by Lisa M Basso
The stain was small enough for me to wipe the spot of red off with a towel. No one would notice. The black and red plaid jacket Aunt Nora had made special for me as a release day present, however, wouldn’t be so lucky. Into the bag it went.
Once everything was shoved into the bag, I set it down in the hallway so I didn’t have to look at it again. Then I stepped into the shower, eager to scrub the stains off my skin. The hot water stung my eyes. I welcomed it—anything to keep from looking at the pink pooling at the bottom of the tub. Eventually the water ran clear and my shaking eased, small shivers returning only in short bursts.
“Rayna, can I talk to you when you’re out?” Dad’s voice carried over the music.
I stepped out from the shower. Steam clouded the mirror and dripped a foggy veil over the sky-blue walls. Dad would have a thousand questions. If I couldn’t keep it together, if Dad found out about the hallucinations returning, I’d probably never taste freedom again.
Things felt like they had before, when the wing sightings were at their worst. For the better part of the year after Mom’s death, I’d seen at least one a month. Dad had reached his wits’ end. When I began to notice how much it bothered him, I’d tried hiding it. The lying had killed me a little inside every time, and in the end, I couldn’t keep it up. I never could.
The last thing I wanted was for life to go back to that, to ruin everything the three of us had worked toward since Mom’s death, and my first hospitalization.
I wrapped a towel around my hair and threw on my fluffy lavender bathrobe, the one with a monkey embroidered on the back. I took longer than I needed, pulling on all the reserves of strength I had left. The walk back to my room was a long one, the hardwood floor in the hallway cold beneath my feet. I rolled my shoulders, preparing for a fight I knew I couldn’t win.
Chapter Nine
Dad paced the flower-shaped rug beside my bed. With my eyes down, I shooed him out so I could get dressed, buying myself more time. Time I needed desperately. Even with the door closed, I could hear him in the hallway. His heavy footsteps, working back and forth.
I sank against the door.
Get a hold of yourself. Your freedom depends on it.
After a few false starts, I stood and pulled on a pair of heather-gray sweatpants and a white, long-sleeved top, spinning around to check that everything in my room was in order before letting Dad back in. Of course everything was in order. My room was spotless. When I was inside, the first thing they drilled into me—besides that I was nuts—was neatness. They made daily inspections. Handed out minor punishments to those who didn’t pass. In the beginning, I’d lost a lot of gardening time this way.
Even now, if something here was out of place, it was because I’d done it purposely, to allow myself that little sliver of rebellion. To truly taste freedom. I still couldn’t stand it, but I was teaching myself to live with one book being askew or one pencil not quite lining up with the others.
I took a deep breath, wiped my palms on the sides of my sweats, and opened the door. Dad whooshed in like a tornado, hands behind his back, still in pacing mode.
“Before you say anything, Dad, I’m fine.”
He canceled pacing mode and shoved his hands into his outdated jean pockets. Uh oh, Stern Dad mode. I swallowed.
“Are you?” he asked.
I forced myself to meet his gaze. I’d learned the hard way that eye contact was important when someone questioned my sanity; crazy people either avoid it altogether or stare too long. So I looked him in the eye as I said, “Yes, Dad. I’m good.” Waited a moment. Two. And then I looked away. Before he saw the lie in my eyes. That was another thing the SS Crazy had taught me: it’s hard to convince someone you’re not crazy when you wear a lie as openly as I do.
“What happened? Detective Rhodes wasn’t very forthcoming.”
“Allison Woodward. I …” I swallowed. “I found her. I saw cuts on her wrists when they took her away. Deep ones.” The sight of all that red flooded back to me, and I had to swallow again.
“Oh, sweetie.” His fingers slid up his forehead, covering one of his eyes. More grief. I swallowed back a grimace, hating the sympathetic sheen of his uncovered eye. “Do you remember seeing anything else … or anyone else?”
I darted a glance at him again, wondering for the first time what he and the detective had talked about downstairs. “No.” The inflection in my voice was too high. “Why?”
