Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) (12 page)

“Are we alone, Doc?”

“Well, we aren’t in my office like what should’ve happened, but it’s pretty confidential. I’ll make sure none of the nurses come back until we’re done.”

To hell with it. I’m going to tell him everything I’ve seen and what has happened. Resistance intrigues them more. Maybe if I let it all out, take the meds, and still don’t get better, it’ll make them really start to wonder about me. Until then, I feel as if I’ll be stuck in limbo.

“I’m seeing and hearing things. It started about three weeks ago. Hell, I don’t know how long it’s been since I don’t even know what day it is. I’ve been trying to interact with the voices and the people. One is a lady. One is a girl that I first saw during a call at a fire. Talked to her in front my whole crew and she was dead. And then there’s this little boy. They’re all familiar to me, but I can’t figure out from where.” I take another drink of water. “I try to interact to get answers, but so far, nothing.”

“And the injuries?” Dr. Clint asks, never taking his eyes off of me.

“The woman is the only hostile one so far. She’s done all of it.” I feel like an idiot. Out loud it all sounds stupid. If it weren’t actually happening to me, I’d feel the same way everyone else has about it. That’s what is so damned frustrating about it all. I know it’s true and even I’m having a hard time believing. 

“So she’s who you saw last night?”

“Her and the boy. I was following the boy. He wanted me to go with him. That’s when they found me in the hallway.”

“Where do you think he was taking you?”

“I wish I knew,” I reply. “One night at my dad’s, something tried to drag me away. Pulled me off the bed and everything. I don’t know where they want me to go. To hell, probably. Where else?”

“I’m really glad that you’ve opened up to me, Nathan. It’s a good step. I need you to do one more thing for me. I know we’ve tried before, but I want you to think about it.” He pauses as he adjusts his glasses. “Will you try the medication? It might help you. Even if you feel it won’t help, then there’s not much to lose.”

Sure there is plenty to lose. The side effects of psychotropic drugs are horrible. I’m just too tired to fight it. I know I won’t respond to them. Maybe it’ll be a step in the right direction for them to open their eyes and realize that I’m speaking the truth. Or maybe I really am crazy and I’m in extreme denial. I’m starting to wonder.

“What do you want to put me on?”

“Seroquel. It’s for schizophrenia. I haven’t officially diagnosed you with that, but I want to try and see if this helps you.”

“I know what Seroquel is, Doc. Do what you gotta do.” I can’t believe I’m giving in, but there’s no other option. It’s like the saying – fight fire with fire. None of my options are very appealing. I’m hoping this will eventually work in my favor.

Chapter Twelve

They hold me in the hospital for the whole day, and take me back to my room that evening. Out of habit, I run my hand down the back of my neck and feel the gauze bandage covering the stitching. I want to see what the wounds look like. I want to see how bad it is. The fact that I had to get stitches makes my stomach churn. How long are the woman’s finger nails and how deep did she go? I can’t remember how painful it was after all of the drugs they pumped into me, but there’s a dull ache that heightens after I touch it.

Dr. Clint escorts me into my room. I’m shocked he’s still here, seeing as he’s been around all day. He must care about me or I’m his morbid science experiment he wants to get rich off of.

“I’ve included Seroquel in your meds for the evening, along with a sleep aid. After the night you had, I suggest taking both. You need some good, deep rest.”

I nod, though I don’t completely agree with it. “I guess you win, Doc. My wife can’t even get me to take over the counter stuff and here I am, agreeing to a schizophrenic medication.” All day I’ve wrestled with the idea that I could possibly be as crazy as I sound. I’ve thought about how I can be a stubborn man and my denial knows no bounds. But something deep inside is still telling me that I’m not. My instincts are screaming at me, keeping me from falling into the psychological wormhole that so many people can’t get out of.

“I think we’ve had a breakthrough today. I want to see you again in the morning, and preferably, in my office. I’ll let them know to take you there after breakfast, okay?”

He walks to the door and I stop him before he gets out into the hallway. “Hey Doc, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Nathan. Anything.”

“You ever have a patient that you weren’t able to figure out? You know, one who doesn’t respond to meds or therapy?”

He heaves a deep sigh and contemplates my question. I’ve put him on the spot, but he’s an educated man. It shouldn’t be too hard to answer. “I’ve had a few, but it was due to their unwillingness to cooperate, much like you have started out being like.”

“And what happened to these people?” I know I’m not going to like his answer.

“More times than not, suicide. They can’t handle it and eventually take their own lives. Twenty to forty percent of those with schizophrenia attempt suicide. It’s a startling statistic, which is why I’m trying my hardest to help you, Nathan. For the sake of your family, but most of all, for the sake of your life.”

