Living in New York also meant he was closer to his mother. Nathan had visited the address accompanying her last correspondence, but the doorman said she’d moved out years ago, which meant she wasn’t living there when she sent him the letter. Questions clouded Nathan’s mind. Today, he wanted answers.
“May I help you, sir?”
Nathan stopped in front of a workstation occupied by a nurse. “Hello. My name is Nathan Taggart. I’m here to visit my mother, Marion Taggart.”
“There’s no one here by that—” The appearance of her smile eroded the tension in her face. She looked young, perhaps only a few years older than him, but the clinical coolness in her eyes suggested she’d experienced far more than he ever would at that age. “Oh, you mean Marion Whitney. I apologize. It’s easy to forget that Taggart is her real surname, given, well, who she was.”
Was.
Nathan cleared his throat. “I received a telegram requesting my presence here immediately.” He withdrew the cable from his pocket and held it up. “I’m not sure who sent it. It’s unsigned. I just know that it came from this institution.”
“Ah, yes.” The nurse pursed her lips. “Mr. Taggart, why don’t you sit on one of the chairs behind you, and I will let Doctor Littman know you’re here. He is the head psychiatric practitioner at Bellevue.”
Nathan sat down and placed his fedora in his lap. He rifled through a back issue of National Geographic Magazine until the doctor’s arrival.
“Hello, Mr. Taggart.” The physician extended his hand. “I’m Doctor Peter Littman.”
Dressed in a tweet suit jacket and slacks, the man didn’t look like a physician, but the confident way he spoke and carried himself held a scholarly significance that somehow confirmed he couldn’t be anything else.
Nathan stood to shake the doctor’s hand. “Good morning.”
“Please accompany me to my office and I will explain the reason for the telegram. It’s best if we speak in private.”
Nathan picked up his hat and followed the physician. At the end of the hallway, Dr. Littman unlocked a door decorated with his nameplate, and they entered a wood paneled room that smelled of smoke and freshly brewed coffee. Nathan sat in the seat offered to him.
Dr. Littman claimed the chair on the other side of the desk and lit a cigarette. “Son, there is no easy way for me to say this, so please excuse my bluntness. Your mother was found walking the streets, speaking incoherently and lashing out physically at those around her. Fortunately, a concerned citizen was able to subdue her and bring her here. She had her driver’s license and Screen Actors Guild membership card in her pocket, which is how we identified her and consolidated her two surnames, Whitney and Taggart. I conducted an initial assessment upon her admission and have concluded that she’s had a complete psychotic breakdown and needs continuous observation. Presently, she is under self-harm monitoring.”
Shock lanced through Nathan, carving up his hope that he had been called to the hospital for something not too serious.
“Self-harm?” His lips trembled, but he refused to cry in front of the physician.
Smoke billowed from Dr. Littman’s nose with his deep, tight-lipped exhale. “I’ll cut right to the chase, Mr. Taggart. Your mother was once a very rich and famous actress, but I’m afraid her funds have run out.”
Nathan gaped at him. “That’s impossible. She owns properties in Los Angeles and—”
“All of her homes have been foreclosed. And since this is a private hospital and her condition is so unique—in the general health care sense, that is—insurance does not cover her stay.”
Unique…as in taboo…as in no insurance company would support a mentally ill person since it was not considered a real affliction.
Nathan frowned. “What does this mean?”
Dr. Littman leaned forward, his cigarette grasped between two fingers. “If you cannot come up with the money for her treatment, we will have to release her. And if that happens, well, based on my professional medical opinion, the results will be catastrophic. You must understand that her mental illness has already progressed to the later stages. Without proper psychiatric interventions, she will only get worse.”
“So this came on suddenly?”
The physician took a long drag on his cigarette. “No, there must have been warning signs. Do you remember frequent crying bouts? Emotional withdrawal?”
