by Adam Zorzi
“What's his story?” she asked.
“Walked in as normal as any of us. Spent the first night in the Quiet Room. Been a zombie ever since. Been here about two years. “
“Faking?” she guessed.
“Nah, no one could fake it that long. He's the real deal.”
“What if I go flash him? That'd wake him up.” The hyper-sexuality that was part of an episode hadn't completely faded. Flashing a stranger appealed to her, although she'd never considered flashing the old man who took her for fifteen-minute walks outside every day.
“Those little strawberries? Doubt it.”
“Just watch.” Lou sauntered over toward the man. She wore low slung shredded jeans, a tank top over a Henley that wasn't buttoned, and flip flops. She stopped in front of him, blocking his view of the window. He didn't make a move or a sound.
She was about to start pulling off her clothes when she looked closely at him. He looked familiar, like one of her parents' friends. No. She'd seen him somewhere. Certainly not in a DJ club. Maybe in a doctor's office. When she recognized him, her facial features softened immediately. She crouched to be eye level with him.
“High Life? It's me, Lou,” she said softly. “From Richmond Memorial Hospital a while back. Your brother brought you tee shirts.”
Dan, who she'd nicknamed High Life, stared blankly at her.
LouLou started to cry. “What happened to you, High Life?” She touched his arm. “How did you get here? How did you get so old?” She brushed his long, white hair out of his face. Her cries developed into sobs. She hiccupped. She sat on the floor and wept. An aide grabbed her still-sore arm and escorted her back to her room.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
“Lou, you're back.” Big was holding court in his usual corner of the couch with his back to the wall and eyes on the door. LouLou sat next to him.
“Spent three days on stronger meds. I hate this Sick. I'm wild when I don't take meds and smudgy when I do. Sucks. Parents with the gene shouldn't have kids. I'm certainly not. Tubes tied when I was eighteen. Tried to get it done at sixteen, but no one would do it without my parents' consent.”
Lou watched Dan staring, or seeming to stare, out the window. “Breaks my heart,” she said. “He was a good guy. Depressed after his wife died. Nothing like this.”
“Don't go too soft. He's here because he killed his wife. Waiting for him to become competent.” This caused one of the patients awaiting trial to laugh hysterically. “To stand trial,” Big finished.
“No way,” Lou said. She looked sideways at Big.
“Way.”
Lou wandered slowly over to Dan. She didn't want to spook him. Or maybe he didn't spook. She squatted next to the arm of his chair and looked at him.
“Bus,” he croaked.
She patted his hand. He seemed like he was waiting for a response. She sat without moving for a long time before a smile crossed her face.
“Right, High Life. I'm the girl waiting for the bus. You cracked me up.”
***
“Mr. Ramsay,” said the nurse. “Mr. Ramsay, did you have something you wanted to say?”
Dan didn't respond.
The nurse looked at LouLou with his hands on his hips. “You said he spoke to you.”
“Just one word. Bus. It came out kind of like a cough.”
“Lou, he hasn't spoken a word in two years. Why would he say bus?”
LouLou couldn't contain her excitement. Her words spewed out. “We were at Richmond Memorial Hospital at the same time. He was there for depression, and I was waiting to be transferred here. He was really into exercise and walked around the halls four or five times every night. We talked one night, and I said I wouldn't see him the next day because my bus was coming. He didn't understand. He's this straight guy from the 'burbs. He didn't know I meant an ambulance or a police car. So, three days ago, when I saw him, I said hi and today when I went over, he said bus. That means he connects me as the girl who was waiting for her bus.”
“I think you're practicing wishful thinking. I've got fifty active patients to oversee. He's quiet, not bothering anybody. He's fine as he is,” said the nurse as he walked away.
LouLou looked back at High Life. “I'm not being wishful. I know you spoke to me. We'll just keep it a secret.” She winked at him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Damn Dr. Mississippi. He was more elusive than she'd expected. Upon arriving at the Mississippi hospital, where Dr. Harvey Chernoff practiced, Bella learned the doctor had taken a year-long sabbatical after the publication of his journal article. Answers as to his whereabouts were vague. Leads sent her on useless trips to Dr. Chernoff's elderly parents in Sacramento and a vacation villa in Baja. Finally, she learned he was spending the bulk of his sabbatical working with Borderless Medicine. Bella considered it a worthy organization, but she needed Dr. Chernoff more than it did.
He'd been moved twice to help with disaster relief in the Nepal earthquake to the conflict in South Sudan. Now, he was in Ethiopia working to halt the meningitis epidemic. Where in Ethiopia? Bella had impersonated a government official and shown fake credentials identifying her as a high-level staffer with the Department of Homeland Security to finally meet the elusive Dr. Chernoff. She approached him as a representative of the United States government who required Dr. Chernoff's services for an unidentified patient important to the United States and its allies.
“I don't understand. I'm to be here for eight more months.” The two stood outside the facility where people were lined up for vaccinations. Bella's heels sank in sand, but she was still almost eye level with Dr. Chernoff.
