"You deserve to be sexually assaulted?"
"Husbands have rights with their wives. I try not to resist him."
"My God! Have you told this to your doctor?"
"Of course I have. Dr. Thomas knows everything. We talk about everything here."
"Has he told you to get away and stay away from Jana?"
"No, we don't try to run other people's lives. We try to keep our comments focused on ourselves. I'm here to talk about me, not about your stuff."
I slump back in my chair, feeling defeated. This is like talking to a sack of sand. Makes no sense whatsoever. I check my watch.
"I'll be back."
I go out beyond the nurse's station, out to the waiting area. As I knew he would be, Marcel is sprawled out on the couch, reading some eBook.
"Help," I say.
"Hey, how's it going in there? They about ready to check her out and let her go home with us?"
"Far from it. She wants to go home with her husband, Jana."
Marcel's face turns red.
"Say that again?"
"I know, I know. Danny believes she's married to Jana Emerich. She says she wants to go home with him."
"Does she recognize you?"
"Not so far."
"Does she recognize the kids' pictures? Have you shown her those?"
"No, but let me go back inside and show her my cellphone album. Maybe that'll jar something loose."
Quickly I'm back inside my wife's room, reaching for the TV remote and clicking off Eric Clapton. She turns to me and snaps, "I was watching that!"
"Please, Danny. I need to show you something."
She crosses her arms on her chest. "What is it?"
The first snap of our son, Mikey, when he was a newborn, flashes onto the screen. I hold it up to her.
"Whose baby?"
"Your baby—our baby."
"What's his name?"
"Michael—we call him Mikey."
"No, Mikey is Jana's baby and I want him. Are you going to bring him to us?"
"Us?"
"Me and Jana. We want our son."
I ignore this as best I can. I finger-flip through another ten photos and find a recent one of Mikey.
"How about this?" I ask.
"Don't know him."
"It's Mikey. Look at him now!"
"He's much older. Much older. How long are you planning on keeping him from us?"
"Please, Danny. You and I are raising Mikey together. He lives in our house with us," I say, flipping my finger back and forth between us to indicate a connection.
But I fall short. She looks away. Then, "Do I have any others?"
"You have Dania. She's your daughter. Want to see her pictures?"
"Not yet. I'll tell you when."
"All right."
"Please turn the sound on again, Michael."
"I will if you'll answer one question for me."
"Okay."
"Would you be willing to come home with me and say hello to your kids? They miss you terribly."
"I'll have to think about that. I'll see what Jana says about that."
"When will Jana be here?"
"First thing in the morning. You should go now. Don't come back until tomorrow afternoon. I can tell you then."
I know better than to argue. It is going nowhere if I do. But I will make my call to Dr. Thomas on my way out.
At the nurse's station, I stop to talk to Nurse Trang. I explain I want to talk to Dr. Thomas and ask her for his phone number.
"Dr. who? We gave you all the names.”
"Danny says her doctor is Dr. Thomas. Can I get his number from you?"
"You could if there was a Dr. Thomas involved in her care. But there isn't."
"No Dr. Thomas?"
"No. You have to be sure of what she's telling you, Mr. Gresham."
"I know what she told me," I retort. "She clearly said Dr. Thomas."
She looks away and bites her lip. She checks her monitor and looks back.
"Her treating physician makes rounds at seven in the morning. Please be here then."
"Her doctor's name?"
"Irene Milligan. She's a St. Louis U grad. Great doctor. Please be here."
I can only agree as I am shaken through and through. None of this is adding up; Danny is making no sense at all. She had her moments before she was taken away, I'll admit that. But nothing like this.
"I will definitely be in the room as soon as she arrives."
45
Michael
Dr. Milligan has agreed to see me in the morning. She called my cell while I was dozing in my hotel room, waiting for morning. It was after nine o'clock last night when her service returned my call and confirmed our appointment.
It’s still dark outside when I take my morning shower. Marcel and I go down and eat a light breakfast. I’m not really hungry and just pick at my food. The realization that I’m losing my wife hangs over me like a cloud. It saddens me and it is frightening. As the mother, she really could make a play for custody of the kids if she decides to divorce me. Not just Mikey but Dania too. The idea causes my pulse to race and a hot, cloying hand to tighten around my throat. I am nauseous and push my cereal away. We head out for the hospital.
Just before 7 a.m. a female doctor breezes into Danny's room. The doc is wearing a heavily starched white lab coat with stitching across the breast pocket that identifies her as Irene Milligan, M.D. She approaches her patient and checks her chart. She is busy reading for several minutes but then at last turns to me.
"Mr. Gresham?" Her voice is hushed, as Danny is still sleeping.
"Yes," I say, happy to be engaged.
"Irene Milligan. I've been Danny's treating psychiatrist for some time now. Can we step into the hallway and chat?”
We step outside and the room door closes behind us.
"How's she doing?"
"We think she's making progress. It's slow, but we can see improvement."
“Thank God.”
"How are your interactions with Danny, Mr. Gresham? Does she relate to you?"
"She basically doesn't want anything to do with me. She's very attached to this Jana Emerich, the man who was convicted of raping her several years ago. Does Jana come around to the hospital?"