“No. I…I haven’t seen her a while. Although…” Nathan’s gaze landed on a brass locomotive paperweight on the desk. Four Christmases ago, when his mother came home for the holidays, she was jittery, not sleeping, and seemed despondent.
He placed his head in his hands. How had it come to this?
“So if I don’t come up with the money for her stay, she will be put out on the street.” Nathan raised his head in preparation for the physician’s reply.
Dr. Littman nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Shame brought color to Nathan’s cheeks. “I don’t have any money.”
“That’s what I figured.” Dr. Littman sighed. “You’re just a boy, but by law, we had to try.”
Nathan leapt from his chair, clutching his fedora. “I’m not a boy. I’m a man. I turn eighteen next week. As for the money, I’ll get it. I’ll beg, steal. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just tell me how much I’m looking at here.”
Dr. Littman shook his head. “We’re talking three, perhaps five thousand dollars, depending on her course of treatment. I won’t know the full extent of her needs until she’s been here at least another month under my observation.”
The weight of the physician’s disclosure forced Nathan to sit back down. Three to five thousand dollars? He couldn’t come up with that.
“And that’s per year.” Dr. Littman stubbed out his cigarette, though he’d smoked only half of it. “We kept her these last few days free of charge solely because we needed time to contact her next of kin. I’m sorry about your father, Mr. Taggart.”
Nathan slumped in his chair. Tears obscured his vision, despite his efforts. If the doctor was correct about her condition, he now had his answer as to why her contact with him had become so sporadic and finally turned nonexistent.
“May I see her?”
“She received her last dose of medication two hours ago, so it should be safe.”
Nathan’s eyebrows furrowed. “You’re mistaken, sir. My mother would never hurt me.”
Dr. Littman folded his hands on the desktop. “Mr. Taggart, she is not the woman you once knew.”
Nathan set his jaw. “I need to see her.”
Dr. Littman’s gaze traveled all over Nathan’s face, as if he were assessing maturity, readiness. Psychiatric stability, most likely. It was his specialty, after all. Finally, he stood. “Come with me.”
Nathan exited the office with the physician. In a quiet voice, Dr. Littman conversed with the nurse Nathan had spoken to earlier. Lucille was her name. She would escort him to his mother.
“Stay strong, Mr. Taggart.” Dr. Littman patted Nathan’s back, bidding him a somber farewell. Nathan refused to make it a permanent one.
“How long does she have before you let her go?”
Dr. Littman’s expression softened enough to convey pity. It made Nathan even more determined to help his mother. “If you don’t have the funds to cover at least six months of her stay in advance by tomorrow, she will be discharged before rounds on Monday morning.”
Nathan nodded. “I will see you again soon, Dr. Littman.”
He provided the physician with a firm handshake and followed the nurse.
Lucille unlocked a door at the end of the corridor, which led to another hallway, and then another. All of them were decorated the same—white walls, tiled floors. All of them were silent. The anticipation, the fear, was enough to drive Nathan toward madness.
“It’s so nice that Marion has another visitor. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”
Nathan peered at the nurse curiously. “Another visitor?”
> Lucille closed and secured the door from which they had just emerged. “Why, yes. An older gentleman has come in to see her every day since she was admitted. He says he’s known her for a long time. He’s here now, so you can say hello.”
Nathan hung his head. He didn’t know enough about his mother’s personal life to recognize the man the nurse described. How pitiful.
A sign that read Authorized Personnel Only guarded the next door Lucille unlocked. On the other side, a security officer manned a small desk.
“You’ll have to leave all of your personal possessions here, Mr. Taggart.” Lucille shared her instruction casually. She’d obviously said the same thing many times previously. “Empty your pockets and please remove your tie. Your shoes do not have laces, so you can leave them be.”
Nathan left those items with the security guard and followed Lucille down the corridor. Muffled screams radiated from the locked rooms they passed. There were no windows in this hallway, just steel doors, concrete floors, and the same white walls. The family ranch came to Nathan’s mind. Perhaps his mother would’ve fared better in the countryside. Perhaps taking her out of here would be the cure she needed.
