Unlocked

by Barnes, Rebecca

  “I guess.” Clara answered, sniffing. Since she was restrained and therefore unable to wipe her tears away by hand, they tickled her cheeks as they trickled down them and dried in salty tracks. Dr. Lindenhurtz sat.

  “Clara, I understand you must be confused in addition to being scared. Take a few deep breaths, and try to calm down, try to center yourself. I’m going to explain everything. I’m going to help you find your way back.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. Lydia instantly realized what she’d said.

  “Clara, you are confused right now, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “It’s my job to help you sort out the confusion. Do you think you can let me help you do that?”

  “Umm…yeah. I mean…I guess…” Clara offered, still sounding unsure. She still didn’t understand how all this was happening, or why for that matter. Fortunately, Dr. Lindenhurtz’s presence was calming and reassuring in this time of chaos and disorientation. Sure, she was a stranger, but Clara needed something, anything, to hold onto during this storm, and Lydia was the only semblance of a life preserver she had at this point. Clara decided she’d better hold on for dear life.

  “Let’s start by finding out what you know about what is happening. Is that okay?” Lydia was fumbling through her bag as she asked this. Clara watched as she drew out a small recording device in addition to a legal pad and a pen. “Clara, do you mind if I record this? It may help in the future.”

  “Um, sure. If you want.” The recorder made Clara feel awkward. Lydia noticed Clara’s uneasy body language as she stared at the device.

  “You know what, Clara? We don’t need to record today. I’ll put it away for now. Do you mind if I take notes?” Lydia asked, hopefully.

  “No, go ahead, Dr….” Clara’s concentration wasn’t quite up to par yet. She knew the woman had introduced herself, but for the life of her, Clara couldn’t remember what she had said her name was.

  “Lindenhurtz. Dr. Lindenhurtz. If it’s easier, feel free to call me Dr. L.” Lydia smiled. “So, do you mind to tell me what you know about your situation?”

  The tears which had subsided flowed freely again, but they were silent and Clara was able to speak through them. “I don’t know where I am or why I am here. I don’t know where my parents are,” Clara whispered.

  “Clara, I’m sorry. We’ll get there, but first, focus on what you do know, not what you don’t know. Tell me facts and we’ll sort the rest out together.”

  “I know that I woke up yesterday, or maybe the day before, really I don’t know when for sure—“

  “Remember focus on what you do know, Clara.”

  “Okay. I know I woke up in my own house, I walked downstairs into the kitchen, and I talked to my mom. But, when I looked up, it wasn’t my mom at all. It was some stranger, pretending to be my mom.”

  “That must have been a terrifying experience for you. What else, Clara?”

  “I know that when I woke up, I was in my room, but when I opened my eyes, strangers were standing there. This time it was the woman from the kitchen and a man. I think…I think they drugged me. And when I woke up again, I was here…with these.” Clara raised both of her arms up until her restraints stopped them short. Clara’s tears erupted into anger. “What am I doing here!? Where are my mom and dad!” She wailed.

  “Clara, I’m going to help you get to the bottom of all of this. I promise. First of all, I will tell you where you are, so that we can get that out of the way. As you have already probably figured out, you are in a hospital. You have been brought in to the Breemont Facility. You are in the psychiatric wing here, and I have been assigned to your case.”

  “My case? What do you mean my case? What case?” Clara angrily sobbed at her new doctor. The answers she was receiving only created more questions.

  “It seems that undue stress has caused you to suffer a psychotic break, Clara. Your mind has separated itself from reality. I’m here to help you get your life back in order.”

  “A psychotic break?”

  “Yes. Patients suffering from a psychotic break have an impaired relationship with reality; that is, they are unable to distinguish personal subjective experience from the reality of the external world. They experience hallucinations and/or delusions that they believe are real, and may behave and communicate in an inappropriate and incoherent fashion,” Lydia regurgitated what she had read time and time again. She had studied this type of disorder endlessly after failing with a previous patient with the same problems Clara is having now. In fact, she couldn’t believe it when Breemont administrators put her on this case just a year after her utter failure with Stanley.