Dr. Milligan grimaces. "That's one of our issues with Danny. She talks about this Jana person a lot. But he hasn't been anywhere near the hospital if, in fact, he's really her husband."
“So she’s telling me one thing but the truth is something else.” I feel a surge of relief that Jana hasn’t been around. “You're not going to believe this, but that's a huge relief," I tell the doctor, trying to keep my voice down although I am feeling exultant at the news.
"Because you thought she was involved with her rapist?"
"I did. She tells me she wants to go home with him. She doesn't want to see her children. Everything must be done with his approval. Where is all of this coming from?"
Dr. Milligan places her hands on her hips and shuts her eyes. She nods thoughtfully, then looks at me, studying my face.
"Danny has suffered a profound personality injury. Much of what she is thinking is not reality based."
“We’ve been—I knew she—”
“I’m sure you saw evidences, unexplained things, before.”
"What can we do? Is there something more that I should be doing? Did I not do the right things before?”
"We're thinking a long-term care facility is indicated, now that we've stabilized her meds."
"Could that be in Chicago? That's where we live.”
"Sure, why not?"
"I can take her there?"
She shakes her head and gives me an appraising look that says I'm missing something here, that I'm just not getting it.
"She wouldn't go with you, Michael. She'll need an ambulance transport and she would need to be taken against her will. But you're her husband, so you do have the final say-so."
"But you're saying I don't want to
get my will done because it would retard her progress if I do?"
"Something like that, yes. While Danny is battling her way toward clearer thinking, her life and living conditions are certainly well-known to her. So if you take her away from the hospital without the proper foundation being laid by our staff, you're likely to set her back."
"Meaning I should do whatever it is I want to do in tandem with your staff."
"That's exactly right."
Just then a young Asian nurse enters the room. We follow her back inside. It is the same Trang Nguyen, R.N. as last night. She adjusts Danny's covers and takes her vitals. Danny blinks awake during all this and stretches. She looks at me blankly then looks over at Dr. Milligan, who has taken Danny's hand in her own.
"How's my girl?" the doctor asks her.
"Vitals are good," Nurse Trang answers. "So there's that."
"I'm good," Danny says. She looks again at me. Her mouth twists. "Why are you here?"
"Danny, this is Michael. He's your husband."
"Jana is my husband. He'll be here soon and you don't want to be here and get in his way, Michael."
I nod and smile. I don't know what else to do, but I do know I don't want to force the issue.
"Michael drove all the way from Chicago down here to see you. Wasn't that nice of him, Danny?"
Danny looks at me. Then she nods. "Yes, that's nice of him."
"Sure. Michael wanted to know if you're feeling better. Can you tell him about that?"
Again, she looks at me. "I'm feeling better," she says, but there is a flatness to her voice that betrays her. I have the feeling she wouldn't know feeling better from feeling worse if it bit her. It's frustrating and I'm feeling angry that more isn't being done. Maybe I'm being too passive. So I take my shot.
"Danny," I say, "I would like you to come home to Chicago with me and see your children. Would you do that for me?"
She shakes her head violently. "Not without Jana, I won't! Jana says where I go."
Dr. Milligan reaches and touches my forearm. "I'd leave it right there, Michael."
I understand. Jana is her husband; he's in charge of her—that’s the fantasy we’re all buying into. The truth is, the real Jana is somewhere in Chicago awaiting the outcome of federal district court action on his state case as there are constitutional law implications involved. He's nowhere near Danny or this hospital or even this southern Illinois town. At least not that I know.
A young Middle Eastern man enters and encourages Danny to blow into a plastic contraption. She obliges him with a smile and proudly views the ball dancing inside a plastic tube, indicating her respiratory health.
"How is she, Bashar?" Dr. Milligan asks.
The man she's calling Bashar turns. "Full volume. She's doing great," he says, and leaves us there.
"Well, Michael, anymore questions for me right now?"
I look perplexed, I know, but I can't come up with any question that might bring her home. This is definitely not the time to press the issue on that.
We walk over by the door and lower our voices.
"So what do I do, return to Chicago? Stay around? How much time are we talking about before she goes into a long term care facility?" I ask Dr. Milligan.
"Probably weeks. I'd go home to my kids and my job. I'll be in touch with you when it's time, Michael."
"And you're sure this Jana isn't coming around?"
"Jana's coming?" Danny says, pushing herself upright in bed. She has overheard.
"No Jana, Danny," says her doctor.
Danny looks directly at me. "Please leave so Jana can come, Michael. You're scaring him."
"All right," I say. I'm ready to throw in the towel. The mission looks impossible.
But then Danny says. "I know you! You're Michael Gresham!"
And my heart melts. I scurry up close and lean across the bed and kiss my wife squarely on the mouth. She doesn't pull away but neither does she indicate she likes my kiss.
"When's breakfast?" she says. "I want potatoes, please, Dr. Milligan. Will you tell them it's okay?"
Outside it is snowing when Marcel and I find my Mercedes. The flakes whip across my face, bringing tears to my eyes.
At least that's the explanation I give myself for the salty tears driving into my mouth with the wind.
