No. 6 in E-Flat Minor “Lament”
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!
-Emily Dickenson (1830-1886)
Legal name: Regulus Black
Sex: Male
Date of birth: 25th June 1850
Marital Status: Unwed
Children: 0
Home Address: Pendle Hill, Lancashire, England
Parent: Walburga Black
Total Appointments: 28
Last appointment: 23rd August
Next appointment: 30th August
Doctor: Dr Augustus Pye
Nurse: Ms Poppy Pompfery
Reason for Treatment: Hallucinations, Dementia Praecox
Appointment Notes:
The patient is fussy, He refuses treatment. His hallucinations seem to be getting worse. He claims to have met the man, James, on a piece of property we know is barren. The family that lived on the property had a son who was killed several years prior. My colleagues believe Mr Black is communing with the dead. However, I believe my patient is a deeply disturbed adolescent. The treatment plan for the next year is to continue therapy and if hallucinations persist, Trephination is our next step.
The first night was spent in a room with a bed and parchment. When he woke up his words and ramblings were gone. So was the parchment. The room he was in the night before had windows and yellow paint that had started curling off the walls with age. Now he was in a room with light green walls and no windows. The light bulb had been taken out, most likely for the safety of the patients. Regulus had sat on the uncomfortable bed but the springs poked into his flesh and the cotton had scratched his skin. He sat there on the floor for hours, listening to any sounds he could make out of the world behind the heavy metal door that stood in his way.
There was a day though when an attendant came to check on him. She opened the door, looked around and saw that Regulus had situated himself on the floor. He hadn't been expecting anyone. When she came in he got up and asked if he could have his parchment back. Anything to occupy his time instead of sitting in his lonesome all day. She called him crazy before shutting the heavy door behind her.
He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t. He knew James was real. He knew he wasn't crazy. He knew and that's all that matters. He knew. He knew. He knew.
James is real.
Their love is real.
He knows.
That's all that matters.
The attendants aren't at all nice. They have permanent scowls on their faces. He watches from the bars on the door as they drag patients by the hair. He tries to be civil with them. He tries to keep them happy. But when he asks for parchment one last time they open the door and force themselves in. They pull his hair and kick at him till his ribs are bruised and his mouth bleeds.
They hold him down. They hit. They pull. They hurt. So Regulus never speaks again. Instead, he remembers them. The words he so desperately wants to write down.
Help me, darling, they keep me from you, I know what it's like to love and lose
The adoration in my features causes the devil and the preacher;
To fight. Do I fight? Do I try? Do I have the strength to lie?
My love, you’re with me every time
Weeks go by. At every appointment, they get nowhere. They don't believe Regulus. They don't trust him. The doctors take examinations and lower his risk level. When he was entered they took his ‘illness’ and put him in a cell alone. Now having proved his semi-sanity, he’s being moved into a room with someone else. Another boy his age. He is escorted from his old cell to a new one. In the hallway of heavy doors, everyone is open. It's only at lunchtime when the patients are allowed out and are able to wander. The attendant with him leaves him at the door of his room. Inside are two beds that sit on opposite sides of the room. The window sits between them. It's his first taste of freedom inside these walls. All the other patients run around outside in the courtyard. He watches as people walk around on the grass, talking to one another. None of them look like they should be here. They all look like normal people. Maybe Regulus’ unjust admission has been reflected in the likes of these patients. Maybe they have also suffered the terror of not being believed. Or treated like a human. Maybe they are sane and stuck in a place that tells them otherwise. He watches people laugh. He watches them as they live in a place that's trying to kill them. He watches for a while, watching the very normal interactions between patients.
When he hears footsteps he turns around. His skin prickles with anticipation. Whoever is walking down the hall might be a nurse, coming to take him away, back downstairs and into the cold concrete cells that never saw the light of day. A mop of blonde curls poked around the corner.
