But Inside I'm Screaming

by Elizabeth Flock

  Above her Dr. Seidler is smiling, her head distorted. Her lips seem huge to Isabel.

  “That must’ve been some dream!”

  It was just a dream.

  “Um, yeah. Where am I?” Isabel feels completely disoriented.

  “Three Breezes, Isabel. You’re in Three Breezes Hospital. Do you know who I am?”

  It feels like Alex is in this room. Where did he go?

  “What?”

  “It’s Dr. Seidler,” Isabel’s therapist answers. “It’s time to meet, Isabel. Do you feel up to it? You still seem pretty groggy. Would you rather rest some more?”

  “I’m okay, I guess. Can I just throw on some sweatpants, though?” Isabel tries to move her arm and feels sore, as if she has just finished a kick-boxing class.

  “Of course. My office, five minutes.” Dr. Seidler leaves Isabel to get dressed.

  God, I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts.

  Isabel pushes her aching body up and leans back against the edge of the bed and cries so hard the bed shakes, knocking the headboard against the wall.

  Alex. I don’t know why…but I miss you.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Dr. Seidler is scrutinizing Isabel and scribbles something on her notepad while Isabel slowly eases into the chair facing her therapist.

  “It feels like I’ve been asleep for days,” Isabel tentatively answers.

  “You’ve been sleeping for the past sixteen hours or so. That’s completely normal,” Dr. Seidler explains. “You may feel tired for the next few mornings. After electroshock therapy a lot of patients feel groggy. It helps if you just succumb to it and sleep as much as you can. Think of it as your brain repairing itself.”

  “I actually feel pretty well rested.”

  “Isabel, let me ask you a question. Just now when I woke you up—do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

  “Alex. I was dreaming about Alex.” The dream was so lifelike that Isabel felt as if she’d just come from running on Chrissy Field along San Francisco’s marina. “It was really bright, very sunny. And we were doing the run we did every weekend. We used to drive to the marina and park and run on the beach out to the Golden Gate Bridge. Usually the wind was coming toward us so the run out to the bridge was hard. But in this dream, I remember, it was coming from behind. It was kind of pushing me. Anyway, that was my dream. Pretty boring, when you think about it.”

  “Not at all. Not to me. Can you think of what the dream may mean?”

  Isabel studies her hands in her lap. They look shriveled and foreign to her. Then she remembers the question.

  “I don’t know. I think I was just dreaming about the past. A good memory of Alex. Of the Alex who was kind, not abusive. When he was happy I always felt elated…like nothing could touch us. That’s why it felt like a good dream. What do you think it means?”

  “You said the wind was pushing you along. The wind is a primal force. Something we cannot control. And in the dream it was pushing you. And you noted that that was exactly opposite to what really happened when you went running along the beach. In reality, the wind pattern was opposite of what you dreamed. Do you think that maybe Alex was opposite what he seemed at first? Certainly, from what you’ve told me, he was a force that was at times out of control.”

  “Yes!”

  “And yet control is at the core of what your issues tend to be about. Alex was too controlling of you, certainly. But in the beginning, maybe you were comforted by his control of situations, since your father so lacked it—probably because of his drinking. It seems to mean something. I didn’t mention this to you when I first asked because I didn’t want it to color what you remembered, but typically, immediately following electroshock therapy, patients report dreaming about the incidents or people that have affected them the deepest. I find it interesting that, out of everything you’ve experienced, your subconscious chose Alex. What do you make of that?”

  “I don’t know.” Isabel still feels dreamy and soft from sleep. “I just know that it was nice to remember something good about Alex since he’s so scary these days.”

  Thirty-Seven

  “Hurricane Charlie ripped through this tiny town of 877 and obliterated it. In less than an hour it was wiped off the map. But authorities are calling this a success story. Why? Because there were no casualties. None. Look around you and all you’ll find is debris. Where houses once stood, there are piles of brick, stone and rotting wood. Where there were once businesses, broken glass and concrete are twisted together with metal. But folks here are happy today. The early-warning system they installed a year ago saved the town’s entire population.”

