NAMELESS

DAY FOUR

Knocking at my door. I sit up. My head pounds. I am definitely awake. Who would knock on my door? They knock again. I knock on the wall in response. My door opens.

It is the man with the brown eyes! I gasp and pull my blanket up. What is he doing here? How did he find me?

He smiles broadly. He motions for me to get up. I'm not sure I can. He motions more urgently. Fine. I'll try.

I swing my body around and plant my feet on the floor. My head is pounding. I stand. I sway. I am okay.

The man with the brown eyes smiles in encouragement. He puts his arms out, motioning me to walk towards him. I walk towards him. I stumble. I fall. He doesn't catch me. Why didn't he catch me? I look up. His face is torn with sorrow. Grief. I reach my hand to him. He steps back and put his hands up, as if he is helpless.

Why did he come here? Why doesn't he just leave me alone?

The first woman enters. Her smile falls when she sees him.

"Oh. You found her then." She says coolly.

He was looking for me? Who is this man? And why would he be looking for me?

The man with the brown eyes nods, smiling smugly. His eye catches the portrait on the wall. His face falls. Grief. Again.

"I'll just go get her chair."

For a moment we are alone. The silence hurts more than the pounding in my head. What is he thinking? Is he disappointed? Should I be ashamed? I didn't ask for the portrait. I didn't want it. Yet it hurts me to think I may have hurt him.

The first woman returns with the chair. I am still on the ground. Apparently no one is going to help me up. My body is so heavy. Pain is shooting through my arms and legs. I grit my teeth. I will get up. The first woman and the man with brown eyes watch as I struggle. This is so embarrassing.

I get into the chair. The first woman leaves and the man with brown eyes steps in front of me to lead the way. I am happy to follow.

We turn right and get to the white room with the tables. Everyone is as absorbed as ever with their colouring.

Why did he bring me here? I look at him. He raises his eyebrows and smiles. He presses his right palm to the wall. The white room with tables disappears. I recoil. What happened?

A new room appears. It is also white. It also has many people sitting on chairs around tables. These people seem more alert. They are not all engrossed in their colouring. Many are looking around, though they still have vacant expressions.

The man with the brown eyes leads me to an empty table. He sits down. He selects a colour. Brown. He starts colouring. I study his face. It is very serious.

Who is this man? Why is he colouring now? He never has before, since I can remember.

Did I know him? He seems to know me. Why is he so interested in me?

What if he is the one who gave me this wound?

I look at him again. He seems so gentle. Would he hurt me?

He looks up. His eyes are searching mine. His eyes are so kind. Could this really be the face of someone who would hurt me?

He points to the area he has just coloured in. I examine it. What is he trying to tell me? The shape he has coloured is long and straight. Am I supposed to know what it is?

I look back at him. He frowns. He selects green and continues colouring.

Is he trying to communicate with me? Is there something important about these colours?

He is finished. He points again. I study the image again. There are now sections of green attached to the brown. What is it? Why is it important?

His face falls. Again. I have made him sad. Again. I don't want him to be sad. His hand is resting on the table. I reach for it. He hastily withdraws.

This upsets me. I feel stupid. Why did he do that? What is wrong with me?

I search his face. It is torn with sorrow. Again.

I shake my head, shrug my shoulders and put my hands out, palms facing up. Why did he do that if it makes him sad?

He puts his hands up, palms facing me. I think he wants me to stay still. Okay.

He reaches his hand out to mine, slowly. I start to feel a stinging sensation in my hand. As his hand gets closer to mine the pain gets worse. A cracking sound. Ouch!

We have both withdrawn our hands. What was that? I have a familiar pain in my hand. I know this sensation. His hand looks red and painful.

Burnt. It is burnt.

I know about getting burnt. But I don't remember why. I remember heat. I remember this pain. A memory stirs like a black cloud in my head. I know this pain. Why? I can't. I can't remember. I am lost.

The black cloud rolls in on my vision. The pain in my hand is growing. The man with brown eyes tries to stand. He collapses. My head is pounding. I can't breathe.