“Hey there newbie!” a short boy walks in with an energy that reminds him of James. “Peter,” he puts out his hand to shake and smiles “Peter Pettigrew.” Regulus doesn't want to touch his skin. Not after the hours of torture, he endured from the attendants downstairs. He fears that if he takes Peter's hand, his mind will remind him of the terrors down there and he never wants to go back. He just nods instead. Peter isn't phased, he drops his hand and leads him outside. They walk down the hall together. Regulus’ eyes strain at the brightness of the sun shining through the barred windows of each room. He knows that if he were in the field right now it would be a lot brighter, his eyes would take days to adjust. At the end of the hall is a tall twisting spiral staircase. Peter starts walking down them as Regulus stares to the bottom. It's a long way down. Regulus can almost imagine throwing something down there and watching it splat on the ground below. Maybe he can throw himself down there. He’s stuck. He has nothing to live for now.
“Don’t jump.”
There's a voice to his left. A boy. His age. Light brown hair. A scar that runs across his face, cutting over his eye. Regulus’ grip on the rail of the stairs tightens. He doesn't say a word. Peter stops on the steps.
“Remus! Great of you to join us. I was showing Newbie to the courtyard.” Peter said, waving to the other boy.
“I’m Remus,” The boy with brown hair reaches out his hand to shake but Regulus just shakes his head.
“Not a talker huh? That's okay. Peter can do the talking for both of us. Let's go sit outside, yeh?” He gestures toward the stairs and starts going down them. It takes Regulus a second to adjust to the sheer nonchalance that Remus has. He finds it mildly funny how both these boys are treating this place like any normal building like they aren't all condemned to a life of insanity.
He follows closely behind the two boys. The one with dusty brown hair and the one with blonde hair. Remus has a limp on his right leg. Regulus wonders how he got it. Regulus wonders if Remus experienced the same horrors as him. Perhaps his leg had been broken by an attendant and had never properly healed.
Peter talks a lot. His mouth is always moving even when he misses a step and manages to trip a little bit, he keeps talking. Regulus wonders how many things must be running through his mind at a time. How many secrets could he keep if he was constantly talking? How many secrets and innocent blood could be spilt by a mind like that?
The walls of the facility are all grey. Some have peeling paint and chips on the floor. Peter ran ahead leaving Remus and Regulus behind. Remus clears his throat. “Peters in here for excessive and compulsive talking, if anything, he’s just really friendly.” Remus shakes his head in disappointment. Most likely with the doctors and diagnoses that have condemned people to a life inside the walls of a madhouse. “And you?” Regulus asks. His voice is raspy after weeks of misuse. Remus does not point out that it's his first words to him. Remus does not react. “The boy I love…” Regulus’ breath hitches,“No one else can see him but me.” Remus is solemn as he says it. Regulus understands. He very much understands. Because they both know that their love is real. And that none of it was fake. But the world doesn't seem to understand that so they are stuck within the walls of this place. Heartbroken. Alone.
They make their way to a heavy metal door that Peter tugs open. Outside, Regulus sees patients, in the same grey uniform as him, running around or laying on the grass, which is beige and dead. He hears the crunch of the dead grass under his feet. There are flower beds and tall tomato bushes. In the corner is a tree. A tree. An oak tree. He can only imagine it, him sitting under a tree with a book in his hands. He can see James in his peripheral vision watching him read. He misses the boy who laughed like the sun. He misses the boy who touched like… Remus places his hand on his shoulder to snap him out of his daze.
“I was in love too, I think maybe that's why I’m here.” Remus only nods and leads Regulus to the base of the tree. Remus opens his arms and Regulus lets himself be comforted by the boy. He can see Peter across the courtyard, animatedly talking to someone. He can see another patient with dark hair and a deadly look in his eye. The boy looks like the type of thing his mother would condemn to hell. Regulus wants to be friends.
“Who's that?” He asks Remus, inconspicuously pointing to the boy. Remus looks for a second before turning back to Regulus.
“Barty, I think he’s here because he has major manic episodes,” Remus sighs, “I think he’s just as normal as the rest of us though.”
Remus’ voice is so soft. So soothing. Regulus almost falls asleep at the gentle inflections of it. But it isn't James. He isn't James.