by Krystal Wade
One of the male orderlies, a towering height with a thin frame and a depressed, red scar running from his mouth to his ear, stood by the door with a pen and a chart, writing something down. The woman, Vicki, stood on the left side of the bed, hands behind her back, eyes on the doctor. The other man had gone.
Dr. Underwood sat beside Rose. He wore his white lab coat, but beneath that he had on a T-shirt and red and green flannel pajama bottoms.
Rose softened just a bit at the sight of him in sleep clothes. “Did I wake you up?”
Redness crept into the doctor’s cheeks, and he glanced down at his pants and then back to her and laughed. “Good observation skills, Rose. Why yes, you did wake me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me.” A beautiful smile transfigured his face from one of supreme exhaustion to bright, alert happiness. “I always sleep here the first night of a new patient’s stay. It’s usually the hardest transition.”
“Always? For every patient?” There must have been hundreds of patients here that she’d seen, and that didn’t include the parts of the facility she didn’t have access to. “Don’t your wife and kids miss you?”
Dr. Underwood held up his left hand and wiggled his naked ring finger. “No wife or kids to worry about me.” He shifted closer to Rose on the bed and leaned in conspiratorially. “Though I’ve heard Nurse Vicki here has a crush on me. Don’t tell her I know.”
Vicki and Dr. Underwood both laughed, and the orderly by the door coughed.
Rose felt as if she were missing some clue to a funny joke, an inside joke, but didn’t let it bother her. He was kind, happy, and genuinely seemed to care about the well-being of his patients.
“Now, you had a nightmare. I’d like to hear all about it. I know you don’t enjoy sharing, but maybe there’s one detail you feel as if you can share? Some small, minor detail?” Dr. Underwood smiled at her again, but this time the smile seemed a little too big, a little too forced. As if the exhaustion swept back in and took him over.
Rose couldn’t help but feel guilty and wanted to give him something, something to say thank you for caring. But what could she share that wouldn’t make him think of her as crazy? The face in the water stain? That seemed like something normal. Definitely not the figure in the corridor, or the bee, or the fact she hid in the bathroom because something broke into her room. Taking another deep breath, she said, “There’s a stain on the ceiling, and I stared at it so long while trying to fall asleep that I guess it worked its way into my dreams as a face.”
Nurse Vicki frowned, her attention still on Underwood, though he paid her no mind.
The too big smile fell from his face. In fact, all the happiness fell from his face, leaving nothing more than a sleepy man. “Thank you. For trying. Do you think you’ll be okay the rest of the night? I could give you something to help you sleep.”
No more medicines! Rose shook her head.
“Was that a you won’t be okay or you don’t want medicines? Words tend to work best when communicating with other people, Rose.”
“I’ll be okay. No drugs, please.”
“Very well.” Dr. Underwood stood up and motioned for Nurse Vicki and the orderly to leave the room. He paused at the door, shoulders slumped, defeated or exhausted Rose didn’t know. “You’ll begin to trust me soon enough, Rose.”
And then he was gone.
Rose climbed out of bed and pressed her nose to the glass, checking for cloaked figures and floating faces or movement of any kind.
But the only thing she saw was the counting guy pressed against his window, staring at her.
4
A high-pitched, nerve-grating noise blared in Rose’s eardrums, and she bolted out of bed and stumbled to the dresser with her palms on either side of her head, legs shaky, toes ice cold. Opening her eyes made it worse, like the light made the blaring harsher, louder, closer. She couldn’t even hear her own thoughts over the deafening sounds. Every muscle ached, and her right arm throbbed from whatever injury she’d earned while jumping from her parents’ car, pulsing in rhythm to the sharp tone, raising the hairs on her forearms.
Rose didn’t know if this was another nightmare, she’d had so many, or a terrible trick played by the staff on a new inmate. She crouched into a ball, head tucked, heart racing, and wished it would all end. She’d made a mistake and should have fought harder to escape. She never should have allowed them to subdue her. The minute those straps came off her ankles and wrists, she should have run.
