A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

The Crying Chamber

Chapter 7: The Crying Chamber

Hunters who are good at tracking are able to follow a Squonk by its tear-stained trail, for the animal weeps constantly. When cornered and escape seems impossible, or when surprised or frightened, it may even dissolve itself in tears.

--William T. Cox, Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods

The asylum by night was an entirely different place than during the day. The later was presentable to outsiders. Since Grace cooperated with the bird experiments so well, without any disruptions to the staff, she was allowed to see one parent each Friday, at noon, in a small room to the side of the ground floor reception desk. Institute rules meant a patient could only have a single visitor at a time.

Grace's mother came first. She wore her nurse's uniform. Her eyes were red, which she insisted was solely because she had driven all night immediately after a full shift, just to arrive on time. Grace saw a mass of used tissues hanging out of her pockets, and more in her handbag.

Over the weeks, Grace met her mother and father in roughly equal measures. Both assured her the only reason Grandmam never visited was because the journey upstate might prove too much for the old woman, who became frail at unexpected times. No matter how cruel it felt that these visits proved so short, Grace's parents were living reminders a world existed outside the innards and bones of the castle. In her daily existence (it would be wrong to call it "life") she was denied any chance to go outside, even just a stroll along the grounds. The last time she felt direct sunlight on her skin was leaving Agent Grammery's car.

Parents could only remind her of the real world once a week, and only during daytime. When Grace really felt she needed such proof was at night. Heavy fluorescents cast the whitewashed halls of Ward Nine in green sickness, hurting her eyes. At night, most lights dimmed, and others turned off entirely, but the lights in her cell resolutely blazed on. She tried sleeping on her stomach to block out the brightness, but had trouble breathing. She shaped her blanket and pillow into a cocoon. If she kept her eyes shut tight, she could almost experience darkness.

Every night, the door to Grace's closet locked at exactly 8 P.M. The Institute's routines were much less fun than the ones she made. She once had no trouble sleeping, but that was in her own bed, near her Grandmam, with her parents in the other room, and no bright lights.

The best to come into her existence was Jackanapes, though he hated being there. "Nothing to do with you, a' course," he said while rattling his cage. When Director Ambrosius asked Grace what the crow said, she conveniently left out Jackanape's escape plans. She was just explaining the game called "anting" to the Director when Agent Grammery kicked in the door.

The woman's wooden face showed no anger, but the way she urgently tugged the Director into a corner revealed her true feelings. Agent Grammery held a handful of gravel wet with some red fluid.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Grace reached towards a thick binder and swiped a paperclip. As her gown lacked pockets, she hid it in the curls of her hair. Agent Grammery previously threated to shave her bald, which proved a hollow threat. The girl wished to wash it more, though. The only showers allowed were intense hosings each Thursday evening, with the Agent present and watching the whole time.

Months before, Chiaroscuro taught her how to pick locks. It began with bragging. "You might say I picked it up on an island near Australia. A female crow named Qua-Qua could take sticks and bent them into hooks. With them, we could break out of anywhere."

"When were you in Australia?" Grace had asked. She knew little except the continent lay clear on the other side of the world. "Also, why?"

"Er." The old raven started pulling individual leaves off a branch. "That's strictly confidential. I can say Qua-Qua might have been the love of my life. But it was simply not to be. We were different breeds..." Suddenly, it did not sound like Chiaroscuro was bragging. He kept his evil eye to the sky.