by J. R. Tate
He pushes the bathroom door open and it’s a single stall. Another thing working in my favor – no one else will walk in. He gives me a small shove toward the urinal and I look over my shoulder, glaring at him.
“You’re gonna watch?” I ask, though I hope he does stay there. I have to play this off.
“Yes sir, just call it a job perk. Don’t want you doing anything to hurt yourself.”
I turn to the urinal, taking my time. I have to work up the courage – beating a guy up in a restroom is not my thing. The last fight I was in was years ago, and I don’t remember too many details about it. I do use the bathroom, relieving myself. It really did feel like I was holding it forever – that part was not a lie. Now’s my chance. If I don’t do something, I’m going to regret it as they load me up and take me away. I really don’t have much else to lose.
Turning on my heel, I rush at him, tackling him like we’re playing football. I wrap my hands around his midsection and we slide across the tiled floor until the wall on the opposite side stops us. He is stout as I expected. His head crashes into it, and he looks up at me with a glazed look on his face. I know he’s about to yell, so I reach up and grab a wad of paper towels, stuffing them in his mouth, muffling his scream.
I grip his throat, pressing down on his Adam’s apple, but not hard enough to kill him. I’ll never have the courage to do that, but who knows? My life has taken a huge detour down a road I never thought imaginable. He thrashes under me, trying to do anything to get me off of him.
I finally release his throat and ball up my fist, my knuckles cracking into his jaw and then his nose, and I feel a crunch. I break his nose, and blood gushes from it. Holy crap, where is this energy coming from? I’m not sure how I have so much strength after what has happened, but I roll with it. He does get a few good hits in, and I fall backward, catching myself before he has a chance to capitalize and get on top of me.
I kick him right in the groin, and he lands against the wall again, his eyes wide, reeling in pain. Standing, I kick him in the ribs and stop myself from doing anything else. The guy is unable to do much else. He’s hurting too bad and if I go any farther, I could risk actually killing him. He lets out a deep groan and closes his eyes. His breathing is labored. I wouldn’t doubt that I at least cracked his ribs. Kneeling, I hurry to take off his pants and scrub top. Looking down at him, I do feel a bit of remorse, but it fades when I think about Sunset Canyon. Right now this is about my freedom. He’ll recover from this. I have to think that to convince myself. I don’t do these types of things.
“No hard feelings,” I say as I slip from my gown and put his scrubs on. They are a bit baggy, but they’ll work. I can’t risk running around here in a gown. I wouldn’t stand any chance of escape if so.
Hopefully someone will come in here and discover him, but not before I can make my escape. My next worry is leaving the bathroom alone. I’m sure people are watching. I have to hurry. I did hinder his yells, but someone had to have heard the commotion.
I grit my teeth and take a hard look in the mirror. My cheek is red from where he hit me, but nothing that will stand out. Taking a deep breath, I force myself toward the door. If I don’t do this, what’s the point? Gently, I push the door open and walk through, keeping my head low. I half expect for someone to run at me, to yell for me to stop, but to my surprise, nothing happens. Everyone is busy with their head’s down, or going in and out of rooms for the other patients.
I try to walk normal. If I go too fast, it’ll draw attention. If I don’t, my risk of getting caught grows. How could this be so simple? I know they’re on to me. What if they’re letting me feel like I’ve accomplished this, only to stop me at the door?
“Orderly, we have a patient transport in room twenty in ten minutes.”
I nod but don’t make eye contact and stay on course, toward the exit that will get me away from this wing of the hospital. I stop in my tracks when I see Carla on her cell phone at a table right by the damn door I need to go through. She doesn’t see me – as usual, she’s writing on that notepad, but I still can’t risk it. She’ll spot me immediately if I get any closer. I can vaguely hear her conversation, and she’s talking about me.
I hide behind a corner, trying to devise another plan in my head. But I also want to hear what she’s saying.
