by Emma Scott
“I think she does,” I said as gently as possible. “In her own way.”
Delia stared, frozen, and her hard eyes began to shine. “I… I don’t want her to suffer. I can’t imagine she suffers. If I thought that…” She straightened. “Her neuropsychologist should know whatever you think you know. He makes her treatment plan. He says keeping her calm is right for her.”
“What about doing things that give her a chance?”
“A chance at what?”
“At life.”
“What life?” Delia cried. “She has no life, but she’s alive. And she’s all I have left.” She sneered now. “What do you know about it? You’re an orderly. Go mop a floor and leave my sister alone.”
She stormed out, heels clopping, leaving me with a broom in my hand and an empty dining room to clean up.
Chapter 12
Jim
The bar was nearly empty that night. The stage dark but for a cone of light shining down on a guy in jeans and a plaid shirt, an acoustic guitar on his lap. Thankfully, the overly welcoming waitress I met when I first came here wasn’t working. Unbothered, I nursed a beer and listened to the guy make his way through covers of modern songs. The listless crowd eked out a clap or two at the end of each tune.
But at least he’s up there.
I had no aspirations to be a singer. I wanted to help kids who stuttered not to have the shitty childhood I had. Eventually, I’d have to put myself out in the world. Onstage, not in the audience.
I’d put myself out there for Thea. Taking a stand for something and then defending it out loud felt good. Watching Thea light up as she painted a masterpiece was worth everyone at Blue Ridge hearing my stutter. The desire to make her better was growing stronger than the pain and humiliation I might face because of it.
And that’s how it might be if you go back to school and get a speech therapy license to help those kids.
“Thanks, you’ve been a great crowd,” the guy said. “I’m going to close with a favorite called ‘I Will Follow You into the Dark.’”
I drained my beer and pushed my chair back to go when the song’s lyrics grabbed my attention. A man telling his love he’d follow her into the dark, but it was nothing to be sad about. They’d go together, hand in hand.
I went home and pulled up “I Will Follow You into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie on my phone. It was a simple song—but powerful. I set it on repeat and sat with my guitar, listening for the chord changes. I had to put it in a lower octave for my vocal range, but in an hour, I had mastered it.
For Thea.
Lately, everything in my life was for her. To try to help her as much as she was helping me.
Her happiness, in however small of increments it might come, was all that mattered.
And then it all fell apart.
The next day, Rita caught up with me as I was taking resident bedding to the laundry room. “Something’s going on with Thea,” she said. “She’s hardly said a word, and she didn’t touch her breakfast.”
The words sunk into the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. “Maybe she didn’t sleep well?”
“She does look tired.” She forced a smile. “Maybe that’s it. I’m sure she’ll perk up once she gets to rec time. Her painting looks just about finished. You’ll take her on her FAE today?”
“Of course,” I said.
The hours crawled until one o’clock and I practically ran to the dining room. Thea sat alone at a table, a plate of untouched food in front of her. Her head was bowed, her wavy blond hair spilling down to curtain her face.
“Miss Hughes?” I said gently.
She raised her head and that unease in my stomach tightened like a vise. Her sky-blue eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, ringed with shadows. She glanced at my nametag.
“Jim,” she said dully. “How long has it been?”
“Two years,” I said. “The doctors are working on your case. Would you like to go outside? Get some fresh air?”
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds good.”
I offered her my arm, and she stared at it for a moment, then slowly put her hand on my skin, hesitantly, as if I would burn her. Her hand found the crook of my elbow, as usual, and she got to her feet.
Maybe Delia was right that painting stirred up too many memories that hung just out of Thea’s reach. Outside, the heat was stifling, and Thea turned her face to the sun as she always did. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but Alonzo had warned against those types of questions. She had no way of knowing.
I took a chance.
“How are you today, M-Miss Hughes?”
“You can call me Thea,” she said. “And I’m… I don’t know. Tired. I’ve been away awhile and just got back. You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She raised her glance to study me. “You have kind eyes, Jim.”
“You can call me Jimmy. If you want.”
“Jimmy. Okay.”
We walked a few more steps in the quiet afternoon, where only the buzzing of insects and our feet on the gravel were the only sounds.
“It’s so quiet here,” Thea said. “Talk to me, Jimmy. Tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell,” I said. “I work here.”
Shit. There was no “here” for Thea. Only now.
“Here,” she said and glanced around at the green grounds and forest on the other side of the fence. “It’s pretty here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Tell me more. Keep talking to me. Please.”
“I play guitar. And sing a little.”
I waited for her to break out of her sadness to demand I sing. Or listen to music. Instead, she nodded absently.
“What else?”
“I like helping people.”
Though I might be terrible at it.
Her smile was a dimmer, sadder version of her usual beautiful smile.
“I can see that about you,” she said. “That’s why you’re Jim on the nametag but Jimmy with the kind eyes in real life. Very kind for such a strong, intimidating man.” Her hand on my arm tightened its grip. “Like Marc Antony. A soldier who doesn’t want to fight but will if he has to.”
She turned to me suddenly, fear swimming in the blue depths of her eyes.
