The Murmurings (12 page)

“I don’t have enough greens,” he says, and this makes his brow crease. He looks at the tower he’s built; it’s probably three feet high.

“I—I’m . . . ” I have no idea what to say to this. I want to apologize for some reason.

“They take them on purpose. They only give them to me if I show them,” he says, looking more disturbed by this notion than by the absence of the green pieces.

“Do you mean the orderlies?” I ask, looking over my shoulder for the Pigeon or the guy with the side cramp. Either one could be back at any second. Something tells me it isn’t going to take long for them to strap the poor blond girl to a mattress and pump her full of bedtime meds.

“They think it’s funny,” LM says, and smiles. He has the creepiest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. His eyes get huge and his bottom row of teeth jut out to create an under-bite like a bulldog’s. If he didn’t look psychotic before, he sure paints the picture now.

I’m desperate for him to stop smiling, but I’m not sure it’s worth pissing him off. I opt to look down at my hands instead.

“They don’t treat you so great in here, do they?” I ask, this time achieving the sympathy I actually mean. My heart throbs as thoughts of Nell wash over me. Adam’s words haunt me once again.

This place is storage for people who really need psychiatric help, and prison for those they’re actually interested in “treating.”

“It’s dangerous stuff. Nobody really knows.” He might as well be talking to his blocks for all the sense he’s making.

“The Legos?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t know how a person like LM reacts when a person like me gets the answer wrong.

“No!” he scolds, and I lean back so hard that I almost tip over in my chair.

“Not the Legos! Christ, how far gone do you think I am?” He looks at me with betrayal, and confusion at my confusion.

He doesn’t know the half of it.

My throat goes dry, and I quickly realize it’s because my mouth is hanging open. I snap it shut and accidentally bite my tongue. Trying to recover, I stare with salty eyes at the suddenly lucid-seeming man Nell had affectionately referred to as LM.

“What’s your name?” My words sound mushy with my swollen tongue.

“Kenny. And I’m not . . . you think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

There’s desperation behind his tone.

“No! No, no, no!” I reassure him, but I’m not fooling anyone. If I even had half a hope that LM—Kenny—could give me some answers about Nell, that hope is gone. I’ve offended him, and there’s no way I’ll be able to make up for that insult before the orderlies come back.

“You do. Everybody thinks so. Everybody except for them,” Kenny says, nodding his shining globe head toward the hallway. “
They
know I’m not crazy, but it’s almost worse that way. Because they make me show them . . . ”

Kenny has crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his chin, creating the appearance of a snowman, all round surfaces with no limbs.

“I won’t make you do anything, Kenny. I swear. I don’t want to upset you. I’m so sorry if I did.”

I start to reach for his arm to comfort him, but his wild blue eyes shoot me a look that is somehow inviting and warning all at once. Like he’s dying for an excuse to lash out at me, but the part of him that keeps control is telling me to back off before it’s too late.

I retract my shaking hand and sit on it. But I’m not ready to give up. Kenny and MM, whoever that is, are the only two people (aside from Adam) Nell ever mentioned trusting,
and even then, she only dared to confide this to her journal. She never told me a thing. This could be my only chance to understand what she was too afraid to tell me.

I peek over my shoulder and assure myself the Pigeon isn’t coming. Then I turn back to Kenny—who is now holding a coveted green Lego and staring at me with that hungry/wary look.

“Kenny, I need to ask you something, okay?” I start carefully. Maybe if he feels like he’s in control, he’ll be more forthcoming. Though he
is
in complete control. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m terrified of him.

“Can you tell me what the doctors made Nell show them? What they make
you
show them?”

Kenny looks so shocked that for a second I think I might have sprouted a second head. It might not be the strangest thing that’s happened in this place.

“She never told you?” His upper lip starts to perspire, and he breathes heavily. It takes me a second to understand why: Shoes squeak down the hallway behind the reception counter. The Pigeon is coming back. If she sees me talking to Kenny, she’s going to know something’s up.

I struggle to answer his question. “I never . . . ” The guilt in my stomach is suffocating, and I can’t unbury the words I need. Finally, they manage to come out: “I never asked her.”

I try to remember all of the italicized and bolded parts of the Insider’s blog posts.

