Disconnected

by Lisa M. Cronkhite

  Feverishly, I pick at the lock and after three twisting motions, the door opens.

  I go straight to her desk, eyeing up the stacks of papers and books cluttered everywhere. For a woman so clean and proper, she’s really disorganized with her work.

  I lift a few papers and notebooks off to the side, but put them back when I don’t see anything. Then I rummage through her drawers again, hoping to find something there. When I pull out the right drawer, I spot a book review of one of her books—Under the Magnolia Tree.

  Why is this magnolia tree so significant? I am compelled to check out this book. It’s got to be around here somewhere. I run to the huge bookcase along the wall and drag my fingers down the shelves. She has everything from encyclopedias to reference books about writing and the book market. When I get to the lower shelves, I spot her whole novel collection. Secrets in the Attic, Hidden Voices, The Lost Girl, The Dark Truth, and finally Under the Magnolia Tree. It’s eerie to read all of Aunt Rachel’s book titles. I feel like every one of them means something.

  I crouch down and pull out the Under the Magnolia Tree book. To my amazement, there’s a keyhole inside the wall where the book was. Milly, look inside the book! I stare back at the book, looking at the heavy hardcover with the tree on the front and a few petals blowing in the wind. When I open it, I find the key resting inside a few carved out pages.

  I take the key, stick it in the keyhole and with one twist the whole bookshelf shifts to the side. It’s a cemented walkway—a tunnel. Where does it lead?

  ***

  I search in the desk drawers for a flashlight or something. I find a box of huge Kingsford matches, strike one and enter the tunnel.

  I walk along the long narrow tunnel, lighting another match when the first one dies out. I come to a steel door. I cup my ear close, yet I hear nothing.

  Open it, Milly! Open the door!

  I turn the knob and slowly creep inside. It’s cold and dark and there’s a charred dirt smell. On the far end of the room, there’s a small window lit by moonlight. I go to it and look out, and am surprised to discover that I am looking back at Auth Rachel’s house.

  There’s only one other large building on the property. I must be in the brick garage by the driveway. In the dim light I think it looks somewhat furnished, with shapes like furniture here and there.

  I search the walls for a light switch and when I do, I feel the paint chipping. Finally I get to the switch and flick it on. A single light comes on, and I gasp as the room is revealed. This is not a garage at all.

  I’m standing in a living room, but the furniture is wrecked and the walls are charred black. I see a staircase, and am compelled to walk toward it.

  Upstairs I see that there are two rooms. I go in the first—empty and charred like the rest of the place. Then I go to the other room. It’s too dark to see much, and there’s no window. I try to find another switch, but it’s way too dark, so I strike up another match. Dear God! Is this what I think it is?

  I walk to the corner of the room, the small orange glow of the match lighting my way and illuminating the head of a horse. It’s the same rocking horse I’ve seen so many times in my dreams. I hold the flame up close to the wall and see it—the charred rainbow wallpaper.

  In shock, I blow out the match, race down the stairs and bolt out the nearest door.

  I’m standing alone behind the brick building. Too scared to go in the house, I race across the backyard to the garden. I can sit down and just be alone, catch my breath…my thoughts.

  I take a seat on the edge of the fountain and watch the moonlight dance along the shimmering surface. Thinking of that house, being in those rooms, flashes of memory come back. That is the house I’ve always dreamed about. I lived in that house. When did it burn? Why didn’t I remember these grounds? The main house? Dear God, am I going crazy? My heart speeds up, thumping inside my chest. The moon and the trees spin me around like some nursery game. Confusion fills me with heavy thoughts, dragging me to the ground.

  My body collapses at the edge of the fountain. With all this weight crashing down on me, I feel compelled to cut. My eyes glance at the water. The same green glass lies underneath the ripples. But I hesitate.

  I need a release.

  Come on, Milly, do it for me. Do it for the both of us.

  I dip my hands into the water and grab the shard. Things are so foggy in this moment, I have the feeling like I’m in a dream. I’m so tired of everything that has happened. My eyelids get so heavy I close them. Flowing warmth fills in the palm of my right hand. I drive the shard deeper and deeper into my skin, feeling the glass open me. Closing my hand tight, I try to hold on to the warmth. I sit here, keeping my eyes closed and feel the blood flow down my arm like some slick warm oily substance. I hear something rustling in the bushes and think of the girl. But once I open my eyes, there’s nothing. Nothing but blood. There’s so much blood dripping down my arm that I become lightheaded. I realize I accidentally cut clear across my wrist this time. I try to stand to go to the house in clean it up somehow. But I am so dizzy. Everything is spinning. Everything. Dear God, what have I done? My eyes spread with blackness and then everything goes blank.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’m lying on a stiff bed in a darkened room that smells like bleach. The only light I see comes from the small window in the door. I try to move but my arms and legs are strapped down with thick belts. Dear God! Where am I?

  The ticking of the clock is so loud it echoes inside my ears. My mouth is dry and I feel like screaming but I don’t have the strength. I hear people walking back and forth outside the room. The shadows bounce off my face as they pass by.