The percentages shock me, and for a second, I doubt that it’s accurate, but I remember reading something about it. “But you said earlier that you haven’t officially given me that diagnosis yet. I can hope that I’m not completely doomed yet, right?”

He smiles and nods. “Right. The reason I’m hesitating is because you’re older than the average onset of the disease. It usually occurs in late teens and early twenties. There are a few things that don’t match up, which is why I need you to be completely honest and compliant with everything I suggest in your treatment. As soon as we get all of our ducks in a row, it’ll seem clearer.”

“I’ll do my best, Doc, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Nathan. Get some sleep.”

He makes his exit and I lay back on the bed, avoiding putting pressure on the back of my neck. The nurse brings around meds and I don’t give any objection to it. Why the hell not? I’m starting to doubt my sanity and this could really break open what is happening. The light from the hallway cascades in again, and I think about my visit from the woman and the boy from the night before.

I notice that there is more staff presence up and down the hallway, and they nonchalantly look in, attempting to not raise suspicion as they watch me. I have to wonder if I’m their hardest patient right now, but there are guys down the hallway that are kept in more secure rooms than I’m in. They’re probably suicidal and homicidal, and I fear that I could eventually get to that point.

I shift in the bed and it’s hard to get comfortable. I suddenly start to feel the effects of the medicine. I can’t remember what some of the side effects of Seroquel are, but like with most psychotropic drugs, drowsiness is probably one of them. Taking that on top of a sleep aid is only going to make me feel like a zombie when it’s time to get up.

I begin to doze, and I’m in the state where I’m about to completely fall asleep, but I can hear everything around me. The silence on the floor is deafening. I swear I hear whispers, but this time, I try to ignore them. I don’t want to be bothered. I’ve tried finding this all out on my own. All it’s gotten me is beaten to a bloody pulp and in trouble.

“Nathan…” I hear the voice and feel the breath on my ear, but I don’t open my eyes to look. I swat at it, and don’t make contact with anything. “Nathan, you’re giving up. Don’t give in to it. You’re not crazy…”

“Leave me alone,” I mutter, but with as tired as I am, I’m sure it doesn’t come out sounding anything like that. “Just let me sleep.”

“Come with us…”

I sit up, finally looking around. There is nothing there, only darkness and the beam of light from the hallway. I swipe my hand across my forehead and sweat covers my skin. It feels like a heater is blasting around me.

“Come with us…” the voice repeats.

“Leave me the hell alone!” I yell, and lay back down, pulling the covers over my head. I just want this to go away. I want the voices to stop. I want it all to stop. I want someone to save me from the dark.

“Checks.”

I pull the cover down and see a nurse at the door, checking off that Nathan Gallagher is exactly where he needs to be. I’m certain he heard me yell, but with all of the other patients doing the same thing, he probably doesn’t think twice about it.

I’ve become like the others. Nighttime is dark. Nighttime is scary. Nighttime is when the dead come to life and I can’t wait for the sun to rise in the morning. A part of me hopes that the meds will do their job and get me leveled out so I’ll never have to hear or see the things that I have ever again. A part of me hopes that the doctors are right and that I am wrong, but I know it isn’t the case. The drugs aren’t going to do a damn thing to save me.

***

Rose

I look at the calendar in the kitchen and it’s hard to believe that Nathan has been in the hospital for almost a week now. I know that psychiatric hospitals are handled differently than medical hospitals, but I want to visit him. I want to see if he’s made any progress. It’s Nathan’s sole decision to include me in his treatment and progress, but I’m hesitant to call and see if he has allowed it.

How will I take it if he hasn’t? It’ll hurt, but I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t want anyone to know. Psychology is such a young science that the subject is still very taboo. The less who knew, the better it’d be for him to make a full recovery and get on with his life.

Rusty comes down the stairs, pulling me from my daydream. Since his father’s hospitalization, we haven’t spoken much. I want to sit him down and get on the same page and make sure he really isn’t seeing things, but he doesn’t give me much chance. If he’s not at school, he’s tucked away in his room, unwilling to even make eye contact with me.

“Rusty, why don’t I make you breakfast?”

He grabs his backpack near the door and looks at me with hesitation. “I’m gonna be late for school.”

“Since when do you care about that? I’ll call them and tell them you’re gonna miss your first two classes. You want breakfast burritos? I can scramble up some eggs and bacon.”

His apprehension never fades and I hate that we’ve gotten to this point. I want him to trust me and feel like he can come to me about anything.

“What’s the occasion? Dad getting out?”

I shake my head as I gather the food from the refrigerator. “No, not yet.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“No.”

