Enigma - 3. Chapter 3 - Discoveries

I leave Silver under the shower for about half an hour while I grapple with my out of control emotions. I am a professional. I am above all this. I do not let my residents get under my skin. I will not allow myself to lose perspective. I will be professional. I am so professional that I go downstairs and carefully count out Silver’s medication for the day and carry this morning’s pills back up. Then I sit and look at them for a while, pondering ever so professionally why they choose the colours they do when making them... I mean, why make a pink pill pink or a blue pill blue’ it doesn’t affect their efficiency.

Eventually I can’t put it off any longer and I open the shower door handing Silver a large fluffy towel, instructing him to dry himself while I rinse and turn off the shower.

When I’m finished I notice that he is watching me with a strange look in his eyes. It is not the intelligence I saw before, but not the completely blank look either; it is more a kind of mindless curiosity.

Sighing, I take the towel and start to blot the moisture from his shoulders and back. It is then that I notice the scars. There are many of them, old and silvery, criss crossing the skin across his shoulders back and buttocks. I make a mental note to check on those in the notes, or with the hospital, in particular precisely when they were inflicted, and if possible, how.

I turn him around and check out his chest. There are no scars; not like on his back, the skin is silky smooth and flawless. However, I notice the absence of something else and, checking out the rest of his body my eyes widen with the realisation. I say nothing to him but leave him to finish drying while I fetch his clothes. I don’t need to instruct him how to dress so I just watch.

In some ways Silver dressed is ever worse that Silver naked. The jeans are tight, showing off the tight buttocks and shapely legs which are just so incredibly long and the tshirt is ever so slightly too small so that every curve and plane is accentuated. Ungh.

When he is dressed I hand him a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste and he makes a good job of cleaning his teeth. There is no need to shave because his chin is as smooth and hairless as a pre teen.

I take Silver by the hand, noticing how smooth and soft his fingers are, and sit him on a stool in front of the mirror on the chest of drawers. He seems instantly captivated by his reflection and stares himself in the eyes, getting lost. Handing him the pills and a glass of water I watch his curious eyes tear themselves away from the mirror to look at the glass, the pills and then my face. I almost sigh but... professionally, I don’t. I hand him the pills and he takes them, examining them with slight curiosity. I wonder if he is contemplating the colours too.

I hand him the glass and he takes it with no comprehension of what he is supposed to be doing with either.

“You need to swallow the pills. Use the water to help you.”

He looks at me blankly and this time I can’t help but sigh.

Taking the pills from his hand I press my finger against his lips and he obediently and far too sensuously, opens his mouth. I put the pills inside and try to say. “Swallow.” It comes out as a husky whisper. I press the glass to his lips and he seems to get the message taking a mouthful of water and swallowing the pills, his eyes wide and trusting. That kind of unquestioning trust makes me uneasy and it is relief to take the glass out of his hand and let him get back to staring at himself in the mirror.

I pick up a brush and set to work on the tangles. It is a long job and it shocks me again because, once it is smooth it reaches past his waist and is like a sheet of silk. It slides through my fingers and I abandon the brush and just run my hands through the heavy length of it until I catch his eye in the mirror and I drop it like a hot potato.

Plugging in the hair dryer I pick up the brush again but hardly need it as the hair falls thick and smooth as it dries. Silver seems to like me brushing it though so I keep on long after it is dry and I have turned off the dryer. He sits with his eyes half closed and occasionally sighs.

Eventually, I lay down the brush and put my hands on his shoulder. He jumps and his eyes snap open. For a fraction of a second I see fear there; fear so intense it turns my stomach, and then the shutter falls and the familiar blank look is back.

With a sigh I search through the drawers and find a band to hold back the long hair and slip it in.

“Come on. We’re supposed to be doing activities and we have already spent far too long at this.”

