by Krystal Wade
“I’ve never seen Gordon talk to you.”
“Used to talk to him. Not so much anymore, not since the nightmares. Not to anyone, really. I wake up and find medicine cups on the dresser. I don’t meet with Underwood.” Phillip glanced up into the sky, and the moonlight illuminated his face and gave him a ghostly glow. Even his scrubs shone in the light. “Gordon’s a good guy. He used to work night shift. We’d sit and play cards sometimes. That’s how I found out about this place. He brought me here. Told me a former patient at the hospital found her way in here and threw herself over the edge. Now they’re locked in at night, except us. The staff refuses to use this purely for superstitious reasons.”
He’d walked out at least twenty steps, his breath clouding around him, and Rose couldn’t stop picturing him as a piece of art. The bright, full moon overhead. The scraggly, bare branches of the trees in front of Phillip. The wrought-iron railings, topped by pointy tips. The turrets at each end of the walkway. Rose wanted to draw this, him. She wanted to so bad she could barely contain herself.
“I don’t believe in any of that,” he said. “You kill yourself, you’re gone. I don’t think you get a second chance by haunting the place.”
Rose had always thought suicide to be a selfish solution to one’s problems, but maybe a second chance was exactly what that person needed. Maybe they needed to see the world from a different perspective. A world where their feelings were no longer relevant. But given what his mother did to herself, Rose didn’t say that. What Phillip thought belonged to him, for good reason.
“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to come out and see this?”
“I’m coming.” The shingles crunched beneath her feet, the gritty feel of tiny pieces of asphalt digging into her heels, and she held the railing for dear life. Rose wasn’t afraid of heights, not really, but knowing someone had died from falling off this rooftop did nothing to quell her unease. Running a palm up and down her bare arm, she risked a glance out over the institute. The forest was quiet, still, naked, and dense. They were cut off from civilization, just the way the public liked to keep its crazies.
Rose turned her attention back to Phillip. His eyes were closed, but he looked so peaceful taking deep breaths of the chilled air. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin beneath her palm, so that when she drew him—and she would draw him—she got it right.
“How long have you been coming out here?” she asked instead.
Phillip opened his eyes, the peacefulness gone. “Since the first night of my full time commitment last year. Gordon had seen me coming in and out of that front door since I was five. He said he couldn’t stand the thought of me not having a place where I could escape.”
A sheen of sweat covered Rose’s hands. She couldn’t fathom being here a year or even another week. Even the thought of it, picturing herself here in a year, as one of the women with scraggly hair who fought over the remote in the common area, made Rose want to fight that much harder to get out. She hadn’t brushed her hair in days. Touching it, she felt the rat’s nest that it had become and wanted to tear it all out. A year would kill her.
“Hey.” Phillip’s fingers were warm despite the cold air, and he held them firm on her shoulder and pulled her into his arms. “Hey, are you crying? It’s okay. Really. We’re going to get out.”
Rose didn’t know why, but she rested her head against his chest and allowed him to console her. His heart beat a solid, slow rhythm, and his breaths sounded like a shout in a cave, loud and sure and strong enough to cause rocks to fall. “A year, Phillip. He wants to scare us, to research us. What if we can’t get out? What if a year turns to ten?”
He rested his chin on her head. “Maybe we can figure out which one of the staff went to the papers?”
She squeezed her arms around him. “There have to be some of them we can trust.”
Phillip pulled away and looked at her like he wanted to smack tape across her mouth and lock her away, but before he could say anything, a gunshot cracked the silence and echoed off the brick building.
They dropped to their knees out of instinct, covering their heads, the gritty shingles a minor inconvenience.
Shouting erupted from below. People yelling directions. Radios filling the once silent night. A man called, “He ran to the left,” and another shouted, “He’s climbing the trellis.”
Dr. Underwood’s voice cut above them all. “Don’t let him escape.”
The truck’s diesel engine rumbled to life, and its tires spit rocks as it tore away from the building. Rose had no idea what was going on, what to do, or if they were even safe.
