“Are you going to tell me your name? Or are you one of those patients?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s Emma.”
“Well, then, pleased to meet you, Emma. What they got you in here for, if you don’t mind me asking? You don’t seem the type to be locked up in the loony bin.”
“Why’s that?” I ask without thought. I want to know how screwed up a person needs to look to belong inside this place, and how I can avoid reaching that point.
“Can’t explain it. You just sound like you’re visiting or something. It’s like you’re waiting for the day to be over so you can go home.”
“Well, thanks, I guess. But I’d rather not talk about why I’m in here.”
Andrea shoves the cigarette into her mouth and throws up both hands in defense of her question. “All good. No one ever answers that question, well, not truthfully, that is. I’m always told what they think is the reason for their incarceration. It’s usually a bunch of gibberish that gives me the truth one way or the other.”
Andrea takes a long drag on the dwindling stick between her fingers and snuffs out the butt in a fixed, metal bin of the smoking area of the courtyard. I get the feeling that this section is purely for the smokers of the place and not for the fresh air I had in mind.
“So, why are you in here?” I ask with crossed arms. The question half surprises Andrea as her eyes almost pop out of her head. I wonder why she didn’t expect me to ask this in return as she fumbles for an answer.
“Well, it’s kind of hard to pinpoint any single reason. I mean, yes, I did start that fire, but it wasn’t my fault, you know?”
I hold up my palms with a tilted head and half-closed eyes. “It’s fine, Andrea. You don’t have to tell me. I can barely focus on my own problems, let alone hear someone else’s.”
My words bring a smile to her face. “That’s an interesting thought,” she says. “See, most people in here want to forget why they find themselves locked inside a nuthouse. Hearing the problems of others tends to help me forget my own bullshit.”
I look away for a moment, my mind drifting to things I don’t want to think about. “Every second I spend talking to a patient, an orderly, or a doctor only reinforces in my head that I’m not out in the real world.” I turn back to Andrea and give her my cold, dead eyes. “On top of that, it keeps me awake at night and reminds me that what happened out there did happen and that I am too weak to face the truth.”
Andrea’s mouth is half-open to my statement. “Whoa,” she says. “Remind me never to ask you that shit again.” Her voice lowers down to half a whisper. “But, hey, if you need some help getting to sleep, let’s just say I can hook you up with the right kind of medicine to do the job.”
My brow screws up tight. “What are you talking about?” I ask, wondering what crazy answer I’ll get in return.
Andrea’s gaze checks the area sharply for anyone who might be listening. We are the only two patients outside, and no one is keeping an eye on us. She focuses back on me and whispers as she pulls out a sleeve of pills. “Take some of these. They’ll help to relax you.”
I see two rows of tablets in her hand and ask, “What is it?”
“Diazepam. 10mg. Take enough of them, and you’ll forget your troubles and feel like everything is as it should be.”
My hand reaches out to grab some without thinking and pauses out of reach. I’ve taken Diazepam in the past, but from a packet purchased with a prescription. These possibly expired pills are kept in the pockets of a person with a mental health condition. Despite the multiple red flags staring me in the face, recent times have lowered my standards, and I find myself actually considering taking them.
“Go on. These are yours.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, staring up at her.
“Trust me,” she says. “I got your back. None of these assholes in here give enough of a shit to want us to feel better. Let old Andrea do their jobs for them.”
I gently grab the tablets and shove them into my waistband. “How did you find these?” I ask.
Andrea chuckles. “Best not to know, my dear. Let’s just say that some of the orderlies here can easily be bought off, if you catch my drift.”
I nod, understanding, as I think about Tom and his mustache. The thought sends a shudder down my spine I can’t shake off.
“Don’t take all of them at once. Otherwise, the docs will realize they have a problem on their hands.” Andrea pulls out another smoke from her packet and lights up. “Anyway, if I were you, I’d save those pills for overnight only. That’s the worst time.”
“Yeah,” I say with a forced chuckle. Every night is more challenging than the last inside this hospital. The walls start to close in as the hour wears on. By morning, I’m clawing to leave the tiny locked space.
“Anyway, best you move along, Emma. Don’t want the doctors getting too suspicious.” She gives me a wink as she takes another drag on her cigarette.
“Thank you,” I say, referring to the pills.
“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you around.” Andrea half turns away from me, signaling that the conversation is over. I take the hint and leave. The entire time I walk, I keep one hand on the score of tablets in my waistband.
I head back to my room, knowing it has already been cleaned for the day. I shove the tablets into a gap between the lumpy mattress and the metal bed frame, hiding the item I should not have in my possession.
At that moment, I’m almost excited to go to sleep and hope the tablets will do what Andrea promised.
Fourteen
After dinner, I sit on my bed waiting for lights-out at nine. Time seems to be dragging on longer than usual, until finally, the automated lighting system turns off. Dim hallway lights allow us to see enough to be able to reach the bathrooms attached to our rooms, which is where I head to the second it’s dark. I bring the pills along with me and set them on the countertop.
