My Lost Daughter (24 page)

“Isn't it time you quit smoking, Alex? The reason they've banned smoking in most prisons is because they don't want the taxpayers to have to pay to treat the inmates when they get cancer.”

“Shut up and hit the ball.” He slammed one over the net at her. “Prisoners don't pay through the nose to be locked up. Big difference, don't you think?”

They had been playing for approximately ten minutes when Shana felt herself getting caught up in the game. She was actually playing pretty well. Her eyes found the small ball and froze it in her line of vision exactly as if she were peering through a telescope. Once she hit the ball, she easily tracked it across the net and watched it decompress against Alex's paddle before it sprang back at her. In her vision, the ball seemed enormous, a glowing white orb, impossible to miss as it came to her in slow motion.

The drugs had redefined the world.

All at once, Shana became aware that she was having a good time. Her hair was sticking out all over, her skin devoid of makeup, her lips dry and cracked, and her pajama bottoms filthy. Regardless, she was laughing and having fun, far more than she'd been having at Stanford. She was sliding from side to side, returning every shot and either hitting the back of the table or dropping the ball right in
front of the net where Alex couldn't retrieve it. She was winning and the group of onlookers was cheering her on.

As they began the third game, several young people entered the room. A young guy of about eighteen came up behind Alex and slapped him on the back, then let forth a frenetic giggle. He was on crutches and Shana couldn't take her eyes off him. Whoever he was, he was absolutely gorgeous. He reminded her of a young Brad Pitt. His hair was a golden blond, his skin smooth and tan. He was wearing shorts and his calves were solid muscle. She immediately thought of Michelangelo's
David.

What Shana had really wanted to study was the arts. She was a right brain person, not left brain like her mother. For years, she had wanted to tell her mother that she hated the rigidity of the law, but the thought of disappointing her had stopped her. She'd certainly spilled her guts the night her mother brought her to Whitehall. It felt good to finally get it off her chest. Another reason she had stopped being close to her mother was that she'd never really loved Shana's father. He'd made a lot of mistakes in his life, but she'd never once doubted how much he loved her. And he didn't just love her, he had worshipped her.

Alex dropped the paddle on the table and flicked his ashes in a nearby ashtray. “David, my man,” he said, turning his attention to the adolescent.

Shana was stunned, wondering if Alex had somehow read her mind. She knew the game was over, just as she'd known the boy's name was David. The unusual experience of
knowing
was over almost the second Alex diverted his attention. Her thoughts turned to the phone again. She had to get the quarter. “Alex, I need—”

“David, this is Shana.”

The boy fixed her with lash-fringed blue eyes, a broad grin on his handsome face. Instead of speaking directly to Shana, David turned to Alex and started speaking rapid-fire. “Are you going to marry her? Are you? Are you? Tell me. Tell me. I think you're going to marry her.”

Alex laughed and looked at Shana with an arched eyebrow as if to say, Don't forget where you are, looks can be deceiving.

More people joined them on the sofa. Those who couldn't get a seat stood as close as they could to Alex. Seated next to David was a redheaded woman who looked to be in her early to mid thirties. She was neither attractive nor unattractive and it was hard to tell why. Her hair was pretty, Shana thought, even though it was red like her own and she'd always wanted to be a blonde. With what appeared to be a natural curl, it fell just below her ears. Her eyes were green, her skin fair, and her nose and cheeks were sprinkled with freckles. As Shana watched, the woman's head jerked several times to the right and she made a strange noise almost like a bark from a small dog. The other patients acted as if they hadn't noticed, and the woman herself didn't miss a beat in the conversation.

Alex was joking with David, his arm draped around his neck.

“Are we going to play volleyball?” the woman asked. “It starts in five . . .” She turned her head and let forth the same bark. “. . . minutes.”

“This is Karen,” Alex said. “Karen, this is Shana. Karen has Tourette's syndrome. In case you've never heard of it, there's some information in the hospital library.” He gazed at Karen with affection. “Shana hasn't told me why she's here, but I'm sure the truth will come out one of these days.”

