Before I Wake (16 page)

Harley’s eyes were closed, his skin the color of chalk, his lips blue. He hadn’t shaved in what looked like weeks.

Arden put a hand to his cheek, above the growth of heavy beard.

His skin was cold. She felt for his carotid artery—and detected a weak, steady pulse.

His wrists were attached to the sides of the tank with straps similar to the wide restraints on an electric chair.

She unfastened them.

Someone could walk in at any second.

She leaned closer, and whispered, “Harley. Harley, it’s me, Arden. You have to wake up now. It’s time to wake up.”

She turned her ear to the door and listened intently.

Footsteps.

Slow and shuffling—coming down the hall.

She closed the lid, fastened the latches, then slipped behind one of the other tanks.

A switch was flipped, washing the room in glaring fluorescent light. Above her head, tubes hummed. Someone entered, the hydraulic cylinder on the door making a hissing sound as it closed.

Footsteps and soft-soled shoes.

“Howdy, Mr. Larson. How are we doing?” A woman’s voice. The same nurse Arden had had.

“Heat gauges fine. Don’t want you to get cold, but we don’t want to cook you either.” She chuckled. That was followed by the sound of beeps as the woman checked the IV pump.

Would she look in the tank? Would she see that someone had released the straps?

Two metal pops as the woman undid the catches. A creak as the lid was raised.

“Can you pee for me, Mr. Larson? Come on. You can do it.”

That was followed by the sound of urine spraying forcefully into a container. Then, “That’s my boy. Much better than having a catheter, now, isn’t it?”

Another creak as the lid was lowered. Metal snapped; then the nurse walked briskly from the room, turning off the light behind her.

Arden’s rigid muscles released and she dropped the rest of the way to the floor. She sat there a moment, letting relief wash over her while her eyes readjusted to the dark.

It had been tense, but the timing couldn’t have been more opportune. The nurse shouldn’t be back for another hour at least. Maybe two hours if they were lucky.

Arden got to her feet and quickly checked the other two tanks.

Empty.

Dry.

She hurried back to Harley. She shut off the IV pump, then reopened the tank lid. “Harley. Wake up, Harley.”

His eyes sprang open.

She jumped, hesitated, then stepped forward again.

“Harley?”

“ Arden…?”

“What have they done to you?”

This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real.

“You came.”

“Yes.” Tears stung her eyes. “We can’t talk now.” She pulled herself together. “We have to get you out of here.”

“Tired.”

“No excuses. You have to move. You have to help me.”

His eyes drifted closed.

She placed his hands on the tank sides. “Hang on here,” she commanded quietly and earnestly. “Hang on here and pull yourself up.”

With her help, he managed to get himself to a sitting position, water sloshing from the tank, soaking Arden’s pants and shoes.

“Sit there a minute. Catch your breath.”

She didn’t want him passing out when he tried to stand.

He held up his hands and examined them as if surprised to find them there, looking at them as if they belonged to someone else.

He ripped out the IV needle and tossed it over the side.

Okay. He was bleeding now. She would have handled that differently, but okay.

While he stabilized, she searched the room and found a cupboard containing towels, hospital gowns, and pants.

She towel-dried his hair and back, then wrapped the towel around his shoulders and checked the IV puncture. The bleeding had almost stopped.

“Stand up. Put your hands there.” She made sure he had a grip on the sides of the tank. “Push yourself to your feet.” With her hands under his armpits, she lifted.

He came up with a gush of water—until he stood naked and trembling. She draped his arm across her shoulders while she gripped his waist. “Turn around. That’s it,” she coaxed. “Down the steps. One at a time. There you go. That’s good.”

At the bottom of the steps, Arden aimed him toward a chair.

He dove for it, collapsing heavily in the seat.

Arden quickly and efficiently finished drying him off. She tugged a hospital shirt over his head and stuck his feet into a pair of hospital pants, pulling them to his knees. Slippers on his feet.

“Stand up.”

He stood. Wobbling, but upright.

She finished pulling up his pants while he leaned heavily on her, his hands on her shoulders. Like dressing a giant baby. Harley was tall, at least six feet, but no longer big. At one time he’d probably weighed over two hundred pounds. Now she would guess he was closer to 180.

Gripping his hand, she looped his arm over her shoulder once more. With her other hand at his waist, they walked.

Or rather, Arden walked. Harley shuffled. The soles of the slippers were soft, and didn’t make much noise.

She opened the door a crack and listened.

The TV was still on. It would mute the sounds of their departure.

They made it through the door, then up the cement incline to the true basement level.

Then the stairs…

She glanced around the hall, hoping a wheelchair would materialize. But then they would need an elevator, and that might attract attention.

“Grab the railing.”

She placed his hand on the metal rail.

With each step, it felt as if he were pushing her through the floor. With each step, he seemed to get heavier.

Halfway up, he paused, breathing hard. He pressed his face against the wall, mouth open. “What are we doing…?” he gasped. “Why are we doing this? I’m so tired. Just gonna rest my eyes a minute…”

“We have to leave.” She leaned hard into him as she tried to brace him against the wall to keep him from slipping any further.

