Just A Formality
By Andy Morris
Vincent needed a moment to catch his breath after climbing the three flights of stairs to his patient’s flat. Since leaving the Royal Marines ten years ago his fitness levels had plummeted. He rapped on the door, which echoed loudly in the drab communal corridor.
In his opinion this visit was just a formality: Jeremy had disengaged from the community team. He was unwell and he needed treatment in hospital. It was, however, doubtful that Jeremy would agree with this assessment. That being the case, Vincent needed to get eyes on him and confirm whether or not they needed to call a formal Mental Health Act assessment to compel him to go into hospital.
Raised voices could be heard through the thin walls of a flat downstairs. Vincent listened to a hysterical woman admonishing a crying child for a few moments before he knocked again. His hand still felt sticky from touching the bannister earlier so he wiped it on his trousers. They’d need to go in the wash later but he had plenty of other combats. They’d always been part of his informal uniform ever since he’d become a community mental health nurse. You can never have enough pockets; he’d tell student nurses when they were shadowing him. He was alone today and was about to knock a third time when Jeremy finally opened the door.
The sickly warm smell of stale air and body odour wafted out to greet him. The reek of neglect was over-powering but this wasn’t the worst flat Vincent had been to. A single naked bulb hung from the ceiling casting a weak yellow glow in the dingy hallway. Jeremy looked as if he’d only just woken up. His lank black hair drooped over his shoulders like a collection of dirty feathers while his beard resembled a wild hedge-row of tangled hawthorn.
“I thought for a moment you weren’t going to answer.”
“I don’t want to go to hospital” Jeremy mumbled defensively.
“I’ve just come to chat," Vincent reassured him. "Put a shirt on, would you. I don’t really want to see your moobs.”
Jeremy smirked briefly, flashing his stained teeth. He picked up crumpled Prodigy t-shirt from the floor. He pulled it on and plodded into the living room. As he passed the kitchenette he grabbed a plate with a sandwich, some cheese and a few biscuits on it. He set it down by the far wall opposite his frayed sofa before plonking himself down on his tatty armchair.
“You're not going to eat that?” Vincent asked as Jeremy began fiddling with a pouch of tobacco and some roll-ups that were lying on the arm.
“It’s not for me” Jeremy explained. “It’s for him; The-Face-In-The-Wall.”
“The-Face-In-The-Wall?”
“Yeah. Sit down if you want.” Jeremy gestured to the old three-seater sofa. He shook the clear plastic lighter and flicked it repeatedly until a weak flame waved into existence. While Jeremy lit his roll-up Vincent identified a space that wasn’t covered in heaps of dirty clothes or the dried-up remains of unfinished meals. He carefully lowered his considerable weight onto the edge of the cushion.
“Tell me about this Face-In-The-Wall. What’s that all about?”
Jeremy shifted in his seat and pointed with his cigarette. “It comes out of the wall by the skirting board. It tells me things and sometimes it’s hungry so, you know; I give it food.”
“Right.”
“It doesn’t tell me to hurt myself. Or anyone else,” Jeremy quickly added. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“How long have you been aware of it for?”
“Oh…” Jeremy exhaled smoke into the air. “It started coming just after the fire in the hotel.”
“You’d been using legal highs that night. Are you still using them?”
“No, it told me to stop," Jeremy explained. “It’s also been teaching me about that creature that started that fire.”
“Remind me what happened again?”
Jeremy took another drag on his roll-up, blowing another wisp of smoke up to the yellowed ceiling.
“The hotel was due to be demolished, right?” Jeremy continued. “My mates Steve and Gwen wanted to go in to see if there was anything worth taking. So we climbed over the fences and demolition signs and got into the courtyard. I stayed outside while they found a broken window and got inside.”
Both his friends died that night. There was no evidence that Jeremy was responsible in any way but Vincent, cynical by nature, wasn’t entirely convinced. It didn’t take Freud to work out that this Face-In-The-Wallcould be a manifestation of guilt. Whether it was guilt from surviving the fire or guilt from being responsible for lighting it; that remained to be seen.
Jeremy continued his story with robotic consistency. “The building was suddenly on fire. I couldn’t get in and I couldn’t see or hear the others. I was about to shout for them when I saw the creature on the roof. It was kind of hidden by the smoke but I could make out enough of it. It was huge, perched on the roof like a giant red demon. It was aDraconnas!”
He paused as if expecting a reaction from Vincent. When none was forthcoming Jeremy asked: “Have you heard that term before?”
