What does it mean to be human? If you type those seven words into google you get the scientific, the philosophical and the pretentious. What separates us from the animals? Is being human different for people of different religions? Spirit, matter, soul, genetics – there are hundreds of different definitions. But as I carried Ellie Mansford through the swinging hospital doors at a sprint, I was clear of one thing: humanity is fragile. Sometimes we break in more ways than the animals and it is that twisted ability that makes us unique. Phil was running ahead, screaming for help. Knuckles was behind me supporting Ellie's legs. And Ellie was in the middle; clutching silently at the angry red mark from the noose she'd tied around her own neck.
I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not going to feed you some bullshit like 'in that moment I never felt more alive' or whatever. I wasn't thinking anything other than 'if you can get her through the doors before she stops breathing everything will be okay'. And it was, kind of. She didn't do any major damage – they treated her for shock, and then depression, and then anxiety. And then they moved her to a secure unit where she couldn't hurt herself any more. And as Phil, Knuckles, and I sat in the reception area with our heads in our hands, a nurse pushed a bundle of forms under our noses with a frown. They wanted to know where her family were and in that moment we knew – despite our best efforts – we had failed her.
Knuckles cried then. Openly and unashamedly into Phil's jacket as Phil tried to comfort him. I just awkwardly patted his back, watching the nurses surveying us uncomfortably from over the desk.
"It's okay," Phil whispered furiously. (We'd already been told off once for disturbing the patients sleeping on the ward.) "We can go visit her as soon as she's feeling better. We can get her out of there. We told them the truth, there's no way they'll let her Dad in there to see her – he's the reason she's there, the doctors would never allow it. It's gonna be okay. I swear. I don't care how long it takes, we're going to make it okay."
And after that we took Knuckles home because we couldn't think of anything else to do. We considered running after the minivan that had taken her away. Killing the driver and hijacking the car and driving off into the sunset. But that would have left us no better off than we started, and we'd already proven that was no good. The nurses told us to have faith in the healthcare system; that they knew what they were doing and it was the only way she was going to get better. But after all the stories we'd heard about those places - the antidepressants she'd been prescribed that listed 'Increased risk of suicide' under the side effects - how could we have faith in anything? All we had to go on was the dead grey of Ellie's zombie-fied eyes as she waved emotionlessly goodbye.
*
"It was all for nothing." Knuckles growled. "Fuck, she'd have probably been better off in a kid's home."
Phil sighed as the house shook for the hundredth time from the point of impact between Knuckles' fist and the wall.
"We've been through this. Maybe you're right, and maybe you're not. Maybe if she'd been in a home no one would have been there to check up on her when she tried to kill herself. Maybe she would have been fine, but we don't know and it's too late now to change the past. What matters now is trying to see her as soon as possible so we can find out if we're going to need to break her out of there or not. What's passed is past."
"Fuck!" Knuckles yelled, again, punching the wall.
While Phil spoke soothingly, I sat in a corner with my knees hugged to my chest. Knuckles had not been impressed when I'd shown up at his door two weeks earlier hiding behind Phil's broad shoulders, but he'd grudgingly accepted my presence. We'd worked hard for two weeks – slipping out at every opportunity to visit her and try and calm her out of hysterics or raise her from a lifeless slump. But she'd been getting progressively worse, and all our efforts were in vain. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I'd come back into this world to do something right and for once I didn't want to escape. I wanted to break her out of whatever asylum they'd locked her in and take her to somewhere she'd be safe, no matter what the cost. This sense of determination was new to me. Normally I would have shied away from the prospect of anything dangerous or illegal, yet here I was meticulously planning a break in and out from some nameless building in the South.
*
We spent the next few days finding out as much as we could about the place they'd taken her.
It was a secure unit in Kent for young people aged 13-18. They had a wide range of patients, the only thing in common being that they were a danger to themselves in some way. I shuddered to think what it would be like inside, picturing restraints and screams and nameless drugs. She had been moved into the rehabilitation centre for recovery, but that didn't mean she was coming out any time soon, it just meant she didn't need constant care or medication. She was in room 11 and we would be allowed to visit during visiting hours as soon as the doctor's deemed her fit, which would be sometime in the next two months. There was one thing we were all clear on: that was far too long to wait. If she was suffering, we needed to get her out as soon as possible, before they pumped her full of so many drugs she forgot who she was.