“Yes, Doctor, he’s in complete denial and he’s combative. He’s also very defensive. Yes sir. Yes, he was in a few months back and a lot more has happened since. His wife died in a car wreck. He’s showing signs of regression and I think we need to get him a bed as soon as possible.”
I want to jump out and stand up for myself. I want to yell that I’m not combative, that I’m just trying to protect myself, but I stay there, wiping my sweaty palms on the front of the borrowed scrub top. What in the hell am I going to do? She’ll eventually walk back this way, and still, she’ll see me.
I see a group of nurses and doctors coming my way. They are busy discussing something, so now is my time to blend in with them. I edge to the back of the group as they pass, headed right where I need to go. I keep my gaze down, but I feel like all eyes are on me. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion, and as we get closer, Carla sounds like she is ending her call. In a few minutes, she’ll head back to my room, only to find I’m not there. They’ll go looking for me and the orderly, and they’ll find him in the restroom, beaten to a bloody pulp.
I want to hurry the group along. I want to shove through them and tell them to move faster, but I stay mingled within. We are literally a few steps from the door when Carla puts her cell phone in her bag and looks up, making direct eye contact with me. It takes her a second to put it together, but when she does, she yells out, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Stop him! That’s a psych patient!”
No more waiting around. I push through everyone before they even have a chance to comprehend what is going on, shoving through the door out into a main corridor of the hospital. The signs direct me toward either the ER or the elevators that will take you to the cafeteria, and I break out in a sprint, not caring who sees me. Soon they’ll put the place on lockdown, so I’ve got to get to an exit before it happens.
My lungs burn and my legs ache. I shouldn’t be running, and each time my feet hit the floor, my head pulses.
“He’s down the hallway! Get him!”
Tons of footsteps and commotion erupt behind me, and I’m scared to even look over my shoulder. If I do, I bet they’re right on my heels. I feel like I’m slogging through molasses. The door to the outside world seems to be moving farther backward as I run toward it.
A food cart edges out of a room, and I don’t have time to avoid it. Side swiping it, I knock it all over the floor and the thick aroma of food splashes everywhere, but it works – it’ll slow down the guys chasing me.
I finally reach the door and I pray it isn’t already locked down. I’m prepared for the worst – if it’s locked, I’m doomed. At least I can say I tried. But to my surprise, it slides open, allowing me freedom from the hospital walls. I jump over a bush and hurry through an employee parking lot, continuing an all out sprint as I cross a street and hurry down an alley. I have no idea where I’m going. I need to find a phone so I can call Rusty. The first place they’ll look for me is at my house, so at the moment, I’m out of options.
I need a different set of clothes. They’ll put out a message about an escaped mental patient in black scrubs, and I already stick out like a sore thumb. I slow to a jog, until I finally feel comfortable enough to walk. I don’t hear sirens and I finally look behind me, satisfied that there’s no one in the alley with me.
It hits me like a freight train – what in the hell have I just done? Word will get to the department and everyone will know all about what I’ve been trying so hard to hide. Will they put something like this on the news? I remember hearing some stories, but those are usually for violent patients. Am I ruled a violent patient? She did say I was combative.
How will I come back from this? If they catch me, how will I explain why I did what I did? Will there be criminal charges against me? I’m sure they’ll pin assault on me after what I did to the orderly. Guilt clutches me, but when I think about Sunset Canyon and what I’ve already gone through there, it passes.
I have to prove that I’m sane. I have to get someone credible to back me up. My son is good, but I need a professional like Dr. Clint. Only problem is, I have no clue where to find the guy. I don’t even know where to begin on how I can get hold of him.
I reach a street corner and see a clothing store. All I need is a pair of jeans and a shirt so I can look normal. When I go inside, an older man greets me, appearing to not have a clue about the situation. Maybe this is something that won’t hit the news. I’m not sure how all of that works.
“Something I can help you with?” he asks.
“Just need a pair of jeans and a shirt.”
He points to the back of the store and I grab the first pair in my size, along with a dark blue polo. There are baseball caps hung on the wall, and I grab a plain black one with no logo on it. Placing them on the counter, I wonder how I’m going to pay for it. Shit! My wallet is back at the hospital with all of my money and credit cards.
