Unearthly Things

by Michelle Gagnon

  At that, my voice trailed off. It was possible that Richard was involved in all this; he might have given his approval. And if so, where did that leave me? Could they keep me here, drugged into a stupor, indefinitely?

  What would happen to the money then?

  Maybe this was the plan all along; they’d just been waiting for an opportunity to present itself. And attacking Georgina had provided the perfect excuse. I wondered if anyone would even bother to look for me; and if they did, could I be found? Committing me under the name “Eliza Rochester” had actually been a stroke of brilliance. Maybe Marion wasn’t so crazy after all.

  Daniel and Helen would ask questions, but they were just a couple of teenagers. Kaila, maybe, or her mom? But what could they do from the Big Island? I’d been living here for months, yet I was still completely alone in every way that mattered.

  “Is there something else, Eliza?” Dr. Lloyd asked gently.

  “Stop calling me that,” I muttered, examining my hands. “I told you, my name is Janie.”

  Dr. Lloyd blinked at me. Finally, he said, “We can talk more later. You should get some rest.”

  After he left the room, I curled up in a ball on the bed.

  Once again, I found myself incapable of tears, but this time it was thanks to the medication. How was I supposed to prove that I wasn’t crazy?

  I wrapped my arms around the pillow, hugging it to my chest. I wanted my parents. Both of them, alive and well. I wanted them to show up at the door and take me home, where we’d eat a pizza and watch a stupid movie and then sit outside and stare at the stars until it was time to go to bed. We’d spent hundreds of nights like that, and I hadn’t really appreciated any of them. I thought of all the times I’d rushed through dinner, in a hurry to meet up with my friends. My parents would stand at the front door waving as I climbed into a car and drove away.

  I wish I’d never left them. If I could go back, I’d spend every waking moment with them; I’d tell them every day how much I loved them, and that I never wanted to be without them again.

  I must’ve dozed off at some point, although I couldn’t say for how long. I was awakened by the sound of the door opening. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep; was it already time for another dose? I was so tired of the pills. I’d never felt so heavy and deadened before in my entire life.

  “Janie?” A voice asked uncertainly.

  I jerked upright; Richard Rochester was standing in the doorway, flanked by orderlies. He had a wool coat slung over his arm, and looked hopelessly out of place. Even more incongruously, Alma was peeking around him. She frowned at the sight of me and muttered something in Filipino.

  “Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. The room spun, and I nearly toppled forward. Gripping my head with both hands, I carefully sat back down and said, “Marion went totally nuts and checked me in here!”

  Richard’s expression was unreadable.

  All at once I was afraid; was he here to save me? Or to slam the door shut forever?

  “Marion overreacted,” he finally said. “She’s very upset by what you did to Georgina. And frankly, so am I.”

  I wilted a little at his stern tone. “I’m really sorry about that. She was spreading rumors about my parents, and I just . . . freaked out.”

  He grunted but didn’t move from the door.

  “She tried to hurt me, too.” My hands moved to the scratches on my cheek. They were covered in ointment; someone must have treated them while I was unconscious. “See? She did this.”

  “I’m sure Georgie was just defending herself,” Richard said dismissively.

  My spirits sank further; it didn’t sound like he was here to save the day.

  Alma pushed past him. She crossed to the bed and took my chin in her hand, turning my head from one side to the other. “They hurt you?”

  I shook my head and said in a small voice, “No. But they keep making me take drugs.” Finally, the tears came. I let them course down my cheeks, sniffling as I said, “I’m so scared. I can’t stay here. Please, take me home.”

  I sounded pathetic, reduced to begging, but I didn’t care. Anything to get out of this place.

  Richard seemed discomfited by my tears. He looked past me at the blank wall, and said, “Well, it’s a little tricky, Janie. I can’t just walk you out of here.”

  “Why not?” I demanded, panic rising in my chest.