Phil spoke for half an hour without interruption from either Knuckles or I, running over our shoddy plan one last time before the heist. We would approach from the East, scaling the wall and then sprinting across the lawn that separated the road from the ward windows. Knuckles had collected everything we could possibly need for every type of lock, and in turn we pretended to turn a blind eye as to how he could possibly have such an array of lock picks. And then Oak tree House closed for the day, the moon rose from the behind the clouds and we were ready.
We were attired in black hoods and gloves, and as we walked the few people still hurrying home crossed the road to avoid us. I didn't feel very menacing. Phil and I flanked Knuckles, who led the way with a confident stride, oblivious to the timid patter of our following feet, and for that I was glad – I doubt either of us would have stepped out into the night without him.
We'd visited Oak Tree House earlier in the week to scope it out, but in the dark it seemed to loom taller and wider than before; a huge wall of black against the starlit horizon. The building was in darkness, and all was suddenly quiet as we held our breath and stared. Phil found my hand in the dark and gave it a squeeze and some of his warmth seemed to seep through our gloves. I gave him a nod and took a deep breath. I was the smallest, so I was going first. In the warmth of the sunlight this hadn't seemed a daunting task, but as my breath came out in a huff of white in front of me I was clammy, my heart beating in my mouth. This was crazy. I was about to break into a secure unit to visit a girl I barely knew – the sister of a guy who'd made my life a living hell. But I grasped hold of the ivy and put my foot into Knuckles waiting palms because, well, it was the right thing to do.
He boosted me up a lot quicker than I had anticipated and I nearly overbalanced and toppled off the other side – I think I was lighter than he'd expected because I heard him huff in surprise. I caught myself on the foliage and clasped a hand over my mouth to stop myself crying out. From this vantage point, the building looked even more daunting. Phil came next and together we helped Knuckles up on to the plant covered ledge, trying not to grunt too much as we heaved. We slipped down one at a time onto the grass and crouched in the shadow at the base of the wall to reconvene.
"Okay," Knuckles breathed. "No guard dogs apparently. That's good."
"What?" I hissed. "Why didn't you mention there might be dogs?"
"Well I didn't know, did I? We would have found out soon enough." He whispered.
I shivered, but chose not to comment.
Phil rummaged in his bag for a small torch which he shone cautiously on the grass. "Okay guys. You ready? We're going to have to just run for it and hope no one's awake and looking out the window. She's on the ground floor thank god, but we've got no way of knowing which window belongs to room 11 so we're going to have to look in them all."
"Right," I whispered. "That's not going to freak out patients with mental illnesses at all."
"He's got a point actually," Knuckles frowned. "Why didn't we think about that?"
"I guess because we didn't take into account how much creepier everything is at night," Phil sighed. "Well, we're not backing out now. What should we do?"
"Try the side door after all?" I suggested.
"Like I said before, it's almost definitely alarmed. What we really want to do is find a window that doesn't go into a bedroom, but the longer we're here the more chance we have of getting caught. Let's just go. If anyone spots us they'll be freaked out regardless of how close we are to their window, as long as we don't press our noses up against the glass we should get away with having a look in each as we go past."
I nodded unhappily and together we broke into a silent run across the grass. As the cold air whipped across my face, I could almost feel hundreds of pairs of soundless eyes staring out at us from every window. We were hideously exposed. But we were doing it for the right reasons, and it was that knowledge that drove me on through the darkness and towards the ominous shadow cast across the ground in front of me.
We caught ourselves breathless against the wall and froze for a moment, listening; expecting at any minute to hear the wail of sirens or yelling voices. All was deathly still and gradually my heart began to slow. I could just make out their outlines by my side, and the glint of their eyes caught in the starlight.
"Okay?" I whispered.
"Yeah," Knuckles muttered. "You two go left, I'll go right – signal if you find a corridor or something okay?"
"Kay. See you in a sec."
Without Knuckles' heavy presence I suddenly felt very small. I found Phil's hand again in the darkness and he pulled me forwards with a reassuring squeeze. The first three windows were so dark we couldn't see anything at all behind them, but the fourth was lit with grey light from an open door. We peered in cautiously, holding our breath. Inside was a small green room with a pool table and a flat screen mounted shoddily on one wall. I let out my breath in a huff of relief and we turned together to catch Knuckles' attention. It was a single glazed sash window in a wooden frame and in a matter of seconds we were inside, tiptoeing carefully across the carpet with hearts hammering.
