He grins out of the side of his mouth and opens his arms wide for a hug. I accept the offer, and we meet in the middle.
“We can do this,” he says. “No one can stop us if we work together.”
After James leaves the visitors’ room, I am ushered back to the ward for the remainder of the afternoon until dinnertime. The usual chaos occurs as I sit back and watch the orderlies struggle with the patients. I almost feel a sense of calm wash over me as my mind drifts to what James said. I am motivated beyond belief to see Karlo, no matter how much anxiety it might cause me.
Andrea sits down beside me as if we never had our rough exchange this morning.
“Vultures, the lot of them,” she says at the sight of two orderlies handling a patient who had just thrown food in their faces. I’m unsure whom she is referring to, and I don’t bother to pursue a clarification.
“So, did you speak to your brother?”
I turn to face her and wonder what she means. Does she know about Karlo and the weekend trip I am planning with James? I try to stall for time, but I can’t think of a distraction.
“Well?” Andrea asks.
“Speak to him about what?”
Andrea huffs. “The money. What else?”
“Oh, not yet. It didn’t come up. And anyway, it’s none of your damn business what I talk to my brother about.”
She laughs at me. “Oh, it will be. Trust me. You’ll be making everything my business in a few days from now. I can see you haven’t slept in a long time.”
“Hey, screw you. I don’t need your precious pills to fall asleep.”
“Whatever, honey,” she says, standing up. “You let yourself think that, and we’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong.”
“We will,” I say with more confidence than I should have on the topic. Whether I can admit it to myself or not, I am about to run into a wall with the Diazepam. Sleep is calling me, but my brain has too many things to process to allow me the simple pleasure.
“I’ll see you soon,” Andrea says with a chuckle as she walks away.
I resist calling her a bitch as she leaves. The look in her eyes this morning showed me this wasn’t her first time being a drug dealer, nor would it be her last.
After dinner, we are sent to bed for the last portion of the day. We have two hours alone in our rooms with the doors open before the automatic lights cut out and the staff comes around to seal us in for the night. For most, it’s the worst time. The inevitable isolation is about to surround each of us in ways only we can understand.
I stare at the ceiling as I debate in my head what to do with the precious tablets sitting beneath my pillow. I pull them out the second I can and leave them hidden in my fist for easy access when my brain decides what to do.
I have a few options: I can wean myself off them with one tablet a day until I can move down to half a pill, then nothing. I can take half now and half the next day to force some scattered rest. Or, I could down the whole lot and sleep like there is no tomorrow.
I try to come up with the answer as I listen to the buzzing light overhead. The bulb fills the room in a dull yellow as it acts as a white noise machine. I wonder how long until it burns itself out and has to be discarded like trash.
An orderly startles me as he grabs the door to lock me in.
“Lights out in three minutes,” he says.
I nod, wanting more than anything to slap the man. A three-minute warning isn’t enough time to sort myself out, so I remain on my bed.
I listen to the sound of my door closing and locking. For the next ten hours, I’m trapped in here like an animal in a cage.
The light overhead clicks off a few minutes later, allowing me to pull out the sheet of six tablets. I stare at the array, as I decide exactly what I’m going to do with the pills.
Twenty-Six
I stand over the toilet with the tablets. All I have to do is pop them into the bowl and flush. I’ve gone a day without taking any and feel okay. I haven’t ingested enough for an addiction to form, but Andrea is relying on my lack of sleep to get me hooked.
I can’t let that happen.
“Come on,” I say to myself for encouragement. My hand starts to shake and rattle the pills. I steady my wrist with my other arm, locking it tight. Never have I been racked with such indecision. Well, except for . . .
Dark thoughts swirl around in my head as I stumble back from the toilet. I toss the sleeve to the counter that wraps around the stained sink. I stare at the piece of metal on the wall that serves as a mirror. I look awful. I’ve looked awful for a long time now. I have no makeup and no straightener to deal with my out-of-control hair.
I am the classic crazy patient.
Both of my palms are planted on the counter, allowing me to lean closer and closer to the mirror until my nose touches the surface. I see the person in there behind her dead eyes and realize she isn’t me. She can’t be. I would never let this all happen. I would never allow myself to fall this far down.
But the mirror doesn’t lie.
Tears streak my face as I pick up the sleeve and unleash each tablet into my left hand. I can hear myself sobbing as I start to swallow them one at a time until all six are gone. I let the empty packet drop into the sink and close my eyes. I know I’ll need to get rid of it somehow, but that seems like a minor problem compared to the one I’ve now made for myself.
With a swimming head and the tablet sleeve in hand, I head to bed. The last thing I’m able to do before the chemicals claim me is to stuff the evidence away.
I fall asleep without a care in the world. I don’t worry if Tom is the one who will open my room tomorrow and spot my eyes. I don’t worry about my next session with Doctor Shaw. No one can make me feel guilty or stress about my past or future.
For a fleeting moment in time, I am free.
