Daisy
I’ve finally been given the green light. I’m allowed to go for a run this afternoon, but no one tells me until it’s gone three o’clock, and, as the nights are drawing in by about four-thirty, it’ll be dark and too late to go.
So, I sit on my bed and quickly put on the trainerssneakersthat appeared. I don’t like them. They’re too big and they don’t feel like my old ones, but I know Stoke. This, in itself, is a test to see if I can get over the sensory issues. Failure will mean no more runs. It might also mean demerits and the Blanks choosing my meals for me for the foreseeable future.
To be honest, I’m surprised he hasn't made them wet inside, too. He’s such an asshole, I wouldn’t put it past him.
I put on two pairs of socks and lace the shoes up tightly before walking quickly to the main door where they’ll let me outside. Philip and Sue are milling around in the hall. I wonder if they’ve been tasked to follow me. That isn’t usual, but this is the first time they’ve let me out in the past couple of weeks so I wouldn’t be surprised.
I look around for Janet, the pretend Blank/reporter, butI haven’t seen her since I told her where to find the documents I took from Stoke’s office. I wonder if it’s because there was so much evidence there that she doesn’t need to pretend to work here anymore and is ready to write her exposé. If so, then I might not have to wait long for this place to get shut down.
Dorothy, the receptionist on the desk, gives me a small smile, and I reciprocate, remembering how she helped me with the makeup before I left in September. She’s always been, at the very least, civil, which is more than I can say for most of the Blanks and the doctors here.
I shudder as I recall bits of the invasive OBGYN appointment the other day that Stoke said was routine. The speculum was cold. The swab hurt and the questions she asked me were odd, too. I’m sure I’ve never been asked if I’m sexually active by her before. And why would she ask something like that unless I hadn’t been here for months?
It’s just more evidence that everything that I remember is real. I also realized this morning that Blake put an implant in my arm months ago. Until that moment, there had been a niggling doubt that I was just wanting everything to be true so badly that I’d invented evidence, but then I saw the tiny scar on the inside of my forearm. I felt it under my skin.
I quietly asked Colin earlier today how long it’s been since I returned, and without missing a beat, he said, ‘Twelve days, three hours, twenty-four minutes, twelve seconds.’
‘Going for a run?’ the receptionist asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nod and play along with Stoke’s narrative that I’ve ‘been ill’.
‘Finally feeling up to it,’ I say with a grin.
The door buzzes and I walk outside for the first time inalmost two weeks. Standing on the gravel outside the doorway, I take a deep breath of the cold air. It’s sunny today after a few days of rain. The tension in my shoulders melts away quickly as I take a moment to stretch, conscious it’s been awhile since I ran at all, and weeks since I was able to do it outside. I do count Sauvage’s treadmills, of course, but it’s not the same as uneven terrain, and wet grass, and mud. I’d hate to hurt myself and then not be able to escape if I get the chance.
Still inside, I notice Sue and Philip in the foyer watching my movements and halfheartedly emulating them. Do they honestly think that I don’t know they’ll be following?
I start off at a slow pace, running through the car parkparking lotand toward the public footpath that winds through the trees and into the fields beyond The Heath’s grounds. I could run this trail in my sleep, I did it so many times and this is exactly the way they expect me to go.
I hear them behind me at first, easily keeping up, but when I find my true stride, they quickly fall behind, unable to keep me in their sights.
I don’t wait.
I make my way down the hill to where the path flattens out, past the two horses who stare as I go by. I used to bring them an apple sometimes and pat their soft noses, and I wish I could stop for a moment, but not today. Conscious of the Blanks who are meant to be following, I keep going around the corner and down toward the river.
At this time of year, all the nettles and weeds have been cut back, which gives me good visibility down the trail. When I get to the end of a long, straight section of the path, I glance back and don’t see my shadows anywhere. They must be quite far behind me.
Ha! Losers.
Now that it’s winter, I try to stay on the gravelliest areas because the mud is often thick down in the hollows where the light hasn’t reached. Today, it’s still frozen with thick and slippery frost over the ground. The veins of the brown leaves clinging to the trees are white. There’s even a bit of ice at the stream’s edge as I run parallel to it.
I take deep lungfuls of air. I can’t say I missed The Heath, but I have missedthis. This is calm. This is serenity. This is mindfulness for me. Nothing else can relax me the way this can. Well, except maybe the guys, I amend. The runs I went on in Richmond, especially with Mav, were great, but there’s somethingmorethat comes from the English countryside. The quiet. The stillness. The crisp air. The gnarled trees.
A robin on the ground stares at me, then flits into the undergrowth.
A few minutes later, I reach the perimeter fence, side-eyeing it as I pass. It looks in even worse condition than I remember, and the stream has fed into the pond. It’s swelling with water. It must have rained heavily through October and November. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the pond so swollen.
I look at it with distaste as I run. It’s murky, probably quite deep now. But right in the middle, the fence is clearly broken. I can see it just at the waterline.
I could get out that way if I wanted. I’d be cold after, though. I file the information away.
It might be possible to grab some clothes from one of the Blanks’ lockers, or maybe from lost and found. I could bundle them up under my shirt before my next run and throw them over the fence where I could retrieve themlater. That way I wouldn’t be walking around with a coat that saysProperty of The Heathall over it.
I keep running, past the sheep that are wandering around. I go over the stile that separates the fields and through another flock—these ones with little black dots on their fleeces. The flock moves away as I slog through the mud, slipping a little. When I reach the other side, I climb the next stile and find myself back on a gravelly path.
The trail never actually leaves The Heath’s grounds, but it gets very close where that pond is.
