by Amy Richie
Chapter Three
The shrill buzz of the morning alarm blaring across the speakers in the hallway finally forced my eyes back open to face another day at Nine Crosses. There were no windows allowed in the rooms on D ward. Most of us housed there would have jumped out just to see if we really could fly. The morning alarm was my only indication that the sun had decided to make another appearance.
Four more minutes and the aides in their all white pants and scrub tops would make their rounds to be sure we all got up out of bed. Four more minutes and they’d be in to pull my pink draw string pants on for me like I was an oversized Barbie doll.
I pulled myself up and let my feet slide off the bed and onto the floor. Toby sat in the corner of the room, oddly distracted and not throwing insults my way.
I rose as quietly as possible and scurried past him to the simple box-shaped bathroom, attached to the room but lacking a real door. I pulled the curtain closed without turning around.
Clean pants and a plain white tee shirt were folded neatly and setting out on the sink along with clean under clothes. There was no mirror, just a plain grey wall to look up at.
I was just pulling the shirt over my head when the door creaked open. “Ren?” a woman called loudly. Had it been four minutes already?
The woman standing by the bed with a ready smile wasn’t a familiar face. My eyes narrowed momentarily but I moved forward until I was sitting on the bed. New aides were rare but she was wearing the white uniform and the cheesy fake smile.
“Shoes.” She waved the all white shoes in the air before setting them down by my feet.
I never quite understood why they kept our shoes in the hallway at night. I could see their point if they had shoestrings so no one could hurt themselves; but these were Velcro. How could we inflict damage with Velcro?
“You want me to braid your hair?” the aide asked with her plastic smile and annoying rise in her voice.
Her own dark hair was cropped close to her scalp but I didn’t object when she began working my long brown locks into three separate strands. I never bothered with my hair much, always preferring it long enough to easily pull back but not too long so that it became a chore. It hung straight and boring just past my shoulders.
“There,” she declared happily, “now you’re all pretty and ready for breakfast.”
I tried not to glare at her on the way past.
I had had strange dreams before. Spending more than three years in a mental hospital and my entire life seeing ghosts had given my imagination plenty of fuel. Last night felt different though. It felt real.
Did that mean Tristan was really going to come kill me? And I had to count on Toby to keep me safe? I glanced over at him, sitting on the windowsill - glaring at everyone who couldn’t see him. Toby wouldn’t save me, he hated me.
“You better eat your oatmeal, Ren,” he advised snappishly, suddenly right next to me on the bench style seat. I carefully picked up my spoon. “Good girl,” he purred.
I had tried not listening to him before and my bowl ended up sailing across the room while I ended up strapped to a bed with a needle in my arm. I sighed lightly, pushing a spoonful of unsweetened mush into my mouth. I didn’t like Toby either. No matter what Nona told me in a dream that probably wasn’t real; I wasn’t talking to Toby.
“Thinking about Tristan?” he asked abruptly.
I felt the heat rushing to my face, leading him to draw the wrong conclusion.
He clicked his tongue loudly. “Better just get him out of your head, psycho Barbie. He’s out of your league.”
Why? Because he was a ghost that may or may not want to kill me? I almost shrugged but stopped myself in time, years of careful stoicism coming to my aide.
I broke off a piece of crust from the dry toast and shoved it in my mouth. It was a little hard to chew but a swig of my almost cold milk washed it down easily enough. Meal times were never a grand affair here. Keep us from starving, but that’s about as far as they went.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Toby abandoned his place next to me and slid into the open seat across from me. “More silent treatment and listening to Doctor Moore tell you how crazy you are?” He clicked his tongue and smiled extremely wide. “Fantastic!”
Toby could have been attractive, once upon a lifetime ago. It was all there in his face. From the deep dimples his smile created to the sharp cut lines his jaw made across his face to his chin. If only he didn’t snarl and sneer so often. If only he would smile…ever.
I didn’t know what I had done to Toby to make him hate me so much. I barely spoke two words to him and nothing at all in this decade. Could I talk to him now? What would he say? What would I say?
“Whoa!” He leaned back to look at me more fully. “There’s some pretty deep thoughts going on behind those blank, dopey eyes- huh?”
I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to look away from him.
“Hold on,” he growled, pushing me over on my side of the table so he could get right in my face, “”Something happened to you. What are you hiding?”
I tried to tuck my hair behind my ears but the nameless aide had braided it too tightly so there were no stray hairs hanging by my ears like normal. I swung my leg out from under the table, away from Toby, and rose swiftly onto shaking legs. He was right that something had happened, but I couldn’t tell him. How could I? He would think I was crazy.
I stopped mid-stride, before I had taken more than three steps. I was crazy. I was in a mental hospital and I saw people that weren’t there. I never thought of myself as crazy before; never allowed the possibility to take hold. What if it was true though?
“What happened, Crazy?” Toby appeared in front of me.
My mouth fell open but no sound came out. My tongue slipped out to glide across my bottom lip. It was strange how everything except Toby went out of focus. A low moan escaped my throat but no words formed. What could I say?
“Cat got your tongue?” Another voice taunted from just over Toby’s shoulder.
I dropped my head until I was staring at my feet and shuffled from the room. Talking to Toby was hard enough - impossible even; talking with someone else in the room wasn’t going to happen.
“Aww,” the woman in really tight jeans called cruelly, “did I scare you away? Were you and Toby going to make out or something?”
My feet carried me away from the woman and into a crowded rec. room. My session with Doctor Moore was in fifteen minutes. Trying to make huge decisions was making breathing harder.
“Hey Crazy.” Toby’s voice actually sounded a little bit…concerned.
“I have to talk to you,” I blurted out, then immediately slapped my hand over my mouth.