The Dark Hour

by Erin Lanter

  Jessie had told Tessa last night that breakfast would be served in the small dining room off the common area at seven-thirty.

  Despite the headache, Tessa’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since dinner last night, and even then, she hadn’t eaten much.

  She sat up, rubbed her temples, and slipped her feet back into her shoes. Wobbling slightly as she stood, she braced herself against the sorry excuse for a bed until she regained her equilibrium. Then she quietly followed the nurse down the hallway, past the nurse’s station, past a small room where a man slept on a bed, wrist and ankle restraints dangling off the side, and down another hall until she was standing in what she assumed was the common area. Several tables and chairs were on the side of the room, and a sofa, love seat, and two chairs – all made of what appeared to be dense foam – were positioned in front of a TV that was bolted to the wall. Even though the room was ugly and depressing, she took comfort in knowing all the furniture could be disinfected.

  “My name is Ann,” said the pretty young nurse. “Breakfast is in there.” She pointed toward a small room with tables and chairs. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” Tessa said as Ann turned and walked back down the hall toward the bedrooms.

  As she stood there, several patients shuffled past her to the dining room. None of them made eye contact or even looked her way. Her stomach growled again, and she followed them into the dining room, where a man in scrubs was distributing breakfast trays.

  Breakfast in hand, Tessa claimed a seat at the table in the farthest corner of the room, as far as she could get from the other patients. She grimaced at the meal in front of her: scrambled eggs that looked as though they’d been powder a few hours ago and a piece of toast that could double as a paper weight. The canned fruit cocktail and a small container of orange juice were the only semi-redeeming things on the plate. She downed both of them in about a minute, thinking this was just the place to lose the weight she’d put on in the past week.

  “Thank you,” she muttered as she returned the tray to the young man and walked from the room.

  I guess it’s time to see about those toiletries, she thought ruefully, wishing they’d have let her keep the overnight bag Drew had brought to the police station. Tessa decided her clothes from yesterday didn’t smell bad enough to send her running to the communal clothing closet just yet.

  Armed with a towel and washcloth as thick as tissue paper, a small bottle of shampoo that smelled like disinfectant, and a bar of soap the size of her thumbnail, she made her way to the bathroom. There was no line for the shower, and, judging by the smell emanating from some of the rooms, she wasn’t surprised.

  After hurrying through a shower, she dressed and went back to her room, where she found Martha sitting on the edge of her bed, fiddling with her bun. To Tessa, she looked like the quintessential grandmother. It saddened her that a woman of her age would be stuck in a place like this instead of surrounded by her children and grandchildren.

  Tessa dropped the shampoo bottle on her bed and turned to her roommate. “Hi. I’m Tessa.”

  Martha watched her for a moment, then said, “It’s best I don’t get to know you. That bed has more turnover than a motel room rented by the hour.”

  Tessa furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

  “Most people don’t stay long. How long are you in for?”

  The corner of Tessa’s mouth drooped at her roommate’s use of prison lingo. “Seventy-two hours.”

  “See?”

  Tessa sat on her bed. “How long have you been here?”

  “Three months,” Martha replied with a shrug.

  “Three months! Whatever for?” She seemed perfectly lucid to Tessa.

  “Stabbing my husband,” Martha said, nonchalantly. “They told me they ran out of room on the geriatric unit, so they stuck me up here with the wackos. No offense. I’m here until a bed opens up there, which usually means somebody has to die or the family decides take care of their kooky old relatives.”

  So much for being the quintessential grandmother, Tessa thought and busied herself making the bed. I’ll have to keep my eye on this one.

  “Please forgive me if I don’t seem to remember you next time I see you. They think I have dementia,” Martha said, then leaned forward and whispered, “and I let them think what they want.”

  Tessa smiled at the old woman. Husband-stabber or not, she liked Martha. “It’ll be our little secret.”

