by KC Decker
“I don’t—I don’t even know what to do with that comparison,” I admit. I appreciate his commitment to it; I just don’t know how it applies to me.
“It’s easy, babe,” he whispers. “You can stay put and deal with the Hyenas, or you can do something about it.” He glances down at his watch and then scoots his chair back. “We’ve got to get back, but I still want to get a session in today because—” he seems timid to finish his statement, so I sit up a little straighter because I instinctively feel like I need to brace myself for what he is about to say.
“Veronica is leaving,” he says gently.
Veronica is leaving?
You would think I’d have a solid understanding of the rotation by now. People come, people go. Insurance runs out, people evaporate into the world. Beds open up, beds are filled. It’s a constant cycle, and the door never stops spinning. It’s no surprise that my friendship group is being dismantled, but that doesn’t change my reaction.
My eyes flood with tears because I’m not ready. We’ve made all kinds of plans for the four of us to get a place together, but in my world, plans change, and dust sifts. People disappear. Veronica is leaving, and she is taking a part of me with her. Part I may never get back.
“Listen to me,” he urges, as he risks placing his palm on top of my hand, in full view of the bustling hospital cafeteria. “It’s going to be ok. Your circumstances are fluid. It’s not as though you two will be kept apart by logistics like in the past. You can maintain a friendship with her even if you don’t know exactly what that will look like yet. Ok?” He is so soothing he has an immediate calming effect on my spiking anxiety.
I’m still mad he wants to pretend last night never happened, but everything about me wants to latch on to him and never let go. In a world full of rules and constraints I have to contend with, I have no choice but to accept things as they are. He can be my doctor instead of my boyfriend if he must—I’ll take him however I can get him. I just don’t want to ever be without him.
I nod my head, afraid to answer him with shaky words as he takes my hand and stands. He lets go of me as soon as he realizes what he’s done, and then, after clearing his throat, says, “We need to double-time it back to the unit.”
***
When I approach my friends after returning to the unit, there is a crackling static to the air—as if they had been talking about me and all of a sudden had to change the subject.
“How was hypnosis?” Matty asks.
“Fine. Why are you all talking behind my back?” I question, getting right to it. As usual, my hurt presents as anger. They all start talking at once, but it’s Matty’s voice that gets through.
“Simmer down, we were just saying we are glad you have Sutton to lean on because Veronica is leaving this afternoon, and I have less than a week before I have to return to work, or they won’t hold my position anymore. The floor dynamics are changing, that’s all.”
“You’re leaving in less than a week?” I ask, and it sounds like a distraught plea.
“Only if I want to keep my job and not wind up penniless and, on the streets,” he says with a smile that softens his words. “Plus, your days left are in the double digits now.”
“I’m not as excited as you two. Why are you guys so amped up to leave?” I don’t understand their brimming excitement. Don’t get me wrong, I want to leave too, but I’m terrified to do it.
“I need to get back to normalcy and decent food.”
“Matty, this is normal.”
“Ha! This isn’t real life. This is therapy and starched sheets,” Veronica chimes in.”
“Mercy? Please come to the nurse’s station,” one of the RNs calls over to me. I’m thankful to walk away from my friends because the mood has shifted. Instead of being comfortable and happy here, all of a sudden, they are ready to kick open the doors and go storming out. My state of mind can’t handle that at the moment. In fact, I’m going to see if Wes wants to play chess after I figure out what the nurse wants. I can’t be around people with one foot out the door right now.
“Do you need to see me?” I ask one of the new nurses as I approach the reception desk.
“Mercy, this is Mr. Donaldson. He is your driver’s ed instructor.”
“My driver’s huh? What?” I ask as I automatically stick out my hand to shake his.
“Let's go, young lady. We have quite a bit of ground to cover—so to speak.”
Well, ok then. Looks like I’m learning how to drive right now.