Tom stands over me with both hands on my shoulders. He’s shaken me awake the way Frank used to when he was just big enough to climb our bed and give Darren and me an early morning hello. Tom, on the other hand, isn’t a cute young boy but a middle-aged asshole.
“Time to wake up, darlin’,” he says while shaking me.
I blink rapidly as I try to break through the crust in my eyes. My confusion forces me to gaze around and discover that it is indeed morning. The night felt like it lasted only a few minutes. I slept the entire time.
“Well, well. It looks like someone gave themselves a warm glass of milk last night.” Tom stands upright and adjusts his belt. “Looks like you took a hefty dose too. Let’s take a gander, shall we?” He bends back down, leaning in close to my face. I can taste his breath on me and can smell the coffee and cigarettes that stain his teeth.
I squirm away as his hand slides down into my mattress and pulls out the empty sleeve. He didn’t even need to search for it.
“So, it would appear that you are fresh out,” he says as he stands back up tall and studies the packet. He crumples it up and shoves it into his pocket. “I’ll dispose of this for you.”
I’m tempted to say thanks, but I know exactly what he’s doing.
“Got any plans on how you’re going to secure your next batch?” His right eyebrow raises as he tilts his head in anticipation.
I shrug. “I don’t have any money. None that I have access to.”
“Well now, darlin’, don’t let that stop you, because I can guarantee after last night, you’re gonna want some more pills whether you like it or not.”
My heart thumps against my chest. I don’t know if he is right or just bluffing, but I know eventually I’ll want to sleep again. All I can hope for is that I can find a way to sleep tonight. Maybe the one good night has motivated my body to comply.
My thoughts are stomped out when Tom shows his displeasure at my lack of a response. “Time to get up,” he orders. He rushes over to me and pulls me out of bed, directing me toward the bathroom. “Get your shit together so I can take you to the medical supply room again. Your eyes are like two neon signs that say ‘drug addict.’ I
t’s not a good look to hold around here with all of these judgmental doctors.”
I can hear him chuckle to himself as he takes amusement at my suffering. “Asshole,” I mutter as I go inside the bathroom. He continues to rant away while I try to zone him out.
In the mirror, my eyes are bloodshot, and my pupils are huge. I attempt to help the situation by splashing water on my face. It makes a slight difference, but not enough to hide the truth.
“Hurry up, Turner,” Tom shouts.
I ignore him and run my fingers through my hair. They won’t even give me a damn comb to at least gain some control of the frizzy mess on top of my head. At this point, I’d be happy to shave it all off.
Tom gets impatient and stomps into the bathroom. He drags me away and walks me out of my room. “We have to go now,” he says, “before the doctors arrive, understand?”
I nod. He takes me the usual way through the checkpoints and guides me along with confidence to the medical supply room. He walks me through to the back and finds the eye drops again.
We go through the same agonizing routine as last time, leaving me half blind. I find myself standing in the small closet space alone with Tom while two sunspots fill my eyes.
“Much better. Now you don’t look so fucked up, darlin’.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say with as much sarcasm as possible.
“Hey, don’t get snippy with me. I just did you a huge favor. The way I see it, you owe me again.” He creeps up to me and wraps his arms around my waist. His hands head straight for my ass like magnets. He thrusts me in close to his groin as I attempt to shy away from him.
“Now, are we going to work out some sort of payment for these services rendered? Or do I need to get the docs involved?”
I gulp, not knowing the right thing to say. I’m convinced he’s going to do what he wants to me no matter what. Then I wonder what would happen if I came clean to Shaw about the pills and Tom. My thoughts are voided as the orderly who was hired to care for the patients of the hospital forces himself upon me.
Tom tries to kiss me, pulling my resisting head in tight, while his mustache comes closer to my face. One of his hands runs over my breast and squeezes, sending a jolt of pain through my chest. I push back on him and say “no,” but he doesn’t listen. He leans in more and kisses my neck like it’s going to make some difference to my opposition.
I try with everything I have to fend him off, but he’s made up his mind. He spins me around and presses me into one of the shelves.
“You’re mine,” he says into my ear. “We’ll continue this later. I’ve got other patients to sort out, darlin’, but I’ll find you to resume our conversation. Sound okay?”
I nod with closed eyes. What else can I do? He has total control, and he knows it. I could come clean to Doctor Shaw, but then James wouldn’t be allowed to take me away for the weekend. I’ll be put on a stricter watch than I already am, and the chances of me getting any sleep again will die. On the flip side of the coin, I know without a doubt that Tom will keep doing this until he gets what he ultimately wants. I’m not sure if my brain could process that if it ever happens.
I shudder as I straighten my clothing and wait for him to open the door. He makes himself presentable again before opening the exit a touch so he can see who else is around. After he is satisfied with his findings, we leave the closet.
I’m taken to the day room and told to sit. “I’ll be back at three. I just need to change your appointment again with Shaw. You sure do get sick a lot,” he says with a chuckle as he saunters off.
When Tom leaves my sight, I rub at my skin and find the nearest bathroom to clean myself. No amount of scrubbing seems to do the trick. I can’t wash off his stink.