  After making her bed, she headed to the common room. There was no remote for the TV, so she pressed the button under the screen to turn it on.

  From somewhere behind her, someone shouted, “Hey! Keep it down!” She turned to see the angry-looking young man from the admitting office sitting in the back corner of the room, mostly covered by a ratty old blanket.

  “Sorry,” Tessa mumbled. She’d have to keep an eye on him, too. Her gut told her the list of people to watch around here would keep growing.

  Giving up on the TV, Tessa walked to the nurse’s station. “Is there a book lying around that I could borrow?”

  Ann looked up from the form she was filling out. “Not on the unit, but I can run down to the library and get something if you’d like,” she offered.

  “That would be great. Something by Hemingway or Fitzgerald, if they have it.”

  Ann cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t promise we have anything like that, but I’ll try.” Nodding to the vicinity behind Tessa, Ann said, “It looks like your psychiatrist wants to see you.”

  Tessa turned her head at the sound of someone approaching. As the man got closer, a bolt of lightning went through Tessa’s midsection.

  A look of recognition registered on the psychiatrist’s face, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. He extended his hand toward her and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Jacob Armistead. I’ll be treating you for the duration of your stay.”

  78

  Drew pressed the button to call the elevator that would take him to Camille’s hospital room. She probably wouldn’t be happy to see him again after he walked out on her yesterday, but he hoped she’d at least be willing to talk to Dr. Raymond.

  He’d just have to spin it the right way.

  Dr. Raymond’s secretary had called Drew just as he was pulling into the hospital parking lot. She said Dr. Raymond was running late, but he’d be on his way as soon as he wrapped things up with his client. Meredith, the secretary, had warmed up considerably after Dr. Raymond assured her everything was okay, and that Drew was consulting him about a criminal case someone he knew was involved in. Tessa’s name was never mentioned, though Drew was almost certain Meredith had heard about it on the news.

  It’s amazing how people act differently when they’re not afraid, he mused, then immediately thought of Tessa. She must be terrified. The one time she went to visit her mother at the hospital, she’d come home shaky, telling Drew she didn’t feel safe. He’d always known that Tessa’s biggest fear was that one day she’d end up like her mom.

  That fear could only be magnified right now.

  The elevator doors opened, and the sterile smell of hospital disinfectant hit him like a wall. He hated this place, and he hated why he was here.

  Camille had been moved from the ICU, so he didn’t have to announce his presence at the nurse’s station anymore. For that, he was glad. He didn’t need some nosy nurse coming in to see how they were doing in case things got heated.

  As he walked down the hall, he noticed a nurse coming out of Camille’s room. He slowed his pace so they didn’t cross paths and waited until she was gone before gently tapping on the door.

  “Come in,” Camille said, sounding stronger than she had yesterday.

  “Hi,” he said, still standing by the door.

  A smile brightened Camille’s face. “It’s good to see you,” she said softly.

  He nodded.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked.

  He narrowed his eyes, ne
ver taking his gaze from her face. “We need to talk about something.”

  She winced as she sat up in bed. “What is it, Drew?” A cloud of worry darkened her pretty face.

  From behind him, Drew heard someone clear their throat. He turned to see Dr. Raymond standing in the doorway.

  Camille looked from Drew to Dr. Raymond and back to Drew. “Who’s this?”

  Dr. Raymond stepped forward. “My name is Harold Raymond. I’m a psychologist. Drew is an acquaintance of mine, and he told me what happened. He was concerned that you might have been traumatized and asked me to talk to you.” Dr. Raymond hesitated then said, “He’s very worried about this whole situation.”

  This guy is good, Drew thought. At least part of that was true. He was very worried about the effect this situation would have – on Tessa.

  Camille reached a hand toward Drew and a smile once again spread across her face. “That is so sweet of you.”

  Drew flicked his eyes toward Dr. Raymond, who didn’t return the look. Only a twitch of his eye indicated any reaction.

