Fallon Payne // District Five

Lately I've been between
Being steady or a head case
What's become of us now
Hanging our hearts in disgrace

Mama said this is the place where they'll figure out what's wrong with me.

(I see things that aren't there, hear voices that don't speak, and when I look there are monsters in the walls and under my bed and they're going to kill you, kill me, kill us all, Ripred, help me - )

"Fallon?"

I sit with my hands folded quietly in my lap. The chair is soft, nothing like we have at home. The woman has a kind face, with soft eyes. The room is polished clean, like a healer's house should be. Everything is just so, just as I like it. There are no monsters here. Childish fears melt away and for once I actually feel my age, sixteen and screaming for someone to fix me. I'm broken. So broken.

The woman approaches me slowly, cautiously, as if afraid I'll lash out at her. I watch her with wide eyes until she finally sticks her hand out for me to shake. I take it gently. Her hands are soft. "My name is Kathryn," she says with a smile. "I'm here to - "

"Figure out what's wrong with me," I finish before she can.

She pauses. "I suppose that's one way of putting it," she replies slowly. "I prefer to call it a diagnostic test, though."

Healers like long words. I don't. I pretend that it's fine, though, that it's just so, because I like it when things are just so. Kathryn smiles again when I don't say anything, taking a seat in the chair across from me. "Your mother tells me you see things that other people can't."

"They aren't real," I answer automatically, even though deep in my chest something screams that they are, they always have been, and always will be, even if others don't believe it. Kathryn watches me hard, making me squirm slightly, but doesn't press the matter, instead handing me a small mirror.

"What do you see?"

Strange question. "Myself." Her eyes flicker, and I instantly know I've said something wrong.

But she's patient, endlessly patient, just like Mama. "Describe it."

I frown at the mirror. "Brown hair...?" I say cautiously, like a question. She nods, urging me to continue. "Lots of brown hair. It's wavy and everywhere sometimes, but it looks pretty in the snow. I don't usually wear it down like this. I like to pull it back."

"Why?" she asks suddenly, startling me.

"Because if I don't the monsters try to grab it," I say simply before continuing even though the silence seems to have suddenly gotten heavy. "I have freckles on my nose. They look more like dirt, sometimes, especially because my skin is so pale." I rub at my nose, as if doing so will make the little spots go away. "But when it's really cold my nose turns pink and they go away. I think that's why I like winter best."

Kathryn hums a little. "Most people don't like the cold."

"I know," I say, tilting the mirror so that it only reflects half of my face back at me. "But I like to play in the snow."

"You're a bit old for that, aren't you?"

I pause, glancing away from my reflection. "I'm only too old when I can't do it anymore." I continue as if the topic didn't stray, frowning. "I have small eyes. They're dark gray, like... like storm clouds, only they aren't angry or intense. They're just plain."

"The eyes are the window to the soul," Kathryn comments. "I'm sure yours are quite fascinating."

"Eyes aren't windows," I say with a small smile. "They're just eyes."

Kathryn nods and stands, reaching out and gently taking my arm. "You're very thin," she notes. "Are you eating properly?"

"Of course I am," I say, pulling my arm back sharply. "All of us are like this."

"All?" Kathryn frowns. "You have siblings?"

But I'm suddenly distracted before I can answer her question, catching a glimpse of darkness in the reflection behind me. I whip my head around, but there's nothing. It's then that I realize that the darkness is in the mirror, reaching toward me.

I scream, throwing it across the room. I can hear the mirror crack when it hits the wall. Kathryn leaps back, alarmed. "What?" she asks, over and over again, as I lift my hands to my face. They're here. They're here. Oh, Ripred, they're here. "What is it?"

"Monster," I whisper.

Oh remember when you said
That I was sick inside the head
I'm just half way there
My common sense hanging by a thread

Kathryn calls in a little girl who cleans up the broken glass. The girl's movements are stiff and she refuses to meet my gaze. Kathryn doesn't speak again until she has left.

"Fallon." Her voice is different somehow. Stilted and careful. Inwardly I cringe. "What happened?"

I feel so silly that for a moment I don't respond, ducking my head and inspecting my nails. But then her voice comes again, louder, more demanding. "Fallon."

"I saw a monster," I whisper. "In the mirror. It was reaching out for me." I pause, and then quickly add, "Monsters aren't real." Just like Mama taught me.

"They're real to you, though, aren't they?" Kathryn asks. After a moment, I nod, and she looks at me sympathetically. I twist my fingers around, biting my lip and looking at the spot on the wall where the mirror shattered, trying to ignore her concerned gaze. "Do they talk to you, Fallon?"

"No," I say, but then I change my mind because she seems so nice. "Yes. At night, sometimes. They tell me things I don't want to hear. I don't like it when they talk to me."

"I'm sorry," Kathryn says.

"No you're not," I answer immediately, and she looks startled. After years trapped in peoples' insincere words I learned how to tell when someone means what they say. There's something in their eyes, in their voices.

Kathryn doesn't speak for a moment, and then abruptly changes the subject. "You said you aren't too old to play in the snow. What other things aren't you too old for?"