Rusty folds his arms over his chest. “Why? Do you not care? It’s been a week. Shouldn’t we know something?”

“Rusty, it takes time. I’m not sure how medical records work at Sunset Canyon, but they can’t tell me things like they could if he was just in a regular hospital.”

“It seems like you don’t care. You’re his wife. For all we know, he’s being tortured.”

It’s obvious that he shares the same views about mental hospitals as his father. I try not to get frustrated with him. I want to have this talk with him. “He’s not being tortured, Rusty. He’s in good hands. I…”

He cuts me off. “How do you know? You haven’t heard anything!”

“I’ll call them today. It’s all I can do.” I reach out and grab his hand. “Were you serious when you told me you were seeing and hearing things? I need to know the truth, Son.” My memory flashes to the woman I saw on the TV and what she said to me about Nathan not being crazy.

“I’m not sure if I should answer that or not, Mom.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be carted off like Dad.”

I let out a sigh. “So you are?”

He ducks his head. “I gotta get to school. I don’t wanna be late.”

He hurries out the front door before I can stop him. I rake my hands through my hair and stare at the package of eggs on the counter. Suddenly, I’m not so hungry. With Rusty claiming to experience it, and with what I might or might not have seen, it makes me wonder what is happening with this family. Is our house haunted? I’m not even sure if I believe in that kind of stuff, but I have to at least consider it. Nathan is the most levelheaded man I know. But psychology is real. It’s a science. There’s no proof about supernatural things. Maybe all three of us are just going crazy.

I grab the phone and dial Sunset Canyon’s main phone number.

“Sunset Canyon, this is admissions.”

“Yes, this is Rose Gallagher. I’m not sure what department I’m needing, but I need to get an update on my husband.”

“Have you been included on the release of information consent?”

I roll my eyes and plop down on the couch. How the hell am I supposed to know that? There’s been no communication until now. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t with him when he was taken in. I don’t know if he even filled out that paperwork.”

“Let me pull him up. What’s his name?”

“Nathan Gallagher.”

There’s a pause and the woman says, “Oh, I see.”

I see? What in the hell? Has something happened to Nathan? I try to stay calm. Maybe that is just her tone.

“He has included you on the consent. Let me transfer you to his ward and you can talk to one of the nurses there.”

“Thank you.”

I am placed on hold and some instrumental, symphonic music takes over the line for a few seconds until a man answers.

“Ward G, this is Riley.”

“Yes, this is Rose Gallagher. I am calling to try to get some kind of update on my husband. His name is Nathan and he’s been there about a week. Have I called the right place?”

“Yes ma’am you have. I’m the charge nurse on this floor. I’m glad to hear from someone in his family and even happier that Nathan included you on the consent.”

I lean my head back on the couch. The anticipation is killing me, but I don’t want to seem too forceful. I hate it when patient’s families are hateful to us, and I don’t want to be that way with them. “How’s he doing?” My voice shakes and I try to hide the emotion.

“Well, the good news is, he’s agreed to take the medications the doctor has prescribed. At first, he was denying all of it. He had a bad night a few nights ago. Hurt himself pretty bad and required medical attention. His doctor convinced him to give Seroquel a try and he’s been on it for about a week now.”

Nathan has agreed to meds? Things have changed. I’m thrilled to hear it, but the tone in Riley’s voice leads me to believe that there’s a bad news side to it all. “That’s good to hear.”

“The bad news is, Mrs. Gallagher, that he’s not really responding to it. He’s gone to sessions daily with Dr. Clint and is still claiming to see and hear things. I’ve observed him and it still appears that he is having hallucinations.”

Shit. That is not what I want to hear. “Maybe the Seroquel hasn’t kicked in yet. Doesn’t it take psychiatric meds a while to really get into the system?”

“For the most part, yes, but with what he’s on, the hallucinations should at least be fading. It’s expected that he’ll still get them, but on a much milder level. It seems to me that they’re getting worse. He’s got fresh wounds. He is still angry. I’m not sure what goes on during his sessions with the doctor, but here where I’m at, it still seems like he is back peddling.”

I’m not sure what to say. At least he’s taking the pills, but why aren’t they helping him? “Is the doctor considering a different medication?” The nurse side of me kicks in. Sometimes people need to try several different things before their body agrees.

“Yes, I believe so, but Seroquel is supposed to be one of the top ones out there today. We are really trying to stay away from Thorazine, but in your husband’s case, more drastic lines of treatment might be necessary.”

I swallow the bile in my throat. This can’t be happening. Why can’t he just go in, get leveled out, and come home? Why is this so damn complicated?

“Drastic levels? What do you mean by that?”