Angels Weep

by C. J. Lyons

  Jenna gave a little shake of her head, strands of her hair escaping her ponytail to glint copper in the sunlight. Andre had taught her many things, but it was Morgan who’d taught her to trust her gut. “No. Nothing.”

  Andre read her skepticism effortlessly. He brushed her errant curls back. “I know you don’t like Dr. Lazarus. But he’s the best. Look at how far Morgan has come, and so fast. The other doctors all said it was hopeless, that we should give up, she was a lost cause.”

  The same doctors who’d gotten Children and Youth involved when they’d insisted on a DNR and Jenna and Andre had refused to sign one. They’d also threatened Galloway and Stone with charges of child endangerment until Jenna produced Morgan’s job application, complete with her fake ID saying she was twenty-two. It had saved the business, but condemned Morgan to languish as a ward of the state.

  Funny how before then no one seemed to care who had official custody of Morgan, as long as the bills were being paid and Jenna and Andre went along with everything the surgeons wanted.

  “I’m still going to do a background check on everyone there,” she insisted. “Including your precious Dr. Lazarus.”

  He chuckled. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “But first, how about joining me in the shower? I know how much you love to conserve water.”

  She let him take her hand, pull her out of the chair, and lead her to the bedroom. Still, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder at the laptop. Trust no one, assume nothing, Morgan always said.

  Usually it was Morgan whom Jenna didn’t trust. But not this time. This time, despite everything Andre had said, she had the feeling that as damaged as Morgan’s brain might be, there was nothing wrong with Morgan’s gut instincts.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kristyn reappeared, carrying Morgan’s belongings. Behind her was an older woman wearing a white coat. Morgan didn’t recognize the woman, but had the strange feeling she should.

  At the sight of the older woman, a forty-something brunette with the elegant posture of a ballet dancer, Tia stepped forward. “Dr. Paterson. We were just going over our school lessons.”

  Morgan stared at her. Why would she say something like that? It was so obviously false, as was Tia’s sudden eager-to-please attitude. Was Tia trying to get caught telling a lie? Maybe to get attention?

  “I hope not,” Kristyn said with a laugh, as she unpacked Morgan’s things. Morgan was torn between watching her—she did not like people touching her things, she realized, one more piece of the puzzle of who she was snapping into place—and the others. They hung back, waiting for Tia. “I asked you to make Morgan at home.” She said the last not as a rebuke but rather as a gentle reminder.

  Tia mirrored Kristyn’s smile. “Of course. That was exactly what we were doing.”

  Behind them, the woman in the white coat muttered something beneath her breath. Morgan was the only one close enough to hear it, she was certain. It was a single word. “Fascinating.”

  What the hell was so fascinating about watching a bunch of brain-damaged kids trying to please their… Morgan searched for the right word. The best she could come up with was “captors,” although she knew that wasn’t right. Still, it felt right—in a gut-twisting, sick way.

  Suddenly she longed to be back in her old ward, where the kids were blissfully unaware of the reality that kept them caged. She forced her face into a mask, uncertain of what games were being played here, and vowed to do whatever it took to escape.

  Little Justin lowered his hands and looked up to face the woman in the white coat who towered over him. “Is it true?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Honey died?”

  Kristyn shut the nightstand drawer and rushed to him. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, hugging him tight. Over her shoulder, his gaze remained riveted on the woman in white.

  “She died last night,” Dr. Paterson said, her tone neutral, her gaze sharp as she watched for reactions from the children.

  “She was my age,” Justin said. He sniffed hard, but that didn’t stop his tears. “Am I going to die, too? Is the bogeyman going to come get me?”

  For some weird reason, his question brought a smile to Dr. Paterson—it was there and gone again so fast Morgan wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “No, sweetie,” Kristyn reassured the little boy. “There’s no bogeyman. No one’s coming for you. Honey was really, really sick. It was her time, is all.”

  “When will it be our time?” Nelson asked. Theo stood behind him, nodding, obviously wondering the same.

