Spider in the Corner of the Room - [38]

My mind races past all the possibilities and I feel giddy with it all, as if I am opening up a sealed box for the first time. I have to get to my notebook. I look at the clock. Ten fifty-five. I am meeting Harry Warren soon. I have to get to Patricia, get to our cell, tell her all about these new thoughts, write them down.

‘I am seeing Harry Warren at eleven hundred hours,’ I say, immediately standing, feverish with fresh hope. ‘I need my notebook. I have to get it from my cell. Now.’

‘Wait! You can’t just-’

‘Now,’ I repeat, running to the door.

‘Maria, I need to know about this memory. Wait!’

But before she can stop me, before she can tell me I am losing my mind, I have opened the door and left, only just managing to suppress the laughter, the sheer joy that wants to erupt from deep inside me.

I arrive at our cell and scan the room. ‘Patricia?’ I wait, chest heaving. Nothing. ‘Patricia, I have something to tell you! I need my writing pad. I think I know what has been happening with-’

I step forward and halt.

Something is swinging at the back of the cell behind the shelf. ‘Patricia, Father Reznik was really…’

And that is when I see her.

Patricia, hanging above the toilet.

With her walking socks roped together around her neck.

Chapter 11

‘Help!’ I scream. ‘Someone help!’

Guards rush into the cell and immediately radio for emergency assistance.

‘The rope, the socks,’ I say, fast, desperate. ‘We have to loosen them, get her out. Quick.’

I hold Patricia’s legs, feel the bones through her flesh as a guard frees her neck, her head flopping to one side, limp, lifeless. My friend. I fight back the tears, concentrate on what I am trained to do.

Once we have her down, I immediately start CPR. The heels of my palms press into her ribcage, pushing air into her. Then I tell the guard to copy me, to take over as I pinch Patricia’s nose, cover her mouth with mine and breathe into her. When the medical team arrives, they order me to stand back. My shoulders are heavy; my hands throb. I watch as they take over the cardiopulmonary resuscitation, wiping my face, not wanting the guards to see how I feel, how important Patricia is to me just so they can laugh.

‘Oi. Robot. Move back,’ says the guard.

‘Does she have a pulse?’ I ask the doctor.

But they all ignore me and, after dragging the trolley in, lay Patricia down, a mobile CPR unit next to it. Heart rate machine. Needles.

‘Get me the adrenaline and atropine,’ says the doctor. ‘And we’re going to need the defib.’

I stay very still. This is not good news, asking for the defib. A tear leaks out, one, sliding down my cheek. My friend. She is my friend. The guard looks at my face. I rub the evidence away.

A nurse attaches the heart monitor to Patricia’s chest while another holds a bag and mask over her face, over Patricia’s lily-white face. I watch, body stiff like steel, yet inside, I am a whirlwind, a rabid dog, diseased, broken.

The doctor presses the heel of his hands down on Patricia’s chest for CPR just as I did. ‘One, two, three, four.’ He looks to Patricia. ‘Breathe!’

The nurse checks the monitor. ‘She’s in VF.’

Another tear breaks out. I slap it back.

The doctor looks up. ‘Let’s shock her.’

The nurse hands him two defibrillator paddles.

‘Charging at two hundred. Clear!’

The medical team stands back as the doctor puts the paddles on Patricia’s chest. Her body rises suddenly at the shock, and then falls.

The nurse consults the monitor. ‘Nothing.’

But the doctor is already pulling up some adrenaline. He flicks the needle and injects it into Patricia’s vein. ‘Ten mils of adrenaline going in. Obs?’

I look at her. Please, I want good news. ‘Still no response,’ says the nurse. ‘She’s asystolic.’

‘Paddles,’ says the doctor. ‘Charge at two sixty. Clear!’

Patricia’s body rises and falls as she is shocked.

The doctor waits. ‘Come on.’

My pulse pounds through my veins and if I could give it, if I could give my life, my blood to Patricia right here, right now, I would.

The nurse checks the monitor. ‘No output.’

‘What happened?’ I look up. Dr Andersson. She is standing in the doorway.

‘She tried to hang herself,’ I say, my voice flat, pale.

The doctor stands back. ‘Still no output.’

Patricia’s chest does not move.

‘Maria,’ Dr Andersson says, ‘do you want me to take you to get another appointment with your barrister? You’ve missed your slot. We can speak to the legal advisor.’

Harry Warren-I had forgotten.

‘Maria,’ she says softly.

There is still no output on the monitor. Patricia. She is my only friend.

‘Maria?’ Dr Andersson says. ‘Do you want me to-’

‘Yes.’

‘Charge at three sixty!’

I spin round. The nurse’s eyes are wide. ‘Doctor, I don’t think we should-’

‘Three sixty, nurse!’ The doctor shouts. ‘Clear!’

‘Maria, let’s go,’ Dr Andersson says, but I ignore her, not able to drag myself away, to be parted again from someone I care about. The doctor shocks Patricia with the defibrillator.

The nurse shakes her head. ‘She’s not responding.’

‘No!’ I rush forward, pleading, wild. ‘Try again. You must try again!’ I attempt to grab the defibrillator then stop. There is a red line running across the monitor screen. That means no output. No response.