by Tenaya Jayne
The receiver was lying on the table. Dulcee didn’t want to pick it up, not just because she really didn’t want to talk to her uncle, but because her conversation would be listened to. There was a pudgy, middle-aged woman across the room, whose job it was to listen and record. Dulcee felt abrasive toward her instantly, not just because she was a violator of privacy, but because she reminded her of her mother. When the woman saw Dulcee was reluctant to pick up the phone, she pointed one shiny, red acrylic claw at the receiver as if Dulcee was too stupid to know how to use it. Dulcee sighed and sat down, resignedly.
"Hello." For a moment, she thought Uncle Jack must have hung up. "Hello," she said again. Dulcee’s heart sputtered and lurched into hyper speed as Vincent’s voice came through the receiver.
"Dulcee," he whispered. "Don’t say my name."
Dulcee felt like she was having an asthma attack, she couldn’t breathe.
"Uncle Jack, how are you?" she hissed, as though she had lost her voice.
"That’s my girl," he said conspiratorially. "I’m so sorry you have to be there. I miss you so much."
Tears welled up in Dulcee’s eyes. "I miss you, too," she whispered. Stopping herself from screaming with delight was the hardest thing she had ever done.
"I can’t talk. I only called to tell you one thing."
"What?" Dulcee asked in a whisper.
"…Soon…"
A loud sob tore from Dulcee’s throat. "I love you."
She waited for his reciprocal response, but the line only rang the dial tone in her ear. He was already gone. Dulcee hung up the phone and was escorted back to her room. The second the heavy door shut behind her, she sank down onto the floor crying and laughing at the same time. Vincent was coming! Dulcee wrapped her arms around herself, quivering with joy. His voice had jogged her memory and flashes of things she had forgotten were coming to her in quick succession. She had been starving, and now she was feasting on the mental images that filled her. Dulcee lay down on the cold floor and gazed up at the ceiling, but she wasn’t seeing anything that was actually in the room. The blue aspen hovered over her, protecting her, and the faint tinkling of a wind chime filled her ears.
Dr. Verell was sitting at her desk, a cold look on her face and a cold feeling in her heart. She was watching Dulcee on her computer monitor. Dulcee’s behavior was odd after having a phone call from the uncle she professed to hate. After Dulcee began giggling uncontrollably, Dr. Verell couldn’t stand it any longer. She got up and went to the room where the phone was for incoming calls for patients. Phyllis, who was in charge of monitoring, looked up as she marched into the room.
"Did you hear that conversation?" Dr. Verell demanded. "That one just now?"
"Yeah, but there wasn’t much to hear. I don’t know what happened. I answered the call. It was her uncle. Then when the girl picked up the phone there was nothing but static on the other end. I was listening. There was no one there, but she spoke as though there was. She even told the static I love you. I think you ought to up her medication. She’s a real loon, that one."
Dr. Verell snorted derisively at the suggestion.
"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Phyllis asked, clearly wishing Dr. Verell would leave.
"Did you copy the phone call?" Dr. Verell asked.
"Yes. I was just about to erase it though. You want it?"
"Yes." Dr. Verell held out her hand as Phyllis gave her a cassette tape.
Walking back to her office, Dr. Verell felt like she was holding a great prize in her hand, the tool she needed to crush Dulcee’s delusions. Dr. Verell sat down at her desk and put the tape in the small player she kept in the bottom drawer. Pushing play, she heard Dulcee’s voice and a lot of static. She turned the volume up as high as it would go. There was nothing she could hear, not even any fluctuations in the static. She listened to it in slow playtime, and she listened to it backwards. There was nothing there. Part of her was hoping to hear a voice; she figured Dulcee thought she had been talking to Vincent. Why was there no one on the other end? Who called in the first place? Was it her uncle and he just had a bad connection? That was the only answer that fit into reality, so that was what Dr. Verell settled on.
A little over an hour later, Dulcee was escorted into Dr. Verell’s office. She was trying to hide her good mood, but then so was Dr. Verell. Dulcee was still angry with her, but the happiness she felt at getting to talk to Vincent overrode everything else. She sat down and looked at the floor, unable to keep from smiling.
"Hello, Dulcee," Dr. Verell said brightly.
Dulcee just grunted.
"How are you feeling today?"
Dulcee looked up at her. "Great," she said honestly.
Dr. Verell couldn’t deny Dulcee looked better, rested, more centered. This fractured her good mood and she didn’t fight the acid that sprinkled her tone of voice. "It looks like your time in solitary did you good."
Dulcee’s smile faded into a blank expression but her hands clenched into fists.
Dr. Verell sighed and shook her head at her own peevishness. "I figured you would be mad at me over our last session."
Dulcee didn’t say anything.
Dr. Verell plunged ahead. "I want you to know that I’m sorry about all that, but I have to think about your well-being. Forgetting Vincent is good progress."
Dulcee sniffed and lifted her chin. "Well, unfortunately for you, I think my memory loss was only temporary. You see, I remembered something today. In fact, I remembered a lot of things." She was defiant but controlled.
