Phantom Limb: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Lucinda Berry

  “The reality is that Emily is dead. She’s been dead for two years and …”

  My brain was a balloon. My body was a string. The string connected me to the ground. Emily’s hand. Her hand, but she’d let go and I was floating. Floating while my body dangled below.

  “Derealization …”

  I was still floating.

  Can I catch her? Is she there? Is there a way out of this room?

  “Dissociation … extreme … some cases …”

  The shooting phantom pain.

  I’m being stretched. Am I awake? I got out of my bed this morning. Yes, I did. Drank coffee.

  I looked across the desk at Dr. Larson. He was still speaking. His lips were moving and his hands were animated. I’d never seen him show any emotion, but his face was alive with it now. I was sure his words had sounds, but they no longer reached my ears. My super powers were taking over. I hadn’t used my powers in a long time. I’d started using them with Mother’s special friends but over the years, I’d discovered they worked in other situations too.

  They took over automatically when Emily and I would go to court. We’d sit in a big empty room lined with rows upon rows of wooden benches that made the courtroom look like a church sanctuary. Our aluminum seats were always freezing as Emily and I sat next to each other at a long table up front, holding hands, with strangers on each side of us. Emily and I never said a word unless someone asked us to. We had lots of practice at being silent and we also knew better than to act up in the presence of adults. Mother’s presence at the other table across the aisle was a constant reminder of what would happen if we stepped out of line.

  The judge in the courtroom was mean and she towered above the rest of us from her position a top a tall mahogany desk at the front. She said horrible things to our mother, even made her cry. I’d never seen Mother cry. Did she practice her cries in the mirror in the same way I’d seen her practice smiles? I stared at Mother’s face, wondering if her tears were real. If I tasted them, would they be salty? Mother always sat on the other side of the room. She’d never even look at us. The man in the chair next to Emily and me carried funny smells with him. Sometimes he smelled like beef stew and Emily and I would giggle about it afterward when we were alone in our bed at the Rooths’.

  At some point, the judge would look down from her massive desk and start to ask Emily and me questions. She acted like a nice lady when she talked with us, even smiling at times. It looked real, but we were careful because we’d seen how mean she was to Mother and didn’t want to make her angry like Mother made her angry. We also didn’t want to say anything that would make Mother upset. The scars on our bodies were a constant reminder of what would happen if we did. Sometimes when the judge was talking, I would stop being able to hear her voice and before long, I didn’t just lose her voice—I could no longer hear any of the other voices echoing in the empty vast room.

  There was a small window on the right-hand side of the courtroom. It was all the way across the top of Mother’s head. I would leave my body and travel out the window. I’d go outside to the tree, to the big one with all the huge green leaves. I’d climb the tree as far as I could go and find myself a good spot. A spot where I could sit without having to worry about falling, where I could simply sit and watch. Stare at the sun. Feel the breeze against my face. Pick leaves and drop them. Watch them flutter down to the ground. I climbed the tree again and began picking the leaves. I dropped a big red one.

  The leaf hit the ground and startled me. There was movement around me. Other people. Rose sitting next to me, chattering about something. I looked around.

  I’m not in Dr. Larson’s office. I’ve escaped. I’m still breathing. I can hear Rose’s voice. It’s over. Thank God it’s over.

  I forced myself to return by listening to Rose’s voice. Sometimes when I left my body, it was hard to get back inside.

  “And I don’t get any more passes. Can you believe that? One screw up. One day and they take it all away. Like I haven’t done anything while I’ve been here,” she said. “I hate it here.”

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  I was so glad to be free and that it was over. Dr. Larson was gone and I didn’t have to hear his voice, listen to his stupid words, or his ridiculous ideas.

  “Did you meet with the team yet? They tell you when you get to leave?” she asked.

  “Nope. They haven’t told me anything.”