Vincent sighed “No.”
“Not many people have. Anyway, this Draconnaswas in its dragon-form. It was at least ten feet tall. Its crocodile-like face was blood-red it was surrounded by the flames, giving it an aura of real savage aggression. Luckily it hadn’t seen me. I dived behind this wall as it spread its wings and leapt to the ground. Despite its size, it was quite…" he searched for the right word. "…Graceful, as it landed silently in front of the main entrance, just a few meters away from me. Then it opened its jaws and blew a stream of fire at the hotel. The doors; the windows; the entire front side buckled under the inferno.”
Jeremy had wrapped his arms around himself. His low, nervous voice subtly drifted into the background as a long-forgotten memory quietly reasserted itself in Vincent’s mind: He’d been no more than five years old when he and his family had spent the summer sailing around the Greek Islands. One night he’d dreamt he was looking out of the porthole when he saw a huge dragon overhead. It had only been visible for a moment before a thick milky fog billowed out from it. The churning cotton-wool cloud covered the dragon; the stars and finally expanded to swallow the boat. Young Vincent couldn’t see nor hear anything, not even the waves outside. Was the monster was coming for him? It could be right outside his window! He’d screamed for his parents and they told him it had just been a dream. Still, it was so realistic and he’d hated foggy weather for years afterwards. He shook the memory away as Jeremy concluded his recollection.
“My eyes were stinging from the smoke but the last thing I saw was the Draconnaschanging back into its human form. It twisted and shrank in size. Its wings folded back and its scales melted away. Soon there was just this man standing by the blaze. He was tall like you, but really buff and totally naked; like Arnold Schwarzenegger, in Terminator? The heat didn’t bother him and he just walked off somewhere. I waited as long as I could in case he was still around but eventually the heat and smoke became too much and I had to get out of there.”
“Right.”
“Draconnas,” Jeremy glanced at the plate of food against the wall. “They’re like a secret mafia; they’re everywhereand they control everything!”
“So…”
“There are twelve different kinds of Draconnas” Jeremy interrupted, pressure of speech evident. “They can be categorised into three distinct types. The one at the hotel was a Fire Dragon – one of the four Apex Types. Apex Types attack their prey from a distance by breathing fire, ice, poisonous vapour, etc. Then there’s the four Predator Types. These can be fast or strong or have razor-sharp claws to tear their victims apart.” He was becoming more animated, waving his hands to emphasis his points. “Lastly, there are the four Enchanted Types. These are less common and aren’t generally designed for fighting…”
“Jeremy,” Vincent interrupted, raising his hands and gesturing for him to shut-up. “You’ve not been taking your medication recently. Why is that?”
“I can’t. The tablets will get rid of The-Face-In-The-Wall.”
“You know, historically, you go downhill very quickly when you’ve been off your meds.”
“This is different because The-Face-In-The-Wall helps me. After Steve and Gwen died I wanted to end it all: Take all my medication at once, have a smoke and drift off peacefully. But, The-Face-In-The-Wall told me not to.” He was looking at the far wall again.
“This face, do you see it now?”
“Yeah, it’s right there.”
“Okay.” Vincent made a point of looking at the wall above the plate. “Jeremy, I can’t see anything there, mate.”
The other shrugged and began flicking his lighter, trying to re-light his roll-up.
“How are you feeling within yourself, Jeremy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe you’re unwell?”
“No.”
“Okay, that’s good to hear," Vincent said. "The reason I ask is that people are worried about you. Now, I’ve always said I’ll be up-front and I’ll always tell you the truth.” He paused. “I think you arebecoming unwell again. You’ve stopped taking your medication; you’ve not left your flat in weeks; you’re seeing things that I can’t see.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Vincent.”
“I can’t just take your word for it. I need to make sure you’re okay and that you’ll stay okay. Now, you need to make a choice: Either, you restart your medication. Or you don’t and, you risk going back into hospital again. It’s up to you.”
“I can’t go into hospital.” Jeremy’s response was mediate, his fist tightened around his lighter. Vincent eyed him carefully.
“The Face told me there are Aspirants in hospitals. Aspirants are people; humans, who work for the Draconnas. They aspireto become Draconnasthemselves by doing things for them. If an Aspirant finds out that I know about them, they’ll kill me. There’s no way I’m going into hospital!” Jeremy looked from Vincent to the wall. “I can’t go.”