“The detective asked me to contact him if you start to recall anything else.” He dropped his hand from his face. “This is all so awful. I’m so sorry you had to see that, sweetheart. Are you really okay?”
Hysteria bubbled up my throat. “I told them everything already. I don’t know anything else. You believe me, don’t you, Dad?”
A long silence followed. The muscles in my face tensed, holding me together.
Finally, he said, “Sometimes the mind plays tricks on us, and we can see things more clearly when we’ve had some rest, some time to think rationally. Tomorrow, I think we should take a drive up to see Dr. Graham.”
He must have seen the horrified look on my face. I knew it was there, but I couldn’t control or stop it. I knew speaking to Dr. G was probably the best thing for me, but seeing him, at that place, going back there … I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t.
“This does call for a session. I never said you had to stay. You don’t—have to stay, I mean.” His hands wiggled in his pockets, like he’d rather be fixing computer chips. He’d probably rather be anywhere other than where he was now.
“No.” My voice was steel; it had to be, so he’d know I meant business. “I won’t go back there. I’m fine. I swear. You put me in there, so … many … times. I lost three years there. Three years of my life.” I avoided his eyes, my legs shaking. “I won’t be a prisoner again. I haven’t seen any wings in a long time.”
Please, don’t make me go back there. I locked my knees so I didn’t sink to them.
Dad’s never been very observant. If I could just keep calm, he might never know I was lying. The man knew technology, not people. Before Dad sent me inside the first time, Laylah and I had hidden a pregnant cat, soon followed by a mewing litter of kittens, from him for four months. Laylah had him convinced the noises coming from her room were her latest TV obsession, Animal Planet.
“I think it’s a good idea, something preemptive. You’re supposed to be avoiding stressful situations, remember?” A frustrated noise rumbled in his throat, and he turned to look out my window. “I knew sending you back to school was a mistake. I never should have let you talk me into it. We’ll find you a tutor so you can finish your junior and senior years here, at home, away from all the stress.”
He meant away from real life, anything that could awaken the hallucinations. Working at the diner would most definitely fit into that category.
A steady breath, hot with frustration, flared my nostrils. Keep it together. “Dad,” I said as calmly as I could, “I told you when I left last time that I would never go back there. I meant it.”
He turned to me. “Everything’s back to normal. I’m normal, and will never need to go back there.” I clenched my teeth again, using that tension to keep me from breaking apart. “I’m not seeing things that aren’t there like before. If you send me back there for something that’s beyond my control, my trust in you will be broken. And this time I will never forgive you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, a grimace pulling the corners of his lips down. Transparent regret. “Rayna, the last thing I want is for you to have to go back there again. But if Dr. Graham can help you face this and work through it, wouldn’t it be worth it? Why would you want to put yourself at risk for a relapse? Seeing a friend, a classmate, hurt in that way. I don’t know if anyone could get through it without some kind of help.”
My stomach clenched, feeling tight and hollow. “How about I promise to talk to Ms. Morehouse tomorrow?”
I was begging. It made me hate myself a little mor
e.
“You can’t seriously be thinking about going back to school.”
“I’m okay, really. School will be better for me than sitting around here all day.” I gestured to my perfectly clean desk, to my bed made so well you could bounce a quarter off of it—or a dime, which is what the nurses at the SS Crazy had used. “It’ll keep me busy. Plus, I can talk to Ms. Morehouse.”
The two dark caterpillars above his hydrangea-blue eyes crawled back into resting position, which let me relax a little too. He sat on my bed, wrinkling my floral bedspread.
My fingers twitched to pull him up so I could straighten it. Instead, I tugged at the ends of his hair, which brushed the striped collar peeking out beneath his navy sweater-vest. It was so thin at the temples. Focus. Calm. “I haven’t been taking very good care of you. You’re in desperate need of a haircut.” The tip of one of my fingers accidentally brushed his cheek. “And a shave,” I added to lighten the mood, pretending to examine my finger for blood.