  “May I speak with you for a few minutes?” Dr. Raymond asked gently. “Alone?”

  As Drew took a step toward the door, Camille protested. “Drew can stay.”

  Shaking his head firmly, Dr. Raymond said, “It would really be better if he wasn’t here for this. Sometimes it’s hard to let our loved ones see us at our most vulnerable. We want to be strong in front of them and end up hiding our emotions. You have to take care of yourself, Camille, and let yourself express the feelings you’ve been keeping inside since that terrible moment.” He paused for emphasis. “That’s when real healing can begin.”

  Camille sighed dramatically. “Oh, perhaps you’re right. I have been trying to be too strong. I wouldn’t want Drew to see me so upset.”

  She wiggled her fingers at Drew as he turned to leave.

  Balling his hands into fists, he wondered if Dr. Raymond would be able to get anything useful out of her.

  He glanced at his watch. He was paying Dr. Raymond for a full hour. With time to kill, he went to the waiting room, grabbed a snack from the vending machine, then rode the elevator down to the hospital lobby and walked outside, where the summer sunshine was lost on him.

  He sat on a bench in front of the hospital entrance and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. After popping the top of his soda can, he took a long swig, then looked up the information for the psych hospital. He punched the number into his phone and waited.

  An impersonal voice answered, and a pit formed in Drew’s stomach as he realized the lady’s chilliness was probably what Tessa was surrounded by. “Please hold,” she said, then before Drew had a chance to respond, she clicked off.

  Drew took a long drink of Dr. Pepper, forcing it to go down over the lump in his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said when she came back on the line. “I can’t confirm or deny that we have a patient by that name here.”

  Drew frowned. She didn’t sound sorry. “I know she’s there,” Drew insisted, “and it’s very important that I speak with her.”

  “Sir, I’ve already told you. I can’t confirm or deny the presence of a patient by that name at this hospital. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  There was a click, and then a dial tone.

  Drew involuntarily squeezed the can, causing the sticky liquid to spill out over his hand. How could he possibly make sure Tessa was safe if they wouldn’t even admit she was there?

  Drew hoped Dr. Raymond was having better luck than he was. At this rate, it would be a miracle if anything could help Tessa.

  79

  Tessa sighed as she watched the other patients mill around the bottom floor of the hospital, going from one recovery class to the next. Thanks to her newly acquired yellow wrist band, she was scheduled to attend anger management class in fifteen minutes – if she could find the energy to get off the bench she was occupying. Staring blankly at the tile floor in front of her, the pattern changed from one image to another as her eyes shifted focus. A lion, an old man, a lizard, a demon. She shook her head to clear the images from her mind. Her brain felt so foggy.

  This morning, just after breakfast, they’d given her some kind of medication. The nurse said it would help relax and balance her. That was just before she’d met her psychiatrist, Dr. Armistead.

  Tessa had refused the medication at first. She didn’t need a pill to relax her; she needed to get out of there. But the nurse told her that cooperation would help her chances of getting discharged. After that, she’d taken whatever was offered, especially if it would “relax” her. And now, here she was, stuck in a hospital with a killer for a doctor, so drugged so she wouldn’t even have the energy to defend herself.

  Maybe that was the point.

  The instinct to protect herself kept her from mentioning the reaction she was having to the medication. Telling someone she’d been purposely put in a drug-induced stupor wouldn’t help her case, either.

  What did they give me?

  The bell rang, alerting her it was time for her next scheduled class. With all the energy she could muster, she stood from the bench and walked slowly down the hall toward room 156. Anger management. She walked in and plopped down in the closest chair she could find.

  The instructor walked to the front and began rambling about anger being a natural response to threat, then Tessa tuned her out. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even mildly irritated. She was drugged. The medication wasn’t balancing her; it was tipping her mental capacity toward oblivion. Her eyes stung. She felt powerless to stop what was happening to her. It had all started with one horrible night and snowballed from there.

