We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  She had taken Billy to Rhiannon’s. Had they crashed? Her fingers floated to her lips. No. They’d kissed goodbye. On the way home maybe. But other than her cheek and swollen lip, and strangely, the bottom of her feet, nothing hurt. Certainly nothing that would put her in the hospital.

  Fragments of memory assaulted her. Nothing tangible. Nothing she was able to reach out and hold on to. She was in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown, connected to an IV. She just didn’t know why.

  From where she lay, she could see a bathroom with no door. A small video camera hung from the corner near the ceiling, pointed directly at her. It was like waking up in a horror movie.

  She tried to sit. Cold air hit her neck, and the room started to spin. She raised shaking hands to her neck, then her scalp. Her hair! It was gone, yet she felt it like a phantom limb: long, soft strands sliding down her arms, floating to her feet, catching between her toes. The sound of steel teeth, gnawing and chewing.

  Her fingers crawled across her scalp. Some spots were almost bare; others bristled like a porcupine. She slid beneath the covers and began to rock.

  The glass wall behind her rattled open.

  “Mrs. Donaldson?” a soft voice called.

  “Please go away.”

  “I need to check your vitals. Then Dr. Mueller said you should have something to eat. I can heat some soup as soon as you’re ready.”

  “I don’t want any soup. I just wanna go home.”

  “I know, but I need to disconnect this bag, give a quick listen to your lungs and check your pulse. Besides, I can tell you’re hungry. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

  Kate didn’t want to sit up; didn’t want this person to see her. Didn’t want anyone to see her.

  “Mrs. Donaldson. I’m sure you’re confused and frightened, but you’re safe here. I promise.”

  Safe? As if that were even possible. She pulled the sheet around her tighter.

  “Could you close the curtains, please?”

  “Absolutely.”

  When Kate heard the fabric being drawn around the bed, she lowered the sheet. The woman standing beside the bed had a mass of curly brown hair gathered into a ponytail atop her head and a kind smile.

  “That’s better.” She tucked her hands into the pockets of her scrub jacket. “My name’s Lori. How’re you feeling? Any headache or nausea?”

  Kate nodded. “Both.”

  “I’ll bring you some ginger ale. That should help. I think once you eat something, you’ll feel a little better.”

  She took Kate’s pulse and timed it on her watch. “Sounds good.” She brought the stethoscope up to her ears and listened to her heart and lungs.

  “Why am I here?”

  “What do you remember?”

  Kate shrugged. “Not much.”

  What she remembered was being with Joey. Probably best to keep that to herself.

  “I guess you gave your family quite a scare. Dr. Mueller thinks being here is the best thing for you right now.”

  “What if I don’t want to stay?”

  “You can discuss that with him later this morning. He came by to check on you around dinnertime, but you were still sleeping.”

  “What time is it now?”

  Lori glanced at her watch. “Two fifteen. How about I get you that soup?”

  She was a prisoner. Might as well accept her bread and water and be done with it. She nodded.

  Lori turned to leave the room and began to push the curtain back.

  Kate’s hands flew to her head. “No! Please leave it closed. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” Lori left the curtain partially closed. The video camera was likely broadcasting her image to the nurses station, but at least she wasn’t on display to anyone passing in the hall.

  Lori returned a short time later. She set a food tray down in front of Kate, then pulled something out from under her arm.

  “See if this will help.” She handed Kate a dark pink cable-knit cap lined with fleece.

  “I can’t take this.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Lori shook her head. “It gives me hat hair. I hardly ever wear it. You can keep it until you leave.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Here—let me.” She slipped the hat onto Kate’s head, tucking in one or two strands that had escaped her madness.

  “I guess hat hair is the least of my problems.”

  Lori chuckled. “It looks better on you, anyway.” She turned and pushed the curtain back. “I know you’re uncomfortable and it seems like a terrible invasion of your privacy, but we have to be able to watch you for the first twenty-four hours. It’s for your own safety.”

  “I’m in the psych ward, aren’t I?” The words caught in her throat.

  “Look at it this way.” Lori pushed the tray table closer. “You’re safe here. Nothing and no one can hurt you. It’s a chance to catch your breath, get a little perspective.” She smiled. “In the meantime, here’s some chicken noodle soup, which isn’t bad for hospital food, and if you want more, I can get it for you. There are some crackers, too, but try and eat some soup first. Dr. Mueller wasn’t sure how long it’s been since you’ve eaten, so he doesn’t want you to overdo it, okay?”

  Kate wasn’t sure how long it had been either.

  After Lori showed her how to page the nurses station and work the remote for the television, Kate asked why there was no door on the bathroom.

  Lori just smiled. “Not for the first twenty-four hours.”

  It was beyond uncomfortable; it was humiliating.

  “Your daughter dropped off a bag for you. When you’re done eating, we’ll go through it together.”

  “Go through it?”

  “We need to see what’s in it before you can have it.”

  Of course. In case she stripped the shoelaces from her Doc Martens and tried to string herself up in the shower.

  “Lori?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s no phone.”

  “Not tonight.”

  It turned out the soup was as good as it smelled, and Kate even ate the Jell-O, although the thought of eating the crackers made her gag.

