Identity
Page 6
THE ROOM they’d taken Christy to was small, no more than ten feet side to side and maybe fifteen feet deep. White walls with a single metal bed supporting a white-sheeted mattress, one tiny wooden desk with chair, no windows, one empty closet. Hardly the kind of accommodations that matched the staff’s jovial attitude.
It didn’t matter. Christy had no intention of spending the night.
She’d used the last reserves of her energy to manage her panic and suppress her need to make them understand that they were making a terrible mistake.
A counselor named Mike Carthridge had ushered her to the room, assisted by one of the two guards stationed outside the interview room. She’d tried one last time to make her case to the young man, but he’d only nodded and offered his sympathy. Clearly none of them believed a word she said.
The worst of it was her own words, whispering through her mind, asking the impossible: What if they’re right, Christy?
Fighting back the dread riding her mind, she’d made a decision: She would play along, earn herself some space, and then go. She didn’t know how to get out, but she was going to go. She had to, if only to know that she wasn’t crazy. Eventually Austin would track her down, but she wasn’t going to wait for him. For that matter, if they locked up the storage room tight, there was always the possibility he might not find her.
She’d spent the last twenty minutes sitting or lying quietly on her bed, mind drained and frenzied at once. Her skull tingled, screaming for relief, and her face was flushed. She wanted to move, to pace, anything to work off her nervous energy. But she wanted to appear defeated in the event anyone came to check on her.
She could make her way to the cafeteria or lounge whenever she felt up to it, Mike had told her. They didn’t seem concerned about her leaving the room, which didn’t help. They obviously were confident in whatever security measures they had in place.
Still didn’t matter. She had to try.
No cameras in the room that she could see.
Christy sat up, heart pounding. No sign of anyone outside. If she entered the hall and met any of the staff, she could always tell them that she was headed for the lounge, right?
She stood and steadied herself. They placed a plastic band on her wrist that identified her as Alice Ringwald. It had her number and few letters—S A D, P D—whatever that meant. Maybe her diagnosis. The blue smock they gave her had no name tag. Said they would get her some clean clothes later.
It was now or never.
Christy walked to the door, opened it slowly, and slipped her head out. The hall was clear. Same hall she’d first entered, along the same wall that opened to the stairs to the basement, only two doors down from the administrator’s office.
She gathered herself for a few seconds, listening to the silence. No sign. She would get to the far end of the hall and take the corner. It was really the only way she could go.
Just walk easy, Christy. Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong.
She stepped into the hall and turned to her right. Still no one.
Breathe. Don’t run.
She headed down the hall, feet numb, eyes on the end where the hall turned to the left.
The patient rooms all had small windows, six by twelve inches, allowing a clear view of the interior. She cast a glance into the first room she passed and saw that it was empty.
Still no sign of traffic. She picked up her pace.
Passed a third room and glanced in as she passed. Patient asleep on the bed, facing the window. She was glad they hadn’t sedated her. If they had she wouldn’t have—
Christy pulled up sharply, the image of the sleeping patient she’d just passed large in her mind. She spun back and peered through the narrow window.
A male. Dark hair. Restrained at the wrists.
Austin?
But…
She blinked away the image, but the face refused to change. How could Austin be a patient in the same ward she was in? And in restraints? Nothing made sense.
She was losing her mind?
Christy didn’t think to check the hall again. She twisted the knob, slipped into the room, and stood trembling, facing the apparition before her.
Only it wasn’t an apparition.
It really was Austin.
—
“WAKE UP! Wake up!”
A sharp pain set fire to Austin’s cheek. Spread into his jaw.
His eyes fluttered open. Drifted to his right where Christy’s face hovered over him, eyes puffy and red. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that struggled to keep her tousled locks in check. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.
He blinked. “Christy?”
She looked at him with fear-fired eyes. “Tell me you’re real. Please, just tell me I’m not imagining this.”
“Where am I?”
She hesitated. “The psych ward.”
He was flat on his back with his arms at his sides. In bed?
His attention flitted between her and his surroundings. He tried to force the world into focus, but his mind was sluggish. He was in a white room with cinderblock walls. Windowless.
“How…?” Christy looked frightened. “You’re real, though. Right?”
“Of course I’m real.”
“Then how did you get here?” She jerked her head toward the door. “They could be coming soon. We have to hurry!”
