Say Her Name (10 page)

Bobbie nodded, trying to absorb some of his calm by osmosis. Caine got out of the car and she followed, smoothing down her outfit. On the drive over, she’d let down her hair and swapped the sunglasses for her usual ones. ‘We’re just paying a visit,’ Bobbie said to herself as much as Caine.

Mark pulled away, heading back to Radley High, leaving them in front of the mental hospital. It was surprisingly quiet. Bobbie had half expected there to be wailing, flailing mad people struggling inside straightjackets, even if she knew that was purely TV territory.

A first few marble-sized drops of rain spattered onto the tarmac. ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’ Caine put an arm around her and steered her up the steps. Automatic doors slid open, and the reception area was pretty much like any doctor’s surgery: a desk, a couple of padded chairs in eggshell blue, tatty posters about how one in four of us will experience mental-health problems. The only difference was that the room was secure. Access to the rest of the building was behind tightly shut security doors, guarded by a man in uniform.

Bobbie forced herself to smile for the receptionist. ‘Hi, we’re here to see Bridget Horne, please.’

The receptionist, an impossible-to-age, obese woman with a red face and salt-and-vinegar odour, tapped something into her computer. ‘Okay, sweetheart. Take the lift to the third floor and there’s a waiting room.’

Bobbie almost keeled over. Surely it couldn’t be that simple. There was an obnoxious honking noise and the security light above the double doors changed from red to green. ‘Go on through,’ said the guard. ‘Third floor.’

Not needing to be told twice, the pair hurried through. As soon as they were in the lift, Bobbie exhaled for what felt like the first time in five minutes. ‘Why was I so nervous?’

‘I know,’ Caine agreed. ‘I guess it’s just a hospital.’

The lift arrived at the third floor and they stepped out into another NHS room, only this one had Radio 2 playing at a low volume. It had that awful hospital smell – alcohol hand gel mixed with vomit and disinfectant. The air was oddly sweet too, like someone had been spraying room freshener.

This time Caine approached the reception desk. ‘Hi, we’re here to see Bridget Horne.’

The nurse at the station – a handsome ginger-haired guy in his twenties – looked surprised. ‘You’re here to see Bridget?’

‘Yeah,’ Bobbie said. ‘Friends of the family.’

The nurse – David, according to his name badge – looked her up and down sceptically. ‘Bridget doesn’t get visitors other than her mother.’

‘I know. It was her mum who asked if we’d come. I think she wants Bridget to see more people … ’ Bobbie felt awful lying. Bridget was alone and her only visitors were here for selfish reasons.

‘Can you wait here, please?’ David swiped a security pass through a card reader and entered the ward. Craning her neck, Bobbie looked through the glass in the door. He was talking to another nurse or a doctor – it was hard to tell when they all wore those pyjama scrubs. Eventually, he returned with a kind-faced Asian woman dressed in normal clothes.

‘Hi, I’m Dr Kahn. David says you’d like to visit Bridget?’

‘Yes please,’ Caine said.

‘I have to say, this is quite unusual. Bridget is a very anxious patient, and doesn’t really enjoy visits – not even from her mother.’

Bobbie could see this failing, but it only made her more determined. They’d got this far. ‘Please. I … we just want to help.’ That much was true. Anything they could do to stop Mary might help Bridget too. Dr Kahn didn’t seem convinced, so Bobbie jumped in again. ‘Please. If you could just tell her that … that … we’re on day three.’ Instinctively she knew she shouldn’t mention Mary’s name.

Dr Kahn looked even more confused but, with a sigh, swiped her way back onto the ward, leaving them in reception. When she returned moments later, the bafflement on the doctor’s face was next level. ‘Okay. This is very strange, but she says she’ll see you.’ Behind the desk, David dropped his pen in shock. ‘Do either of you have mirrors on you, or anything reflective at all? We can’t have any mirrors on the ward – it triggers Bridget’s psychosis.’

Bobbie rummaged through her satchel and found a pressed powder compact with a mirror inside the lid that actually belonged to Naya. She handed it to David who placed it behind the counter. Caine gave over his phone, which had a shiny chrome cover.

The nerves were back. As Dr Kahn led them onto the ward, Bobbie’s tummy crunched painfully. Without thinking about it, almost like her hand was seeking its own comfort, her fingers found Caine’s. He gave her hand a squeeze.

The patients were an eclectic bunch. From what Bobbie could tell, this must be a mixed ward – mixed nuts (why her brain thought
now
was the time to make lame and offensive puns was anyone’s guess). The ward didn’t look unlike a classroom: in the centre of a shared area there were two large tables set out for activities. There was a man in his forties, receding hair slicked down on his head, painstakingly cutting letters out of a magazine. The scissors precisely followed the edge of the R he was cutting. On the other side of his table a black woman with a shaved head was writing in a diary in the most minute handwriting Bobbie had ever seen, almost as if she had challenged herself to write in the smallest letters ever. The microscopic notes filled entire pages.