“This is the gentleman I was talking about.” Lucille’s bright voice pulled Nathan from his thoughts. “Mister…I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t catch your name.”
Nathan locked eyes with a heavy-set man with thinning gray hair and a beady gaze. A shudder tore through him. He glanced at his surroundings. There had to be a draft coming from somewhere. Poor insulation, maybe.
“I’m an old friend of Marion’s,” was the man’s reply.
Although he looked familiar, Nathan couldn’t place him. “Hello, sir.”
“Mr. Taggart, let’s see your mother, shall we?” Lucille gestured to the steel door across from them.
The still yet-to-be-identified man nodded, as though providing Nathan permission. “I’ll wait here. After you’ve concluded your visit, we’ll speak further.”
The nurse disengaged the lock and opened the door. “Marion, you have another visitor!”
Grasping his fedora, Nathan entered the room after Lucille. The door slammed shut behind them, trapping them in a concrete, windowless space with only one buzzing, flickering light bulb to guide them.
“Mama.” Nathan’s eyes widened. He couldn’t take another step. His mother rested on her back on a rickety-looking bed, dressed in a hospital garment that looked many sizes too big for her frail form.
He swallowed hard and studied her from his spot by the door. She stared at the ceiling. Blank. Unseeing. Her usual blond hair had grown out several inches, revealing gray roots that matched her complexion. But the worst part? The buckled leather restraints shackling her wrists and ankles to the bedframe.
“What have they done to you?” he whispered.
Lucille brushed his mother’s matted hair back from her forehead. “You look very pretty today, Marion.”
His mother responded to nothing. Not to Lucille’s voice, not to her touch.
“Why don’t you come over and say hello, Mr. Taggart?” The nurse addressed him in a voice suitable when speaking to a toddler, but he was too stunned to be offended.
Nathan willed his feet to move. His mother needed to see a familiar face, hear a familiar voice. That was the problem.
A rank odor assaulted his lungs and churned his stomach as he grew near. He refrained from pinching his nostrils. Dear God. When was the last time his mother had bathed?
Up close, her appearance was even more startling. Her eyebrows were not drawn in. Deep wrinkles creased her face, making her look older than her true age. Her pupils were dilated. She still hadn’t blinked since his arrival.
“Mother.” He cleared his throat in a bid to eliminate the hoarseness in his voice. “It’s Nathan. Your son.”
No response.
Lucille smiled down at her. “You were giving us some trouble earlier, but you’re relaxed now that you’ve had your medication. Aren’t you, Marion?”
Nathan shifted his gaze away from his mother’s face. He sucked in a breath. Her arms were bruised over prominent veins. The hospital was administering her medication by injection. What medication? And how frequently? Given her current state, he was afraid to ask.
“Is she like this all the time?”
Lucille linked her hands in front of her. “Considering the degree of difficulty she presents when she’s completely lucid, we find it best to keep her sedated. Comfortable, I mean.”
His mother blinked.
Hope sprung to Nathan’s heart. It was brief, like the flickering light above the bed, but something was better than nothing.
“Mother? It’s Nathan. Your son.” He bent over her. “I’m here.”
She blinked again.
Nathan placed his hand to her cheek and almost withdrew it instantly. She felt ice-cold. A tear rolled down his face. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”
Her lips parted.
“Are you trying to say something, Marion?” Lucille asked her question loudly, as though his mother was hearing impaired.
Nathan took his mother’s hand. “Mama? What is it? Talk to me, please.”
His mother’s eyes, no longer the ocean blue color from his childhood, fixated on his. The scream that blasted from her throat launched Nathan across the room. Convulsions racked her body, her hands and feet confined by the restraints.