  “Once someone has been committed, there’s a lengthy legal process to get them released.” He patted his jacket, still avoiding my eyes. “I’ve been in touch with our lawyer, and he’s assured me that he’s doing all he can.”

  “But . . . wait!” I protested as he turned to go. Alma stayed where she was, her hand on my arm. “There has to be something you can do!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this will take some time.”

  “How much time? Days?” When he didn’t respond, I said incredulously, “Weeks?”

  “I’m sure it won’t be too long.” He glanced around the room. “And this place doesn’t seem so bad. Think of it as a little vacation. Hell, we could probably all use some therapy, right?”

  “But, Richard—”

  “This might actually be for the best,” he interrupted brusquely. “Give things a chance to settle down at home. And you’ll have some time to think.”

  He started pulling his jacket on. A fresh wave of terror consumed me. I scrambled to my feet and crossed the room quickly, grabbing hold of his arm. “Please!” I pleaded. “If you leave me here for that long, I really might go nuts.”

  There was an odd gleam in Richard’s eyes. I suddenly realized that he was enjoying this; he liked having complete power over me. I let go of his arm and stepped back. He wasn’t here to help me; he was here to gloat.

  Which meant it was up to me. I willfully ignored the sensation that the walls were closing in, fighting back the claustrophobia. My brain still felt sluggish and slow; I knew I was missing something important, but it bobbed just out of reach. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus.

  Finally, it came to me. “Have you met my doctor yet?”

  “Dr. Lloyd? Yes. He seems very competent.”

  “Could we talk to him together, before you leave?”

  Richard frowned, but I could see him wavering. Touching his arm again, I said in the most plaintive voice I could muster, “Please, Richard? It would mean so much to me.”

  That gleam again. He nodded curtly and said, “Of course, Janie. If it would make you feel better.”

  I perched on the edge of the bed, plastering a pathetic expression on my face while we waited. The three of us made an odd tableau: Alma frowning at the floor, me staring at a wall, Richard eyeing the door.

  Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long; Dr. Lloyd appeared less than five minutes after we sent an orderly to find him. Sounding slightly out of breath, he said, “So sorry for the delay, Mr. Rochester. I was with another patient.”

  “Of course, Jim,” Richard said with an easy smile. “Thanks for joining us. Janie has some questions for you.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We’ll have to make it quick, though. I have dinner plans.”

  I held my breath, praying that he’d caught it. There: a flicker in Dr. Lloyd’s eye, and a sudden tightness at the corners of his mouth.

  Hesitantly, he asked, “I’m sorry, did you just say Janie?”

  Richard looked puzzled. “Of course. Jane Mason. We’re her legal guardians. But that should all have been in the paperwork that Marion . . .” As his eyes widened with understanding, I felt a surge of smug satisfaction.

  Before he could cover with an explanation, I jumped in. “See? I wasn’t lying. My name isn’t Eliza.”

  “Well, I’m not entirely sure that’s relevant,” Richard said hastily.

  “This is Janie,” Alma said forcefully, stepping toward Dr. Lloyd. �
�Janie Mason. Now let her go.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m confused.” Dr. Lloyd was blinking rapidly, like someone pulled abruptly from a dream. He was probably picturing a huge donation retreating in the distance. “Why was she committed under a different name?”

  “A silly mistake,” Richard growled. “But it shouldn’t—”

  “It certainly does.” A note of righteous indignation entered Lloyd’s voice. “A patient must enter under their legal name. This is very serious—”

  “My driver’s license,” I interrupted. “It’s in my wallet, in that backpack you took from me. It has my name and picture on it. My school ID is in there, too.”

  They both stared at me for a second. Dr. Lloyd motioned to an orderly and said something in a voice too low for me to hear. I reflexively clenched and released my hands at my sides, praying that they wouldn’t find a loophole.

  Five minutes later the orderly returned, holding my backpack by one strap.

  At the sight of it, I released all the air in my chest.

  “It’s in the front pouch,” I said.