“Your commitment to the organization is admirable, Dr. Chernoff, but this is an official request from the United States government. It overrides any contract you have with Borderless Medicine.” She was glad to be a ghost. A human would be sweating profusely in this heat. She appeared completely unfazed by the weather and her coolness added to her unflappable authority.
“May I see your identification again?”
Bella produced her credentials with the condescending attitude of an official accustomed to not having her orders questioned. She could tell the doctor didn't understand a word of the legalese she'd prepared.
“Where's the information about the patient? I must have that in order to treat this person. I might not be able to help them.”
She had him. Keeping him was critical. She played the privacy card. All doctors feared sanctions for violating the privacy rights of a patient he or she wasn't officially treating. Federal penalties trumped even malpractice claims.
“Dr. Chernoff, all of that is classified information until you are officially part of the treatment team. You'll be flown to Washington, where you'll be briefed and then taken to the patient, who is in a government facility.”
“These people here need me. There's an epidemic. The world has forgotten Ethiopia,” he argued.
Bella turned as if to walk towards the vehicle that would take them to the plane. “Dr. Chernoff, you're double-boarded as a psychiatrist and neurologist. You're vaccinating children. That task doesn't require someone of your experience and expertise. Your government has requested that your services be applied elsewhere. I'll escort you on your flight to Washington.”
“But I must say good-bye.”
“Dr. Chernoff,” Bella commanded. “You're to leave with me now. Arrangements have been made to terminate your deployment here. A fee of $250,000 has been paid to the organization to release you from services. Think of the number of vaccines that will purchase. How many people will benefit.” She firmly grasped Dr. Chernoff's hand. “Our car is this way.”
Bella didn't relax until they were on the flight from London's Heathrow airport to Dulles International airport outside Washington, DC. Retaining Dr. Chernoff had taken a lot of effort. She'd hacked into the computers of Borderless Doctors to create a record of the termination of Dr. Chernoff's services and deposited $250,000 into
its account with his name referenced. The money had come from the illegal off-shore account of a hedge fund manager who had eluded justice while she was alive.
Writing as a physician who'd been contacted in his search for a specialist in catatonia, Bella contacted Daniel's brother and legal guardian Rob to advise him that Dr. Chernoff was eager to consult on Daniel's case. She sent the journal article as an attachment. From there, all the pieces quickly moved into place like an excellent chess match—Rob through Nina Lombardi through the greased judicial wheels of Virginia that authorized Dr. Harvey Chernoff to treat Daniel Ramsay as a private patient at Commonwealth Psychiatric Hospital.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
On her good days, LouLou visited Dan in the day room. She'd told him she was a schizo the first time they’d met, but she reminded him. During the first weeks she visited him, she'd sit next to Dan and not say much. She'd angle herself so she could share his view. To keep herself occupied, she brought a sketch pad and crayons with her and drew whatever was outside. She hoped she saw what he did. Subtle changes every day.
She captured the subtle changes in the sketches she showed him. She drew melting ice puddles in the bitterness of December and the next day, starlings drinking the water. Dan seemed to like one of a black bird against the stark trees and dizzying whiteness. He reached for it when she showed it to him. She hadn't seen him move before. She gave him the drawing, and he held it on his lap even when he was taken back to his room.
Their communication went at a stuttering pace. He would say one or two words in response to a string of sentences LouLou had said the previous day or visit. One day he said ink. He wanted to know about her tattoos.
She took his hand in hers to trace them. “Do you want a tattoo? Crayon tat?”
He blinked his eyes twice. She took that as yes.
“What do you want?”
“Run,” he said decisively, but she didn't understand.
“Like escape?” She laughed. “We all want that.
“Foot. Race.”
He was a runner. He probably wanted something to remind himself that he might get well enough to run again so she wanted to get it right for him. She sketched feet. Standing on tip toes. Flexed. Poised to run. Running. She left them with him and he looked at them all day. When she saw him before he left, he pointed to the sketch of a winged bare foot in motion that looked like it could fly.
“I like that one too,” she said. “We'll start tomorrow.”
She outlined, colored, and highlighted it on his left forearm with intense concentration during their next few visits. On the second day, he said, “Tickles.” She laughed. “Yes, crayons tickle. They're sticky and smell waxy, but it's what I've got. I guess our keepers think crayons are less dangerous than pencils or paint brushes.”
She made the final stroke on the wing. “Done. I hope you like it.” Lou searched his face for any sign that he was pleased. Nothing.
When Dan left that afternoon, she sat next to Big and sighed. “It's not wishful thinking. He talks. It's just delayed. Like it takes him hours to process what I said and for him to get a response to come out of his mouth. Sometimes it takes me a while to decipher what he means.”
“You shouldn't do it if it makes you tired,” Big said kindly.
“I like drawing. It passes the time. I'm sure it's more frustrating for him than me.”
“What you draw is beautiful. You make magic from those delicate fingers.”
She was surprised. Big never said anything personal. “Thank you. Do you want a tat?”