  “We assume this has been caused by all the moving you have done in the last fourteen years. You have been constantly uprooted throughout your life, and this is sometimes a contributing factor to this type of episode; however, while you are here at Breemont, we plan to do all the proper medical testing to rule out other precipitating factors, both biological and otherwise.”

  Clara fought back terror. She knew there was no way to physically escape the situation she was in, and tried to convince herself that things like this don’t happen for no good reason. It’s not like to movies where someone gets mistakenly locked up. That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life, in her life. She took a few more deep breaths, the ones Dr. Lindenhurtz had instructed her to take earlier. They seemed to help then, so she hoped maybe they would help now too. They did. Clara forced herself to stay calm, or at least calm-ish.

  “A psychotic break?” Clara asked.

  “Yes, Clara. It seems after your most recent move, you exhibited uncharacteristic behaviors. Your parents stated that you became increasingly confused, and finally stopped recognizing them altogether. That’s what brought you here.” Dr. Lindenhurtz explained carefully. She remained professional, but tenderness seeped through her voice.

  Dr. Lindenhurtz could see the wheels turning in Clara’s mind as she remembered bits and pieces of the last few days of her life. She had gone to bed after babysitting with one set of parents and woken up the next morning with a completely new set of parents. The psychiatrist tried to wrap her head around what that must be like for her new patient. “Clara, I know this is hard. It’s my job to help you through the hard stuff, okay?”

  Clara was silent for a long time. “Okay,” she answered reluctantly.

  “I don't think you need those anymore,” Lydia stated as she rose from her chair and motioned to the restraints on Clara’s wrists, “would you like me to remove them?”

  “Yes, please.” Clara responded urgently, holding her arms out as far as she was able.

  Lydia approached with caution and purpose. She locked eyes with her patient and smiled, hoping to form a bond. “May I?” She asked as she reached for Clara’s right arm.

  “Yes.” Clara replied, eager to be free, to wipe away the salt trails, to scratch above her left eyebrow where an itch had grown unbearable.

  Lydia carefully untied the restraint and moved to the other side of the hospital bed before freeing the left arm. When both arms had been liberated, Clara first scratched the itch on her forehead with long-awaited satisfaction and then proceeded to rub her wrists. The restraints hadn’t been all that tight, but they had been uncomfortable and, well, restraining. It felt good to be free from them. Clara sighed a small sigh of relief, celebrating a small victory in the midst of confusion and loss.

  Dr. Lindenhurtz returned to her chair and waited. She allowed time to pass. She waited for her patient to speak or move. Finally, Clara broke the silence: “How long have I been here?” she asked, scared to hear Dr. Lindenhurtz’s response. She thought she knew the answer already, but in her current state of confusion, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find that she was wrong.

  “Your parents first noticed an official break with reality on Friday night after you came home from babysitting. They said you acted strangely before bed, but they thought that maybe you were just tired. When you came down for b
reakfast Saturday morning, your mother said you didn’t recognize her at all, that you screamed and fainted when you saw her. She and your father took you up to your room to rest. You slept all day and all through the night, but they said you clearly weren’t any better by Sunday morning. They had sat by your bedside the entire time, and when you woke, you still didn’t recognize them. They didn’t know what else to do, so they brought you here, to Breemont. You arrived in the early morning hours on Monday. You’ve been sedated and resting since then. Today is Tuesday.”

  “So I’ve lost three whole days of my life? The last normal thing I remember is babysitting Friday night.”

  “I suppose so.” Dr. Lindenhurtz answered.

  “And my parents? Where are they?”

  “They are in the facility. Waiting. Would you like to see them?” Lydia asked.

  “Depends. Which parents are they?”

  “There’s really no way to tell which parents you will perceive until you are face to face with them. Would you like me to page them?” Lydia asked.

  “No. No, not yet. I want my parents, but I’m scared it won’t actually be my parents when they walk through that door. I can’t handle that right now.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, Clara.” Dr. Lindenhurtz reassured.

