Unlocked

by Barnes, Rebecca

  Mark spoke up first, “No, not really. I dropped her off at the Coolsons’ that evening, and she seemed fine. Completely normal. We talked about how she needed to start saving her babysitting cash for a car because her mother and I would not be buying her one when she turned sixteen. She groaned a little, but what fourteen-year-old wouldn’t?”

  “Actually, Mark, remember that morning? She called down to us from upstairs. She said something about how she had forgotten where she had put her algebra book and that she’d be down in a minute.”

  “Oh, yeah…but all kids lose things. It’s not uncommon that she would misplace her—”

  “She’s not taking algebra this year. She’s in geometry. And two days before that, she called you Mark.”

  “Teenagers. Hormones. She was probably being angsty.”

  “But it’s unlike her. Any information could help, right doctor?” Melanie looked at Dr. Lindenhurtz, hopeful that this detail, any detail, would be the key to bringing their daughter back.

  “Of course, Melanie. Thank you for your input. That’s helpful.” Lydia scrawled across her pad.

  “She had developed a little attitude lately, Mel. It used to not be like her, but she’s a teenager. We knew this would happen eventually. The attitude, I mean.”

  Dr. Lindenhurtz sensed the parents were overwhelmed and on the brink of lashing out at one another, so she interjected. “Okay, so she was fine when you dropped her off. Who picked her up?”

  “Actually, she walked home. It’s only a few blocks away, and Mel and I were out to dinner.”

  “And what time did you arrive home?” Lydia asked.

  “Umm...around 10:30 I think?” Mark looked to Melanie for approval. She gave it.

  “And what happened then?”

  “Melanie went up to Clara’s room to check on her and make sure she made it home safely. But when she opened Clara’s door, her room was empty. She called down to me, so I checked the downstairs while she searched the upstairs. When neither of us could find her, I called the Coolson residence.” Mark paused and rubbed his eyes. He took a deep breath and continued, “Jonathon, the kid’s dad, confirmed that Clara had left their home no later than 9:45 p.m., so she should have been home. Melanie continued to call Clara’s phone, which was going straight to voicemail, while I set out to trace Clara’s steps to the Coolsons’.” Mark paused again and glanced over at his wife who buried her head in her hands and wept. “I wasn’t two steps out the door when I saw her. She was on the sidewalk directly in front of our house. She hadn’t been there five minutes before when we had pulled into the driveway. I called to her and told her to get her butt inside, but she didn’t budge. She was just standing there staring at the house. I went out to her so I could see what she was doing. She had a blank look on her face. I shook her, gently, and said ‘Clara, what’s wrong? What are you doing? Come back inside.’ and she looked at me and started screaming. I picked her up and carried her over my shoulder. I didn’t know what else to do. She was beating my back with her fists and kicking wildly. If we’d had close enough neighbors, I would have worried that they were going to call the police. The whole scene was bizarre. She started yelling about how something bad was going to happen, she couldn’t go back inside because something bad was going to happen in the house. Have you ever seen someone cry herself to sleep?” Mark asked. “My daughter? My daughter screamed herself to sleep that night.”

  Lydia continued to scrawl. “Thank you. Now, by Clara’s account, she woke Saturday morning not remembering any of what you just related to me. She claims that she awoke normally and went downstairs to find strangers in her kitchen.”

  “Well, in the middle of the night, Clara woke up on the couch. Melanie and I waited up, watching her for as long as we could but eventually, I guess we had dozed off on the loveseat with the television on. Clara woke us up and told us goodnight before making her way upstairs to her room. She acted as if nothing had happened. After she was sleeping again, Mel and I decided to act normally the next morning, until we could get a feel for what was going on. We didn’t want to alarm her for no reason. We crept into our own bedroom and grabbed a few hours of sleep. We were up early and when we heard her stir upstairs, we waited. She spent her morning like she spends most Saturday mornings, so we thought everything was back to normal. We figured we’d talk about it when she came downstairs. Obviously that didn’t work out.”

