And it was clear she wanted to.
A year earlier, thirty-four-year-old Blake Wheeler, Lila’s husband of almost a decade, was shot during a convenience store robbery. The bullet had been surgically removed from his brain, but Blake never recovered. He remained in a month-long coma that led to his eventual death. The day of Blake’s funeral, Lila had locked herself inside a running car in the garage of their home.
Guy had been tasked with figuring out why.
Lila’s breakfast sat untouched on a tray table next to her. She had been refusing substantial amounts of food for months.
“Good morning,” Guy said upon entering her room. “How are you today?”
Lila didn’t answer. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to him for the better part of a year.
“Looks like we’re in for some nasty weather.”
A storm bore down on the center. The building shook from rolling thunder. Lightning split the black sky.
Guy pulled up a chair and caught a shadowy glimpse of himself in the shatterproof mirror mounted to the wall. Dark circles surrounded his hazel eyes, and he’d gained weight, changing the shape of his aged face. His lab coat strained against his bulging stomach, forcing him to unbutton it in order to sit down. He finger combed his thin, gray hair, and followed Lila’s sightline to the darkened grove of changing leaves dotting the landscape of the secluded, private mental health facility he’d put his life’s savings into building. His stomach burned from the ulcer Lila’s case had made worse over the past few months. He clutched his gut and breathed deeply.
“I hope the power doesn’t go out. We have a generator, but it won’t run everything.”
Lila pulled her chair away from his. She couldn’t move far, but it was the gesture that mattered.
“Lila, please. Say something.”
Guy blew out a breath, his insides pressurized under the stress of a newly placed deadline. Not two hours earlier, he had received the call he’d been dreading. Ruth Wheeler, Lila’s mother-in-law and benefactor, had set a six week timeline for progress. If Guy didn’t produce results by the end of the following month, Ruth planned to remove Lila from his care. Lila had exhausted her health coverage months earlier and had since been paid for in cash. The sizeable monthly stipend bought Guy time to maneuver the turbulent financial landscape resultant of the healthcare crisis. He had done all he could think to do, going so far as to attempt merging with the regional hospital to get state subsidy. The impending merger proposal, yet to be approved, was his last vestige. Losing Lila meant Lakeside was one step closer to closing its doors.
Guy couldn’t afford to let that happen.
“Would you at least eat something?”
Lila looked at him, then at the food, and then back out the window.
Mark Santos, a twenty-four-year-old patient care assistant, knocked on the partially open door. Six-foot-two, two hundred pounds of lean muscle, and with slicked black hair, he looked more like a bar room bouncer than a psychology student. “Dr. Oliver, do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What is it?” Guy went into the hallway and closed the door behind him. “What’s the matter?”
Mark handed him a large manila envelope. “The courier dropped this off at the front desk. He said it was important.”
“Thanks.” Guy stared at the New York State seal, knowing the paper inside could only be the merger approval or denial.
“Do you think I ought to get some flashlights ready in case power goes out?”
“I was thinking that myself.” Guy stared through the window into Lila’s darkened room, fumbling with the envelope tab.
“You all right, Doc?”
“I’m okay. A little frustrated, but fine.”
“Lila won’t eat again?”
“You mean ‘still,’ don’t you?” Guy sighed. “I don’t want to have to push for a feeding tube, but if she keeps this up I won’t have a choice.”
“You’ll never get the authorization,” Mark said.
And he was probably right. Guy had tried once already, even going so far as to contact Lila’s parents, who hadn’t visited in a year, to try an end-around to the roadblocks for the minor surgery, but no one would sign the authorization forms he needed.
“Want me to sit with her?” Mark asked.
Pride had Guy wanting to say no, but there was no place in Lila’s care for arrogance. “Can’t hurt,” he said, waiting around to see what happened next.
Mark knocked on the door and entered Lila’s room with a cheery, “Good morning.” Guy moved to where Lila couldn’t easily see him, watching from the side of the door behind where she was sitting. Mark sat in the chair Guy had vacated, speaking softly enough that Guy couldn’t make out what he was saying. He pulled the food tray closer to Lila and opened the music app on his cell phone. REO Speedwagon played through the speaker, breaking Lila’s hundred-yard stare. Mark put a slice of apple in her hand and smiled when she took the first bite, swaying to the beat of “Roll with the Changes.”
CHAPTER THREE
Arlene Pope’s case had Ross breaking his cardinal rule: Never approach unstable young men with nervous tics and switchblades. He peeled off his jacket and loosened his tie, sweating profusely as he knocked on the door to apartment 1A.
“Dwight?” Bass-driven music blasted on the other side. Ross continued knocking. “Hello, Dwight?” From the sounds of things, Dwight was hosting a NASCAR race. Ross kicked the door and the noise stopped. Dwight appeared in the doorway.
“You again?” Dwight wore a muscle shirt and a pair of jeans cinched a good four inches below his waist, low enough to expose most of a pair of red plaid boxers. He whiffed the air and smirked. “Looks like I pegged you wrong, my man. I didn’t figure you were going upstairs to get baked.”
