In the After (19 page)

One day I am deep into
Snow White
when I hear someone repeating my name. I turn from the television. My mother is sitting
in the chair next to me. I hadn’t even noticed she’d arrived
.

“Hi, Mom.”

She smoothes my hair, petting my head. There are tears in her eyes. I don’t understand
why she is so upset
.

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I came as soon as they said you were stable. You had a dissociative
mental break.” She glances around the room and lowers her voice. “I didn’t tell him
what you learned about the Floraes.”

“What about them?” I ask. Something pulls at my mind and I feel like I should understand
her, but I don’t know what she’s talking about
.

My mother stares at me. “It’s . . . it’s nothing. I just wanted to let you know that
I love you.” She hugs me
.

“I love you too, Mom.” I turn back to the cartoon
.

“It might not seem like it, but you’re getting well here. You’re getting the help
you need.” She takes my hand
.

“I know,” I tell her
.

“Dr. Reynolds sounds very positive about your recovery.” Her voice quavers and she
sniffles loudly
.

At the mention of Dr. Reynolds, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I try to ignore it. “That’s nice,” I say uncomfortably
.

She lets go of my hand and kisses my forehead. I don’t know how long she stays by
my side, but when I think to look again, she’s gone
.

• • •

It’s Baby who elbowed me awake in the morning. My nightmare was still fresh in my
mind: the Florae had Baby and she was terrified, screaming. I shook the fear from
my mind as I felt for Baby’s hand and signed,
What?
still half asleep.

Mom is talking really loudly
.

I listened, but couldn’t hear anything.
So?

She’s saying your name. I know it in loud speak. Maybe she needs you
.

I sat up quickly and silently walked to the bedroom door. Putting my ear to the crack
I could just barely make out my mother’s muffled voice.

“But Amy has already gone through intake. . . .” She paused, listening. “Yes, I know,
but I don’t think she requires a full psyche-eval. . . . It just seems unnecessary.”
She sounded exasperated. “Yes, of course I understand there are no exceptions, even
if it is a waste of time.” There was another long pause. “I’ll have them there at
eight.”

My mother was quiet, shuffling papers, when I pushed open the door.

“Oh hi, honey.” She hastily shoved her papers into her computer bag. “You doing okay?”

“I’m good. Better,” I told her. “Still in shock,” I added honestly.

She patted the empty spot next to her on the couch and wrapped her arms around me
when I sat down.

“It’s okay for you to feel disoriented,” she assured me. “But it’s important for you
to know that everything will soon seem routine.” She pulled back, then, and gave me
a hard look. “You do know that, don’t you, Amy? You’ll fit in here just fine. You’ll
be back to normal in no time.”

“I don’t think I understand what normal is anymore.”

My mother frowned, considering. “You should remain optimistic, especially when you
speak to others about New Hope. . . .”

“Is this about the psyche-eval?” I asked. “I overheard you talking about it just now.”

“Honey, you’ll do fine on your psyche-eval,” she said brightly, but I sensed something
else in her voice . . . anxiety? My mother was never anxious. “It’s just that you’ve
had to deal with so much hardship over the years . . . you may have forgotten that
things can be pleasant. Not everything left in this world is horrific.”

“I know that, Mom.” Even the After wasn’t all bad. I had Baby, a home, a life of sorts.

“Good. So during your psyche-eval, when you speak with Dr. Reynolds, just make sure
you let him know that you feel hopeful, that you’re ready to move forward.”

“I will,” I promised, although I didn’t exactly feel hopeful or optimistic. I felt
heavy, like New Hope was weighing me down. My mother was looking at me expectantly,
so I smiled reassuringly, which seemed to satisfy her.

I wished it were that easy to shake my dark dread.

• • •

I hear Dr. Thorpe talk sometimes, about me and others. I kneel quietly next to my
door while she’s in the hallway. I don’t think she realizes I’m there, or maybe she
thinks that I can’t hear her
.

The medicine hasn’t been making me as muddled lately and memories are starting to
come back to me. I know I shouldn’t be in this place. I wonder how Baby is doing without
me. I want to see her. I wish I could talk to her or to my mother
.