As I lead him down the stairs my mind is working frantically, thinking of activities we can do, something that might bring him out, that might help him to focus, to connect again. I remember that Kevin told me he likes to do crosswords. I sit him at the kitchen table with a pen and paper in front of him, instructing him to draw, and go in search of a puzzle book.

I end up in the office. Ronya looks up when I walk in, a half smile on her face.

“You took your time.”

“Hmm.” I say thoughtfully, perching on the edge of the desk. “And not for the reason you think. It took ages to get all the tangles out of his hair.”

“Riiiight.”

I have to talk about the disturbing discoveries I have made but I don’t know how to broach the subject. I pull over a sheet of paper to record my concerns for the file in case I forget... like I would forget.

“He’s got scars all over his back. Someone beat the crap out of him.”

“Yeah, we know that. They beat the crap out of him and threw him out of a moving car on the motorway, leaving him to die. Not exactly news, River.”

“I don’t mean that. These scars are... different. I know the difference between scars got in a beating and scars got... other ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been whipped; more than once, or beaten with a switch, over and over.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes have gone wide.

“I’m very sure, and wondering why it isn’t in the notes. It isn’t as if no one would have noticed... and that’s not all.”

“No?” She is interested now, has put down whatever she was doing and is looking at me intently.

“He’s got no hair.”

“Looks like he’s got plenty of hair to me.” She quips, almost as if she is deliberately trying to lighten the mood.

“Only on his head.”

“What?”

“Well... almost. He’s very dark and he has some hair on his back, arms and legs... but he has nothing at all on his face, his chest or his genitals. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Maybe he has a disease or something.”

“That only affects those places? Not very likely.”

“Then what do you think? I can tell you have something on your mind.”

“Maybe... I’ll wait until I speak to whoever comes to assess him at the end of the week. I would be surprised if I was the only one to have picked up on this. Someone else is bound to have taken note of it and have their own theories. There’s one thing I’m sure of though...”

“What’s that?”

“Whatever happened to him... it scared the hell out of him, so much that it scared him right out of his mind. Wherever he’s living now it isn’t in this world and there’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah... I can’t argue with you there.”

“Ah well... I came in looking for a crossword puzzle book. I have to ‘do activities’ with Silver and I can’t for the life of me think of any off the bat. Kevin said he likes doing crosswords so I figure it’s as good as anything. I’ll get some stuff tonight to start painting his room tomorrow. I doubt he’s going to enjoy being in the rose garden for long.”

Ronya smiles. “No problem River. I’m going to town this afternoon to take care of some things with the bank. I can get you what you need. Why not make a list with Silver and bring it in when you’re done?”

“Ordinarily I would agree but I have a feeling that trying to get Silver to pick out colours for his room would be a frustrating experience to say the least.”

“Well... get the list to me straight after lunch and I’ll get the stuff this afternoon.” She scrabbles around on the desk and hands me a thin book with a garish yellow cover. “Here... this should see you going for at least a couple of hours. I’ll get some more later.”

Grinning, I jump down from the desk, slipping the paper into my pocket to finish later. “See you at lunch.”

As I walk across the hall and into the living room I flick through the puzzle book. They look pretty hard. I am still looking at the book when I walk into the kitchen. I glance up at Silver and drop the book onto the table.

“Are you okay Silver?”

He is sitting very still and staring upwards unblinking, with his head shaking jerkily from side to side. At first I think that something has scared him because that’s what he makes me think of, shaking his head like that... but there is no fear in his eyes; there is nothing at all.

“Silver?”

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t acknowledge my presence at all. That, more than anything else rings alarm bells. With a sigh I walk around behind him and put my hands on his shoulders, just to let him know I’m there, not that he does, not yet. After a few minutes I feel the tension leave him and with a sigh he relaxes and leans his head back against me. Almost automatically I start to stroke his hair. His head is tilted back and I can see that he has closed his eyes and after a few minutes a contented smile appears on his lips. Uh oh... not a wise move I think.