For some reason, no one seemed disturbed or embarrassed by Alex's recitation of their quirks and illnesses. Some of them appeared relieved that he'd cleared the air and left nothing to speculation. Shana assumed having a disease such as Tourette's placed Karen in a different category from most of the other patients. Suffering from a legitimate disease, even one as rare as Tourette's, was certainly easier than having to admit that you'd set yourself on fire like Norman.

She pondered the last portion of Alex's statement. What would the real truth turn out to be? Had her mother lied about her age so she could have her committed? It didn't make sense given that Lily was so determined that she graduate from law school. Morrow and
the woman who dressed like a bank teller had to be at fault. They were the ones who insisted she was a drug addict and had sores all over her body.

Of course, the law allowed for a person to be held in a mental hospital for seventy-two hours if they were deemed to be a danger to themselves or to others. She'd shown her mother her hammer, so maybe she was afraid she'd smash someone's head in and they'd end up suing her.

Her thoughts were heavy with not only the names of the various individuals but their conditions as well. She did a mental exercise: Alex was or had been suicidal; May had landed here for some reason other than her outlandish nails and her psychic ability, so there was at least one mystery to unravel. As for Karen, Whitehall might be a safe haven from the insensitivities of the outside world. When Shana's attention turned to David, she drew a blank. Alex had said nothing about David.

Alex stood and within seconds, the entire group got up and followed him toward the doors located at the back of the room. Halfway across the room, he looked over his shoulder and saw Shana still seated on the sofa. He came back to fetch her. “Volleyball,” he said, more of an announcement than an invitation.

“I can't play volleyball.”

“Not this again,” Alex told her, yanking her to her feet.

Shana glared at him and jerked her hand away. Who did he think he was—the cruise director of this ship of fools? This was a nuthouse, a place for lunatics. For all she knew, the man was dangerous.

The smile disappeared from Alex's face. “Suit yourself,” he said. “The day will last forever if you just sit here and wallow in self-pity. Night follows day, in case you've forgotten. Tomorrow we'll have to start the whole process over.”

“I'm going to get out,” Shana told him, her lower lip extending in a pout. “My boyfriend is a lawyer. I'll just call him collect.”

“Long-distance calls are blocked. The only calls you can make from that phone are local.”

Brett was probably at Berkeley with his new girlfriend, so she could cross him off the list. She thought of Richard Fowler, her mother's old lover, but she had no idea whether he was still in Ventura.

Alex headed toward the door, where about ten of the patients were gathered, but it was locked and they all stood there as if they were waiting for a department store to open.

Shana glanced at the clock and saw it was only ten o'clock. Time was elongated in this place, she thought, stretched as thin as a rubber band. And there was nothing to snap a person back, to jerk her into some sense of urgency at the ticking clock. She looked around and saw other patients headed for the door. They were going outside. She might be able to escape.

Pushing herself off the sofa, Shana managed to join the group as a muscled man showed up and removed a key from a large ring attached to his belt. The group then trekked across an open courtyard to the gym. Shana's memory kicked in and she finally recognized the attendant. He was the ape from the first day, George, the guy who'd thrown her on the sofa and pulled her pants down when they'd given her the injection.

Shana surveyed Whitehall as they walked, seeing only a series of closed doors bearing the names of various businesses. Whitehall looked like a giant mansion from the front, but inside, it more closely resembled an office building. Falling behind the others, she started reaching out and turning knobs, finding them locked. From what she could tell, there was no way to get to the street other than through one of the offices. Just as she reached for another doorknob, an arm seized her around the waist and lifted her in the air.

“Put me down this instant.” Shana tried to wrench away from George but he slung her over his shoulder, carrying her to the front of the line like a sack of cement. “Who do you think you are?” she shouted, beating on his back with her fists. George could obviously carry twice her weight without a problem. “I didn't do anything wrong. Please,” Shana pleaded with the other patients. “Can't someone help me?”

