by Gary Glass
“We’re not, we’re not playing a game, cards.”
Miles blasted her with a big toothy smile. “I just figure any time three people are sitting at a table they must be waiting for a fourth.”
“A fourth what?”
Roger interceded: “Miles is just making a joke, Jet.”
Everyone called Jeanette Jet. Except Roger.
“So that we won’t mind him joining us. Mmm.”
Jeanette blinked at Roger. “Why would we mind?”
“People think that other people don’t like them.”
“People? People think people?”
Roger reached and put his hand on her arm on the table. “Normal people. Different people. Mmm. Nobody knows that nobody’s normal. Everyone’s worried they’ll be discovered.”
Miles was astonished, but he kept his expression friendly. Roger hardly ever talked to the other patients, let alone call them by their pet names. Or touch them! The Roger that Miles knew didn’t empathize. He was all shattered intellect.
Jeanette said, “I see.”
Roger looked back at Miles. “You don’t see.” It was an observation, not an accusation.
Miles found himself slowly shaking his head in confirmation.
“Don’t worry,” Roger said.
“OK,” Miles said.
“It’s not what is expected. But it’s not bad.”
Miles felt a chill sweep over him. “What’s not?”
Roger looked at him a long time, unblinking, like a scientist monitoring an experiment, or a predator watching its prey. Finally, he concluded, “No, you don’t see.”
“See what?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet what?”
“Hard to explain,” Roger said. “Hard to say. Mmm. Easy to understand.”
Chandra had said nothing since Miles sat down. She didn’t talk much anyway. She was a twenty-something Indian woman, a chronic psychotic who wouldn’t stay on her meds out of the hospital and was always self-destructive when she went off them. Her fine brown skin was streaked with pale self-inflicted scars.
She’d been sitting at the table all the while, eyes cast down on the scarred backs of her hands. But now, Miles noticed, she had started humming — or something like humming. It sounded like a suppressed groan or growl.
“How are you feeling, Chandra?” Miles said.
She growled a little louder, but didn’t look up.
“What’s wrong with her?” he said to Roger. It seemed natural to ask Roger.
“Wrong?” Roger said. “What’s wrong mean?”
Chandra started flexing her hands, making tight fists then opening her hands and pressing them flat on the table. Each time she balled them up, she grunted with effort.
“Chandra?” Miles said.
“Statements can be wrong,” Roger said. “People can only be what they are.”
Roger looked far away, distracted. Meanwhile, Chandra was becoming increasingly agitated.
Miles reached out and put his hand on her arm as she made a fist. It felt like a smooth branch, hard as wood. Startled, he caught his hand back.
Chandra erupted into a loud howling cry, “Ahhhhh!”
The sound of it put Miles’ teeth on edge.
The whole ward froze.
Chandra stood abruptly, throwing her chair over. Her face opened and her eyes blazed white hot.
“Oh, shit!” Miles said, getting up.
Roger and Jeanette looked up at her, impassively, interested.
She threw her arms out and yelled something incomprehensible.
The other patients in the ward started reacting now — some of them heading toward their rooms, some of them putting their heads down, some of them watching and getting upset.
Someone said, “It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault,” over and over.
Nurses and orderlies were coming toward them from two directions now, weaving through the patients.
Chandra looked down at Roger sitting beside her, her face glowing, mouth open, trying to speak, finding no words.
Roger calmly held her eyes with his.
“Roger!” Miles said, “what’s happening?”
But he didn’t answer.
The reinforcements had arrived. One of the orderlies took hold of Chandra’s left arm.
“Miles!” Mary-Lynn barked. “Get her other arm!”
“No!” Roger yelled suddenly and stood up. “Let her be!”
But now Chandra was violently trying to wrench herself free. In another second she’d dislocate her shoulder. Miles had to grab her too.
Chandra was a small woman, but she squirmed and twisted, and it was hard to carry her out without dropping her.
Jeanette sat calmly across the table from her the whole time, watching the struggle.
Chapter 4
Thursday was Karen’s busy day on campus — two lectures, a lab, and office hours. She saw Marley’s call come in on her tablet during her first lecture (Introductory Microbiology), but she didn’t return it till nearly four o’clock. Back in her office (an eight-foot cinder-block cube with a narrow pasteboard door in one side), she shut the door behind her, dropped her shoulder bag full of books, slumped into her chair, and called him on her desk phone.
His office manager put her on hold.
While she held, she put the call on speaker, threw her legs up on her desk, popped the cap off a bottle of water, and took a slug. Leaning back, she played with it in her mouth, sloshing and gurgling.
Marley’s voice burst from the phone:
“—Hanover?”
Startled, Karen blew water up her nose. “Y-yes-s-s,” she coughed.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah,” she muttered, reaching for the mute button with one hand and a Kleenex with the other.
“Sorry, I thought we’d lost you. You still there?”
She punched the mute off again. “Yes, doctor. I haven’t had a chance to return your call till now.”
Marley sounded tense. “Can you go to video, please?”
