“Though that would certainly confound the police and keep them from hanging me,” was the last thing he said before sleeping.
I was so excited to show him my powers, my specialness, my abilities! I was almost too excited to sleep, but I finally did. I pressed on my forehead where there was always a dull ache, almost like a soft heartbeat in my head, and thought of blue waters and green trees and endless beaches.
The sound of waves crashing woke us up.
Luke was speechless. He was so handsome in the sunlight. He kept staring around us in amazement. I just lay on the beach and watched him take it all in, all this knowledge of what I could do. When he finally could speak, he whooped like a little boy and went running down the beach. He flung sand and splashed in the waves, making me laugh. I had never laughed from happiness before, so I did it again, and I wanted the moment to last forever.
Of course, we stayed awake as long as possible to make our paradise last as long as it could. As beautiful as our island was in the sun, it was even more beautiful in the moonlight. Two days later, though, Luke teased me that next time could I please order up a deserted island with a meal or two waiting on silver platters?
Boys eat too much. He’s always hungry. We had to go home.
When we returned, it was a different century, as usual. The hospital was new, so this was as far back in time as I had ever traveled. Luke said he’d been further, said he’d been back to the very beginning, or very nearly so, but Luke lies. I don’t mind. We all lie, don’t you know?
For example, I told him I wanted to find my family to be reunited.
That was a lie.
I only wanted revenge.
Luke had blended into the crowd when we came back to Bedlam and was free to come and go as a visitor. I was never so lucky. I was always caught like a rabbit in a snare; the metal teeth of Bedlam always found my ankles and tripped me up. Oh, I could invent stories, and to myself I thought I was quite believable, but it never worked. They took one look at me and knew I belonged there.
I said I lied. I never said I was any good at it.
For a short time, while inwardly I formulated a plan for finding my family, outwardly we traveled. Luke’s mind had always bent towards thievery and mayhem, and though I cared not a fig for money, I didn’t mind a little adventure and it did my heart good to see him happy. I suppose it seems silly to some to steal and cause trouble and attempt to get rich when you can’t keep much of any of your spoils, but for Luke, just knowing he could and that he was perfecting his skills was enough. He’d steal little things at first; picking pockets, seeing what he could get away with. Well, of course, that’s typical and common behavior for the Lost: I too, have lifted my fair share of folding money. You have to survive. You don’t have the luxury of working your way up in a proper and respectable position, do you? No, you have to eat and you have to find shelter. Of course, some Lost don’t enjoy this part as much as we do.
Luke had been desperate to go someplace wealthy, someplace teeming with millionaires or ever billionaires, or pull off a scheme so large it could get us in the history books. He called us Bonnie and Clyde, though he had to explain to me who they were. A lovely enough young couple - I thought we would probably have been chums. Had I been the sort to have chums.
In New York City in an age where automobiles were all the rage and gangsters were in fashion, we nearly got ourselves killed by over-eager and underestimated police, when we held up a bank with stolen guns. I enjoyed the part I played in that particular heist: a pretty young thing, just opening her first bank account. I was coy and sweet and twirled my hair. I was never one for talking, not even when I was playacting, so I relied on hmming and hawing and in general, throwing myself on the wisdom of the young accountant. He was all too happy to sign me up for all sorts of things with his thinning hair and his proper suit coat, and I was demure and gentle and meek with his attentions. My red dress I almost always slept in to travel had not been fine enough for this robbery, and Luke had pinched me a smart dress with navy piping and shiny buttons. My hat was set at a saucy angle on my light hair, a feather tickling my left eye at times. I remember the smell of the bank and the back of the accountant’s hands as he wrote and shuffled his papers, and the way he cleared his throat often, as though I made him particularly nervous.
