Cry for Help Read Online Free PDF

this, in turn, might shake some foundation she'd fought hard to get level. It didn't change anything for me, of course, and I told her so. But in her face, just for a moment, I saw someone who'd had her sense of identity and self-worth swept away, and then had to stand in the eye of that tornado while the pieces of everything she'd believed about herself whirled around in the air. She had gathered them back together and clung on tightly.
    If anything, as patronising at it might have been, the challenges she'd faced, and the way she faced the world afterwards, made her even more important to me. I told her, 'You're the sanest girl I've ever been out with,' and I meant it.
    Two years later, as I drove to Staunton, I felt guilt and anger spreading through me. It wasn't my job to check up on Tori, but she was still my friend, and maybe I could have done something to help if I'd only taken the time.
    That's what happens. People slip if you let them.
     
    I arrived just after two.
    The hospital was built on the side of a gently sloping hill: a series of pale, single-storey buildings spreading out and down, some connected, some not. There were tall hedges along the roadside, with a single entrance to the car park, manned by a guard. The gravel beyond was white and carefully levelled off, while the fields around the wards were neat and luscious: bright green in the sunshine, with the lollipop trees nodding gently in a calm breeze. The car park was half full, but when I got out of the car everything was incredibly quiet. The hospital and its grounds were designed to be as tranquil as possible.
    I walked down the path to the main entrance, smelling cut grass in the fresh air. Once inside, the main corridor was quite busy, and I glanced into some of the other wards as I passed them, seeing nothing to differentiate them from those in a normal hospital. By contrast, when I reached Eight, I was faced with a set of blue double doors, magnetically sealed, with a touch-key pad on the wall beside them. That brought it home - the fact that my friend was confined here. It was for her own good, but it was still strange and sad to think we couldn't walk out of here together if we wanted.
    I buzzed the intercom and the door was opened a minute later by a young, unshaven man in casual clothes: jeans and jumper. The name tag attached to his belt told me his name was Robert Till, and that he was a care assistant.
    I said, 'Hi. I'm here to see Tori Edmonds.'
    'Right.' He let me in. 'Tori's outside on the patio. It's at the end. You need to sign in and then I'll walk you down.'
    'Thanks.'
    Ward Eight was basically a long, wide corridor with doors branching off it. There were bedrooms off to the left, some open, some closed. None appeared to have locks on, but there were white boxes painted on the floor around doorways, clearly indicating 'exclusion zones' for guests. The air smelled of a combination of cleaning products and unidentifiable school dinners.
    'I feel awkward asking,' I said, 'but what should I expect?'
    'Have you ever seen her during a manic episode?'
    'No.'
    'Well, she's getting better. She's sedated a little, but just talk to her the way you would anybody else. How do you know her?'
    'We went out together a couple of years back.'
    'Oh, okay. Are you the magician?'
    'Kind of. Journalist, really.'
    'She's talked about you a lot. She'll be pleased you came. Even if she doesn't really show it.'
    Towards the end of the corridor there were large rooms to either side. We went right, into an area filled with comfortable seats and tables with magazines fanned out on them. Groups of people were dotted around, and it was difficult at first glance to distinguish who might be a resident or a visitor. The atmosphere appeared quiet and relaxed, somewhere between a hospital ward and prison visiting hours, but much closer to the former. These people were patients, after all, and so the security was subtle and unobtrusive, designed to disappear unless you