Chapter 22
Today has been a whirlwind of emotions with lots of feelings to process. But, despite the imminent departure of two close friends, my predominant emotion is glee. I drove a car for the first time in my life, and that makes me feel like I really can survive on the outside.
My driver’s ed instructor lectured at me for forty-five minutes and then gave me a quiz before he allowed me to drive around some orange safety cones in a deserted parking lot for fifteen minutes. It was amazing.
Now, back on the unit, pink-cheeked with bloomed excitement, another emotion stomps on my joy and spits in its mouth. Panic. V is saying goodbye to everyone and already has been given back her personal belongings. She is leaving right now. As in, RIGHT now.
After a tear-filled goodbye, I waste zero time in beelining straight to Sutton’s office. It’s not time for my session yet, but I don’t care. I feel empty, and he fills me back up. I need him right now.
I’m not still crying when I knock on his door, but I know the tears will flow at the slightest provocation. Thank God his “In Session” light is not lit because I’m not sure it would even stop me at this point. When I open the door, he is standing by the window dictating notes into his phone.
He doesn’t speak, he simply opens his arms while I close the space between us. He holds me while I cry, softly caressing my hair and murmuring sweet things into my ear.
After many minutes of crying, I step back and tug a few tissues from the box on his desk and blow my nose. Strangely, the sadness feels less pervasive now, like he took some of it from me.
I don’t need to explain what happened; he already knows. He even tried to prepare me for it this morning.
“I have something for you,” he says as he steps aside to flip the switch on his desk that illuminates the red light outside, indicating he’s with a patient.
“You do?” I ask, stunned.
“Yes, but it comes with some rules. What do you want first, the gift or the rules?”
“Such a kill-joy. Give me the rules, I guess.”
“One. You can’t talk about it outside of this room.”
“Ok.”
“Two. You can’t talk about it outside of this room.”
“What is this, Fight Club?”
“You saw the movie Fight Club?” he asks, surprised and maybe a little bit impressed.
“No, I read it, of course. What is this, Fight Club?” I repeat. He smiles and shakes his head.
“Three. You can only use it in here, and only after our session.”
“Oh my God, is it a vibrator? Please tell me it’s a vibrator. Lyla and Veronica act like they are the best things ever invented…Is it? A vibrator? Ly says you have to name them, her’s is the silver bullet, and V’s is The Hulk—they both have others, but those are their favo—”
“It’s not a vibrator, Jesus, Mercy,” he says as he slowly shakes his head and tries to hide his amusement. “Now, I kinda wish it was, though.” He hands me a box that he pulls from his desk drawer. It’s not wrapped, but it has a yellow bow on it. Yellow means friendship, right? Too bad I’m going to paint it red at some point and give it back to him.
“Can I open it?”
“I certainly hope so, it’s pretty useless if it stays in the box.”
When I take the ribbon off, I already know what it is because the box shows a picture of it. Sutton gave me an iPhone. I’m speechless as he guides me to sit on the couch and then follows suit, sitting right next to me.
After I turn it on, he prompts me to set up facial recognition to unlock it, and I start to feel a little drunk with power…even if he keeps it in here, he can’t unlock it to see what I’ve been up to.
“I love it, thank you.”
“You didn’t even see the best part. Go to your contacts.” When I do, I see he has some already set up. Matty, Lyla, Veronica, one that says, not Wes, and one that says, maybe someday. I laugh.
“Are you, ‘maybe someday’?”
“Hell no, that’s Sig. I’m, ‘not Wes’—and don’t you forget it. Go ahead, text Veronica,” he encourages me with a nudge. He guides me through the process, and eventually, I tap out a message.
Me: Hey Veronica. I miss you already.
When she doesn’t respond right away, I say, “This thing doesn't work, is it too late for the vibrator?” We both laugh, and I slyly work my way onto his lap. When I hug him tightly, he returns the sentiment—for about ten seconds. Then he stands up, deposits me back on the couch, and then walks over to stand behind his desk, looking flustered.