“You’d fight for me, wouldn’t you, Jimmy?” she asked. “Like Marc Antony?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Yeah, Thea. I would.”
She nodded but didn’t look reassured. Only confused, as if she were trying to work out a problem by talking it out.
“Antony fought for Cleopatra,” she said, as we started walking again. “He fought so bravely for her. But their enemies were liars. Cowards. They told Antony that Cleopatra had died, and so he stabbed himself with his own sword. And when she heard that, she became weak with grief. Undone. Funny how that works. The stronger the love, the more helpless the person feels in the wake of its loss.”
Like one of her word chains, Thea’s pain rose to the surface through a murky swamp of amnesia. I listened, struggling to understand.
“Antony was dead,” she said. “Cleopatra was alone. So she put her hand in the snake’s basket to end the pain. The alone-ness. It’s not the same as loneliness. Alone-ness is an abyss. It’s being alone even when you’re surrounded by people. It’s vast and empty and silent.”
My mind was blank. At a loss for a way to help her. Her next words chilled me to the bone.
“Cleopatra thought she’d be alone forever. Death was the better choice.” She looked up at me. “Maybe she’s right. Anything is better than alone.”
Jesus.
Thea knew what was happening to her and no one could help. She was alone in her prison. Painting had somehow deepened the understanding of it in a way I couldn’t have anticipated. I wasn’t a doctor. Doctors swore an oath to do no harm.
I’d harmed Thea badly.
I tried one last time. “Would you like some music?”
Because music is life. Remember?
She shook her head. “I want to
go inside.”
“Sure,” I said, my stomach twisting tighter. “Whatever you want.”
I led Thea inside to the rec room, where Delia was already waiting. Keeping her promise to come every day to monitor her sister. She watched me with a dagger-glare. Her moment of weakness in front of me the other day was hard and clear in her eyes.
“Delia!”
Thea’s voice was frayed at the ends and then cut off with a strangled sound as she suffered an absence seizure. When the seizure released her, Thea ran to her sister and held her tight.
“How long has it been? Where are Mom and Dad?”
My heart fucking broke at the pain in her voice.
“Two years,” Delia said. “They’ll be here soon.”
Thea didn’t let go of her but clung to her, face buried in her shoulder. Rita hurried over, her hands twisting, her face a mask of worry.
“What’s going on?” Delia demanded over Thea’s shoulder. “Why is she like this?”
“We don’t know, Ms. Hughes,” Rita said, glancing at me.
Delia said a few words to Thea then gently extracted herself. She sat her sister down at the table and pulled us aside.
“She can’t know what happened to our parents,” she hissed at me. “You didn’t tell her, did you? Is that why she’s so upset?”
“I didn’t tell her,” I said.
“Someone said something. Something’s happened. If I find out it was you—”
“I swear, I haven’t told her.”
She lifted her chin. “This is the second time in two days I’m discussing my sister with an orderly,” she said. “You are to leave her alone, do you hear me? This is your last warning.”
With a final, parting glare, she went and sat beside Thea, her arm around her, murmuring comfort in her ear.
I pulled Rita aside.
“It’s because of the painting. I never should’ve bought the canvas.”
“I don’t know,” Rita said, biting her lip. “She’s been so happy. I think you were helping.”
“Maybe I wasn’t,” I said. “Maybe I made her worse. I should stay away. No more walks.”
Rita shook her head, her eyes on Thea. “I don’t know, Jim. I just don’t know.”
I didn’t sleep for shit that night, and as much as I needed to see her, the following day I didn’t give Thea her FAE. I waited with my guts twisting in knots until it was rec time.
Thea stood in front of her painting in the corner, studying what she had created over the last few days. New York City under a brilliant summer sky.
A masterpiece.
“How is she?” I asked Rita.
“Not good,” she said. “Worse, I think. She’s not herself. But she’s with her painting now. Maybe it will help.”
For long minutes, Thea didn’t move, and I wondered if she felt the painting was finished. Then she reached for the tube of black paint and squeezed a huge dollop onto the palms of her hands. With a small cry, she slapped the canvas and dragged her hands across it.
“No!” The word erupted out of Rita.
Oh fuck…
We watched in horror as Thea smeared black paint across her beautiful cityscape. Once. Twice. Black swathes across the perfection of her Empire State Building and the pure blue sky.
Rita and I broke from our shock at the same time and rushed forward. Rita took the paint out of Thea’s hands, while I gently guided her a step back from the ruined canvas.
“Miss Hughes,” Rita said. “It’s okay. Oh, honey, it’s okay.”
You done fucked up now, you big dummy.
Thea was crying, her breath coming in silent, choked gasps. She stared in horror at her hands covered in black paint. Before we could stop her, she raised them to her face and dragged her palms down her cheeks.
“Jesus, honey, no,” Rita cried. She looked over at me fearfully, confused.
I could only shake my head, slack-jawed and my heart thumping in my ears.
I did this. I did this to her.
We took hold of her arms and started her away from the canvas. A voice rang out from the rec room door.
“My God…”
Delia was there with Alonzo, staring in horror. Alonzo’s dusky skin was paler than I’d ever seen it.
“Delia,” Thea cried. She went rigid in my hands as an absence seizure made her stiffen and tremble.
