by Jamie Mackay
Chapter 15
Wednesday morning Tatum woke up, feeling as if she'd been gone from Wainwright for a year, instead of only the couple of days it had actually been. She got up early, desperately wanting to go for a long run to make up for the many runs she'd missed during her trip.
The morning air was already warm, but Tatum didn't care. She was caught up in the amber glow of the sunrise, and the quiet, peaceful daybreak Wainwright offered. Her run was easy, fluid and strong; the dry air seemingly a welcome relief from the humidity of the previous few days.
She turned the key to the main building entrance and loped up the stairs to apartment 203. Putting little thought into her dress, she pulled her hair into a pony tail and dabbed on some blush. Her priority for this morning was not her appearance; it was telling Milligan about her trip and plotting some way to make up for her blunder with Jake.
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"Welcome back!" exclaimed Milligan as he poured Tatum's first cup. It was early; he knew she had time for more than one.
"Glad to be back," she responded in kind.
"So... tell me all about it," her friend prodded, not wasting any time with small talk.
"Let's see, where should I start?"
"At the beginning," Milligan instructed.
"Well, the flight was long, but everybody was at the airport when I got there, so that was nice and my mom cooked which is always a treat." Milligan nodded. "My mom and Sarah and I did some shopping, and I got to have dinner at Sophie's. I'd forgotten how good it is." Milligan nodded some more. "Friday night I met up with Dr. Zubert. We met for coffee and talked shop. Was nice to have someone to talk to where I didn't have to worry that I was breaching confidentiality every time I opened my mouth."
"Did she have any good advice?"
"Not really, just a friendly ear and the promise of having someone on my side if I need it."
"That's always good to know," said Milligan.
"Yeah, and then it all went to shit." Tatum's voice inflection changed and Milligan's curiousity intensified.
"What? Why? What happened?" he asked.
"Well, we all went to Josh's soccer game on Saturday and it started out fine. Then Michael got agitated by all the noise and had an outburst."
"Oh, shoot," said her friend, "that must have been stressful."
"There's more," she continued. "Then he seized and went limp. They took him to the hospital on a stretcher. He's still comatose." Tatum was surprised at how matter-of-fact she was able to tell the story. When I first found out, I was such mess, she thought, what's wrong with me now?
"Do you know what is going to happen now?"
"No, but I know mom and dad will keep me up to date. And, if they downplay it, Sarah will always tell me the truth."
"You actually seem okay," said Milligan with surprise.
"Yeah, I do feel okay now. It's funny. Think I just really needed to see him, go back to Chicago."
"Yeah, home is important isn't it?"
"I used to think so. But now I'm wondering if the old saying is true?"
"What's that?"
"Home is where the heart is."
"Hmm," was his only response.
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Just like Milligan, Marja greeted Tatum with a warm "Welcome back" as she buzzed her through to the secure side. Tatum started her day at the computer, checking emails and ensuring she was familiar with her schedule for the week. She knew that her evenings would be full; she had several reports that needed completing. Work had been far from her priority over the last several days.
Wednesday was scheduled as a typical day, just as if she'd never left; assessment in the morning and early afternoon, followed by therapy later in the day. Her assessment was an outpatient from the community, an uncomplicated evaluation that was required by the patient's employer. Tatum found the more typical client a bit of a relief in her effort to re-acclimatize to the routine of the mental hospital.
Lunch time came slowly, mostly she suspected because she was anxious to see James. She was hopeful he would speak again and she couldn't wait to meet him and find out. When she was finished for the morning, she quickly made arrangements for the afternoon session and then picked up a quick to-go bag from the cafeteria before making her way to Unit Three.
James was in his usual location, with Larry hovering nearby, presumably waiting to get a glimpse of his favorite new doctor. Tatum threw him a quick greeting and then progressed speedily toward her lunchtime companion.
"Hi James. It's me. I'm back from my trip. Thanks for saying bye before I left, that meant a lot to me."
Tatum had considered long and hard how she would address his having spoken. She wanted to acknowledge it, without making too big of a deal.