  “Mr. Marcel, our time is almost up. I’ll need to be going soon, but I’d like to ask something of you and Mrs. Marcel. I’ll need you to keep your distance. Clara is obviously overwhelmed right now and is in a fragile state. Any more stress, and she may spiral deeper into this chasm. Can the two of you hang tight until she is ready to see you?”

  Melanie and Mark looked and each other uncomfortably. Melanie shifted in her chair.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Marcel, I’ll be updating you regularly, of course. It will be the next best thing to actually being there with her. Can we make this happen?”

  “I think so. For now anyway.” Mark looked at Melanie again for approval. This time, she didn’t give him an affirmation, but still, she didn’t argue either. “Yeah. We can do that.”

  “Also, to help Clara along, I’ll need you to put together a photo album full of fond memories, anything you think that will help Clara remember. Is this something you can do? I feel it will be therapeutic for the both of you as well; I’m sure this is quite traumatic for you as well.”

  This time it was Melanie who responded: “Yes. We can do that. We’ll be happy to do that. When do you need it?” Melanie offered, eager to help in any way she could.

  “As soon as possible. The sooner, the better.”

  “We’ll bring it in tomorrow morning.” Melanie chimed in almost before Lydia finished her sentence.

  “I just want my baby back.”

  Chapter Five—Wednesday

  Clara spent much of Tuesday evening in tears. Supper was a rubbery pork chop. She had attempted to cut off a bite sized piece with the plastic fork and knife she had been given, but when she started sawing away, two of the plastic prongs broke off. One sailed across the room while the other remained lodged in the inedible hunk of meat, so she gave up on supper entirely. She was able to sleep for several hours during the night thanks to the double dose of the same sedative the same orderly had given her with her lunch earlier that day. When she woke, she could see that it was still dark outside of her tiny window, so she rolled over and closed her eyes again. She tried to remember more of what had taken place over the last few days, wondering how she could have lost so much time. Much to her dismay, she couldn’t remember any additional details.

  Wednesday morning came, and along with it, more meds and another visit from Dr. Lindenhurtz. She was as polite as the day before, knocking and asking for permission to sit. Clara had been awake since before dawn, so she was already dressed, if you want to call it that, in a fresh set of pajama pants and a tee shirt. She had combed her hair and brushed her teeth before curling back up in bed.

  Dr. L asked Clara how she had slept to which Clara shrugged her shoulders and replied, “Fair.”

  “Is there anything you need to make you more at home?” Dr. Lindenhurtz asked.

  “Yeah, actually, I would like to go home to my real house with my real parents. That’d make me feel more at home.” Clara snapped. Apparently being institutionalized didn’t bode well for her usually upbeat attitude.

  “Clara, I spoke with your parents yesterday after you and I met. They are concerned for you, as any parent would be. They also said that your break with reality actually started after babysitting Friday night, not Saturday morning like we had first thought. They found you on the sidewalk staring at the house, screaming that something bad was going to happen in the house and that you didn’t want to go inside. Do you remember anything about this?” Lydia waited for Clara to answer.

  Clara shook her head no, confused. “I don’t remember. I mean, I don’t even think that happened.” Clar
a chewed at her fingernails. “I would remember that, right?”

  “It’s hard to say. We’ll put the pieces back together. I promise.” Lydia placed her pad and pen in her lap and folded her hands on top of them. “Clara, would you like to see your parents?” Lydia asked.

  “No,” answered Clara, “I saw the picture. Last night, when I was alone. Those people aren’t my parents. I don’t know who they are, but I don’t want to see them.”

  “Clara, they’ve agreed to keep their distance while we sort this out. When you decide you are ready, let me know. They’ll be waiting.”

  Clara answered with silence.

  “I’ve asked your parents to put together an album of photographs. During Phase One, we’ll talk about what led up to your stay here at Breemont, and we’ll try to jumpstart your memory with pictures of the past, so you can remember who you are and go back to being her.”