Nathan’s fedora fell to the floor as he smashed his palms against his ears, trying to block out her cries. He didn’t realize he was still retreating until he collided with the far wall. Lucille called for assistance while his mother wailed and flapped on the bed as if possessed by a devilish creature.
Two nurses burst into the room. One held a needle and a brown vile. Nathan watched in horror as they yanked up his mother’s gown, turned her on her side as much as the restraints would allow, and injected her right buttock with a clear liquid. The nurses remained calm throughout the process. Just another day at the office, wasn’t it?
His mother’s convulsions grew more sporadic, less intense, until she was merely twitching. Her screams calmed to whimpers. Then, finally, silence overtook the room and she stilled.
Nathan lowered his hands from his ears. Trembling, his heart hammering against his ribcage, he could only stare, though his vision was blurred. He touched his cheeks. They were wet from tears. He wiped his face quickly.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Mr. Taggart,” Lucille said gently. “But now you understand the severity of the situation.”
Nathan gulped. He definitely did. While he hated to see his mother tranquilized, the alternative was much worse. He’d been foolish to think a country escape would save her. No, that would be up to Dr. Littman and the rest of the staff at Bellevue. But most importantly, himself.
Nathan grabbed his fedora off the floor and walked to the door. “Let me out.”
As promised, his mother’s “old friend” waited for him in the hallway. The man’s expression was apathetic. How any friend of his mother’s could not be deeply affected by her condition was a mystery to him.
“You two may speak privately.” Lucille departed with the other nurses, leaving Nathan and the man at one end of the hallway and the security guard at the other.
“That was very difficult for you, wasn’t it?” It was more of a statement than a question. The condescension that sharpened the man’s gaze compelled Nathan to answer anyway.
“I’m fine, sir. It’s her I’m concerned about.”
The man nodded. In approval? Or maybe understanding. It was hard to tell. “You’re a strong boy.”
Nathan straightened his posture to match the man’s calm exterior. “I am not a boy.”
“Ah, yes. Your eighteenth birthday is on Wednesday.”
Nathan froze. “How do you know that? Who are you?”
“My name is Luther Jensen Mertz.”
Nathan’s jaw dropped. “Mertz. As in the boss of Starlight Studios?”
&n
bsp; Mr. Mertz’s eyes narrowed, as if he was insulted that Nathan would think he was anyone else but the owner of the largest movie studio in the world. “That’s correct.”
“I’ve seen photographs of you before.”
Mr. Mertz adjusted his tie. “Of course you have. I am a very prominent and influential man.”
Nathan dipped his gaze. Though he stood a few inches taller than Mr. Mertz, he had never felt so small and inconsequential than he did in that moment.
Mr. Mertz smirked. He seemed to feed off Nathan’s discomfort. “I was notified that the wire I had Dr. Littman send you was delivered this morning, so I came to Bellevue to await your arrival.”
“You sent the wire?” Nathan’s eyebrows furrowed. “How did you know where to find me? How did you know my mother was even here?”
“Because I was the one who had her admitted.”
Nathan shook his head. He couldn’t have heard the man properly. “Excuse me?”
“I had a cohort of mine follow her. She’d been living in various shelters and wandering the streets during the day. When I was told how greatly her condition had deteriorated, I sent him to collect her. Marion was a very dear employee for many years, and Bellevue is an excellent hospital, better than the facilities out west. Her mental illness requires top-notch intervention. Thus, here we are. As for how I found you, I have many resources at my disposal. It wasn’t very challenging.”
“While I’m grateful for your concern, sir, my mother cannot afford her treatment.”
“Yes, I know. Bad investments destroyed her fortune.”
Nathan recoiled. “Then why did you put her in here?”
Mr. Mertz’s smirk widened into a haughty grin. “I’ve heard that you’re a bright boy, a hard worker. I’ve also heard that you’re trying to make a name for yourself in the newspaper industry.”
Stardust (The Starlight Trilogy #3) Page 9