The hospital van was perhaps better described as a big station wagon or a repurposed airport limousine. It was painted silver and rode high over the ground. The van could easily accommodate ten or a dozen people; seven patients had been allowed to take the ride. Art had ignored Anthony’s bid for freedom without comment. Because Art was the sole staff member on the outing, hospital policy limited the number of patients based on their level of privileges. Four per staff member was the maximum for patients not at liberty to walk outside hospital grounds on their own.
Patrick, Albert, and Justine were exempt from that limit. While Charley normally required supervision outside the hospital, his day pass made that policy irrelevant in this instance. Otherwise, the remaining three patients had only the most rudimentary privileges, meaning Art would need to keep them all within his sight. But the trio were all quiet and evidently grateful for the fresh air and change of scenery.
Patrick and Justine claimed the station wagon-style rear storage area for themselves. From there, they could touch each other in several places without Art being able to see what they were doing by looking in the rear view mirror or over his shoulder at them. Charley took his place in the seat right ahead of them and leaned over the back of it so he could talk to Patrick.
The van rattled in several places as Art backed out of the parking space and wheeled it towards the street. Patrick wondered if it might break down again that very afternoon. But the vehicle held together long enough for them to reach the park, about a twenty-minute drive.
Even before anyone got out of the van, Art reminded them that the patients with lower level privileges had to keep close to him. The rest could roam the park ground as they wished but all needed to meet back at the van within two hours.
“I’ve got my watch,” Patrick said.
“Don’t lose it anywhere,” Art responded teasingly.
Justine had been to this park before so they didn’t have to waste much time looking for a secluded place. Patrick didn’t ask whether she’d gone there with Todd. In this case, ignorance was definitely bliss. Charley was being a pest, however, walking close behind them. This was one time that Patrick was not feeling indulgent with his roommate.
Justine led them along a dirt path below some tall oak trees. The sky was a rich blue and a light breeze was mitigating the humidity. Next, they crashed through some high grass and milkweed. A meadow was just beyond, screened by a hedge. The hedge itself was so unkempt that Patrick hoped this was some forgotten corner of the park. A corner that could stay forgotten for at least the next hour.
They walked through some more weeds and wildflowers. Justine took Patrick’s hand and led him to a mossy mound of earth. She dropped his hand and turned to face him, put her arms around his waist, leaned against him, and initiated another kiss. It was an aggressive kiss but without the anger behind the one she’d given him in the day room.
Patrick slowly bent his knees and carried her with him to the ground. He slipped his right hand under Justine’s T-shirt and caressed his way up to her soft little breasts under a silky bra. He teased her nipples into arousal, Justine’s kisses growing ever more frantic as his fingers worked on her; she emitted a muffled squeal.
Patrick blindly guided his left knee up between Justine’s thighs and ground it against her crotch. In response, Justine flexed her hips over and over, squeezing her thighs against his to hold him there.
“God, I’m wet!” Justine whispered into his ear.
Patrick was so hard himself that it seemed like he would soon ejaculate inside his jeans. Clumsily, he reached down to the button and zipper on her cutoffs.
“Hey!” Justine gasped as he struggled with the button. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
“I… I want you…”
“Slow down, cutie.”
“But..”
“But, nothing! We can’t do it here!”
“Please, Justine!”
“Damn it, stop!” Justine shouted, twisting out of his embrace.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick whined.
“I told you: we can’t do it here,” Justine snapped, reaching for the pack of cigarettes that she’d dropped. “What are you, stupid or something?”
“I… I really didn’t think that anyone…” Patrick murmured feebly, helpless in front of her hard, unhappy glare.
Finally, he looked away and scanned the immediate area.
“Hey,” Patrick reported, “Charley’s gone.”
“Damn well should be.”
“Showed a little class for once,” Patrick remarked playfully, hoping to make Justine smile.
“Unless he’s watching us from the high grass,” she replied, exhaling smoke. “Watching us and jerking off.”
Patrick chuckled nervously, shaking his head. He stared at Justine’s bare calves and thought that maybe they really were too thin. Patrick drew his knees up and put his hands on them.
“Hey,” Justine said softly, “we’ll really do it sometime, I promise. Like after we’re out for good. You know I want you, right?”
“Right,” Patrick said, sighing with relief.
They sat quietly, holding hands, listening to the sounds of birds and children.
“You boned her, didn’t ya?” Charley asked as soon as they were back in their room later that day.
“No!” Patrick told him harshly.
He slammed the dresser drawer shut and considered walking out on Charley in a huff. Then Patrick realized that his roommate had actually shut up for a moment.
“Hey, dude,” Charley finally said, “I believe you.”
“Sorry,” Patrick said softly, leaning against the dresser. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“It’s cool.”