  Isabel Murphy, ANN News, Puerto Rico.

  “Tom, I’m going to go call John and check in,” Isabel called over to the photographer while hunting through her purse for her cell phone. “But you know what we need—a wide shot of the main street, closeups of those people over there walking on that debris pile, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Roger that.” Tom was distracted, searching for a blank tape in his gear bag. “We’ll have liftoff in T-minus five minutes.”

  “You’re mixing metaphors.”

  “Copy that. But right now I have to locate a Texas Arthur Peter Elvis. Aha! Have located said target and will now execute your orders, Sergeant.”

  “Whatever.”

  Tom straightened back up, tape in hand, eyes locked on something—someone—in the distance. “Incoming.” His voice softened so only Isabel could hear him.

  Isabel looked up and then followed his line of sight.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Tom stepped in front of her.

  “Were you expecting company?” he asked over his shoulder, still locked on his target.

  “No.” Isabel could not believe who she saw through the tangled mess of a tropical town.

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  “Tom, it’s okay.” Isabel halfheartedly tried to shake her fear off and rein in her friend.

  “No way, man. No way.”

  “Well, well, well,” Alex said through his Cheshire cat grin, his whitened teeth fluorescent against his tan. “Look who we have here.” He sauntered up to them.

  “What’re you doing here, man?” Tom asked in a belligerent tone.

  Alex ignored him, although it must’ve been hard since Tom was twice his size and blocking his path to Isabel.

  “Isabel, could you call off your guard dog?”

  “What are you doing here, Alex?” she asked, emboldened by Tom’s protectiveness.

  Alex gave Tom an I-could-take-you-if-I-felt-like-it look, even though he would most certainly have lost in a fight with Isabel’s burly photographer. He smiled smugly at them both.

  “Can’t a man take a little vacaciones, as they say here? Great place, Puerto Rico. And, last I checked, a free country.”

  “You expect me to believe you came here on vacation. In the middle of hurricane season. Coincidentally when I’m here working?” Isabel asked. “Who told you I was here?”

  “Lots of questions from la muchacha,” Alex said.

  “Don’t be a dick.” Tom was impatient. “Get lost, man. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “That true, my darling?”

  Isabel winced at the mock term of endearment. “I have to work, Alex.”

  “My wife and I would like a moment to ourselves.” Alex adjusted his spine to try for a taller appearance as he spoke to Tom.

  “I don’t take orders from you, asshole,” Tom replied.

  “I’ll just be a minute, Tommy.” Isabel gently touched his back as if to calm him down. “I’m okay.”

  “I’ll be over here.” Tom indicated a shady spot about two yards away. “Right here.”

  When Tom was just out of earshot Isabel turned her attention back to her estranged husband. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you, I’m on vacation.”

  “Don’t give me that, Alex. I know you followed me here. Why?”

  He reache
d out and she flinched. “Easy. Easy. I’m just getting this hair out of your eyes.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Isabel could see Tom was watching them intently.

  “Look, I’ve got to go.” Isabel took a step toward Tom.

  “Okay, okay, we’ll play it your way. But I must say you’ve completely lost your sense of humor.” He took a deep breath. “I thought we could talk. Just the two of us.”

  “Alex,” Isabel groaned. “We’ve been over this a million times. It’s over. Let’s just move on, okay? Have a little distance?”

  “It’s not over,” he said calmly, the smile instantly vanishing from his face. “Not by a long shot.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like. We are not over. This—” he motioned at an invisible string tying them together “—is not over.”

  “Isabel, we gotta ship out,” Tom called to her.

  “You better go now.” Alex’s smile clicked back on. “You wouldn’t want to keep your bodyguard waiting.”

  He didn’t wait for Isabel to respond. He walked backward so that he could face her. “Adios.”

