Destiny Calling (23 page)

“I’m here to visit Mrs. Kneel.” The man slid the window open separating us. His badge labeled him as security, and the uniform confirmed it, but his rotund physique and orange crusted, cheese puff stained fingers had me doubting his commitment to his job. This might work to my advantage.

I’d been concerned I wouldn’t be permitted to visit Griffith’s mother, since I wasn’t a relative and hadn’t met her before. Mr. Cheese Puff might not care.

“Sign in here and fill out this name badge.” He pushed a clipboard and a white sticker in front of me, and went back to observing the cameras displaying various pictures of the grounds. Most of the screens were empty of people. They didn’t appear to merit the interest he took in them, munching snacks as if watching a prime time movie. I would’ve thought the people in the lobby might prove more worthy of his attention than the scenery on the screens.

After filling out my name, I stuck the tag boldly marked
visitor
on my shirt, careful to avoid attaching the sticker onto stray strands of my hair.

The cinnamon scent became stronger as each minute passed. I’d thought once the voices in my head started, I’d no longer suffer with gagging on the smell of cinnamon, and muttered as much. I complained quietly, but apparently not quietly enough.

“It’s ’cause there’s so much hopelessness there.”

I recognized Tessa’s voice.

“Everyone’s trying to get in the Kitchen to help because the amount of despair at the hospital is too much for you to handle, even with all of us here. I’ll see what I can do, honey.”

I gritted my teeth and cupped my head in my hands as the smell became nauseating. The security guard pulled his attention from the cameras to me. Lowering my hands, I tried to hold my breath, forcing a tight smile. The skin felt tense across my cheeks with the strain, twisting my grin into more of a grimace.

“You all right, miss?” He put down his cheese puffs, licked his fingers, and then wiped them on his pants, leaving a four-fingered orange streak on his leg. He kept one hand near the little walkie-talkie hanging on his belt.

My eyes watered from the sickly cinnamon scent. “I’m fine.” The taste of cinnamon filled my mouth. “Just allergies.” I coughed into my fist and whispered, “Come on, Tessa.”

As quickly as the pungent smell filled my head, it dissolved. The scent of unwashed bodies, cigarette smoke, and mustiness filled my senses. I never thought I’d be grateful for that combination of odors.

“All taken care of for now, sweetie,”
Tessa replied, in my mind.
“I don’t know how long I can keep the migraine at bay with the amount of depression in this place. I’m not sure what your point was coming here. Try to make it a short visit. You aren’t strong enough for this, yet.”

The security guard continued to eye me warily, but luckily the chirping of the walkie-talkie interrupted his observation. “Joe, pick up.” The radio buzzed again.

Joe reached for it on his hip as he dismissed me. “Third floor on Ward Four. I’ll let them know you’re coming up.”

“Thank you.” I hurried to the elevator and pushed the button before he could change his mind. A coat of light blue paint tried, but failed, to camouflage the ugly cement brick walls of the lobby.

A dark-haired woman approached to stand beside me. “You got any smokes?” Her dentures fell from their perch where they’d hung precariously onto the roof of her mouth and clacked together. She tried to push them up with her tongue but gave up and used her nicotine-stained thumb to pop the dentures back into place.

“Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

“How about tea bags, then?” Her foul breath forced me to step back to escape it.

“No.” Her gaze raked over me, searching as if I might have any number of desirable items stashed on me. Her inspection was more thorough than the security guard’s.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Sorry, I don’t have anything.” Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could give it to her if I did. Maybe she didn’t have any of that stuff for a reason. The elevator arrived, and I rushed in with her right at my heels.

“What are you here for?” She shoved her hands into her pockets of her tight, faded jeans.

“To visit someone.” The elevator doors slid closed at an excruciatingly slow pace and shut with a thump. The engine rumbled, as if trying to gather the strength to rise the two floors, and I stood in the motionless elevator that felt the size of a closet with this overbearing woman. I impatiently pushed the floor button again, even though it remained lit.

The woman studied the button I pushed. “There are two Wards on each floor. Which ward do you want? Three or Four?”