There are twelve tablets in the sleeve, and I don’t know how many I should take. The tablets look stronger than the tiny ones I’d had at home before arriving at the hospital. I try to think back to when I broke my arm cycling some fifteen years ago and how many painkillers I was taking at a time. Of course, these weren’t for pain. Plus, what I was suffering from back then was completely different.
After some thought, I settle on swallowing four hits of Diazepam, figuring I don’t want it to be painfully obvious I’d taken something overnight when the orderly came in the next morning. With a mouthful of water each time, I gulp down four pills, one by one. My throat feels the tablets sliding down it as I realize how little water I drank that day. I head back to bed and settle in for what I hope is going to be a calm night.
My expectations are met with a relaxed buzz that no amount of therapy could produce. I can sense myself floating through the bedroom with a smile on my face. I could kiss Andrea if she were in the room with me. The stranger had given me a gateway into a kind of freedom I could never aspire to achieve.
By the time morning comes around, I have fallen into the deepest sleep of my life. Tom has to shake me vigorously to rouse me from my slumber.
“Jesus, Turner. I don’t have time for your lazy ass. Get a move on.”
I pull myself out of my blissful rest and realize what he is carrying on about. I have a session first thing this morning. His brutish arms haul me out of bed and to my feet.
“I need to pee,” I say in a hurry as I lean toward the bathroom. Tom lets me go while muttering away.
I rush into the lavatory and take a minute to splash some water on my face. When I stare into the greasy metal of the fixed mirror, I realize that both of my pupils are dilated and are too enlarged to ignore.
“Shit,” I mutter, knowing now that I took too many. Doctor Shaw will only need half a moment to figure out I’ve taken something that hasn’t been prescribed to me.
“Hurry up,” Tom yells.
My eyes dart left and right, searching for an answer as a sting o
f sweat stabs at my forehead. I have no idea what to do.
Tom doesn’t give me a second longer as he heads into the bathroom. “What the fuck is taking you so—” He stops cold when he sees my eyes. “Well, look what we have here. I see you’ve been hitting the pharmacy a little too hard.”
I shy away from him, but his thick hands grab my shoulders and turn me back. “No, let me see them.” He uses one hand to tilt my head back. “Yep, just as I thought, missy. Someone has been taking a few tranquilizers.”
“No, I haven’t. It must be the new pills Doctor Shaw has me on.”
“Bullshit. You’re still on the same shit you’ve been on since day one. You, darlin’, have been dipping your feet into something that’s going to land you in hot water.”
My face drops. I have no idea what this discovery will do for my recovery. The doctors might place me inside an even worse facility. I won’t let that happen.
“Please, Tom. You can’t say anything.”
“Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?” he asks.
“No, I would never do—”
He silences me with a single finger held to his mouth. “Keep your voice down, missy. I’ll hold onto your little secret. Hell, I’ll even delay your session to give you enough time to sober up. But, know this: you owe me. Big time.”
I nod, knowing I am now at the mercy of this asshole. “Thank you,” I muster up.
Tom gives me a wink that I can almost sense on my skin. I wonder at that moment if I would be better off letting Doctor Shaw find out about the Diazepam, but it’s too late now.
“Follow me,” he says.
We leave my room and head to the medical supply closet. He takes me through a door to an area I’m not allowed to go and fishes out a small bottle of liquid from the shelf. He comes over to me and leans my head back as he distributes some eye drops into each of my pupils. The substance stings, but I do my best not to let it show. Tears fall down my cheeks as a result.
Tom puts the bottle back and then pulls out a small penlight. “Keep ’em open,” he says as he grabs my forehead again and brings the flashlight up close to my left eye. He turns it on and holds my head tighter. “Don’t blink. Just need a few seconds in each eye.”
I’m blinded once he finishes tricking my pupils into shrinking back down to a regular size.
“That should do the trick. Now get the hell out of here while I find Doctor Shaw and tell her you’re not feeling well enough for a morning session.”
“Thank you,” I say before I go to leave. I feel Tom’s arms grab me from behind. He swings me around and cups my ass with one hand.
“Don’t mention it, missy,” he says. His eyes stare into my pupils as I force myself not to show him any fear. I know what he wants, but I won’t let him defeat me.
He releases his grip on my butt and sets me free. “Go along now. I’ll find you for your afternoon session. Stay out of eye contact with the other orderlies.”
I nod and leave the room, shaking off the disgust that has overtaken my body.
When the afternoon comes, Tom silently ushers me along with a tilt of his head. I follow him through to Doctor Shaw’s office, knowing my eyes will no longer betray me.
“Okay, Emma,” the doctor says. “In our last session, we were talking about the first incident involving the police. What happened after that?”
I half smile as the memories hit me again without effort. The drugs only stop me thinking about the past when I am taking them. Right then, I wish I could take the rest of the sleeve.
Fifteen
Before.
Darren rushes home from his office across town after receiving my message. He bursts through the front door and wraps his arms around me the second he can. I haven’t felt him embrace me like this in God knows how long, but there’s no time to savor the hug.