  Isabel felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  Thirty-Eight

  “Two o’clock, everyone! Medication time!” Julie consults her clipboard and calls the first name.

  “Melanie?”

  “Here I am,” she calls out cheerfully.

  “Okay, Melanie. You know the drill. You’re aware of what you’re taking, right?” The nurse asks perfunctorily—like a flight attendant mechanically reciting the passenger safety instructions, knowing no one is paying attention. Three Breezes prided itself on its medication regimen.

  “I know, I know,” Melanie says before tossing the pills into her mouth as if she is gulping down a shot of alcohol.

  “Crystal Light or Hawaiian Punch?”

  “Hawaiian Punch, please.” Melanie’s mouth is full of pills so it sounds more like “H’wine Pun, peaz.”

  She thinks she’s so cute, that’s what kills me. She thinks everyone thinks she’s adorable. News flash, Mel: You ain’t all that.

  Julie hands her a small Dixie cup, watches carefully as Melanie gulps that down, checks another box on her clipboard and calls the next name.

  “Sukanya?”

  Sukanya shuffles forward.

  “How are you today, Sukanya?” Julie asks as she hands over the tiny cup of pills.

  “Are you aware of the medication you’re taking?”

  Sukanya blinks and the nurse continues.

  “Crystal Light or Hawaiian Punch?”

  Sukanya casts a glazed glance at the pitcher containing the unnaturally red beverage.

  “Here you go.”

  Sukanya takes the Dixie cup in one hand and the pill cup in the other and starts to turn away. Julie grabs her arm. “Sukanya,” she sings in a mock-friendly tone, “you know better than that. You need to swallow the pills here, where I can see you.”

  Sukanya stares at the fingers wrapped around her forearm until Julie releases her grip. Then she slowly places the pills on her tongue and swallows them down with the punch.

  Can we move this thing along?

  “Good job. Okay, let’s see, who’s next? Isabel?”

  Isabel moves forward. Like a model patient, she takes her pills in front of Julie and moves away from the doorway of the tiny pill closet. After ECT, this is nothing to her.

  “Kristen? You’re on deck!” Julie is back to her clipboard, checking away. She does not know that when Kristen pops her medication into her mouth the pills nestle under her tongue. After Kristen turns away from the medication checkpoint, she spits out her medicine.

  Isabel has taken only two steps into the group therapy room. There, facing the double doors, is Lark, neatly tucked into the wing chair, enveloped by the jacket.

  We have to look at that damn jacket for the entire session?

  “Let’s start off this group session by checking in with everyone,” Larry announces. “Let’s go around the room and each of you can let the rest of the group know how you’re feeling or what you’d like to work on or, well, I’ll leave it to you. Whatever each of you would like to say. Isabel? Let’s start with you. How are you today?”

  Isabel breaks her stare at the jacket and tries to focus on Larry. Thirty seconds later she looks back at Lark, who appears to be fighting to keep her eyelids open.

  “Isabel?”

  “Yes?” Focus.

  “I asked how you were doing?”

  Focus.

  “I’m not doing too well, if you must know. I hate this fucking place. I don’t want to be here. I think this is all a bunch of shit…sitting here, talking about ‘what’s going on with us,’” she says, mimicking Larry’s slow intonations. “I’m sick of it. Sick of it all. I want to get out of here.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And furthermore, Lark’s sitting in here in that thing and it’s a little hard to concentrate.” She stops and looks back at Lark.

  “And?”

  “And nothing.” She pauses. “Actually…I thought this place trumpeted the fact that all patients are in charge of their own treatment regimens, or however you put it,” she challenges Larry.

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Meaning I have been subjected to a treatment that I didn’t necessarily agree to. I thought we were supposed to be able to agree to what kind of treatment we received.”

  “You’re referring, I assume, to ECT,” Larry says.

  “Yes. I’m referring to ECT.”