  Kristyn looked over her shoulder to the doctor but found no help from that quarter. She sat on the floor, pulling Justin into her lap, her gaze including all of the children except Morgan, who was behind her.

  “You are all getting better,” she said in a reassuring tone. “If you keep working as hard as you are, it won’t be long before you’re ready to leave, to go home to your families.” Her brow creased the slightest bit. Morgan wondered if the other children realized she was lying.

  Lying about which part? Morgan thought, irritated because she knew she should know. Maybe the others weren’t getting better? Or maybe they weren’t going to be able to leave? No. That made no sense. No one could keep them here if they were healed and ready to go home. Unless… maybe their families didn’t want them anymore? After all, they were damaged, might never be normal again.

  Her brain careened down all sorts of twisted paths, thinking about that. Morgan had never had a normal family, but she’d learned enough from watching Nick and Andre and Micah to know normal families didn’t discard their children, no matter how damaged. Maybe these children came from families like Morgan’s? Families that were entirely abnormal?

  Doctor Paterson turned to Morgan, her gaze more piercing than an exam light. Morgan blinked, glad for her sunglasses. “What about you, Morgan? How do you feel about Honey’s death?”

  Instead of fumbling for words, swallowing her tongue until she sorted out the right ones, some long-lost instinct in Morgan took over and answered immediately. “Honey who? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

  Paterson arched an eyebrow in surprise—but no one was more surprised than Morgan. How had she done that? Not just words that made sense, but she’d formed them so effortlessly—even better than when she’d tried singing, something her speech therapist said might be easier than talking, except Morgan was so bad at it, she’d rather remain silent than embarrass herself.

  A thrill of pride flushed her. She’d just lied. And she was damn good at it. It felt so natural, so right…so useful. Much more than her tongue-tied truth telling. She smiled at the doctor. Another first—a smile that felt normal, relaxed, not artificially arranged. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  The others all stared at Morgan. She didn’t care. Inside, she was laughing.

  Until she glanced at Paterson once again. The doctor’s smile was a mirror of Morgan’s worst memories. The same smile her father had when she’d done something particularly clever: a mix of pride and resentment. Pride that the student had surpassed the teacher, resentment at being shown up.

  Bad things happened after that smile.

  She blinked and Paterson’s smile had vanished, replaced by an emotionless mask. Morgan wondered if it had ever been there at all. Ever since she’d woken, memories of her past life overshadowed reality, sticky spider webs she had to cut through in order to get to the truth.

  Rubbing her palms over her arms, trying to ward off a sudden chill, she realized that the memories weren’t merely trying to show her the truth of who she was; they were trying to tell her what she was. What she could never undo, not even with dying.

  Because the blood that soaked her memories? She was the one who’d shed it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After declaring a “therapeutic holiday,” canceling morning sessions to allow Morgan time to get to know her new ward mates, Kristyn and Dr. Paterson left the children alone.
/>   Morgan turned to Tia. “Why were you acting that way?”

  The words emerged with the tiniest bit of spittle but otherwise were clear, as if the more she relaxed and didn’t rehearse what she wanted to say, the easier the words came.

  Tia scrunched her face, puzzled. Before she could answer, Nelson spoke up. “When she stops talking for too long, she forgets, so she fills in the blanks with the first thing that comes to mind,” he explained. “It’s her curse.”

  “Curse?”

  “Dr. Lazarus says it’s the price of miracles. We all lost something when we came back from being dead.”

  Tia nodded, her gaze clear once more. “I lost my hair.”

  She patted her head, not even noticing that her shaved scalp had nothing to do with what Nelson was trying to explain. Filling in the blanks, like he’d said.

  “Nelson lost his arm and leg.” Tia twirled to the younger boy and rapped on his left wrist brace with her knuckles. “All gone, don’t work.” The words were practically sung.

