Always Watching

by LS Sygnet

  How long had I been here? Was I really here? If so, where was Johnny?

  I stood on wobbly feet and grabbed the IV pole for balance. A peek out the window might at least orient me to day or night. My fingers slipped between light-blocking drapes. They parted a crack, enough for the murky and ever-caliginous Darkwater Bay atmosphere to filter through.

  The spire of Saint Angelo’s Cathedral was visible in the distance.

  “All right,” I whispered. “I’m at Metro State University Hospital, that’s west, and it must be shortly after dawn.” That didn’t answer the question that lodged in the back of my throat. How long had I been here?

  Self-preservation instinct warred with paranoia. I could tear the IV out of my arm and vanish into the mist outside. I should haul my sickly ass back to the bed and let the hospital personnel continue to feed me intravenously.

  I pressed my lips together, surprised that they were slick with oily lubrication. What to do. Events of the past however long were never far. I prayed that I hadn’t been so delirious that I blabbed everything Gillette insinuated or outright admitted to Johnny when he found me.

  Then again, if any of the end memory was correct, why wasn’t Johnny with me now? Was it because of our abrupt parting of the minds before Gillette abducted me?

  Another thought, one that hadn’t stopped lingering, emerged. I could still be trapped on that ship, lost in a delusional state that found the fantasy of rescue preferable to any reality. How would I ever know for sure?

  Is this what insanity feels like? Psychosis? Logic fled. I couldn’t come up with a single test that would adequately convince me of reality or delusion. My eyes burned with frustration, and I seriously cursed the day that empathy was awakened in my psyche. Look where it got me.

  A soft voice cut into my thoughts.

  “Dr. Eriksson?”

  Slowly, I turned and glanced at the tiny nurse next to my bed.

  “If you need help with something, you can press the call button. Did you forget where it is again?”

  I blinked slowly. Again? How many times had I cycled this loop of awareness? I cleared my throat. “I’ve done this before, I suppose.”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  I nodded, barely. “I think so. MSUH.”

  “That’s right. Do you know what day this is?”

  “Not the first clue.”

  “Can you tell me the last thing you recall clearly?”

  The surrealism of my life was a breath-stealing punch. Was I sure any of this was real? What if…?

  “Dr. Eriksson?”

  “Was I shot?”

  Damned nurse and her unreadable mask. She gave away nothing. “You tell me.” Her arms crossed over her chest. I was tempted to lecture on the impact of negative body language.

  “I don’t want to talk right now.” My feet shuffled toward the bed. “Please leave me alone.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  She approached the bed and adjusted pillows before I laid down. “Eventually, you’re going to have to talk. I’d think you’d be eager to put this behind you.”

  “Put exactly what behind me?”

  “I need you to tell me what happened. That’s how this works. You’ve got to give us your baseline, Dr. Eriksson. Then we’ll know what we’re dealing with here.”

  The room shrank around her impassive face.

  “Are you telling me that I’m in psychiatric setting?”

  “We’re trying to establish –”

  “Cut the crap, sweetheart. If you want to know what I’m thinking, you’re going to have to give me a few answers first.”

  “All right. Within reason, I’ll answer your questions, but I won’t fill in the blanks for you. I need to know what you remember.”

  “Give me the mini-mental status exam if you want to know if I’m intact.”

  “All right. You told me that you know you’re in MSUH.”

  “Right. All things considered, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I’m not sure what day of the week it is.”

  “Because?” she prompted, dug without subtly asking for more information.

  “I believe that it’s possible that I was severely dehydrated, perhaps even delirious.”

  “From what?”

  Where was the reticence coming from? In my heart, I knew where. If I imagined the whole thing, it would mean that I really did lose my mind. If I kept my mouth shut and refused to cooperate, maybe I could figure out what was real and fantasy without anyone ever knowing there was a problem.

  “Dr. Eriksson –”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “I’m not sure what happened to me. The last thing I remember was having pot roast for dinner.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “Are you certain that’s the last thing you remember? Perhaps I should’ve been more specific. What’s the last important event you remember?”

  “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

  “I don’t bargain with patients, Dr. Eriksson.”

  “For God’s sake, call me Helen.”

  “All right, but I still don’t negotiate with patients, Helen.”

  “Then you’re not a very good psychiatric nurse. Negotiation is an invaluable tool, necessary even. Or didn’t anyone teach you that sometimes you have to pick your battles?”

  “What’s the condition?”

  “You’ll tell me if I’ve had any visitors.”

  “You have.”

  “I don’t remember anyone coming.” I picked at the edge of the blanket. “I would’ve thought one of them would be reluctant to leave me.”

  “Which one?”

  I shrugged. The rift between us had mushroomed from a crack to a chasm pretty quickly.

  “Helen, there are no right or wrong answers.”

  “No, just statements that determine if my cognition is intact or altered. I freely admit that I don’t know what’s going on. That ought to count for something.”

  “Who might’ve wanted to remain with you at all times?”

  “Johnny?” whispered with fear.