He grunted. “No, thanks. You can draw on the zombie all you want.”
“His name's Dan. Don't call him the zombie.”
Big put up his hands. “Point taken.”
They sat quietly for a while before he spoke. “Lou, you're looking like a skeleton. Aren't you eating?”
“The meds make me nauseated. I'm getting IV fluids tonight. The nausea will go away in another week.” She sighed. “I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up when the meds have kicked in. This is really hard.”
“It's bad. I'm glad you can tattoo Dan to keep you busy. If you run out of space on him, I might think about letting you draw a small one on me.”
LouLou started to cry. She thought of Petersburg as a place to fill with tears.
***
Dan didn't come to the day room the next day. LouLou was disappointed. Drawing things for him made time pass more quickly.
LouLou sat in his chair and sketched. She'd leave the sketches for Dan so he'd know what view he'd missed. She enjoyed the stillness. The evergreens were always different shades of green. She liked that Virginia had so many evergreens. They never lost leaves or turned brown or looked sad. Today, she drew just the tops. She had to use every green and blue in the crayon box, plus white and brown. She tried to mix colors, but the waxy crayons didn't blend. Even spitting on them didn't get the stuff to mix. She just drew and then tried to smudge where she could.
Voices floated up to her on the second floor. She looked down to the gravel parking lot and saw a slim woman in a black suit with an asymmetrical haircut. She carried a briefcase. She was with a man in a navy-blue suit who looked like Dan back when he was at Richmond Memorial Hospital, only slightly older. He didn't have white hair, though. She stood and got as close to the pane as she could to see what was going on.
The woman opened the driver's side door of the Mercedes sedan. The man looked around, as if he wanted to reassure himself it was okay to get in the car. He looked sad and tired. He glanced up and saw her at the window. He shook his head and looked again. LouLou put her hand up to wave. He froze. She could hear the woman urging him to get in the car. He didn't move. He kept staring at her. The look on his face was terror. Naked terror.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
LouLou's stay was typical from what she recalled. She'd feel better, then plateau, and then relapse. There was no particular reason for the relapse—just the course of the disease. Time on medication—the correction medication, or combination of medications at the correct dose—was the only thing that would get LouLou back to a functioning person. Some medications took as long as a month to reach therapeutic levels. It wasn't like taking ibuprofen, which could make a headache disappear within the hour. In the meantime, she didn't remember what she'd done, nor did she think about anything. While recovering from the relapse, her life revolved around the four walls of her room and medication punctuated by doctor visits
Telling time was impossible, and she didn't really care about time. Mostly, she slept while Dr. Izari tinkered with her meds. She still got shots and a yellow tablet, but now she also got a white table four times a day. Meds. Shot. Sleep.
After she stopped sleeping around the clock, LouLou resumed her outdoor rambles. Early each evening, an attendant took her for a walk outside. LouLou walked listlessly beside the man. He was older and quiet. She liked that. She liked natural sounds whether it was silence or the crunch of her foot on a branch, the caw of a starling, or squirrels chasing each other and chattering. Outside was peaceful. Although she tuned it out, the hospital was never quiet. Arguments, fistfights, and voices over the intercom all day and all night filled the air. Someone was always yelling or crying or screaming. She was grateful that her aide wasn't one of those who constantly jabbered about nothing or worse, told her how soon she'd be well. She knew exactly how long it would take, barring any more setbacks, and it wasn't soon.
When she was well enough to return to the day room, she discovered Dan in his usual spot, but he sat in a chair, not a wheelchair. Had he walked? She sat next to Big. She wasn't up for an interaction with Dan. They were tiring, as Big had said. Trying to understand him and making herself understood was a bigger effort than she'd realized. She sank into the sofa next to Big and sat in companionable silence for a while before she asked what was up with Dan.
“Did he walk by himself in here?”
“Sure did,” Big said.
“New doc. New treatment. Got him up and walking in less than a week. Maybe talking will come next.”
LouLou sighed. “That would be nice. I can't imagine being trapped in my body for years with no communication. I still don't think he killed his wife. He wouldn't have a clue how to do it.”
“Could always hire somebody.”
“Oh, Big. Where would he find a hit man? He'd probably look in the yellow pages for one, if yellow pages still exist. I suppose he could try Craigslist. Like they'd have a section of Hitmen For Hire. The man I met at Richmond Memorial was pure vanilla. He'd never hurt anyone and wouldn't be savvy enough to hire someone. “
“Innocent until proven guilty,” Big said.
***
LouLou watched as Dan walked into the day room the next morning. She couldn't believe it. She wanted his doctor. He was a miracle worker.
Once seated, he looked at Lou and almost smiled. She walked over and sat on the floor next to him. He held the sketches she'd made of the evergreens the day he met his new doctor. “Pretty.”
“I'm glad you like them.”
He seemed like he wanted to ask her something. She waited patiently while he formed words in a sensible sequence. Hair. Cut. Sketch. Barber. The last syllable was pronounced as a question.