  Not long after she’d finished, Lori returned with her suitcase. She unzipped it and lifted out each item. The only thing questionable, it seemed, was the hooded sweatshirt. The drawstring had already been removed. Had Rhiannon taken it or had the hospital staff already pawed through her bras and panties?

  In addition to her other toiletries, she spotted her makeup kit, which Lori put to the side. Of course Rhiannon would think it barbaric to leave the house without wearing eyeliner. At this point, Kate was pretty sure it would do nothing for her appearance. Rhiannon had also packed the book that had been on Kate’s nightstand for weeks. She’d barely read more than a few pages. Focusing on her own life was difficult enough. Following the plot of a novel? Impossible.

  When the contents of her suitcase had been inspected, Kate pointed out that she had neither her phone nor her wallet.

  “You can’t have your phone, and you don’t need your wallet. Tomorrow, if there’s anyone you want to call, there’s a phone you can use, but you still won’t be able to have your own. That’s for your own protection.”

  “My husband’s going to be really upset if he can’t reach me.” The irony that she’d said her final goodbyes to Billy hadn’t escaped her. She was just stating a fact.

  “Your daughter said she’d speak to your family to let them know where you are, and Dr. Mueller will be in to see you around eight. You can talk with him more then.”

  For a moment, she worried about Billy, but this was probably exactly what he wanted—to have her out of the way. Now that he was running around the country playing rock star again, he would no longer need to worry about who was taking care of her.

  Despite sleeping for what—hours, days?—she suddenly felt very tired.

  “You can keep the gown on if you wish, or you ca
n slip into your own pajamas. Then you can read or watch TV if you can’t sleep.” Lori pointed to the book. “What are you reading?”

  Kate shrugged. “I honestly don’t remember.”

  She picked up the sleepwear Rhiannon had packed. Two pairs of Ralph Lauren cotton pajamas, both plaid, and a long-sleeved night shirt, also plaid. All new. All three sets bearing a Lord & Taylor hang tag. That was her daughter. In the middle of a family crisis, she found time to zip to the mall. Kate rarely slept in pajamas, preferring Billy’s concert T-shirts or his worn and faded chambray shirt.

  Had Rhiannon bought new pajamas because she knew Kate wouldn’t have been able to bear the thought of wearing something of Billy’s, or had she been embarrassed by her mother’s lack of stylish sleepwear? Probably the latter. Regardless, she was grateful.

  Grimacing when she put pressure on her feet to stand, she grabbed the top pair and yanked at the tag. With careful steps, she headed for the bathroom where at least she’d find a sliver of privacy.

  She looked at Lori. “Thanks for the hat.” She would have smiled, but the effort was more than she could manage.

  Lori’s smile lit her entire face. “No problem.”

  Kate changed quickly. She tried to avoid the mirror, but when it was time to brush her teeth, her eyes betrayed her. She stared at her reflection. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. Purple smudges stained the tender skin below her red-rimmed eyes. Her lip was cut and swollen. A bruise blossomed on her cheek.

  With a shaky hand she reached for the knit cap and slid it off.

  She looked like a drug addict or a cancer patient. Someone about to take their last breath. And really, wasn’t that exactly who she’d become?

  She had officially hit rock bottom.

  “Do you have any fight left in you, Kate?” she whispered to her reflection, “or have you already checked out?”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  By the time the day nurse came to take Kate to see Dr. Mueller, she had changed into a pair of jeans and a hunter green sweater. The sweater clashed with the knitted cap Lori had given her, but she wasn’t about to leave her room without it.

  The man waiting for her in a comfortable office seemed to be about her age, which bothered her for some reason. She had expected someone more like Sigmund Freud and less like Eddie Vedder. Just what she needed, another musician. He rose from one of the leather wing chairs and reached for her hand, then clasped his own over it in a gesture she assumed was meant to reassure her.

  “Hi, Kate. I’m Eric Mueller.”

  Eric, huh? Sigmund’s patients had probably called him Dr. Freud.

  He motioned to the chair opposite his. “Sit, please.”

  Kate did as she was told, then folded her arms and crossed her legs. If he could read body language, then she was speaking volumes.

  “When can I go home?”

  He gave her a benevolent smile but refrained from the now, now she expected to follow.

  “Legally, after you’ve been here for seventy-two hours. However, if I believe you’re a danger to yourself or others, I’ll petition to keep you here longer. That being said, I hope you’ll consider staying voluntarily.”

  Her snort should have conveyed how unlikely that would be.

  “You have a long road ahead of you, Kate.”

  “Look, this is a huge misunderstanding. I had too much to drink, and I passed out. Trust me, my husband did it for years, and I never had him carted away in an ambulance. My daughter overreacted. I’m fine.”

  He crossed one leg over the other and linked his fingers around his knee. Billy never sat like that. It irked her. “What about the sleeping pills?”

  “I didn’t take any sleeping pills. I took one about two months ago. Reacting to that is even worse than calling an ambulance for someone to sleep off a drunk.”

  He nodded and waited for her to continue. Instead, she kicked her leg back and forth. Of course, if he thought she was agitated, he might call for a straightjacket. She smoothed her hand down her thigh, stilling her leg.