Though she didn’t appear threatening, and there wasn’t any Oppressor-like fog floating around her, something about the woman made me uncomfortable. The plastic peeled back on the corners of her faded, worn name badge. A frowning photo identified the woman as, Angela, a resident of Ward Four, with grounds privileges. It appeared we’d be traveling together.

“Ward Four, to see Mrs. Kneel.” I figured she’d know Mrs. Kneel or find out who I intended to see anyway with her continued questions.

“Oh, Stella. She doesn’t ever get visitors.” Angela frowned, as if trying to determine my motive for visiting and then visibly brightened. “Hey, if you’re going to be visiting Stella again, maybe you can bring me stuff? Cigarettes, coffee and tea bags?” She moved closer.

I edged toward the door as her overpowering floral body spray unsuccessfully tried to mask her body odor. “I’ll see.”

The elevator thudded to a stop with a jerk, making me wonder if the ancient thing had hit the roof. I braced my hand on the wall as the elevator rattled, settling into place on the new floor, then the door opened at a snail’s pace. I squeezed through, the minute it appeared wide enough for me to fit. Hesitating in the dimly lit hallway, I searched for a sign to indicate the direction to Ward 4.

“This way,” Angela said, her voice gravelly from a throat abused by cigarettes. She pointed toward a pair of locked doors to the right. I trailed behind, pausing as she slid her name badge through a card slot to gain admission. Angela went into the ward, but I hesitated, uncertain whether I should walk in unannounced. The local mental health center I’d worked at in the past had limited security, but I thought there’d be more security here.

“Come on, you just head up to the nurses’ station first.” She pointed down the hallway. “They’ll take care of you.”

“Okay, thank you.” I tried to hurry by, in my impatience to be rid of her, but she grabbed my arm. A flicker of surprise flitted across her face. She must’ve felt a tinge of hope leak into her, most likely a foreign feeling for a veteran patient like her.

“Don’t forget the stuff next time.” She said it like a threat. “I can get lots for that here.” She nodded as if we had an understanding since she showed me the way to the ward. As if I wouldn’t have been able to locate it with only two ways to choose.

She wandered away without waiting for me to reply.

I glanced into the first room and tensed, frozen in place. The man lying on the bed could barely be distinguished from the thick black cloud surrounding him. The blackness was as dense as honey, except for a flicker of slanted eyes near the man’s head and a mouth with a forked tongue darting in and out as it whispered to the patient.

The Oppressor’s slanted eyes rose as if sensing my interest, but I averted my eyes. I didn’t want the beast to know I could see it.

Jerking out of my frozen unease, I picked up my pace toward the nurses’ station, seeing more and more signs of Oppressors in residence. A patient sat on the floor in the corner rocking, while wisps of a black ash-like substance circled and gained in consistency with each moan or grimace of the patient.

The misery and agony weighed upon me. The cinnamon scent didn’t return as Tessa kept the migraine at bay. The palpable pain of the patients made it difficult for me to breath. I staggered the last few steps to the nurses’ station and grabbed onto the handrail for support. Feeling as if I’d run a marathon and not the short walk down the hallway. I couldn’t visit for long, or I wouldn’t be able to make it back out.

I stood, clutching the rail and catching my breath, startling when a patient came up behind me and touched my arm. Her face displayed conflicting emotions of confusion, hope, and anxiety. She swayed in her hospital gown, with her hand remaining on my arm, touching me ever so gently. The darkness lingering around her head repeatedly expanded then diminished as she battled her inner demons.

My skin increased in temperature by the second as her grip tightened, puckering my skin around her fingertips. Hopefulness infused into the woman, chasing away the oppressing thoughts lingering within her, while sapping the energy out of me. I pulled at my arm, but she tightened her grip on the lifeline I’d become to her.

“Please let my arm go,” I said, but she didn’t relinquish her grip. Other patients stopped in the hall to observe. If they determined I could be their personal battery, or the Oppressors here realized what I was, I’d never get to see Mrs. Kneel…or make it out of here.

The woman’s eyes cleared of the cloudiness they’d harbored and a light of optimism glimmered within them. Her posture straightened and a small smile played at the corner of her lips. I could free this woman of her inner demons, but for how long and at what price to myself?