Unfortunately, for Jeremy, this was a battle he couldn’t win. In the end, he’d have to go along with whatever the professionals decided.
“I won’t go!” Jeremy challenged, leaning forward in his chair. The ex-marine instinctively shifted his feet. His boots crunched gravel-like crumbs into the dirty carpet. He subtly changed position, ready to spring up from the sofa if he needed to make a quick exit.
“I can’t keep taking my medication and I won’t go to hospital. I’m doing alright now. I’m coping with the stress. You’ve got to believe me!” Jeremy’s voice was rising in pitch.
“Okay.” Vincent knew the visit would end this way. It was time to go and report back to the team. Jeremy was clearly unwell and needed hospital treatment. A Mental Health Act assessment would be arranged for later that afternoon and, as long as there was a free bed, Jeremy would be on the ward by tea time. As Vincent got ready to stand up the predictable pattern of the visit was suddenly interrupted.
“You’ve seen one before, haven’t you!” Jeremy announced. His face was lit with excitement. “When you were a kid you saw a Draconnas fly over your boat! It was an Enchanted Type; a Grey Dragon, according to The-Face-In-The-wall.”
Just for a moment, Vincent was caught totally off guard and he stalled. After his careers in the navy and mental health services, Vincent had thought he’d seen and heard so much that nothing would ever faze him. He managed to regain his composure and with a grunt of effort, he heaved himself to his feet. Jeremy was now eyeing him with the look of a rogue working in cahoots with a co-conspirator. Vincent held Jeremy’s gaze for a moment longer, then shook his head and walked towards the door pausing only to glance down at the plate on the floor.
From the moment he’d read the case notes and throughout most of the visit, Vincent had been certain Jeremy had deteriorated to a point where he needed hospital admission. Vincent never second-guessed himself, ever. Yet, as he trudged back into the bright sunshine and fresh air he felt a seed of doubt bubble up inside him. It wasn’t Jeremy’s comment about his dream that was bothering him. That was just a guess. All kids have nightmares about dragons. No, the thing gnawing at his certainty was that throughout the visit both he and Jeremy had only been in the lounge. Neither of them had left the room and neither of them had gone near the plate of food on the floor. Yet, as he left he’d glanced at the plate he saw something quite inexplicable. The food Jeremy had put out was gone. It appeared to have been eaten because there was nothing left except for an apple core and a few scattered breadcrumbs.
In his opinion this visit was just a formality: Jeremy had disengaged from the community team. He was unwell and he needed treatment in hospital. It was, however, doubtful that Jeremy would agree with this assessment. That being the case, Vincent needed to get eyes on him and confirm whether or not they needed to call a formal Mental Health Act assessment to compel him to go into hospital.
Raised voices could be heard through the thin walls of a flat downstairs. Vincent listened to a hysterical woman admonishing a crying child for a few moments before he knocked again. His hand still felt sticky from touching the bannister earlier so he wiped it on his trousers. They’d need to go in the wash later but he had plenty of other combats. They’d always been part of his informal uniform ever since he’d become a community mental health nurse. You can never have enough pockets; he’d tell student nurses when they were shadowing him. He was alone today and was about to knock a third time when Jeremy finally opened the door.
The sickly warm smell of stale air and body odour wafted out to greet him. The reek of neglect was over-powering but this wasn’t the worst flat Vincent had been to. A single naked bulb hung from the ceiling casting a weak yellow glow in the dingy hallway. Jeremy looked as if he’d only just woken up. His lank black hair drooped over his shoulders like a collection of dirty feathers while his beard resembled a wild hedge-row of tangled hawthorn.
“I thought for a moment you weren’t going to answer.”
“I don’t want to go to hospital” Jeremy mumbled defensively.
“I’ve just come to chat," Vincent reassured him. "Put a shirt on, would you. I don’t really want to see your moobs.”
Jeremy smirked briefly, flashing his stained teeth. He picked up crumpled Prodigy t-shirt from the floor. He pulled it on and plodded into the living room. As he passed the kitchenette he grabbed a plate with a sandwich, some cheese and a few biscuits on it. He set it down by the far wall opposite his frayed sofa before plonking himself down on his tatty armchair.
“You're not going to eat that?” Vincent asked as Jeremy began fiddling with a pouch of tobacco and some roll-ups that were lying on the arm.
“It’s not for me” Jeremy explained. “It’s for him; The-Face-In-The-Wall.”
“The-Face-In-The-Wall?”