“I don’t do drugs.” Ross said. “May I come in?”
“You show up at my door, smelling like skunk, and tell me you don’t do drugs? I know bud when I smell it. Tell me the truth and I’ll think about letting you in.”
“Dwight, I don’t have time for this.”
Dwight flipped the blade in and out. “If you keep calling me Dwight it ain’t gonna matter what you got time for, you hear? Name’s Two Holes.”
“Did you say Two Holes? Is that a prison thing?”
“It ain’t no prison thing, shiiiiit.” Dwight lifted his shirt and pointed with the closed knife at two scars on the right hand side of his chest. They wouldn’t have been visible under the blanket of ink if the skin hadn’t puckered. “Two Holes, as in bullet holes. Yo, I’m bullet proof.”
Probably a good thing considering the neighborhood.
“Please,” Ross tried, but couldn’t bring himself to call the kid by his street name. “Krystal said you knew Arlene.” He hoped the kid had the good sense to pick up on the implication.
“Knew her, huh? Arlene’s mom’s been blaming that baby on me since day one.”
“So you are the father?”
Dwight stepped aside. “Keep it down, yo. That girl is ratchet. I got a rep to maintain.”
“Ratchet?”
“Busted, you know? Tore up from the floor up?”
“You mean she’s unattractive?”
“Whatever, man. Get your smoked-up ass in here.”
“I told you, I’m not high.”
Dwight sank into a leather chair with the knife in his lap, picked up a wireless Playstation controller, and resumed his game, the source of the noise.
“Can you please lower that?”
Dwight mimicked Ross’s request in a high-pitched whiny voice, but turned down the volume. “Man, what do you want?”
“I want to know about yours and Arlene’s relationship.” Ross sat on the black leather couch, appraising the openly displayed collection of pornography and the half-smoked joint in the ashtray.
Dwight must have noticed him noticing it. “Don’t be copping my smoke, Doc. That ain’t the skunk weed Arlene’s mom smokes. This shit’s premium.” He tucked the unlit joint i
n the corner of his mouth as though Ross might steal it.
Ross was through denouncing himself as a pothead. “Listen, I can see you have things to do, but I need to know about you and Arlene.”
“You want to know why Arlene hung out here?” The joint wagged as Dwight talked. “The grass was greener, you know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, I do. Arlene was coming down here to get high?”
“Get high … whatever.”
“And by ‘whatever’ you mean the two of you had sex?”
“That’s what ‘whatever’ means to you, Doc? No. I didn’t sleep with her. I told you. I gotta’ rep to protect.”
“Then what was she doing down here?”
“Girl said she needed a place to hang while she ditched school. Some shit with her mom or something.”
“And you, of course, obliged?”
“What do I care if the girl hangs out here? She cooks and cleans, like a wife with none of the commitment, am I right?”
“So you two were dating?”
“Did I say that? Those words never came outta my mouth.”
“But you spent time together. Maybe you saw that she was gaining a few pounds?”
“Arlene’s a big girl. It’d take a lot more than a few for someone to notice.”
“So she didn’t tell you she was pregnant?”
“No, she never told me. Just like I told the cops. And why would she? I didn’t knock her up. I’d have taken her to the clinic if it was my mess.”
“You’re a real gentleman, Dw—” Ross’s voice cut out when Dwight dropped the controller and picked up the knife. “Two Holes.” Ross felt ridiculous saying it. “Did Arlene ever tell you she was seeing or hearing things that weren’t there?”
“Does it help her case if I say she did?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I tell you she was hearing voices and shit, does this baby thing go away?”
“I want the truth,” Ross said.
“And I want this over with. I’m tired of cops knockin’ on my door askin’ me about Arlene and her baby like this is the first time someone dumped a baby ‘round here. Rumor has it, Arlene popped that kid out when her mom was at work. The next morning, garbage man finds the baby in the trash. Krystal sent the cops my way, but what the hell do I know? I was playing the station.” He held up his controller. “You want to know if I ever saw Arlene hallucinate?” A grin spread across Dwight’s face. “Yeah, sure I did. She came down here to get high. That’s kind of the point.”
“Great. That’s helpful. Thank you,” Ross said sarcastically.
“Look, man, if I tell you she wasn’t hearing things, then what?”
“I’m not a lawyer, but I’d say Arlene would most likely go to jail.”
“As a baby killer?” Dwight shook his head. “Everyone knows that’s bad news. Arlene won’t make it a week inside, and she don’t deserve that. What if I tell you Arlene was nuts? That she heard things and saw shit all the time? Then what? Where does she go if she’s crazy?”
“If she’s clinically mentally ill, she would most likely be treated at a state mental facility.”
“Then she’s batshit. Arlene’s my girl and all, but something ain’t right with her. You want me to testify to that, you know where to find me.”
“I do, but I don’t think you’re being honest.”
“Yeah, why’s that?”