  “Kate,” he said at last. “You’ve been through several devastating losses. Anyone in your position would have a difficult time dealing with them, including myself. The only difference between me and you in that regard is that I’m fully aware of the benefits of seeking professional care to help me process the tragedy. You are not ‘crazy.’”

  She assumed his use of air quotes provided him some cushion against appearing politically incorrect, instead of employing the more acceptable “mentally ill.”

  “Some of your behaviors may appear to be bizarre, perhaps, but you are not. You’re hurting, and whether you believe it or not, you’re crying out for help.”

  Kate hooked her fingers together around her knee to slow the maniacal back-and-forth movement of her foot. She was agitated, but she was listening.

  “The thing about the seventy-two-hour involuntary commitment—I can let you go home the day after tomorrow, and nothing will have changed. Correct?”

  “I guess.”

  The way he was grinning, you’d have thought she’d had some sort of breakthrough. “The thing is, you need to change, and you can’t do that in just seventy-two hours.”

  It felt as if he was trying to upsell her before she knew exactly what she had purchased. It reminded her of the time she’d dragged Billy to Atlantic City, thinking she was a finalist in a drawing for a Jaguar XJ6. It turned out she was one of hundreds, if not thousands, of finalists, and the deal was they had to sit through a two-hour presentation on timeshares. After fifteen minutes, Billy had excused himself to use the restroom. She found him in the hotel bar three hours later. She was pretty sure Dr. Mueller wouldn’t fall for that.

  “In here, we can protect you. I don’t just mean in the physical sense, but more importantly, in the emotional sense. You don’t have to see or speak to anyone you don’t want to. That’s why you don’t have a phone. If you don’t want to talk to someone, if that person’s interaction with you will in any way hinder your recovery while you’re here, then we don’t want them talking to you. If it’s a family member, we can schedule a session and monitor the interaction, and if they’re hurting you in some way, even if it’s unintentional, we can help them learn what they’re doing that’s stunting your recovery.”

  Interesting. She loosened her arms but left her hands folded in her lap.

  “So if I don’t want my daughter to visit, she can’t?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “What if my husband calls?”

  Dr. Mueller’s head bobbed as if he was giving her question a great deal of consideration. “Same thing. We’ll make a list of who you will and won’t speak to, and since the calls go through the nurses station, they’ll make sure it’s followed.”

  “Okay. Let’s do that.”

  There was a notepad and a pen on a nearby table. He handed it to her.

  She hesitated. “Has my husband called?”

  He scrolled through his iPad, then shook his head.

  “No. Just Rhiannon. She called last night and again this morning. I understand, though, that she notified your husband and your son, so they know you’re here.”

  “Do they, now?” So Billy knew and hadn’t even bothered to contact her. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. She scribbled a name on the pad and handed it to Dr. Mueller.

  “Tom Reilly? I’ll make sure the nurses station gets this. If he calls, you don’t want to speak with him. Is he a relative, employer . . .?”

  “No, he’s the only one I will speak with. In fact—” She took the pad back and jotted down Tom’s cell phone number. “I’d like someone to call and ask him to come see me as soon as he can. Today, if possible.”

  He looked concerned. “You don’t want to speak to anyone in your family?”

  “No. I don’t. You said I’m safe here, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. My husband raped me while he was strung out on crystal
meth the same night I buried my best friend. And that’s not even the worst thing that’s happened to me this year. Do you want to know where he is? He said he was going on tour. That may be true, although it came up awfully sudden. But I’ve also discovered that he might have another child or even a whole family somewhere. So no, I don’t want to talk to him, and I don’t want to talk to my daughter, who’ll take his side regardless, or my son, who thinks I’ve lost my mind. My family may not have caused all the big hurts that put me here, but they keep piling on the little ones, and I think those are the ones that finally pushed me over the edge.”

  Even as she said it, she wasn’t quite sure she believed it. What she did know is that she was angry, and as ugly as the anger was, it was better than the pain that had been her constant companion for months now.

  “Did you report the rape?”

  She shook her head angrily. “No. And I’m not going to. He didn’t mean it.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes. That sounded ridiculous. Maybe she was mentally ill.

  “Okay. We can talk about that later. Who’s Tom Reilly?”

  “He’s a dear friend, the only real friend I have left. The others were murdered.” She said it plainly, and it was clear by the expression that passed over his face how harsh it sounded. It was the truth, after all.

  She wouldn’t tell him that Tom was also her attorney. He would just discourage her from attempting to conduct any type of business while she was hospitalized.

  And business was exactly what she needed to speak to Tom about.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Late that afternoon, Kate was moved to a private room. There was no closed-circuit camera following her every move, and the bathroom had a door. It was a small victory.

  She was sitting in the recliner in her room trying to focus on Northanger Abbey, her least favorite of Jane Austen’s books, when Lori knocked on the door.

  “You’re looking rested.”

  Kate returned her smile. “Sleeping more than two hours a night will do that for you.”

  “I’ll bet. You have a visitor. Tom? He’s waiting for you in the dayroom.”