“Uh, sure.” She turned the screen of the phone around and flipped on feedback-only — using it as a mirror to inspect her face for errant snot before going to video. Face clean, she enabled two-way.
Marley’s face appeared. He smiled thinly. “I met with your husband this morning. Have you talked to him yet?”
“No. This is the first chance I’ve had to use the phone. I was planning to call him after I talked to you. Thursday’s are — Why do you ask? Is he all right?”
“So you don’t know he checked himself out of the hospital?”
“What?”
“Yes, I just found out myself.”
“Jesus. What time did this happen?”
Marley looked down at something off screen — Roger’s chart, no doubt.
Reflexively, Karen checked her onscreen clock.
“Fifteen-twenty-five,” he muttered. “Three—”
“Just half an hour ago? Where’d he go? Why didn’t someone call me?”
“The charge nurse told me she’s been trying to reach you.”
She glanced at her message counts across the bottom of the screen —
Inbox: 1 voice, 57 text (8 unread), 0 missed
“I haven’t had any calls since yours this morning,” she said. “I have all my numbers forwarded to my tablet. I haven’t missed any calls. I think she’s covering her ass.”
Marley frowned. “I don’t know,” he said with irritation. “Maybe she has the wrong number for you.”
Frustration, anger, and dread square-danced through Karen’s chest and stomach. “Well, how did he leave? Did he have any money? Did they even call him a cab for Christ's sake?”
Without even bothering to mute the call first, Marley said to someone off screen: “Did you call him a cab or what?”
There was a muffled answer.
He turned back to Karen and said: “Apparently not. I get the feeling it happened pretty fast. He
came out in his street clothes, said he was leaving, and walked out.”
“Just like that?”
“He was a voluntary commit on an open ward. Legally, we don’t have any right to restrain him without medical justification.”
“Don’t bullshit me. Acute psychotic break doesn’t count as medical justification?”
Marley’s face hardened. “Look, you wouldn’t give permission to coerce his meds, now you’re upset because we didn’t coerce him to stay on the ward.”
“Fine. Point taken. You’re off the hook.” She glanced at the time. “I better call home. Why don’t you hold on?” Without waiting for an answer, she blipped him into hold limbo, punched up a new session, and speed-dialed home.
No answer.
She flipped back to Marley. “He’s not there, of course. He couldn’t have walked home this fast anyway. I don’t even know if he had any money in his wallet for a cab.”
Marley said, “Doesn’t he have a mobile phone?”
“It’s at home!” she snapped. “You don’t allow mobiles on the ward, remember?”
“Is there anything I can do?” he said, but his voice was cold.
She started to take another bite out of him, but stopped herself. “No. I better go out and look for him. — Jesus Christ!”
“Of course,” he said, a little less coldly. “I do need to talk to you, Mrs. Hanover. Can I call you later?”
She started throwing her things into her bag and putting on her coat. “What about?”
“About my interview with your husband this morning, and what’s been going on today on the ward with respect to your husband.”
She glanced back at the screen again. “What, there’s more?”
“Yes.”
“All right. I’ll call you back.”
She rang off and rushed out of her office, throwing the door shut behind her.
NEWSREADER: Cities up and down the east coast continue to dig out from under the winter storm that blanketed the Atlantic states with up to three feet of snow this week. Transportation continues to be extremely difficult from Boston as far south as Charlotte and as far west as Pittsburgh. A state of domestic emergency remains in effect in eight states, and FEMA spokesperson Elizabeth Shermer said the agency expects it to remain in effect at least through the weekend. All unauthorized vehicles are being stopped and the drivers arrested. Most of the airports in the region are either shut down or operating only at dramatically reduced capacity. Most commuter rail systems are only able to operate on their below ground routes. Newsline reporter Peter Cashwell has more from downtown New York City….
Karen was sitting in the front seat of her Mitsubishi Electron watching the news on her tablet. A call came in. She muted the screen and tapped it up.
“Mrs. Hanover, it’s Dr. Marley.”
Karen sighed. “Oh, I was hoping it was the tow truck.”
“Tow truck?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry, are you stuck somewhere?”
She blew out an aggravated breath. “Yes, I’m bloody well stuck somewhere. I ran all the charge out of my fucking battery looking for my fucking husband. I’ve been waiting for the fucking tow truck to show up for two hours!”
There was a moment of silence before Marley responded coolly: “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, since you’re the one who let him leave, you could wander around the city all night looking for him while I go home and drink myself into a stupor.”
Marley said nothing for a while.
Karen hoped he was fighting to keep hold on his professionalism.
Finally he said, “All right. Give the number of the towing company. I’ll call and see if I can influence them to expedite your case.”
That was not what she expected. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’m trying to help you out, Mrs. Hanover. But if you’d rather sit there in your car and feel sorry for yourself, that’s fine with me.”
Karen felt her face flush. Fucking psychiatrists. “Yeah, all right. I’m sorry. Having a pretty shitty day.”
“I know. Now send me the number, please.”
Karen fiddled the icons on her phone — spun up the last dialed number and dropped it on Marley’s channel.