  “All right.”

  “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me if he’s been here?”

  “I’d like you to tell me why you believe he would’ve been here, Helen.”

  Tentacles gripped my rib cage and strangled the breath right out of me. Jesus, how much of my life had I imagined?

  “Procrastination doesn’t hurt me, Helen. It hurts you. We want to help you get well. We can’t do that if you won’t tell us what you’re thinking and what you remember.”

  “Let’s move on to something else. I think this is March.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Did I come to the hospital on Friday?”

  “You did.”

  “And Johnny brought me here?”

  “I believe he was one of the people responsible for bringing you to the hospital.”

  “How long have I been here?”

  “Three days.”

  I cleared my throat. “Am I pregnant or is that a delusion?”

  The nurse smiled. “You’re definitely pregnant.”

  “Johnny is my husband.”

  “Then you do remember.”

  “I’m not sure why you’d doubt it,” I said. “Was I… confused about that at some point?”

  “It seems like your memory is intact, for the most part. I’d like you to tell me the last thing you clearly remember before I start talking to you about what happened when you came to the hospital, Helen.”

  It felt like saying the words aloud was a validation too unbearable. Points to the nurse for persistence. It was one of those horrible moments of cognitive dissonance, where intellectually, I understood the rationale for coaxing me into talking about the ordeal. Emotionally, it was a dark corner I preferred remain un-illuminated.

  “I’d like to see Johnny.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not yet at least.”

  “You think he’ll tell me
things you don’t want me to know.”

  “I know he would,” she said. “He’ll be thrilled to learn that you’re aware of your surroundings now. But before you can see anyone from your life outside the hospital, we need to hear you say some things.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “What if I’m wrong? What if I’m still confused?”

  “I’m more interested in hearing what you believe right now than I am the accuracy of your perceptions.”

  Whispered words fell from my lips, the last thing I remembered and back to the beginning of a horrible night a week ago.

  My nurse patted my hand gently. “You’ve got excellent recall, Helen. I’m comfortable that what you suffered was a delirium and not psychosis. I’ll call the psychiatrist and let him know.”

  “And Johnny?”

  “Of course.”

  I relaxed into the pillows supporting me. A new mantra drummed with every heartbeat. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.

  In less than an hour, the psychiatrist listened patiently while I repeated my recollection of the abduction and everything that Andy Gillette did to me.

  “Do you know what happened to Mr. Gillette, Helen?” he asked.

  “I believe he’s dead.”

  “All right. Let’s see what we can do to facilitate your discharge. The medical doctor will no doubt want some additional tests, just to be sure that you’re well hydrated and so forth. You were in pretty bad shape when your husband got you to the hospital.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Of course,” he said. “He’s been camped out waiting for the past three days. I’ll have the nurse let him onto the unit.”

  I was a moment from changing my mind about seeing him when he stepped into the room. The rift had not been bridged. My feelings were unchanged. Maybe more now than ever.

  Johnny didn’t speak. Instead he came to the side of my bed. One hand played with my fingertips. “How do you feel?”

  “Weak. Tired. A little confused.”

  He nodded and shoved his fists into the pockets of his jeans. “The nurse spoke to me earlier. She thinks they might let you leave the hospital today.”

  An awkward silence descended between us, not unlike the heavy morning fog that hovered close to the ground outside. I picked at the blanket on the bed. Johnny stared at the floor.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, I guess we’re going to have to officially take your statement pretty soon, Helen.”

  I didn’t feel particularly amenable to repeating the story a third time this morning. Even though the events of my rescue were murky and probably would never be any clearer, I was certain that they’d pieced together what happened.

  “Isn’t it obvious that it was self defense?”

  His eyes darted away from the floor, met mine and held. “Doc, that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  A bit of churlishness leeched through me. “Shouldn’t you be telling me what happened? How did you find me? How did you figure out that Andy Gillette was up to his shit-brown eyes in this little slavery conspiracy?”

  Johnny cursed softly.

  “Payette recognized him, didn’t she? That’s why she wanted to see me, because she caught a glimpse of Gillette at OSI.”

  “Yes,” he said. Churlish, meet bitter. “You got hurt because I was pissed off and didn’t take her insistent demand to see you seriously. All right? I made a huge mistake.”

  It wasn’t where I was going at all, but if he wanted to put it in that context, who was I to argue?

  “And for the record, Mackenzie feels just as guilty as I do.”

  “What for?”

  Anger sparked in Johnny’s eyes. “Well, I suppose because he didn’t see the signs that his partner of ten plus years was dirty all along. Because he left you alone and vulnerable when you had no business being out working a case in the first place, and ended up being snatched right out from under dozens of witnesses noses, who, I might add, didn’t think anything out of the ordinary happened.”

  I bit back my defense of Devlin.

  “And then there’s Crevan.”

  Bile inched its way up the back of my throat. “Crevan?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, Crevan. Apparently he disagreed with your take on something you deemed gibberish, but because you were already so…”

  “So what?”