Inside was surprisingly cheery, if a little shabby at the edges. The walls were brightly coloured rather than the clinical white I was expecting, and the rooms had gaudy nameplates and posters tacked to them that filled me with hope. These didn't look like the drawings of tortured mental patients. We padded with quiet feet and soft breaths down the hallway, counting slowly up the room numbers to eleven. We paused outside, sharing an apprehensive glance. "Ellie Mansford" written in her delicate script was tacked to the door, surrounded in a carefully sequined heart. At the very least she was still alive and in good enough condition to craft the tiny nameplate out of cardboard and paper.
"Do we knock, or...?" Knuckles murmured, suddenly unsure and playing awkwardly with his hands.
"Someone will hear," Said Phil, shaking his head. "We should just go in quietly and wake her up."
"But I dunno, she's a girl – what if she has like tampons or something all over the floor? Isn't it rude to go in without asking?" Knuckles carefully avoided eye contact, his cheeks glowing red.
I held back a snicker. "It's fine. Girls don't actually own thousands of tampons all year round. It's dark anyway, come on."
We held our breath as we slipped inside, closing the door behind us. Our eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark and we all stared silently at her sleeping figure bathed in moonlight. She was very small, her blonde hair floating like mist over her pillow. Knuckles bit his lip, shaking his head with panicked eyes and pushing Phil forwards with a hiss.
Phil rolled his eyes, crouching down by his pillow and resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Ellie?" He said softly. "Wake up. We've come to check you're okay."
She woke slowly with bleary eyes and then started when she took in the three of us crowded awkwardly into the space between her wardrobe and the bed.
"Oh my god," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"
"We came to visit," I smiled reassuringly. "We wanted to check you were okay, you know, because we swore we'd keep you out of a place like this. We thought we might have break you out and go on the run to America or something."
She smiled then, and the sight filled my heart with warmth.
"You guys are the best," she whispered. "I'm awful, I'm such a mess – I must have been a nightmare. But it's okay. It's actually not so bad here. I feel safer here than anywhere else in my life. The walls are strong and my room is small, it feels secure. Only one entrance and nowhere to hide. They have a rule that no one's allowed in without your permission, to help you feel safer. Except of course when three posh-school boys break in in the dead of night." She smirked at us, and I could almost audibly hear Knuckles' jaw drop at her smile.
"Honestly, I think it's helping," she continued. "I don't go out much yet, but I'm getting better. There's this boy, Matt, next door to me and he's schizophrenic like Jake was. We help each other, like when he doesn't want to take his meds because they make him feel really numb and awful but then the voices get really bad and I have to help him take them after all. And he helps me when I'm feeling really low, he cheers me up – he's really sweet. And the doctors and the matrons and stuff, they're mostly alright. There are volunteers that used to live here too – it's not really like the movies or anything. I've got loads better since Dad went to prison and I moved away from all his mates. I eat in the kitchen when most of the others are at a day centre rehabilitation thing. I haven't been properly outside or anything yet because they don't want to push me, but it's okay, really it is."
"Really?" Said Knuckles disbelievingly. "They don't like, tie you down or force feed you shit or tell you all this bullcrap about believing in yourself?"
"It's okay," Ellie insisted. "I think, despite everything, it might actually be the best place for me. It's not perfect like there are shitty people here and really truly messed up kids, but for someone without any money I think I got pretty lucky. I might make it out, I really might. Matt is the biggest help. I think having someone to care for has kind of forced me into getting better. Matt's been in here a long time and he just wants out now, so we're going together one way or the other."
Knuckles' brow furrowed involuntarily and Phil closed his eyes. I pulled Ellie into an embrace and buried my face in her soft hair.
"I'm just so glad you're okay," I murmured. "Like, I know we didn't do the best job of looking after you and I'm so, so sorry. But we're going to be here for you whenever you need us okay? We'll come visit properly as soon as we're allowed and any nights you want us. We can get you a phone so you can call us up literally whenever, okay? I'll come as soon as you call, and I'm pretty sure these guys will too. We were so worried. We want to do whatever we can to help so you can get better and never end up in hospital again."
"Thanks guys," she smiled gently. "It means a lot, you really did try. It's not your fault you're all kind of hopeless."
Knuckles laughed weakly as he took my place, cradling her against his chest.
"I really thought I'd fucked up," he whispered hoarsely. "That I'd lost you too, despite everything."
Ellie just hugged him back, clutching tightly to his baggy shirt.
*
We talked in low voices for half an hour – catching up on the weeks we'd missed in each other's lives. Phil was just animatedly reliving a particularly dramatic history lesson when we were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. We froze, but Ellie seemed unfazed.