  “But, that’s the thing, Dr. Lindenhurtz. I know who I am. I don’t feel lost. I haven’t forgotten the past. I just have the wrong parents. I shouldn’t even be in here! Isn’t there anything you can do?” Clara pleaded.

  “Clara, I know you are frustrated and scared. But I can assure you that all the paperwork is in order. All the documentation is in place. Your parents provided identification for themselves as well as for you. I can say with certainty the people who brought you in are your parents.”

  Again, Clara answered with silence. After several futile attempts at opening a dialogue, Lydia joined Clara in that silence. They shared nothing but the room for the remainder of their session. Finally, Lydia stood to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Clara.” Lydia smiled and clicked the buzzer to be let out. Clara didn’t respond.

  Later that day, she picked at her lunch, made her bed and then sat on it, moved to the chair, took a shower, wished she had tv, combed her hair, paced the floor, wished she had tv, picked around at her supper, crawled back in bed, under the covers this time, wished she had tv, and rolled over. She lay on her side and positioning her pillow long ways in the bed in order to snuggle it. She reached into her pillowcase where she had hidden the picture of the imposters. She held it in her hand while she lay in bed and cried for what she had lost, or at least what she perceived to have lost.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed…an hour maybe? She rubbed her face on her pillow to dry it and pulled her arm out of the pillow case. She was holding the heavily creased photograph in her hand and forced herself to look at it. There, in the picture was a younger Clara being held by her parents. Not the imposter parents, she was looking at the parents she remembered. Clara sucked in her breath in astonishment and began to wonder if she really was crazy, after all. She fell asleep holding onto all she had left of her family.

  #

  Lydia slipped off her shoes and placed them in the shoe rack in her closed. She sat down on the bed, already occupied by Dylan.

  “Long day?” he asked, but didn’t look away from his laptop.

  “Yes. Very long day. Very long week, actually.” Lydia sighed. “I stopped by Frank’s to pick up some Alfredo.” Recently, Lydia had found out that Frank’s always had half price pasta on Wednesdays, so that’s what was becoming her go-to hump-day dinner. “Want some?” Lydia was rubbing her neck muscles and rolling her head from side to side.

  “Nah, when you didn’t make it home for dinner, I grabbed a bite and watched the game with Court at The Pub.” Lydia didn’t much care for Court and she wasn’t in the mood for company, so she was glad they had gone out and not gotten together for pizza and beers at the apartment. If they had, she knew they’d still be here, and she didn’t feel like cleaning up after them after the day she had had.

  “I met with the new patient again today. It’s a rough case, poor thing. It’s only day two and I’m already exhausted. For the last two days, I’ve had to meet with the parents after talking with the patient, and then I’ve had to meet with the staff that will be caring for this patient when I’m not working with her during her stay at Breemont. This is all after that incredibly awful interview process I told you about on Monday. It’s been utterly exhausting. Then after all of this, I went over her file with a fine tooth comb for the second night in a row. I don’t want to miss anything. I really feel like…I feel like I could redeem myself with this one, ya know?” Lydia knew she couldn’t give specifics about Clara, but it was safe to share general details about her cases.

  “Mmmhmm,” Dylan sighed.

  “And first thing tomorrow morning, I have to be in to see her. I’d really like to see if there is any difference in an early morning session fresh out of a good night’s sleep and—”

  “Lydia, hon, I’m sure everything will be fine tomorrow, and I’m kinda in the middle of something here.” He gestured to his laptop.

  “Yeah. I see that.” Lydia replied and slipped into the bathroom to change into something more comfortable. A moment later, she left the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. She was starving and the Alfredo was calling her name. She opened the bag and pulled out the round aluminum tin. She pried open the sharp edges and removed the plastic top. It was still fairly warm, so she placed it on the table, took an opened bottle of Pinot Grigio out of the fridge, and poured herself quite the generous glass. She opened Clara’s file—the one she had been reading all evening, sat at the table alone, and ate and drank and studied.