Phillip found her shaking hand and pulled her to her feet and toward the door. “We need to get out of here.”
They hastily closed the glass door and pounded their way down the spiral stairs. Halfway down, they heard boots landing on metal, and froze. With nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, they waited a punishment they knew would come within seconds, gripping onto each other for dear life.
Phillip held her tight, through his own shaking, and murmured, “I’m sorry. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. I’m sorry. Just don’t forget this, Rose. Don’t let them make you think this wasn’t real. I’m sorry.”
The fear too real and too gripping for her to respond, she braced herself for the wrath of Dr. Underwood, for more nightmares, for beatings, for pain. Rose’s breaths came too fast. They were too shallow. The footsteps were closer. One more turn on the stairs and they’d be right here. She wanted to jump off, to fall. Anything would be better than being caught out at night. Rose took a step back up, but Phillip stood like a brick wall behind her.
The men rounded the stairs, and Rose found herself face to face with Dr. Underwood and two police officers.
“What . . . ?” He shook his head like he didn’t believe she and Phillip were really here, then glared. In the dark, Dr. Underwood’s hooded eyes held an almost demonic look to them, like he could morph and turn into a werewolf or vampire and shred them in seconds. And Rose hated that look on his face. She hated it more than him because she’d trusted him and cared for him and at times had been comforted by him. At no point had she ever wanted him to be disappointed in her the way he clearly was in this moment, not that his feelings mattered when he didn’t even see her. But then he smoothed out his expression, wiping away emotions.
Rose needed to break the silence. She couldn’t stand that he wouldn’t speak to her. She couldn’t stand the way Dr. Underwood looked at her. She wanted to hug him and apologize almost as much as she wanted to hug her parents and apologize. But she’d never touch this man, never hug him, never apologize. “We were—”
“I’m sure you have a clever excuse for being out of your beds and on this side of the facility, something definitely off-limits to you, but right now I don’t have the time to hear it. Get out of the way and back to your room before something bad happens. It’s dangerous out here.” Dr. Underwood brushed Rose to the side and continued up the stairs, leading the police officers to the rooftop.
Phillip urged Rose forward. “Go, go, go!”
And Rose did go; she ran through the sterile hall, back through the secret passageway from this side of the facility to hers and Phillip’s, not even bothering to be quiet. They made it back to their wing, and Phillip reached out for her hand as they arrived at her door. His forehead was creased, and he kept glancing back the way they’d come.
“You okay?” she asked.
He squeezed her fingers. “Never been caught before.”
The thought of what Dr. Underwood might do to them made Rose’s heart race wildly around her chest. “Do you think . . . ? Will we be okay?”
Shaking his head, Phillip said, “I can’t lose you. Not now, Rose. I just can’t. I’m so tired of losing people. They’ll torment you. They’ll make you think none of this ever happened. I know it. I can feel it. And I don’t know what to do except this.”
Phillip pulled Rose against him and planted his mouth on her
s. The force of his kiss took her by surprise, but the connection, the intimacy of it, was something she’d lacked since arriving here, something she’d craved. Rose melted into him.
Who cares if we’re both nuts? Who cares if we’ll die in here?
She parted her lips and invited him in deeper. He took full advantage and backed her against the door, a fervent desperation in them both as they seemed to forget where they were and why they’d been running.
Voices drifted down the hall, and Phillip pushed Rose back into her room.
“Don’t forget me, Rose. Please.” His big brown eyes looked so sad, so full of need.
“I won’t.” Touching her lips, she ran back to the bed and climbed in.
Before Phillip ran across the corridor and into his room, he frowned as if he didn’t believe her. Or maybe he didn’t believe she could remember.
Phillip was afraid.
But nothing could take away that kiss. Nothing she’d ever experienced in life compared. Not Josh. Not her first kiss. Nothing.
For the first time in a very long time, Rose was awake.
