Identity (Eyes Wide Open) (9 page)

She’d spent the last twenty minutes sitting or lying quietly on her bed, mind drained and frenzied at once. Her skull tingled, screaming for relief, and her face was flushed. She wanted to move, to pace, anything to work off her nervous energy. But she wanted to appear defeated in the event anyone came to check on her.

She could make her way to the cafeteria or lounge whenever she felt up to it, Mike had told her. They didn’t seem concerned about her leaving the room, which didn’t help. They obviously were confident in whatever security measures they had in place.

Still didn’t matter. She had to try.

No cameras in the room that she could see.

Christy sat up, heart pounding. No sign of anyone outside. If she entered the hall and met any of the staff, she could always tell them that she was headed for the lounge, right?

She stood and steadied herself. They placed a plastic band on her wrist that identified her as Alice Ringwald. It had her number and few letters—S A D, P D—whatever that meant. Maybe her diagnosis. The blue smock they gave her had no name tag. Said they would get her some clean clothes later.

It was now or never.

Christy walked to the door, opened it slowly, and slipped her head out. The hall was clear. Same hall she’d first entered, along the same wall that opened to the stairs to the basement, only two doors down from the administrator’s office.

She gathered herself for a few seconds, listening to the silence. No sign. She would get to the far end of the hall and take the corner. It was really the only way she could go.

Just walk easy, Christy. Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong.

She stepped into the hall and turned to her right. Still no one.

Breathe. Don’t run.

She headed down the hall, feet numb, eyes on the end where the hall turned to the left.

The patient rooms all had small windows, six by twelve inches, allowing a clear view of the interior. She cast a glance into the first room she passed and saw that it was empty.

Still no sign of traffic. She picked up her pace.

Passed a third room and glanced in as she passed. Patient asleep on the bed, facing the window. She was glad they hadn’t sedated her. If they had she wouldn’t have—

Christy pulled up sharply, the image of the sleeping patient she’d just passed large in her mind. She spun back and peered through the narrow window.

A male. Dark hair. Restrained at the wrists.

Austin?

But…

She blinked away the image, but the face refused to change. How could Austin be a patient in the same ward she was in? And in restraints? Nothing made sense.

She was losing her mind?

Christy didn’t think to check the hall again. She twisted the knob, slipped into the room, and stood trembling, facing the apparition before her.

Only it wasn’t an apparition.

It really was Austin.

—

“WAKE UP! Wake up!”

A sharp pain set fire to Austin’s cheek. Spread into his jaw.

His eyes fluttered open. Drifted to his right where Christy’s face hovered over him, eyes puffy and red. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that struggled to keep her tousled locks in check. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.

He blinked. “Christy?”

She looked at him with fear-fired eyes. “Tell me you’re real. Please, just tell me I’m not imagining this.”

“Where am I?”

She hesitated. “The psych ward.”

He was flat on his back with his arms at his sides. In bed?

His attention flitted between her and his surroundings. He tried to force the world into focus, but his mind was sluggish. He was in a white room with cinderblock walls. Windowless.

“How…?” Christy looked frightened. “You’re real, though. Right?”

“Of course I’m real.”

“Then how did you get here?” She jerked her head toward the door. “They could be coming soon. We have to hurry!”

“Hold on.” His chest and his heart surged. “Just hold on.”

Thoughts raced. He had to stay calm.
Think, Austin.
His mind cycled through what happened in the basement. With Fisher. With the girl.

Fisher.

He scanned the room and tried to sit up, but his attempt to rise to his elbows was stopped by the thick padded restraints that secured his wrists to the steel bedrails. The metal chain links clinked in protest. He tugged at them.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“Where is who?”

“Fisher. Where is he?” He knew the man was nearby. Had to be.

Christy was confused. “I don’t know who Fisher is.”

“Okay, listen to me.”

She muttered to herself. Held her head in her hands. “They’re coming.”

“Look at me.
Look
at me.”

She faced him.

“I need you to get me out of these.” He pulled at the restraints. “Can you do that?”

Her trembling fingers fumbled with the fat leather straps. Her breathing was shallow. After several tries she managed to free his right hand.

He slipped it out of the leather cuff and reached across his body. His fingers made quick work of the second restraint and he sat up. Excruciating pressure bloomed in his head with the rush of blood.

He grabbed a fistful of the bedding. Clenched. Waited for the pain to settle to a dull roar.

“Are you okay?” Christy asked.

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t though.

Austin scooted to the foot of the bed. He dropped his feet to the floor and stood.

Fueled by a potent mix of pain and adrenaline, his mind crackled with renewed clarity. It might be temporary, he knew that. He had to think quickly.

“Christy…”

He turned and saw that she’d closed the distance between them. She slipped her arms underneath his, around his body, and lay her head on his chest.

He stood there for a moment feeling her body tremble.

“I knew you would come,” she said.

He held her gently. They were alive and together—that was good.

They were in a psych ward. As patients. That wasn’t so good.

Her shoulders heaved.

“Hey, listen,” he said softly. He pulled back and held her at arm’s length. Fat tears carved trails down her cheeks. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“It will be. We just need to figure this out.”