  And now, here she was, locked in a psychiatric hospital for three days under the care of a monster, completely at his mercy.

  Despite the medication, her heart began to hammer. I know he recognized me. I saw it on his face. But there’s nothing I can do, she thought, dangerously close to despair.

  For the next forty minutes, she drifted in and out of her fog. Then the bell rang, telling everyone it was time to go back to their units. Tessa shuffled as quickly as her body would carry her in an effort to keep up with the rest of the patients from her unit, then followed the nursing assistant up to her home away from home.

  As soon as the door opened, Tessa scanned the unit for Ann. She was a nurse, so maybe she’d be able to tell Tessa what she’d taken that had knocked her sideways. Catching Ann’s eye behind the nurse’s station, Tessa motioned that she needed to speak with her.

  “Can you tell me what kind of medication they gave me this morning?” Tessa asked quietly.

  Ann held up one finger and went back behind the desk. She pulled out a chart and flipped through it. She closed it and pointed in the direction of the common room. “Come with me,” she instructed, then started down the hall.

  Tessa trudged down the long hallway and settled into a chair in the far corner. “Something is wrong,” she explained. “Since I took that medication, I’ve been in a fog. My body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I feel like I’m walking through water. I have no appetite. This isn’t me.”

  Ann nodded. “Haldol makes most people tired. Some people get hit harder than others, and it looks like you’re one of them. Honestly, I have no idea why you’re on that medication. Your chart says you’re in here because of an increase in stress, but Haldol is an anti-psychotic.”

  Tessa snorted. “Stress? Is that what it says? I’ve been the victim of two home invasions in the past week and was arrested for the attempted murder of my ex-husband’s girlfriend. Not to mention the fact that I saw someone carrying a dead body.” She clenched her jaw, anger replacing some of her drowsiness. “So, yeah. I guess you could say I’ve been stressed.”

  Ann’s eyes widened as she leaned away from Tessa. “Did you do it?”

  Tessa shook her head. “No, I didn’t,” she said emphatically. “But I am in trouble. Clearly.”

  Should she tell Ann about Dr. Armistead
, or would calling her psychiatrist a murderer only sink her chances of surviving this place?

  Tessa’s intuition kicked in, and she decided to take a chance. “Do patients ever go missing from here? I mean, just sort of disappear?”

  Ann nodded. “Margo,” she said quietly.

  “Margo?”

  Ann cleared her throat and quickly glanced around the room. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “Margo Lang was a patient for several months. She was brilliant, but very paranoid.” A small smile touched Ann’s lips. “She’d sometimes quote Chaucer to me. Such a zest for life, despite her illness. Toward the end of her time here, she began to make accusations against some of the male staff. We all wrote it off as the ranting of an unstable woman, but, about a week ago, she just disappeared. Her doctor didn’t discharge her, and no one saw her leave the unit. She was good at slipping in and out, though. Sometimes she’d be missing for a day or two at a time, then just show back up. That’s what we all figured happened this time.” She paused and swallowed hard. “But it’s been a week, and my gut tells me she isn’t coming back. Why do you ask?”

  Tessa shook her head but said nothing. It made sense. A psychiatrist would be able to do a lot of things to a patient without anyone ever finding out. After all, who would believe a psych patient instead of a doctor?

  “So, what do I do?” Tessa asked. “I can’t take that stuff again. My mind just can’t think straight.”

  Leaning to within inches of Tessa’s face, Ann looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “Cheek your meds.”

  Tessa blinked. “What?”

  “Cheek your meds. Don’t swallow them. Hold them in your cheek until you can spit them out. I’ll see what I can do to make sure you’re not given that stuff again.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble for telling me to do that?”

  “Only if anyone finds out. Just make sure you keep quiet about it,” Ann warned.

  Several patients walked into the common room, muttering to themselves.

  Ann stood and quickly walked from the room, with only a backward glance to give any indication she’d spoken with Tessa.