The sound stopped abruptly, and crackling came through the speaker mounted in the ceiling, followed by a tap of a microphone. “Miss Rose, it’s time to wake up, get dressed, and get started on your day. Remember: dress, Hall F for food, nurse’s station, D for socialization, then off for exercise. I’ll meet you outside your door with meds in fifteen minutes.”
That was the alarm. How cruel. How horribly cruel and awful. No wonder people here were crazy. Rose took a few moments to collect herself before following the chipper Nurse Judy’s instructions, taking deep breaths in through her nose. Once she was breathing regularly, she slid her back up the wall, still not sure if her legs would hold up her weight.
A massive headache—whether from the medicines or the alarm, she didn’t know—split down the left side of her head, hopefully something a quick shower would cure. But after running through the hot water and dressing, maneuvering her right arm to avoid getting the gauze wet, the pain still radiated near her temple. She brushed her teeth and combed her long, wet hair and then, with head down to avoid the glare of the fluorescent lighting, met Nurse Judy outside the door.
The woman handed over the pill cup and held out a glass of water. Tsking, she raked her eyes over Rose’s form as she took her meds. “You don’t look well, dear. I understand you had a rough night last night. Are you feeling any better this morning?”
Rose shook her head and winced at the pain.
“Okay, well, I’d like you to stop by the nurse’s station before heading to Hall F. They’ll make an assessment and give you some headache medicines to cure you right up.”
Rose looked up sharply, then instantly regretted it. Throbbing attacked her temple. “How’d you know?”
Nurse Judy placed her hand on Rose’s shoulder and guided her down the long hallway. “Common side effect from the medications. We’ll note it in your chart and inform Dr. Underwood.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s what I’m here for.” Nurse Judy smiled, and after stopping at a thick pane of glass in the wall and explaining Rose’s headache situation to an older woman, Nurse Judy continued down the hall. Off to treat other loonies, Rose presumed.
The woman’s name was Betty, and she had two older kids, three aging dogs, and a small house in the Gatlinburg area that the Briars had sold to her. Betty remembered meeting Rose once before, and then while recalling that part of the story, Betty got a sad look in her eyes, like maybe she couldn’t balance the little, happy Rose with the grown, crazy Rose standing there. “Well, here you go, Miss Briar. Hope you get to feeling better real soon.”
Yeah. Better. “Thanks.”
After taking the additional pills and handing the cup back over to Betty, Rose headed straight for breakfast, but along the way she found a woman strapped to a wheelchair stopped in the middle of the hall. She rocked back and forth, her stringy hair covering her downturned face, and spouted off unintelligible, angry words. Angry, judging by the harsh way she grunted them each time she slammed her back against the chair.
Rose used the wall to brace herself, not sure she was capable of going any farther, but then she decided she couldn’t possibly stand here and watch this woman any longer and willed her feet to move forward. She walked slowly, lifting her gaze higher to avoid any more run-ins with her future fate. Taking in the architecture of the building, Rose ignored the pounding in her brain. She ignored the images of herself strapped to a chair and mumbling that flooded her mind and instead focused on the rounde
d archways connecting the halls to rooms, bordered by thick, white moldings, tall ceilings, and protesting hardwood floors.
Music poured out of a room on Rose’s left, and she drifted toward it, following the sounds of life. But she found more people like the woman in the hall. A group of them dressed just like Rose, all white scrubs save for the food stains covering the front of a few of them. Most of these patients were much older than Rose’s seventeen years. Two women sitting on the floor right in front of the television playing the music looked to be in their late twenties, and they fought over the remote control. One woman wanted to watch the news. The other cartoons. A blue-clad orderly darted from a dark corner to save them from themselves, using smooth, authoritative commands that set them straight immediately. A man near her father’s age sat alone in the far back corner of the room, building a castle out of popsicle sticks. Several people of indeterminable ages were scattered about, doing nothing, saying nothing, looking at nothing, and Rose backed away as quickly as she could, tears building in her eyes as she took in the sign above the door. Hall D.