She bit her lower lip, on the edge of a cliff somewhere in her mind. What had they done to her? He needed to keep her head in the game.

“Good,” he said. “We have to reason our way through this. Right? Don’t go crazy on me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Crazy? You think I’m crazy?”

“Bad choice of words. I need you to get hold of yourself.”

“I’m not crazy.”

He checked the door with a glance. “Keep it down. Of course you’re not crazy.”

“I’m not.” This time her words came out as barely a whisper.

“But you’re obviously stressed out, and you’re not thinking straight. The only way we’re getting out of here is if we stay calm and figure this out.”

“You’re right.” She ran her hands through her hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

He paced across the room. With each passing moment the cloudy layer in his mind burned away.

“Tell me
everything
. Focus. What happened to you this morning after you got here?”

The story spilled out of her in one rush of ragged emotion. The panic she felt in the passageway. Her phone call to Austin. The run-in with the hospital staff. The mix-up that led to her admission. Lawson. All of the pieces clicked into place for Austin.

“You had no ID on you?” he asked.

“No. I left everything at home.”

He noticed the blue plastic wristband on her left hand. He reached down and twisted it. A series of numbers were printed on it. Next to the numbers, a name: RINGWALD, ALICE.

Alice.

Austin jerked his left hand up. A similar band snugged his wrist. The name on it: CONNELLY, SCOTT.

A pang of terror rose in his gut.

“What?”

“Of course,” he said. “Fisher.”

“Who’s Fisher?”

“After I got your call, I traced your steps to the storage room. I found the way into the hospital that you took. While I was in the basement, I stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to see. A hospital employee was down there. A man—Douglas Fisher. His name badge said he’s the admissions director. He was performing some form of therapy on a young girl. Whatever he was doing, I wasn’t supposed to see it.”

“He did this to you?” she asked.

“He injected me with some kind of sedative. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Oh no.”

Austin churned through the possibilities, but there were too many to process so quickly. He was midstride when he saw the red folder peeking from a wall tray next to the light switch.

His folder.

He covered the distance in three steps and pulled the chart out. Flipped it open. His finger traced the record as he scanned it.

“Scott Connelly. Age seventeen. Paranoid delusional.” He closed the folder. “Same name on my wristband. This is me.”

“What?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Fisher was smart. Dangerously so.

“What?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“What is it?” she asked for a third time, this time in a whisper.

He held up the folder and spoke quickly, his own urgency rising. “He admitted me as a patient. That’s what he did after he knocked me out.”

“But you’re not a patient. How can he just…
do
that?”

“Fisher’s the admissions director. Think about it. He has access to the system. He controls the records. After the basement he must’ve taken my phone, my wallet—everything that proves I’m Austin Hartt. I had your phone on me too. He has both of them now.”

“But why? Why would he do that?”

The realization steamrolled him. “Whatever I saw him doing was dangerous enough that he couldn’t simply let me walk away. It had to have been illegal, probably some kind of experimental therapy that the hospital would never approve. Something that would cost him his job. That has to be it.”

“Then we’ll just find a phone and call someone. The police,” Christy said. “It’s all a mistake. They’ll see. It’s all just a mistake.”

“There won’t be any outgoing lines except in the offices.” He tapped the folder against his open palm quickly, thinking. “Besides, this isn’t a mistake. It’s a calculated move. We’re patients in a psych ward. No one’s going to believe anything we have to say.”

“Of course they will. They have to.”

“Why? He stripped me of my identity.” Another realization dawned on him in that moment. “And he took yours too.” He motioned to her wristband. “You said they think you’re name’s Alice, right?”

“Right.”

“And why do they think that?”

“Because she’s the patient that went missing.”

“Precisely. Look at it from their perspective. You show up inside a secure facility with no identification. No phone. Nothing. Think about it. Who breaks into a mental facility? No one. And who would be in charge of a patient population? Fisher—director of admissions. But Fisher suddenly finds himself in a tight spot because he’s been found out. By me. He’s got to cover his tracks.”

A beat.

Her face went slack. “He has to get rid of the real Alice. She knows too much.”

“Exactly. She knows what he did to me. But he can’t just get rid of Alice because Alice is in the system. Instead, he turns you into her. She was just checked in. You are her. End of story. No missing patient.”

“So he turned us both into mentally ill patients…” she said.

Austin didn’t bother responding. It seemed plain enough.

“If he’s willing to do that, what’s to stop him from doing something worse to us?” she said. “What’s to stop him from killing us?” Her voice escalated.

“Calm down,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “They’ll hear us.”

She pressed, this time in a harsh whisper. “What’s to stop him from killing us?”

He hesitated. “Nothing.”

“Wait. Alice. She’s the key, right? All we have to do is find her. She knows the truth. You said she’s in the basement, right?”

“
Was.
Fisher’s not stupid. By now, he’s cleaned up whatever evidence was down there and has put Alice somewhere else. Or worse.”

There was a long silence.

“So we’re trapped,” Christy said. “What now?”

“We’ve got to get out of here. We get out of here and we go to the authorities. We tell them what’s happening here. Whatever I saw goes deep. Deep enough that Fisher’s willing to falsely admit two perfectly sane people into a psych ward to cover his tracks.”