“I have my reasons,” Ross said. “You say Arlene’s been avoiding school, but her mother says she hasn’t been home at night, which tells me she’s ditching home, too. I get the impression there’s some tension there, maybe between Arlene and her mother?”
Dwight shrugged.
“If you weren’t dating Arlene, but she was always here, then she probably wasn’t in a relationship somewhere else, right?”
“That’s a lot of ifs, man. What are you getting at?”
“If you weren’t the baby’s father, do you know who was?”
Dwight tossed his controller onto the coffee table and leaned back in his chair, flipping the retractable blade. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
The smirk on his face said otherwise.
CHAPTER FOUR
Wind shook the trees, scattering multicolored leaves as heavy rain fell from the dark sky.
Guy pulled the metal chain on his desk lamp and collapsed into his leather chair, working up the courage to open the envelope Mark had chased him down to deliver. He had spent money Lakeside didn’t have to have an expert tell him what he already knew: the center was no longer financially viable. There was no subsidy, other than for the regional hospitals, and if the state didn’t approve the proposed merger, Lakeside would be closed within the year.
Guy pulled an opener through the thick manila tab and held his breath as he slid the letter from inside the envelope.
Denied.
The air went out of his lungs.
The past year had been spent carefully attending the expensive punch list that “the expert” had said all but guaranteed approval. He had spoken to the right people, solicited the right support, and even greased a few palms with funds raised.
Everything he had worked for his entire career was slipping away and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Dr. Oliver, do you have a minute?” Mark said.
“Please, come in.” Guy shoved the envelope into his top desk drawer and removed his wire-rimmed reading glasses with a sigh. “How’s Lila?”
“Same.”
“I saw you got her to eat. That’s amazing.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Never one to pat himself on the back, Mark shied away from the praise.
“It’s more than I could do.” Guy lowered his gaze. “Look, Mark, I don’t want to put you in the middle of anything, but when you asked me if something was bothering me earlier, I didn’t want to tell you—”
“About whatever you shoved in the drawer when I came in?”
Guy tried not to look stunned. “I didn’t. Shove something in the drawer? What are you talking about? I mean with Lila.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m running out of time. I spoke to Ruth earlier. She’s going to stop paying for Lila at the end of next month if I can’t get through to her. I can’t let that happen.” Guy didn’t have the heart to tell Mark that on top of his losing tuition assistance, he would soon be out of a job. “I need a miracle. Any ideas?”
“Six weeks? We haven’t been able to get through to her in months.”
“Correction. I haven’t been able to get through to her.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I’m at my wit’s end.”
“What if you change her medication?” Mark said.
“To what? I’m going off-label as is. She’s been through all the first line treatments for depression, even the new drugs. I’ve tried every combination I can think of and even added second generation boosters.”
“What about changing her group?”
Group therapy had been one of a dozen failed modalities.
“I don’t have a group I think she’d fit in better than the one she’s with,” Guy said. “We can keep her on her individual therapy and give the most recent medication change time to kick in. These things aren’t instantaneous.”
“Isn’t that kind of the opposite of progress? No offense, Doc, but insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
Guy shook his head. “No. It isn’t. Insanity is severe mental illness, and really, you should know better.” The adage was one of his pet peeves. “Some things require perseverance.”
“I don’t know how much more you can do at this point.”
“You’re right, Mark. I have tried everything.” Guy shifted his focus. “But what if I’m the problem? Lila seems better with you, more open.”
“I can get her to eat, Doc, and even that’s a stretch. Maybe you intimidate her? Maybe s
he doesn’t feel you have anything in common?”
“In common, huh?” Lila and Guy were decades apart in age. Guy, having never married, had trouble connecting to her sadness. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t get through to her because she knows I can’t relate. What if there was someone who has been through what she’s going through?”
“You mean another patient?”
“I mean a psychiatrist.”
“Who’s been hospitalized?” Mark said.
“No. Who lost his wife five years ago. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Arlene? Are you listening to me?” A less than productive trip uptown had Ross impatient with the young girl who had some explaining to do. “I saw Dwight.”
Arlene Pope sat slumped over, her elbows out and her chin resting upon her hands on the empty conference room table. Her fingernails had been chewed to nubs. At seventeen-years-old, she had the misshapen body of a postpartum thirty-something, the sadness of someone much older, and the behavior of a much younger teen. From the minute Ross met her, watching her cast scattered glances and talking to herself as if answering the voices in her head, the girl had been a contradiction. Pimples dotted her greasy hairline and her complexion had taken on a pallid tone. Her green-eyed stare fixed straight ahead, the weight of a hard life reflected in them.
“Did he tell you he wasn’t the father?” Arlene answered after a long moment.
“He did.”
“He’s lying.” Arlene blew a strand of hair away from her face and shifted her position, leaning back in the chair and resting her hands on her flabby stomach, its roundness made more prominent by the snug-fitting scrubs. She picked at a hangnail and put her thumb in her mouth when it started bleeding.
“I see,” Ross said. “What reason would he have to lie? Maybe he was with you the night the baby was born? Maybe he didn’t want to be a father and he told you what to do?”
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