Heavy the Guilt we Bare

         
Pauline O'Leary clutched her rounded hat, the wind lashing ferociously. The air smelled of smoke; not cigarettes, but the musty vapour old industrial buildings excreted. The chatter around her had awkwardly ceased, the only sound now the busy street behind her. Chronically jetlagged, woozy from the sleeping pills, she had finally made it, from Melbourne, to Dublin.
In front of her the run down, abandoned Grangegorman Lunatic Asylum. A staggered pattern of decaying red brick formed a structural semi circle, the glass entry door directly ahead smashed, shards of glass littering the courtyard in which she stood. Hundreds of tiny square windows decorated the outside walls; vertical bars garlanded every smeared glass panel.
Handing her Gucci crocodile skin bag to the man beside her, she offered him a smile;
"Would you mind looking after that for me?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Which one of you is Kabel?"
A pale man in his early thirties stepped forward, jet black hair and deep green eyes.
         "Ai, that be me my lady, how was yer flight?" he asked, in a strange condescending way, a strong irish accent.
         "It was okay, first class gets a little worse every time. But enough of that, is this it? This is the place?"
         "'Tis lassy, but why don't we-"
"Please," Pauline interrupted, raising her hand and clasping her eyes shut, "this is where my mother breathed her final moments. It took me a long time to find this information and I paid you a lot of money to take me into this God forsaken place, I would appreciate it if you could just show me the way to her room. When we are done, these men can continue to demolish the building."
The lingering workmen, dressed in high-visibility yellow jackets, muttered irritably, crossing their arms and scuffing the sidewalk with their boots. Some of them trotted in circles, making frustrated snarling sounds. The sky formed a black sea of marshmallow clouds, threatening to pour at any moment.
"Kabel, as you promised, take me inside, take me to room 55E."


The cell doors inside the corridors of the Grangegorman were missing. The roof flaunted obscure hexagonal patterns in non linear ways, the decaying brick walls a clinical off white, stained with dirt, mud, and smears of blood. Pauline paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, the only available light stemming from Kabel's tiny black torch, its pitiful beam weary and dim, offering her little solace.
"Come this way, you'll have to follow me, and if you like, we can stop at-"
"Just...take me...please," Pauline urged, fluttering her hand, "I just want to see the room, then leave. Why is it so dark?"
Their footsteps echoed down the ominously sparse corridors. With such little light, Pauline's senses were flared, the reverberation of her and Kabel's footsteps almost deafening. They turned a corner, only to find another endless passageway. Pauline grimaced, trying to hold her breath. The stale air festered unsavoury cocktails of odours; rotting flesh, moth balls, and bleach. The stench made her eyes water.
Continuing for a moment, Kabel stopped, his face scrunched up in confusion, alongside him, a now frustrated Pauline. A third set of footsteps behind them also halted. Pauline turned, scanning the darkness behind her. Kabel lifted his pitiful light.
"Did you hear that?" She asked
"'Twas nothing," Kabel assured her, as she fiddled with her hair, twirling it in knots, "a mouse perhaps."
"Right then," Pauline nodded with an unenthused frown, biting her lip.
"Well 55E should be right around this 'ere bend lassy," his voice almost playful.
"Should be?" Pauline grumbled, stamping her foot, "I was told your father used to work here."
"Ai for sure, 'twas a while ago you see, but I know my way."
With Kabel leading, they continued down another corridor, exactly the same as the last; sterile brick, abandoned cells, unsightly cement floors. Along the wall hung a noticeboard, crooked, tiny bits of paper clinging terminally to it. Pauline read them, glancing over each ancient crinkled page; memos, announcements, patient documents and medication times.
They bore the same font and logo as the one she mysteriously received in the mail last week, and at the bottom, the same signature.
She felt another wave of guilt cross over her. Her mother suffered here for a very long time, and not once did she ever make an effort to visit. Pauline placed a finger on a document, tapping the signature tucked in the corner, turning to Kabel.
"This signature, who does it belong..."
She trailed off. He was gone. She was so engrossed in the notices she didn't realise the light had dimmed. Above, along the deteriorating hexagonal roof, small clinical bulbs flickered with a static hiss. She turned left, then right, her breathing heavy. She felt her heart race.
"Kabel?" her voice echoed anxiously. A door slammed down one of the darkened corridors. Her hands shaking, she reached into her jacket pocket, desperate to find anything to help break the darkness.
"Kabel, I don't know which way to go, come back right now!"
She heard a clunk and a rattle, like a giant chain had been dropped. The sound resonated across the walls, over and over. Taking a few short steps towards the sound, Pauline held her breath, trying to prevent a panic attack. Sweat grew heavy on her brow. The end of the corridor was a blurred inky abyss, devoid of light. Another door slammed.
"Kabel!" She screeched, flinging her arms. Then she paused, her eyes grew wide and she fought back dizzy spells. Across the wall to her left, smeared in dried blood, a single sentence.
We are truly forsaken, God has no place within these walls.
A lump formed in Pauline's throat. "Kabel, please, I need-"