  Still looking put out, Dr. Lloyd opened the pack and removed my wallet. His eyes narrowed as he held my license up to the light, tilting it as though he doubted the authenticity. After a close examination, he turned to Richard Rochester and said accusingly, “According to her license, this is Jane Mason.”

  Richard returned the doctor’s glare. “I never said it wasn’t.”

  “Your wife did,” Dr. Lloyd said pointedly. “On every document she signed, this patient is listed as Eliza Rochester. There are severe penalties for falsifying those documents, Mr. Rochester.”

  I felt giddy; was it possible that I’d walk out of here? Alma seemed to think so. Picking her purse up off the bed, she said firmly, “We go now.”

  Dr. Lloyd’s eyes flicked to her, then me. He didn’t look pleased.

  “Get Miss Mason’s clothes,” he told the orderly. “And bring me the papers. We’ll process her release immediately.”

  I let out a choked laugh of relief. “Oh, my God. Thank you.”

  “I want to extend my deepest apologies,” Dr. Lloyd said in a completely different tone, stepping toward me. “Miss Mason, this has obviously been a tremendous mistake.”

  The fear was plain in his eyes, and I suddenly realized that this was probably grounds for a huge lawsuit. I ignored the hand he was extending and said coldly, “I’m glad you finally decided to listen to me.”

  “Yes, well, patients usually don’t think they belong here . . . I couldn’t have known,” he stammered, “Nothing like this has ever happened before. If there’s anything we can do—”

  “There is. Make sure I’m walking out of here in less than five minutes.”

  Richard Rochester hadn’t moved. In a voice thick with suppressed rage, he said, “Well, Janie. Looks like you’ll be coming back with us after all.”

  While it would have felt really good to scream at him, I didn’t want to give them an excuse to keep me here. Instead I said stiffly, “I just want to get changed and go home.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Lloyd said, with the same cloying obsequiousness. “Right this way.”

  I walked down the corridor rigidly, trying to control the tremors in my legs. Now that freedom was so close, I was terrified that it would be snatched away again if I didn’t hurry. I changed quickly in the same bathroom I’d used the night before. Back in the corridor, I found them all waiting in stilted silence. After Richard and I signed some papers, Dr. Lloyd led us out through a double set of locked doors.

  Standing at the top of a small flight of stairs, I inhaled deeply. It was early evening, and the moon was a flaming orange ball on the horizon. It was hard to trust that I was actually free of that horrible place. Alma took my arm, helping me to the waiting car. Bob caught my eye as he opened the rear passenger door and threw me a wink.

  I ignored him. He’d driven me here, and had done nothing to stop Marion. Which put him on the list of people I didn’t trust.

  Richard sat in the front passenger seat. As the car pulled out of the driveway, he said gruffly, “We still have to decide what to do with you. After what happened, I’m not entirely comfortable with having you stay at the house.”

  “She sleep with me,” Alma piped up.

  Richard shifted in his seat but didn’t turn to look at us. “Georgina won’t be happy.”

  “I’ll apologize,” I said. Not that it would make a difference, but still; I regretted attacking her. And I had bigger enemies to worry about now. As I’d just learned, Marion and Richard could do a lot more damage.

  “That might not be enough,” Richard grumbled.

  I almost laughed. They’d committed me to a mental institution, and my apology wouldn’t suffice?

  As the car maneuvered through traffic, headed back uptown, we lapsed into silence. My senses felt oddly heightened; my eyes hungrily scanned the buildings and streets, taking in the world I’d been abruptly removed from.

  My mind still felt wooly at the edges, but as we drew closer to the house, it shifted into another gear. Daniel was right; these were some truly scary people. If the Rochesters had their way, I might not last another month.

  Now that their initial plan had failed, they’d be scrambling to come up with an alternative. Remembering the fire, I shuddered; now I didn’t have any doubt that they’d torched their own house. Maybe the elevator incident had been an attempt on my life, too.

  It was probably a bad idea to go back there at all.