  I look down at myself and notice my right arm is all bandaged up. There are railings on the sides of the bed. I’m scared. But I have a sense I know where I am. I’ve been here before—when I had smoke inhalation.

  As I lie here struggling to remember things, my eyes feel so heavy, yet I will myself to keep them open. Just as I think I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, a woman walks in.

  “Just checking on you, Amelia,” she says with a smile. She’s dressed in white and has a clipboard. “My name is Jane and I’ll be your nurse till late this afternoon.”

  “How did I get here?” I ask in a raspy voice, struggling to move.

  “Not sure. I would have to check your file. But you’ve been here since Saturday night. You tried to hurt yourself, Amelia.” She looks down at her clipboard as if checking my name to see if she has it right.

  “What day is it?”

  “Today’s Monday. You’ve been here in the Intensive Trauma Unit for two days now.”

  “But how? Please let me out of here!”

  “Just rest, sweetie. The doctor will be in with you later.” She fills the syringe with some clear liquid and feeds it into my IV drip. The stinging sensation travels up my arm. My whole body tightens up. Then suddenly my eyes close.

  ***

  I hear someone talking outside the room. I’m no longer in restraints, but I am too tired to get up. I have no idea if it’s day or night. The clock on the wall reads 6:35 but I don’t know if it’s morning or evening. The guardrails are still up on the bed. They feel cold to the touch. I can barely wrap my hands around them. My right arm still aches from when I sliced it. My whole body aches too. It’s hard to move. Even though I am not strapped in anymore it still feels like I am.

  I wonder how I got here in the first place. I wonder if Aunt Rachel even knows I’m here. Was it her that brought me?

  The white-coat people in the hall near my door stop and crowd up around the doorway. They soon enter inside the room—three of them all together, whispering softly to each other as they look at their clipboards, until the dark-haired man in the middle speaks.

  “Hello there, Amelia. I’m Dr. Delaney and this is Nurse Evans and Assistant Nurse Steller.” He points to either side, where they’re standing. “We are here to check on you. So how are you feeling today?” He adjusts his glasses a
nd holds my chart up close to his face.

  “I’m tired. I want to go home.” I fidget around a little underneath the sterile sheets.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” the doctor asks.

  “I’m guessing because of this?” I hold up my right hand and feel pain shooting down my arm. I don’t even know how deep it is. But from the looks of it, it isn’t good. The bandage goes halfway up my arm.

  “Well, yes. That is part of it. But we’ve discovered a few more things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you haven’t been fully tested yet in order for us to make a firm clinical diagnosis, but we’ve discovered some abnormalities with your brain. There seems to be a chemical imbalance. Your blood tests and MRI scans, along with a few other tests we did the last time you were here, indicate you are showing signs of schizophrenia.”

  My mind scrabbles around the room. “What does that mean?”

  “Well, Amelia, it could mean you might experience a range of symptoms from increasingly odd behavior like disordered thoughts and hallucinations to attempts at suicide.”

  I think of the young girl I’ve been seeing and the magnolia petals disappearing in the wind.

  The doctor and the two nurses stand there for a moment or two. I try to think of what they told me the last time I was in the hospital. I don’t remember taking any tests. Amelia must have been keeping this from me the whole time.

  I start to panic and yell out, “So you mean I’m crazy?” I raise my hands and clamp them down on the bed rail, trying to lift myself up. I desperately want to get out of this bed, but it’s too damn difficult. I’m too drugged up with whatever crap they injected in me. “Let me out of here. Let me out of here, now!”

  “Amelia, calm down. You need to know that we are all here for you. We need to run some more tests. It seems your symptoms are tied in with another mental disorder.”

  “Jesus Christ, how many can I have?” I try to settle down and think this through, but I’m having trouble concentrating with all this anger.

  “Again, testing is crucial at this point. It isn’t conclusive yet but studies show there’s a slight chance of a mental illness called DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder, or more commonly called multiple personalities.”

  “How can that be?”

  “It’s a chemical imbalance in the brain. Something you were born with. It’s not your fault. Often times, people with these types of illnesses live their lives undetected. Many people don’t even know they have it until something traumatic happens, something that triggers the first episodic break. A divorce, the loss of a job, or death in the family. A traumatic childhood event, perhaps.” The other two staff members look at each other and nod in agreement like it’s one big fat conspiracy against me.

  “I don’t understand. How do you know I have this?”

  “Well, Amelia, we’ve noticed since you were admitted you have been showing signs of an alter personality. This feeling is produced when there’s a lack of connection or a feeling that’s disconnected from your thoughts.”

  “Well, how do you fix it? I mean, isn’t there some kind of drug I can take?” I continue to fidget, but it’s no use, I’m too weak to move.

  “It’s a chronic mental illness and there isn’t a cure for it, Amelia. I’m sorry. But there are medications you can take for the symptoms—symptoms like depression and anxiety. There’s hypnosis and outpatient therapy too.”

  “When am I getting out of here? When can I talk to my aunt? I need to know about my grandfather.” My blood is boiling at this point, but I can’t seem to get out of this damn bed. I’m helpless and trapped.

  “We’ve been in contact with your Aunt Rachel. She knows exactly what’s going on. You can contact her about your grandfather after we move out of the ITU and into Five South.”

