by VK Fox
Her lunch companion glanced up and forced a smile. He was young, his face still childish, although he had to be a legal adult or he would be in the pediatric ward. Short blond hair, gray-blue eyes, a liberal sprinkling of freckles, and soft, attractive features. He was dressed in a sleeveless tank top and had the lean build of an athlete—the bandages around his forearms almost seemed natural, like wrist guards or splints or something. The most interesting thing about his appearance was his upper bicep tattoo—lines set at odd angles to each other forming what looked like characters in a language Jane didn’t know.
“You want to talk or just eat?” Jane asked.
“Whatever.” He studied his plate, and Jane noticed the sparkle of little bits of metal under his lower lip. Maybe spacers to keep piercings open without the jewelry. He wasn’t eating or even making a pretense of pushing the food around.
“It’s ice cream day. You gonna indulge?” She jabbed the wooden paddle into a rock-hard cup of chocolate ice cream, accidentally snapping it in half. “Well, shitsicles.” Her shoulders slumped at the prospect of having to skip dessert.
He didn’t focus on her, but a small chuckle escaped. “Here,” he slid his across the table and watched it, not her, to see if anything would happen.
“Oh, thanks. You sure?” She took it, careful not to touch his hand.
“No problem.”
He took a few seconds to study Jane’s face, and his eyes darted back to the food.
“Is it your first day?” he asked.
“No. You?”
“Transferred last night. I’m not going to be here long.”
“Lucky you.” She held the ice cream cup in her hands, trying to soften it. “You’re not hungry?”
“No, but if you want to give me your empty cup under the table when you’ve finished, I’d appreciate it. I need to leave evidence I’m not anorexic.”
“Are you?”
“No. Of course not. I just don’t feel like eating this crap.”
Jane rolled her eyes but decided not to get into a discussion about what exactly constituted anorexia. “So you’ve been here before? You came up with a plan to avoid questions about your eating habits fast for someone on his first day.”
He smirked. “I’m forward thinking. But, yes, I have been on this side of the razor-wire fence a few times. You?”
Jane dug at her ice cream brick. The first time she’d been committed, she’d sworn it was the last. Keep her shit together, act normal, don’t do anything stupid or overt, like calling down an explosion from the sky while being involved in a parking lot brawl highlighted by gunfire. She should have a cover story ready for those kinds of moments. Like this kid and his empty ice cream cup. Except what could her cover story possibly be?
“I’ve hit a nerve?”
“Yeah.” Jane stood, fighting the knot in her stomach. She gave an apologetic shrug to her lunch companion and found the attendant who could unlock the bathroom. She spent the rest of lunch in relative quiet with only the supervising nurse standing outside the stall for company.
“I’ll need to head back home in a couple of days, but I don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you.”
Jane’s brow puckered as she tried to meet her mother’s gaze, conveniently averted, scanning the rec room from the game table where the two of them sat for parent-child visiting hours at Solace. How was leaving her alone in a mental institution not abandonment? Jane squeezed three French fries together and ate them at the same time. Bringing lunch was nice. It meant her mother was trying.
“I get it. Fine. So I’m here until when?”
“Until we’ve made a plan with your therapist to transition you back out and things with the police are settled. It shouldn’t take long. Less than a week.”
Jane couldn’t miss the wistful note her mother’s voice took on when she was thinking about money. The icing on the donut was that the whole infuriating, unneeded, isolating hospital incarceration drained money away from people who couldn’t afford it. How were her parents managing without the additional income she’d kicked in at home? She was sure the answer wasn’t great.
“What’s with the mirror in the bathroom?” Jane’s mom was an expert subject changer. Don’t talk about it, and it couldn’t hurt you.
“What?”
“The mirror?” She waved a hand absently to the door diligently guarded by the attending nurse. “It’s soaped. I couldn’t use it.”
“I don’t know, mom. Tell a nurse or something.” Jane leaned closer, raising her eyebrows, and whispered, “This is a mental hospital, you know. Crazy people.”