“I suppose you realize I wasn’t lying to protect her reputation.”
“Reputation? What do you mean?”
“Forget it. I guess you’re getting laid tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Well, see?” Patrick said eagerly. “That’s the way to do it, in the privacy of your own home – or maybe hers – not out in some field where anybody could walk in on you.”
“When are you getting out of here?” Charley asked, sitting down on his bed. “Doc Kearney give you a discharge date yet?”
“No such luck. He told me that I could go when they’re sure that the pills are working. I already know they are.”
Charley nodded.
“No more anxiety attacks,” Patrick elaborated. “And now I know what’s really going on out there.”
“They should let you go!”
“You bet they should.”
“I’m gonna give you my address up at the farm, my phone number. If I don’t fuck up my pass tomorrow, I get to go home Wednesday!”
Patrick nodded; he’d already heard that from Charley four days earlier and at least once a day since.
“But when you get out, call me up sometime. Come up and visit! I’ll show you the stupid, God-damned sheep, also my lady.”
One of the herd? Patrick thought cruelly, then scolded himself for that unspoken insult.
“I appreciate that, Charley.”
He didn’t know what to do about Justine. They sat together in the day room and the smoking room but barely spoke. It was as if coming so close to having sex, it was somehow impossible to revert back to longing flirtation. Justine’s promise for more later was hanging over his head. A distraction. He could only wonder what Justine was thinking since he was afraid to ask.
At least she still let Patrick hold her hand. The staff had caught them doing that after Simon had left for the day. But Patrick no longer cared and Justine had already proclaimed as much in front of witnesses.
She let Patrick kiss her some more in as they rode the elevator that evening. He understood without having to be told that her chest was not to be touched unless Justine put his hands there herself. That night, Patrick followed his routine release of his arou
sal as Charley snored nearby.
The next day was duller than Saturday had been. Another van ride was scheduled but Anthony didn’t agitate for a seat in the vehicle. Wyatt behaved himself, reverting to psychotic introspection all morning. Charley’s parents came by at nine o’clock and took him off to Essex County. Justine passed on the Sunday van ride but Patrick signed up for it. Simon again volunteered to stay behind in case Wyatt took a sudden, aggressive turn; he didn’t think it was likely but he enjoyed having this excuse to reassure the skittish little Charlotte. When she’d expressed her gratitude by smiling up at him and giving his forearm a little squeeze, their mutual attraction was all but acknowledged. Of course, as a wife and a mother to three young children, Charlotte wasn’t going to mislead Simon and she could sense that he respected her, anyway.
The turn Wyatt did take was not violent yet it was surprising. Simon went in to check on Wyatt after lunch. Art had told him that the patient refused to come out and take his meal tray. Since Simon was assigned to Wyatt that shift, he took it upon himself to see if Wyatt would have anything to say.
“I remember you,” Wyatt muttered as he sat up in bed.
“I hope so,” Simon responded, standing a safe distance back. “Remember my name?”
Wyatt shook his head.
“Simon. That’s my name.”
“Simple-Simon-met-a-pie-man!” Wyatt recited rapidly, following it with a wheezing laugh.
“You missed lunch, breakfast, too.”
“Not hungry.”
“How about thirsty? Want to get up and have some milk, or something?”
“Nah, no thanks.”
Simon hesitated before trying to coax Wyatt further.
“You know, it’s unhealthy to isolate yourself in here all day.”
Wyatt shrugged and scratched the side of his face.
“Well, if you need anything,” Simon told him as he turned to leave, “come and see me.”
“Hey-hey-hey!” Wyatt called after him. “You… Simon!”
“Yes, Wyatt?”
“You know, I’d like to shave. Could you get me a razor?”
“Sure,” Simon answered, smiling at him. “Of course, I’ll have to stand by and watch. You’re under… restrictions…”
“I’d rather have you do it for me, if that’s okay,” Wyatt said in a monotone. “My hands shake sometimes. I might cut myself.”
“No problem. I’ll be right back.”
Simon reported the good news to Charlotte in the staff office. Surely, Wyatt’s interest in grooming was a positive development. Simon gathered a plastic basin, towel, safety razor, and pocket-sized can of shaving cream. Charlotte was pleased to hear that Wyatt was acting more human. Perhaps the extra Thorazine had been responsible. Thank God and Dr. Kearney it had been prescribed in liquid form.
Wyatt’s beard was tough after several days’ growth. Simon had to dip the razor into the warm water in the basin many times. He’d shake the little hairs and foam loose from the twin blades in the water. Wyatt said nothing as the counselor shaved him. Simon found the weak chin to be a particular challenge; damned if he was going to cut the poor guy after he’d said he was afraid of doing it to himself.