“Yeah. Sit down if you want.” Jeremy gestured to the old three-seater sofa. He shook the clear plastic lighter and flicked it repeatedly until a weak flame waved into existence. While Jeremy lit his roll-up Vincent identified a space that wasn’t covered in heaps of dirty clothes or the dried-up remains of unfinished meals. He carefully lowered his considerable weight onto the edge of the cushion.
“Tell me about this Face-In-The-Wall. What’s that all about?”
Jeremy shifted in his seat and pointed with his cigarette. “It comes out of the wall by the skirting board. It tells me things and sometimes it’s hungry so, you know; I give it food.”
“Right.”
“It doesn’t tell me to hurt myself. Or anyone else,” Jeremy quickly added. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“How long have you been aware of it for?”
“Oh…” Jeremy exhaled smoke into the air. “It started coming just after the fire in the hotel.”
“You’d been using legal highs that night. Are you still using them?”
“No, it told me to stop," Jeremy explained. “It’s also been teaching me about that creature that started that fire.”
“Remind me what happened again?”
Jeremy took another drag on his roll-up, blowing another wisp of smoke up to the yellowed ceiling.
“The hotel was due to be demolished, right?” Jeremy continued. “My mates Steve and Gwen wanted to go in to see if there was anything worth taking. So we climbed over the fences and demolition signs and got into the courtyard. I stayed outside while they found a broken window and got inside.”
Both his friends died that night. There was no evidence that Jeremy was responsible in any way but Vincent, cynical by nature, wasn’t entirely convinced. It didn’t take Freud to work out that this Face-In-The-Wallcould be a manifestation of guilt. Whether it was guilt from surviving the fire or guilt from being responsible for lighting it; that remained to be seen.
Jeremy continued his story with robotic consistency. “The building was suddenly on fire. I couldn’t get in and I couldn’t see or hear the others. I was about to shout for them when I saw the creature on the roof. It was kind of hidden by the smoke but I could make out enough of it. It was huge, perched on the roof like a giant red demon. It was aDraconnas!”
He paused as if expecting a reaction from Vincent. When none was forthcoming Jeremy asked: “Have you heard that term before?”
Vincent sighed “No.”
“Not many people have. Anyway, this Draconnaswas in its dragon-form. It was at least ten feet tall. Its crocodile-like face was blood-red it was surrounded by the flames, giving it an aura of real savage aggression. Luckily it hadn’t seen me. I dived behind this wall as it spread its wings and leapt to the ground. Despite its size, it was quite…" he searched for the right word. "…Graceful, as it landed silently in front of the main entrance, just a few meters away from me. Then it opened its jaws and blew a stream of fire at the hotel. The doors; the windows; the entire front side buckled under the inferno.”
Jeremy had wrapped his arms around himself. His low, nervous voice subtly drifted into the background as a long-forgotten memory quietly reasserted itself in Vincent’s mind: He’d been no more than five years old when he and his family had spent the summer sailing around the Greek Islands. One night he’d dreamt he was looking out of the porthole when he saw a huge dragon overhead. It had only been visible for a moment before a thick milky fog billowed out from it. The churning cotton-wool cloud covered the dragon; the stars and finally expanded to swallow the boat. Young Vincent couldn’t see nor hear anything, not even the waves outside. Was the monster was coming for him? It could be right outside his window! He’d screamed for his parents and they told him it had just been a dream. Still, it was so realistic and he’d hated foggy weather for years afterwards. He shook the memory away as Jeremy concluded his recollection.
“My eyes were stinging from the smoke but the last thing I saw was the Draconnaschanging back into its human form. It twisted and shrank in size. Its wings folded back and its scales melted away. Soon there was just this man standing by the blaze. He was tall like you, but really buff and totally naked; like Arnold Schwarzenegger, in Terminator? The heat didn’t bother him and he just walked off somewhere. I waited as long as I could in case he was still around but eventually the heat and smoke became too much and I had to get out of there.”
“Right.”
“Draconnas,” Jeremy glanced at the plate of food against the wall. “They’re like a secret mafia; they’re everywhereand they control everything!”
“So…”
“There are twelve different kinds of Draconnas” Jeremy interrupted, pressure of speech evident. “They can be categorised into three distinct types. The one at the hotel was a Fire Dragon – one of the four Apex Types. Apex Types attack their prey from a distance by breathing fire, ice, poisonous vapour, etc. Then there’s the four Predator Types. These can be fast or strong or have razor-sharp claws to tear their victims apart.” He was becoming more animated, waving his hands to emphasis his points. “Lastly, there are the four Enchanted Types. These are less common and aren’t generally designed for fighting…”
“Jeremy,” Vincent interrupted, raising his hands and gesturing for him to shut-up. “You’ve not been taking your medication recently. Why is that?”