The weight of fatigue and agony descended upon my brain. “I’m sorry.” I yanked my arm out of her grip.

The woman stumbled back and raised her palm to look at it, then me. Despite feeling as if I’d been sunburned in the spot where she’d touched me, my arm looked normal.

I stumbled toward the door at the nurses’ station. My head hung with despair that I couldn’t help this woman any more, nor any of the other desperate people housed here.

“Thank you.”

The woman stood taller and smiled broadly. The blackness no longer surrounded her. She turned and went down the hall, ducking into one of the rooms. Perhaps I’d done a little good, after all.

When I returned my attention to the door, several staff observed me with interest. I struggled to stand upright and let go of the railing. Energy was returning to my body since she’d released her hold on me.

“I’m here to visit Mrs. Kneel.”

The surprised look on the man’s face couldn’t be ignored. “How do you know Mrs. Kneel?” He laid down the visitor’s sign-in sheet and a pen, eyeing me warily.

“I’m a friend.” I was here on friendly terms, which kind of made me like a friend, even if she’d never met me. I filled out the sheet with my name and date then pushed it back to him, grateful my hands weren’t shaking.

He pocketed the pen. “She doesn’t get many visitors.”

When he didn’t call my bluff and ask me to leave, I let my shoulders fall and relaxed the tension I’d gathered there.

“Okay.” He pointed down the hallway where I’d come. “Just go back through those doors and there’s a room marked for visitors on your right. We’ll bring her out.”

“Thank you.” I moved down the hall at a faster pace than when I’d arrived, averting my eyes from the patients I passed, and fearful of having to deal with more of them, or worse—any wayward Oppressors wanting to check me out while my energy was still weak. There was no way I was strong enough for that.

I exited the ward and went directly to the visitors’ lounge without encountering anyone else. Taking a few deep breaths, I paced the room to gather my thoughts. There were several couches and a few chairs. I sat at a wooden-backed chair, looking up when the door opened.

“So, this is the visitors’ lounge?” Mrs. Kneel strode into the room and turned around with her arms outstretched, taking it all in. “For as long as I’ve been here, this is the first time I’ve gotten to use this room.”

She turned and studied me with the same eyes her son had. “I have no idea who you are, young lady, or what you want, but if nothing else, I thank you for visiting and providing me with the opportunity to get a glimpse of this room.”

After being confined here for years, she wasn’t the broken woman I expected. She walked over to the window, peering through the glass that never opened and never would.

“A nice new view from here, too.” She pressed her palms against the pane of glass. A smile lit her face as she closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “I can almost smell the flowers that will be blooming in a month or so. They do have beautiful grounds here, don’t you agree?” She nodded without waiting for an answer, then stopped and stared off into space.

“I used to grow flowers.” She shook her head and her smile returned as she strode around the room, running her hand along the back of the couch. “This furniture is nicer than what’s on the ward.”

She shrugged. “It makes sense, the furniture would get ruined there. Some of the patients don’t appreciate nice things.” She paused. “I used to have nice things.”

Her voice trailed off, and the brightness of her expression faded into a frown.

She sat down heavily on the couch with a sigh. “But that was before.” She looked past me at the wall. “It’s better now. It’s better here.” She nodded and then fell silent.

I waited to see if she would continue, but she appeared lost in her thoughts and oblivious to my presence. There wasn’t any residue from the Oppressors around her like many of the other patients. Maybe she wasn’t as sick as they were, or maybe she was
off limits
because Griffith was her son.

I hesitated, but the thought of this being Griffith’s mother prompted me to extend my hand. “Mrs. Kneel, my name is Hope.”

She blinked several times, returning to the present. “Hope.” She reached out and took my hand. “What a pretty name.”

As her hand engulfed mine in a gentle squeeze, she furrowed her brow, detecting something from my touch. She didn’t pursue the unusual feeling as most did, instead a look of distress crossed her face. “Please, call me Lucille, everyone else does. I haven’t been Mrs. Kneel in a long, long time.”

She dropped her hand and released a slow breath, then wiped her hand on her thigh, as if erasing my touch. “Nor do I desire to be.”