"It's probably Matt," she whispered. "He doesn't sleep very much anyway, he'll be wondering what the hell's going on in here. Come in!" She called quietly.
The door opened cautiously and a crack of yellow light filtered through onto the carpet.
"Ellie?" came a timid voice, hoarse with sleep. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Ellie replied. "Come in and meet my friends, the guys that kept me safe before I came here – you know the ones I told you about?"
The door opened further and a small, frail boy was framed against the light. He had a mop of curly auburn hair that fell over startling green eyes and pale skin. His face was delicate, with high cheekbones and full pink lips, and he was clothed in threadbare blue pyjamas which he hugged self-consciously to his chest.
"Oh," he muttered. "Um, hi. I'm Matt. It's nice to meet you."
"Come in, silly," Ellie smiled fondly. "This is Dan, Phil and Knuckles."
We each whispered our hellos and he settled himself awkwardly at the edge of the circle. I watched him curiously. His eyes seemed to pierce everything in their path with a quiet intelligence, and he sat uncomfortably with his long legs folded to his chest as though he didn't know what to do with them. Despite his small figure I could tell that he was around our age, maybe older even. Several years older than Ellie at least. Deep purple shadows under his eyes and the ghostly skin were physical signs of his torment, but there was something else too; maybe it was the way he held himself. He was strangely beautiful even so, and the few times he spoke the room fell silent to listen. He spoke with quiet gravitas and eloquent words that seemed to slip off his tongue like poetry. Knuckles watched him attentively, ever so slightly on edge. I wondered what he was thinking.
*
"Matt paints," Ellie said suddenly after a lapse in the conversation. "Show them, Matt. It's amazing."
Unlike most people, he didn't protest. Quietly, he reached under Ellie's bed and pulled out a black notepad.
("He has those everywhere. I found one in my underwear drawer this morning." Ellie rolled her eyes.)
He handed it to me with a shrug. "My sketchbooks and paintings and stuff are next door. I use these for doodles."
"He's painted the walls of his room," Ellie said proudly. "It's beautiful, you have to see before you go."
I opened the book gently and gasped. Creatures danced; some mythical and some a mixture of all sorts of worlds and universes. It was all in black biro yet there was depth and colour and tone. Landscapes and fantasy worlds covered one page, while a herd of intricate deer pranced across the next. One page was filled entirely with angry black scribbles spiralling out to each corner, and as I turned again the drawings took a darker tone – monsters and shadows leaping out at me, twisted and contorted in screams. I shivered. I made to shut the book but Knuckles took it from me – turning the pages with care and staring intently, drinking in each image.
"Amazing." He whispered, and I nodded.
"We need to go soon anyway," Phil said as he agreed earnestly, mouth slightly open. "Can we go past your room on the way? I really want to see. That's incredible."
Matt shrugged. "Sure. Do you draw?"
Phil shook his head noncommittally. "I do art at college, but I'm nowhere near as good as you."
"I paint." Said Knuckles abruptly. "I'd really like to see your walls. Can we go now?"
"Well. I see how it is," Ellie grinned. "Probably a good idea though, the staff start getting up in an hour. Thanks so much for coming guys – this has been really nice. It would be cool if I could get a phone and see you sometimes?"
We hugged and said our goodbyes, promising to return as soon as possible with a mobile, and followed Matt out the door.
*
I'll never forget Knuckles' face as he walked into that room. I can hardly begin to describe it myself. The walls were thick with colour, painted and painted over hundreds of times. No two days showed the same image, and he told us how hard it was to find a white strong enough to cover the layers of black he'd painted back in the first year. The ceiling too was covered with birds and creatures, and clouds with spiralling castles perched atop them. A white horse took up most of the wall I stood beside, rearing on its hind legs and sprouting huge, scaly blue wings. Fairytale trees twisted to the ceiling adorned with flowers and spikes alike, and on the wall by his bed stood a lone tower, faceless and emotionless with sheer black walls. I could have spent hours describing each tiny flower or bug or swirl of colour and emotion.
"What do you paint?" Matt asked Knuckles after we had stared in silence for several awed minutes.
"Most of my house is covered now. At least the bits that no one sees. I'll show you some time, if you want." Knuckles struggled to pull his eyes away from the art and back to Matt's quiet face.
"I'd like that a lot." Matt smiled, and suddenly it seemed as if the whole room filled with light.