The Murmurings

by West, Carly Anne

  “She was killed that night,” he says.

  A gasp escapes me before I can capture it.

  “And he knew that he would never be whole again, Sophie.”

  I shake my head. He’s right. How could he ever be the same after that?

  Dr. Keller takes my hand so gently, I can barely feel his fingers. “I think you understand me better than anyone, Sophie. You know how lonely it is when you recognize you should have done something to save someone. You know the sting of regret every time your memory replays that moment when you failed them.”

  That night in the bathroom. The mirror shattered. Nell’s wrist bleeding. Her stricken face.

  “Regret is horrid. It’s maybe the worst thing that a person can feel. It’s like a sickness. And so the boy promised he’d find her, even in death.”

  He inches closer to me on the couch, and I’m so enraptured by his gaze that I can’t seem to move away.

  “I want to rid the world of that kind of sickness, Sophie. And there are people who can help me to make that happen. People like you.”

  Suddenly, my chest loosens, and I feel a tickle in the back of my mind.

  Evan never stopped looking for you.

  I look down, my heart racing with the memory of what I’d told Deb. When I look up again, Dr. Keller’s eyes are fixed on me. His hands grip mine so tightly.

  “You’re lying, Dr. Keller,” I say, and his eyes twitch in their sockets, almost imperceptibly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re lying. You said this story wasn’t about anyone in particular. But that’s not true.”

  Dr. Keller releases my fingers and leans back.

  “The origin of the story, Ms. David, is less important than how it affects you. Who, for instance, has been abandoned in your life?”

  He bends to pick up his fallen clipboard, but his eyes never leave mine. His pupils are the size of donut sprinkles, and gray irises hide any ounce of humanity they showed only seconds earlier. He’s trying to hurt me, trying to provoke my guilt about letting Nell down, my emptiness after her death. He wants to break me into pieces, then reconstruct me to suit his singular need.

  “Not my life, Doctor. Not my loved one.”

  He narrows his eyes. Nostrils widening like a bull’s, he licks his lip, clamps his jaw, then parts his lips long enough to say, “I think we’re done for today, Ms. David.”

  I want to leave but I’m terrified that the minute I stand, he’ll hit me with that clipboard. Or he’ll reach for my throat with those manicured hands.

  Instead, he makes the first move, standing with a quiet cracking of his joints and walking to the metal door that’s sealed us in his clinical office. Reaching inside his lab coat to his waistband, he produces a keycard that hangs on a retractable string from his belt loop. He slides the card through a reader and opens the door, gesturing sharply toward a waiting orderly in the hallway. It’s Robbie.

  I edge by Dr. Keller, but he places a hand lightly on my shoulder, pulling me back toward him. “By the way, Ms. David,” he says. His mouth is only inches from my ear, the heat of his breath is terrifyingly similar to another murmuring I’ve heard before.

  “Gladys tells me you spilled your orange juice the other day, and today she was displeased to find orange stains under your pillow. You really must be more careful.”

  And with that, he squeezes my shoulder, sending a hot rush of pain through my arm, and hands me off to Robbie, who takes me back to my room.

  • • •

  Orderlies come and go from my room with stiff smiles I suspect are applied for the sole purpose of avoiding conflict. Why they’re so careful I can’t begin to guess. But I suspect it has something to do with what they think I’m capable of conjuring in front of a mirror. Or maybe it just makes their job easier if they don’t engage me.

  I, for one, intend to save my “getting worked up” for when I think it will count. And so far, I have yet to see when that might be. All I can do is rely on Deb for my cues, and her only cues thus far have been to play along, particularly with Gladys—the Pigeon. For some reason, Deb seems more terrified of her than all the rest, though I’ve never asked her why. As for “playing along,” I can get behind that for a little while, so long as that doesn’t turn into outright compliance. I have no intention of cooperating with this situation long-term. I may not know how I’m going to get out of Oakside yet, but pretending that I like it here definitely won’t bring me any closer to freedom.