  “Erratic, Helen. You’ve been goddamned erratic, and we both know why. Because you insisted on keeping that reason secret, like it’s something you’re ashamed people know, he didn’t want to push you.”

  “And you’re telling me that I was wrong, that what happened to me was my fault because I missed some obvious clue?”

  Johnny slumped into a chair beside the bed and dragged one hand over his face. “I wouldn’t say it was obvious, but he saw something.”

  “What?”

  “Anagrams. That message you thought was nonsense was written to communicate the return of The Celeste with a new shipment. Subsequent messages laid out the plan that clued him in that you were going to be abducted. They knew that you and Devlin were meeting Fantasia. The original plan was that Gillette would intercept him at OSI and take him out when you were abducted. What we haven’t been able to figure out is why they planned to… to…”

  “Sell me into slavery.”

  The jaw muscle jumped. “Yeah.”

  My heart did a little skip in my chest. “And you think I was somehow enlightened?”

  Johnny sat silently for several long moments. He opened his mouth, closed it again, frowned.

  “Spit it out, Johnny.”

  “Did Gillette say anything to you that might shed some light on why they suddenly targeted you?”

  “No,” lie. “It’s not rocket science, Johnny. I was a nuisance, not much unlike the first case I investigated in Darkwater Bay. I became too much trouble for Jerry Lowe too. Remember?”

  “This crewman, Raul Muñoz, he said you threatened to kill all of them if they didn’t release you.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” I said. “I told Raul that if he helped Gutierrez and Gillette that he would be on my hit list with them. I promised the other two that they were dead men, regardless of what they did.”

  Johnny shook his head. “Now that sounds like something you’d say. We never found the captain. Muñoz wouldn’t cop to what happened, beyond his belief that the devil consumed his soul, but we suspect he might’ve had a traditional burial at sea.”

  “I shoved his nose through his brain,” I said, accompanied by a slight kick of my left foot. “After that, Gillette used his little stun gun on me again. When I woke, Umberto’s body was gone.”

  “Do I want to know how you managed to break Gillette’s neck while you were shackled to the wall?”

  “If you’re asking for details, you’d probably be better off knowing that the leg irons worked to my favor and nothing more.”

  “Helen,” he paused.

  “Johnny, don’t ask for the details. Just believe me when I tell you that he didn’t really hurt me physically. A couple of jolts of electricity, and a whole lot of pain in my shoulders from being strung up.”

  “Then he didn’t… touch you? I saw what condition you were in,” he stared at the floor as if it might open up and swallow him whole if he didn’t keep an eye on it. “He was half undressed himself.”

  “He planned to administer my first lesson in subservience. Guess that didn’t work out quite like he planned.”

  “You said something to me when I found you, Helen. You told me that there was someone else involved. Are you certain that Gillette didn’t make some kind of confession to you? I mean, they were pretty sure that they had you, and from what we’ve pieced together from the crew on that ship, this… arrangement to deliver you to the buyer… it was made long before the Datello baby was kidnapped.”

  Acid whooshed to the back of my throat again. Yeah, he told me, but damned if I was gonna tell Johnny. There was work to be done. The last thing I wanted or would
tolerate was his interference. Gillette had unleashed something in me, something that had been fighting to get out for years. No way would Johnny put the demon back in the box before I was finished with the job.

  “Maybe he tricked me after all,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Datello. Doesn’t it make the most sense that he was involved in this human trafficking ring all along, that he planned to get rid of me once and for all by selling me into slavery? It could’ve been why his attorney kept petitioning for delays in the trial. It would’ve hurt the state’s case against him if I were suddenly unavailable to testify.”

  “I guess. You were pretty adamant about another conspirator, Helen. You even told me you thought you knew who it was.”

  Hmm, and I was pretty sure that I did know his identity. There was a triangle that existed, one that connected everyone for different reasons. Sherman was the pervert who enjoyed personal benefits from being involved in human trafficking. Those associated with him were susceptible to monetary enticement. Andy Gillette. Melissa Sherman. Alfred Preston.

  Datello – whether a knowing participant or not – provided access, transportation, the means to reap the benefits of the operation. He knew a little too much about my personal history. Why hadn’t I seen that before? He’d always been so familiar with my history. I assumed it was because of Rick. What if he’d known my true identity all along? Gillette claimed I’d always been owned.

  With the added pressure my presence brought to bear to everyone engaged in something illegal, it made perfect sense, at least to me, that the third side of the triangle had to be the person moving into position to stop OSI and me, from continuing to derail their interests. I knew next to nothing about Terrell Sanderfield. Maybe sharing my suspicions with Johnny would distract him enough.

  Enough to hide my true agenda. Enough to covertly learn the truth about who I really am. Enough to enact Plan B and uncover the truth about who I really am. Good Christ. Was this what Jerry Lowe meant months ago about Darkwater Bay’s secrets? What did he really know?

  I was certain he’d never tell me. I’d have to uncover it myself.

  “Doc?”

  Our eyes met again.