Gently pushing Silver’s shoulders forward I move back slightly then lean over his shoulder to look at what he has been drawing. Clearly he must have been drawing furiously for most of the time I have been gone because the table is filled with sheets of paper as if he drew one, thrust it away and moved on to the next.

I almost gasp aloud. The drawings are... Well, they are good; really good but... I think ‘nightmarish’ would be the word I’d use to describe them. They are incredibly dark; twisted bodies, their faces showing incredible pain, lost souls trapped behind bars or locked into cages or cowering with theirs hands over their faces. So many drawings, so many images of pain in such a short time and they are all so... so...

I crouch down at the side of the chair to bring myself level with him. He turns his head to look at me.

“These are good, very good. You are a talented artist Silver. Did you draw at the hospital?”

He looks at me with that same blank expression and, without thinking, I take his hand and stroke his fingers. He looks down at what I am doing with a little spark of interest.

“Did you draw at the hospital Silver... did you paint?” He shakes his head. “Did no one ask you to?” He thinks for a moment, then nods. “But you didn’t feel like it?” He nods again. “Do you feel like it now? Do you feel like doing more drawings, or maybe a painting?” His eyes meet mine and for a moment there is a definite spark, almost a hungry expression, then his eyes sweep the table and the spark dies. He shakes his head.

“That’s alright. You tell me if you want to and I’ll make sure the equipment is available. I have to write a list of things for Ronya to get when out shopping today. You can help me with that in a minute. Shall I ask her to get some art materials?”

He just looks at me with a completely blank expression. I smile and squeeze his hand. “It’s okay Silver. I’ll get the stuff and show you where it is and if you feel like you want to use it you can; any time okay?” Still he just looks but there is something... I don’t know what it is but there is something there that makes me think he understands.

I reach out and gather up all the drawings with one hand. I have to use just one hand because suddenly he is gripping the other one, watching what I am doing with anxious eyes. At first I think it is because he is afraid I am going to damage or get rid of the drawings but then I realise that it is because he is seeing what is in them.

I pick one particularly detailed one. Most of them are outline, albeit expertly executed ones, but this one has lots of details. It is of someone in a cage, cowering on the floor, long thin hands wound round the bars.

“Is this you?”

Silver stares at the drawing and now there is fear in his eyes. His hand gripping mine starts to hurt. “Is this how you feel Silver, as if you are locked in a cage?”

Slowly, so slowly he turns his head away from the drawing and looks at me. I have no idea what is going on behind his eyes but whatever it is isn’t good. His lips tremble and part and he whispers, shaking his head. “No.”

“Good... because you aren’t, not if you don’t want to be, not any more.”

Does he wince when I say that? Does something flinch? Or is it my imagination because he is carefully blank again and he releases my hand. Delicately taking the papers from me he begins to carefully tear them into confetti, the cage one first.

My first impulse is to stop him. They are too good to be treated like this... but they are his creations and it is for him to decide what happens to them. If he needs to destroy them then so be it.

While Silver is intent on destroying his art I make another coffee. This time I explain carefully about the fact that it is hot and how to hold it and sip it safely. He smiles and says, “I know,” softly.

While he drinks his coffee I sit next to him and open the crossword book. I open to a clean puzzle at random and scan it.

“Hmm... this is perhaps a bit beyond us, my friend. I haven’t got a clue. Maybe we should start with a simpler one.”

As I reach out to turn the page Silver stops me by putting his hand over mine. I look up and there is a very strange look in his eyes, almost fear, almost hope. He shakes his head shortly and releases my hand pointing to one of the spaces in the puzzle.

“Indiscriminate,” he says.

“You think? How did you work that one out?”

He smiles and nods and I fill in the word... I mean who am I to argue? He might even be right. Shockingly, he is. One by one I read out the clues and, sometimes with a moment pause for thought but mostly without, he supplies the answers. This kid is bright. Somewhere in that empty head there is a hell of a personality.