“I’m sure they’re just in a tough spot. No one’s crazy. They’re having a hard time. Have you made any friends?”
Jane rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize that was an expectation.”
“We miss you at home. Can’t wait to have you back.” Jane’s mom reached out with a genuine, hopeful smile.
“How are the girls?” Focus on the positive. There were positive things about home, even if it wasted her time and talents. She should be out in the world making it better, not stuck in a mental ward. She could try again when things settled, but in the meantime, a visit home wouldn’t be so bad. Funny, now that her mother had done the worst, there wasn’t anything to avoid anymore.
“Good! Anna is still horse crazy, and Kristen is going to take her driving test next month. She gets motion sickness every time we even get in the car, but that doesn’t seem to deter her. Maybe she’ll make it happen.”
“And dad?” Jane’s voice caught a little.
“He has big plans for a dehydrator for the family for Christmas. He wants to do venison jerky and dried tomatoes from the garden next year. He says it’ll pay for itself in no time.”
Jane munched a few more fries. “Hey, mom, was there a security tape from the mall? In the parking lot?”
Jane’s mother pursed her lips. “There was a lot of electrical interference. The police told me they were reviewing the tapes, but most of the footage was illegible. They did get a good look at the stalker who showed up at your work, though. They’re investigating his identity.”
Jane shook her head. “Why do you think he’s a stalker? I’ve never seen him before. He came into the store during regular hours. Why not a customer?”
The older woman cocked an eyebrow. “Honey, a guy . . . like that? In a toy store?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. He doesn’t seem like the toy store type.”
“No, I don’t know.” Jane’s hackles were up. Why did her mother always make assumptions about people? So he was big. His build wasn’t a choice he’d made before coming to the toy store. “Is it because of his size? Or his clothes? Or his ethnicity?”
“No, sweetie, no.” Jane’s mom was regarding her like she was a very little girl, and Jane hated it—what was she missing? “Sometimes people are . . . a little off. He’s one of those people. You can’t blame me for not wanting someone like that around my girl.”
Jane couldn’t locate her wit or reason, so she took a long slug of milkshake, trying to get the partially frozen sludge through the straw. Her mother was busy eyeing the blond boy from lunch the other day; she shook her head slightly while he whispered to himself and racked the pool balls.
Jane muttered petulantly. “I bet the tape had the lightning strike and no one wants to admit it. People will go to all lengths to see what they want to see, whether it’s electrical interference or a fake healer.”
The muscles of her mother’s face hardened, and Jane jumped when she took her hand. “All right, Jane. You want me to believe in your magic powers? Show me. Do you see the cut on the back of my hand?” Jane examined her mother’s hand. A shallow scrape, the kind her mother often got from cooking or working in the yard, stretched from the knuckle of her thumb to her wrist. The cut was clean and scabbed. It would heal entirely in a week. Her mother waited until she met her gaze. “Heal it.”
“What?” A rush of
nerves hit head-on.
“You said you’ve been blessed with healing powers. Prove it. Heal the cut on my hand.”
“Are you serious?”
“As the grave.”
Jane blinked rapidly. Looking at the scab made her skin crawl, but she would only get this shot. She focused on her mother’s hand, not particularly caring if she lit up like a beacon in the middle of Solace. A little supernatural-inspired panic would serve them right. She closed her eyes.
The cut was insignificant, a whisper of an injury, hardly worth noticing. Inside, Jane searched for her power. She found it hot and bright, like a corked fountain ready to burst. Jane pulled at the stopper. Nothing gave.
“Really, honey.” Jane’s mother started to pull her hand back. Jane clamped down.
“No! No, hang on a sec, I can do this.” Jane scrambled inside her mind. She’d never tried something like this before: a small, superficial injury. Everything was always adrenaline-filled life or death. That seemed like the right place to use her talents, where they made the biggest difference. Here she was all thumbs—trying to use a calligrapher’s brush instead of dumping a bucket of paint. She couldn’t even get the lid off without the rush of danger spurring her on. In frustration, her mind went back to her mother’s hand.
