Schasm (Schasm Series) (18 page)

“You mean I have a choice?”

She laughs a little as she scrubs her hands in the sink. Then she returns to my side with a needle and inserts it into the IV bag. I watch the yellowish fluid flow up the tube and drip into the bag drop by drop. “Tell me what I’m getting here again,” I say. I add a “please,” just to up the odds of getting an honest answer.

"The medicine being injected into your IV will help keep your mind planted where it’s supposed to be,” she says with a smile that makes me want to cry. “It’s for your own good,”

“The only good thing for me would be to release me from this place.” I hold my emotions. The medicine must be taking effect.

“Sorry, hon. I’m just following orders, like I said.” She looks sad, but I don’t buy it.

I can’t imagine what kind of junk my mother has been feeding these people. The fact that they think I’m in such bad condition that I need to be medicated is just absurd.

The wheels of my IV cart squeak with every step I take. I swallow the lump in my throat while looking at some of the other residents here as I walk. I feel as if there are a dozen eyes lurking and staring at me as I walk by. My chest tightens; my heart feels as if it's beating in my stomach. The worst part is the number of solitary confinement rooms. Steel doors seal the rooms. There is no way out for the people who are locked in there.

Kind of like home, I guess.

We’re now passing by the exam rooms where I have my weekly appointments. I smile knowing I won’t have to tolerate the horrible twenty-minute car ride with my mother anymore. It’s cold comfort, but I’ll take it.

The common room isn’t quite what I had visualized based on Charlie’s description. It’s old and run-down, and not large at all. I step in and focus on the three floor-length windows with long bars running from top to bottom. There’s a two-person table flipped over on its side across the room. The piano is a joke. I’m beginning to get the feeling that this may not have been a better option than sitting in my mind-numbing room.

I decide to take a seat at one of the upright tables and fidget with a deck of cards, as much as my IV leash will let me. I pull each card out one at a time and scatter them in a straight line. I choose to ignore the large bite marks taken out of each one.

A heavily-sedated teenage girl in a long blue nightgown wanders over to me, dragging her bare feet across the wooden floor. Her hair is black and long, her eyes are dark, and her lips have no pigment. My eyes are drawn to the fresh scratch marks covering her face.

“Sit?” she asks. Her growl escapes through her gritted chipped teeth.

“Um sure.” I swallow hard. “Have a seat.” I watch as she slumps down into the chair. Her eyes study me. She doesn’t blink. “Know any good card games?” I ask. I try to hide my fear.

“Lost?” she asks with just her breath.

“No. More like
stuck
. You?”

She lifts up her finger and points toward the main door and says, “Found.”

I turn around to see the back of a man’s head as he walks by the common room.

“I guess we’re that, too.”

I’m thinking it’s time to head back to my room for the night since I’ve been doing nothing other than setting myself up for some serious nightmares. I slide my chair away from the table as her eyes widen. Her hands fumble toward my face. “Stop,” she says in a low hum. “Find him.” She points to the door.

“Find who?” I respond.

She gets up and walks away, as if we hadn’t even spoken.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

STRAITJACKET

I WAKE UP TO A COLD, HARD BED
with hospital-grade linens, a blue wool blanket, and an alarm tracker strapped to my arm. Honestly, I never really fell asleep. Whatever this medication is that they are giving me won’t allow me to fall into anything more than a dull haze. My arm is sore from the IV, and the glue beneath the patches is burning my skin. I went from a dream date in Paris to this nightmare.

I know which version of reality I prefer, without question.

I wish I was there right now.

The door swings open and breakfast rolls in, distracting me from my pity party. The scent of recycled cooking oil turns my stomach a little. I lift the cover off of the tray and find pancakes, sausage, and bacon. It looks much better than what my mother makes, actually.

“Do you know when the doctor or nurse will be around?” I ask the orderly.

“Half an hour or so, I’d say.” He spins his cart around to head back out the door.

“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile.

Maybe I should try to keep on the food guy’s good side.