"I had a good trip and got to see my brother before he got too sick. That's why I went. He's not doing so well now though. He's in the hospital, in a coma. I guess my mom and dad will tell me if anything changes. Anything changed around here?"
Tatum looked around. She realized something had changed. Something was missing.
"Did somebody get transferred?" Tatum asked James, knowing full well she was actually asking herself more than him. "Jim!" she exclaimed realizing finally what was absent. "Where'd Jim go? I'll be right back," she explained to James.
"Larry," she asked the unit head, "where'd Jim go?"
Larry was close by, as always, and answered Tatum's question quickly.
"Sorry Tatum. While you were gone, he was our latest victim of the beast."
Tatum knew 'the beast' was code for suicide. It happened often enough that, for the staff of WMI, it had taken on a life of its own.
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Tatum returned to her afternoon assessment feeling saddened by Jim's departure, and slightly disappointed that James had chosen to refrain from saying anything further. Thankfully, the rest of the assessment was quick and routine, so her thoughts roaming elsewhere had little impact.
Therapy that afternoon turned out to be coverage for Tim. Their schedules had been switched all around in order to accommodate Tatum's time away. At three thirty, Tatum re-visited U3 and met Liz Crandall in one of the non-observation therapy rooms.
"Hi Liz, I'm Dr. O'Neill. I'm not sure if you remember me. We met one other time, I was observing Dr. Glaser."
"I remember you. You're pretty," said Liz as she brushed her hair continuously in solid strokes. "How come you're here today? Where's Dr. Glaser?"
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what he's up to this afternoon, but I'm here because he did me a favour and switched me some scheduling so that I could make a trip home. My brother is not well."
"I'm not well either," Liz replied.
"Is that right Liz? Tell me more about that."
Tatum knew that she was essentially responsible for filling time and making Liz feel good. Kind of like a substitute teacher, a substitute clinician usually would challenge little and cover little new ground.
"I like to brush my hair," was Liz's definitive response.
"I see that. What happens if you don't brush your hair," Tatum inquired.
"My scars heal. I will never let me scars heal. No one can see if my scars heal."
"What do you mean," asked Tatum.
"Look at my scars."
Tatum didn't want to look, she expected to see significant scaring where Liz had brushed her hair so hard her scalp had been damaged.
"No," said Liz, "really look."
Tatum felt silly bending over a patient's head inspecting her scalp, but she had done weirder things to gain someone's trust. Liz pulled her hair back and clearly showed Tatum the spot that had been brushed to the point of blood. Underneath the dried blood and hair were definite scars. The scars were barely visible to the naked eye, thin, clean and obviously the work of someone who was a master with a scalpel.
"How did this happen?" asked Tatum.
"I don't know," said Liz. "I was in my unit and I wasn't doing so good. Then I woke up and there they were. Somebody did something Dr. O'Neill. I won't f
orget. I won't let them forget."
As she spoke, Liz brushed more and more furiously until blood started once again to seep from the wounds on the side of her head.
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On yet another afternoon walk home from WMI, Tatum wondered about the chain of strange events that seemed to continue to occur at her workplace. What does it all mean? she asked herself as she walked. Liz's scars had added a whole new series of questions to those that already existed about Julia's files and James' apparent fear of the Research Unit.
Tatum arrived at her apartment building having no recollection of even completing her trek. She walked into her familiar surroundings and flopped down on the comfort of her sofa, intending to spend some more time pondering any apparent link among each of the disconcerting events.
She sat in thought until her stomach finally told her that her time was up. She went to the fridge but realized it had not been stocked since earlier the week before, and therefore a trip to the Co-op was going to be necessary before she would be able to eat. Armed with a wagon she'd finally purchased to make her grocery excursions less uncomfortable, she headed out toward the grocery store. Instead of making a direct route, Tatum found herself turning toward Main Street. Not really knowing where she was going, Tatum found herself standing in front of the old firehouse, hoping that she would catch a glimpse of Jake. I'm going to deal with this tonight, she decided as she walked away, much less concerned about her stomach than her heart.
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Tatum chose fish and asparagus for her night's dinner. Feeling slightly bloated from the indulgences of the weekend, she found herself craving slightly lighter fare. She ate alone and for the first time since moving to Wainwright, she felt truly lonely. She missed the thought of Jake, his soft voice, his strong arms. Summoning all the courage she had, Tatum made the call.
