The Book: Chapter 16

Something had woken her with a jolt, and by the time Alice reached the bottom of the pit, a sickening feeling clawed at her stomach. She flung back the duvet and ran downstairs. Something was wrong. The room smelled dirty, thick with a scent of neglect. It was coming from Erik’s cage. But he was a clean rat. In the two and a half years she’d had him, his cage had never been like this.

Erik was lying on his side at the bottom of his filthy cage. His chest rose and his mouth was open as he inhaled sharp, desperate gasps. His fur was ruffled and stained with urine around his back end. His water bottle was dry and his food dish was bare.

Oh, God. How long had it been?

Alice fumbled with the cage door and scooped Erik into her hands. He was so light. And limp—but alive. He blinked at her, his tiny paws twitching, gently grazing the palm of her hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let him out to roam free.

‘What have I done to you? I’m so sorry my darling,’ she sobbed.

Shame burned through her. She prided herself on being a wonderful pet owner. She was a doctor, for Christ’s sake. And yet, all she could think about, all she ever thought about, was that damn book.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, cradling him against her chest as she rushed to fill his water bottle, her hands shaking as she twisted it onto the cage. Erik latched onto the nozzle. She sprinkled food into his dish, watching as he nosed at it hesitantly before taking tentative bites. He returned to his water, while Alice got what she needed to repair her neglect.

Relief hit her like a gut punch. He was okay. This time. But the thought of what could have happened sickened her.

She cleaned his cage and used baby wipes on his fur. Then she held him and cried. She whispered apologies and stroked him as he loved her back. She didn’t deserve his loyalty. Guilt crippled her and she knew she’d never tell a living soul about this. Erik climbed higher to be closer to her face. He curled into her neck for comfort, pressing close to absorb her warmth. He relied on her for everything and she couldn’t bear the thought of him being trapped in his filthy cage. She’d let him down. She swore to do better and Erik believed her. 

The book was waiting for her, its pages filled with stories that belonged only to her. And God help her, this was her drug of choice. She needed to read it. Erik was fine. She looked at the house, it had never been this unloved. It wasn’t dirty—not like Erik had been, but there were a few dishes in the sink from Mick’s supper the night before, and the floors needed a going over.

She looked at the conservatory with longing, then forced herself to turn away. It was hard, but she did it. She could have the downstairs rooms spotless in an hour; less if she got on with it. She glanced at the ceiling as though she could see her bedroom above. Mick was still asleep, which was good. She hoped he’d stay that way so she could have some time to herself.

He was driving her mad.

She’d had no choice but to let him stay while he recovered, but as a trial run for living together, it wasn’t working.

She’d imagined cosy evenings, with them growing closer again through adversity. The reality was a rising truckload of resentment on both sides.

Mick sprawled across her bed. That was her space. He’d always been fit and health conscious, but lying on his back all day had affected him. He couldn’t run, part of his morning routine, he missed hiking in the fresh air and even struggled to get to the bathroom under his own steam. Alice recognised his depression, but it would be temporary while he was convalescing, and he’d be fine when the cast came off. She was more concerned about the longevity of her bathroom scales from all the crap he was eating than his mental state.

Mick had morphed into a human paperweight, with a TV remote surgically attached. He ate snacks like an oversized toddler while flipping through endless TV channels. He couldn’t get on with his crutches and swore at them as if they were the enemy. They were an irritating reminder of his limitations. He was stuck here—and still on enforced garden leave—so was she. Why had they made her take two weeks off? Why now? She felt trapped in her home.

She’d bought him a brass handbell. It had been a tongue-in-cheek joke to inject some humour into their situation. And it was a mistake. She was about ready to shove it down his bastard throat.

She’d rinsed the mop, put the vacuum and duster away, and settled in her nook. Her world smelled of sandalwood polish, and she breathed in the cleanliness with Erik sitting on her shoulder. He was back to twitching whiskers and washing himself an hour after being in trouble. All was right with the world.

Until Mick rang.

She gritted her teeth.

The book’s pull was intoxicating. She ignored the bell, reaching for the book. Just five more minutes. She deserved that much.

A childhood memory played out in the prose. It didn’t concern her mother this time. It was something else and Alice was engrossed.

She was ten and had sneaked into the woods near grandma’s house with her cousin. There was a half-collapsed treehouse in the garden of an abandoned house in the wooded copse where children played. They’d been forbidden to go there because it was dangerous. John dared her to climb it, and Alice went first. Her fingers gripped the rotting planks, and she felt the house shift. She’d made it halfway up when the branch supporting her snapped.