“Mom, something’s wrong.” The words were out before she consented to speak them. A spot on the skin near the cut was rotten, ferocious, and insidious. Not a tumor, not yet, but terrifying on her mother’s forearm. “There’s something more serious than a cut. Hang on, I’ve got to figure it out.”
Jane’s mother snatched her hand back and stood, almost knocking the chair over. Her voice dripped acid. “It’s always one more thing with you, isn’t it? It’s not enough to prove yourself—you have to up the drama. Listen to me, you little brat, I don’t believe you. There is nothing wrong with me. You want to see the problem? Look in the mirror.”
A fifteen-foot security fence framed a tiny outdoor smoking area. The space was an afterthought, a patch of concrete jammed in an alcove between two buildings. But sunshine and tobacco improved everything as Jane soaked in the clear, dry September afternoon.
A few other residents stood, backs to the wall, lost in thought. Jane was learning their names. Not intentionally, but the information filtered in after a while. Karen, hopelessly extroverted, was chatting ceaselessly with anyone standing in easy range, keeping up all ends of the conversation. Jane focused diligently on blocking out the noise and not making eye contact.
“Hello.” A soft voice came from over her shoulder near the open door as her lunch partner from the other day stepped into the sunshine.
“Hey.” She took another drag and nodded at him.
“Great view.” He noted, taking in the concrete, weeds, and fence. He held a cigarette out to the nurse who operated the lighter.
“Yeah. Well, at least it’s fresh air. The first time I was here, I was surprised they let us smoke. Then I realized the last thing they need is a bunch of mental patients going through nicotine withdrawal.”
He grinned crookedly. “So what are you here for?”
“Wow. You don’t screw around.”
“It’s kind of the ‘what’s your sign’ of this institution.”
She rolled her eyes. Seriously? “I go blind. You?”
“I don’t hold to the generally accepted ideas of fantasy and reality.” He gripped his cigarette between his lips and used an index finger to scratch under one of the wrist bandages. “Yours sounds fun, though.”
“Ew, don’t scratch.” Jane unfocused her eyes and swallowed. Not scabs again. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the gross, crusty edges and oozing puss and tight pink skin around it. Jane swallowed a little bile and clung to the conversation. “I prefer fantasy. Reality keeps getting me in trouble.”
Impish mirth colored his features. “Trouble besides landing you here?”
“Yeah, I don’t want to be here. It wasn’t my idea to seek treatment or whatever. My mom says I’m hysterical and a danger to myself and everyone.” Jane exhaled and searched the sky. She took another drag. “How do your fantasies, I don’t know, manifest?”
The boy flicked ash into the air. “I’m convinced I participated in an ancient ritual to link my existence with a fictional fifteen-hundred-year-old Saxon king. I can call upon his strength, training, and magic to accomplish missions for a secret organization who adopted me out of the foster system when I was eight. The only downside is after using my powers, I experience certain undesirable side effects. That’s why I’m holding out.”
Smoke caught in her throat, and she choked and coughed.
“Are you okay?”
Jane thumped her chest. She nodded and stifled another coughing fit.
He eyed her until she seemed to recover. “Still want to trade? You’re going to have to sweeten the deal. The blindness thing sounds like it blows right now. You don’t have anything else going on? Delusions of grandeur or something?” He paused a moment in contemplation. “I mean, I guess I’ve already got those. I don’t need to trade you for them.”
“Sorry, I got the boring end of the mental issues stick.” Jane coughed one more time. “Can I bundle my blindness with an overdeveloped sense of duty?”
“Nothing else?”
Jane was silent for a moment.
“Go on then.” He gestured with his cigarette. “I’m delusional, remember? Safest person in the world to confide in.”
Jane glanced around. Karen prattled on. The nurse glanced at her watch and went back to staring at nothing. No one was interested in their conversation.