  #

  Much to Lydia’s surprise, Breemont had called her in to screen her early Monday morning explaining that the patient in question had suffered a psychotic break with reality and no longer recognized her parents. Lydia worried that perhaps the hospital didn’t know about her past experience and her epic and heart wrenching failure with Stanley just a year before. They couldn’t know about this and still want her to treat this patient, who was suffering from similar psychiatric ailments. She was wrong.

  Nervous, she had called Dylan hoping for reassurance before the meeting but didn’t receive any. He did, however, wish her good luck. During the interview, they brought up Stanley. Lydia thought she had been found out, that they were exposing her for the fraud that she was.

  “Dr. Lindenhurtz,” a member of the three-person panel began. He was a tall, thin, handsome-ish higher-up of the Breemont Facility. Before the interview began, he had introduced himself as Duke Elliot. “I understand you treated Stanley Bedford from the end of December until June of last year. Is this accurate?”

  Dammit, thought Lydia. An uneasy smile crept across her face as she began to answer. “Yes, this is accurate information.” She steadied herself and awaited the next question.

  A second member looked down at the paperwork before her and then asked, “And Mr. Bedford, then aged seventeen, was suffering a psychotic break at this time?” Lydia nodded. “And during treatment for this affliction, he stated that certain family members were strangers? He did not recognize his parents or his brothers as being familial relations?”

  Lydia nodded again. “Yes, this is all correct.” Her face burned with embarrassment and shame. She prided herself on doing things by the book, following procedures, rules, expectations. She was exceedingly professional, to a fault even. But Stanley’s case was so…believable. He was so genuine. She had gone with her gut, and her gut almost led her to ruin. As a result of her actions, she was fired from her job, almost lost her license, and was forced to move to a new town to make a new start. Now, here she was in that new town, being interviewed by strangers. Sure, they worked at Breemont, but it was such a large facility that there was no way to know everyone. Two interviewers were in the room: Duke Elliot and Rob Schneideker. The other, Kay Crider, an affiliate with BioTech Research, was on speaker phone. All were asking her about Stanley Bedford. Fresh start, huh? She thought.

  “And as his doctor, you made decisions about his healthcare? You decided when he would complete treatment?”

  “Yes.” She was beginning to feel like she was on trial.

  “And during this time, you allowed the patient to believe his tho
ughts and feelings about his family were true? You encouraged his behavior and sided with the patient against his family?”

  Lydia imagined the woman on the phone. She could almost see her peering disapprovingly over her small-framed glasses at Lydia, seemingly judging her both as a person as well as a medical professional. Lydia was glad she wasn’t in the same room. Her voice was accusatory enough.

  “Yes. At the time, I saw many indications that the patient was telling the truth. His family couldn’t and/or wouldn’t produce proper documents. They claimed everything had been lost in a fire. They were asked to request new documentation, but they flat out refused. The patient had grown increasingly suspicious. He believed he had been taken years before by another family and brainwashed, and many of his accusations rang true with news and police reports around the time of his disappearance. At the time, I—”

  “Dr. Lindenhurtz,” the third member of the team interrupted, “What happened as a result of your poor judgement?”

  Lydia wondered why they had even brought her in. She was in front of a firing squad and there was no escape. There was also no chance she would ever be assigned to this case, so why were they even bothering to waste their time?

  “Stanley Bedford took his own life on June 22nd.”

  “After?”

  Lydia was reluctant to answer. Despite her professional exterior, tears were stinging her eyes. She hoped no one noticed. “On the evening of June 21st, Mr. Bedford had dinner with his family at their home. His parents and younger brothers, age twelve and fourteen, watched a movie together in the family room. Later, when everyone was asleep, he snuck into their rooms, and one by one, he strangled them. He hung himself in the closet of his own room sometime in the middle of the night. Their bodies were discovered after the police performed a check the well-being when Stanley failed to show up at his appointment with me on Monday, and my secretary couldn’t reach the family by phone. I had mentioned something the previous week about helping him find a way out. He found one on his own.” Her voice ended in a flat tone. She had taken full responsibility for his actions, though no formal accusations were filed.