Dr. Verell smiled serenely, sending a chill through Dulcee. "Oh, why do you think that happened?"
"I don’t know." Dulcee shrugged. "Maybe I’m not schizophrenic."
"You had a phone call from your uncle earlier. How was your visit?" Dr. Verell asked innocently.
Dulcee raised one eyebrow incredulously and said nothing. She knew this was coming.
"You know your phone call was taped, don’t you?"
"You know I wasn’t really talking to my uncle."
"You weren’t really talking to anyone but yourself, Dulcee."
"Ha!" Dulcee exclaimed. "You’d love for me to believe you, to doubt myself."
"No, Dulcee, really." Dr. Verell put the tape player on her desk. "I’m very concerned about you. You are hearing voices again. There was no one on the other end of that phone."
She pushed the play button. Dulcee looked quite unaffected as she listened to herself talking to no one. When the very short, one-sided conversation was over Dr. Verell stopped the tape.
Dulcee’s face was unreadable. "So you think I’m hearing voices?"
"Yes I do. Dulcee, Vincent is not a real person. Sooner or later you will have to accept that. You need to face your past. There are reasons your mind has invented him, needs you have that you designed him to fulfill."
Dulcee slumped, looking like she had just been deflated. She was thinking about the tape. Why could she only hear herself? She thought about the nightmare she had about her mother, and how she had never had the things she needed. Could what Dr. Verell was saying be true?
Dulcee looked down at the thin scar that circled her finger, where her engagement ring had cut her. Was it possible she had done it to herself? Doubt was creeping along the periphery of her mind. She looked into the face of her therapist and got a glimpse of something resembling satisfaction. Rage burst inside Dulcee like an explosion. She took a deep breath, trying to control the fury burning inside her. When she spoke, her voice was determinedly controlled, only the quivering of her clenched fists betrayed the vehemence within.
"I don’t know where to go from here, Doc. I would like to repay your kindness and the only way I can think to do that is to tell you the truth."
Dr. Verell frowned. She didn’t think she liked the sound of this. "All right. What is the truth?"
"You are trying to manipulate me. For some reason, you decided to mess with me the moment you met me. I’m sure some other people would agree
with me when I say, that is really base."
All the blood drained from Verell’s face as Dulcee continued.
"You say I’m mad, but you’re jealous! I found beauty and purity you can’t even begin to comprehend and it’s something you envy, something you want. You won’t give me back my notebook, not because of the reason you said, but because you want Vincent. You read what happened to me and you try to shoplift snatches of it for yourself because no one loves you. I can’t blame you for desiring what I have, you would be stupid not to. It’s what every woman wants. Maybe you’re right, and it was just a fantasy. I don’t care. You spend time in fantasy too, only your fantasies are hollow and counterfeit. But mine, I could see, feel, taste, and touch. He was there when I closed my eyes at night, and he was there when I opened them in the morning. If it is only in my head, then it’s real to me. I don’t care if it’s real to anyone else. If I found heaven inside myself, then that is where it will stay! I’ll bury it so deep, you will never find it. I won’t allow you to extract it from me!"
Dr. Verell listened to Dulcee’s manifesto in cold dread. She wanted to shout, slap Dulcee in the face, and scream that it wasn’t so. It was her turn to have shaking, balled up fists. She looked away from Dulcee’s accusing eyes, and reached across her desk to page the orderlies. Two came in.
"Take Dulcee back to her room," she commanded.
Dulcee stood up, looking rather smug. "Uh-huh," she said quietly. "Truth hurts."
She turned and calmly left the room, flanked by the orderlies, leaving her therapist in a bakery of bad emotions. The second Dulcee was gone she buried her face in her hands, breathing deeply. What was it about this girl that made her lose all of her professional manner? Why was she allowing herself be lessened by a teenager and her delusions? Why did she fantasize about this girl’s psychosis?
Dulcee was practically skipping when she got back to her room. She had bested Dr. Verell. Dulcee was convinced what she had said was true and she wished she could find someone to report Verell to. Maybe she would try to talk to Dr. Phelps and see if he could do anything about it. Dulcee looked out of her barred window. It was still raining.
Sitting in the dark at his computer, Lyle Archer was busy trying to hack into the hospital’s server to gain access to the digital video recorder. He wanted to be able to watch Dulcee when he was at home. After a few minutes, he was able to enter into a port scan that was unsecured and get to what he wanted.
Lyle watched her for hours, releasing his mind into the depths of its darkest currents. He was looking forward to his next shift.
When five o’clock rolled around Dr. Verell was still in her office and had no desire to go home. She stood in the dark with her head resting against the window, watching the rain hit the glass. Her thoughts turned deeply inward. What was happening to her? What had she become? How could someone so decorated in the field of the mind, know so little of her own? What had happened to her self-control, not to mention her professionalism?