I back away from the door as I hear Dr. Thorpe come closer. I sit on the bed and wait
for her to enter with my food and medication. She pushes open the door and carries
in my tray, placing it on the counter. As soon as her hand is free, she puts it to
her earpiece
.

“Ms. Harris is reacting well to her treatment,” Dr. Thorpe says, not bothering to
look at me. She talks as if she is making a recording. “Her mood has stabilized, as
has her erratic, violent behavior.”

What is she talking about?
She can’t mean me. I’ve never been violent
.

“The paranoid delusions that Ms. Harris was experiencing have completely disappeared,
thanks to the antipsychotics prescribed by Dr. Reynolds and the antidepressants I
prescribed. Ms. Harris has also been given a high dosage of the sedative ketamine
and seems to be at a comfortable level of . . .”

“Excuse me, Dr. Thorpe . . .”

Dr. Thorpe pauses, looks at me as though I’ve suddenly appeared
.

“Yes, Amy. What is it?”

“Who are you speaking to?”

She considers me. “I’m taking oral notes for the other doctors to consult.”

“You said I was reacting well to my treatment. If I’m showing improvement, can I go
home?”

Her face becomes pinched and her body tenses. She doesn’t expect me to ask questions.
“You haven’t fully recovered yet,” she tells me, her voice strained. “You can’t leave
until Dr. Reynolds approves your release.”

I smile uncertainly. “Will that be soon . . . since I’m getting better?” I remember
when the boy came to visit he said he would help me, or was that just a dream? He
said to watch for someone. Kay. I keep thinking of her, but can’t remember who she
is
.

“We’ll have to wait and see what Dr. Reynolds thinks.” Dr. Thorpe turns and continues
to talk into her earpiece while I watch
.

I’ll get out of the Ward, no matter what Dr. Reynolds decides
.

• • •

“I’m Dr. Reynolds.” The pale man offered a hand from his overstuffed chair. His smile
seemed genuine, but his dark eyes were sharp, searching.

“I know,” I said, shaking his hand. His grip was too tight and I shivered. “My mother
speaks very highly of you.” I sat across a coffee table from him in an identical chair.
I looked around the sparse room, taking in the bookshelves, a desk. I couldn’t help
but glance at the door. Baby was sitting in the waiting room while I had my psyche-eval.
I wondered if she’d be okay, if she needed anything.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“It’s just . . . Baby isn’t used to being without me.” I looked at him fully for the
first time. He was average height, normal weight, though his flesh seemed to hang
loosely on his frame, giving him a strange, sickly look, like he had only just recently
lost a lot of weight. His head was shaved clean. At least he didn’t go the comb-over
route. The thought made me smirk.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips, as if he already understood
the joke.

“Nothing, really . . . I’m just . . .” I struggled. “I’m just happy to be here in
New Hope. I’m feeling really optimistic.”

He studied me and scribbled in his notebook, a fake smile still plastered on his doughy
face. “It’s good to be positive, especially after everything you’ve been through.
New Hope must seem like it’s too good to be true.”

I nodded, but offered no response. I’d decided that the less I say the better.

“And what do you find the hardest about being in New Hope?” he prompted.

“Excuse me?”

“I hear you had an incident yesterday; Baby cut herself. . . .”

“She didn’t cut herself,” I clarified, sounding sharper than I’d intended. I cleared
my throat nervously. “I just . . . it’s very loud here. It takes some time to get
used to.”

He tapped his pen against the notebook paper absently, the odd smile never leaving
his face. “So you would say the noise disturbs you the most?” He fixed me in his intense
gaze. His dark eyes seemed to bore into my thoughts. I crossed and uncrossed my legs,
unable to find a comfortable position.

“I didn’t say I was disturbed by the noise,” I answered carefully. “It’s just different
here. There are a lot of sounds that we aren’t used to anymore.” I tried to sit still
but I kept rubbing my hands together. Dr. Reynolds seemed to be observing this, so
I moved my hands to the arms of the chair, trying not to hold on too tightly.

“You said
we
.”

“Sorry?”

“Just now, you said ‘sounds that
we
aren’t used to.’ Why did you say
we
instead of
I
?”

