by E. C. Bell
I could tell by her colours that she was lying. And then, she was gone.
I didn’t expect any letters from her, and I wasn’t disappointed. I’d become a problem to her, an issue that had to be dealt with the way she dealt with everything. By running away and hoping somebody else would pick up the slack.
Somebody else could feed the dog. Feed the kid. And I wished I’d hurt her worse than I had, before she’d dropped me off at the institution.
As usual, though, I dove into a depression so complete and crippling it was almost amazing. It had taken Dr. Parkerson a long time to pull me back from the brink and even longer to get me close to anything resembling normal. And then I really mucked up the works by dying.
Mom showed up to bury me. She threatened to sue the institution for my death, but I don’t think anything ever came of it. She probably went back to her life, wherever that was, happy that she didn’t have to think about me any longer.
That was when the nightmares started for me. After that last time I saw her, standing there haranguing the staff about my death as she touched her handkerchief to her dry, blank eyes, and the colour of her lies hung around her like a choking fog.
That was really the reason I’d joined group after I died. I just wanted the nightmares to stop. And they did, after a while.
So, what was bringing them on now?
“Marie,” I whispered, staring up at the sky. “It’s Marie.”
Which meant I needed to stay away from her. That thought hit me hard, right in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to do that.
I grunted as I pushed myself to standing. Stood, swaying, as the sun plunged toward the horizon, setting all it touched ablaze.
“Like Marie,” I whispered. “She burns everything she touches, I bet. Maybe Phillipa was right. Maybe I should stay away from her, just like she suggested.”
Ordered.
But I didn’t stay away. I couldn’t. I turned on my heel and walked away from the red and gold sunset, toward Building Thirteen, where Marie was probably waiting for me. And if my heart had still been beating, it would have skipped one of them. In anticipation.
I was pathetic. I really was.
MARIE’S ROOM WAS dark when I entered, but she wasn’t sleeping. She was sitting at the edge of her bed, her feet flat on the floor, staring at a small dot in the far corner of the room. It looked like she’d been doing it for a long time.
“How did the meeting with Dr. Parkerson go?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.
Marie didn’t answer me past flashing me a look that showed just how furious she was. Then she pointedly stood and walked to the other side of her single bed and sat back down, feet flat on the floor, staring at the opposite wall.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “You mad at me, or something?” I didn’t see how she could be, I hadn’t done a thing, past visiting her. I suspected that her generalized anger was something left over from meeting with her psychiatrist.
She didn’t answer, just flicked her long curly hair back over her shoulder like she was telling me, in Morse code, to screw right off.
“Come on, you gotta talk to me,” I said. “We have lots to discuss.”
“What do we have to discuss?” she asked. She didn’t move. Didn’t turn to look at me. Just spoke the words out angrily, and I could almost imagine them splattering against the white paint of the wall like so much spit blood. “You screwed me over. I have nothing to say to you.”
“How did I do that?” I asked. Wondered what had come up at her meeting with Dr. Parkerson. Imagined briefly that it actually did have something to do with me. That Marie had confessed that she’d seen me. Talked to me. Was enamoured of me . . .
Maybe she’d gotten into trouble when she was snooping around trying to figure out who the killer was. That made more sense than her confessing to anything about me, to be honest.
“You didn’t warn me,” she whispered.
“About what?” I asked. “Did you find out something about the killer? Who is it? Do you know?”
I edged my way from the door to a spot on the floor in front of her. She was still staring at the wall, though, and I thought about moving another step so she’d have to look at me, but I didn’t. Her fury was palpable, and I was afraid to get in its way, for fear that it would push me back to the nightmare house and keep me from ever leaving it again.
“Tell me,” I said. “I can take it.”
She closed her eyes briefly, as though she was gathering her strength. “No,” she finally said. “My being pissed at you has nothing to do with whoever is killing people here. If there is actually someone doing it.”
“Of course, there is,” I said, drawing myself up to my full height in an effort to look intimidating. All right, so I was only five foot eight and not really that imposing, but I did my best. “I know there is. What did you find out?”
“I found out that there is a frigging video camera in this room,” she said, spitting out the words in futile motionless rage. “And you didn’t tell me about it.”
“A—a what?” I asked. Then I looked at the far corner, where Marie had been staring when I walked in. “You mean that?” I asked, pointing at the small black dot.
She sighed and shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Yes,” she finally said. “I mean that. Did you know about it?”
“Well, I guess I did,” I said. “Maybe. Why?”
“Because they’ve been watching me, you idiot,” she snapped. Her colours went from red and gold to ice white and smashed against the wall like so many icicles. “Even my shrink has seen me talking to you.” She laughed, bitterly. “Talking to no one, it seems. Do you know how much trouble I’m in because of this?”
And then I said a truly stupid thing. “I wonder if they can hear you, too,” I said.
She gasped, like she hadn’t thought about that possibility which I couldn’t quite believe because she seemed like the type who would think everything through very, very carefully.
“Get out,” she whispered. “Just get out.”