46
Danny
"Danny," Michael asks me on his way out, "will you come say hello to your kids?"
"Maybe."
He backs out of my room. I am very sad when he goes.
The day passes quickly and at night I am snuggling down under the light blanket the orderly brings me at night to sleep. It's time to drop off to sleep while Jimmy Fallon does his show.
As I predicted, Michael Gresham wants me to go straight to Chicago with him. Which would leave me no time to find Trang and help her get away from Jana. I also want to deal with Jana first. There’s always another knife for him. So Chicago's out. Of course I recognized my little boy, Mikey. It was all I could do not to break down crying when he showed me his pictures. Especially the new ones. My little boy is growing like a weed and I miss him, especially now that I've seen his picture. They told me I had a son but I couldn't remember without the picture. He's a doll and he looks like Jana. Jana's son, he is quick to remind me, and Jana wants him for us to raise.
I keep my laptop under the covers. Now I pull it out and start it up. I've got the bank's password and I've got the addresses for the other places I need to go first thing in the morning.
The laptop easily connects me to UBS bank in Zurich. More memories: I watched Jana put Michael's retirement fund in UBS after stealing it from Michael's IRA. I enter the password and wait. Then the account balance floats up. $95,456 and change. It is less than I was hoping for, but it will get me started. I open a new account with Bank of America and fund it with $95,456 from UBS. What Jana didn't know, when he was stealing Michael's money, was that I watched the keyboard as he entered the UBS password. The account number was all I needed to gain access, and that I had memorized.
I decide to walk the halls for a while, I tell the nurse out front. She's reading and doesn't look up, only nods and grunts. Too bad, because I know where the supply cabinet is located and I know how to get in. When no one is looking, I rush inside and help myself to a set of scrubs. They will come in handy tomorrow morning when I'm leaving.
The next morning, I dress in the stolen scrubs and sneak out with a group of doctors and medical students making their rounds. I am using a walker and it is extremely painful, but I am behind them and no one notices. I’m just a disabled student.
Downstairs in the main lobby, I time the automatic door and scuttle right on through. The walker is less of a hindrance than I thought and soon I am quite at home with it.
I'm at the pawn shop thirty minutes before it opens. With the laptop stashed inside a hospital clothes bag hanging from the frame of my walker, I know I’m a sight to behold. But I couldn't care less how I look. I'm making my first movements as a free woman since the kidnapping. I'm much wiser now, and a hundred years more able to take care of myself. I thought I had street smarts as a lawyer. But I had nothing compared to what I now have after surviving Jana. What I have now goes way beyond mere street smarts. Now I can survive anything and I’m feeling more confident by the minute.
At 9:01 a.m. the steel accordion fence across the pawn broker's front door slides away and the main door unlocks. I open the door and crab my way inside. I shuffle up to the counter and remove the laptop from its bag.
"How much?" I ask. "It's got the latest version of Windows and a paid-up Microsoft Office."
"I can go fifty," the man says, squeezing the tip of his bulbous nose and trying to look not in the least interested.
"Bullshit," I protest, "this thing isn't a month old. Give me at least a hundred."
"Sixty-five." He clicks the machine on and satisfies himself that it's working. The latest version of Windows appears onscreen. Now he is interested.
&n
bsp; "Eighty-five."
"Seventy and that's it."
"Seventy-five and we're done here. I'll even throw in the laundry bag."
"The one with the hospital stamp on it? Gee, lady, thanks."
"Just give me the money. Tens, please."
Less than a minute later, the proprietor has peeled seven tens and a five from his roll and slid it across the glass counter.
I rap the glass with my knuckles.
"You won't regret this. It's a great laptop."
"Sign here that it's not stolen."
I turn away. "You sign and say it's my signature. Bye now."
Without looking back, I wedge my way out of the front door and hurry to the curb. I begin flagging taxis with my free hand.
"Closest Bank of America," I tell the Middle Eastern driver. He types the name of the bank into his GPS and screeches off for a bank branch less than two miles away.
"This okay on Oakland?"
"Yes, perfect."
Five minutes later he's dropping me off at the entrance to BOA and I pay him with a ten. "Keep the change," I say. He thanks me and offers to wait.
"That would be great," I say. "But only if you turn off the meter."
"I'll wait ten minutes no meter," the driver says.
"Good enough. I'll be back in nine."
The BOA business associate takes less than six minutes to key a temporary debit card plus scoop five thousand dollars out of the cashier's drawer. He presents the money and card to me and I smile and thank him. If I could have, I would have tipped him.
Back outside and there's my cabbie, talking into his phone. I climb in back, fold my walker, and drag it inside across my lap.
"So," I say, "what's your name?"
He peers at me in the rearview mirror.
"Bashar," he says. He reaches up and clicks the mike off. "Where to now, lady."
"How much to hire you for the whole day?"
"One thousand. Up front."
I immediately peel ten one hundred-dollar bills off my bank withdrawal. I lean forward and dangle the money over the front seat. Bashar reaches around and takes the money. He tucks the bills inside his shirt pocket and turns to look at his new employer.
Voices In The Walls: A Psychological Thriller (Michael Gresham Series) Page 18