Finally, Simon dabbed the towel over Wyatt’s face and went to dump the water into the sink. Wyatt touched his face with both hands.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m too much of a perfectionist to shave myself.”
“You’re welcome. Now, could I press my luck and ask you to take a shower?”
“Uh, okay. But I can wash myself in there.”
Patrick had decided that this would be his final weekend in Hillside Hospital. Monday morning, he would dare ask Dr. Kearney for a discharge date. Well, maybe he could tolerate one more weekend as a patient if he could at least be promised a departure day within the next ten days or so.
If not, well, Patrick had a Plan B. He’d have to play it cool, pretend to accept his plight. The plight of indefinite voluntary commitment. That was key to Plan B; he had to keep his privileges so he could take off when he had the chance.
What was it Art had called it?
“Elopement,” Patrick whispered to himself, staring out the smoking room window at the parking lot below.
It had a romantic ring to it, all right.
After dark, Patrick told Justine about his schemes – Plan A and Plan B. They were sitting in the day room at the far end of the table in their preferred spot for meal times. Patrick felt confident that they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Great idea, cutie,” Justine reacted, smiling as she rubbed his left ankle with the toe of her running shoe.
“Th-then we could… you know…”
“Fuck,” Justine said with a leer. “Yeah, baby.”
“You, um, want my address?”
“I’ll get it later, okay? I don’t want to have it written down in my room, you know, where anybody could find it.”
“Or, uh, maybe we could… like… agree to meet somewhere in Boston – downtown, say, and I could take you home with me from there.”
“Yeah, well, whoever gets out first – one way or another – calls up the other and we arrange a date. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, perfect!”
“How ’bout your brother?”
“My brother?”
“We go back to your place and… well, doesn’t he live there with you?”
“He wouldn’t care.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. He’d be happy for me.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“What?”
“Does… he have a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t want him to molest me while I’m there. I’d be with you, right?”
“Of course,” Patrick said, frowning with distaste. “Scott’s not like that, anyway. He’s got more class than to hit on my date.”
“Hope you’re right.”
Patrick was annoyed. Was Justine teasing him or was she paranoid? Or was she talking out some fantasy about having two guys at the same time? Maybe women had fantasies about that. After all, most men seemed excited by the idea of being in a threesome with two women. But Patrick didn’t suppose Scott would find Justine so attractive given how very nice and curvy Arlene was.
“If it bothers you that much,” Patrick said, “I’ll tell him to get lost for a while.”
“Whatever. It’s no big deal but I would want us to have some privacy. That’s what I meant.”
After kissing Justine goodnight in the day room without checking for witnesses first, Patrick went to his room. He took off his shirt and washed his face, thinking that the ward’s doorbell had gone off while the water was running. Maybe it was Charley getting in from his pass.
Patrick had left his door ajar and soon heard the familiar marching gait of Charley Doolan echoing down the hallway. Patrick smiled, glad that his friend hadn’t eloped.
Charley breezed into the room, all grins and giggles.
“Have a good time?” Patrick asked, his question pointless.
“Oh, yeah! Hey, could you do me a big, big favor?”
“What?”
“Could I use some of your piss?” Charley asked, holding up a plastic specimen jar, still enclosed in a crackling cellophane bag.
“You bad boy,” Patrick said amusedly. “What did you do?”
“I had a few beers, smoked a couple o’ joints…”
“You on weed?” Patrick asked, gaping as he took the specimen jar. “My God, what for?”
“Hey, man, hurry up before the nurse gets down here!”
“All right, all right. Lucky for you, I really need to go.”
Patrick went into the toilet room. Because it was next to the shower, they didn’t have to share the facility with any neighboring patients. Patrick quickly filled the specimen jar and then drained the rest of his bladder in the bowl. He flushed i
t and came back out to his eager roommate. Just to tease him, Patrick held the jar up out his reach.
“Come on!” Charley complained, none too seriously.
He waved his hand up at Patrick’s and missed by a few inches. Patrick laughed but then worried that Charley might accidentally knock the jar from his hand. He didn’t want that kind of mess to spill on the floor.
“Tell me something,” Patrick said, giving the specimen to him. “Why did the nurse let you fill this on your own? I would’ve thought she’d want to stand outside the bathroom door to make sure you wouldn’t cheat.”
“Love the weekend staff!” Charley exclaimed. “They don’t care!”
With that, the manic shepherd took off back down the hall. Patrick finished getting undressed and wondered if Charley might return the favor for him next weekend. But then that wasn’t supposed to be possible, Patrick recalled. Thanks to his favor, Charley would pass the drug screen and most likely be discharged on schedule in three days.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep off the dope myself,” he murmured, getting into bed. “The DEA won’t mind.”
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