  • • •

  I had a dream about Evan last night. It wasn’t the kind where I woke up sweating and trembling and trying to piece out events in my head, like some jigsaw puzzle. This was straightforward. Maybe it was my subconscious giving me a break from all the mental speculation. In it, Evan’s hands were on me. They touched my face first, his fingers running the length of my jaw to my neck, then through my hair. He kissed me, his lips hungry, his tongue tickling mine. He was breathing heavily, and so was I. Then his hands were on my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. He traced my spine, his touch suddenly light, his fingers moving underneath my shirt, exploring places that made my breath start and stop.

  I woke up moaning. Then I broke into a cold sweat.

  I can’t be here forever. I can’t be here as long as Nell was. As long as Deb has been. I can’t stay here.

  This can’t be my new life.

  21

  * * *

  I THINK IT’S DAY SEVEN, though I can’t be sure.

  Robbie the orderly comes to retrieve me in the afternoon as usual.

  “Rec time,” he says flatly.

  He steers me down the hallway and around several corners, and I find myself terrified that I’m eventually going to grow used to this—that at some point, I’ll know how many turns it is to get to any given room in this place. I need to get out of here. But I’m no closer to figuring out how I’m going to escape.

  We turn one more corner and I spot the bright fluorescent glow of the lobby and the adjacent recreation room. Deb is already there, and has been deposited in a corner across from Kenny’s old Lego station. My palms sweat at the sight of that table, and I quickly refocus on Deb.

  “What’s she doing here?” A raspy voice interjects the minute I enter the room.

  Robbie checks his watch, then looks to the pucker-mouthed orderly, her heavy ponytail tilting her chin up like a finger pointing accusingly at us both.

  “It’s four o’clock. Recreation time,” he whines, a child reprimanded.

  “Don’t you pay attention to anything? Dr. Keller was explicit in his instruction. They are to be kept separate for the rest of the day today. This one’s on punishment,” she says, jutting her chin in my direction.

  So that’s it. I’d wondered how long it would take for the other shoe to drop. I suppose a threat from Dr. Keller couldn’t have been my only punishment for defying him.

  I steal a glance at Deb, and her eyes ask the question she can’t: Weren’t you listening to anything I said?

  I know I should have told her about my encounter with Dr. Keller, but I’d almost convinced myself he was over it. I should have known his memory for pain and vengeance was long and detailed.

  “Just get them both back to their rooms,” the pucker-mouthed orderly commands, fishing in her pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes before stomping down the hallway.

  Robbie sighs and grabs my arm gruffly.

  “Let’s go,” he says, pulling Deb up by her arm and starting down the hallway with both of us. But a hollow knocking sound makes us all turn to the lobby area.

  If I’m startled to see the rather large man in a gray jumpsuit standing at the inside door to the visitor area, Robbie is downright panicked. Suddenly it feels like a hundred years since I’ve seen anyone who’s not wearing blue scrubs or a white orderly’s smock.

  “No!” Robbie shouts across the room to the man. “No visitors!” he says rudely.

  “Pal, I ain’t here to visit,” the man in the jumpsuit sh
outs through the glass, hoisting a toolbox so it’s level with his stubbled face. “A and J Electric. I’m here to fix your busted keypad.”

  “Shit,” Robbie says through clenched teeth, then looks down at me like he’s forgotten he’s still gripping my arm.

  “Uh, just wait there a few minutes,” Robbie shouts again to the electrician.

  “Look, kid, I’m already into overtime. If you wanna foot the bill for each second that ticks by, that’s fine by me, but it’s double-time starting an hour ago,” the electrician shouts through the glass.

  Robbie takes a few steps in place for lack of direction, then releases his hold, but not before turning his frustration on me.

  “Wait here, and don’t you do a thing. No talking. No looking at each other. Got it? I’m coming right back.”

