She stared down at the journal lying open on the table in front of me.
“My-ra,” she sounded out slowly. “Myra.”
I peered down.
Mira
It was written in scrolling cursive text in my book, over and over again.
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “Maybe it’s just a nice name.”
I should have known the answer. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t quite grab onto it. Most things were like that nowadays.
Tatiana giggled. “Did you forget things again?”
“I think so!” I smiled back, but it felt strained.
“You’re always forgetting things.”
“You know what I told you. My brain likes to act like a block of Swiss cheese... full of holes!”
Tatiana laughed merrily and then glanced shyly down at her paper.
“Can I see?” I asked her.
She put her brush down. Teaching Tatiana here in Hallow Hall was the highlight of my days. It was the only thing I had to look forward to.
Tatiana pushed her drawing toward me. She had drawn Hallow Hall as a long rectangular building with a spiky roof. Turrets on top of the childlike Gothic structure. Green grounds surrounded the building, and then a black line. The perimeter fence.
“What about outside the fence?” I prompted her. “The world doesn’t end beyond the gates of Hallow Hall.” I smiled at her gently.
She slow-blinked at me. “What is it like?”
I turned to gaze out the window at the grounds outside. Snow had fallen during the night, and everything was white. The black fence was still visible, though, holding up the edges of our world. I tried to picture outside. I tried to imagine walking out of the gates. What would I see there?
I’m starting to forget.
I turned back to Tatiana and her sweet, innocent curiosity and shrugged.
“It’s more beautiful than you can even imagine. One day, you’ll see it.” I wrapped my hand over hers. “One day, it will all be yours.”
The scheduleat Hallow Hall wasn’t hard to follow. Breakfast and exercise in the gymnasium, followed by group therapy. After lunch it was individual therapy for some and rec time for others. Since coming here, I’d done more shitty crafts than anyone should be subjected to.
Oh, so you actually remember yesterday?
Not really,I mentally snapped back at the voice in my head.
So, I couldn’t remember doing crafts yesterday, but as I sat at the rec room trestle table and tried to feign enthusiasm for winding pipe cleaners around popsicle sticks, I just had a feeling I was sick of it. Still, today, I felt reasonably aware and less tired than usual. That meant that I’d somehow managed to avoid taking my medication yesterday. It took about three days for the effects to really wear off. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d managed to make it that long. It could have been last week or last year.
“Katarina Dmitrova.” Sister Vera, perching like a crow in the doorway, all black robes and pointed beak. “Father Benedict is ready for you.”
I tightened my hands hard around the popsicle stick in my hand, and before I realized it, I’d snapped it in two.Oops, there goes an hour’s work.
“Katarina, don’t keep the father waiting,” the nun barked, her pretense of empathy disappearing like smoke.
I stood, dropping the two ends of the popsicle stick on the table. As I followed Sister Vera in the direction of the private offices where the heads of the institution spent their time, I found my hands were shaking.
I squinted down at them, perplexed.