  I eyed Richard Rochester’s profile. How far would he go to get his hands on my money? I needed to get in touch with Mr. Briggs and tell him what was going on; there had to be something he could do.

  As the house rose up before us, I felt myself quail. I really didn’t want to go back inside. The sense of a malevolent presence was back, and this time I couldn’t dismiss it. This was a dangerous place, filled with people who wanted to do me harm. And I felt hopelessly incapable of stopping them.

  It was almost funny that up until now, I’d been afraid that something supernatural was out to get me. In reality, the flesh and blood people were much more dangerous.

  It’ll be okay, I told myself. Now that you know what’s going on, they won’t get the best of you again.

  If only I could believe that.

  Chapter XIV

  Glorious discovery to a lonely wretch! This was wealth indeed!—wealth to the heart!—a mine of pure, genial affections.

  The house was dark when we pulled into the driveway. I climbed out and waited for Alma. Being held in a room without windows, I’d lost all sense of time. I’d attacked Georgina on a Thursday, so this was . . . Friday night? Or Saturday?

  “What day is it?” I asked.

  “Friday. The rest of the family is in Napa,” Richard said gruffly.

  A wave of relief; I wouldn’t have to face Georgina or Marion until Sunday night. And Richard probably wouldn’t come after me again so soon, especially not alone. Which gave me a two-day window: time I intended to put to good use.

  Wordlessly, I followed Richard into the house. He mounted the stairs without a backward glance, not even bothering to say goodnight. He was probably looking forward to a stiff drink.

  Alma took me by the hand, as if I were a small child, and led me back to our tiny apartment. She bolted the door behind her, something she hadn’t done the other two nights I’d stayed here. I hesitated, then grabbed the desk chair and moved it across the room, jamming it against the handle. I expected Alma to protest, but she merely gave me a thoughtful look, then nodded, as if barricading ourselves inside was perfectly sensible.

  Locks wouldn’t keep out another fire; but we were on the ground floor. At the first whiff of smoke, we could go through a window.

  That decided, I collapsed on the overstuffed sofa and closed my eyes. I was emotionally exhau
sted, but physically charged to the point where it felt like my body was buzzing.

  Alma brewed a pot of tea and brought over a mug. We drank it in silence.

  “You can go to bed,” I offered. I wasn’t tired; after all, I’d spent most of the past two days asleep. “I might stay up reading.”

  Alma blinked at me. Then she rose and slowly went over to the armoire at the far end of the room. She carefully withdrew a photo album and brought it back. Holding it on her lap, she ran a wrinkled hand over the cover. I waited, watching her. It looked like she was barely holding herself together, which was weird; even during the fire she’d seemed almost preternaturally calm. So how could a photo album unnerve her so badly?

  When she handed it to me, I hesitated, half afraid of what I’d find.

  “Open,” she insisted.

  I turned to the first page and muffled a cry of surprise.

  It was a photo of a young girl in pigtails and a flouncy white dress, standing in front of the Rochesters’ house. She was around six years old, grinning widely at the camera. A younger version of Alma was holding her hand and smiling.

  The little girl was my mother.

  Alma was focused on the picture. With a faint smile, she ran her hand over it and murmured something in Filipino.

  “What is this?” I asked in a small voice.

  Instead of responding, she reached out and flipped to the next page, then the next. I watched my mother grow. Teeth vanished, then reappeared in later photos. Her haircut shifted between braids and ponytails and long, curled waves. Her face narrowed as her cheeks shed their baby fat.

  In the final one, she was probably about my age. My mother was wearing a Hamill School uniform. Her expression was confident, and she had a familiar glint in her eyes.

  “Why do you have these?” I asked thickly. But I already knew the answer.

  Alma patted her chest with one hand and said, “Lola.” When I stared at her, not comprehending, she translated softly, “Grandmother.”

  I was at a complete loss for words.

  My mother had never mentioned her parents. She’d fended off all my queries, claiming they’d died when she was young. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.