When Luke leapt to the top of the counter, brandishing his weapon and gleefully shouting for order and respect and silence, I screamed like the lady I was pretending to be. I even huddled closer to the accountant, who had defied Luke by moving (around his desk, to me). What a gentleman, I suppose. I thought my scream sounded quite good – better than the woman across from me, who sounded like a wounded eagle. I wanted to shut her up permanently but we were here for other things. My brave and ever cheerful boy was nearly dancing along the counter tops. I think he fancied himself a sort of gangster and was enjoying the part immensely. Of course, we were only kids and we didn’t think things through very completely, so things got out of hand rather quickly. Having landed in an age of notorious bank robbers, our intrepid bank employees were very well trained. Someone had tipped off the police and I knew who it was: a smug faced lady who had given me the once over when we arrived. Luke had spoken to her too, before he revealed his pistol, and who knows what he had said that wasn’t to her satisfaction: I just know from my perspective, sitting demurely with the accountant’s arm around my shoulders, she was up to something. She was far too calm and self-satisfied, and her eyes kept drifting to the back doorway, as if waiting for someone to appear. Perhaps she pressed a hidden button, perhaps she mouthed a code word to someone else who had slipped away, who knew. No matter. It hardly made a difference to Luke and me whether we slept in jail that night, or on the streets – though Luke, of course, would be disappointed in himself for getting caught. I sighed a bit at the turn of events, and then I turned on my accountant knight and pressed my pistol to his head. Luke laughed and leaned down from his counter top to plant a kiss on my hat.
“That’s my girl,” he said, fondly. “Now what do you say you bag up some money for us?”
We didn’t get terribly far before the police stormed in, and I suppose it would have easier and less messy to just surrender, but you’d be surprised how much adrenaline kicks in when you’re under duress like that. We nearly made it out the door before the shooting began. I was terribly irritated. I hadn’t minded running the risk of prison (what is that compared to Bedlam?) or the hazard of having causalities in our adventure, but I was hardly prepared to lose my own life over it. The window beside the door, and right beside the hat on my head, shattered. It also gave a new escape route, and Luke shoved me through with all the grace of a hippopotamus mother, or maybe a terrified lover about to lose his girl. We tumbled like rubber balls onto the sidewalk, and got up running and laughing. They didn’t catch us. Looking back, I wonder if they didn’t try their best. After all, we were a couple of kids and we had dropped the money and they had other fish to fry.
Our Bonnie and Clyde escapades were all Luke’s plans and desires, so he owed me one. I wanted to find my family now.
I thought about running the risk of leaving Luke behind. I wouldn’t be gone long, but the fear of him not being where I left him won out. I remembered Old Babba’s details: Italy, 1571, a villa by the sea. It was good information, and I knew I would be able to find my family eventually, even if I had to come back to the hospital and rest up between searches. It might take me a while, but I would find them, even if I had to go up and down every coastline, peek my head into every village window. And Luke would enjoy Italy, wouldn’t he? Of course he would because I would be there. He only wanted to be with me.
It took me nearly a year to find them. I was getting discouraged. I wasn’t eating much, and Luke would feed me Nightfall pills because he couldn’t stay awake as long as I could.
Nightfall pills? What in the world? I wonder. Wonderful, now she’s on drugs. Lovely. Really lovely. I’d like to throttle this Luke. Who did he thi
nk he was, dispensing medications like candy?
When I finally found her, my mother, I had been awake for three days. I was not at my best. Upon hindsight, I suppose I should have left, gone back to Bedlam for a few days of peace and quiet, gotten some rest, gone back later, but once I saw her, walking that cliff, I couldn’t leave. I knew her at once.
Her dress, blue as cornflowers, was blowing in the wind. Her hair, half up, was blowing too. She looked like me. She should have known me instantly, but she didn’t seem to. She seemed confused when I called her mother.
She said to get away from her. She said I was a cruel village girl, playing a mean trick on a grieving mother. She was angry.
I told her I was special, that she never should have left me, that I was better than my sister. She began to look less angry and more frightened. I think she started to believe me then, started to believe I really was Rose.
I held out my hand to her. Or was it she who held hers out to me? I don’t remember now. How funny!
Someone held out their hand, and someone didn’t…
Someone fell and someone didn’t.