“I can’t. The tablets will get rid of The-Face-In-The-Wall.”
“You know, historically, you go downhill very quickly when you’ve been off your meds.”
“This is different because The-Face-In-The-Wall helps me. After Steve and Gwen died I wanted to end it all: Take all my medication at once, have a smoke and drift off peacefully. But, The-Face-In-The-Wall told me not to.” He was looking at the far wall again.
“This face, do you see it now?”
“Yeah, it’s right there.”
“Okay.” Vincent made a point of looking at the wall above the plate. “Jeremy, I can’t see anything there, mate.”
The other shrugged and began flicking his lighter, trying to re-light his roll-up.
“How are you feeling within yourself, Jeremy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you believe you’re unwell?”
“No.”
“Okay, that’s good to hear," Vincent said. "The reason I ask is that people are worried about you. Now, I’ve always said I’ll be up-front and I’ll always tell you the truth.” He paused. “I think you arebecoming unwell again. You’ve stopped taking your medication; you’ve not left your flat in weeks; you’re seeing things that I can’t see.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Vincent.”
“I can’t just take your word for it. I need to make sure you’re okay and that you’ll stay okay. Now, you need to make a choice: Either, you restart your medication. Or you don’t and, you risk going back into hospital again. It’s up to you.”
“I can’t go into hospital.” Jeremy’s response was mediate, his fist tightened around his lighter. Vincent eyed him carefully.
“The Face told me there are Aspirants in hospitals. Aspirants are people; humans, who work for the Draconnas. They aspireto become Draconnasthemselves by doing things for them. If an Aspirant finds out that I know about them, they’ll kill me. There’s no way I’m going into hospital!” Jeremy looked from Vincent to the wall. “I can’t go.”
Unfortunately, for Jeremy, this was a battle he couldn’t win. In the end, he’d have to go along with whatever the professionals decided.
“I won’t go!” Jeremy challenged, leaning forward in his chair. The ex-marine instinctively shifted his feet. His boots crunched gravel-like crumbs into the dirty carpet. He subtly changed position, ready to spring up from the sofa if he needed to make a quick exit.
“I can’t keep taking my medication and I won’t go to hospital. I’m doing alright now. I’m coping with the stress. You’ve got to believe me!” Jeremy’s voice was rising in pitch.
“Okay.” Vincent knew the visit would end this way. It was time to go and report back to the team. Jeremy was clearly unwell and needed hospital treatment. A Mental Health Act assessment would be arranged for later that afternoon and, as long as there was a free bed, Jeremy would be on the ward by tea time. As Vincent got ready to stand up the predictable pattern of the visit was suddenly interrupted.
“You’ve seen one before, haven’t you!” Jeremy announced. His face was lit with excitement. “When you were a kid you saw a Draconnas fly over your boat! It was an Enchanted Type; a Grey Dragon, according to The-Face-In-The-wall.”
Just for a moment, Vincent was caught totally off guard and he stalled. After his careers in the navy and mental health services, Vincent had thought he’d seen and heard so much that nothing would ever faze him. He managed to regain his composure and with a grunt of effort, he heaved himself to his feet. Jeremy was now eyeing him with the look of a rogue working in cahoots with a co-conspirator. Vincent held Jeremy’s gaze for a moment longer, then shook his head and walked towards the door pausing only to glance down at the plate on the floor.
From the moment he’d read the case notes and throughout most of the visit, Vincent had been certain Jeremy had deteriorated to a point where he needed hospital admission. Vincent never second-guessed himself, ever. Yet, as he trudged back into the bright sunshine and fresh air he felt a seed of doubt bubble up inside him. It wasn’t Jeremy’s comment about his dream that was bothering him. That was just a guess. All kids have nightmares about dragons. No, the thing gnawing at his certainty was that throughout the visit both he and Jeremy had only been in the lounge. Neither of them had left the room and neither of them had gone near the plate of food on the floor. Yet, as he left he’d glanced at the plate he saw something quite inexplicable. The food Jeremy had put out was gone. It appeared to have been eaten because there was nothing left except for an apple core and a few scattered breadcrumbs.