I draw my knees up to my chest, thinking. It's a strange question, certainly, but one that I am for some reason delighted to answer. "I'm not too old to draw. I'm not too old to pick wildflowers. I'm not too old to find constellations."

"I thought you didn't like the night."

"I don't like the monsters that are in my room at night," I correct her. "I love the stars. I love making pictures in the sky and pretending that there are stories behind all of them." I pause thoughtfully. "I think stars are like people. If you look closely enough, you can see all the connections and the patterns."

Kathryn smiles a little. "That's my job, you know. To look at people and figure them out."

"Figure out what's wrong with them," I say, avoiding her gaze. My mood has suddenly darkened. It does that a lot. "You take care of people who are sick."

She stares at me for a long time, then frowns. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"It's not," I say quickly, looking up. "It's just... if you help sick people, that means that I'm sick, because you're helping me." She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. "It's okay. I know that I'm sick. People think I don't but I do."

She blinks. "You're a very brave girl, to acknowledge that."

I shrug. "Sometimes I'm brave. Sometimes I'm scared. You know what's funny? I spend so much time being one or the other that I forget what I'm supposed to be."

Kathryn looks confused. "What's that?"

"Me," I answer quietly. "I'm supposed to just be me. Right?"

"Who are you, Fallon?"

I shake my head. "Don't ask me that."

"Fallon."

Her voice is more persistent this time but I remain silent, picking at my finger nails. I always do that, to distract myself from situations I don't like.

"Fallon, please. I'm trying to help you."

At that I look up, meeting her gaze. "You're a very nice lady, Kathryn," I state bluntly. "But you don't want to help me. You just want to diagnose me."

She stares at me for a long time before jotting something down and then leaving the room without another word.

I'm bad on the outside
But a coward at heart
The taste of salt in my mouth
My voice is silent

"Your daughter has hallucinations, Ms. Payne."

I shouldn't be leaning against the door listening. I know that for a fact, and yet here I am, ear pressed up against it, straining to hear every word.

"I know."

Mama's voice always sounds strained and tired but endlessly patient. She takes care of the four of us all by herself, so I guess she has to know how not to snap. If Mama broke I don't know what the rest of us would do. No, that's a lie. I know exactly what would happen. We'd break, too.

"She mentioned something about other siblings. Do any of them have delicate mental health, as well?"

"All of them," Mama says without missing a beat. I cringe a little.

There's a pause, and then a cautious, "All of them? Are they all like Fallon?"

"No, not like Fallon," Mama replies, but she doesn't elaborate. "When Fallon was little, I thought she was just imagining. But she kept getting older and they didn't go away, and now it's been getting worse. She wakes up screaming almost every night."

"Did Fallon experience any traumatic experiences when she was younger? Abuse, an accident, the loss of a loved one...?"

"She was still very young when her father left, if that's what you're implying. She doesn't remember him at all. It's probably for the best, too. As soon as realized what was happening to our children, he detached himself more and more until one day he didn't come back at all."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Payne."

"Don't be." Mama's voice is prim and proper, and I can just picture her sitting in the chair, her hair pulled back and hidden under her hat and her hands resting proudly on top of her purse.

Mama inherited a lot of money from grandpa when he died, so we get to live in a bigger house with a huge garden. There are people who come sometimes to clean and make dinner for us, too. Mama doesn't work because she doesn't have to, but that doesn't mean she's spoiled. None of us are. She doesn't accept the mayor's invitations to parties and doesn't twitter like other women with money in the district do. She's a good mama.

"Does she have many friends?"

"A few," Mama says. I know who she's talking about. The nice girls at school that listen to me ramble. "Fallon is a very nice girl."

"I'm happy to hear that, Ms. Payne." Kathryn doesn't sound happy at all, and Mama notices right away. I can't see her, but I can tell by the way her voice sounds when she talks again.

"You don't want to tell me something." A pause. "Just come right out with it. I'm sure I've heard worse news."

"Ms. Payne, I can't officially diagnose her, but I've seen official reports from Six with similar symptoms. It would seem your daughter has something called schizophrenia. She is unable to distinguish between myth and reality. I understand that you've tried to tell her that the monsters she sees aren't real, but she doesn't believe it. Not truly."

"Will it get better?" Mama doesn't hesitate or let it sink in. She never does.

"There have been patients who have shown a remarkable ability to ignore their hallucinations," Kathryn's voice is supposed to be bright and happy but it isn't.

"And the others?"

"Ms. Payne - "

"Just tell me what's going to happen to my daughter, please."

Kathryn sighs. "The others often spiral into insanity, sometimes with violent outbursts."

Mama sighs, very quietly, and then stands. "Alright, then. Thank you. That's all I needed to know."

"Wait! Ms. Payne, we haven't discussed - "

"What is there left to discuss? I came for a diagnosis and now I have one. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take my daughter home now."

"She might be dangerous."

"She's a good girl. Always has been, always will be. We'll get through this."

Mama opens the door suddenly. I blink up at her. Kathryn stares at me in obvious surprise. Mama just sighs again, though.

"We always do."

odair