On the next table, a younger patient, a guy not much older than them, was having a tantrum, a nurse calmly trying to reason with him as he stamped his feet. ‘Okay.’ Dr Kahn stopped them outside the door to a side room. ‘Bridget doesn’t really leave her room, so you’ll have to see her in there.’

‘That’s cool,’ Caine said, although he now looked twitchy. Bobbie could feel the palm of his hand, red hot against her skin. Dr Kahn opened the bedroom door, but Bobbie saw only darkness inside – the curtains drawn. With a clenched jaw, and clutching Caine’s hand like a security blanket, she entered the shadows.

Chapter 13

It took Bobbie’s eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. Thick drapes hung over the single window, letting only pencil-grey light bleed in around the edges. Bobbie could make out rough shapes – a single bed, an empty desk under the window, a single plastic chair, a functional wardrobe. Like trying to find a specimen in the nocturnal house at the zoo, it was only on second glance that she even realised there was a figure in the room.

Bridget was pressed into the corner where her bed met the wall, sitting with her knees tucked under her chin – the exact same way Bobbie had crouched on that toilet in her dream. Only the whites of her eyes were immediately visible. She peered out through curtains of greasy brown hair, which hung over her shoulders. Bobbie wondered how long it had been since she’d seen the sun – her face was so pale it was ghostly, with raccoon circles around each sunken eye. ‘Hello, Bridget, these are your vis—’ Dr Kahn began.

‘You called her, didn’t you?’ Bridget slurred. It was hard to age her; on the one hand she looked haggard, older than her thirty years, but at the same time she seemed like a frightened little girl, curled up in a ball on the bed.

Bobbie’s eyes widened and she gripped Caine a little tighter. He gripped back.

Dr Kahn spoke again. ‘Bridget is taking some quite powerful anti-psychotics, that’s why she’s so drowsy.’

It seemed to take Bridget a great deal of effort to hold her head up. It hung to one side – her posture not unlike the silhouette Bobbie had seen in the corridor two nights ago. ‘Leave us alone.’ Bridget peered at Dr Kahn.

‘I’m not sure that’s such a –’

‘It’s fine,’ Bobbie assured the doctor.

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay. I’ll be just outside if you need anything.’ Reluctantly, Dr Kahn left, closing the door behind her.

‘Do you want the light on?’ Caine asked Bridget.

‘No.’

Bobbie gestured at the plastic chair. ‘May I?’

‘Doesn’t matter, does it?’ Bridget picked at a corner of her pillow with fingernails she’d bitten down to the quick. ‘You’ve only got a day and a half left, you can do what you want.’

On the chair there was a large wash bowl with a bedpan and jug inside. Bobbie realised that Bridget never left this room – certainly not to go to a bathroom. Bathrooms had mirrors in. Not making a fuss, Bobbie placed the apparatus under the chair and sat on it. Caine hovered at her side, unsure of what to do with his hand now that she’d returned it. ‘We saw your blog,’ Bobbie started. ‘I’m Bobbie, by the way, and this is Caine.’

‘She told me your names.’

Bobbie glanced up at Caine. ‘What?’

‘She knows you now. You let her in. She can see inside you. She
knows
you. Always looking in through windows.’

Swallowing hard, Bobbie said: ‘We did the summoning. In Piper’s Hall.’

Bridget giggled. ‘Why else would you be here? I knew it’d happen when everyone forgot about us. While people remembered what happened to us, no one would be fool enough to say her name. I guess we’re old news now – day-old bread. Time for the next generation.’

‘Forgot about who?’ Caine asked, clearing his throat.

‘Me and Abi and Tay.’ Maybe it was the darkness, or perhaps the medication, but Bridget’s swollen pupils were gaping black holes in her face, drawing Bobbie in.

‘W-what happened to them?’ Bobbie tripped over her words. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but if there’s any way we can stop it from happening to us.’

‘You can’t.’

‘Please … ’

‘Five days,’ she snapped. ‘You get five days and that’s it. It’s all wound up and then it just tick, tick, ticks away until time runs out. You wound it up and you can’t stop the clock.’

‘Please, Bridget. Tell us what happened. We’ll believe you.’

She seemed to perk up at that, snapping out of her rut. When she spoke she was animated, bordering on manic. ‘There was a house party in Oxsley. Some girl, she had a really pointy face, was telling us why she was so scared of Piper’s Hall – a ghost story about a girl called Mary who threw herself off the cliffs into the sea. There was an urban legend – although I never understood why it’s
urban
given that the school’s in the middle of the countryside – that if you called her name five times she’d appear in the mirror.