A doctor and a nurse come in before I’ve even had a chance to finish my breakfast. They glance at me, mark something down on their clipboards, and take a seat in front of my bed. I can't even eat my breakfast in peace.

“Do what you need to. I’m full anyway,” I say to them, pushing my tray away.

“No, please finish your breakfast,” the doctor suggests, his face tightening and his words sounding definitive.

I don’t let them have the power to tell me when to eat. "Will you be taking all of these cords off of me now?” I show them the bruises on my arm.

“We just need to examine you first.” The doctor stands from his chair and approaches me. “If everything looks good, then yes. We’ll remove them.”

The doctor pushes my rolling tray table back across the room and sits at the edge of the bed. He pulls a flashlight out of his shirt pocket, clicks it on, and waves it in front of my eyes. After he completes the exam, he asks me a number of simple math questions. Then he walks over to the machine and unfolds the print-out. “This looks good, Chloe." He’s tries to sound encouraging. "
Everything
looks good, as a matter of fact. How do you feel?”

“I feel fine.” Aside from the medication, I’ve felt fine since I woke up yesterday, not that it seems to matter much around here. Regardless of my thoughts on their unnecessary medical interventions, I know saying anything other than “fine” will invite a new needle or pill.

“Good…very good.” The doctor finishes his notes and shoves his pen into his pocket. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.” He nods to the nurse. She removes the tape and the IV needle. I’m free.

Kind of.

“You can move around a little more now,” the nurse informs me. “Halls and the common area are yours, and the bathrooms. The only thing we ask is that you please stay out of other patients’ rooms and observation rooms.”

“Why would I ever want to go into anyone else’s room here?” I ask.

Neither answers me. They just leave the room together. I’m alone… finally, totally alone. And untethered.

Alex.

I lie in my bed to make myself comfortable enough to relax. I count backward, close my eyes to visualize Alex, his beautiful house, and the room Celia made up for me.

The closet filled with beautiful clothes…San Diego.

It’s dark for just a second before I feel the warm sun pouring in through the window and the smell of fresh flowers filling the air.

I'm here.

I run my hands across my body, making sure it really worked. Even on their medication, I can still drift. I start to call for Alex, but before sound escapes, everything flicks off like a light.

Darkness returns…

My eyes snap back open, and I'm back in my hard hospital bed.

This has never happened before.

I have to try again.

I close my eyes, take in a few deep breaths, and count backward again.
Ten…nine…eight…seven.
Another deep breath. I focus on Alex. Please work.

I hold my breath as
darkness sets in…

I open my eyes, and my heart falls into my stomach. I'm still here, in this hellish place. I try a few more times, but the same thing keeps happening. I don’t get it.

I rip my blanket off of my body and throw it across the room, watching as it drags my cup of water with it. I pull my knees into my chest. Only now do I feel fully trapped by my body and mind. My mind begins to race in circles with no beginning and no end.

I want to scream, but I know I can’t. I want to escape this torment, but I know I won’t. Sobs burst from my throat. I thrash my body backward into the bed, feeling hopeless and lost. When my eyes run dry and the ceiling becomes too white for my eyes, I force myself to move.

I turn to stare out into the hallway and watch patients walk by, each accompanied by a different doctor or nurse. I see a man pushing a food-cart and a housekeeper following him. This is my new amusement. It doesn’t get much better than people-watching in an institution.

I want Alex.

Another patient walks by with a doctor. He’s in a straitjacket. My heart drops. At least I’m not in one of those. His hair is light blond, his skin as white as paper. From this angle, he kind of resembles Alex. I know it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, but I still stare at him as long as I can before he walks out of my view.

As he disappears, the sedated girl from last night pops up like a ghoul in a haunted house attraction in my doorway. She stares at me for far too long, finally lifting her finger and pointing down the hall in the direction that everyone has been walking. Her eyes are wide, unblinking. She mouths the word “found” again and walks away.

Who is this girl?

