I shake my head. “No thanks.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s the most flustered I’ve ever seen her. When she meets my eyes there’s a hard look in them. “I didn’t make myself clear. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
“And I’m telling you no. I’m not taking that medication and I’m not coming to see you every day.” I stand. “Can I leave now? Or are you going to sedate me again?”
“Claire, you don’t have a choice in this.” Her voice is shaking, as if she’s fighting to reel back either tears or rage. “This has gone far beyond where I can ethically allow things to go without intervening. You are a danger to yourself and to others. I know this is hard for you to hear, and right now you don’t trust me. I understand. Honestly, I do. But if you don’t let me help you, I have to turn you over to the peacekeepers.”
My eyes go wide. Peacekeepers. The enforcers in white. She’s saying I’ll be...what? Taken to a sanatorium? Tears glaze my eyes. “Do you actually think I’m crazy?”
“You have experienced significant trauma.” Her voice is even again. Soft. “It isn’t uncommon for someone with your history to develop psychosis. Please let me help you. I don’t want to lose you. Both as a patient and as someone I care about.”
I want to argue, to roar, to scream. She doesn’t care about me! She couldn’t possibly! This is still all part of the grand plan to keep me and Darren apart. Or is it? The sympathy in her eyes looks so real. But how can I trust it?
I’m again reminded of what Dr. Grand said to me earlier. Whatever the case, he was right. Things can get far worse for me.
My words come out with a tremor. “Can I at least see the video footage first?”
Dr. Shelia’s face falls. “I wish you could, but you can’t. I’d do anything I thought would bring you closer to healing. But I can’t allow you to break the terms of your probationary sentence. I could lose my job.”
My eyes fall to the ground. I force my bottom lip to quiver. “Couldn’t you at least ask? Ms. Wan gave you permission to watch it. What if she could get the same permission for me?”
She sighs. “I could request special permission.”
I lift my eyes to meet hers. “Thank you! You still have the footage, right? You didn’t delete it? Please save it. Please. In case your request is approved. I need to see it as soon as possible.”
She presses her lips into a firm line. “I don’t want you getting your hopes up. There’s almost a zero percent chance you’ll be allowed to watch it.”
“But you do still have it?”
She nods. “I’ve saved it with your files on my computer. It isn’t going anywhere. I do wish you’d trust me, though.”
I turn my head away from her, fighting to shift my grin into a pained expression. “Maybe I can start to. I don’t know. I’m so confused about all of this.”
“But you will agree to come here daily for your medication? And I want to add a second appointment each week in addition to Wednesday. How about every Sunday, on your day off?”
I give a reluctant nod.
“Good. I’ll send our new schedule to your reader.” She watches me for a few seconds, then approaches and lays a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to get through this. I promise.”
I meet her eyes, trying not to scowl. “Thanks.”
“You can head home now. Your backpack is in the waiting room. Do you feel all right to walk to the rail alone?”
“Yeah, I feel good.” It’s true. Despite my annoyance that I’m being forcibly medicated, I can’t help but appreciate how calm and clear it’s making me feel.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”
I leave her clinic and check my reader on the way down the elevator. I’ve been there for four hours at this point, most of it sleeping off the sedative. When I exit the building, I see a message pop up on my reader. It’s the new schedule from Dr. Shelia. I’ll be coming an hour before work every workday morning, and at 9 a.m. on my days off. Even on Sundays, when my meeting with Dr. Shelia doesn’t begin until an hour later.
Ideas are forming in my head, hazy and without a well-defined path, but at least my end goal is clear.
Somehow, I have to get into Dr. Shelia’s computer.
I might know someone who can help me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Instead of going straight to the rail, I head to the Salish.
Molly won’t be off work for at least another two hours, so I wait by the back door. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I suppress a laugh.
As I wait, I look over my new schedule again and again, committing it to memory.
My eyes are heavy by the time Molly enters the alley. I straighten when I see her, and she stops short. Her eyes go wide. “Claire?”
I put my hands in my pockets and close the distance between us. “Hey.”
“How have you been? Is your hand okay?” Her words come out fast and eager. It pains me, realizing how worried she must have been. I never thought to contact her before now. Some friend I am.
Then again, I’ve had other things on my mind.
“Yeah. My stitches are already starting to dissolve.”
“Are you still working?”
“Just at the hotel. Can we walk to the rail together?”
“Sure.”
We start walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Molly watching me. “Is everything okay? Like, really okay?”
I shake my head. “Remember that guy I told you about? Darren? Something happened to him.” I tell her everything I can without getting too far into the details. I tell her about my meeting with Mr. Evans, my well-constructed lie, followed by my confrontation with Mitchell. I tell her about Dr. Shelia, the footage, and Dr. Grand’s warning.
Molly seems most concerned about my conversation with Mr. Evans. “Let me get this straight. You basically hinted that Mitchell was a potential suspect in a missing person’s case?”
I shrug. “It isn’t far from the truth. I just stretched the details. And I never told him the name of the person in question, just where he worked and that he’s a cook.”
