The Visit

She's visiting today. Hasn't been for a month. Severinus knows she's an important person. You don't get to be on TV so much without being important. Still, she came every week for the first three years, while she was writing the book. Sophia was at every single day of the trial. Even Severinus's wife didn't do that. Not even before the sleeping pills.

Severinus stands up, flattens out the quilt. Quilts! Who would have believed it? The Daily Mail has probably written an article about it, for sure. The room is perfectly normal, like a small en-suite room in a seaside b-and-b, except for the bars at the window. And the security door, of course. After folding the pyjamas so that they form a neat square on the centre of the bed, he stands naked in the centre of the small room, counting scars. One cut for each of them. Severinus carries his souvenirs on his own body. The shower is hot, as hot as he can bear it. The scars show white on his reddened skin. The towel is thick and as luxurious as the ones from the Kempinski Hotel, Berlin, all those years ago.

He gets dressed. Proper clothes, not tailored, no, but clothes bought from a good department store. The new man got rid of the uniforms a few years ago.

“Clients will wear everyday clothing according to their gender of choice in preparation for eventual release into the community”

The new man is keen on technology; his message regarding clothing had scrolled across flat-screen displays mounted high on the walls. There are messages every day. Severinus wonders what the message will be when he steps out into the communal area. Some rooms have screens in them. Not his. New age music plays from hidden speakers. Music for menopausal women. It makes his jaw hurt and the dentist says he needs a retainer for while he sleeps. Apart from the night time, Sunday's silent non-denominational hour is the only time the music stops. Severinus thinks the dentist is a fool.

The door creaks open. Dante is wearing a uniform. He isn't a “client”. He isn't one of the nurses either. Severinus doesn't see nurses any more. Even Laing only sees him every six months. The others used to see him every day, at first. Laing replaced Bateson who replaced who replaced Jaspers who replaced Bonhoeffer. Laing doesn't believe in Schizophrenia. This is good, neither does Severinus, but he thinks it an odd position for a psychiatrist to take.

He goes out into the communal area. As usual, Severinus is the last to emerge from his cocoon. Peter is over there, fat, half-blind and drooling a little from the right corner of his mouth. He is ripping newspaper, making chain after chain of girl-shaped figures. Dante coughs, Severinus moves to a single table with a chair behind it. It's like a library carrel only with no books. Dante will remain within three feet of Severinus throughout his shift. At four the shift changes. Virgil will spend only 6 hours following his client. Lockdown is at 10 p.m. The piped music stops at 11. 11 is heaven.

Severinus asks for a newspaper. He would like the Independent, but Peter is now ripping the chains of girls to shreds and the Independent is no longer readable. Dante raises an arm. Another uniform brings The Financial Times. It is Saturday. He only reads the arts section anyway. He waves the other sections at Peter, who nods vigorously, spraying a little drool on the mound of shredded paper in front of him.

Banks is dead! Severinus liked Banks. Not the Sci-Fi guff, although the idea of the author having two personae is funny. Imagine if Iain M. had died and plain Iain hadn't? Severinus laughs. Dante reaches for his baton, then relaxes, his lips unmoved by any kind of smile. A lost Bosch has been discovered in the Philippines. Manila had been pleasant. Severinus lived with Dalisay for 6 months, until the commission was finished. She had loved bougainvillea, so he had left her under the plants that hid her house from the track.

He tears the article about the Bosch from the paper and eats it. Dante shrugs. Peter, as Severinus knew he would, begins cramming handsful of shredded newspaper into his own maw. Severinus stares at Peter until the newsprint has been swallowed in a soggy bolus of lies. He begins choking and Severinus laughs while Dante fails to perform the Heimlich and the other security guard presses the big red button on the wall behind Severinus’s head.

The other security guard is new. Severinus wonders if she knows who he is. She must. Will she catch his eye? He stares at her for the five minutes it takes the emergency response team to arrive. She stares straight ahead. A doctor and someone who used to work for G4S arrive. Peter is probably dead, Severinus thinks. Will it affect the visit? Maybe. Still, there’s always tomorrow, and the day after that and the long stream of days until he chokes like Peter or contracts some insidious cancer that he and his doctor fail to spot in time.