Wasn’t me. I never fall.
Jack and Jill went up a hill…and Mother came tumbling after.
At this, I begin to long for my medical dictionary for my bedtime reading, but at least I have a reason now to keep searching for Rose. I need to find her before she harms anyone else, and I need to keep Mr. Connelly from getting too involved with her. It’s clear he doesn’t know what she is capable of.
If he is right, and if my strange night with the writing on the wall is to be believed, she hasn’t gone far.
********************
The next morning, instead of pestering a vague and cryptic Miss Helmes about Rose Gray again, I head straight for the doctor. I am annoyed to find the golden boy, Mack, already ahead of me in his office.
“Here to see Doc Ford?” Mack asks, cheerfully. He sets aside whatever book he had been reading when I walked in.
“Here to perform difficult surgeries?” I retort, sourly. I’m glad for my red lipstick today; I feel more grownup with it.
“Nah, just here to talk shop. You know, shoot the breeze?”
“Wonderful. Must be nice to be such chums.”
“Shall I put in a good word for you? Tell him you’ve done your fair share of bed making and mopping?”
“No, thanks.” I’ll work my own way up, even if it kills me.
The door to the inner office opens, and Dr. Ford is suddenly filling the frame. He’s a large man, a bit fat, and even his bones are big. His hands are large and red as they grip the door handle.
“Ah.” A flicker of recognition passes over his face as he sees me. “Two visitors this morning? To what do I owe the honor of my sudden popularity?”
“Go ahead, doll,” Mack nods to me generously.
I want to scowl, but instead I attempt a gracious smile. It probably looks like a grimace, but it’s the best I can do. I stand and hold out my hand for the doctor to shake. He always looks a bit taken aback, like every man, when I greet him this masculine way, but the advance of women must start somewhere. I must take myself seriously, even if he doesn’t. Yet.
“What can I do for you?” Dr. Ford pauses a minute as we take a seat in his office. I can tell he is struggling to find my name in his memory. “Lizzie, is it?”
“Yes, sir. I’m looking for a former patient, sir, a young woman named Rose Gray. She’s stayed at the hospital off and on since she was about eleven, I believe. Are you familiar with her? It’s imperative I locate her whereabouts now.”
“Is it?” The good doctor looks intrigued. He sets aside the papers he’d been shuffling, and gives me his attention. “And why is that?”
“I believe she’s quite dangerous, sir, and I don’t think she should be wandering around London. She may harm someone, or even herself.”
“Ah. A diagnosis.” Dr. Ford smiles, and even though I don’t know that he means it to be, it feels very patronizing. “Remember, I am quite new here. Haven’t been here long enough to know everyone, and I must say, I am unused to nurses making diagnoses.” His words are a warning. He has moved from kind to cautionary in one fell swoop.
“So, you have never met Rose Gray?” I persist, ignoring his barb. I’ll probably pay for it later with a decrease in pay, more bedpan duty, or getting canned. Bloody hell, I hope my impertinence doesn’t get me canned.
“I didn’t say that. I met her once. Just once. I peeked my head in her room when I was touring the place before I settled on my position here. She was asleep though so I’m afraid I didn’t get a very good look, and I wasn’t able to interview her. Very interesting case, very interesting indeed. I hoped she would stay longer, but,” he snapped his large fingers. “She was gone, just like that. As if she’d never been here at all.”
“She couldn’t have just disappeared!” I frowned. I was not prepared to accept Rose’s peculiar notions of nighttime time traveling as a means for an explanation.
“Oh, she didn’t disappear, my dear. A young man signed her out.”
“Who? Was his name Luke, by any chance?”
“I don’t think it was chance; I don’t believe in chance; I’m a science man. But yes, it was a Luke. Luke Dawes. Do you know him then?” Dr. Ford leans closer to me. He looks intrigued.
“Only by reputation,” I sigh. “Why ever did you agree to let her go, sir? You surely couldn’t have thought she was cured?”
