Explanation

May followed the Caretaker out of the on-call room. As the door shut behind her, there was an assault of noises; hoarse breathing, sobs, screams, running footsteps, cries for various tests and instruments. A sign beside her read: I.C.U.

Beside her, the Caretaker had his eyes closed as if he was concentrating hard. May reached a hand out to tap his shoulder but before she made contact, her head split open.

May sank to her knees, feeling a hundred stabbing pains all over her body. She pressed both hands against her ears as the sound around her increased a hundredfold in volume. She was drowning in agony. Red spots filled her vision as she heard a baby wailing for its dead mother. An old man choked to death in one ear and a boy of no more than twelve cursed out his maskless father in the other. She couldn't breathe. She had to make it stop. She couldn't speak.

And then it stopped.

May was lying on the ground, one cheek pressed against the cool, solid ground, hands wrapped around her head. She let out a shaky breath, and felt someone pick her up and carry her somewhere nearby. She didn't dare open her eyes in case it started again.

"See?"

May did not want to look at him. She felt him pull a sheet up over her legs.

Time passed, maybe an hour. May slept and dreamed of contorted faces and violent accusations. When she woke up, she opened her eyes on instinct.

She was in an empty room that looked like it had only just been vacated. There was still a plant in the window. The Caretaker was reading "The History of the Reign of King Henry VII and Selected Works," his feet resting on a high backed chair.

"What--what was that?" May's throat was raw, as if she'd been screaming for hours.

The Caretaker flipped a page, leisurely. "Me."

May threw off the covers and enunciated the words slowly. "What--does--that--mean?"

The Caretaker shut the book with a snap. "Without me, that is your world."

May put a hand to her head, as if the knives were still piercing her skull. "The pain…" she said slowly.

"Pain is the most powerful substance in any world."

"Substance?" May watched as he stood up, hatless.

"Misery would overcome you all if the spirits let it." The Caretaker sat down beside her. May jerked back, away from him.

He moved forward, shortening the distance between them. "Marguerite."

She flinched. It was the first time he had used her name.

He leaned towards her. Their noses were almost touching. "Do you truly want to live in such a world?"

There was a beat. Then, May mustered all of her power, clenched her fist, and punched him in the face.

He catapulted backwards, clutching his nose. May gave a shaky laugh, cradling her hand. "Did that actually hurt a little?"

He recovered and cast her a look of fury. "No."

"It seemed like it did."

"It did NOT."

May massaged her knuckles and thought for a moment. "I'm glad you exist."

He gave her a questioning look.

She stood up, a little shakily. "You've taught me that your existence is a good thing."

May took a few steps, and noticed that her shirt billowed out behind her.

"I'm--what am I wearing?"

"Pajamas," he said.

"I wasn't wearing them before." May's voice rose two octaves.

"You were wearing very uncomfortable jeans." He jerked his head to where they lay nicely folded in the corner.

"You--" she was outraged, "you--"

"A friend should not let you sleep in a wired bra," the Caretaker said nonchalantly.

May crossed her arms over her chest. "BOUNDARIES." The word broke in the middle.

The Caretaker pursed his lips. "That means I should not change you into more comfortable clothes again?"

"YES."

"Even if you pass out?"

"YES."

He stalked out of the room mumbling, "Victorian ladies were much more appreciative."

"Victorian ladies were taught that their bodies were worth nothing!" She called after him, and then sat down heavily. Her throat was still too raw to curse properly.

When she left the room, he wasn't there. She took the bus home. It stopped for twenty minutes as a homeless woman attempted to get on with no mask and without paying, to no avail, her grimy walker blocking the doors. May watched the driver argue with her and it seemed to catapult her back into reality.

Ray had been her rock for three years. He was the only person who knew about her O.C.D, the person who'd go to movies with her at eight in the morning just to sit in the darkness. Not being able to see him had affected her bitterly.

He had been crying. He had lost patients. The Caretaker had distracted her from what was really important. She took out her phone to text Ray something comforting, but thought better of it. What could she say? She had exposed him to a spirit who had taken the first opportunity to play with his mind. She bit her lip hard as she remembered Ray's hatred of hypnotism. He couldn't even stand horror movies involving altered consciousness. And she had exposed him to the thing he feared most.

May arrived home and went straight to her bedroom. Her parents were watching T.V., something funny. They were laughing. As usual, her heart ached when she heard them. In her room, she checked her bank account. Loans had sucked out everything this month. The usual feeling of despair washed over her, and she wondered how much worse it would be without the Caretaker's existence.

She looked at the clock. It was late, she should eat. Then, she realized that today was the first day in six months that she had been outside for longer than twenty minutes. She had touched things too, without an O.C.D attack; the bed, the clothes, the door to the room he'd put her in. She remembered that he had told her the front doors were automatic. He had pressed the elevator button. Was he being kind? Or did he just not want to be bothered?

Far, far away, the Caretaker was pondering the same question.