Then she would wake: cold, covered in sweat, lonely and afraid. Her eyes would flicker and search around her for what seemed hours before the inky black empty space would become her own comfortable, calm and cosy bedroom. Despite the return of her lost sense and bedroom the fear would remain just as real and as painful. For the rest of the night she would lay still, not wanting anyone or thing to be aware of her wake state of mind, eyes tight shut so no emotion may enter to escape. She must cease in existence until day break when all can be forgotten for twelve sweet hours.
But tonight something was different. The booming silence was the same but feeling had not come yet and glancing over at her clock, it clearly read eleven twenty seven. She had made it through; she had broken the cycle. She had won.
Without thinking she moved her hand over her letter opener and flipped the switch on her radio and drifted into sleep, with a lingering, violin solo.
But now she was driving again but this time it wasn’t the blackness limiting her sight but a bright, overwhelming light. Her sub-conscious however, made no effort to move or react, it was lifeless. It was different. She then knew she was not dreaming and that she must take control except although it was her turning the wheel it was not her making the choice in direction or speed. Her body was there, her senses were there, but her mind was absent. The same sense of slowing then came over the car and in the same snake like motion it slipped into the quiet, lifeless and calm service station. Her hand moved deftly to the radio dial and the radio sounded out the chilling song and bulletin before the semi-dead attendant came over. He, as always, tapped on the window and pleaded with her to come out of her vehicle. She stayed seated the fear mounting inside her and closing its cold hands around her thin neck, or was that fear?
Now the car lurched into action as if it too feared its very existence when resting in the dormant service station.
The cold grasp around her neck remained and yet she continued to drive. It tightened. It was hurting now and she was gasping for breath but the road continued to whiz under the car, the pain forcing her to continue. Her eyes were wide but she could not see anything. Her heart pounded hard. Her hands were gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles went white. Then the world went slow and silent. A cold stream of liquid, red liquid, was seeping down from her neck. Then it was over and it went so loud it was deafening.
Blue lights flashed, an ambulance, a police car. Lily was being lifted in to the ambulance. A buzz of people hummed around her. Then it all went black.
She woke up with a man standing at the end of her bed. He had a low voice and was humming the same violin tune in hushed tones. She then knew he had been the one who had tried to kill her. The room was white, bright and very clean, but to her it seemed dark, lonely and stuffy. The man just stood there watching her and not moving. She tried to yell but no sound left her mouth and sharp pain pulsated in her neck. She tried to move but could not manage that either. She just lay there, helpless and vulnerable. The man moved to her side and his hand touched her face. His touch was soft, but it made her spine tremble. Then he left. He made no noise and the door closed behind him silently. She lay there knowing that he would return one day. The door opened again and her eyes met those of a young, jolly looking woman. Tears now streamed down her face as the woman explains the she had been injured very badly and would never speak again.
She spent many weeks in the hospital but never once did she sleep, not risking slipping into the nightmare again. She resisted sedation and as she grew more tired she became violent to the staff. Lashing out when she could not shout. Eventually she was transferred to the psychiatric unit where she sat all day in a bright room listening to the same sad violin solo, never blinking. She lived for many years in a state closer to death than being alive, until one day she slipped into a sleep and was found dead grasping her neck and brandishing a knife. The question on everyone’s lips was: ‘How did a well known self-harmer get hold of a knife?’
After Lily’s death the nurse who had first told her she would never speak again was sorting through her personal things, ready to pass them on to her family. When finding out whom to send them to, she discovered that her father had killed her mother by strangling and cutting her neck in the car, with Lily aged six sitting there next to her mother. Her father was later sectioned as a schizophrenic who was a danger to others.
The nurse sat there shocked, but knowing that there were no longer any questions.