“But I think I know now,” I hurry, words spilling from my lips faster than I can edit them. “Tell me why. Why are they making you show them the thing? The unfinished soul. Damn it, what’s it called? The Taker? Why are they making you show them that, Kenny?”

“You have to go!” He says through clenched teeth, his entire face turning red. I look down at his hands—one fist squeezes the green Lego so hard I’m afraid he’s going to draw blood.

“I can’t. Not yet. I need you to tell me. Kenny, what are they trying to do? Is it Dr. Keller?”

I know Kenny’s perilously close to losing it, but I’ve come this far, and I’m not going to get another shot at talking to him without arousing too much suspicion.

“Leave! She’s coming back. She’s not just an orderly. She can’t know that you know anything or they’ll take you, too!” he cries, his face crumpled like a raisin.

His hands are shaking, his upper lip covered in beads of sweat that drip down his face. His trembling knees are making the table with its Lego tower rumble.

“Kenny, I won’t be able to come back. They’ll catch on. Tell me. Please, tell me!”

The squeaking is getting louder, and I can hear the echo of a voice. It’s the Pigeon, and she’s close to the end of the hall. She’ll be rounding the corner any second, and once she does, she’ll look for me.

“Kenny, just tell me—”

The voice creeps around the corner, oozing like toxic smoke. “She’ll be out for at least eight more hours . . .,” it says. The white of her smock is visible now.

I see a flash of primary colors in my periphery before the side of my head feels like it’s caving in. I’m on the ground, staring at the ceiling, the chair underneath me jutting into the small of my back. A vent is blowing puffs of humid air. Then everything goes blurry, and the pain in my head makes my stomach roll so violently that I’m sure I’m going to throw up. I can feel something brush my side, near my waist, and then I can’t see or feel anything. A beautiful darkness takes over.

•  •  •

“Ms. David, can you hear me?”

My pool of darkness is being disturbed. Someone is swimming in my nice calm pond. My mind is frayed, fuzzy.

“Ms. David, if you can hear me, I’d like you to open your eyes.”

I can hear too well. I want the voice to stop. Oh God, my head feels like it’s ready to split open.

“Easy now, that’s right. Take your time.”

I know this voice. There’s a reason I hate it. Not just because it’s rippling my nice calm pond. It’s the same voice that has haunted my answering machine for months.

“There, there. Everything’s okay.”

But everything is not okay.

•  •  •

A light pierces my eyes like a sharp blade, and I squint to keep it out. But the squinting only hurts more, so I open my eyes again. I roll to my side, sure I’m going to puke all over the place. But the nausea fades, and in its place a warm, pulsating pain radiates in the back of my head. I shift slowly to a sitting position, wincing at an unidentifiable crinkling sound as I make myself as upright as possible.

“Slowly now, Sophie. We don’t want you to move too fast. You took quite a blow to your head.”

The voice is warm and thick. I want to scream at it, and I just might if I wasn’t absolutely certain that my head would explode if I even tried to whisper.

“Eyes up at me now. Let me just check those pupils.”

My vision returns slowly, and I stare at a handsome face that is just as smooth as the voice that comes from it. Dr. Keller holds my chin with one delicate finger. His hand smells like a nice, mild soap. I resist the urge to flick away
his touch as he shines a light into my eyes again.

“Looks fine. But you definitely shouldn’t drive yourself home. Maybe you should stay with us for a little while longer.”

“I have to go,” I say, and my words sound strange, like someone else has taken over my body and is moving me like some awkward marionette.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Dr. Keller soothes, but I couldn’t be less comforted.

He has his tiny flashlight in one hand, but his other is pressing down on mine, keeping me bolted to the gurney I’m sitting on. It’s on wheels, meant to transport a person who’s not able to walk. An unconscious person. The room that I’m in has those same bland walls that are indistinguishable from the floor. There’s a tiny window close to the ceiling, but the light from the outside is dimmed by the mesh covering it.

I was
brought
to this room.

Why isn’t there a nurse in here with us?

“My mom’s expecting me at home,” I say, suddenly aware that the door is closed.

Dr. Keller’s response is wordless. His smile shifts from placating to something else. This smile knows something I don’t want it to know.