I clamber out of my bed and search down the hall, hoping to get a better look at the Alex look-alike.

By the time I get there, everyone is gone.

***

A knock on the door interrupts my hour-long staring contest with the wall in front of me. I don’t have to say come in, because I know they will anyway. To my surprise, Dr. Greene opens the door and greets me with a smile. It does make me the tiniest bit happy to see the one person who thought he might be able to help me.

“Hey, sunshine," he chirps. Confusion sets in as he looks at my chart. "How did you manage this one?”

“Just lucky, I guess."

He laughs a little. “I’d ask what really happened, but I have to go by the notes in your chart. We didn’t get to meet for our last appointment. Did the visualization tricks work for you? Were you able to take any notes from when you were away?”

My voice is dark and blunt. None of this seems to matter at the moment, but I give him answers. “Yes, the visualization did work, but no, I didn’t write anything down. I guess my mind was set on something else when I got back…” I trail off. I don’t want to go into detail about Alex.

“Did you go anywhere in particular?” He lowers his chin, looking up with his eyes wide and his eyebrows arched.

“I went to the same place both nights: San Diego.”

“And did you interact with anyone?” He jots down a few notes.

“I’d rather not say.”

“I see.” He cups his hand under his chin, thoughtful as he answers.

“Not like it matters anyway. I can’t drift anymore.” I pick at a loose thread on my sheets. “You already know that though, don’t you?”

“I do. And I’m sorry.” He leans forward and places his hands on my bed. “I’m sure that’s making you very upset right now, and I wish I had more authority so I could take you off of that medication.”

I remember the fall, the coma, and the drug my great-grandfather gave me. Any or all of that could have canceled my abilities. “Is it really the medication keeping me from drifting?”

He sits down next to me, still speaking in a soft voice. “Chloe, I know your drifts make you happy. And I know they’ve never hurt you until recently. But you
did
get hurt, and we want to prevent it from happening again.” His eyes are calm, seeming as though he actually cares.

If he cared, he'd help me.

My life isn’t my life anymore. Everything has changed. I don’t even know how to live without my escapes. A part of me has been stolen, and it isn't fair.

With tears pooling in my eyes, I ask, “Why would you take away the one thing that made me happy?” A sob hitches in my throat and I drag the back of my sleeve across my cheeks.

I think it hurts him to see me sad. “We have to keep you safe. It’s our job to maintain your well-being, and that’s what we’re doing right now." He reaches over to the table behind him and picks up the box of tissues. He hands me one. "I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

I take a deep breath, trying to muster the last ounce of bravery I have left in my body. “You took away the only freedom I had left. Of course it isn’t what I wanted to hear. You should be prepared to hear a lot of stories about the white stone walls I stare at all day, because that’s all I’ll have to talk about during our sessions from this point on." My eyes drift out into the hall. There’s a man trudging by my room, wearing a black muzzle around his mouth. I recoil at the sight, and look back to Dr. Greene. "Being around some of the other patients here might actually make me need
more
therapy,” I say, glaring through him with anger. “Lucky you.”

He clears his throat after witnessing the same scene parade by my room. “Look, I know your case isn’t as serious as some others here, and I’m sure some of the other patients’ situations might be pretty frightening. But you should know that they came in here like that. We didn’t cause their conditions.”

“That has been a concern of mine,” I mumble.

“Between you and me, if you keep taking your medication and stick to the program here, your stay will be short." He stands, starts a couple of steps toward the door. "My best advice to you is to control your outbursts and don’t have any fits.”

“Got it,” I respond. I show no emotion.

“I have to check on some other patients now. Take care of yourself, please.” Then he’s gone.

Watching him walk away through the window, I see the person who looks like Alex walk by again, straitjacket and all.

That’s it. I have to see this guy.

I poke my head out of the door, skimming the hallway. There he is. A spark of excitement rushes through me. I wasn’t imagining it after all. I watch him walk down the hallway to see where he’s going. I see him follow a doctor into an observation room only five doors down.