Molly looks at me with a combination of admiration and horror. Her expression turns to concern. “Damn, I hope you didn’t get Mitchell in trouble. Word can travel fast if Mr. Evans thinks he has a good piece of gossip to spread.”
“Do you know Mitchell?”
“A little.”
I face her, take her by the shoulders. “Do you know Darren too?”
She pulls her head back, eyes wide at my outburst. “No, Claire, I don’t”
I let go of her, shake my head. “Sorry. I’m a little jumpy. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Isn’t that what your psychiatrist thinks?” She offers me a sympathetic smile, the kind that looks more like a grimace. “Do you think there’s a possibility that it’s true?”
“No. There’s no way I imagined Darren. Dr. Shelia is part of something and I’m going to prove it. I need to see that footage. There’s something on there she doesn’t want me to see.”
“How do you know? What if she’s right? What if she really didn’t see Darren in your footage?”
I appreciate that she didn’t say, what if you really are crazy? I know that’s what she’s thinking. Can I blame her, though? Just hearing my words out loud makes me question my sanity. “I’ll know if I see the video.”
“How are you going to see it if she won’t allow you to?”
We’ve reached the rail platform. I look around, finding it almost empty aside from a few tired citizens. Not a single enforcer in sight. I lean toward her and lower my voice to a whisper. “That’s where you come in. You still know how to code?”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Yeah. Why?”
“Is there something you can do to override touch recognition on a computer?”
“You want me to break into your psychiatrist’s computer? That’s not coding. That’s hacking.”
“Can you do it?”
Her mouth falls open, and she’s looking at me like I really have lost my mind. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble that could get me into? I’m already on probation.”
My stomach sinks. I hadn’t thought of her safety at all when I came up with this plan. What’s wrong with me?
She steps closer, eyes wide and glazed with tears. I’ve never seen her so frightened. “We could both get in trouble for even talking about his. The cameras, Claire! Are you trying to get me killed?”
Her words remind me of what I said to Darren the night he was acting crazy. Is that what I seem like to her now? I put my head in my hands and cry into my palms. My voice comes out muffled. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I feel her hand rub my shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s put it behind us. You weren’t thinking straight. You didn’t mean it.” She says it loud, as if her words are meant for someone else. Maybe they are.
I shudder, again wondering if the things Darren said when in my presence were the reason he was taken. Am I next?
Molly and I sit in silence on the rail, then walk to the housing centers together, like Darren and I did so many times. I wish we would have included Molly in those walks. Then I’d have someone to prove Darren is real.
When we part ways, I go to my room and fall into a deep sleep almost as soon as my head hits my pillow.
In the morning I wake and return to Dr. Shelia’s office, right on schedule. She greets me with a curt nod, then calls in Dr. Grand.
I accept my shot of medication.
Go to work.
Go to sleep.
Repeat.
Numb. Hopeless. But I don’t stop plotting. Planning. Forming ideas in my mind that still can’t seem to get me from where I am to where I want to be. For now, all I can do is watch. Wait. Ask.
On Wednesday I go to Dr. Shelia’s clinic twice. Once before work and once again for our regular meeting. In the morning, Dr. Shelia isn’t there. Just Dr. Grand. He leads me to the windowless room instead of the office.
“Where is Dr. Shelia?” I ask as I roll up the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my shoulder.
“Her office hours don’t begin until 9 a.m.” Dr. Grand takes the syringe, places an ampoule in the chamber, locks it in place. I watch as he presses his finger a few times to the chamber’s screen.
“What does that do?”
He looks up as if surprised by my curiosity. After a moment of hesitation, he turns the syringe until the tiny screen faces me. The panel is fully lit green. “Dosage,” he says. “You receive a full dose. If, for example, we need to increase your dosage, we’ll need an additional ampoule but not all of it. This allows me to control how much is delivered per ampoule. A partial dose would show a fraction of the screen lit green to correlate with the dose given.”
I nod, and he takes that as permission to proceed. I feel the sting in my shoulder. Intramuscular injection, Dr. Grand called it the first time. After two days of these daily injections, I’m still not used to the pain. “Is Dr. Shelia tired of watching over your shoulder? Is that why she isn’t here today?”
“She’s only been here the past two mornings to make sure you arrive. I suppose you’ve earned her trust already.”
Good.
I go to work, fall into a mindless laundry routine. Ignore the chatter. Scrub stains. Load sheets and blankets into the enormous machines. Fold everything in neat, perfect rows.
Numb.
Plotting.
Watching.
I return to Dr. Shelia’s clinic after work and sit in the waiting room until it’s my turn. Emily takes me back to Dr. Shelia’s office. Once I’m closed inside, alone, I stare at the desk, eyes locking on the metal circle where the touch sensor that activates her computer is located. The door opens and I jump.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Shelia asks as she enters the room and takes a seat in her chair.
“Fine.”
“Sleeping?”
I nod.
Before she can say anything else, I slide off my shoes and lay back on the couch.