“Hold on.” His chest and his heart surged. “Just hold on.”
Thoughts raced. He had to stay calm. Think, Austin. His mind cycled through what happened in the basement. With Fisher. With the girl.
Fisher.
He scanned the room and tried to sit up, but his attempt to rise to his elbows was stopped by the thick padded restraints that secured his wrists to the steel bedrails. The metal chain links clinked in protest. He tugged at them.
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Where is who?”
“Fisher. Where is he?” He knew the man was nearby. Had to be.
Christy was confused. “I don’t know who Fisher is.”
“Okay, listen to me.”
She muttered to herself. Held her head in her hands. “They’re coming.”
“Look at me. Look at me.”
She faced him.
“I need you to get me out of these.” He pulled at the restraints. “Can you do that?”
Her trembling fingers fumbled with the fat leather straps. Her breathing was shallow. After several tries she managed to free his right hand.
He slipped it out of the leather cuff and reached across his body. His fingers made quick work of the second restraint and he sat up. Excruciating pressure bloomed in his head with the rush of blood.
He grabbed a fistful of the bedding. Clenched. Waited for the pain to settle to a dull roar.
“Are you okay?” Christy asked.
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t though.
Austin scooted to the foot of the bed. He dropped his feet to the floor and stood.
Fueled by a potent mix of pain and adrenaline, his mind crackled with renewed clarity. It might be temporary, he knew that. He had to think quickly.
“Christy…”
He turned and saw that she’d closed the distance between them. She slipped her arms underneath his, around his body, and lay her head on his chest.
He stood there for a moment feeling her body tremble.
“I knew you would come,” she said.
He held her gently. They were alive and together—that was good.
They were in a psych ward. As patients. That wasn’t so good.
Her shoulders heaved.
“Hey, listen,” he said softly. He pulled back and held her at arm’s length. Fat tears carved trails down her cheeks. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“It will be. We just need to figure this out.”
She bit her lower lip, on the edge of a cliff somewhere in her mind. What had they done to her? He needed to keep her head in the game.
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“Good,” he said. “We have to reason our way through this. Right? Don’t go crazy on me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Crazy? You think I’m crazy?”
“Bad choice of words. I need you to get hold of yourself.”
“I’m not crazy.”
He checked the door with a glance. “Keep it down. Of course you’re not crazy.”
“I’m not.” This time her words came out as barely a whisper.
“But you’re obviously stressed out, and you’re not thinking straight. The only way we’re getting out of here is if we stay calm and figure this out.”
“You’re right.” She ran her hands through her hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He paced across the room. With each passing moment the cloudy layer in his mind burned away.
“Tell me everything. Focus. What happened to you this morning after you got here?”
The story spilled out of her in one rush of ragged emotion. The panic she felt in the passageway. Her phone call to Austin. The run-in with the hospital staff. The mix-up that led to her admission. Lawson. All of the pieces clicked into place for Austin.
“You had no ID on you?” he asked.
“No. I left everything at home.”
He noticed the blue plastic wristband on her left hand. He reached down and twisted it. A series of numbers were printed on it. Next to the numbers, a name: RINGWALD, ALICE.
Alice.
Austin jerked his left hand up. A similar band snugged his wrist. The name on it: CONNELLY, SCOTT.
A pang of terror rose in his gut.
“What?”
“Of course,” he said. “Fisher.”
“Who’s Fisher?”
“After I got your call, I traced your steps to the storage room. I found the way into the hospital that you took. While I was in the basement, I stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to see. A hospital employee was down there. A man—Douglas Fisher. His name badge said he’s the admissions director. He was performing some form of therapy on a young girl. Whatever he was doing, I wasn’t supposed to see it.”
“He did this to you?” she asked.
“He injected me with some kind of sedative. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“Oh no.”
Austin churned through the possibilities, but there were too many to process so quickly. He was midstride when he saw the red folder peeking from a wall tray next to the light switch.
His folder.
He covered the distance in three steps and pulled the chart out. Flipped it open. His finger traced the record as he scanned it.
“Scott Connelly. Age seventeen. Paranoid delusional.” He closed the folder. “Same name on my wristband. This is me.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Fisher was smart. Dangerously so.
“What?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“What is it?” she asked for a third time, this time in a whisper.
He held up the folder and spoke quickly, his own urgency rising. “He admitted me as a patient. That’s what he did after he knocked me out.”
