“Well, I wanted to test everything. So after my hair, I tested my skin and . . .” Rather than trying to tell them I’d been hacking at myself, I pulled up the sleeve of my top to expose the bandage and grimaced. “I know it was stupid, but I was really careful and the thing is, it worked. When I shifted last night, none of the wounds came with me!”
Dad nodded and pressed his lips together. Mom was sobbing at the table. I decided to keep my focus on Dad. He seemed to be taking it better.
“How many areas have you tested?” he asked.
“Just my arm, leg, and belly,” I said, wincing a little as Mom gasped. “But I was careful and none of them are deep, I swear!”
“It’s okay, Sabine. It’s just a lot to . . . take in for your mother and me. We’ve always known that you’ve been . . . dealing with some things that other people weren’t. It’s good to get it all out in the open, and we’re grateful you’ve confided in us.” He scratched at his neck. He always did that when he was nervous.
Or lying.
Instinctively I recoiled and turned to Mom. She was still crying, barely looking at me.
“Mom? You believe me, right?” I said, suddenly fearing I’d made a horrible mistake. Mom couldn’t stop sobbing, but Dad came around and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Of course we do, Sabine. It’s just going to take some time for us to absorb. How about you give your mother and me a few minutes to process everything and then we can have another chat? I’d like to know more about your other life.”
Still feeling uneasy, my eyes darted between them. “Okay. Well, I was going to head out for a bit anyway.” I stood up. Exit was a good plan. Dad seemed to be trying to understand, but Mom wasn’t coping. Plus, those alarm bells were ringing louder in my mind.
“Actually, would you mind staying around here? I think it’s important we talk this through. Could you wait in your room?” Dad looked at me and then glanced pointedly at Mom, as if imploring me for a chance to calm her down before I left.
I thought it through. I would never have expected Dad to take all of this so well, but he seemed genuinely interested in what was going on with me. I still felt a gnawing unease, but if I took off now, it would only look bad. Make them think that I was lying. And he would never, ever trust me again. No. I needed to stand up to this, make them understand. So I clung to the hope that it would all be for the best, nodded to Dad gratefully, and went to my room.
I wedged myself up against my door, straining to hear what Mom and Dad were saying. Besides a few loud sobs from Mom and the occasional stern use of her name by Dad, they spoke in hushed tones. The phone rang a few times, but even then all I could hear was Dad’s muffled voice, which sounded relaxed and formal. Must be work related.
I waited.
When it was clear I wasn’t going to overhear anything, I collapsed on my bed and started to rehearse all the things I was going to tell them, carefully selecting the examples I’d use to help them understand. It wasn’t going to be easy. I’d had my whole life, twice over, to come to terms with this existence, and I still didn’t fully understand it. Plus, I’d seen Mom’s face when I told them I had another family . . . That was not going to be a pleasant conversation. I decided to keep the details as vague as possible for now. There was also the money issue; Dad wouldn’t like that. But I couldn’t help the small bubble of excited anticipation. I was finally telling someone.
I waited.
Dad would come and get me. I hoped that when he did, we’d get a few minutes alone together and he’d bring me up to speed on how Mom was taking it all.
I waited.
It seemed like the whole day passed, several hours at least.
It was quiet. I’d run out of theories and practice speeches and had started to wonder if they were still even out there. I was about to go looking for them when I heard a knock downstairs at the front door.
A stern knock. Three life-changing thuds.
I wasn’t sure exactly why, but my stomach flipped and I started instinctively backing away from my bedroom door.
I hadn’t even made it to the window when Dad opened the door and held it there for the man and woman who walked in. Our family doctor followed, standing beside Dad.
The bed was between them and me—and since my bed-room basically only fit the bed, the situation became instantly defensive. I could see the man and woman calculating how they were going to close the distance.
These people were not my friends.
These people were my worst nightmare.
“Sabine,” my father—no longer Dad—said in a low commanding voice. “Sabine, we are trying to help you. These nurses are here to help.”
They held their hands in front of them—reminding me of the way Dex had approached me the night before—like I was a wild animal. In that moment, that’s exactly what I felt like.
Trapped.
My eyes darted from the door to the bed to the people trying to entrap me, then to my window. But I was cornered. My father and I both knew it.
“It’s okay,” he told the man and woman. They were dressed in white slacks and jackets, not unlike the drugstore uniforms.
The air left my lungs. I knew what was coming next.
“The window is jammed shut,” he said.
Bastard.
I glared at my father, overcome with fury. “How could you do this to me? Oh, I get it. This isn’t about me at all—you just want the problem to go away!” I screamed.
“Sabine,” the woman said in a deliberately calming tone. Her mousy-brown hair was tightly braided, highlighting her overly blushed cheeks. She gave me a fake smile, as if the two of us had friend potential. I stared back at her with a “don’t fake a faker, bitch” look. She looked away first. A small victory, but it wasn’t going to last long. I was boxed in.
