The bed rocked. Bridget lay as still as she could. The sensation reminded her of when she was a child, when she used to play hide and seek with her mother. She would lie under the duvet, keeping totally still as her mother frantically searched the house for her; to this day she didn’t know if she really couldn’t see her under there or if her mother had just been playing along. The first explanation was more likely. Finally, the rocking stopped. Time seemed to stretch. Bridget cautiously opened her eyes; sure enough, the red water was gone, taking Wilberforce with it. The room had returned to normal, and apart from a banging headache, Bridget felt calm again.
She re-wrapped the gash on her leg and lowered herself off the bed, grabbing the stool from under the dressing table and taking it over to the camera, trying to stay out of its view. She got on to the stool and reached for the camera, pulling at the wire that snaked from the side. It came loose. It wasn’t attached to anything, it had already been cut. It was just for show. Why did he tell me they were watching?
Safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t being watched, Bridget grabbed the baseboard of the bed and pulled it towards her. It was heavy but she was determined. Her leg throbbed. Her brain began to feel patchy, as though her memory was slipping away. She felt in her pocket for the spoon she’d taken from the tray. She would use it to scratch a message into the floor, in case she forgot everything again. She couldn’t put it anywhere too obvious. She walked to the end of the bed and then she saw it. Her blood ran cold.
There was a message there already. Lying next to the words was a metal spoon, the end of it worn down to almost nothing. Her name was carved into the floor, again and again, the handwriting growing more and more manic as the words stacked up. She had been here for a while. She had done this before. What was wrong with her memory?
Bridget got down on her knees and started to scribble her name once more. Over and over. Her hand began to ache. Her head hurt and she felt nauseated. Who the hell was that man? The man that had made her feel so good, who she had wanted to stay with her. Who she had wanted to sleep with? She searched her mind for a name. Nothing happened. She couldn’t find it. Was he another hallucination? What the hell were those pills? She hoped to God she would remember. She didn’t want to go to sleep again for fear of forgetting everything. God knew how many times she had forgotten all this before. She lay down and clutched at her head, hoping to stop the spinning. Her eyes grew heavy and sleep drew closer. It was pulling her down, down into the darkness.