“But you’re not a patient. How can he just… do that?”
“Fisher’s the admissions director. Think about it. He has access to the system. He controls the records. After the basement he must’ve taken my phone, my wallet—everything that proves I’m Austin Hartt. I had your phone on me too. He has both of them now.”
“But why? Why would he do that?”
The realization steamrolled him. “Whatever I saw him doing was dangerous enough that he couldn’t simply let me walk away. It had to have been illegal, probably some kind of experimental therapy that the hospital would never approve. Something that would cost him his job. That has to be it.”
“Then we’ll just find a phone and call someone. The police,” Christy said. “It’s all a mistake. They’ll see. It’s all just a mistake.”
“There won’t be any outgoing lines except in the offices.” He tapped the folder against his open palm quickly, thinking. “Besides, this isn’t a mistake. It’s a calculated move. We’re patients in a psych ward. No one’s going to believe anything we have to say.”
“Of course they will. They have to.”
“Why? He stripped me of my identity.” Another realization dawned on him in that moment. “And he took yours too.” He motioned to her wristband. “You said they think you’re name’s Alice, right?”
“Right.”
“And why do they think that?”
“Because she’s the patient that went missing.”
“Precisely. Look at it from their perspective. You show up inside a secure facility with no identification. No phone. Nothing. Think about it. Who breaks into a mental facility? No one. And who would be in charge of a patient population? Fisher—director of admissions. But Fisher suddenly finds himself in a tight spot because he’s been found out. By me. He’s got to cover his tracks.”
A beat.
Her face went slack. “He has to get rid of the real Alice. She knows too much.”
“Exactly. She knows what he did to me. But he can’t just get rid of Alice because Alice is in the system. Instead, he turns you into her. She was just checked in. You are her. End of story. No missing patient.”
“So he turned us both into mentally ill patients…” she said.
Austin didn’t bother responding. It seemed plain enough.
“If he’s willing to do that, what’s to stop him from doing something worse to us?” she said. “What’s to stop him from killing us?” Her voice escalated.
“Calm down,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “They’ll hear us.”
She pressed, this time in a harsh whisper. “What’s to stop him from killing us?”
He hesitated. “Nothing.”
“Wait. Alice. She’s the key, right? All we have to do is find her. She knows the truth. You said she’s in the basement, right?”
“Was. Fisher’s not stupid. By now, he’s cleaned up whatever evidence was down there and has put Alice somewhere else. Or worse.”
There was a long silence.
“So we’re trapped,” Christy said. “What now?”
“We’ve got to get out of here. We get out of here and we go to the authorities. We tell them what’s happening here. Whatever I saw goes deep. Deep enough that Fisher’s willing to falsely admit two perfectly sane people into a psych ward to cover his tracks.”
“But which way is out?”
“How did you get in here?”
“I walked down the hall.”
“Your door wasn’t locked?”
“No.”
“Were there guards in the hall?”
“Not that I could see.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m sure.”
“They must have some other security measures in place. Video cameras probably, which means we have to move fast.”
“Don’t they lock these sorts of places down? It’s not like we can just walk out of here.”
“We have to try. There’s got to be an exit somewhere.”
“What if they see us?”
“We’ve got nothing to lose. Fisher probably thinks I’m still sleeping off the sedative.” He grabbed Christy’s hand and led her toward the door. “What did you see in the hallway?”
She glanced through the door’s narrow window. “There’s an administration office to the left. It dead-ends there.”
“To the right?”
“Just more hallway.”
“Where does it go?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s fine. It’ll lead somewhere. We’ll follow it until we find a door. We’ll find a way out.” He squeezed her hand. “You ready?”
She nodded.
“We run and we don’t look back, understand?”
“Okay.”
“No matter what you hear behind us, keep running forward. Stay clos
e.”
Austin pulled the door open gently. Peered out. Except for an old woman with a walker, the hallway was empty.
“Okay, let’s go.”
They turned down the hall and started to run. Doorways lined the hallway on either side every ten feet or so. Patient rooms.
They skirted past the old woman, who shuffled slowly in the middle of the hallway.
She smiled a crooked smile and waved. “Don’t touch the whiskey, you hear? Stuff’ll rot you dead.”
They both ignored her.
“Hey, kids,” she said, “got any whiskey on you?”