"Hello Jake. This is Tatum."
"Hi Tatum," said the quiet masculine voice with a hint of confusion.
"I am calling to ask if you'd like to go out with me. You see, I realized I'm stupid and I never should have turned down your mother's cooking." Tatum laughed nervously, trying to hide her anxiety with humor. Jake didn't laugh.
"I'm confused Tatum," he responded seriously.
"I made a mistake Jake. I know that now. I gave up before I even gave us a chance. So, if you'll let me, I like to ask you out on a date. My treat this time."
"Your treat?" he teased, finally lightening up to Tatum's voice.
"Yes, my treat. Whatever you want."
"Okay dinner and a movie, Friday. But not any dinner, I want to eat at the Depot. A friend told me it was really good," he said teasingly. "What time should I expect you here to pick me up?" he asked
"Uhmmm," stammered Tatum.
Jake saved her from embarrassment. "It's okay beautiful, I'm just kidding. You'd have to piggy back me. How about if I get you around six thirty? We can go for dinner around seven and still be at the movie by nine. Sound okay?"
"Sounds perfect."
"Okay, see you Friday. Oh, and Tatum," he paused. Tatum waited for him to tell her he was happy she'd called. "I'm having the prime rib and crab legs, on you."
They both laughed and hung up the phone. Tatum turned on CMT willingly for the first time in her life. She danced around the room singing along with Tim McGraw, a singer who, two months prior, she'd never even heard of.
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Thursday morning Tatum still felt light and happy; the thought of going out with Jake Friday keeping her mood on the positive side. She had slept sound and gotten up only when the alarm rang, leaving her only the minimal amount of time to fit in her run and still have a bit of time for coffee.
"Running late today?" Milligan asked, looking at his watch as she walked toward the coffee table.
"Yeah. But in exchange I got a good night's sleep. I talked to Jake last night," she blurted out, unable to hide her excitement.
"I thought you decided that was a bad idea?"
"A girl can change her mind you know," Tatum smirked.
"Did something happen with Niko while you were home to make you have a change of heart?"
"Gotta go, Mill. Gonna be late for work. Stay tuned," she called coyly smiling as she headed toward the Units.
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The day ahead had been scheduled as a report-writing day and Tatum knew she had a lot of work to do. The reports from the week before were still waiting for her attention, in addition to the new reports for the outpatient from the day prior. Despite knowing she'd need the entire day, Tatum ignored the waiting work-load and locked her door. She nervously opened the end filing cabinet one more time and pulled out the file folders hidden for safe keeping. This time she knew what she was looking for. She scanned the reports, line by line, detail by detail. Finally, she found it. Hidden deep amongst the complex and dry medical mumbo jumbo that accompanied most patient files, Tatum saw the words surgical scars evident across temporal lobe, undetermined origin.
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The next stop was the filing room. Tatum went directly into the Unit Three filing area and searched for the file labeled "Elizabeth Crandall". Having seen Liz the day before, Tatum tried to look as nonchalant as possible as she retrieved the patient record and returned to her office. She was hopeful that if anyone asked, she would be able to hold her composure and maintain her story that she needed it for preparation of her clinical notes. Just as she rounded the corner to the final corridor, Tim came toward her.
"Hey Tatum, I'm glad I finally caught up with you. How was your trip?"
"It was okay. Thanks for asking?"
"And how is your brother?"
"Actually, he's not doing that well. While I was there he had a seizure and now he's in a coma. We're just waiting and praying at the moment."
"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Let me know how it goes over the next bit, okay?"
"I will."
"I guess you know I saw some of your patients yesterday, we'll have to get together to catch up. Oh yeah, that's right, you saw Liz for me, right? Is that her file you have there?"
Tatum looked down at the file in her arms. Sticking to her story she said as calmly as she could muster, "yes, just taking it back to make sure I know where I'm at while I'm doing the clinical notes. Is that okay?"
"Sure. Just make sure it goes back, alright? Did you sign it out?"