Reaching into the orderly’s pockets, I find a pack of gum and three dollars, not even close to the amount I need. Looking up, I feel my cheeks heat up as he waits for me to come up with a way to pay for the clothing.
“I uhh…”
“We have store credit. Would you like to do that?”
I can’t believe what I hear. It seems like in the midst of all of the bad stuff, luck is working in my favor. “Yeah. I think I left my wallet at work when I left. Was so ready to come home that I just forgot it.”
“I hear ya. You seem good for it. I take it you work over at Saint Mary’s down the street?”
I nod and watch as he puts everything in a bag for me. I feel rushed, like there is a search party out for me and they’re just around the corner, waiting to attack. He takes down my personal information and I lie, giving him a false name and address. He doesn’t even ask for an ID and trusts that what I’m saying is true. I’m just tacking on the lies and I hate that it feels so natural. I thank him and hurry out the door, attempting to keep a steady pace.
There’s a public bathroom nearby and I go inside, slipping out of the oversized scrubs and into the pants and shirt. I adjust the ball cap and put it on, double-checking everything in the mirror. I look like an average guy. A tired, average guy, but that’s nothing unusual.
“Son of a bitch…” I mutter. I still can’t process what just happened. How was I able to even pull it off? It all seems like a blur and too good to be true. I still expect for someone to pop up and say, gotcha! Like they’re just letting me have a feel of an escape before being a buzz kill.
Someone knocks on the door and I step out, allowing the guy access to the toilet. I need to find a phone. Cell phones have killed the payphone’s existence, so I’ll have to be at the mercy of a nearby business to let me make a call. I feel homeless, and I guess, technically I am right now. I can’t go back home. For all I know, they’re already there, questioning Rusty and I’m glad he doesn’t know anything yet. But I also have to wonder what’s going through his head. News of me escaping will worry him.
There is an office building a few yards away, and I step inside, flashing my best smile for the receptionist. “Hello. Do you guys have a public phone I can use?”
***
Rusty
I sit in the quiet house, not sure what to do. I’m glad that I was able to speak to my mother, but it didn’t really help much. Maybe I should go back to the hospital. I need to talk to my dad – he’ll know what to do. And I need to do it before he gets admitted, because once he’s there, it’s rare that they can have contact with their family.
Grabbing the keys, I step toward the door, but the doorbell rings, making my heart skip a beat. Who in the hell could that be? Peering through the peephole, I see two cops and a woman standing on the porch and I feel the bile gather in the back of my throat.
Sliding the door open, I make sure they don’t see the truck keys. I don’t want them knowing I was about to leave.
“Can I help you?” I ask. I hope they’re not here to take me away.
“Is Nathan Gallagher here?” the cop asks, attempting to step inside, but I hold the door closed just enough that no one is getting through. Why are they asking about my dad? Do they not know he’s at the hospital?
“No, he’s at Saint Mary’s. Ambulance came and got him last night.”
The other cop smiles. “Don’t play dumb with us, kid. You’re his son, right?”
“I am. But he’s not here. I’m not playing dumb. What’s going on?”
“Your father escaped. We are unable to locate him. We need to find him and make sure he’s okay. We want to make sure he’s safe.” The woman speaks up and just from her demeanor I know she’s a caseworker.
“He escaped?” I ask, trying to sound distraught, but deep inside, I’m happy to hear it. I do worry about where he is, but at least he’s not in their custody.
“He did. And if he’s here, we need to know,” the first cop speaks again.
“You’re with the police department, right?” I ask, knowing full well they are.
“We are. We’ll need to come in and search the place.”
“Not without a search warrant, you won’t. My dad hasn’t broken any laws. He’s not here,” I repeat. “How about you stop wasting time, get out there and do your job, and find him?”