“You’re not well, Sabine,” my father said. “Your mother is petrified with worry. She needs you to get help. Dr. Meadows has come here as a special favor—he has a doctor he would like you to see at the hospital. He’s going to fit you in immediately. They’re going to make you better. Please, don’t make a scene.” His look added the line he didn’t say aloud: They’re taking you either way.
The man and woman took another sly step in my direction, the tall man with the buzz cut leading the way around the base of the bed. I was up against the wall, nowhere to go.
I couldn’t stop shaking my head. I felt so betrayed. “Did you ever consider it? Even for a second as you nodded me on earlier? Did you even listen to what I said?”
“Oh, I listened, Sabine. That’s why I’ve been forced to get you help. You’re suffering from delusions. You are clearly a danger to yourself, and possibly others. If you’re asking whether I, at any moment, considered it possible that my daughter is living an alternate life, then the answer is no.”
They took another step.
My heart was racing, my pulse thumping in my neck.
“So you’re just going to lock me up?”
My father sighed, impatient with me. “If that’s what I have to do until you are well, yes.”
“You can’t! I’m eighteen!” I didn’t add that if you took my other life into account, I was almost as old as he was.
“You are a threat to yourself,” my father said, his words snappy with a combination of embarrassment and disappointment. “You’ve been placed on a forty-eight-hour hold pending your evaluation. After that . . .” He looked beyond me, no longer meeting my eyes. “We’ve appealed that the state be awarded control of your health until you are well again.”
All those phone calls.
Desperate, I leaped onto the bed, thinking that if I could get to the other side I might have a chance at pushing past my father and Dr. Meadows.
But the male nurse had anticipated the move. He was on me mid-jump, slamming me onto the bed, keeping me down as I struggled.
Dr. Meadows moved farther into the room. “Sabine. We’re here to help. Please, let us help,” he said.
The woman dashed around to the side of the bed and went for my arms. But as she grappled with my cast, I leveraged against the mattress, bucked my body, and kicked the guy in the face.
He stumbled back, and the woman’s grip loosened as her attention focused on him. I used the advantage, ripping my arms from her hold and pushing her back a few steps. I bounded off the bed, past Dr. Meadows, who didn’t try to stop me, and straight into my father, who instantly grabbed my upper arms, his right hand squeezing hard on the cut he knew was there. I couldn’t hold back the cry of pain. He ignored me and simply maneuvered me into a reverse bear hug, pinning my arms to my sides.
It hurt in so many ways. I sagged in his arms.
Nurse guy staggered back to his feet, blood dripping down his face. I’d smashed my foot right into his nose. The woman had righted herself too. She was no longer bothering with the “we can be friends” look. She’d moved on to a big-ass syringe and a look that said: I’m gonna enjoy this.
“I warned you she might be violent,” my father said, ignoring my attempts to struggle against his tight hold.
“Yes,” nurse guy replied flatly. “I suggest we sedate her now.”
“But Dr. Levi was going to see her immediately,” my father argued.
Nurse guy used the edge of his white jacket to wipe the blood off his face and stared at Dr. Meadows, who took his cue and turned to my father. “I think it would be best for all involved if we could get her safely to the hospital. It’s a fast-working sedative, but it won’t last too long.” He waited for my father’s approval.
“Mom!” I screamed.
“Sedate her,” my father said quickly.
“Mom!” I screamed again.
She came into the hall, but stayed at the far end, leaning against the wall as if she needed the support. She was crying, covering her face with her hands.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were so unhappy?” she said in a broken tone. “How long, Sabine? How long have you been having these thoughts?”
“Mom, I swear to you, I’m not crazy. Make them stop. I’ll explain. I’ll . . . I can prove it to you!”
“Hurry up,” my father insisted. I twisted my head and shot him a look of pure hate. Nurse guy moved in to help hold me still. I’d endured being a kid for so much longer than any normal person—endured the rules, curfews, judgment—but this . . . this was totally demoralizing.
“You need to listen to me! God, just for once stop thinking about yourselves and listen!”
I could hear Mom’s gasp from the other end of the hall, but she said nothing and made no move to help me.
I shook my head. It was hopeless. “I never should’ve told you,” I said brokenly.
I jolted one last time against my father, trying more to hurt him than free myself and then glared at my mother.
“I should’ve just done it!”
No one missed the meaning. It even surprised me.
“Would you get on with it!” my father snapped at the woman. To me he simply said, “You’ll thank us for this one day.”
The woman moved toward me. Some of the earlier hate in her eyes had gone and was replaced by something much worse. Sympathy.
“Don’t feel left out,” I sneered at her. “I promise to give your face the same makeover as his.” I glanced at her colleague who was still dabbing at the blood coming from his nose.
Her eyes narrowed, her compassion quickly dissolving. The needle went into my arm and in seconds everything began to blur.
It was a bitter realization: the confirmation that for all these years, living my lives in secret and solitude, I’d been right not to trust them with the truth. But that wasn’t the only thought that catapulted into my mind as consciousness began to fade.
What have I done?
The last plea that fell from my lips was heavy and slurred. “Don’t . . . tell . . . Maddie.”