“I don’t want to.”

“You have to.”

“Why?”

They didn’t have time for this. In his drug-laden state, he wouldn’t grasp what she was telling him anyway. “I’m rescuing you,” she said. “Don’t you want to be rescued?”

A few beats went by. “Sure.” He attempted a shrug. “Yeah, okay.”

She’d hoped for a more enthusiastic response, but coming from a guy who was practically comatose, she’d have to take what she could get. “You have to help me. We have to get up the stairs.”

He began moving again. She shoved from below and behind until they finally made it to the first floor, through a set of fire doors.

She spotted a wheelchair, looking as if some ghost had just walked away from it.

She grabbed the chair, locked the wheels, and helped him into the seat. Then they were moving down the hall into the deserted and unused part of the building. Through the old cafeteria to the hidden stairs.

By the time they abandoned the chair, Harley seemed a little less groggy. A little stronger.

Together they climbed the cement steps.

Outdoors.

How much time had passed? Arden wondered. How long until daylight? How long until the nurse discovered he was gone?

And what now? What do I do now? With a man who can hardly walk?

They needed wheels, and she didn’t have as much as a bicycle.

“Ah.” Harley gave a drugged, visual sweep of the area. He pulled in a deep breath while he stood, legs braced apart, struggling for balance.

Arden grabbed his elbow and helped him toward the thick stand of trees that marked the boundary of the asylum grounds. It wasn’t until they reached deep cover that she let him stop, one hand braced against the trunk of a tree, the other on one knee.

He was shaking.

Like a leaf
, her grandmother would have said.

Arden unzipped her sweatshirt and peeled it off. “Here.”

It was too small, but she stuffed his arms in the sleeves, then tugged it together in front, just managing to zip the zipper. “I want you to stay here. I’m going to get a car,” she told him. “Won’t that be nice? To get in a warm car? But you have to stay here. If anybody shouts for you, don’t answer. Okay? Understand?”

He didn’t.

He let out a heavy sigh and sank, his back to the tree trunk. He just kept going… until he was lying on the ground, curled into a fetal position.

“Sleep.” She rubbed his back the way you might a fussy baby. “You can sleep now. Just go to sleep.”

It was too dark to see his face.

He didn’t answer. A moment later his breathing changed, becoming deep and rhythmic.

She straightened and began to run, moving swiftly through the trees, a bed of silent pine needles under her feet.

Arden rapped softly on Eli and Franny’s door. When no one answered, she pounded.

From inside came a rattle, then the sound of something being knocked over. The door opened and Eli stood there, bleary eyed and blinking like an owl.

Arden barged in and closed the door. “You and Franny have to get out of here.
Now
.”

Clothes and other belongings were scattered everywhere.

“We can’t leave,” Eli said.

“What are you talking about?” Franny was in bed, a box of tissues on her stomach, more used tissues on the floor.

“No time to explain, but we have to go. We have to get out of here.”

“We’re seeing Dr. Harris tomorrow morning,” Eli said. “He’s putting us through some tests. He wants to make sure that what happened to Noah had nothing to do with the study we’re involved in.”

Arden forced herself to slow down and take a couple of deep breaths. “I didn’t want to get into this now, but you’ve been in the tanks, haven’t you? All three of you.”

Franny looked from Eli to Arden. “How did you—”

Eli jumped forward. “Shhh!”

“I knew it!” Arden dropped her hands and shook her head in disbelief. “Jesus!” They were using naive kids as test subjects. Scuttling them through the underground tunnel that joined the Mercy Unit to Cottage 25.

“We can’t talk about it,” Eli said. “We signed papers. We’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“Bullshit! You don’t owe anybody anything,” Arden said in frustration. “Look what happened to Noah.”

“Noah didn’t kill that old woman,” Franny said. “That’s what everyone is saying, but Noah couldn’t—
wouldn’t
do anything like that.”

“He might if he’d been listening to madmen like Albert French whispering in his ear for days on end.” Arden waved her arms in frustration. “Is that what they did? Is that what Harris fed you in the tanks instead of Mozart? Were you listening to tales of murder instead of
The Magic Flute
?”

“He just told us we’d be in the tanks. That’s all I know!” Franny grabbed her head and started sobbing. “I don’t remember! We can’t talk about it! Don’t ask us to talk about it!”

“Okay, just come with me.” Arden tried to calm down while she lowered her voice. “At least give me a ride to Charleston. If I can’t convince you to continue on, then you can leave me there and come back. No big deal.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” Eli said. “No problem. Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

“Pack a few things—in case you decide not to return. We have to hurry.”

Franny was already on her feet, reaching for a backpack.

Eli swung around. “You’re going?” he asked in disbelief.

Arden picked up a black duffel bag. “This yours?” she asked him.

“Yeah, but—”

“These your pants?”

“Yeah, but—”

She stuffed them in the bag. “This?” A shirt.

“That’s Noah’s.”

“This?”

A pair of corduroy pants.

“Noah’s.” Franny took both articles of clothing and held them close.