Tatum had intentionally not signed out the clinical record she had in her arms. "Yeah, I did and I'll definitely be sure to get it right back."
"Okay, good enough. Wanna send me an email about a time to get together for review?"
"You bet."
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Tatum wasn't taking any chances of meeting up with someone else. She moved as quickly as possible through the remaining hallways to her office. Finally, she felt some relief as she locked the door and opened the file she'd protected as she walked. Similar to earlier that day, Tatum starting reviewing the file line by line, evaluating every detail. She saw no evidence of any medical records acknowledging her scars, nor did she see any reason why Liz would require any type of surgery to her head.
Liz had been a life-long sufferer of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but had no physical symptoms or history of head trauma that would have indicated surgery. Could she have somehow made the incisions herself? Tatum questioned as she attempted to find any logical explanation for Liz's markings and the similarity with the description in Julia's hidden files.
Knowing she was starting to over evaluate everything to the point where her thoughts weren't logical, Tatum decided it was time to take a break and that meant it was time to visit with James. Her time with James had become almost therapeutic for her. She talked, he listened. She justified her need to see him by convincing herself and the others on U3 that it was therapy for James. Familiarity and social interaction had already made him say one word; who knew how much more he was capable of.
First things first, Tatum returned Liz's file to the filing cabinet, confident it had been returned in its original conditi
on, with no official record of her ever having signed it out. Then, she grabbed a coffee and a croissant in place of lunch; her mind was whirling, taking away any previous thoughts of hunger.
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Tatum entered Unit Three, hopeful that today would be Larry's day off. She wasn't in the mood to answer any of his questions, or deal with his hovering. Looking both ways to avoid the lovestruck unit head, Tatum worked her way over toward the window, where, as always, James sat.
"Hey James, it's me. I don't have any lunch today, don't have much of appetite." Tatum paused. "There's some stuff I can't figure out. I haven't talked to you about it up until now, but it actually started with you. I thought that I noticed that my mentioning the research unit made you upset. Since then, I've seen a couple of other things that don't make sense to me. I sure wish you would tell me more; I know you can't, but I feel like you know something that you'd like to share. Anyway, enough of that. I called Jake last night, we have a date set for tomorrow. I have to buy though, because I'm the one doing the groveling." Tatum laughed. "We don't know any more about Michael yet. I think he might go into surgery next week, so I have my fingers crossed. Someday maybe you'll tell me about your family. Where you were raised, your likes and dislikes, stuff like that. I sure would like to know more about you."
Tatum continued to talk, just filling empty air with anything she could think of to say. Finally, she realized she was running out of time.
"I need to get back to work now James. I actually haven't done much at all this morning and now I have all of my reports that need to be done this afternoon and tonight. I'm in the research unit tomorrow, but I should be able to come by for lunch as usual. If not, I will let you know, so you are not waiting for me, okay? See you later."
Tatum got up from her seat and started to place her chair back under the table as she did every day. She whirled around in shock when she once again heard James begin to speak. "Mom sexy," he said with his garbled, unpracticed voice.
"What? What did you say?" Tatum almost yelled at the boy near the window.
"Mom sexy," James said again in an equally unclear tone.
"Mom sexy? What in the world does that mean?"
James turned back toward the window and concentrated intently on the movement in his fingertips.
Tatum felt irritated and hurt. His first words to me are to call me a sexy mama? I thought he was different, but it turns out he's a man, just like all the rest. She wasn't certain she would make time to visit with James the next day.
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Walking back to her office, Tatum looked around the hospital and thought about all of the types of people that lived and worked there. Working here may be driving me crazy, she thought. Maybe there isn't as much difference between the doctors and the patients as I used to think.
She had asked James about the research unit and her other concerns, and all he could do was act like a typical man and hit on her. I really need to stop all this silliness. No more googling, file surfing or anything else that's contributing to me losing my mind, she decided firmly.
She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening working on completing her outstanding reports and updating clinical notes; that was all.
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Tatum had worked late into the night making sure that she was caught up on all of her incomplete patient files. Friday morning came early, and a day supervising research assistants seemed less than enticing. The morning was darker; fall was starting to take a firm grasp. Instead of her warm sunny morning runs, her morning exercise was now dark and cool. The clothing her mother had bought for her on her trip home now entirely appropriate for the changing season.