“Just get to breakfast, Rose,” she whispered to herself, hoping food would cure her head and heart, but along the way she passed a small sitting area. Two narrow sofas outlined the room, a coffee table covered in outdated newspapers sat atop a thin grey rug, and a water fountain was nestled in the corner.
“For the families to wait for their loved ones in,” Nurse Judy had explained yesterday.
A large window was situated on the far wall, and Rose walked over to it and stared through the bars, out into the front lawn, the neat, well-manicured green lawn. Freedom looked so beautiful when viewing it from a window, but what would it cost to get it? What would it cost for Rose to walk out the front doors into that lawn and never have to enter this place again?
Leah Briar would say it would cost Rose her art, her dreams. She’d want her daughter to go to law school or become a doctor or take over the family business, anything that would get her head out of the clouds and on the ground and thinking about building a stable future. Stephan Briar would probably nod and agree.
But Rose didn’t know for sure because she didn’t ask her parents what they wanted from her. She’d shut down and locked herself inside her bedroom after they brought her home from Megan’s, and there Rose stayed silent until Megan and Josh snuck in to say goodbye. Which is when they hatched the failed plan to block the Briar’s entry into the institute.
“Just tell them you’re sorry, Rose,” Megan had said as if that would cure all. Leah Briar wouldn’t let this go lightly, not when her best friend Heather had been committed at the same age for the same reason. “I mean, you’ve locked yourself in here when you should be out there trying to make things right. Say anything at all and I’ll bet they’d be happy.”
Josh snorted.
Megan cut her eyes toward him and glared. “What? You know it’s true.”
“Are you kidding me? That woman’s been waiting to pounce on any little mistake Rose makes. She’s locking her away, no matter what Rose does or says. And since we’ve already failed twice at running away, we have this.” Josh stood up from the edge of the bed and pulled a map from his back pocket, and then he spread the paper out on the floor. “Look, the only entry into the institute is by Friars Road. I say we stage Operation Rescue Rose.”
Rose fell to her knees beside the map and smiled at how hard Josh had worked. He’d highlighted escape routes and marked paths she should take on foot through the trees if that plan failed. “You think it would work?”
Mouth falling open, Megan scoffed. “You can’t be serious. You’ll be caught, then what?”
“Then nothing,” Josh said, matching Megan’s tone. “She faces the same fate either way, Megs. And they’ll change her, take away her art, her attitude, everything that makes Rose Rose before they ever let her out of there. She’ll be like one of those kids who comes out of rehab singing ‘Kumbaya.’”
Tears dripped onto the window ledge, snapping Rose out of her memory. Josh knew what it would cost for Rose to earn her freedom from this place, and yet he still hadn’t come for her. Why?
“There you are!” Nurse Judy said, hand pressed to her chest. She marched to the window and grabbed Rose by the arm, then hauled her to Hall F and parked her at a table with the same guy from her wing. “I know it’s your first day, Miss Rose, but you have to do as you’re told.” Judy lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “If you don’t, you’ll lose what few freedoms you have.”
There was a strange hint of a protective warning in the woman’s voice, but that was all she said before rushing off for a tray of food that she slammed down in front of Rose. “Eat, and don’t make me have to find you again. You’ve already missed socializing time, and you’ll likely miss exercise as well, so make your way back to Hall A after you’re done here. Got it?”
“Yes.”
A bowl of creamy—slimy?—oatmeal sat in front of Rose, and she dabbed at it with a plastic spoon before opting to eat just the toast provided and drink the milk. Every now and then she’d look up and take in her surroundings. The guy from her wing kept glancing at her, his big brown eyes not quite as distant as yesterday but not quite all there either. So far, he was the only person she’d come across who seemed remotely close in age to Rose in this entire facility.
“What’s your name?” she asked, hoping he’d find the courage to speak today.
