Page 17 of Straightjacket

“Momma?” I whisper as I step into the room. “Are you awake?”

I wait for a moment, then I hear the sheets moving.

“Is that my baby boy?” She croaks out, and I step closer to get a better look at her. Nerves prickle across my skin and I stumble backwards when she turns to face me, the light from the moon shining across her face.

“You don’t look so good, momma.” Thick beads of sweat cover her yellow skin, and her eyes, they’re so red and blotchy. “What’s wrong with you, why do you look like that?” I mumble, my words shaking as I continue to stare at the person who doesn’t look like momma.

“What do you mean, sweetheart? Come closer and have a look, I’m not scary, I promise.” She says so softly with a wide smile, showing her brown teeth. Clumpy bits of sick stick to the corners of her mouth and I trail my eyes down to follow the path that leads onto her stained nightgown.

As much as I want to go near her, my dad’s warning rings like a bell in my head. He said that she was dangerous, but she doesn’t look dangerous to me? Maybe he just doesn’t want me getting sick too because he doesn’t want me missing school. That must be it.

“Come on sweetheart, come sit next to momma.” She urges on and I follow her order, stepping carefully over the soiled towels on the floor until I reach the end of her bed, then I sit down and tangle my hands together.

“You’re not dangerous, are you momma?” I ask, turning to look at her. She looks at me with sad eyes and shakes her head. “No, no... you see, your daddy has got me all locked up in here and I’m perfectly fine, just a bit of sickness that’s all.”

Dropping my gaze from her face, I look at the leather straps that wrap around her wrists. Blue bruises cover her skin, just like the one on my knee when I fell over in the garden.

“Don’t those hurt you?” I point towards the straps.

“They do, maybe you could take them off for momma?”

“I, uh...” I stutter. “I don’t think dad would like that very much.”

Momma scoffs and shakes her head. “Your daddy doesn’t know what’s good for him, he doesn’t want me to get better. But you do, don’t you?”

I do want her to get better. I can make her better.

“What if we got you a doctor?” I push, causing her to shake again.

“No, no. I don’t need that, but you can be my doctor can’t you, sweet boy?”

A bright smile spreads across my face, because that’s exactly what I can be. I know I can help momma get better again, and then we can play outside together, just like we used to.

Rubbing my hands on my knees, I nod. “I think so. Wha... what do I need to do? What about medicine?”

Momma smiles at me again, a softness to her gloomy eyes. “Such an inquisitive boy,” she coos. “The medicine isn’t working for me, sweet boy. I think... it's making me sicker. I think little Doctor Thorne needs to help me out of this bed, that’ll make me better.”

Hearing her call me Doctor Thorne has me smiling brightly and I quickly scramble off the bed, getting to work on unbuckling one of the straps on her wrist. I’m too excited by the thought of making her better, that I don’t notice her mumbling to herself.

“What did you say, momma?” I say cheerfully whilst pulling the strap through the buckle.

“Don’t... don’t let me out of this bed, Peter.” She warns, her tone of voice changing to something much darker, more serious. I’ve never heard momma talk like that before, and right before my eyes, her face changes, almost like she’s someone else.

My fingers hover above the buckle, leaving the strap around her wrist loose.

“Momma? What’s happening?” My bottom lip begins to tremble, releasing the tears that well in my eyes. Momma whips her head to face me, the greasy strands of her brown hair spreading across her sticky forehead.

“Listen to me, Peter. You can’t let me out of this bed, it’s not safe. She’s dangerous!”

Confusion causes my brows to dip. “Who? Who's dangerous? What do you mean?”

Her head whips to the side again, as if she’s talking to someone else in the room that I can’t see, then she stares at me again, her eyes soft once more.

“Don’t listen to that silly woman, sweetheart. She’s trying to stop me from getting better. She wants me to stay sick forever, but you don’t, do you?” Her soft voice soothes me for a moment. “Undo the straps, sweet boy. I’ll feel better, I promise.”

Momma urges me again to finish pulling the straps through the buckle and I do, because whatever is going on with her, I can fix it. Slipping the strap through, I pull it open, so her hand is free.

Then she changes again.