“Oh. I mean Baby. I’m used to thinking of us together. We’re hardly ever apart.”

“I see.” The loose flesh around his chin jiggled when he spoke and I had the urge
to laugh again, which I hid by coughing loudly. He glanced down at his notebook, making
a few notes. “Let’s talk more about Baby. You see yourself as her . . . friend? Parental
figure? Protector?”

I did see myself as those things to Baby, and so much more, but I didn’t want to seem
like I was overbearing. “I guess . . . I see myself as more of a sister to her.”

“And what does Baby mean to you in terms of sisterhood?”

I looked down at my hands. I was starting to wonder why he wanted to talk about Baby
so much. I swallowed, trying to appear composed.

“I think about her before I think about myself . . . like whenever the creatures were
close by. I want her to be safe.” I was rubbing my hands together again and had to
clench my fists in order to stop.

“Can she not protect herself?” His tone was steady, like every word carried a double
meaning.

I hated how frail my voice sounded in comparison. “Oh no, she can. Baby is amazing.
She knows how to be quiet and when to hide. She’s been my rock, really. I think she
kept me sane out there. Not that I was insane, I mean who wouldn’t be a little crazy,
stuck with only Floraes for company.” I was rambling and my forehead was sweaty. I
wiped my face on my sleeve, which I regretted when Dr. Reynolds immediately made a
note on his paper.

“Was it distressing, to learn your mother was alive all these years?” He looked at
me thoughtfully. “While you were ‘stuck,’ I believe is how you put it.”

“It’s . . . surprising. I wish I’d known sooner.” I bit my lip, uncertain if I should
have said more. After a moment, I added, “Even if I wasn’t with her, wasn’t in New
Hope, it would have been a relief to know she was alive.”

He waited for me to continue and when I didn’t, he asked, “What word, if you could
choose only one, would you use to describe your reunion with your mother?” His pen
poised at the ready, eager to judge my response.

“Only one? But there are so many.”
Confusing. Frightening. Surreal
. I stare at the ground, trying to think. “I guess, I would choose . . . fortunate.”
I cringed inwardly. I should have chosen
grateful
or
overjoyed
. “We’re just so lucky to be here,” I kept on. “I mean I am. I’m lucky to be in New
Hope.”

Dr. Reynolds studied me. His unwavering smile would be reassuring on some people.
On him it just gave me the creeps. “I think we’ve chatted long enough, Amy.”

“Did I pass?”

He froze, and for the first time since we began talking, his phony smile had faded.
“This isn’t a test. What gave you the idea that it was?”

“I . . . um . . . I just assumed.”

He stood to shake my hand, his palm clammy. “Maybe we should have another chat one
day soon.”

“I’d like that,” I lied.

He opened the door leading to the waiting room, and my mother looked up from where
she sat with Baby, searching my face.

“How did it go?” she asked, and I shrugged.

“Just fine,” Dr. Reynolds said from the doorway. I realized my mother was asking him,
not me. “I’d like to see the child now.”

“I’ll have to translate,” I told them. I didn’t like the way he was staring at Baby,
like she was a lab specimen.

“That won’t be necessary.” Dr. Reynolds motioned for Baby to step inside his office.

“But she doesn’t speak,” I explained, concerned. “And she barely understands spoken
language.” My voice was loud, bordering on frantic. Dr. Reynolds and my mother exchanged
a look.

There was a silent understanding in that glance, and my mother said, “Don’t worry,
Amy, everyone has to have their psyche-eval.”

Baby looked to me. I tried to be strong.
Go with this man. He’ll make loud speak at you. Be good
.

Baby smiled and disappeared with Dr. Reynolds into his office, the door closing with
a loud
thump
.

We sat and waited for Baby in silence. I didn’t feel like talking. After a while,
my mother got a call on her earpiece. After a quick conversation regarding a corrupted
computer file, she grabbed her computer bag. “I’m going to run this down to Richard
in the lab. . . . You’ll be all right for five minutes on your own, won’t you?”

I looked around the waiting area, taking in nothing more threatening than empty chairs
and a bored secretary behind the front desk. “Yeah, Mom, I’m great.”