‘We all thought it was a load of crap of course, but when we got back to Piper’s Hall – we were in Upper One – Abi thought it’d be hilarious to give it a whirl. That’s Abi for you – nothing’s too stupid to try … I remember once she snorted sherbet because she heard you got high off it. I swear she sneezed for an hour afterwards.’ Bridget chuckled wildly at the memory. ‘We did it in the Uppers’ Common Room toilets. It was just the three of us – we even lit a candle, just like in the story. Taylor had the worst fit of giggles ever – it took us about a year to say her name … ’

Caine chipped in: ‘Bloo—’

‘DON’T SAY IT!’ For the first time, Bridget moved. She sprang across the bed, agile as a cat, and clamped a hand over Caine’s mouth. His eyes widened with shock. ‘Don’t say it,’ she whispered. ‘Never say it. Haven’t you learned? She’s always listening in.’ She let go and Caine backed away with shaking breath.

‘What happened next?’

Bridget crawled back onto the bed, returning to her den like Gollum. ‘We said it once, then twice, then three times, then four times … and then I stopped. I saw something in the corner of my eye. Right at the back of the mirror something shuffled around. Like we’d woken something up. You don’t keep prodding a sleeping bear, do you? So I stopped at four times. Tay and Abi said her name a fifth time though. They didn’t see. They didn’t stop.’

‘You only said it four times?’

Bridget nodded. ‘It was enough though. Enough to let her in. She’s waiting on the line for number five.’ The girl started to rock gently back and forth. Her foot started tapping. ‘Always waiting for me to say her name.’

Bobbie couldn’t sit still a moment longer. She joined Bridget on the bed and placed a hand on her knee to stop the tapping. ‘Bridget, it’s okay. That was years ago … she isn’t coming for you.’ It all made sense. Bobbie had been living with this for three days, whereas it had been hanging over Bridget for more than thirteen years. It was no wonder.

‘I see her in my dreams. I see the graveyard. She hasn’t forgotten me … she’s waiting for me to slip up.’

‘What happened after you summoned her?’ Caine asked. ‘Did you start seeing stuff?’

‘We broke up for the Easter holidays the next day. We all went home. I was in Italy and I hadn’t thought about it, until I got a text from Abi. At the time I didn’t think anything of it … why would I? I was clueless … stupid little idiot in front of a mirror …
say her name five times
.’

‘What did the text say?’

‘It said, “Hey, hon, how are you? Anything weird going on?” I ignored it and then they both vanished. That’s when I looked in a mirror … and saw her waiting.’

Bobbie chewed her lip, deep in thought. There was nothing in her story they didn’t already know, and nothing that would help. ‘Bridget. When you see Mary in your dreams … does she show you things?’

‘Only the graveyard.’

‘Which graveyard?’

‘The one at St Paul’s. She’s laughing at me. I can hear her laughing in the graveyard.’

Bobbie shuddered like there was ice in her bones. ‘I think … I think she’s trying to tell me something. So that we can stop this. So we can help her.’

‘No!’ Bridget gripped Bobbie’s wrist. ‘Why? Why would you help her?’

‘I think … ’

‘Don’t
help
her. Keep her in the cage. Dog on a chain. She’s a dog on a chain, tied to the school.’

Bobbie looked to Caine for support, but he only shrugged. ‘I think M— I think
she
needs help … I think she’s lost … unhappy.’

Bridget laughed bitterly. ‘Misery loves company. She’s dragging us down into her grave.’

Is that what this was? Mary was so sad, she wanted them all to feel it too? Bobbie was sure there was more to it than that. In a weird way she wished she could just get the spectre face-to-face. ‘I’m not giving up,’ Bobbie said quietly. She prized Bridget’s fingers off her wrist.

‘Neither am I,’ Caine added.

‘We still have two days left. We can stop this.’

The giggling continued. She spoke in a girlish, sing-song voice. ‘You don’t get it, do you?
She
won’t give up. She hasn’t given up on meeeeeeee … ’

Bobbie frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look out of the window.’ But Bridget herself turned inwards, resting her head against the plaster wall. Bobbie felt her skin crawl once more, the hairs pricking on the nape of her neck. She rose from the bed and slowly crossed to the window. Outside she could hear freckles of rain dotting the glass. They hit the windowsill in thick, heavy drops.

Bobbie opened the curtains, not sure what to expect. She made an involuntary gasp at what she saw. ‘What is it?’ Caine asked, squinting as grey daylight flooded the sterile cell.

Rainwater trickled down the window, but two handprints were clearly distinguishable where palms had been pressed against the pane. ‘Handprints.’ Bobbie ran a finger over the glass.

‘So what?’ Caine said.

Bobbie turned to face him. ‘They’re on the
outside
and we’re three storeys up.’