Spider in the Corner of the Room - [47]

‘Okay, well, the Project used to be part of MI5, but now it’s not. There are others involved, too, but…’ She breathes out. ‘Look, I can’t say who, but I am authorised to say this: Mickie Croft is out to kill you, we have confirmation now, fresh intel. She’s been ordered to do it as soon as she gets her chance. Dr Andersson will probably assist her.’

‘Bollocks,’ Patricia says. ‘Total bollocks. Mickie is a nutter who’s already laid seven bells into Maria. You know that. You’re just trying to play up to it and-’

Without warning, Bobbie flies at Patricia, wraps her fingers round her throat and pins her up against the wall.

‘Bobbie!’ I yell.

‘This is not a game, do you hear me?’ Bobbie spits, teeth snarling. Patricia manages a small nod. ‘It’s not a fucking game.’

Bobbie lets go and Patricia drops to the ground, gasping. I run to her.

‘Why did you do that?’ I say, checking Patricia.

Bobbie brushes herself down. ‘Because this is serious. The Project put me here to protect you. You are not safe here.’

I look at her, my mind questioning over and over whether I should believe her. Then a puzzle piece slots into place. ‘Callidus and the Project-they are the same thing.’

She nods. ‘Project Callidus-that’s the code name.’

My brain whizzes, computes, calibrates. ‘That’s where they took me.’

‘What?

Patricia stands. ‘Doc?’

But I ignore her, look to Bobbie, hands shaking, eyes wild. ‘Sometimes I have memories of being in a ward, a hospital. They are doing tests on me, horrible tests. Was it there? Did they do the tests there, at Callidus?’

Bobbie looks between me and Patricia, her fists clenched, her brow furrowed. ‘Yes,’ she says after a moment, a whisper. ‘They did tests there. Yes.’

‘So the handlers, my professors, my boss-they were all with this Project Callidus?’

A nod.

I slap my hand to my mouth. ‘My God.’ I stumble back against the wall. And then I realise. ‘Dr Andersson-she takes my blood, does tests on it.’

‘Doc, you okay?’

‘I have to go,’ Bobbie says, fast. ‘Speak to the Governor, bring your notebook. He has a laptop…you’ll see. It will make sense.’ She turns, starts to leave.

‘Wait! You said to look in my notebook for the answer, but it’s not there. There is no answer.’

But she keeps moving, head down, hands thrust into pockets.

I go to run after her but Patricia grabs me. ‘Doc, no. Don’t make a scene.’

‘What is Project Callidus?’ I yell. ‘What is Project Callidus?’

Yet still Bobbie strides away, not responding, a ball of dust behind her, and then she is gone. Patricia lets go of my arm, and I glance upwards, squint.

There, standing by one of the office suite windows, is the Governor.

I stay behind Kurt as he weaves past the warren of rooms.

He does not talk to me, does not look my way. He keeps his eyes straight ahead and continues to move. I do not know where we are going. I do not know why. I am nervous. My head feels fuzzy, my tongue strangely thick, rough like cloth.

Kurt comes to a halt. ‘Here we are.’

Ahead of us there is a door. I step forward and read the plaque stuck on the front of it.

‘The Banana Room,’ I say. ‘What is this?’

‘Somewhere to talk.’

Kurt opens a metal box connected to the wall. The door is thick, fluorescent yellow paint daubed in stripes across the middle, and on the top right sits a black smiley emoticon face the size of my hand.

Kurt enters a code. There is a loud click. ‘In you go.’

I hesitate, hands tight against my thighs. The door pops open and Kurt gestures for me to enter.

‘I said in you go.’ He is smiling but it is small, a shard, a sliver.

I shake my head. ‘I do not want to.’

‘You have to.’

I sway a little, the nerves getting the better of me, then freeze. Kurt’s hand is placed on the small of my back. ‘I said, “in”.’

Swallowing, I place my left foot into the room and gasp. Each of the four walls is painted green. But it is not simply household paint. From what I can see in the dim light, each wall appears to move. Taking another step forward, my eyes adjust and I can see that the movement is art. Someone has created head-to-toe murals on each of the four walls, each separate and distinct in design.

Kurt closes the door behind me and switches on a light.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

But I ignore him, instead stepping forward, observing. Now I can see that there is a path on the wall. I barely want to look, fear creeping up my spine, my neck, its fingers round my throat. What is going on? Where am I? I swallow hard, blink. The path runs through a boulevard of trees, their dark green leaves pointing like fingers to the middle. I cock my head. The path leads to a forest that sits in the distance. This forest is darker, as if forbidden to enter, like the Hansel and Gretel story my father used to read to me when I was little. I turn to see Kurt frowning.

I point at the set of painted leaves, finger trembling. ‘The painting. It…it is a version of the Arrival of Spring in Woldgate. It’s taken from David Hockney, inspired by him. The artist who did it must have attended the Royal Academy of Art, just like Hockney.’

Kurt stays very still. ‘Maria, where do you think you are?’