I froze, because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was leave. “They probably can’t,” I said. “You know? Dr. Parkerson would have told you, wouldn’t she?”
But Marie didn’t answer me. Just sat stock still, staring at the far wall. Luckily, I had an honest to God good idea.
“I’ll go find out,” I said. “How about that?”
She didn’t answer, which made me feel a bit wild. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” I said. “Just stay here. Wait for me. I’ll go see what I can find out and I’ll be back. Pronto.”
I didn’t wait for her to answer me because I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. I left the room, wishing with all my might I’d said something better than “pronto.”
Pronto. Jesus. Worst word in the English language and I’d just said it to the only woman who made me feel like I was almost alive again.
IT DIDN’T TAKE me long to find where the video feed went. There was a bank of small screens in the nurses’ office and Julius Rafferty was parked in front of them, eating sunflower seeds. I could see the back of Marie’s head in the top middle screen. She hadn’t moved since I left.
Many of the public rooms had cameras in them, not just the lockdown rooms. There was no sound coming from any of the screens, but that didn’t mean anything. The staff might have the capacity to listen in if they wanted to and I didn’t know how to figure that out.
I wondered idly if Julius was concerned that his various indiscretions had ever been caught on video. Suspected he wasn’t, because guys like that don’t think they will ever be caught. And if they’re caught, they never think that anyone will believe their victims over them. I wished there was a way to prove him wrong, but let it go.
I had bigger problems than Julius at the moment. I definitely wasn’t going to be able to interact with Marie while she was in the lockdown room because of the cameras. Which meant I needed to talk Franklin into teaching me sign
language. I didn’t care why he’d turned me down the first time. He was going to say yes. He had to.
And then, I was going to teach her.
I tried not to think about how hard that could be. Just dropped by Marie’s room to let her know that she was being recorded but it didn’t look like they could hear her, and then, when her eyes flashed at me—angrily, I thought, even though she should have appreciated me getting this information for her—I left.
I had to track down Franklin Gilroy, and he had to teach me sign language. Tout suite.
Marie:
If Only I Was Normal
I SAT ON my bed, staring at the black spot on the damaged wall as if by sheer force of will I could break the stupid camera and have a moment to myself.
I didn’t need any of this. I really didn’t. I had enough going on without my every move being recorded for posterity. It sure didn’t help that ghosts were parading through my room like a—well, like a dead parade—expecting me to chit-chat with them. Or that my shrink was going to up my meds again, to stop me from chit-chatting with what she thought was nothing, but I knew were a parade of frigging ghosts.
What a nightmare.
I wondered what James was doing. For a second, I imagined him in the office, feeding Millie the comfort dog little treats and reading his books, and just enjoying the hell out of his nice quiet life now that I was out of his hair, but then I gave my head a big old shake. He wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t doing any of that.
He was on the phone to everyone he knew who could help me out. And when he wasn’t on the phone, he was meeting people face to face. Leaning in, probably, just to try to make something—anything—happen for me, so I could get out of here, and start living my life again. So we could start living our lives, again. Together.
I had a twinge when I thought of that. Would he really want to share the rest of his life with someone who could end up in a mental institution at the drop of a hat? Well, maybe not the drop of a hat, but it appeared all that needed to happen was for someone—anyone really—to point at me and say, “She talks to ghosts,” and I could end up in this place. Back in this place. As many times as it would take to convince my shrink that I was not dangerous. But, if I kept ending up here, it would become more and more difficult to convince her that I really was all right. Nothing wrong in the old noggin, that’s for sure.
“Like that’s going to happen,” I muttered, then shut my mouth and clapped my hand over it for good measure. Why was I talking out loud, even if it was just to myself? This was exactly the stuff the shrink was watching for. I had to remember, at all times, to act completely normal. Whatever that meant.
I wondered what time it was. Wondered if there were clocks out in the open parts of the institution, or if they kept them all hidden, like in a shopping mall, so people didn’t notice the time passing. All that time passing, and here I was, doing nothing. Sitting, staring at a small speck on the wall and trying to pretend that I was close to normal, when everybody knew that wasn’t true.
There was hardly anything normal about me. Even past being able to speak to ghosts. I couldn’t hold down a job to save my life, I fought with people all the time, and the only friend I had, besides James, was Jasmine, and she was more like a mom than a friend. As if she needed another kid to worry about. She had three of her own, and a thankless job, and I was living in her basement because I couldn’t get the courage up to live on my own.
There was nothing normal about any of that.
If I was normal, I’d hang around with people my own age, going to work and then to bars and discussing politics and religion or whatever it was that people my age discussed. I’d have an apartment, and I’d keep it tidy. Not like Jasmine’s basement, where it seemed my stuff managed to figure out ways to scurry off to the corners, or under my bed (which was really a fold-out couch, permanently folded out) or behind my little desk with the ancient computer and the pile of bills I was slowly paying off.