“What in the hell is happening?” Delia said, rushing forward. Her blazing gaze swept over Rita and me. “What is happening to my sister?”
“Delia,” Thea said, before we could speak. Her voice was a watery croak. “You’re here. How long has it been? Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Jesus,” Delia breathed, then hurried to add, “Two years. They’ll be here soon.”
Thea slipped out of my grip and collapsed in Delia’s arms, sobbing, black paint smearing Delia’s hair and the shoulder of her suit jacket.
Delia held her sister tight, stroking her blond hair. Her glare was both murderous and terrified.
“I told you,” she said, her voice shaking with tears and anger. “I told you painting would be bad for her. But did you listen? No, not to me. Not to her doctor.”
Rita shook her head, tears in her own eyes. “I don’t understand. She was so happy.”
“Help me get her cleaned up,” Delia snapped. She kept an arm around Thea as they walked to the door, Rita following. Delia stopped and stared at Alonzo and me.
“I think it’s time we had a meeting with Dr. Poole and Dr. Stevens.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Alonzo said to the ground.
Pain wracked my chest as if I were having a seizure too. “Alonzo—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t.” His brown eyes were heavy as he looked to the ruined canvas in the corner. “Best go clean that up.”
I put the canvas away. Cleaned up the paint splatters. Stored the brushes in the supply closet. The next day, Thea was back at the table, markers and a sheet of paper in front of her.
I went to get a broom, to do the job I should’ve been doing all along, instead of interfering where I had no business.
I swept the rec room, working around Mr. Webb doing his jigsaw puzzle and Ms. Willis playing dominoes with her nurse. Mr. Perello spoke about the war to his attendant. All the while, I stole glances at Thea, hoping to see her with a pen in her hand and that smile on her lips.
But she sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing.
Rita met my gaze and shook her head, saddened and helpless too.
I hurried in my tasks to avoid Delia, but she showed up early and strode directly to me.
“Why are you in here?”
“Just cleaning up,” I said. “I haven’t spoken to her, Ms. Hughes. I promise.”
“I would goddamn well hope not. You need to leave. Now. I don’t want you anywhere near my sister. In fact, the next time I see you will be at the meeting I’ve arranged with Drs. Poole and Stevens.”
I nodded. I hurt Thea and would probably lose my job over it. A small price to pay.
“Delia,” Thea called weakly from her table behind us. No energy. Hardly a smile. “You’re here. How long has it been?”
Before Delia could reply, the skin-shivering sound of a rattle filled the rec room. My stomach clenched and my palms went sweaty at the sight of a snake, striated silver with dark gray diamonds, gliding out of the supply closet and across the rec room floor, silent but for its tail.
For a split second, everyone stared, no one moved. Time stopped.
“You gotta watch for pit vipers, Jim,” Grandpa Jack said from the recesses of my memory—a fishing trip to Lake Murray. “’Round here, the Massasauga rattler is the deadliest. Black and silver beauties, they are, but bad news.”
Bad news.
Someone screamed, and time lurched forward. Residents scrambled out of their chairs and backed away. Delia stumbled in her hurry to reach Thea and fell against the table.
And Thea…
My stomach recoiled in horror as
Thea calmly watched the snake make its way toward her. With perfect calm, she kneeled on the floor. Her expression blank but almost peaceful. Serene. Resigned. She held out her hand.
The snake’s tongue was a flicking black fork in a mouth that opened to hiss and show its elongated fangs, less than a foot from Thea’s fingers.
I gripped the broom in both hands like a baseball bat, and in three longs strides, I was there. Thea snatched her hand back as I brought the broom handle down on the snake’s head. It made a sickening splat as it connected. Blood and brain matter spurted across the linoleum in a halo beneath its crushed head, but its body still writhed.
Again and again, I brought the broom down, hating the destruction of the animal, hating what Thea had been doing more.
The Massasauga was dead, and I stood, panting, adrenaline coursing through me instead of blood. Rita and the other residents stared. Delia crouched beside her sister, staring up at me with a mixture of fear and shock.
Thea trembled in her arms, locked in a seizure.
Chapter 13
Jim
“Well, Rita?” Delia demanded as the nurse came down the hallway toward the rec room.
“I gave her a mild sedative,” Rita said. “She’s calm and resting.”
Delia sniffed, checked her watch and continued her pacing.
Now Anna Sutton, the head nurse, joined the gathering. It was her only day off, but when Rita couldn’t get Dr. Poole to answer his phone, she begged Anna to come in. She smoothed her skirt and blouse, clearly wishing she were in her uniform.
“Where is Dr. Poole?” Delia asked, arms crossed tight and fingers gripping the sleeves of her blazer. “Or Dr. Stevens? I told you, I want a meeting with both, Monday morning.”
“Dr. Stevens is at a conference in Miami until tomorrow,” Anna said. “Dr. Poole is unavailable. But we’ll arrange—”
“Unreachable, you mean,” Delia said. “Disgraceful.”
“Rita, I want a nurse stationed in Miss Hughes’ room for the next twenty-four hours,” Anna said. “Alonzo, what’s the situation in the rec room?”