Falling hard, she was winded and her arms were scraped raw. Tears welled in her eyes as she howled in pain. But, instead of helping, her cousin laughed and ran away.

The betrayal had burned deeper than the bruises, and she’d limped home in a huff, alone. That day marked a turning point in her childhood. It was a tiny event when she could have been seriously hurt. But somebody she’d trusted had mocked her, and although only a childhood squabble, she’d felt abandonment for the first time. The book wrote it and took a deep dive into her emotions. She’d swallowed her feelings, taken all the blame and punishment, and never told the family it was John’s idea. From that day, she was determined not to show weakness again. But now look at her.

She stared at the page. The book knew things she’d never spoken about. It didn’t have eyes or a mouth, but it saw everything, whispering poisoned ink into her thoughts. It recounted fragmented memories she’d buried so deep, she barely remembered them. And reading about her feelings as a child was fascinating. She saw her adult self being built from flesh and emotional conditioning.

She didn’t notice the bell ringing again. And when she did, her first reaction was irritation. That damn bell. If she lost the remnants of her sanity, it would be because of that thing. She waited and heard him struggling to the bathroom, and back again.

‘Piss off, Mick.’

She continued reading, blocking the sound of the bell—what did he want now?—until it went quiet, half an hour later. When it stopped ringing, the silence was worse. It clawed at her in accusation.

She let the guilt go and exhaled, feeling the tension release. She’d check on him in a few minutes.

But she waited until she needed the bathroom and heard him snoring to go upstairs. Her jaw clenched.

She moved with intent, crossing the room in an eerie fugue. Something about the story she’d read played in her head. She’d never again let somebody make her feel worthless. Nobody would make her weak. She went upstairs, down the hall, into the bedroom.  Barely glancing at Mick’s sleeping body, her focus fell on his crutches, propped against the nightstand. She looked at them the way a cat stares at a vase before knocking it off the sideboard.

Terrified of waking him and losing her freedom, she moved silently. She took the crutches to the far side of the room and the twisted part of her that emerged made her smile.

Let the bastard ring.

She returned to the book. Mick didn’t sleep long and the bell continued, but she had the door closed and barely heard it. She did hear him shouting, though.

There was a crash, followed by a thud and a guttural noise of pain.

Alice’s head snapped up and the book tumbled from her lap.

She snapped out of whatever had gripped her that afternoon and sprinted up the stairs. The state of Mick froze her blood.

He was on the floor, his body half in the hall. His face was twisted in pain, sweat beading on his forehead as he gritted his teeth.

‘What the hell, Alice? Where were you?’ His voice was raw, furious.

She rushed to his side, but he jerked away from her.

‘What happened?’ she asked. She already knew the answer and didn’t understand her actions.

‘I needed the bathroom. And some lunch might have been nice. But, you didn’t come.’ His breathing was ragged. ‘I tried to get up. And guess what? My crutches were on the other side of the bloody room. How do you suppose that happened, Dr Grant?’ He was enraged, but beneath the anger, she heard something worse. She perceived his fear.

Alice’s mouth was dry. ‘I don’t know.’ She was telling the truth, she didn’t know.

‘You moved them.’ His eyes burned into her.

‘No.’ She swallowed, trying to find a justification, an excuse, anything. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You forgot to feed Erik. And now this.’ His voice was cutting. ‘Yes, I heard. What the hell’s going on with you?’

Guilt clawed at her throat, but something darker stirred beneath it. She bit back at him with an anger she couldn’t suppress. ‘How dare you act like this is all my fault?’

‘You purposefully moved my crutches.’

‘Can you blame me? You drive me insane, lying in my bed, ringing that damn bell.’ Pulling her away from the book.

It was the book’s doing.

But how could she explain to Mick that a stupid pile of paper made her do this?

She took a slow breath. ‘I’m sorry.’

Mick didn’t respond. He pushed himself up with a wince, dragging himself toward his crutches. Alice reached out to help, but he waved her off.

‘I’ve got it.’

Silence stretched between them. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. But you aren’t you anymore,’ he said.

Her throat tightened. She wanted to argue. But the truth settled over her. She wasn’t herself.

And to punish him for pointing it out, she flounced out of the room as he struggled to reach his crutches. She smirked at him crawling across the floor and kicked them further out of his reach.

As an afterthought, she took his jug of orange juice with her.

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