  They hadn’t told me anything but lies. I’d heard that psychologists messed with your head, but the only one I’d ever met was Lisa and she’d never played any mind games like Dr. Larson was playing. He was trying to fool me. But why? Why would he do that? What was the point?

  “This place is nuts,” I said. Somehow I felt safe confiding in her and I needed to confide in someone. “These doctors really screw with your head.”

  She threw her head back, laughing. “Uh, yeah. I totally know how you feel. The first time being here is the worst. You have no idea how to play all their stupid games. But you learn. It just takes a while. At least you got to miss group this morning.”

  “We had group this morning?”

  “Yep. You didn’t miss anything exciting. Not like yesterday.” She laughed again. “Honestly, I kinda like the freak-outs. It keeps me from being bored.”

  Emily would—

  I stopped myself.

  Why did Dr. Larson tell me Emily had been dead for two years? There was no way it was true. I wasn’t crazy and I’d have to be crazy to believe Emily was alive if she was dead. How did I live with her for two years if she was dead? I’d held her body next to mine every night. I’d listened to her heart beating in her chest when she was in my arms and felt her warm breath on my neck. Dr. Larson couldn’t be telling the truth. Other people had seen and talked to her too, like the attendant at the gas station, who would start pulling out her Marlboro Reds when he spotted her walking through the door. Our neighbors knew her too and spoke to her whenever she got the mail, especially Mrs. Jasberson. Even the baristas who worked at the coffee shop down the street from our apartment interacted with her regularly. It was the only place she would go without me, even when she was at her worst. They asked about her when she wasn’t with me. They knew her order as well as they knew mine—large vanilla latte with one shot of espresso. Skim milk.

  There was no way everyone else would pretend she still existed if she didn’t. Bob and Dalila had talked to her numerous times on the phone, even when she was refusing to see them, and they were two of the sanest individuals I knew. The entire story about Emily being dead for two years was impossible. There had to be something else going on, and I was going to find out what it was.

  11

  I spent the afternoon sitting on the couch in what had quickly become my usual position in the family room, waiting for my meeting with the team. Everyone met with them once a day and so far, I hadn’t had my turn.

  Everyone had their positions in the family room. Rose was always on my right, usually with her head buried in a magazine. She was obsessed with them. She didn’t care if they were new or not. She flipped through them again and again, wearing out the pages. The two wooden rocking chairs stayed occupied by Arlene and the man who still hadn’t spoken. His name was Matt but nobody knew anything else about him. Rick and Darin talked to their characters on the other couch opposite me and Rose. I was beginning to not even notice their incessant chatter. Shelly, Tobi, and Denise were glued to their table unless there was a male nurse or doctor at the nurses’ station. When that was the case, one of them always sauntered up to the desk as if it were a bar and flirted shamelessly, even though all three of them were married. Doris was the only one who didn’t sit. She roamed constantly, walking miles a day without ever going outside.

  I stared at the clock hanging above the TV that nobody ever turned on. The minutes inched forward. I was so anxious. By this time yesterday morning, I’d already talked to the team. Rose had told me that there wasn’t a set schedule for meeting
with the team. You never knew what time it was going to happen or when they were going to come get you. I’d been watching the minute hand go around the black-framed clock ever since.

  It wasn’t right that the team didn’t follow a schedule. They shouldn’t do that to us. It was unfair that we had to sit and wonder when they were coming. I was shaking. My heart was pounding and the pressure was back in my chest. My hands were sweaty. My hands were wet but my throat was dry. I didn’t drink any water, though, because I’d throw up if I did.

  What was going to happen when I met with the team? Was it going to be like my meeting with Dr. Larson? Would they say the same things he did? Was this how the whole thing worked—an entire group of people telling you things about your life that weren’t true to see how mentally stable you were? Is that how they were able to tell if you were like Rick or Darin?

  I kept glancing at Rick and Darin, alternating between the clock and their antics. Much like yesterday, they were engaged in nonstop conversation. Sometimes they spoke in hushed tones and other times they bordered on yelling, always gesturing wildly and pointing.

