Chapter Six
Hill Top Mount Retreat

He awoke to the gentle drone of a lawnmower floated through the window of the room he found himself in. The window was open a crack and secured with a safety lock to prevent it opening any further. On the windowsill, there were photos of a young women with two small children. In some there was a man about the same age as the woman… her partner? In others, an old man stood by.

He was lying in a bed in a sparsely decorated room. There was the smell of urine and overcooked food. On a sideboard opposite the bed was a portable CD player and radio, piles of unopened letters and cards, and bottles of pills and creams. A box of old books and a suitcase lay on the floor. Everything was fuzzy.

“Daniel?”
A woman’s voice called from outside followed by a knock on the door.
“I’ve got a cup of tea here for you, I’m just coming in.”
A kind looking middle-aged woman in pale blue uniform put down a mug next to the pills. She spoke loudly:
“Will you want your breakfast? The doctor’s coming in about forty minutes, so we need you up and ready for then.”
He tried to answer, but only a feeble sound came out.
“Never mind, I’ll be back in quarter of an hour or so and we can get you washed and dressed then, okay?” she announced as she left.
I need out.

With effort, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. Blood rushed to his head and he steadied himself on a handrail. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and recognized the old man in the photo, drained and crumpled like a note left in the wash. He wore a pale blue gown.

He made it across the room to the door and gave it a try. It wasn’t locked. He entered into a corridor. Other people stood or walked through: some in gowns like him, others in uniform or clothes. A scruffy looking man with a beard, stained tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt that read BCB 106.6FM walked by and greeted him cheerily, “Morning Daniel!” Further along the corridor was an open space with a pool table where an older woman sat on a leather chair, rocking and muttering under her breath. At the end of a second corridor, there was a fire exit. He could see that the door had been left ajar.

He walked to the door and exited into a garden. A couple of workmen sat smoking, but he passed by unnoticed. He walked alongside the fence and found a break in the panels to squeeze through. A rusty tack in the wood tore the gown and his papery skin underneath.

He emerged onto the dirt road he’d walked down earlier. Following the trail of laughing gas canisters, the bramble bushes decorated with used tissues, the parted sea of long grasses, the dirt track bordered by bluebells and the steep stone steps, he eventually came out onto the path between the reservoirs of Chellow Dean.
Below him, he could see the bottom lake and the tortoise shell island.

This time he headed right along the path of the top reservoir. There were fewer people up here. It was windy and he could hear the waters lapping against the sides. A huge tree had fallen down and lay half submerged in the water. He had to clamber over the trunk that blocked the path. As he walked towards the top end of the reservoir, the water became shallower and shallower, eventually thinning out into a pool of green algae. A set of stepping-stones led out to the middle.

He shakily crossed them and upon reaching the final stone, kneeled and stared deep into the algae. He was dizzy and faint. Blood dripped from his arm into the water. The green patterns swirled and shifted slowly, then expanded and rose towards him, filling his entire field of vision. Everything went black for a time.

When he came to, he saw his own body lying facedown in the pool.

Floating, he watched himself motionless in the shallows of Chellow Dean. A young boy approached and tried to rouse him up, but his mother ran up screaming and pulled him away. He was too far away to catch the name she shouted, but her voice was one he knew eternally.

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