By the time we have finished three puzzles, out of which I got three answers and understood very few more, it is time to start making lunch. As with breakfast Silver works efficiently and dextrously as long as I give clear precise instructions and watch carefully to make sure that he is following them. Not that he ever fails to follow them just that sometimes he follows them in an unexpected way.

For example there is the time I tell him to cut up the tomatoes for the salad and he does... he cuts them into tiny shreds. I am more precise about the cucumber and I get a whole cucumber thinly, evenly and very quickly sliced. This is when I change my mind about putting a knife in his hand and instruct him on how to prepare lettuce. We end up soaked but, surprisingly laughing. When he thrusts the lettuce under the tap and causes it to erupt, spraying the whole kitchen and soaking us, he giggles. When I try to take it from him he does it again, deliberately angling the water at me. At first I am shocked but his giggle is infectious and we are both weak when Ronya comes in and catches us throwing lettuce at each other.

“When you children are quite finished I’ll pick up the lettuce shall I? I hope you don’t expect me to eat the ones that have been on the floor.”

Although her voice is light and she smiles, Silver locks down like a high security prison and shrinks against the sink.

“It’s alright, Silver. This is Ronya. Do you remember her from this morning?” He merely stares at her and neither acknowledges the question nor answers it. On impulse I flick water in his face. He flinches and blinks, then smiles at me, a wide open smile that takes me completely by surprise. So much so I am in danger of letting that professional mask slip again... until he scoops water from the sink and throws it on me then flees into the passage with me chasing.

I chase him all the way to the bedroom where he hides in the bathroom, giggling and putting his shoulder to the door so I can’t get in. I have a blinding but brief moment of panic when I almost shout at him to let me in but realise in time what a bloody stupid thing that would be to do.

“Alright... I give in. You win. I’m soaking wet and dripping on the carpet. Let me in, or at least hand me out a towel.”

For a moment there is no response and then the door opens and a grinning Silver hands me a towel.

“Did you have fun?”

His smile fades into a puzzled frown. “Fun.”

“Yeah... you know what fun is.” It’s a simple statement of fact. I know it is true; he knows it is true; there’s no need to question that.

He nods, sadly and almost... almost says something but then shakes his head and goes to sit down on the bed with the shutters down again. I sit next to him and wipe his face with the towel. He is as wet as I am.

“Do you want to change into dry clothes?”

Unsurprisingly there is no response. I feel his tshirt. It is wet but it will dry. I wipe all the exposed skin dry and it makes me sad how still he is, how unconcerned and unconnected.

When we go back downstairs Ronya has finished the salad and buttered some crusty bread. It is a strange meal. Ronya and I chat easily about everyday things and Silver just eats, not communicating or engaging with us at all. Even when addressed by a direct question he does not respond or even stop eating.

Afterwards I don’t even bother to try and get Silver to help clear away and wash the dishes. I lead him into the living room and sit him on the sofa with the puzzle book on his knees. I tell him that he can do puzzles if he likes and he stares at me with those blank silver eyes.

Ronya and I discuss him while we work but I can’t tell her my fears and she can’t understand my unease. Part of me is thinking I am a bloody fool to be letting my mind wander the paths it is currently meandering down and part of me is thinking that I really need to make a call. I’ll do it tonight.

“Have you made that list yet?” Ronya asks, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“No. I’ll go and do it now.”

“Bring it in when you are ready.”

“Thanks.”

I take the note pad that we always keep on the kitchen counter to write shopping needs as we go along, and sit in the chair next to the sofa. Silver is staring at the wall, the puzzle book and pen ignored on his knee. I make a mental note that commands are obeyed without question, requests and suggestions depend entirely on his mood.

“Tomorrow we are going to decorate your room. We are going to get rid of all the flowers and make it your room. We have to write a list of the things we are going to need to do that. The first thing we will need is paint to paint the walls. What colour do you like?”