My eyes felt glued together. At first I thought I must have shifted, but then I managed to haul my eyes open. And along with the memories the room slowly came into focus.
I was still in my Roxbury life. Lying on a bed in a room whose only light came from the small fluorescent bulb in the high ceiling. Apart from the bed and nightstand, there was an empty doorless cupboard, a well-worn armchair, a small barred window—which told me it was dark outside—and a door, closed and no doubt locked. Not that it mattered anyway. My wrists, even over the top of my cast, and ankles were restrained in leather bindings.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough . . . they’d taken my watch.
I wanted to be sick. I barely had room to move. If I threw up now, it’d go all over me.
I swallowed repeatedly, trying to force my stomach to settle. It didn’t help, and when my eyes glanced at the window again, I almost lost it.
Shit.
What time was it?
I couldn’t go through the Shift like this. The thought of being tied down, of leaving myself like this in one world for a full twenty-four hours . . . it increased my panic until I was on the verge of screaming.
How could they have done this to me?
There was no clock. No way to know what time it was. I could shift at any moment. I wasn’t even sure where I was.
I yanked my arms, testing the restraints. Yeah, not a chance.
I considered calling out, desperate enough to plead for the bathroom or something, anything, to free myself. But before I could open my mouth I heard footsteps. One set first, then another.
I wriggled around as much as I could and realized that under the blanket I wasn’t in my normal clothes. I was in a hospital gown. For some reason that tipped me over the edge and hot tears started pouring down my face. For someone constantly striving to remain in control, the idea that other people had been controlling me—my movements, my clothing—felt like a total violation.
This just couldn’t be happening.
My breakdown threatened to get vocal, but I kept my mouth shut and gritted my teeth against the sobs. Then I heard talking outside my room.
“One new admission in there. Everything fairly standard and on the charts.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said a slightly familiar voice.
“Careful with her. They have her on SW until further notice. She’ll be due for meds in the next hour, which should keep her sedated for the night. Doc’s already dosed it out and left it at the front desk.”
The other guy paused before he asked, “He wants her kept under all night?”
I didn’t hear an answer.
The other guy spoke again. “Okay, then. She do that to you?”
“She’s stronger than she looks.”
A chuckle. “What about the restraints?”
“Doc says she won’t be going anywhere after her next round of meds, so you can undo them if you want. Your call.” He said it in a way that suggested if it were his call, he’d keep her restrained.
“Okay, Mitch. See you tomorrow.”
Mitch was obviously the guy who’d come to my house. The one I’d kicked in the face. Can’t say I was feeling anything that resembled remorse.
There was a slapping sound, like some annoying “dude” handshake.
“Don’t know how you do it, man. Working nights like you do. It doesn’t seem right,” Mitch said.
“Gotta pay the bills,” the other guy replied. “And it beats doing nothing.” I could almost hear the shrug.
Footsteps started up again. Just one set. I waited, barely breathing, tears still slipping down my cheeks. When my door finally clicked open, I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
The guy walked in, messed around with something at the end of my bed, and then came closer. I could feel his presence moving in on me, then a broken gasp I wasn’t expecting.
“Oh God,” he whispered. “Sabine?”
My eyes shot open.
Ethan.
I couldn’t respond. Seeing him somehow made everything more real, more painful. Tears kept streaming down, rolling around to the back o
f my neck.
I expected him to start speaking. Say something consoling, or nice, or even patronizing. But as I watched, his expression changed from shocked to severe, as if he’d just decided something hateful about me. I became instantly defensive.
“What time is it?” I blurted.
When he didn’t respond, I grew more desperate. “Please, you have to tell me! The time?”
He blinked, looking shocked at my behavior, but glanced at his watch.
“Eight p.m.” His brow furrowed. “Why?”
Relief washed over me, and the terror of an uncontrollable Shift subsided with a flush of fresh tears. I still had four hours.
“Sabine, what happened? They said you were on SW?”
I sniffed. “What’s SW?”
He looked at me strangely. “Suicide watch.”
Oh.
Then, without waiting for my answer, he went back to the end of my bed and picked up a folder. He flipped through the pages, reading quickly, ignoring me. Pausing at one section before coming back over to my side.
“It says you hurt yourself. Did you?” His voice carried the bite of accusation.
I shook my head. “It’s not like that.”
“It says they think you may have broken your own wrist.” He looked ill at the suggestion.
I shook my head again. “No. No, I didn’t. I . . . I fell—”
He cut me off. “Down the subway steps.” He pulled down my blanket and I flinched, helpless to stop him.
“Wait. What are you doing?” Unfortunately I knew exactly what he was doing.
He glanced at me, determination in his eyes. And anger. But why? What did it matter to him what I did? We barely knew one another. He lifted the sleeve of my hospital gown, revealing my makeshift bandages. “And these happened, how?” he growled.
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I said sharply.
He ignored me and started unwrapping the bandage until he got down to the Band-Aids. He was shaking his head, not looking at me.
I tried to squirm away. “Don’t touch me.”
One Past Midnight Page 7