“Let’s get to work, shall we?”
“Do you have a boner?” I ask, holding back my giggles. I like making him squirm, this is awesome.
“Not yet. But we actually have some work to do, so put away the phone for now. And definitely wipe that mischievous grin off your face.”
“Great, let’s pack up the laughter and happiness, so we can drudge up some painful memories,” I say sardonically.
“Now, that’s the spirit!” he says excitedly—though terribly sarcastic as well. “I want to start with Mark Sexton. You scream out his name in the night, a handful of the staff can attest to that. He is clearly of some importance.”
“I don’t know who he is. I’ve tried to remember him, but I don’t,” I say emphatically. Dr. Gingham is really interested in this guy as well. If he were that important, I’d remember him—bottom line.
“I’ve done some pretty exhaustive research from your hometown all the way up to this very hospital. There was a Taylor Sexton in your hometown, but he died shortly after you were born, and from what I can tell, he never married or had children. All records of Sextons at St. Vincent’s didn’t correlate with the years you were there. And there were no foster family placements or even prospective foster families by that name in your file. As far as this hospital, there was a labor and delivery nurse named Molly Sexton, as well as a Radiologist named Peter Sexton, both here at various points, but no one that you ever came in contact with. I’m completely stumped. Obviously, this guy is hugely relevant, yet there is no record of him anywhere.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe he is not a real person.”
“What, like a ghost or an imaginary friend?” he asks, unconvinced.
“Noooo. Like a hal-luc-in-a-tion,” I say with extra emphasis.
“I don’t buy it. Do you ever remember any drifters or seasonal workers? Any circus’ or carnivals ever come to town?”
“Ha! Circus or carnivals—as if the Believers wouldn’t have thought the devil himself had come to town.”
“Tell me more about the Believers.”
“I don’t remember a whole lot, I was young.”
“You said before the leader was a Prophet? So, it was believed he could communicate directly with God and convey His messages?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you remember about him?”
“He had bad breath and was missing some fingers on his hand. I hated when he touched me with that gross hand. I was afraid of it and of him.”
“When did he touch you with his hand?”
“Every time he tried to cast out the demons.” I can feel beads of sweat form around my hairline, but I’m not too sure why. For some reason, this feels like unfamiliar territory.
“Can you explain how he attempted to cast out the demons?”
“At church. There was a box.” Now. I’m visibly shaking, and I don’t know why.
“Mercy, tell me about the box.”
“The paint was chipping off of the wood. It was old. There was a room hidden in the back of the church too. That’s where they kept the box. It was always so cold back there.” Inexplicably, I shiver. I haven’t thought about that box in a very long time. Death is inside that box.
“I want to talk more abo—"
All at once, the speaker on his desk phone crackles to life, and a panicked voice escapes. “Dr. Sutton, we have a code blue at intake.” He stands up immediately but remains rooted to the floor. I can see the conflict all over his face. He knows he has uncovered some sort of riddle from my past, but he has pressing obligations as the unit psychiatrist.
“Mercy, there’s a medical emergency. I have to go. I need… can we—”
Now we can hear shouting. Intakes are generally fairly smooth, but every once and a while, we get a particularly volatile one. Sounds like that’s the case now.
“I’m sorry, Mercy. I have to go.”
He leaves me sitting on his couch, with absolutely no regard for the knot of anxiety that sits heavily in my gut. I feel like the ghosts from my past are in the room with me, blowing their icy breath on the back of my neck. Logically, I know I’m alone. The problem with that is that schizophrenia is not logical. I can almost smell the Prophet. It’s like I can feel his scratchy skin against mine all over again. On one hand, I’m afraid to move for fear I’ll trigger an instinctive chase. On the other hand, I’ve got to get the hell out of here.