I’d know about the latest movies. In fact, James and I would go to the movies, and then discuss them in great detail as though they actually made a difference in our lives before we went to bed, together, in a bed that wasn’t as small as the one he now had. It would be a bed built for two normal people, not one normal person and another person who was so afraid of her own life that she needed to have her hands on him all the time to keep her from flying off in all the directions her stupid thoughts would take her when it was dark and quiet.
And I’d know how to cook. I’d be able to baste eggs, and make cookies, and bake a cake. I’d have people over to my apartment—or to James’s and my apartment—and we’d drink wine and talk about the latest movies and eat the cake I baked, and it would all be normal. Absolutely normal.
He’d be happy because it was normal, and I’d be happy because he was happy.
Or would I?
Normal seemed to mean never speaking to ghosts again. Which was something I could do. And I helped them. I really did.
And, if I was going to be honest, I didn’t mind talking to them. We understood each other. Understood that there was a different layer to everything that happened out in the world. There was a layer the rest of the world didn’t see. Didn’t know about, and therefore could not understand. But I did, and the ghosts did, too.
That gave us something in common, no doubt about it.
Actually, I could talk to ghosts about a lot of things. It was easy, because they already knew my biggest secret, so I didn’t have to cover it up, or lie about it. It was like I could breathe more easily. Do everything more easily.
So, why, if it made my life easier, didn’t I just admit everything to my shrink—and everybody else—and let the chips fall where they may?
Because I saw what it did to my mother, and I knew what it had done to me when I was growing up. All right, so maybe I had been wrong about my father leaving my mother because of the ghosts, but I’m sure it didn’t help their situation. And when their marriage started to fall apart, well, ghosts were easier to blame than not being able to adult properly.
“Dad was a drunk,” I whispered, behind my hand. “And Mom was a control freak who it just so happens could interact with ghosts.”
It worked in the short term—long enough for them to have a couple of kids, anyhow—but they couldn’t work it out in the long term. And if they couldn’t, how would I?
Being in love wasn’t enough. That was all I knew for sure. But, if it wasn’t enough, what the hell was?
Nurse Melodie flitted into the room with my evening pills. She smiled at me, and I pried my hand away from my mouth and tried to smile back. I was pretty sure it wasn’t good, but at least I tried.
She handed me the container, and I glanced inside. Five pills.
“Dr. Parkerson said she’d discussed upping your dosage with you,” Nurse Melodie said.
“Yeah,” I replied, and tossed them into my mouth. Grabbed the glass with the lukewarm water and managed to down them all in one swallow, but if Parkerson added one more I’d have to swallow them in two batches.
I never could have imagined taking so many pills I’d have to take them in batches, but here I was, on the verge.
Jesus.
“I know it seems like a lot,” Nurse Melodie said. “But it all gets easier. Really.”
I glanced at her, wondering for a second if she could read my mind. Then I realized that she knew about the pills because she’d been at this for so long. She would have seen this before. Probably many times before.
That small fact depressed the hell out of me.
In here, I was normal.
“Dr. Parkerson said I can bring you in a pen and some paper, if you’d like,” she said. “Shall I set that up for tomorrow?”
“What, doesn’t she think I’ll stab myself in the eye or something?” I said. Sarcastically, of course, but all the nurse did was smile warmly.
“She feels that it will help to give you something to get your thoughts down. To organize and what
not. Do you want them or not?”
“Yes,” I said. And then I whispered, “Thank you.”
“It’s almost time for lights out,” she said. “So, I’ll make sure Nurse Willoughby brings them in for you first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks,” I said again.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I might be able to get you a little something before you go to sleep. If you’d like?”
“No thanks,” I said, even though I was hungry, and wouldn’t have minded a snack, even if it was something as bad as the chocolate chalk in a can. I wondered why I hadn’t taken her up on her offer, and then realized it was because Jasper had told me not to eat anything made especially for me. “I’m just fine.” I tried another smile, and it felt better on my face. More real, and she responded in kind.
“Glad to hear that,” she said. “Have a good sleep.”
Then she turned on her heel and was gone. The lock snicked, the lights went out, and I was in for the night. Again.
But not alone. Never, it seemed, was I alone.
The old ghost showed up a few minutes later, like he’d been waiting for the nurse to leave.
“How you doin’?” he said. His voice sounded strange, and I wondered briefly if this was another stinking side effect from the pills. At least I could hear him, this time.
“Fine,” I whispered. I put my hand in front of my mouth to hide the fact that I was speaking.
“What?” the ghost said. “Move your hand. I need to read your lips.” He touched his ears and smiled. “Haven’t heard a damned thing, since the war.”
Oh. Oh crap. The ghost was deaf.
I dropped my hand briefly so he could see my mouth, and whispered, “I can’t. They’re videoing me.”
“Oh,” he said. “So that’s why Jasper says he wants to learn sign language.”
I noticed his hands moved as he spoke, and then I got it. This was the sign language expert Jasper had talked about. He’d come to give me my first lesson.
I sat up. My head swam and I took a deep breath before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I made certain I was on the side opposite the camera. The old ghost followed me, all the while staring intently at my face.