“Fine. I read a book, and now I go blind.”
He considered that for a minute. “What book?”
“A book about the lives of Catholic saints. I got it at Goodwill.”
“Nice. Can you keep calm if I tell you something real?”
She scowled at him. “You mean the Saxon part isn’t real? Yeah, go ahead.”
“Take an oath stating you’re not going to go all feminine and stomp off?”
Jane flipped him the bird. “How about this? Oath enough for you?”
One eyebrow went up, but the amusement stayed in place. “So honorable. I have an escape plan. Are you interested?”
“Oh, come on.” She studied him, expecting his face to betray some kind of joke. Jane sighed. “As a Saxon or as you?”
“If you’d been listening, you would have known we’re the same person. His essence is connected to me. And, much more usefully, I can summon his sword. So I figure I’ll cut a new exit in the wall. But I’ll be hurting pretty badly afterward, so I could use some help.”
“And . . . what’s your name?” Jane leaned in incredulously. “You don’t even know me .”
“Dahl. Like the author, you know? Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”
“Roald Dahl? Huh.” She nodded. “Jane. Like Jane Doe. Plain Jane. Dick and Jane.”
“Nice to meet you, Jane.”
Jane affected a conspiratorial air. “Why don’t we seize the moment and cut through the fence here?”
“I’m a little worried about trying it solo. My partner’s not in place right now. But if you want to level with me the rest of the way, maybe we can.”
“You’ve got a partner? Is it one of your fictional vassals? Look, Dahl, I just have to punch my card here, and I can go. I’m not trying to graduate to prison, you know?”
“I’m going to take a moment to remind you of your oath.” Dahl bit his lower lip. “And I do wish this part could be different. Do you honestly think you are ever going back to a normal life, Jane? Look inside yourself. Who’s living there? Joan of Arc? John the Baptist? Fucking Saint Nick? Do you think they will ever be satisfied with any kind of normal life? Your brand-new life started when you read that book, and your exciting journey to greatness is going to involve violating a whole stack of laws to get you out of here because you couldn’t do things the easy way.”
“You know about what�
�s happening to me?” Jane tightened her fingers on her cigarette, restraining herself from grabbing his shirt and shaking him.
“You see, I read a book too, and . . . magic.” His eyes widened for emphasis. “So I know you need help. Not the bullshit drugs and drinks and shoulders to cry on, crappy nine-to-five, mom checking on you kind of help. You need training and focus and people who get what’s going on in your pretty head. We can help you get your footing, but you’re going to have to nut up a little.” Dahl paused while Jane’s heart hammered in her temples. “And thus concludes the best recruitment speech I can muster before I lapse solidly back into ‘don’t give a fuck.’ I’ve been in here for days because you’re slow on the uptake and you couldn’t manage to have a five-minute conversation with the nicest guy on earth. I’m done. You can come or stay, and someone else with less wholesome intentions will come for you eventually, and they won’t say please.”
Jane’s mind raced from one possibility to another. She could cling to the reality she previously knew and conclude she was believing her delusions. Which, of course, she refused to accept, because she wasn’t crazy. “Fine. I’m in. Cut the hole.”
“Nuh-uh.” Dahl lit a second cigarette with his first. “You have not impressed upon me your practical skills. Tomorrow night at ten, find a way to the rec room. Without being seen, if you please. I’ll make the exit, and Ian will be waiting on the street with a car.”
“Ian?” Jane’s memory jumped back to the night at the toy store. Last week was a long time ago. Her heart sped up. “The giant Elmo guy in the toy store? He’s who you’re with?”
“Seriously, how did you fail to have this conversation with him? He’s the nice one.”
“He’s huge!”
“Please, Jane. The guy is the biggest softie. He’s a banana pudding pack with legs.”
“He came to my work at night asking how old I was!”
“You know the giant, life-sized stuffed bears every kid wants for Christmas? Literally his spirit animal.”