  “Clara, I’d like to show you something if that’s alright.”

  Clara looked at the psychiatrist studying her, “Alright, what?”

  I have a photograph your parents gave me. It’s of the two of them with you. Instead of seeing your parents face to face, would you like to test the waters with this photograph?”

  “Let me see it,” Clara held out her hand, dreading what the doctor might lay in it.

  “Be prepared, Clara. Expect the best and prepare for the worst, that’s what my father always told me, and it’s saved me some turmoil a time or two.” Lydia placed the photograph in Clara’s hand and stepped back, waiting for her to look. Lydia would be able to tell by Clara’s reaction which direction this treatment would need to take.

  Clara held the photograph in her hand for the longest time, but never laid eyes upon it. She just held it.

  “Clara, look at the photo. What do you see? Who do you see?” Lydia urged.

  Clara, still not looking, crumpled the photo up and threw it at Lydia, narrowly missing her. “I don’t need a picture to tell me who my parents are. I know my parents. Whatever is on that paper? Whatever is in that photograph…is a lie!

  Clara and Lydia sat in silence for over an hour before Lydia deemed it time to go. In that time span, an orderly came by with lunch and meds. He waited for Clara to swallow her pills, but she hadn’t touched her food.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow unless you ask for me sooner. Try to get some rest this evening, Clara,” Lydia said as she tucked away her yellow legal pad and rose to go. “It was nice meeting you,” an obviously sincere sentiment.

  Clara didn’t respond. She was too spent from a morning of trying to remember and trying to forget all at the same time. She missed her parents and was full of worry and doubt about what the future may hold. Dr. Lindenhurtz slung her bag over her right shoulder and tossed a friendly smile in Clara’s direction before buzzing herself out. Clara was now realizing that she was locked in this room. She couldn’t even roam the halls if she wanted. Clara tried to force a smile back in Dr. Lindenhurtz’s direction, feeling embarrassed by her earlier outburst, but the smile turned out to resemble more of a painful wince. The door opened and Lydia was gone. Clara was alone. The room was quiet save for the hum of the overhead lights and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Clara listened. Clara wept.

  When she was all cried out, she sat up in her bed. Clara was finally getting her faculties about her. Whatever drugs they had originally given her must be wearing off, though she still felt fuzzy, probably from whatever pills they had given her at lunch. Speaking of lunch, Clara realized she was starving. She guessed being heavily drugged and carted off to an insane asylum really took it out of a girl. A painful chuckle escaped at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation she was in as Clara swung her feet out of bed. She steadied herself and pulled the tray with food on it nearer to her bed so that she could see what kind of cold mush they had left for her. A cold turkey sandwich, green beans, and a cup of what was probably very melted ice cream. She felt the bread: stale from sitting out for so long. She expected to be disgusted, but as she chewed the bland turkey topped with processed American cheese and stale bread, she was comforted. It reminded her of the last school she had attended. On sandwich day the lunch ladies would begin laying out bread and constructing the sandwiches as soon as they had cleaned up the breakfast mess, so by the time lunch rolled around, the bread had a hard crust where it had been exposed to the air. Who knew hospital food could make her feel so...at home?

  She choked down a few more bites, skipped the mushy, cold green beans, and removed her straw from the unsweetened iced tea on her tray. The condensation from the plastic cup ran down and pooled at its base creating a wet ring on the tray’s paper liner. Clara pulled back the cardboard tab that sealed the ice cream cup, placed the straw inside, and sucked down a room temperature milkshake. Gotta make the best of what you’ve got. That was Clara’s philosophy. Her mother’s philosophy, actually, but whatever.