  He scuttles to the admittance room and presses the red button to let in the electrician. Then he takes a key from his pocket and twists it in a keyhole on the console, pointing to it and then to us. “It’s locked, so don’t even think about pushing the button.

  “This way,” he says to the repairman, searching for his pockets to replace the key.

  The electrician follows him at a leisurely pace, but as soon as they turn the corner, I hurry to Deb.

  “What happened?” she asks me accusingly.

  “Sorry, I guess he got to me.”

  “No shit, that’s why I told you to be on your best behavior,” she says. “He’s getting crazier by the day, but somehow, he’s still great at getting into people’s heads.”

  “I just don’t get why he’s cracking. I mean, why now?” I ask.

  Deb takes another cursory glance around to be sure we’re still alone, then leans in. “I heard one of the orderlies talking about it. This velvet rectangular box he used to bring into the mirrored room all the time went missing. I don’t know how long it’s been gone, but I guess Keller just realized it.”

  My heart bangs against my chest. “Adam,” I say, and her eyes widen.

  “Adam, the orderly? The one who ran off with—?”

  “Yeah,” I nod, my mind racing.

  “You know him?”

  “We’ve met, and let’s just say he’s as eager to bring down Dr. Keller as we are. Maybe more eager. Eager enough to steal something that he thinks might . . . but why . . . what does he think . . . ?” My mind is at war with itself, ideas fighting one another for brain space.

  Deb frowns.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing. Look, I know your sister liked him, but . . . ”

  “But?” I prod. We don’t have time for delicacy.

  “She wasn’t around when Dr. Keller and Adam were real buddy-buddy. None of us trusted Adam. Hell, the other orderlies didn’t even trust him. Nothing against your sister, Sophie, but she was crazy to run off with him. I mean, how do you know he didn’t—?”

  “He didn’t kill her,” I finish, a little too sternly. For the first time, I see a strong resemblance between Deb and Evan. Her shoulders are hunched in exactly the same way Evan’s were while we sat in Adam’s hideout.

  “What do you really know about him, Sophie?”

  I take a deep breath and am dismayed that it shakes its way through my lungs.

  “I trust my sister,” I say with finality, knowing it’s not really an answer at all. “So now what?” I ask to change the subject, the initial giddiness of getting to talk to Deb fading. The reality of our hopeless situation casts a dark shadow.

  To my surprise, Deb has a quick answer to that question.

  “I’ve been doing a little treasure hunting,” she says, her usual conspiratorial smile flickering to her lips.

  I open my mouth to ask what she means, but just as I do, her smile vanishes.

  A hand lands hard on my shoulder, collapsing me under its weight.

  “Robbie may not be an imposing enough figure to obey,” the Pigeon says, then lifts me by my armpits and spins me to face her, my nose inches from her beak. “But you’ll listen to me when I give you an order,” she says, her eyes dancing. She’s enjoying scaring me.

  And she’s right; I am afraid of her.

  The Pigeon’s thumb burrows into my back as she grips my shoulder to steer me. All I can think is that this is what a mouse must feel like when it’s caught by an owl.

  She pushes me down a gray corridor I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, but then I recognize Dr. Keller’s office-office, where he gets all of his “paperwork” done. More like where he devises plans for keeping me and Deb in this rat hole while he tries to bring Susan back.

  We pass through this hallway and down another that I know I’ve never seen before. We’re getting farther and farther away from any sounds of activity whatsoever. And I can’t escape the feeling that nobody will follow us wherever she’s taking me.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up,” she commands.

  Finally, we round a corridor that leads to a dead end. The only thing that makes this hallway different from the others is a sign pointing to a ladies’ restroom. It’s not the one with the showers. But I don’t know why we’re here. She stops and fishes a keycard from her belt loop under her white smock.

  “You girls think you can do whatever you want, don’t you? No mind for rules. No reason to listen to the likes of us, huh?” The Pigeon glowers. It’s clearly not a question meant to be answered. “If you ask me, you’ve gotten the star treatment for long enough.”

