haven Manor was done in complete silence. A silence reflected in the hills, mountains and valleys they drove through. Lexi had chosen an amazing place to set up her home and recording studio. The peaceful Howqua Valley at the base of Mt Buller was a perfect place to come and write and record. At least, it had been before shit had hit the fan.
He tried to sink into the beauty of the land, the quiet tranquillity of it, but his thoughts wouldn’t still, jumping from Mel to Arwen to the band to everything that had happened recently. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep. And if he didn’t do something very soon, he was going to jump out of his skin.
He’d never been good at keeping still, but when he was anxious or stressed it was that much worse. It was a relief when Craig finally broke the silence.
‘You’re too wound up. You need to do some drumming.’ Craig glanced at him. ‘Do you want to jam when we get back? You know that always makes you feel better.’
Phil shook his head. He hadn’t sat behind his kit since the night of Arwen’s birth and there was no way he was going to do it tonight. Certainly not in front of others. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’ He was surprised to hear how normal his voice sounded.
‘Sounds good.’ Craig yawned as he turned off the main road and onto the dirt track that led to Storm Haven. ‘Bed does sound good.’
‘Yeah. It does.’ His mate gave him the side eye but didn’t call him on his lie. Christ, he really needed to do better if he wanted his friends to stop worrying. He hadn’t been able to stop them from worrying while Mel was in a coma and even though she was awake and Arwen was born and healthy, they still worried over him like mother-hens, never broaching talk of the reason why they were here.
The band. The new album.
Dae and Lexi had even postponed talking about dates for their marriage until Mel was up and about again. He really didn’t want them putting it off any longer now she was awake. The fact she couldn’t remember him shouldn’t have any bearing on if his friends got to have their happy ever afters.
The problem of Mel’s amnesia wasn’t one they needed to share. It was his problem. She was awake. She was well. She’d be able to come back to Storm Haven Manor in a few weeks. Everything was already set up there for Cat, Lexi’s twin sister’s rehab, and with Cat and her partner Billy having gone down to the Peninsula to stay with Craig and Billy’s parents and be closer to her doctors, they had full use of everything whenever they liked.
Everything was going to be fine.
As long as he could pull his shit together enough to be the dad Arwen needed. To be the husband Mel needed in this crisis.
They pulled into the long drive that led up to Storm Haven. It wasn’t even eight, but men were already at the stables and out in the fields feeding out hay. Pickers were busy in the orchards, the sound of their chatter drifting through Craig’s open window.
As they drove past the stables, Dae and Lexi trotted out on their horses—probably going out to help Karl in the fields. They waved but didn’t stop. Craig continued to drive down the hill, around the Barn House and pulled up in the garage.
They climbed the stairs in silence, but as they reached the top, Craig asked, ‘I might grab a tea. Do you want one? Chamomile? Might help you sleep.’
‘Sure.’
‘You should eat something too. Here.’
He caught a muesli bar Craig threw to him. He wasn’t hungry, but his mate was staring at him, so he opened it and took a big bite.
Phil finished the muesli bar as Craig made tea, shuffling from one foot to the other. He needed to do something. ‘Forget the tea. I think I might just go do a bit more work in Arwen’s room before heading to bed.’
‘You want some help?’
‘No. You drink your tea and get some sleep. You’ve been up almost as long as me.’
He took off down the hall before Craig could ask him again if he was okay. He was a bit sick of that question, truth be told. Thankfully, Craig didn’t follow.
He made it into Arwen’s room. The smell of fresh paint still tinged the air. He opened the windows to air out the room, then turned to the boxes that had arrived yesterday in anticipation of Arwen’s release when she’d reached the desired weight and feeding regimen. There was a cot, a chest of drawers, a change table and a shelving unit, all flat packs, all needing assembly.
He finished it all too soon and pushed everything into place.
He noticed material folded on the window seat in the corner. He lifted it and smiled. Bev was a champion. She already had so many feathers to her bow—Storm Haven’s housekeeper, former nurse, prize-winning country cook and she mothered them all. Now she could add draper to her list of skills.
He hung the curtains then stood back to admire them. She’d made them out of a thick material to block out the light—stylised cows and sheep and horses played on a vibrant green background. Mel would love them.
A pang grabbed his chest.
Would she still love them? If she didn’t remember wanting a baby, would she remember thinking things like these were cute?
He shook the thought away and turned from admiring the curtains.
He clenched his fingers open, shut, open, shut. He should go to bed.
But he was still too edgy and twitchy to sit still let alone lie down and sleep.
Perhaps he should drum as Craig suggested. Drumming had never failed to help him work out any problem he had. And it wasn’t like he’d purposefully avoided his kit since Arwen was born. It’s just that he’d spent nearly every waking moment at the hospital with Mel since the accident, and then after Arwen’s birth, split his time between mum and baby.