She paused. Soft singing trailed from one of the cells nearby; a female voice singing a melody, gentle, slow, haunting. The air grew wintry, a sudden chill encompassing the eerie passageway.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
While she approached the darkened cell, the singing continued. The patter of her footsteps awoke sleeping dust, circling around like a small tornado. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook. She stopped right before the entry to the cell, listening to the raspy singing, a melancholy tune, full of sadness. Hundreds of scratches in the chipped paint littered the edges of the cell doorway, the result of fingernails.
"Kabel?" Pauline whimpered, tears streaming down her face, "Kabel, is that you? I'd like to leave now."
She stepped inside the cell. Hit with an overwhelming smell of decay, she stumbled momentarily, the festering smell impeding her balance. Outstretching her arms, she took a moment to try to locate the source of the singing.
The cell was empty.
Realising the singing had stopped, Pauline gathered her thoughts. Her heart pounded, her brow damp with sweat. She had to leave. She had no option but to leave the asylum, the walls were closing in; she felt an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. Kabel must have stepped out, perhaps to speak with the foreman outside, to allow for a little more time. She felt so alone, so vulnerable. She wanted closure, but this wasn't it. She looked up, the cell number faded; barely visible, masked by the forbidding darkness.
Cell 55E. She was standing in her mother's cell.
"Everything will be okay," a placid female voice murmured from behind her, outside the cell, "Dr. Kabel told me everything. He's good to you. But it seems your episodes are getting worse."
With a trenchant squeal, the giant cell door slammed shut.
"No!" Pauline screeched.
"Your brother will be by soon, he wants to see you. Nurse Smith will pop by with your medication at half nine."
"Wait!" Pauline screamed, scratching at the sides of the doorway, her fingernails penetrating the paint, "wait, you're mistaken!" The huge steel door housed a single window, covered in heavy mesh. She screamed out in desperation, again and again. Trembling, she fell to her knees, fits of heavy breathing making her lungs ache. A scrunched bit of paper fell from her pocket. Pauline glanced over it, the handwriting identical to the noticeboard documents; same font, same signature. She read the handwriting slowly, her chin quivering, nausea building.
"Dear Ms. O'Leary, your daughter has again declined to meet with you. She has requested that all correspondence cease. Please do not send any more requests of this nature."
"No," Pauline wailed, her saddened cries echoing, "Please, no."
"Hello Paulie," a man's voice chimed from outside the cell window, "Dr Kabel tells me you went on another flight. Where was it this time? Looks like those pills made you woozy. I'll arrange a different dose next time."
Pauline glanced down at her wrists; multiple scars, old lacerations, dried blood stained each forearm.
"And no more cuts you hear? Those cryptic messages you smear on the walls are driving the cleaners bonkers."

         

5

         3109HUM Popular Fiction &          Mass Culture - Assessment #2
         Tim Kitto - s2755845