18
The sun highlighted the world outside Rose’s window in a burning array of fuchsia lined with gold. Small, brown birds perched on the ledge of the building, hopping around and singing to each other. If she were anywhere else, she’d smile. What a perfect morning after a perfect kiss.
But Rose couldn’t smile, and at the thought of what her megalomaniac doctor might do to her if he found out she’d also broken into his office, she could barely breathe. She pulled at the dry skin on her lips and drew blood to the surface. She would rather revel in the taste of Phillip there, but she couldn’t stop wondering what to do next, couldn’t stop worrying about how she would approach Nurse Judy to ask for help.
And she couldn’t stop wondering who was shot.
The nurse breezed into the room and startled Rose out of her imaginings, humming “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as she set out fresh clothes and a pill cup, not once noticing Rose awake.
Heart pounding, she sat up and watched the woman, the words Rose needed to say flooding her mind and racing to get out. Sweat covered the back of her neck, her palms, even the creases behind her knees. How was she to even begin a conversation like that?
Nurse Judy tucked linens into the middle drawer, then slid it closed and stood back to admire the charcoal drawing on the wall. “My, my. If this girl’s not in an art museum by twenty, then the world won’t know what it’s missing.”
Acid swirled around Rose’s stomach, slowly fighting gravity to make its way up her throat. She knew she had to act now. “If I ever get out of here, but thank you.”
Nurse Judy swung around with a plump hand on her chest. Red patches prickled her face and neck. “Didn’t realize you were awake, Miss Rose. You’re usually sound asleep until the alarm blares at eight.” She turned down the blanket and helped Rose to her feet. “And you look dreadfully pale. What’s bothering you? Didn’t stay out too late watching those stars now, did you?”
“I actually came in early,” Rose said, rooted in place beside the bed, hoping she could spit out the next words. “You once told me I could tell you anything. Is that still true?”
Judy stopped moving. She stood so stiffly, Rose wondered for a moment whether she was hallucinating and the nurse wasn’t really here at all.
“Nurse Judy?”
“I did.” She shook her head and snapped out of the trance, eyes finding Rose’s. “But not here. Not now. You have a busy day today.”
“Busy?”
“Yes, ma’am. Quite busy.”
Now clearly wasn’t the time for talking. Judy was afraid of something, and Rose had a pretty good idea of what. Courage slipping away, she took the pill cup and then darted into the bathroom. Once the door was closed, she flushed the pills and brushed her teeth.
“Dr. Underwood would like to speak with you before and after your meetings with Health and Human Services today. They’re here to assess a few of the patients, a follow up to the claim against the institution. From what I understand, your mother was pretty flamed about the article and has been beating down the doors to have you evaluated.”
Rose’s mouth went dry, as though the toothpaste had absorbed all the moisture and swelled her tongue, and she froze and stared at her twisted reflection in the mirror. Black half-moons rested beneath her wild eyes. If Mrs. Briar saw Rose this way, the woman would flip, and that thought made Rose smile just a bit, which only made her reflection look crazier. “Evaluated?”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. This is quite normal, and once you tell them how wonderful you’re doing, they’ll move on to the next person, and we can finally put this awful situation to rest.” Nurse Judy placed both hands on Rose’s shoulders as she stepped out of the bathroom and bent until they were at eye level. The woman narrowed her eyes just a fraction, as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t, as if she wanted Rose to understand something the nurse refused to say aloud. “If you know what I mean?”
“I think so.” And Rose did know. Judy wanted Health and Human Services to hear Rose’s complaints in a secure environment, where no one else could listen.
“Sounds like excellent advice,” Dr. Underwood said, startling both women. He stood at the door with Rose’s chart in hand and curved his lips into what should have been a smile but resembled something more along the lines of a grimace. Everything else about him, right down to his perfectly pressed white lab coat, seemed refined. Hair in place. Pens in pocket. Pressed tweed pants. Shiny black shoes. The man was walking, talking calm, confident, and cool. Except for that smile. “Let’s meet before breakfast, shall we, Rose.”