A plastic sign hung next to a fire extinguisher. A fire evacuation chart.
“Over here,” Austin said. They pulled to a stop in front of it. A rough schematic of the facility was etched into it. The psych ward was U-shaped. They stood where the left side of the U met the bottom.
He glanced down the hall. “Down that way and to the left. Main exit. Hurry.
They followed the hallway until it jogged left again. Took the turn at a run.
Deserted except for two patients: One, a bald Asian man who stood in a doorway doing nothing. Just beyond him, a teenage boy sitting in a wheelchair backed against the wall. He watched them without expression. Just another day for a patient without much of a mind.
Austin veered to the left side of the hall to keep distance between them. “Keep going, don’t stop,” he whispered.
The Asian patient lifted his arm and pointed at them as they passed but addressed the boy in the wheelchair. “Jacob. Look, Jacob. Two birds running. I hear the wolf snap-snap-snapping at their heels. I hear him. Do you hear him, Jacob?”
The man’s laugher filled the hallway.
“Snap-snap-snapping. Gonna chew ’em up.”
Double doors, straight ahead. Austin quickened his pace to a sprint, and Christy matched his stride. As they moved his eyes scanned for video cameras, but he hadn’t seen any.
They were going to make it.
His hand slammed down on the lever and they pushed through.
The stark clinical lights of the psych ward faded as the doors closed behind them. They pulled up in a warmly lit room. A reception area of some sort. To the far right, an unmarked metal door. Ahead, another door with the word EXIT glowing in green letters above it. To the immediate right, a small receiving area enclosed in Plexiglas. It reminded Austin of the reception area at a family physician’s office. To the right of it, another door no doubt opened to the office area behind the glass.
“There’s no one in there,” Christy said. “Let’s go.”
She rushed forward and pushed the release lever on the EXIT door, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again. Locked.
Austin walked to the receptionist’s window. Empty. Lunch time? “It’s a secure door, probably an electronic lock. There’s got to be a button they use to buzz people in and out.”
He pressed his face close to the glass. A plastic box of paperclips and a pen sat on the countertop. Beyond it and to the right was a small green button. Out of reach.
“We have to hurry, Austin!”
The paper clips drew his attention. He grabbed the box and pulled it out. Walked to the office door and dumped them on the floor. Handed his file to Christy.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “We have to open this door.”
“The only way we’re going to do that is by pressing the button behind the glass.” He scattered the clips on the floor and selected two larger ones.
“How are we going to do that?”
“Tumbler manipulation,” he said, reshaping it into an L-shaped tension rod.
“Pick the lock?”
He bent another clip into a J-shape then knelt in front of the lock. Fed one clip into the lock then the other. “Simple mechanics. Opening a lock is easy if you know how they work.”
After another twist, the lock disengaged and the handle turned. He pushed it open and went through.
“Go to the door,” he said.
Christy ran to the door. An electronic lock clicked the moment he punched the button on the counter.
“It’s open!”
He hurried to the exit, took the file from her, and stepped through. “Follow me. Hurry.”
A dimly lit hallway stretched in front of them. Recessed lights in the ceiling created puddles of light on the linoleum floor every twenty feet. No doors that he could see and no exit signs. It ran for another hundred feet before disappearing around a corner.
“Where’s the exit?” Christy said.
“It’s gotta be ahead. Just keep running.”
They ran to the end of the hall where it turned left.
“Did we miss a turn somewhere?”
“No.” He was certain of it.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s this way,” he said and started walking. “It has to be. We just haven’t gone far enough.”
Christy followed close on his heels.
Austin knew they would eventually find a door, and that door would lead outside.
They hurried to the end, where the hall angled hard left and followed it. When they did, an identical hallway lay in front of them.
What? But there was no other way to turn. No patient rooms. No doors in the hallway like the ones in the psych ward. Just smooth, white cinderblock walls. New construction?
He said nothing. Kept them moving forward.
They reached the end of that hallway, pushed through the door, and pulled up sharply. Another hall.
“What’s going on?” Christy said, the panic rising in her voice. “Is this right?”
“It has to be. I haven’t seen any other exits. Or doors, for that matter.”
What had he missed?
He pushed the question from his mind and ran for the single door at the end of the hall they were in. “Come on!”
No alarm had sounded. Austin had the file that would incriminate Fisher. They would be out soon enough.