  “What’s she talking about, Larry? What’s ECT?” It is Ben, who seems slightly agitated.

  Great. Just fucking perfect. I’m getting electroshock therapy and Ben the I’m-gonna-blow-up-my-school guy isn’t? Great.

  “They shock you,” Melanie jumps in. “They put a thing in your mouth and they shock you in the head.”

  “No they don’t,” Isabel cries defensively. “They don’t put anything in your mouth.”

  Isabel feels her cheeks reddening.

  Get those smug looks off your faces: I am not like you, you goddamned nutcases.

  “ECT is a very effective form of treatment,” Larry intercedes on her behalf. “It’s been very successful in the past and I’m sure Isabel’s therapist feels it will best suit her needs. Isabel, I hear that you feel upset about this, but I do know that Dr. Seidler has repeatedly tried to talk to you about it.”

  “Wait a second. Wait just a second. You guys talked about me?” Isabel is horrified, picturing a coffee klatch of doctors swapping stories about their pathetic patients. Five bucks says mine’s more screwed up than yours.

  “Now, hold on,” Larry says, trying to calm the now unsettled group. “We work in tandem, your therapists and I. I speak constantly with all of your therapists to ensure that we are all up to speed on the issues you’re dealing with. It’s imperative that we maintain an open dialogue…”

  Open dialogue my ass.

  “…to better serve your recovery.” Larry stops and takes an exaggerated deep breath.

  “Let’s move on. Lark?”

  “Wait! What am I supposed to do?” Isabel is infuriated. “Seidler told me I’m having ECT again tomorrow—I don’t get a choice? That’s not okay. I am not doing it again.”

  “Have you told Dr. Seidler that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  Isabel shifts in her seat. “I don’t remember,” she says sheepishly.

  “I think what she might have said was that it is not uncommon for patients to experience anger following their first treatment, but we’re confident—” Larry hurries past the word we’re “—that another session will enable you to achieve the maximum benefits of ECT.”

  “But…but couldn’t there be another way? Couldn’t I just promise to work on myself more actively or something? Please? Isn’t there any way I can get out of this?”

  “Let me talk with Dr. Seidler after this
session and see what she has to say.”

  “Thank you, Larry.”

  You catch more flies with honey.

  Larry takes another exaggerated deep breath to emphasize a subject change.

  “Okay. Now. Lark?”

  Lark slumps farther down into the tall chair.

  “Do you want to tell the group what your situation is, Lark?” Larry asks this while surveying the nervous faces around the room.

  “Why don’t you do the honors, Larry.” Lark slurs her words through the hair that had fallen into her face. She does not try to shake it away, it just hangs there like a veil.

  “Lark is in restraints today because we believe she could be a danger to herself and maybe to others,” Larry addresses the group.

  “And a danger to you, Lar, right?” Lark challenges through her mask.

  “Well, if you’d like to talk about that, we can.”

  Lark’s beady eyes dance as she tells the group she bit Larry before being carried away to the soft room. She appears proud.

  “Do you think you’re a danger to yourself, Lark? Will you sign a contract?”

  “What the fuck’s a contract?”

  “A contract is basically a written agreement between you and your doctors that you will not try to take your life. We write it up in whatever language suits you, but it boils down to a promise that you will not harm yourself for a certain period of time. Feel like signing one? If you do, and if we believe it’s in good faith, we’ll remove the restraints.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Why are you so angry, Lark?”

  “Fuck you, Larry!” Lark has shimmied to the edge of the seat and is struggling to stand up. The jacket ruins her balance and the anger ruins her equilibrium. The combination keeps her tumbling backward into the seat.

  “I’m going to have to get an orderly if you cannot control your temper.”

  “Fuck you, Daddy!”

  “Lark?”

  “Don’t hurt me anymore, Daddy.”

  Larry stands and quietly moves toward Lark.

  “Get away!” Lark spits as she whips her head from side to side until her hair has completely covered her face.