“I’ll go to the barber tomorrow if you promise me something. If this … incident interferes with your recovery, you’ll let me know right away.” He didn’t add so we can see the doctor, but he didn’t need to.
I took a deep breath and raised my hand, pinky and thumb tucked in, the three remaining digits standing at attention. “Scout’s honor.” Good thing I’d never been a scout.
“Deal.” Dad leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead; his chin stubble was even rougher than his cheek had been. On his way out, he said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Lee called while you were in the shower. But in light of recent events, I think it would be better for you to speak with him tomorrow.”
I didn’t have many friends, so I was usually grateful that I didn’t have a cell phone. Today, for the first time, I wished I did. I could explain the afternoon’s events to Lee, hear his voice, and laugh with him. Any voice that wouldn’t talk to me in that slow, deliberate, I-won’t-push-her-off-the-deep-edge tone. “I’ve got homework to do, anyway,” I said, shrugging. I was too tired, and my mind was too full, to think about anything else.
“And Ray?”
I didn’t like lying to him.
I drew my eyes up as innocently as I could while feeling like dirt inside. “Yeah, Dad?”
“If you need to talk, about anything, I’m here. Okay?”
I stretched my lips in the widest smile I could, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt. He nodded and ducked out, closing the door behind him. I pressed my ear to the door, listening to his footsteps descend the stairs.
At least he hadn’t asked about my meds. If he knew I’d stopped taking them, he’d have driven me to see Dr. G right then, no discussion.
I slid the chair over from the desk and angled it under the doorknob. The absence of locks on my door couldn’t be avoided thanks to my stint at the SS Crazy. But I had the backup system, also thanks to my time on the inside. It wouldn’t hold if someone made a serious attempt to get in, but it would buy me a few necessary seconds.
I removed a thin marker from the top desk drawer and, battling the quilted dust ruffle, reached under the bed for my black-light flashlight. Then I pushed past two racks of clothes to the back of the closet. It was deeper than it was wide. I carefully removed a piece of tape from the corner of my Across the Universe movie poster.
A noise from the other side of the wall snatched the breath from my lungs. Muffled chattering from Laylah’s room. Those damn Musketeers never went home.
I shook my head, uncapped the marker, and clicked on the tiny flashlight. Its purple glow displayed the psychedelic colors of the poster. I pulled a second piece of tape and watched the poster float down.
Twenty-seven hash marks glowed on the white wall. My recreated record of the number of wing sightings I’d had in Arizona, after Mom’s death, but before the mental hospital. Getting a replacement copy of the poster and reconstructing the tally was the first thing I’d done after my release. I used it to remind me where I came from, and where I never wanted to return to.
Never was coming sooner than I thought.
Using the special black-light marker, I drew a line beneath the twenty-seven other sightings and began a new tally. My hand shook as I drew a single, new mark.
I remained there for a long time, staring at the new line, letting the truth of my life weigh down my soul like rocks to my earthly body. How many more would accumulate before I got caught?
Chapter Ten
I didn’t sleep that night. The upside—and only upside—to not sleeping was catching Dad before he headed out the door. I needed his signature on my work permit. Dad didn’t like the idea of me working, but he caved when I promised that a part-time job wouldn’t derail my fragile post-insanity mind and reminded him I needed to stay busy to keep my mind off Allison. Before he could think better of it, I grabbed an extra notebook and zipped out the door.
The extra notebook was an idea that had come to me in the early morning hours. I needed a place to unleash the thoughts circling in my head like vultures, instead of waiting for them to strike at the worst possible moment. The notebook would keep my secrets when no one else could. Most importantly, it was something I didn’t mind tossing before heading home for the day, just to make sure I didn’t get caught.
The weight of my backpack battered me as I inched down San Francisco’s hills, past a massive mural of the orange-painted Golden Gate Bridge and the famous Painted Ladies—a specific row of spectacularly well-kept Victorian homes.