Alex tentatively stepped forward. “George.” His voice was low and controlled. “Why don't you put the lady down? She's a new kid. She didn't mean anything. Come on, just let her down and get the rest of the patients inside the gym.”

As soon as George placed Shana on the sidewalk, she yanked the green pajama top down to cover her exposed abdomen. “Thanks,” she told Alex. “What do they feed this guy, steroid sandwiches?”

“I wouldn't try the doors anymore if I were you,” he said, his lips compressed into a thin line. “George used to be a boxer. His brain cells are scrambled. I don't think you're much of a match for him. Kind of know what I mean?”

Once they were finally inside the gym, George squatted on the floor to guard the door, massaging one of his muscular calves with a meaty paw. Shana cut a wide path around him but his eyes were trained straight ahead. She wasn't certain about him being a former boxer. She snuck a glance at his forehead, expecting to see a lobotomy scar. The man wasn't human.

Several young people arrived, making boisterous comments as they tried to impress one another. The game began. Shana stayed far in the back court and watched as David hobbled around on his crutches. He suddenly dropped one crutch on the floor and slammed the ball over the net. What was the deal with David and the crutches? For one thing, they were far too short. One foot was encased in a sock, yet she saw David put his full weight on it on several occasions.

Shana became caught up in the game. She moved over the court awkwardly yet she was thrilled to be actually playing a sport. After the rape, she had stopped playing softball and had lost all interest in athletics. She began jostling with her fellow players.

During a break, Shana sat down on the floor beside David. “What did you do to your foot?”

David's amazing eyes lost some of their luster. “I tore a ligament. Man, it hurts. Right now, the pain is a bitch.”

“I'm sorry,” Shana told him, stroking his hand. “Maybe you shouldn't be playing volleyball. I can adjust your crutches. They're
supposed to fit under your armpits. The way they are now, you have to bend over to use them.”

Without a word, David got up and hobbled away, waiting at the door alongside George. Alex sauntered over and leaned against the wall next to Shana. “What's up with David?” she asked.

“What's wrong with anyone?” Alex sighed. “Are you referring to his leg? It's called an affectation. David doesn't want to go home so every week he comes up with a new ailment. Last week, I think he tried to convince them he was going blind.”

Shana was shocked. “You mean someone really wants to stay here?”

“There are worse places to be,” he said, reaching over and tugging on a strand of her hair.

For reasons she couldn't understand, Shana felt a surge of energy, thinking Alex might have a point. Not being under constant pressure was making her feel like a new person. Why had she made such a big deal about Brett ending their relationship? He probably had no intention of marrying her. The whole thing was nothing more than a foolish fantasy.

Her father's murder and her previous stint in a mental hospital had set her back several years. Shana was pushing thirty and the majority of her friends were already married or engaged. Some even had families.

Shana had always wanted what she couldn't have, especially if it belonged to her mother. She remembered raiding her closet on a regular basis when she had more than enough clothes of her own. And the more upset her mother became, the more things she took. Many times she didn't even wear the clothes, and on occasion, she gave them to her friends. When her mother became furious, accusing Shana of stealing, her father countermanded her and told Shana that it wasn't stealing as long as she didn't take things from people outside the family. One of the reasons she'd always worshipped her father was he loved her regardless of what she did, whereas her mother was constantly trying to change her.

Brett had been dating another girl when she'd met him, which
was probably why Shana had wanted him so badly. Then later, when he had replaced her with what she perceived as an inferior person, she'd completely lost it. Shana knew she wasn't a good person, but it wasn't that easy to change.

Surfacing from her thoughts, she looked around the room. Except for George, Morrow, and Peggy, most of the people seemed fairly pleasant. The patients might have their various problems, but in many ways, they seemed more tolerable than the people she associated with at Stanford.

A short time later, she realized Whitehall did more than isolate her from the outside world. It was as if it no longer existed.