Austin reached the door first and slid to a halt. He cranked the knob and leaned his shoulder into it.
Christy came too fast and collided with him, pushing him through the door. He stumbled forward and pulled up hard, half expecting to see yet another long hall.
But it wasn’t another hall.
They were in an office.
A sharply dressed man sat behind a desk, combing through paperwork of some sort. He glanced up casually, looking over his glasses at them. If he was surprised by their dramatic entry he didn’t show it.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Christy gasped.
The man behind the desk smiled. “Hello, Alice. Nice to see you again. And so soon.”
She backed to the door they’d come through.
“I can assure you. That door is now locked.” He reclined back in his seat. “Go on, check it if you like, but I assure you it’s quite secure.”
She tried, desperate to get out. It was locked.
“Those doors can be quite deceiving, can’t they?” the man said. “Which one to take?”
The nameplate on the man’s desk read KERN LAWSON. The administrator Christy told him about.
The man pulled his glasses off and tapped his chin with one of the earpieces. “And you brought a friend, I see. I don’t believe we’ve met. You are?”
“Austin Hartt.”
“Ah, I see. The other new arrival. Fisher told me about you.” He glanced at the red folder in Austin’s hand. “You brought your file.”
Austin felt his pulse thrumming in his temples. His mind spun through their options. He could make his case now—accuse Fisher of foul play—but in doing so, he would only tip his hand. Lawson would take his man’s word over a patient’s without hesitation.
He could take more time to think through their options. Maybe telling Lawson would end up being the right course. Maybe not. He had to give it more thought.
“Please, have a seat.” Lawson indicated the two stuffed chairs facing h
is desk. Beyond them, a wood-panel door stood closed. The main entrance into the office. They’d entered through a side door.
They sat.
The administrator picked up a jar of jelly beans that sat on his desk. “Candy?”
Christy sat still, face as white as a ghost’s. Austin had never liked jelly beans.
“All right. Plenty more of these in the lounge if you change your minds.”
He popped one in his mouth and set the jar down.
“Now then. Let’s be clear about one thing. I understand how disorienting it can be for those with your particular challenges to adjust to a new space, but I want to assure you both personally, as the administrator, that there’s nothing to fear here.”
He spread his hands, palms up, indicating the facility.
“We’re here to help you, not hurt you. Can you accept that?”
Austin hesitated, then dipped his head once. Christy didn’t move.
“Good.”
“I have copies of both of your files right here.” He picked up two red files from the corner of his desk and plopped them down in front of him, eyeing them over his reading glasses.
Lawson flipped open the top file.
“Alice Ringwald. Acute anxiety disorder. Psychosis. Subject to paranoid delusions with a four-year history of the same kind of behavior we’ve seen from you today. The rest is all here, in perfect order.”
He set the file aside and opened the cover of the second.
“And one Scott Connelly. Delusions of grandeur, acute paranoia, psychosis among other things. Evidently you have quite the mind, Scott. We’re here to help you free that mind.”
He closed the folder, stacked them neatly in the corner, and folded his hands in front of him.
“But we can’t help you until you first accept the truth. Both of you are quite ill. Some would say mad. Insane. Bonkers. I prefer challenged. I need you to embrace that much if nothing else. Fair enough?”
This time Austin couldn’t bring himself to react. He wasn’t sure if the man had an angle here or was merely deceived by Fisher. Maybe a bit of both.
“Just how deep that challenge runs will be up to you.”
The administrator pushed himself back from the desk and stood. “Either way, I can assure you that there’s no way out of this ward without my authorization. And I mean no way. Trust me on that.”
He walked over to the door they’d entered through and placed his hand on the knob. Turned back. “Please don’t try again. It will only delay your progress.”
He opened the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to step out for few minutes.”
Lawson reached into what was now a shallow closet inlaid with wood paneling, pulled a long black coat off the rack, and shrugged into it as he turned.
Austin couldn’t tear his eyes from the closet. How?
He glanced at Christy, who was also staring at that closet, fried.
“Welcome to your new home, my friends,” Lawson said, then closed the closet door. “I’ll check in with both of you in an hour.”
With that he walked to the door, nodded at two security men who were waiting patiently just outside, and strode out.
“They’re all yours.”
TO BE CONTINUED IN
MIRRORS
Eyes Wide Open, Book Two