Once Arden was sure they were adequately motivated, she ran through the building to her room, grabbed her backpack, stuffed as much as she could inside, then returned to Eli and Franny’s room before they changed their minds.

They were ready.

Franny scanned the room. “I know I’m forgetting something important.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eli said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m coming back.”

The building had so many entrances that it was easy to slip out without being seen.

“Don’t exit through the main gate,” Arden said once they were in the car with the engine running. “Go out past the evergreens.”

“Why don’t you just wait and leave in the morning?” Eli put the car in gear. “Why all the secrecy?”

“Watch for a dirt road somewhere on the right.” From the backseat, Arden leaned forward and pointed across Eli’s shoulder. “There it is. Turn there.”

Eli turned.

The headlights illuminated the thick grove of trees, the glare bouncing off tree trunks. Everything looked the same as Arden scanned the area for something familiar. “Stop.”

He stopped.

“Cut the headlights, but not the parking lights.”

She jumped out, leaving the door open.

From the passenger seat, Franny watched Arden move through the orange glow of parking lights to disappear into the darkness.

Eli nervously drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “What’s she doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should get out of here before she comes back.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe she’s hidden a weapon out here and she’s going to kill us.”

“What?”

“Well, somebody around here is killing people, and it isn’t me. Maybe Arden framed Noah. Planted the bloody shirt and shoes. Maybe she killed the old lady.”

“Arden didn’t do it,” Franny said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I trust her.”

“You aren’t going with her, are you?”

“Maybe. I haven’t decided.”

“We’ll look guilty if we leave.”

“But we’re innocent. What do we have to worry about? There is nothing to tie us to that old woman.”

“What about Noah? We were with him. They’ll try to connect us to his death. They’ll think one of us pushed him from the window.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been too wrapped up in the loss, the pain of Noah being there one minute, gone the next. “Why would we do such a thing?”

“We wouldn’t need a reason. Nobody will care if we have a reason.”

But maybe Eli
had
a reason, Franny thought. Eli had always been jealous of her relationship with Noah.

“Arden’s bossy,” Eli said. “Did you notice how bossy she is?”

“I thought you said you liked her.”

“I did. At first. Before she got so bossy.”

“She’s older than we are. She knows more.”

He let out a snort. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s a mess. She’s been
bleached
. How could she know anything? I’m not saying she’s a bad person. That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying she’s not somebody you can put your faith in. Her sense of reality is skewed.”

“Are we so different?” Franny asked. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her in the tank. Afterward, her head had been fuzzy. Even now, she was having trouble putting events together. Sorting them out. Harris had told them the confusion would pass. Was it true? Or had her brain been fried? Had she and Eli been bleached too?

“Look at Noah,” she said. “Look what happened to him. She may be right. They may be doing more to us than we know. If we stay, I’m afraid I’ll let Harris talk me into something. You know how he is.” He’d convinced them to be part of his secret, accelerated TAKE study, hadn’t he?

Eli straightened. “Here she comes.”

“She has somebody with her.” Franny strained to see.

It didn’t help. Dark was dark.

“Oh, my God,” Eli said in disbelief. “I think it’s that guy.”

Franny tried to think of the guys they knew. Fury. Harris. The night watchman, who sometimes let them into the vending area and didn’t squeal if he caught them running up and down the halls. “What guy?”

“That guy. That Harley dude.”

“I thought he was gone.”

“I thought he was dead.”

Arden was half dragging, half carrying him.

“He
looks
dead,” Franny said.

They opened their doors and jumped out to help.

Together, all three managed to get Harley in the backseat and close the door solidly behind him.

Harley was trembling violently, and through the thin layer of clothes, his skin was ice cold.

They dove back in the car.

“Go!” Arden shouted.

Eli reversed.

“Straight. Straight! No headlights. This road takes you out by the old cemetery and dairy barn.”

He slammed the vehicle into forward gear; then they were bouncing over the dirt road.

The car bottomed out.

“Sorry.” Eli slowed. “That’s that Harley dude, isn’t it?” He gripped the steering wheel.

“They had him restrained in a float tank,” Arden said. “He’s probably been at Cottage 25 all this time. All the while they were telling me he’d left. That’s what they’ll do to us too. They’ll tell everybody we quit and left.”

Franny couldn’t shut off her head. Shut off her paranoia. Was this real? Was this really happening? Or was
she
in the float tank, being fed a fake reality?

From the backseat, Harley let out a moan and began rocking back and forth, his head in his hands. “Two times two is three. Two times two is three. Brigitte Bar-dot and Marilyn Monroe. Killed JFK. Killed Chauncey Gardiner. Killed Roosevelt. Killed Howard Hughes. Howard Hughes was a very big man, and a very big man he was. Bleached and restored. Bleached and restored. Amen to that. Amen to that.” He paused. For a moment Franny thought he was done. It turned out he was just catching his breath.

“Gotta find my groove,” he mumbled. “I lost my groove.”

He raised his head and caught Franny staring. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t risk upsetting him any more than he already was. One thing she knew for sure: She wasn’t returning to the Hill. Not if a fried mess like Harley was the outcome.