“What happened? Why were the police here?” Darren looks to Frank and me standing in the kitchen. He has questions. I couldn’t explain everything over the phone, but now that he is here, I explain why I called the police out to our home.
“After you left for work, someone sent me a picture of the front of our house.”
“The front of our house?” Darren asks as multiple crease lines dot his forehead.
“Hear me out. This wasn’t simply a photo of our house; it was a photo of our house as you were leaving this morning. I was standing in the doorway seeing you off. From the angle, it looked like it was taken from the bushes across the street.”
Darren gets into his signature worried pose: right hand scrunching the hair above his forehead while his left grips the side of his jacket on his hip.
“Jesus,” he lets out.
“It freaked me the hell out,” I say, tears forming. I fight them off, but I can’t hide how hard I’m struggling.
“Come here,” Darren says, pulling me into another hug. He then offers an arm to Frank, who reluctantly accepts the family support. We stand there in a rare flash of unity. I realize this is what it now takes for the three of us to share a moment together.
“I can’t believe this,” Darren says.
“You can see why I called the cops. Someone is stalking us.”
Darren shakes his head. “No, not some unknown creep. I’m positive I know who it is.”
I pull back. Frank takes the opportunity to let go too, but he wants to know his father’s thoughts.
“Who?” I ask.
Darren’s eyes move left and right before settling back on me. “I’m pretty sure Victor’s cousin, Karlo Liberda, is behind all of this threatening shit. According to a few of my most trusted guys, this Karlo is a real piece of work.”
“In what way?”
“The ex-con kind of way. He’s done time for all sorts of violent things, from what I’ve heard. And he’s not some moron criminal, either. Word has it he used to work for the Czech mob.”
“Jesus.”
“Probably just some BS rumor, but he’s still not someone to mess with.”
I shake my head with closed eyes at the thought of some ex-con taking pleasure in getting back at the family that supposedly wronged his cousin. People like that used the whole family honor thing to act out their natural tendency toward violence. It’s the perfect cover to justify being an asshole to total strangers in a situation that hasn’t even reached such a boiling point.
“He’s not getting away with this, especially if he’s dumb enough to send a photo. You gave a copy to the police, right?”
I let out a sigh. “Here’s the thing: the image deleted itself before I had time to save it.”
Darren’s face turns to a mixture of anger and confusion. “What?” is all he manages to let out of his twitching mouth.
“The police told me that there is software that can delete a photo after a short time completely from your cell. The person on the other end gets the pleasure of sending you whatever they want without consequence. Karlo must have done that because I swear to you, I received that freaky picture this morning. I genuinely thought Frank and I were about to be attacked. I’m so sorry.” The tears flow for real this time.
“It’s okay,” Darren says as he pulls me back in. “Karlo knew what he was doing. He’s been told to be as careful as possible not to leave any evidence. The bastard is experienced, unfortunately.”
I sniff into Darren’s chest for a few moments before attempting to pull myself together. I can’t explain why, but I suddenly realize that this is how Victor’s family wants us to react. I shake my head, feeling stupid again for falling into their trap.
I stand tall and think to myself that these pricks won’t stop me from living my life. I wipe away my tears and head for the front door.
“What are you doing?”
I grab my keys and my handbag that I left by the door. It’s not my main bag, but it holds enough items to push me through the day. “Frank is late for school, and I’m late for work.”
“You’re going to work after all this?”
“I h
ave to. We can’t let these people run our lives.”
“But—”
Darren starts to speak, but I cut him off. “I’ll be okay. So will Frank. They are trying to scare us. I won’t let them. Come on, Frank,” I say, ushering him along.
Frank complies, possibly not knowing what else to do. He probably wants to be away from the house as soon as possible.
“Emma, I understand what you are saying, but we need to be careful. This guy shouldn’t be underestimated.”
“Why? He’s just some asshole taking the opportunity to be himself. I’m not going to let him terrorize us to satisfy Victor’s family.”
Darren shifts into his worried pose again, keeping his focus on me. At that moment, I realize how much stress he must be under with the business losing a huge contract while simultaneously being sued by an injured worker. Me adding my stubbornness on top of the pile can’t help.
“I’ll be careful,” I say as I ease back toward him while Frank waits by the door. Darren shakes his head and mutters to himself. I place a hand on his forearm and rub it up and down.
“I’ll make sure to leave the university with someone else in the parking lot, and I’ll call you on my way home. Frank can stay at a friend’s house until one of us are free to pick him up.”
Darren groans, signaling his acceptance of defeat. “Fine,” he says, “but I’m going to buy you something to defend yourself with.”
I wave a palm at him. “I’m not carrying a gun in my handbag.”
“I know,” he says. “I mean like pepper spray or a taser. It’ll make me feel better knowing you at least have one thing to defend yourself with.”
At that moment, I wonder if Darren has been carrying one of his pistols with him to work or stashing a spare in his truck. I can’t feel a gun on his body, but he might have been hiding the weapon from me.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be happy to carry one of those things. For today, I’ll be extra cautious and make sure I’m always with another person. That goes for you too, Frank.”
Don't Let Me Die: A gripping psychological thriller Page 6