“Got it,” Marley said. “I’m going to put you on hold while I call them.”
Marley’s little on-hold tune came on. Same as he had in the office. The little car cabin filled with the saccharine sound of Edelweiss.
Outside, an iron span of bridge loomed against the lurid grey overcast, vaguely underlit by city light. Even under wartime energy restrictions, five million people generated enough light to cast a pallid glow into the clouds.
The street was very dark and lonely. Some extinct industrial district. She hadn’t seen another car in half an hour. She had her windows opaqued so no one could see her either. The heater wasn’t working, of course, and the temperature inside the car was dropping. She had one of those metallized space-blanket things in an emergency kit under the seat, and if the tow truck didn’t get here soon she was going to have to get it out. Through the fogged windows she saw the L train come rattling over the bridge, making a hell of a racket. She imagined the bolts shaking out of the bridge and pinging down on her car.
Would it ever be over? she thought. Maybe Roger wouldn’t come back at all this time. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he’d left the hospital so he could kill himself in peace. Maybe she could have a life again. — Horrible thoughts. Horrible thoughts. — Poor Roger!
It was some time before Marley finally came back on line. “Mrs. Hanover? You still there? I’m sorry to report that my professional pressure made little difference in this case.” He was breathing heavily while he talked, like he was walking somewhere. “Seems there’s been some kind of massive crack up on the west side, and the police have commandeered all available tow trucks to get the roads cleared so the ambulances can get in.”
“Well, that’s lovely. I’ll be sitting here all night.”
“No, I’m coming to get you. I’m just getting in my car now. Where are you?”
“No, you don’t need to do that, Dr. Marley.”
“That’s true, I don’t. I guess I hadn’t considered the possibility that you might actually prefer to sit in your car all night.”
“I’ll just call a cab.”
“Energy rations. No cabs after nine.”
“Fuck. Well it can’t be that far to the el.”
“Look, I need to talk to you anyway. Just let me help you, all right?”
Karen started to cry, and hated herself for it. She struggled to keep her voice even so Marley wouldn’t know. “I don’t know where I am. I’ve just been driving around at random for hours.”
“Just send me your coords.”
She picked up her tablet and fiddled with the screen icons, found her GPS coordinates and dropped them into Marley’s channel.
“Got it,” Marley said. “It’ll take me a little while to get there. Sit tight.”
Marley called her back an hour later. “I’m almost there now. What does your car look like?”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’m the only car anywhere near these coordinates.”
A minute later she saw in her foggy mirror a blob of light rolling up behind her. The thump of a door, and a shadowy figure walked up to her door and knocked on the glass. She threw off the silver blanket, popped the door, and rolled out.
“Sorry it took me so long,” Marley said. “It’s hard to find your way around when it’s so dark. — No word, I guess?”
“No. I’ve been calling home every five minutes or so. Nothing.” Karen threw her bag into the backseat of Marley’s car.
Marley clicked a couple of buttons on his console computer. “Where do you live?”
A heads-up display appeared on the windshield in front of him — a local street map traced in colored lines. A pointer showed their current position.
She looked at the insignia on the steering wheel
— Mercedes. “Nice car.”
He smiled. “At least it’s warm. You looked like you were getting pretty chilly.”
“I was all right. I had a blanket. — My apartment is not far from the campus. Seven-oh-three Hamlin.”
“Oh, I know where that is,” he said. “That’s not far from my wife’s coffee shop. Do you know it? Coffee Alley?”
“Ally is your wife?”
“I believe this is the point where one of us is supposed to say small world.”
“Well, you just did.”
He turned into a bigger street and kicked the car up to speed. “So you know Ally?”
“I’ve met her. I go there all the time for breakfast. Latte and croissant. But I don’t really know her. She’s very nice. Good coffee.”
“I’ll tell her we met. Maybe she’ll give you a free latte next time you’re in. My influence and a Lincoln will get you a cup of coffee in this town.”
“It’s only four fifty.”
“But now you’ll have to pay the friend-of-husband surcharge. That’s another ten percent.”
“Four ninety-five.”
“Plus tax.”
Marley followed his windshield map back to the main road, then clicked it off and headed north.
He told her he was very sorry about the situation with her husband, but that Roger had given the staff no options. Absent explicit terms of commitment or compelling medical justification, they had no legal authority to physically restrain him, and that appeared to be the only way they could have kept him in the hospital.
“Well, that’s just it, doctor. Considering the shape he was in when he was admitted, don’t you think you had compelling medical justification to hold him?”
“Two weeks ago, we would have had, yes. But your husband’s condition has been improving since then, and in the past twenty-four, thirty-six hours his condition has changed dramatically. That’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about today.”
“What’s happened?”
“I talked with Roger first thing this morning. I’ve been his doctor now for ten years, and I’ve seen his condition in many phases, in and out of psychotic episodes. But he’s never shown any significant progress overall. Even during his most high-functioning periods, he has been very obviously ill. It’s only because of you that he is able to live anything like a normal life outside an institutional setting. You’ve done a wonderful job with him, Mrs. Hanover.”