  Who were they talking to and what were they talking about? Did the voices talk back? What if the doctors were the ones who made them that way? What if the doctors had given birth to the voices and they were normal before? Is that what happened when doctors stuck their hands into the wires of your brain and began to move things around? Is that what was going to happen to me?

  Bile rose in my throat.

  “I’m gonna puke!” I jumped up.

  My sudden movements made the bile heave again and it pushed its way into my mouth, filling it with awful-tasting fluid. I clasped my hand over my mouth. My stomach heaved again into my mouth, forcing what was already in it to spray through my fingers.

  “Polly! She’s puking!” Rose leapt up. “Get her to the bathroom!”

  She grabbed my hand as Polly sprang from her chair. Rose pulled me down the hallway and pushed through the bathroom door, and I rushed for the toilet in front of me. I emptied what was left in my mouth into the toilet bowl. Rose knelt beside me, rubbing her hand in small circles on my back. Waves of nausea racked my body over and over again, resulting in water and yellow mucus spraying from my mouth and nose into the toilet. It kept coming until there was nothing left, but my stomach wouldn’t stop heaving. It created a pounding in my head unlike any headache before.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” Rose hadn’t left my side. She got a paper towel, wet it in the sink, and pressed it on my forehead. The coolness helped settle my stomach. She got up again and this time brought back a Styrofoam cup filled with water. She handed it to me. “Here. Rinse your mouth out with this. Don’t drink it. Just rinse. I don’t think you need anything in you right now.”

  I reached out, taking it from her with my hands still shaking. I rinsed my mouth. I still felt nauseous, but I was done throwing up. I didn’t know how long we sat by the toilet together, but my eyelids felt heavy and my eyes burned. My throat was raw.

  “Polly, why don’t you put her to bed?” Rose asked.

  I’d forgotten about Polly, my ever-present shadow.

  “No. You know patients aren’t allowed in their rooms during the day,” she said from somewhere behind us.

  “Yeah, except when they’re sick. And I’m pretty sure she’s sick. C’mon, Polly, don’t be a bitch.”

  Polly laughed. “You ever thought about working here?”

  Rose giggled back. “Christ, I should. I certainly spend enough time here.”

  “You think you can get up?” Polly asked me.

  “Here, let me help you.” Rose grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet.

  I felt unsteady. She put her arm around my waist. I was amazed at how small her frame was. I was leaning against bones, but somehow they steadied me. We left the bathroom and walked a few rooms down to mine.

  “You gotta do something with this room,” Rose said, but quickly added, “Only if you end up having to stay. But I’m sure you won’t, so we don’t need to worry about it. Never mind.”

  I wanted to smile, but my lips were stuck in a straight line. I crawled into bed and it made the same crinkling sounds as the night before. I didn’t care that I was in my jeans. I wanted to close my eyes. Rest.

  “I’ll be right outside the doorway. I’m gonna let you sleep for an hour. Then I’ll check and see how you’re feeling,” I heard Polly’s voice from outside my lids.

  “And you know where to find me. I’m not going anywhere.” Rose giggled.

  I focused on the darkness of my lids and nothing else. I didn’t allow any thoughts to enter my head. I banished them the instant they tried to intrude. Sleep came with force and with it visions of my last night with Emily. The same scene over and over as if it was a CD stuck on repeat, replaying the moments before I found her in the bathroom.

  I walked down the hallway again and again. Each time I put my hand on the doorknob to open the door, I was shoved to the start of the hallway, where I had to begin the journey all over again. I became more and more frantic to get there. To open the door and see her. Each time it ended the same. I never got to open the door or see Emily. I awoke abruptly, feeling wide awake instantly. I saw Polly sitting on a chair outside my door, texting away on her phone.