Cars were leaving the parking lot. Everyone was going home. In a few minutes, other cars would be arriving, those who worked the night shift. Lost in her abstraction, Dr. Verell gave a jump when someone knocked on her door.
Jean poked her head in. "Hey you," she said smiling.
"Hi. Why are you still here?"
"I was waiting for you in the lobby, but you never came out. I was going to see if you wanted to go to dinner or something? Or if you needed some help packing?"
Dr. Verell smiled. "Thanks Jean. I’m still here because I don’t want to go home. I’m not sure what to do next."
"Well," Jean said brightly. "How about a slumber party?"
Both women laughed like little girls.
"Okay. But no scary movies." Verell said, shaking her finger at her friend.
After gathering her things, the two women left the building. They walked along to their cars chattering happily. In the parking lot, Dr. Verell got her first sight of Lyle Archer. He was getting out of his car and going into the hospital.
"Who is that?" she asked Jean in a whisper.
Jean looked around and smiled broadly when her eyes fell on the person whom her friend was inquiring. "Lyle Archer," Jean responded. "He just started last night. Kind of hot, don’t you think?"
She was staring, couldn’t help herself. Look at me, she thought. Please, look at me. Lyle brushed past her without so much as a glance. She blushed.
"Kind of young don’t you think?" Dr. Verell covered, poking Jean in the ribs.
"Ah! See right there! That’s your number one problem, Pat."
"What is?" she demanded.
"You have the mind of an old married woman. That is the first thing we have to deal with. Besides, I don’t think he could be younger than twenty-four, well over legal age."
"I think maybe we should forget the sleep over," Dr. Verell said, eyeing Jean dubiously.
"Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting off that easy. I’ll expect you at my place in one hour or less, and if you don’t show, I’ll never speak to you again."
Verell rolled her eyes. "Alright. Cougar."
Jean flashed her a cheeky grin. Both women got into their cars and drove away from the hospital.
Lyle was a few minutes early on purpose. The day shifters were busy getting ready to go home and the others on the night shift were not yet there. Most of the patients were in the rec. room watching TV. He spotted Dulcee sitting in the corner, looking out of a window. Lyle made his way across the room. He didn’t get too close, so as not to alarm her. Lyle leaned casually against the wall next to the window.
Dulcee shifted her gaze onto him and her eyes filled with a hard, angry look but she didn’t say anything. Lyle smiled and held out his hand in greeting, Dulcee didn’t move to shake it. Lyle shrugged and put his hand in his pocket.
"Dulcee," he whispered. "I think you’re very beautiful…Let me know if I can do anything to help you."
Dulcee blinked and gave him her full attention. "And you are?" she asked aggressively.
Lyle pointed to his nametag.
"Well, Lyle, how do you think you can help me?" she inquired.
"I suppose that depends on what it is you want or need help with. You see, I’m not a volunteer in anything. You must give in order to receive."
Dulcee regarded him with repulsion, but nodded. "I understand you. So what would it cost me for you to help me escape?" she asked, presenting him with a poser.
Lyle ran his tongue along his lower lip. "Is that what you want?"
"Maybe," Dulcee said blankly, ignoring his suggestive behavior.
Lyle let out a little laugh. "Well, when you decide what you want, let me know and I’ll send you a bill."
Dulcee grimaced and turned her face from him. He laughed again and walked away. She sighed with relief once he was gone. Lyle was like a disease, once he was in your head, it was desperately hard to get him out. Dulcee shuddered and focused her mind on Vincent, and all the wonderful things she newly remembered. Nevertheless, on the fringe of her happy memories, were the dark eyes of Lyle Archer.
When Dulcee climbed into bed that night, she could hardly remember when she had been so hopeful. She couldn’t help it, even though she knew it was a long shot. Vincent’s phone call, and the jogging of her memory, made her hope she would dream about him. If she did, it would be the first time since having been committed. Vincent was close. He had made contact, and would soon come to save her. The only thing that dampened her spirits was the hard fact of the impenetrable barrier between her and Vincent caused by her sleep medication.
Dulcee had no idea how not to take her medication. She had never figured out how people in the movies always managed to get around it. Maybe that was something Lyle could help her with. Dulcee felt guilt at even thinking such a thing. She knew what his intentions were and there was no way she would ever cheat on Vincent.
But of its own accord, her mind went back to the thought of what Lyle might be able to do for her. If Vincent was
only in her head, how could something she did in reality alter that? Or could it? The medication was running through her veins now and she was becoming sleepy. She was trying hard to focus on thoughts of Vincent but it is most unfortunate that when you do not want to think about something, it becomes the sole thought in your head. As she drifted to sleep, Dulcee could not clear her mind of Lyle.
The ground under Dulcee’s bare feet was dead. The soil was so dry it broke into brittle chunks under her weight. She looked around what was once her beautiful forest and despaired. The trees still stood, but they had lost their leaves. She began to walk, but did not have to go far before she came upon her aspen, the large one that used to have blue leaves. Now all its leaves were brown.