He rubbed at a dark bruise near his elbow and then took a bite of the runny stuff this place claimed to be food. Five minutes later, his bowl was empty, and he still hadn’t spoken a word.
“And they said I’m quiet.”
Rose got up to head back to their wing and found she had a shadow. The guy followed two steps behind all the way down the hall, still touching his bruises, the current obsession on his neck. He had a big purple splotch right at his collarbone, an injury she was sure wasn’t there yesterday. He caught her looking and dropped his hand to his side.
When she took a seat at the round table, he pulled out a chair and sat next to her. The two of them stayed there for an hour, Rose staring at the wall clock’s second-hand, listening to the sound echo off everything in the cold, sterile space. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The guy spent the hour inventorying his injuries, his voice panicked as he frantically counted under his breath, casting an occasional furtive glance her way.
Freak job.
“Rose.” Dr. Underwood stood beside his office door and flipped through a chart while he waited for her to respond. When she didn’t, he looked up sharply and said, “Come on now. Don’t tell me you need a written invitation.”
She smiled at his mocking words, some of her nerves from the day washing away, leaving her relaxed and ready to go into his office to talk. Most of the time, Dr. Underwood was warm, nice, caring, and he treated her with respect, unlike the way the majority of adults treated teenagers.
“Be right there.” Rose pushed out her chair to go to him, but the guy grabbed her wrist and held her back. She looked to Dr. Underwood for help, but he’d already gone into his office to wait for her. “Ow. That hurts.”
“Sorry.” He immediately dropped his hand and mumbled, “MacGregor.”
“Excuse me?”
“N-Name. It’s MacGregor.”
He held out his hand, a normal thing for two people who’ve never spoken to do, and she shook it, noticing a slight tremble in his grip.
“Nice to meet you,” Rose said, backing away so as not to be surprised by him again, but he just shrugged and returned to outer space and counting and reminding her of what she had to look forward to. Once inside Underwood’s four walls, she took a deep breath to help get over the exchange with MacGregor and then took a seat in front of the doctor. “What’s with that patient?”
Dr. Underwood scribbled on the paper, not looking up. Bright light poured through his big window and illuminated him and everything on his desk like he was one glorious angel. “We’re not here to speak abou
t any other patients in this facility. We’re here to speak about you.” He met her eyes then and set the pen down. “And first I want to apologize for you having such a rough first night—and first day. Once we get your medications balanced, you won’t have such wide swings in the way you feel.”
“It’s okay.” Though, really, it wasn’t. As she’d proved to her mother time and time again, she didn’t need the medications, which is probably why they swung her out of balance in the first place. But for whatever reason she wanted to move the conversation forward, onto other things. “I don’t remember much after falling back to sleep.”
He smiled. “Good. Good. Hopefully tonight will prove to be a better night for you, for us all.”
Warmth spread through her cheeks as she remembered how he’d rushed to her aide in his pajamas, but he gave her little time to dwell on it as he fired off his next questions.
“You mentioned on the questionnaires that you wanted to attend the Art Institute in Chicago. Do you have a particular reason as to why?”
Rose’s gaze landed on the painting on the wall behind Dr. Underwood, and she took another deep breath. She hadn’t expected this question, but the answer was easy enough. “It’s the number two school in the nation. Who wouldn’t want to go there?”
Dr. Underwood scribbled in the chart. “People who prefer the number one school in the nation, I assume.”
She laughed nervously, shifting in her seat. “Probably so.”
“So why not aim higher?”
Maintaining eye contact with him became increasingly difficult. More and more Rose felt as if she were speaking to her mother, or to one of her mother’s attack dogs. She knew Leah Briar was the reason the doctor asked these questions. Why else would it matter? She’d tell him the same thing she’d tell her mother. “When choosing between the number one and two art schools in this country, I think the decision is based more on location. Chicago is beautiful, with the deep channels cutting through the city, the Navy Pier right along the waterfront, the massive buildings just begging people to replicate them with their hands . . . .”