  Polly looked up with my movement and tucked her phone in her pocket. I lay silently in my bed. I was empty and hollow as if my insides had been scraped out like a pumpkin and discarded.

  “Do you feel better?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  I didn’t know how I felt. I was a stranger in my own skin.

  “I was going to wake you soon.” She folded the corner of the book lying on her lap. “I’m sorry you had such a hard morning. This must be very difficult for you. Would a hug help?”

  I shook my head.

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  I shook my head again.

  “C’mon, then. Let’s join everyone in the family room.”

  I followed her into the family room. My eyes searched for Rose and I was surprised to find Shelly, Tobi, and Denise had moved their chairs from the table and pulled them up to form a semicircle in front of Rose on the couch. Shelly’s sleeve was rolled up and her arm was exposed. All of the women were looking at it. I couldn’t help but look as I sat down next to Rose. Her arm reminded me of Emily’s body. It was covered in the same scarred madness, as if her arm had been mangled in machinery.

  “This is the last one before the hospital,” Shelly explained, pointing to a section on her arm, but I couldn’t tell the difference between the cuts she was pointing at and the others marking her arm.

  “That’s nothing,” Tobi said as she pulled up her pant leg and exposed holes in her skin. Some were small and others were the size of quarters.

  “You burn, huh?” Rose asked. “I’ve never understood the burning thing. Cutting I get, because you can force yourself to do it and stay still, but how do you stay still while you’re burning yourself? Don’t you move out of instinct when your skin feels hot?”

  “No. It’s a total mind thing. That’s the beauty of it.” Tobi’s eyes filled with pride. I’d seen the same look in Emily’s eyes. “You go against your body’s natural reaction. It’s so powerful. It feels wonderful.”

  Shelly turned to me. “What about you? Are you a cutter?”

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, what do you do then?” Shelly asked, looking surprised.

  I stared at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

  “We were talking about the self-injury group. We heard you were going to be in it with us and you have to cut or do something to yourself to get in,” Tobi said.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not me. I’m not in any special group.”

  The two of them looked at each other, then me, and smiled back at each other as if they shared a secret. I looked to Rose for some sort of explanation or help. She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Tobi, what’s the deepest y
ou’ve ever gone? I—”

  Polly interrupted, “Ladies, I think it’s time we changed the subject. This conversation is getting unhealthy.”

  Sometimes I forgot she was there.

  Shelly stuck her tongue out at her. “Whatever.”

  “You guys wanna play Spades?” Denise asked.

  “Sure,” Rose said. “Elizabeth can be my partner.”

  “I don’t know how to play.”

  “I’ll show you,” she said.

  We moved to the table. They explained the object of the game and took turns teaching me the rules. I was grateful for the distraction. We played a practice round once they were confident I knew what I was doing. They laughed at my mistakes and joked with each other about their husbands and other times they’d been in the hospital. I stared at them as much as I stared at my cards. Their laughter seemed real and I couldn’t understand how they could be happy here. I knew by the number of wounds they carried on their bodies that their insides were filled with tremendous pain. How’d they end up in this strange land and who were they before they came here?

  I kept my questions to myself and continued playing cards. We played until it was time for our afternoon snack. Our snack was signaled by a hospital cafeteria worker coming with a cart full of trays and another man who called Rose to go with him.

  “Great. My favorite part of the day,” she said getting up from the table. “See ya after I’ve gained another five pounds.”

  “I can’t believe how skinny she is and she thinks she’s fat,” Shelly whispered as if Rose might hear her in whatever room she’d been taken to. “ED girls are so strange.”

  “ED?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, I forget you’re a first-timer.” Shelly laughed. “Eating disorder. Everyone I’ve met with one is completely bizarre. They kinda freak me out.”

  I disagreed. Rose seemed to be the most normal person here.

  “So what’s your deal?” Shelly asked.

  I was taken by surprise. My face felt hot.

  “I’m, uh … I guess, I’m just … here.”