  “Theo lost his words. Well, most of them. Maria lost her mind.” She danced around the little girl still struggling to eat. “And Justin, poor little Justin.” She stopped and sighed dramatically. Justin, only five and who barely came up to Tia’s waist, ran to throw his arms around her. She patted him on the head as if he were a lost puppy. “Justin lost his dad.”

  After a long pause—another seizure, Morgan realized—she waved bye-bye and whirled, danced with Justin over to the video console as if she’d forgotten why she’d been talking to Morgan in the first place.

  Nelson shook his head at her and hobbled over to Morgan’s chair. Despite his cane and a plastic brace, his left foot dragged behind him, and his arm hung limp at his side. He steered too close to one of the beds and banged into it as if he didn’t even know his bad arm and leg were there.

  “She’s exaggerating.” Morgan envied him his vocabulary. Words she knew once he said them but would never have remembered on her own. “Maria didn’t lose her mind, she’s making progress every day. We’re not sure how much she understands because she doesn’t talk yet.”

  “And Justin’s dad?”

  Nelson lowered his voice. Behind him, Tia, Theo, and Justin gathered at the video game console. “Justin’s dad caused the car crash that got him here. His parents are divorced, and his dad took him when he wasn’t supposed to and the police chased after him. So now he’s not allowed to see Justin anymore. From the way Justin’s mom talks, he might get locked up and never see Justin again.”

  Morgan nodded her understanding. Wayward fathers—she was an expert.

  “What did you lose?” Nelson asked her. “What was the price of your miracle?”

  Her chin jerked up and her hands tightened into fists as she glared at him. It was all a show of bravado, of course. Reflexes left behind by a girl who no longer existed. The girl who had died too many times to return.

  His gaze was gentle. As the silence lengthened, time twisted and stretched until she had no idea how long she’d been contemplating her answer. What had she lost?

  She didn’t want to answer; it was showing weakness, would make her vulnerable. She’d just met this kid. How could she trust him? How could she trust anyone—including herself? Which was the real heart of the matter. When she was still with her dad, all she’d had to do was trust him, follow him without question. Then she grew strong enough to escape, and she’d taught herself everything she needed to survive. There’d been no one to trust except herself, and she liked it that way.

  But now…

  Behind the safety of her sunglasses, her eyes watered from staring too long and too hard without blinking. Nelson hadn’t moved; the cheerful sounds of the video game—some kind of maze exploration that taught spelling and math—still filled the room; the sun was at the same angle; nothing had changed. Yet to Morgan, it felt as if a century had passed, a millennium, a universe come and gone, winking in and out of existence as she pondered Nelson’s innocent question.

  What had she lost?

  “Myself.” She hadn’t meant to say the word out loud, but there it was, polluting every molecule of the air she breathed. Exposed to the world.

  Nelson simply nodded. “Yeah, that’s how everyone feels at first. Don’t worry, it will get better.”

  “How?” She hated herself for being so weak that she had to ask.

  He shrugged—only his right shoulder. When he wanted to look to his left, he turned his entire head instead of just his eyes, as if there were an invisible line he couldn’t see past. Like he was half a boy, dragging the remnants of the boy who’d died and hadn’t come back to life along with him.

  “Time,” he answered.

  Tia left the others to join them again. Morgan envied Tia her energy, wishing she had half as much. She hadn’t moved from the recliner yet still felt ready for another nap.

  “What are we going to do?” Tia asked in her machine gun fire way. “Justin is terrified, and Maria peed her pants. They’re scared the bogeyman is back. They think he killed Honey. We need to do something.”

  “I have friends who might help.” Morgan blurted the words before thinking them through. It felt dangerous, reckless, but it was definitely better than swallowing half of them and spitting out the rest in an incoherent mess.

  They both stared at her. “Grownups?” Tia scoffed. Morgan nodded. “Forget it. We tried. They didn’t believe us. Not even Kristyn. Said it was our imagination, and we were creating a shared—” She faltered, searching for a word.

  “Delusion,” Nelson supplied.