  She set about exploring her room. She was dressed in a hospital gown, and when she slid out of bed and her feet hit the cold tiled floor, she longed for her warm, fuzzy slippers, but of course, they were nowhere to be found. She checked the locker in her room. Inside, she found a pair of pajama pants, a plain t-shirt, and a pair of skid-resistant socks. Anything was better than the gown she was wearing, so she quickly dressed. Her mouth was dry and she could tell her breath reeked. It has to be pretty awful if I can smell my own bad breath, she thought. At the sink in the middle of the wall opposite her bed, she found an unopened toothbrush, new travel sized tube of off-brand toothpaste, and a Dixie cup. After untangling her long hair with a comb she found on the counter, she tied her hair back in a ponytail and then opened the hygiene products and began brushing her teeth. She studied herself in the mirror. Her face was warbly like in a fun house or mirror maze. The mirror was probably made of plastic so that the occupant of the room couldn’t break it and use it as a weapon against someone…or against him or herself. She noticed dark circles under her eyes, and her whole face seemed puffy. Probably from all the crying, she figured.

  After brushing her teeth, she felt minutely refreshed. She traveled the length of the room, counting steps. She was reminded vaguely of a Poe story she had read in English class last year. A man falsely accused of heresy is sentenced to a punishment more horrible than death. He wakes up in an unknown chamber and can’t see anything, so he tries to walk the perimeter to get a feel for his surroundings. This is what Clara was doing now. She counted roughly fifteen heel-to-toe steps wide and eighteen or so heel-to-toe steps long. She did notice on step twelve that she had her own bathroom along the wall with the sink. This was a huge plus. She had always wanted an en suite, but she had never really planned for it to happen like this. When she had traversed to the door that led to the hall, she reached for the knob, only to find that there wasn’t one. She knew from the sound of Dr. Lindenhurtz entering and exiting her room that the door was locked, but the fact that the door didn’t even have a handle on the inside made reality all the more clear to Clara. She was not getting out of here unless someone let her out. There was no window on the door, so she wasn't even able to assess the situation outside of her room.

  Defeated, she crossed to the window on the opposite wall. She tapped on it and noted that it was too thick to break, safety glass maybe. She peered out, though there wasn’t much to see—some buildings, a freeway, and the backs of a couple of billboards. She watched the cars pass by below, longing to be in one of them going anywhere. Anywhere but here.

  Ultimately, she approached the chair Dr. Lindenhurtz had sat in during their time together this morning. She sat in the chair and d
rew her feet up underneath her. She wondered what it was like from Dr. Lindenhurtz’s point of view earlier today. Just how crazy had Clara looked to her? She leaned to the side and rested her temple on her right hand, staring blankly at the floor when something caught her attention. She reached down and picked it up. It was the photograph Dr. Lindenhurtz had brought in. Clara hoped beyond hope as she delicately opened the wadded up paper. Once uncrumpled, she placed it face down on her pajama pants and smoothed the picture as best she could. She closed her eyes, turned the photograph over, and took a deep breath. When she finally opened her eyes, all hope instantly vanished.

  Chapter Four—Clara’s Parents

  Back in the consult room while Clara was elsewhere picking at her turkey sandwich, Dr. Lindenhurtz met with Clara’s parents. Melanie and Mark were leaning into one another, hands clasped. They were still wearing the same clothes they had been in on Monday morning when they had arrived with their daughter. Melanie had been crying, but Mark was stoic. When Lydia entered, they both sat forward, wide-eyed in anticipation. Dr. Lindenhurtz could see that the couple was torn about bringing their daughter in and signing her over into Breemont’s custody, even if it was only temporarily.

  The parents, too tired to speak, waited for the doctor to begin. “Mr. and Mrs. Marcel, I know this must be excruciatingly difficult for you, but I assure you, your daughter is in excellent hands. I’d like to get a history from you if you feel up to it, and then we can discuss Clara’s mental status and tentative treatment plan. Are you able to answer a few questions about your daughter for me?”

  “Sure,” Mark answered, weary but eager. Melanie nodded an affirmation.

  “Alright, then. Here’s what Clara remembers. Perhaps you can fill in the blanks for us. She babysat on Friday evening, returned home and went to sleep, came downstairs the next morning, and didn’t recognize Melanie. Did either of you notice any strange behaviors leading up to Saturday morning’s break?” Lydia had once again dug out her legal pad, so that she could write down any pertinent information.