Milligan moved the coffee table back and forth, from inside to out. He often had his first cup in the building lobby, and then transferred his operation to the outdoors when sunrise was finally complete and the rays provided external heat. It was a sunny day, so Milligan had already moved outdoors when Tatum made her way to her usual chair.
"Research day today?" asked Milligan.
"Yah, don't I seem thrilled?"
"I thought you were looking forward to your research time?"
"I was until I realized I was essentially going to be used as a glorified babysitter. Last week Garry basically explained that my primary task is to make sure that the research assistants are reliable."
"While that sounds pretty important," Tatum's supportive friend commented.
"Important yes, exciting no," she answered.
"That's enough about work anyway," Milligan stated. "I want to hear more about your cliffhanger yesterday. What happened between you and Niko?"
"Not much really. We went out the night Michael went into the coma. Probably a mistake now that I think about it, I was an emotional wreck. Seeing him just made me realize that I didn't belong there anymore. I needed to know if he was what I really wanted, and he isn't."
"What made you so sure?"
"Honestly, I couldn't describe it if I tried. I just felt out of place. Like all the things I thought I wanted before, don't matter anymore." Tatum's inflection changed as she spoke more to herself than to her coffee partner. "The success, the money, the fancy cars and shiny things, they don't mean anything. Niko doesn't know that."
"You're wise beyond your years, do you know that?" Milligan informed Tatum.
"Through tragedy, comes growth," answered Tatum quietly, thinking about her brother's swollen head covered with wires and assorted medical devices.
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The work day Friday passed slowly. As Garry had instructed, Tatum spent most of her day observing research assistants completing assessments and providing them with direction and supervision. At lunchtime, still angry with James for the day before, she stopped at Unit Three only long enough to explain to him that she was going to meet Anne for lunch as she occasionally did on Fridays.
The staff courtyard had gone from overheated to spectacular. Once too hot to sit on, the stately marble benches now provided cool seating to sit and enjoy the low-lying September sun. The stately grounds, previously green on green now boasted a multitude of fall colors. The leaves were remarkable reds, oranges, and yellows, natural brilliance like Tatum had never seen. The expansiveness of the grounds made looking into the distance seem as if it was a painted picture, rather than the boundaries of a mental institution. Tatum caught her breath, not because of the heat as she had done before, but because of the beauty that surrounded her. She had certainly seen similar fall scenes in Chicago, but regardless of the beauty surrounding them, the noise, people, and commotion always detracted the awe from the experience. Anne broke her contemplation of the scene.
"So, how'd your week go?"
"Pretty good I guess. Worked late yesterday cause I was behind from my trip."
"How's Michael doing anyway," asked Anne.
"No change. Probably won't be any change until after the surgery. Mom and Sarah keep me posted. How about you? How was your week?"
"I've had better," answered Anne.
"Why what happened?"
"Do you remember Kory? The one you did the intake assessment on when you first got here?"
"Yah, I've been seeing him occasionally, just for check-ins, consults and such. What's up with Kory?"
"He assaulted a nurse last week. Thursday, the day you left actually. I guess she lifted her arm toward him the wrong way and he thought she was threatening him. He clocked her good and then didn't stop until the orderlies restrained him. He got charged. I don't know what happened, maybe he hasn't been to court yet I don't know. I imagine he will just end up on U5 either way."
"Where is he now?"
"I think they're holding him in U4. I don't think anything is official yet and U5 is a forensic unit, so they don't put you there until you've been sentenced."
"Can I go see him?"
"Do you have access?"
"Not yet."
"Could probably ask Tim. Get signed in, or just ask to have an access upgrade. You've been here long enough by now
, haven't you?"
"I have no idea. What am I waiting for?"
"Usually just want to make sure that you're acclimatized to the life of a mental hospital; that it's not going to shock you into quitting. Are you going to quit if we give you access?" Anne teased.
"Nope, too late for that," said Tatum, "I don't know if there's anything left that could surprise me."