It wasn’t a question. Dr. Underwood’s tone bordered along the lines of a stern command for a naughty dog. And just like a master in control of his pack, he turned and knew she would follow. Didn’t even look back to see if she was coming.
Her heart rate skyrocketed, and if it hadn’t been for the nurse’s comforting hand resting on Rose’s shoulders and gentle voice reminding her to breathe, she might have fainted.
“Go. Some pretty bad things happened last night. Don’t give him any further reason to be upset.”
She took a step into the hall where Phillip sat at the table. His eyes bored through Rose, and he tapped his feet impatiently. Before he could get up, Rose looked back at Judy and asked, “Who was shot last night?”
Judy pursed her lips as though she didn’t want to answer and pressing her lips together might prevent her from speaking. In the end, she lost. “An inmate tried to escape while being transferred to another facility for a day or two. He’ll live, but he’ll need surgery on his leg. Shattered his tibia. Now go on.”
Phillip was already at Rose’s side, barely leaving her enough time to wonder who would try to escape. Most likely the man from Hall HS, the one sharing space with flies and maggots. Moving him for a few days so Health and Human Services couldn’t question him would be the best move for the facility. Considering the conditions Rose found him in, his story would be the most credible. Which meant she’d have to carefully choose her words today.
“You in there?” Phillip asked, taking her hands in his. He was warm, almost too warm. Sweat covered his palms, and the blond hair at the base of his neck was darker than usual. Wet. Maybe the better question would be whether he was in there or not. She wanted to ask, to find out if anything happened last night, and she wanted to tell him everything about Health and Human Services and the man who was shot, but there wasn’t enough time.
“Yes.” Rose glanced toward Underwood’s door. She knew if she kept him waiting much longer, he’d pick up his stone and start rubbing it between his fingers and she’d have to explain what took so long. “I have to go.”
“Don’t drink anything. Got it?” Phillip rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “I made that mistake earlier.”
“Go hide out somewhere,” Rose said, taking a step away. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”
<
br /> She approached Underwood’s door, full of apprehension, both for her talk with him and for whether there’d be anything left of Phillip—this Phillip—to find when she got out.
“Come on in, Rose,” Dr. Underwood announced as she lifted her hand to knock.
Rose pushed the heavy door open, and there Underwood sat in his chair, leaning all the way back, rubbing that stone just how she’d imagined.
He glanced at her, then back out the window, and Rose crossed the room to take her usual seat. The ten steps seemed more like ten million with the amount of tension in the room.
As she sat, the wooden chair creaked and earned the doctor’s full attention. He turned away from the window, eyeing her as if he knew all her secrets. Yes, Rose, I know you snooped through my office last night. Yes, Rose, I know you snuck out of your room. Yes, Rose, I know you haven’t been taking your medications.
But he didn’t speak for at least five full minutes. The clock was the only thing that wanted to talk, making its rounds through time, tick-tocking in tune with Rose’s nerves. A nurse came in with a tray of ice water and set it on the desk, then promptly turned and left. Could have been Judy. Could have been anyone. Rose was afraid to take her gaze off Dr. Underwood to find out.
He gestured toward the glass. “Drink.”
“I’m okay. Thanks.” She pressed her palms together and held them between her thighs, an action Underwood noticed with a hint of annoyance curling his upper lip.
“I understand Nurse Judy informed you of your meeting with Health and Human Services today. Usually these meetings take place one-on-one, but I’ve finally convinced the buffoons how fragile your grip on reality is and that you’ll need an advocate in the room with you.”
Rose leaned forward, excited at the prospect of having an advocate. Would it be her mother? Nurse Judy? Mr. Briar? “Who?”
But as soon as she made the move, Dr. Underwood smiled widely, and she wished she hadn’t given in, hadn’t reacted. This man was all about reactions. Her reactions. He acted as if he cared so much about Rose, even treated her differently than others. But she knew him now, knew that he’d already chosen an advocate, one that would not allow her to speak freely with the Health and Human Services reps.