  “What’s Five South?”

  “It’s our psychiatric floor.”

  Hear that Milly? They’re going to lock you up because of this. You really did it now.

  “Amelia, I know this is hard for you to take right now. But you’re not in here forever. Just a week or two to get you back on your feet. Again, let me remind you, there’s more testing that needs to be done so we can fully study this situation.”

  “A week or two? My God, that is like forever. I don’t want to be your guinea pig.”

  He looks over my chart as one of the nurses takes my vitals. The doctor then scribbles a few things in my file.

  “Settle down, Amelia. The more you relax, the easier it is on all of us. You were really lucky,” he says. “It’s good you were brought in before it was too late.”

  “I didn’t mean to cut that deep, Doctor.” He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. “I was alone when this happened. Who was it that brought me in?”

  “Not sure about that. But you’re safe now. Just get some rest.”

  “And you said my aunt knows?”

  “Yes, she was here this morning and is fully aware of what happened to you. She mentioned something about having to go to another floor before she left. So you have her support, Amelia. As you do the entire staff here in the ITU.”

  Oh, wow, she must have been going to see Grandpa George. My God, we are both in the same hospital. My mind starts to shift back to when he had his attack.

  “So what happens next? I go to this Five South or whatever and then I can get outta here in a week or two? I mean, you’re not gonna keep me here, right?”

  “Right. It won’t be long before you’re out of the hospital. But try not to worry about that so much. Just concentrate on getting better and focusing on you. If you need anything, just let the staff know.” He speaks in a matter-of-fact tone as he and his colleagues stand there near the door. “I’ll be back to check on you again. Until then, please get some sleep.”

  Yeah, easy for you to say, I think to myself. I can barely stand being here already. How am I going to survive this place for the next two weeks?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The moon is big and bright and even though I see its grayish craters, I find it flawlessly beautiful. I wish I could think of my imperfections as beautiful. But I am so flawed, there isn’t even a word to describe me.

  I peer through the window, which is covered with a cage outside, trying not to focus on the metal netting that’s laced into the outer glass, but it’s too difficult. It’s difficult to grasp that I’m in here. And it’s difficult to remember anything with all the drugs they’re giving me. At least the room is bigger than the one I woke up in, with two twin-sized hospital beds. My roommate is sleeping soundly and as I look at the young woman, I envy her rest. I wish I could sleep like that, but lately I haven’t gotten much. And even then my sleep remains lively with vivid dreams I can’t explain. I feel stuck—trapped between two worlds—here in this lifeless living and there in the ghostly presence of the dead. Most of my dreams have been of people who have passed on, mainly my parents. I wonder what they think of me now. Utter disappointment, filled with a lot of pain and confusion, comes to mind. Only when the nurses make me pop something or inject something in me am I able to sleep soundly for a while. And even then, it’s only for short periods of time.

  All the rooms are barren and plain as can be—no TV, no pictures on the walls, nothing. Just plain white walls. Computers and cell phones are strictly forbidden. Even the clocks in the hallways have a cage on them. I’m guessing because of the glass. All things that might prove dangerous are removed from the room. I’m lucky there is a window.

  I walk to the open door and glance down the hall. The clock by the nurses’ station reads four-thirty a.m. I would walk out of this room right now if I could, but I already tried and was scolded for it. The one aging nurse with white hair told me I can’t roam the halls till six a.m. All these rules. All these confinements. I yearn so deeply to be outside, to smell the fresh spring earth and feel the cool breeze. I miss the garden at Aunt Rachel’s and its abundant growth, the magnolia tree, and even the marble woman. Now t
hat I think of it, she reminds me of the mysterious girl. If her long stone-colored hair was black and her eyes turned a dark brown, it would be her—the girl I’ve been seeing. Maybe it is her. Maybe she’s an angel. Maybe I’m the one that’s dead. I certainly feel that way right now.

  I hadn’t realized how much I would actually miss the very thought of being outside. I also hadn’t realized how much I’ve taken it for granted. That old saying, “You don’t know what you got till it’s gone,” really rings true when it happens to you.

  I try to relax, but it seems impossible. I haven’t heard from Amelia since yesterday and I am getting worried she has left me for good. Even though she’s a handful, she’s my only friend—the only person I can rely on. And she was right. I am alone. I feel like I have driven everyone away. How can I recover from all of this?

  I take a seat and lay myself down on the bed, staring at the ice-cube-looking light fixtures embedded in the ceiling. My thoughts fill the squared sections like water. First it’s my grandfather. I wonder how he’s doing and if he’s okay. I can’t get the last image I have of him out of my mind—gasping for breath, nearly turning blue, and his eyes locked onto the ceiling. He was looking up just as I am now. And in certain ways I wish I’d stop breathing too. It would stop everything else—the hurt and pain, the thinking and the doubt filling my mind. But then again, I don’t want to give up. I want to get out of here so I can feel the sun touching my skin again. I yearn to step outside and breathe life into my lungs—have it fill me with hope again. In here I am suffocating—feeling closed-in mentally and physically. I don’t think I can take this for much longer.