Chapter 23
I’m naked. I’m shivering. And every few seconds, I’m doused with more Holy water. The Prophet is shouting. Two men are holding me down on the altar, and the rest of the men and women are dancing and spinning around. The spectators are working themselves up into a mob induced frenzy, and the energy in the room is absolutely frenetic. There is a crucifix pressed into my forehead so hard I can already feel a bruise forming. Even the tight clench of my teeth is not enough to detract from the pain.
“In my name, I cast you out!” The Prophet exclaims, over and over between outbursts of, “So sayeth the Lord!” His face is nearly purple with religious zealotry and fundamentalist fervor. Through blasts of angry spittle, he continues to rant, “The gospel preaches the word of Mark sixteen, and we, as His True Believers, shall heed His word! The five signs and wonders of His grace will show us the way! Out Devil!”
My teeth are ready to shatter from the quaking of my jaw, but the yammering prayers all around me offer no peace. I can’t see my mom and dad anywhere, though I can hear my mother’s cries from deep inside my bones. It sounds arthritic and pitiful, as though she knows she is about to lose another child to the church.
“Mark sixteen! So sayeth the Lord!” Then the old, decrepit box is dragged into the room, and all the noise is drowned out by the sound of my own screams.
“Mercy! Wake up! You are safe, It’s me, Sutton. Mercy! Mercy! Wake up!”
I wake like I’ve just breached the surface of the ocean, having been anchored to the bottom of it. The gasp is immediate, and the need for oxygen burns my lungs.
“Mark sixteen! So sayeth the Lord. Mark sixteen. Mark sixteen,” I babble as my bladder lets go.
Consciousness is slower to the surface. The gentleness of Sutton is enough to keep me under, but the acrid smell of urine cuts through the room. My humiliation is so profound that I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that I’ve just wet the bed. I know where I am, but I’m terrified to open my eyes because I know the box is here.
It feels like hours go by before I finally have the courage to open my eyes. I have to know if it’s still here. Sutton isn’t afraid of it, and I’m safe in his arms, so I’m going to look. I have to know if the box is still here.
“Are you ok, sweetheart?” Sutton whispers. The room is dark, save for the part illuminated by the long, thin window on my door. Light shines in from the hallway, but only a sliver of it impacts the darkened space.
“Where is the box?” I ask, my voice dusty and parched.
“It’s in here. I can feel it,” I insist.
“No, honey. It’s just you and me. You are safe.”
“I’m not safe.”
“I promise, you are.”
“I peed.”
“It’s ok, Mercy. You were terrified. That is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a testament to the level of fear you felt. When you are ready, I’m going to have one of the nurses come in and help you get cleaned up. There is something I need to do in my office.”
“Don’t leave me,” I plead so quietly, it’s almost not even audible.
“I’ll never leave you. I will be right here after your shower, ok?”
***
When I finish getting cleaned up, I sit on Lyla’s bed with my knees shoved up under my sweatshirt, and arms hugging my balled-up body. Paula, the nurse, has finished changing the sheets, but my humiliation remains, somehow imprinted to the bed.
Sutton isn’t back yet. He said he would be here. My hair is freshly washed, and the dampness of it is causing my sweatshirt to stick to my back. The gummy feel of it is only trumped by the soreness in my mouth. I brushed my teeth again—hard, like I wanted my gums to bleed.
I hate this dark side of myself. My own mind is such a traitorous place to dwell. I’ve never known such treachery. The worst part is that I’ve turned on myself. The caverns of my own mind have sown this despair.
“Want some help blow drying your hair?” Paula asks. I shake my head stiffly, but fast. I don’t want her in here. I’ll keep post all night if I have to, just like this—but I’m waiting for Sutton.
After twenty more minutes, and three room checks from the nurse, Sutton finally comes back in. I’m still huddled inside my stretched-out sweatshirt, and my hair has begun to dry in ropey clumps that hang limply down my back.
My self-loathing is interrupted by his brash and fluid movement through my room. He grabs the fresh blanket off the bed, and in the same motion, he wraps it around me and helps me to stand.