“Dr. Dawes seemed to think immersion therapy was the answer. That perhaps she needed a dose of reality. He seemed quite knowledgeable. A doctor himself, you know.”
I snort. “Naturally, he would be. Probably a lawyer and the King of Transylvania, as well.”
Dr. Ford begins to rustle the papers around on his desk again. I can tell he is becoming bored with me, and I have been summarily dismissed from his attentions. I’d best leave before he assigns me to kitchen duty. I can just see myself peeling potatoes for all of eternity, and not only do I not care for spuds, I am also afraid I’ll never get the image of escaped patients jumping out at me from inside the bins out of my head. Sweet Fanny Adams, I may never eat another potato as long as I live.
14
After the sudden death of my mother, I was extremely agitated. I remember being shaken, not with sadness or regret, but with sudden bursts and lapses of memory. For a while, I wandered the cliffs, hearing the waves crash below, my cloak billowing out from me like the heroine in one of Solomon’s novels. I felt like Cathy searching for Heathcliff, Jane searching for Mr. Rochester.
For a moment, I couldn’t remember my love’s name. I felt so very unanchored. Lost. I couldn’t recall who else I had been looking for. Then, in a spasm of understanding, I remembered: my father and sister. Of course! Such a ninny, Rose. Don’t be silly now; it’s time to focus.
But, no, on reflection, I simply had no energy left over for them. Revenge on my mother had left me tired and weak. I only wanted to go back to Luke, and oddly enough, to Bedlam. At least I could get some sleep and eat something.
“Perhaps one day I’d come back for the rest of my family,” I thought. I stored that thought away for later in the shrinking area of my head where I kept my memories and plans.
I told Luke what had happened on the cliffs, but he was only concerned that I looked pale. I could no longer piece together exactly what had transpired. I told him Mr. Rochester was nearby, and then Luke firmly told me we had to go home, that I’d had enough excitement for one day. I yawned and agreed. He always looks out for me that way. Most times I like it; sometimes, though, I don’t like being told what to do. He should tread carefully, my Luke.
When I awoke the next morning at Bedlam, he was already gone. I had a momentary twinge of jealousy at Luke’s ability to blend into his surroundings, while I was once again snared in a hospital bed, trapped like a rabbit, but the bed felt warm and comfortable, and I knew someone would bring me tea and something to eat soon enough. As if beckoned by my thir
sty thoughts, a stiff young woman, thin as a rail except for a heaving bosom, entered my cell. She pulled my blanket back without so much as a by-your-leave, and set a bowl of broth down on the only other piece of furniture in the room: a very small chair.
“I don’t like mysterious men checking in young ladies without all the necessary paperwork being finished, but I suppose you’re here, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Don’t dawdle over your breakfast. The doctor wants to see you straight away.” She didn’t wait for me to answer, but slammed shut the door behind her as she stomped away.
A perfect description of Miss Helmes if ever I saw one, though I’d hardly call her young myself. I suppose young is a relative term, a matter of opinion?
Excitedly, I realize Rose’s account could not have been made that long ago now. We were nearly up to the present time; I was almost sure of it. Mr. Connelly had said once that Rose is about my age, and she must be so—or almost so—at this point in her diary. If I’ve made sense of her ramblings, she’d be about sixteen now. That didn’t explain Miss Helmes being so young, but perhaps it isn’t Miss Helmes; perhaps the hospital only hires this type of skinny, antisocial employees? The thought makes me smile.
I was irritated by the woman nurse, but still tired, so I contented myself by plotting her death as I sipped on my broth. Really, all I wanted to do was sleep some more, but I was worried about Luke and where he had gone off to. Sometimes I wanted to ask him more about his life, but I always thought about it when he wasn’t there, and then when he was, I forgot. I was forgetting more and more. As if particles of my brain were disappearing. My whole life seemed like a dream sometimes: blurred around the edges usually or sometimes crystal clear but without any sound. You won’t understand this, but it’s like a television with the sound turned off, or a radio tuned in to static
Maddening.
Shadows Falling: The Lost #2 Page 10