  “Star treatment? You have to be kidding me!” I can’t contain myself any longer, but I immediately regret opening my mouth. Her talon closes tighter over my shoulder, making the tendon in my back pull so hard I cough.

  “When I tell you to be quiet, I intend for you to obey. When I was running this place, back talk like that would earn a patient more than some stern words and withholding of children’s toys.”

  Her reference to Kenny’s Legos makes me tense against her grip.

  “I have a feeling you’ll soon be noticing some changes around here. You see, my dear, I could care less about your . . . special abilities. I suspect you view your talents as little more than a burden. I happen to agree with you.”

  I’ve never seen agreeability look less agreeable on a person. Her beak-mouth is pinching into a savage smile.

  “I view it more as a sickness, something like an infection, one I’m not invested in curing. I’m much more interested in containing it.” She shoves me forward and I stumble. Terror seizes my body. Something awful is going to happen. I can feel it with the sixth sense that told me something was wrong on that day when I came to see Kenny and the waiting room was empty.

  The Pigeon thrusts her keycard into a reader for the ladies’ room.

  “Maybe this will make you reconsider the next time you decide you’re above the rules,” she says before landing a hard shove in the middle of my back.

  I stumble forward, recovering only in time to hear the door behind me slam shut, the mechanical lock pinging into place and echoing through the bathroom.

  A quick survey reveals little to be frightened of. This bathroom looks like any other I’ve seen. Five stalls with doors yawning wide open, revealing toilets filled with blue water. The gray tiles below my feet are clean enough—the grout between them only vaguely dingy. The entire room smells like bleach, and for a second, I breathe a sigh of relief. The Pigeon was all talk. She’s clearly just locking me away out of sight. She needed a place to scold me, like some sort of crazed babysitter with an over-inflated sense of importance, a power-hungry orderly bent on regaining the authority she once had and obviously wants back.

  But when I turn around, I realize I couldn’t be more mistaken.

  A row of five individual sinks face the stalls. But it’s what hangs above those sinks that makes me forget how to breathe. There, spanning the entire length of the wall, is a plank of sparkling, reflective glass. With horrifying clarity, I can see the fear that paints my face as I realize the danger I’m in.

  I run to t
he door and pound my fists as hard as I can on the metal.

  “Hey! Hey! Are you crazy? Let me out of here!”

  But the thick door swallows the noise I make, returning only my echo.

  I turn slowly and face the opposite wall, which is also covered by a full-length mirror. The reflection of my body, small and meek under the loose cotton of my blue scrubs, almost convinces me that I deserve to be locked in an institution. I look the part of an insane person. I close my eyes against my reflection, knowing what will come next, knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  My ears pop, the pressure of the room dissipating. I swallow in vain to recover the sound of the air conditioning’s comforting hum, but all that remains is emptiness, the absence of sound.

  The murmuring comes first, sliding across the bathroom like a snake, the words urgent but impossible to understand. It fills my ears with its plea for an audience. I fight against hearing it, then concede and try to understand, just like always. And like always, I tremble against it, wanting to do what it wants me to so it will go away.

  Then I open my eyes. I watch as my knees buckle. I brace my hands against the back of the door as I shake. My eyes are fixed on the mirror.

  “Please, I’ve learned my lesson. Please, just let me out!”

  But no one comes to the door. I’ve been left alone, and I have the terrifying sense that the Taker knows, and that it is relishing the time it will have with me.

  The wordless murmurings in my ear turn to one strained, sputtering gasp, and I open my eyes wider to catch the faint rippling of my reflection across the bathroom.

  “Please,” I whisper, no longer believing that anyone will come to my rescue.

  The rippling grows stronger, and soon my reflection is disappearing behind an undulating figure that’s turning blacker and blacker with each movement.

  “Please, don’t.” But I know it’s no use. It won’t understand me. Nothing can keep it from trying to take from me what it thinks I have.