He stares at me blankly and I have no idea if he understands anything I am saying to him although I have a deep suspicion that he understands everything... somewhere.

“What colour do you like Silver?” Nothing. “Tell me what colour you like Silver.” This time I inject a note of command into my voice, making my question more forceful, more like an order. “Give me a colour.”

Silver’s eyes widen slightly and he subtly pulls back from me but he answers, as if it has been torn from him. “Blue.”

“You like blue.” Again I make it more a command and less a question.

“Yes...” He pauses as if he is about to say something else, his lips pressed together, and there is a subtle hardening behind his eyes. “Blue.”

I smile warmly at him and he looks confused. Does he see the sadness that I am hiding behind my mask; the subtle fear; the crawling shivers across the back of my neck? If he does he doesn’t show it.

“Dark or light?”

No response but this time there is a slight tightening of the lips, almost as if he is less failing to respond than refusing.

“Okay... we’ll have a nice bright, mid blue paint that is dark enough to cover the roses but not too dark or it will make the room look small and dingy; something bright. And I will put on the list a dark blue stain for the furniture; just because I can and I think you will like it; and... for the curtains and bed linen; midnight blue I think, maybe with hints of silver; like a magician’s robes.”

Silver looks confused and I laugh. “Am I getting carried away?” That does nothing to relieve the confusion. Shaking my head I add a few more things and take the list in to Ronya.

Ronya scans the list with her eyes and looks up at me. “Are you sure?”

I shrug. “Why not? Is it okay?”

“Sure... I don’t see why not. I would hate to live with those roses. No wonder Glenda had nightmares.”

“Thanks Ronya.”

For the rest of the afternoon I try and engage Silver in a succession of games and activities that tax my imagination and my patience. There is not the slightest flash of the personality I glimpsed this morning. Silver remains blank and inscrutable.

I understand what the notes say about it being difficult to tell whether Silver is having a seizure or not. How do you tell if someone is absent when they are never present?

It has been a long and, in many ways, difficult day and it is partly a relief and partly a wrench to hand over to Kevin and say goodbye to Silver. For a brief moment there is that flash of fear again as he glances between myself and Kevin and I feel... gratified that he doesn’t want me to go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Silver. I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning okay?”

He turns his head away to stare blankly at the wall while Kevin follows me into the office for handover.

I finish writing up my notes from the day while Kevin questions, teases and gently taunts me.

“So how many hard ons have you had today just from looking at him?”

“Kevin that is so infantile and inappropriate I am not even going to grace it with a response.”

“More than ten then.” He states with a smirk.

“Unlike some who work here...” I give him a pointed stare, “I am a professional.”

“Oh yeah... very professional. As if I didn’t see the way you were looking at him; as if you weren’t trying not to look at him because if you did you would drool.” I glare at him. “Oh don’t be so serious all the time. It’s okay to lust after the residents as long as you don’t act on it.”

“No, it is not alright to lust after them. That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“I’m a terrible person. So what’s it like then? Spending the day with a very pretty robot?”

“Don’t talk about him like that. He’s not a robot. There are times...” I falter to a stop cursing myself for walking into his trap and earning the infuriating expression on his face.

“Seriously; what’s the score?”

“He’s absolutely fine as long as you give clear and precise instructions. You have to dot all the i’s and cross the t’s or he’ll go spinning off. Suggestions and encouragements don’t work and he simply doesn’t respond to questions or choices. Oh and he really likes the shower.”

“Oh yeah...”

“Shut the fuck up Kevin. I wasn’t in there with him.”

“Heaven forbid I even contemplate the prospect.”

“Yeah... right.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Read the report.” I slide it across the desk to him and he reads with widening eyes. In the end he whistles and shakes his head.

“Okay; I’ll take care of him tonight. Is it right that you are going to decorate his room tomorrow?”

“Why not?”

“Rather you than me: have fun.”