I grip the doorknob and slam it in their faces, and I can’t help but smile. I slip my dad’s cell phone from my pocket. If only he had it on him, I could call and find out where he is and what he’s up to. For him to escape, he’s got to have a plan, and I hope I hear from him soon. Most of all, I hope that wherever he is, he’s safe.
I look out the peephole again, and the three of them are still standing on the porch, motioning toward my dad’s truck. They’re assuming he’s here because of it, but how dense can they be? He was taken in by ambulance. For all they know, the truck never moved. I continue to watch, and after another thirty seconds, they all pile back into the police cruiser and drive down the long driveway, leaving me alone again.
Sitting on the couch, I stare at the floor, hating the fact that I have no idea what to do next. I feel like we’re fugitives and we haven’t done anything wrong. I feel my phone buzz in my hand and I assume it’s Britney and I don’t want to talk. She has no idea what’s going on, nor do I want her to know, but I look at the screen and see a phone number I don’t recognize.
I usually don’t answer them, but I can’t risk missing a call from my father.
“Hello?”
“Hey Russ, it’s me.”
My heart settles down and I let out a sigh. “Where are you, Dad? What’s going on?”
“I escaped from the hospital. They were literally a few minutes away from taking me back to Sunset Canyon.” His voice is low and I assume he’s in a public place.
“I know you escaped. Two cops and a woman just stopped by, asking where you were.”
The other end goes silent for a second. “What did you say?” There’s worry thick in his tone.
“I told them I haven’t seen you. They threatened to come in and search the house, but I told them to bring back a search warrant first and slammed the door.”
My father laughs but keeps his voice at a whisper. “Did they leave?”
“I think so.”
“I can’t go back there. I bet they have someone watching.”
I close my eyes and try to comprehend all of this. “What are you going to do? You can’t keep running your whole life.”
“I’m not sure. I’ve gotta find Dr. Clint. I need him to prove my sanity.”
“You’ve gotta work with the ghosts, Dad. You’ve gotta stop ignoring them. All of this is happening because you turned your back on them. I t
alked to mom. I went out to the pond and tried to help her, but she wants you. They all want you.” Again, he doesn’t say anything, and I hear some talking in the background. “Dad? Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m in some kind of business office, so I can’t talk long. Keep your phone near you. I’ll call back here in a bit.”
“Wait, Dad!” The line goes dead and my phone flashes ‘call ended’ on the screen. At least I heard from him. At least for now, I know he’s okay.
Chapter Nine
Nathan
I hang up the phone and I feel like there is a hole burning right in my back. I expect for everyone in the waiting area to be staring me down, but everyone is minding their own business, some reading magazines, some watching TV, and the receptionist isn’t even looking up. I’m shocked that she even allowed me to use the phone.
Looking out the front window, I notice a police cruiser pass by. Are they looking for me? It’s hard to say, but for now, I take my time stepping back outside. I wonder what this business is. It seems like a doctor’s office. Exiting, I try to blend in with the crowd on the street – lots of window shoppers and people with no real hurry on where they are going. I would’ve suggested that Rusty drop my phone off somewhere, but I can’t risk being tracked, and then I laugh to myself. Would they go to those great lengths to find me? I’m acting as if I murdered someone. I’m really not sure how the search will go – in the psychological world, what you think should happen is often wrong.
Crossing the street, I almost run into a cop exiting a restaurant. Ducking my head, I apologize and hurry past, but he doesn’t seem to care or even check who I am. I’ve only been out on the street for thirty minutes, and I realize how desperately I need money. I also need a good way to get in touch with Rusty – maybe I can buy a disposable phone if I can get my hands on some cash.
A branch of my bank is nearby. I don’t have my debit card for the ATM, but I can fill out a deposit slip and pull some out. I haven’t actually used a teller line in forever, but they have blank slips right at the entrance, and I scribble my information down. I’m not sure how much I’ll need. A hotel with a soft bed would be nice, but it’ll have to be away from this neighborhood. I’m also starving – the hospital food didn’t even make a dent and it’s been hours since I’ve had any food. I jot down two hundred bucks and slide the paper to the next open window.