  “Right. Like we’re all nutcases or something. Imagining a whistling bogeyman wandering the halls at night, coming in to creep around our beds. Gave us all extra drugs for a week.”

  “Kristyn did say she asked Dr. Paterson to review the security tapes and there was no one there,” Nelson added.

  “Grownups. They’re worthless.” She said it with such conviction that Morgan wondered if maybe Tia were talking about something more than the clinic staff.

  She glanced around the room, taking in more detail. Maria had been here the shortest amount of time, judging by the number of pictures and get-well tokens surrounding her bed. Two of the beds had a more teenage boy vibe. One surrounded with football and basketball images—Theo’s, no doubt—and the other with anime and video game posters. Had to be Nelson’s. Justin’s, the youngest of them, was the easiest to spot—his bed space was cluttered with teddy bears, trucks, and cars.

  And then there was Tia’s space. From what she’d said and the way she acted, Morgan suspected she’d been here the longest. Or if not at Angels, somewhere… What had she said? A virus and then surgery to remove half her brain and now seizures and rehab. That had to have taken a long time. Yet her bed space was practically barren, except for a get well poster filled with notes and signatures from a school class, too faded and yellowed by the sunlight for Morgan to decipher.

  She knew she should feel bad for the girl, but also knew Tia would hate that—just like Morgan would if their positions were reversed. So she focused on the upside. “Tia, you know this—place.” She’d meant to say “hospital,” but the word eluded her at the last moment. “How can we see—” She faltered, her thoughts moving too fast, muddying before she could find her words. Craning her neck, she pointed at the ceiling, at the black domes that sat over each of their bed spaces. She still couldn’t find the word for them, but she knew them, eyes in the sky, watchers…

  Tia and Nelson followed her gaze. “Cameras.” Tia clapped as if they were playing a game. “Right. We just need to watch the security videos from last night and see what happened to Honey. It’s all on computer.” She froze for a few seconds. Nelson and Morgan waited. “The office behind the front desk. Where the guards are. There’s a bunch of TVs and computers in there. Let’s go.”

  “They won’t let us see them,” Nelson told her. “It’s all private. Locked up.”

  Computers. Morgan had a flash of memory—she us
ed to be really good with computers. It didn’t help. It reminded her of how much she’d lost. Now she couldn’t even read without pictures to guide her understanding of garbled letters.

  “Anyway,” Nelson continued, “these cameras are for our safety, not security. My parents asked Kristyn, and she said they’re to make sure we don’t fall out of bed or wander off. Like the way the nurses track us with these.” He raised his right arm with its patient ID bracelet. “She said they don’t keep recordings of the bed cameras. They just watch from the nurses’ station.”

  Could the nurses have watched what happened to Honey? Seen the man and done nothing? Maybe the man was a nurse? There were several on both the day and night shifts. Morgan frowned, wishing she could remember more of what had happened last night. But the extra sedatives had fogged her memory—as if her brain were like the safety cameras, unable to record anything useful.

  What if he’d planned it that way? What if he’d drugged her and the other kids so they wouldn’t see or remember anything? He’d have to be a doctor or nurse to do that…which meant he could do it again. To any of them.

  “Notes?” she asked, hoping they’d understand her meaning. The conversation was draining. She felt as if her words were slipping away again.

  “Everything’s on the computer,” Nelson answered. “Those tablets the nurses and therapists carry? They enter everything electronically.”

  Morgan nodded, even though she had no idea what he was saying—she knew she should, but nothing was anchored in her reality, and his words flew past her before she could grasp them.

  “But,” he brightened, “I heard Dr. Paterson say there’d be a conference this morning to discuss Honey’s case. She called it M and M.”

  “Candy?” Honey was like candy but Morgan knew that wasn’t the right answer.

  “No. It’s when they talk about when things go wrong. It’s why they canceled therapy this morning,” Tia said. “So they can all go talk about how Honey died.” She perked up. “And guess what? We’re going to be there.”