Yeah. He should go work out this energy on his kit. Better to do it when nobody was around. Given how he felt, his playing would be rough and raw.
He slipped through the hallway that joined the Barn House to the studio. He’d probably have it to himself for at least a few hours. Lexi and Dae would be unlikely to come back from their ride until after lunch and knowing Craig—Mr-could-sleep-through-the-zombie-apocalypse—he’d be asleep for hours.
He walked through the downstairs area, the lights flicking on automatically around him, then headed upstairs.
His kit sat at the back of the partitioned-off space of the large studio, set up exactly how he liked it. Dae and Craig must have put it back for him after the gig. It wasn’t his only kit, but it was his favourite and he preferred to gig and record with it.
Nice of his mates to make sure it was ready to go. He wondered when they’d done it. Like him, they’d spent much of their spare time at the hospital.
His roll of drumsticks was sitting on top of the shelves in the corner. He rolled it open and stood looking at the array of sticks and brushes. What did he feel like using tonight?
He grabbed a pair of his favourite hardwood drumsticks that Mel had commissioned to be made especially for him, and made his way over to his kit.
The lights above the kit made the metallic burgundy paint glitter and shine. He ran his hand over the skins—the one on the toms would need to be replaced soon. He checked the height of his stool, moved the crash a little closer, raised his sticks …
Sweat broke out on his brow, his top lip, tingled between his shoulder blades.
He wiped at the sweat on his face.
Took a few deep breaths.
Put his foot on the pedal to start with a base beat.
His leg trembled then froze.
His breath came hard and fast. Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades and down his chest as if he’d been playing for hours.
He lifted his hand again to bring it down on the rise. His stick flew out of his sweaty hand. It hit the rise with a clash.
Panting, the noise ringing in his head, he lurched up. Dragging air into his lungs, he stumbled across to the stick—it had rolled halfway across the room. As he bent over, the world swayed. He landed hard on his hands and knees, the sting bringing him to his senses, stopping the world from swaying.
He looked over his shoulder at his kit.
It sat there, squat and familiar, calling to him to come and make some beats. He heard a beat in his mind, strong and singular and fast-paced.
Not the beat to a tune he knew.
It was his heart. Racing.
He needed to calm it down.
He grabbed his stick and staggered to his feet. He had to do some drumming. Drumming would calm him down.
The world swung and swayed again as he made it back to his stool. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes. His t-shirt was soaked and his palms were so sweaty he could barely hold onto his sticks.
Just make a beat. Make a sound. You’ll feel better if you do.
He gritted his teeth and tried to bring both sticks down in a fast roll, but his fingers were suddenly numb, heavy, and he dropped the drumsticks instead. They clattered to the ground.
He stared at them as they rolled across the floor, away from him, away from the drums.
He had to make a sound. He had to make a beat. He tried to move his foot on the pedal, to find that steady, sure rhythm that would reset the pace of his heart and centre him, as it had always centred him.
His leg muscles trembled, seized. ‘Fuck, I have to do this. I have to.’ He pushed down on his leg with his hands, forcing his foot to move on the pedal. The drumstick hit the bass drum with a small thug.
The sound twisted in his head, his guts.
Fuck. He scrabbled away from his kit and ran to the bathroom, making it into the cubicle just in time.
He threw up until he was heaving nothing but air, his muscles trembling and sore.
Sweat prickled his eyes, making his vision foggy. What the fuck was going on? Why couldn’t he drum? He needed to drum. Needed it. If he couldn’t drum …
He shook the thought away and managed to stagger to his feet and over to the basin. He turned the tap on and stuck his head under it, letting the cold water run over his face, his eyes, then moved to gulp it into his mouth.
When he was done, he grabbed one of the towels Lexi kept on a shelf—making music was a sweaty business.
He raked a towel over his face, wishing it didn’t feel so soft. He needed something harder, harsher to help rub away the truth he didn’t want to face.
He couldn’t drum.
What use was he if he couldn’t drum?
You’re useless. The only thing you’re good at is playing those bloody drums and even that’s useless. You can’t have a career playing drums, boy.
His father’s voice swam in his head, words said so many years ago they shouldn’t hold any sting. And yet, right now they tortured him.
You should never have left. Your drumming is like an addiction. You place it before everything else.
No. He didn’t. He hadn’t. Had he?
How can you expect her to fall in love with you again if you stay there doing what you’ve always done? Lightning doesn’t strike twice.
He bent over and splashed water on his face over and over and forced himself to breathe slow, deep breaths. The trembling eased, his heart stopped thundering in his chest and he could breathe again properly.
He stared at himself in the mirror above the basin.
A little pale, face dripping with water, hair wet and spiky, eyes red-rimmed.
A panic attack.
He’d had a panic attack. He hadn’t had one of those for years. Had forgotten how bad they could be. How could he have let his parents’ words get into his head like that? He hadn’t listened to them for years but now …