It knows that my mom isn’t waiting for me, at home or
anywhere else. I told him everything he needed to know about my mom when I was the one, not her, to retrieve Nell’s box of belongings.

“I’m sure she can wait a little longer while I ask you some questions.” His hand presses harder on mine, pushing the blood to my fingertips. “Just so we’re certain you’re not hurt.”

He’s mocking. He can see what I’ve tried to keep him and everyone else from seeing.

“What kinds of questions?” I ask, hating my voice for betraying a quaver.

He moves his little flashlight to my other eye, and I’m temporarily blinded by the brightness. He’s so close to me that I can feel his breath on my face.

“Oh, just some standard questions.”

I know he’s lying. There’s nothing standard about any of this. And what’s worse is that I think he knows he’s not fooling me. I don’t think he cares.

“I really do have to go—”

“I’m surprised your sister never shared any of our little talks with you,” he continues. It’s like he wants to see how much he can rattle me. I’m beginning to lose feeling in my fingertips under the weight of his hand.

“I . . . we didn’t really talk after she . . . ”

“Yes, so sad. Unfortunate indeed.”

I’ve never wanted to leave a place more in my life than I do at this second.

“I always got the impression Nell was . . . saddened by your distance,” he continues, and I hate him for talking about my sister like he knew her. I want to punch him in the nose, but I’m still seeing spots from the light, and my free arm feels like Jell-O.

“She told me a great deal about you, Sophie,” Dr. Keller says, and switches off the little flashlight. He stares into my eyes with such intensity I can only stare back.

“She told me everything.”

I hear the echo of a bolt slip in a lock, and the door to the little gray room swings open, revealing a shocked-looking Pigeon.

“Oh, Dr. Keller! I didn’t realize you were in here.”

Her eyes are embarrassed, darting from Dr. Keller’s handsome face to the floor, then back to his face. Eventually they find their way to me, and in that instant, the pressure of Dr. Keller’s hand releases from mine.

“That’s all right, Gladys. I was just making sure our patient here was okay after that knock to her noggin. Ms. David, you’ve met Gladys? She’s my second-in-command here at Oakside.”

His confident smile has returned, though he isn’t looking
at me. He is saving his charm for Gladys. Somehow, he has managed to move to the far end of the room, putting a healthy distance between us. I’m so shaken, I can’t remember him moving away.

“Forty-five’s too old to be playing with toys if you ask me,” the Pigeon says. “You should know better than to get too close to that man’s Legos. Surprised your sister never mentioned that.”

“I should have known better,” I say in response, knowing I’m not just talking about Kenny and his Legos. Her words chase one another through my mind, inverting and rearranging—“that man’s Legos.” Man Lego. Lego Man. LM, Nell’s nickname for Kenny.

I slide from the gurney and try to walk calmly toward the Pigeon, but my legs shake under my weight. My head still feels unsteady on my neck, and a fresh jab of pain rocks the back of my skull. But I’m not about to spend another second in here with Dr. Keller.

“Sorry for disturbing L—I mean, Kenny,” I say to them both, anxious to ensure a smooth departure from Oakside. I only want to go home and piece out what just happened.

“Ms. David, everyone here is disturbed,” Dr. Keller says, his voice as slick as oil.

The Pigeon chuckles a deep, throaty laugh and bats her
eyelashes flirtatiously at Dr. Keller. I force a smile to my mouth.

“Wait, didn’t you come to see Dr. Keller? Now’s your chance to talk.” Gladys the Pigeon turns to me, the charm draining from her voice.

“Oh, right, I uh . . . ” My head is killing me, and I can’t think of a lie fast enough. The words feel lost in the back of my brain.

“Yes, Sophie. I was hoping you’d come because of my calls, but it seems you’re in a hurry to leave before we’ve even had a chance to chat.” Dr. Keller’s face creases in concern, but his meaning is unmistakable. He’s onto me.

“I . . . well, I just . . . ” I fumble for words, but still nothing comes.

“You’ve had a traumatic day. I’m sure it can wait,” Dr. Keller finishes for me, and the crooked smile returns to his face.

“Yeah, okay,” I croak in response, my heart racing so fast I’m sure it will burst from my chest. “I guess it’ll come back to me.”