“Claire—”
I take a deep breath. “On August seventeenth I was walking home from the rail. I was scared, because it was so late. Tired, because I hadn’t been sleeping. I heard footsteps behind me, which scared me even more. It was so dark, my eyes were playing tricks on me. I saw something on the street corner, then heard my mother’s voice. She was a hallucination, but I was entranced by it. I almost got hit by a bus. Someone saved me. That’s when I met Darren Emerson.”
Dr. Shelia isn’t pleased, but she doesn’t stop me, either. I spend our entire appointment recounting everything I remember about Darren. When the hour is up, I sit, put my shoes back on, and thank her for her time.
In the morning I return. Fall back into the same routine.
Meds.
Work.
Sleep.
Meds.
Work.
Sleep.
Every chance I get, I study Dr. Shelia’s desk, trying not to seem too anxious whenever I catch her activating her computer. A press of her thumb. The keyboard and screen holograms illuminate. Does the screen only respond to her touch too?
I’m still at a loss for ideas, but I don’t stop watching. Learning. Plotting.
Saturday, it’s just Dr. Grand.
Meds.
Work.
Sleep.
On Sunday morning, I accept my injection in the resting room, then sit with Dr. Grand in the waiting room until Dr. Shelia arrives for our new meeting. There’s no time alone in her office like there is on Wednesdays when Emily walks me back to wait for her.
We begin our session. I pick up where I left off, launching into every detail of my first kiss with Darren.
Sleep.
Meds.
Work.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Wednesday again. This time, after Emily walks me into Dr. Shelia’s office and closes me inside, I pause by Dr. Shelia’s desk. I don’t have long before she will be in to begin our session, so I quickly press my thumb over the sensor. Nothing. Not even a warning beep. I press it again. It isn’t anything I didn’t expect.
I am on the couch before the door handle begins to turn.
It’s more of the same today. This time I’m pouring every detail of my first night with Darren, our passion, our lovemaking. Dr. Shelia pinches the bridge of her nose, not in distaste, but in frustration. Still, she doesn’t stop me.
These meetings with her are the only times I feel any sense of control. They are the only experiences in my routine, medicated, numb life that remind me I’m not crazy. That I once was happy. That I felt love and it was real.
I’m not crazy.
But even being sane is wearing on me. There’s still no solution. I still have no idea how to get into Dr. Shelia’s computer. All my memories of Darren aren’t bringing him back from whatever dark place he’s being kept. If he’s even still alive. How long has it been since I last saw him? I hate how sometimes when I think of him, certain memories are becoming blurred at the edges. Those memories are like a cloud in the sky shaped like something so uncannily familiar, until it begins to shift and transform into nothing more than a white blur. Like it never was what you first saw it to be.
I replay those memories most often. I won’t lose them.
I’m lost in one of these memories, head pressed against the window of the railcar as it lurches into motion from the Public District platform. It’s all I can do to keep from obsessing over the fact that Darren has been missing for over three weeks. I watch the sun rise over the buildings as the Select District comes into view. It’s Sunday. Back to the clinic. Back to another meeting with Dr. Shelia. I’ve cycled through my memories numerous times already. I think today I’ll start from the beginning again.
The weight shifts next to me, shattering my thoughts. The empty seat has been filled, but I don’t look.
“Hi, Claire.”
&
nbsp; I jolt upright, turn my head, and lock eyes with Molly. I’m taken aback at first. I never see her on the rail in the morning.
Her lips are pulled into a sad frown. “How are you doing?”
I can’t even force a smile. “Fine, I guess.”
“Hang in there, okay?” She presses her palm into mine, entwining our fingers. It’s the most intimate gesture she’s ever given me, and it makes my eyes water. “I’m here for you.”
“Thanks,” I croak. We stay like that all the way to the city. As soon as the rail comes to a stop, she springs from the seat without so much as a goodbye. I’m frowning after her, frozen with confusion, when I realize I need to get up too. I stand, my palm still warm from Molly’s hand. But there’s something other than warmth left in it.
My eyes catch something round and silver before I close my fingers over it and hurry off the rail.
I don’t know what the little disk will do, but I can guess.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I feel a rush of excitement as I walk toward the Select Health and Disease Prevention building, my mind spinning to form a plan. Dr. Grand should be the only one there when I arrive at eight, and Dr. Shelia won’t be in until nine. Last Sunday, Dr. Grand administered my injection, then gave me the option to wait in the resting room or the waiting room until Dr. Shelia arrived. I chose the waiting room. Even though, like the resting room, it has no windows, its expanded space and furnishings make it seem less like it’s closing in on me.
That gives me an idea.
I enter the lobby of the building, then ride the elevator to the twentieth floor. Inside the clinic, Dr. Grand sits behind the front desk. He greets me with a nod, then leads me to the resting room.
I take a seat on the bed as Dr. Grand prepares my injection site. My eyelids flutter as the cool antiseptic touches my skin, and I grasp my stomach with my free hand.
“Are you all right?”
I squeeze my eyelids shut and nod.
Twisting Minds Page 15