Lee and I met at Roxy’s Diner for a hot chocolate fix every morning before school. Today I got there early, so I could get out all of the thoughts crowding my mind since yesterday morning. I started by journaling yesterday’s hallucination of the wings outside the diner and worked my way up to discovering Allison’s body. Writing about it was almost as bad as seeing it firsthand.
Daphne slipped into the seat across from me—Lee’s usual spot—and slid a mug of hot chocolate across the table. I slammed the notebook closed. “Guess you were serious, after all.”
The waitress’s mussed hair resembled a bird’s nest in both the way it was constructed and the overall messiness of the finished product. I pulled the work permit out of my bag and ironed it flat with my hand before pushing it across the table. Her index finger tapped the edge of the paper while her droopy eyes centered on me. “Now, you really want to work here? Lots of girls apply, but when they hear about mopping the bathroom floors, taking out the trash, and dealing with the more eccentric customers, they never come back. I think we’ll start a pool on how long you’ll last.”
If there was one thing I loved besides gardening, it was proving people wrong. “I was hoping to start after school today.”
“We’re too short-handed on Wednesdays to train. If you want, you can start tomorrow instead. I’ll have an extra waitress you can shadow.” Daphne rose from her seat and pulled out her order pad, already moving on to the next thing.
“Tomorrow’s great,” I said after her, already thankful for the added responsibility, hoping it would drive my thoughts away from Allison. And a certain winged boy. He could be gone today. I could very well walk into class today and find no wings—or no new kid at all.
I was sure that Allison Woodward was gone. I swallowed a mouthful of rich hot chocolate and allowed myself to think the word I’d been trying to avoid: dead. She was dead. I felt that. Dr. G always said, you know it’s real when all five senses receive it together. I could still summon the metallic scent of her blood and feel it soaking into my evidence-tagged clothes.
Lee plopped into the seat across from me, startling me out of the memory. “You never called me back last night.”
I pushed my mug toward him in apology.
He greedily gulped up the rest. He smiled at me, but his eyes were rimmed dark and his whole demeanor drooped. I thought to ask him what was bothering him, but it was getting late. I paid the check, and we walked toward school. “Did you hear about Allison Woodward?” he finally asked.
Of course he would have heard about it. “Yeah. I, uh, found her.”
“What?” His voice cracked. “You found her? Holy Daleks, are you all right?”
Daleks. If he hadn’t insisted on last week’s Dr. Who Wednesday marathon, I would have missed that one.
“I, uh, kind of have to be. It sucked. It was … horrible. One of the worst things ever, but I’ll be okay. I have to be.”
Why. He was going to ask why. And I had nothing to tell him. No one wanted a schizo for a BFF. And I couldn’t lose him.
“One of the worst things ever? Wow, Ray. What have you been through?”
“A lot.” I tugged nervously on my backpack’s straps.
“Losing your mom must have been hard. I don’t really know, because my dad died when I was still a baby. Whatever happened to you in Arizona, that’s all over now.”
Oh, how I wished that was true.
“Thanks, Lee. You really are the best friend.”
Neither of us said another word until we got to school. We trudged up the stairs toward our first period classes.
“Do you think they’ll, uh, make a big announcement about Allison?” Lee asked, his shoulders slumped and his head low.
“Probably.” His sadness echoed so sharply, I had to ask. “Did you know her well?”
“Had a crush on her since fifth grade.” His defeated sigh tore me in two.
We paused at the second floor landing. I reached out to him, then hesitated. The way he adjusted his glasses didn’t hide the hurt on his face. I grabbed him and pulled him into a quick hug. I hated hugs, but Lee looked like he needed one.
The corner of his lips twitched up. “Thanks, Ray.” He sounded like he meant it. “See you at lunch.”
I climbed the remaining flight of stairs alone, ignoring the churning in my stomach, and steeled myself. Missing class wasn’t an option. Not after I’d skipped it yesterday. Besides, being here was better than staying home. The more time I spent around Dad, the more likely he was to notice I wasn’t quite right, not anymore.