The rest of the day trickles slowly away until I find myself in a session with Shaw. Once again, she is finishing some paperwork, oblivious to the fact that her patient almost got raped by an orderly. I wonder how many lives Tom has made significantly worse in his time here. I doubt I’m the only one.
“So your brother has put in a request for some weekend leave into his custody. How do you feel about that?”
The question catches me off guard. James wasn’t messing around. “Excellent,” I say. “I think it would do me good to be out of here for a few days.”
Doctor Shaw nods as she writes my every utterance down. “At this stage, the decision is still pending. I want to see how things play out for you this week before we can commit to something that major. It’s not going to be easy for you to head back out into the real world again.”
“I know,” I say, “but I want to spend some time with James. We’ve got a lot to catch up on. We’ve wasted too much time over the last few years.”
“Of course. Family is important. I do believe he will have a great impact on your recovery.”
Me too, I think. He will help me bring justice to the asshole who put me in this place.
“Okay, Emma. Let’s pick up where we left off,” Shaw says as she studies her notes. “You were at the moment you believed to be your happiest. What happened next?”
Twenty-Seven
Before.
“Good luck, son,” Darren yells from the window of his truck. “We’ll meet you at the game later today.”
We both sit there, waiting for Frank to go into his friend’s house without anyone harassing him. I try to shake the constant sensation that someone is following us, but it’s always there in the back of my mind.
“Okay,” Darren says. “To the police station. You’ve got the USB, right?” He’s asked me this for the third time.
“Yep, right here.” I clutch it tight. There’s no way I’m losing this evidence the way I lost the photo on my phone. The cops will have to take me seriously this time, instead of assuming I’m just another crazy person in their day.
We drive along toward the small police station in town. I think about what their reaction will be. As much as I hate to admit it, having Darren with me will make a huge difference. Even though the harassment was only directed at me because I’m his wife, I still feel like it was a personal attack.
I shake off the thought before I become paranoid. I shift the conversation in a positive direction instead and ask Darren about tonight. “What movie should we see?”
He strokes his stubble with his free hand while his other arm steers. “How about something light and funny? Nothing serious. I think we need a distraction from everything.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say. In all honesty, I don’t even care what we see. I just want to be with my husband and feel safe again. This week of hell is starting to get to me.
We arrive at the police station. The building looks like an old brick colonial house that has been converted into a government facility. We park in one of the limited visitors’ spaces and step out of Darren’s truck.
“Are you okay?” he asks me as I stare at the building.
“Yeah, fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
When we head inside through the double doors, we step up to a desk with a weary-looking officer who has a steaming coffee cup larger than Darren’s travel mug in his firm grasp. The middle-aged man doesn’t look up from his paperwork as he takes a hefty sip of the hot liquid. It is then that I see a sign behind the counter that reads “13 officers serving a community of over 7,800 people.” I let the thought sink in before we interrupt.
“Hello,” Darren says to the officer. According to his badge, his name is Officer Peterson.
Peterson lets out a sigh and puts his pen down. “How may I help you, sir?”
Darren scratches at his head. “My, uh, wife called you out to our house yesterday because of a threatening photo someone sent her.”
“And?” Peterson says as he grabs his pen back up and starts tapping it against his paperwork.
“Well, the thing is, at the time, the photo kind of deleted itself.”
“Deleted itself?” the officer blurts out.
Darren’s mouth hangs open at the interru
ption. “Yes. It’s hard to explain, but—”
“Is this your wife?” he asks, jutting a finger in my direction.
“Yes, she is. But the thing is—”
“Can she talk for herself? Maybe this would sound better coming from her.”
Darren throws up his hands in defeat and passes an imaginary ball to me. Now it’s my turn to speak with the impatient man.
“Officer,” I say as I step forward, “yesterday, I received a photo of my husband leaving our house. Darren’s company is about to face legal action from a former employee who injured himself on-site. We’ve been receiving threatening text messages, the photo, and now I have been getting more threats sent to my email at work.”
With as little emotion as possible, Peterson takes a step to his right and starts tapping away at a computer. He doesn’t say a word as he enters commands into the system one finger at a time.
“Turner?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, we’re the Turners.”
Peterson purses his lips with a slight grunt as his eyes scan what appears to be a report by the officers who came to our house yesterday. “I can update the file with the threatening emails and the text messages. Do you have copies?”
I pull out the USB and hold it up to him.
“I can’t take that. It could have a virus or anything on it. You’re going to need to come back with some hard copies.”
“Jesus,” Darren lets out with both arms crossed over his chest.
“Is there a problem?” Peterson asks, leaning forward.
“No, Officer. Everything is just dandy.”
The two men stare each other down until I put myself between them. “Thank you, Officer. We’ll come back with the hard copies, as requested.”
Peterson slowly takes his gaze away from Darren’s. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No,” Darren answers for me and heads for the exit. I follow him, giving the officer a brief smile in the process. Darren is halfway to the truck by the time I jog up to him.
Don't Let Me Die: A gripping psychological thriller Page 11