Come Back To Me

by Julia Barrett

  She’d been locked in a mental hospital. A cast covered her right arm from a close encounter with a concrete sidewalk and she was covered with bruises, courtesy of the two men who had dragged her into the locked ward and stripped her clothes from her. Her ankles and her left wrist were raw from pulling against the restraints, and she had a huge purple welt above the cast where the nurse had restrained her right arm.

  Try as she might, Cara couldn’t wrap her brain around the events of the past three days. Yes, she’d lied, but there had to be some other way for her parents to punish her. She reminded herself, her parents weren’t some other parents. They were her parents. Her father was a judge. He sentenced people to prison. He believed people should behave in a certain way. In his world things were black and white. You were wrong or you were right. He didn’t allow for shades of gray.

  Despite that, Cara knew he loved her. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew, she just did. What she couldn’t understand was why he let something like this to happen to her. Why did he give his permission for this? How could her own father let them hurt her like this?

  Her mother was another story. She could barely stand to be in the same house with Cara. Sometimes it seemed it seemed to Cara like her mother had to force herself to breathe the same air. She had never forgiven Cara for the situation with Mr. Walker. For that matter, her mother had never forgiven Cara for anything. Not for being tall. Not for being a tomboy, wearing jeans and tie-dyed tee shirts instead of pretty dresses. Not for having red hair. Her mother compared it to horse hair.

  Cara wasn’t pretty or blonde, petite or graceful. She didn’t enjoy shopping, she didn’t wear makeup. Most unforgivable of all, Cara wasn’t part of the ‘in-crowd’. She might be considered a brainiac by the other students, but her mother didn’t value grades, and she had little interest in Cara’s artwork. Cara was being punished for all those sins, she was certain of it. The fact that she’d lied and stayed out all night with Rick was nothing more than an excuse.

  Cara closed her eyes. It was better not to think about it. It was better to sleep and dream about waking in the warm circle of Rick’s arms.

  Or better yet, what if she fell asleep and woke up a thousand miles away, in another body, living the life of an entirely different person? That would be perfect. Cara figured she’d spent more than enough time being Cara.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  James Mackie tapped nervous fingers on the arms of the chair. This was the second time he’d been asked to recount the events of yesterday. The second time he’d been required to describe the condition of the patient when she’d been brought down from the fourth floor. The second time he had to repeat the conversation he’d heard in the stairwell.

  He wasn’t even supposed to have been in the psych ward. He was finishing up his second year in medical school and he was only here to do an emergency room rotation. It just so happened that a patient on the psych ward had fallen and needed to have a scalp laceration stitched up.

  Dr. Mack, as he was known to the nursing staff, had been suturing lacerations and setting broken bones successfully for a couple of months. The supervising physician had been busy with a motor vehicle accident so he’d trusted James to handle the laceration on his own. James had no idea when he walked onto the ward that he’d get involved in something like this, that he’d be filing a formal complaint against the chief of staff of psychiatry.

  He’d happened to be standing at the nurse’s station when the charge nurse had called for him. She’d just admitted a young woman who had been upstairs in the locked ward overnight. The charge nurse was concerned because the girl was unresponsive and nobody could reach Dr. Kent.

  James had no idea what to do. This wasn’t his area. He suggested they call his attending to take a look at her. Unfortunately when they’d called down to the ER, the attending said it would be a good hour before he could swing by. He’d instructed them to put in a call to Dr. Bowman, the psychiatrist available for emergencies, and he’d asked James to stay with the patient until Dr. Bowman arrived.

  James stood in the room while the nurses catalogued the girl’s injuries. He was appalled by what he saw. The girl was bruised from head to toe, her ankles and her left wrist scraped raw from tight leather restraints. Her right arm had obviously been broken and a new plaster cast applied, but just above the cast, the skin on her arm was red and bleeding from another restraint that had been applied improperly.

  While he waited, another nurse joined them, Debbie. James made note of every word of the conversation.

  Shaken, Debbie said, “I arrived on shift and found the patient naked and restrained, lying on a bare mattress. She’d been left there, uncovered and unattended, with nothing to eat or drink, for nearly twenty-four hours. The night staff on the locked ward claimed they’d been following Dr. Kent’s orders. According to his notes, the patient had stayed out all night with her boyfriend. Her parents were concerned about promiscuity, and they wanted to scare some sense into her. Dr. Kent claims this is a technique he’s used before with teenagers to produce dramatic changes in behavior, to induce compliance. He claims it’s as effective as electroshock therapy.”

  From what James gathered, Debbie knew the family. She said, “The patient’s father is a judge, her mother a snooty pain-in-the-ass. The girl is a straight A student, she’s never been in any serious trouble, but it’s pretty common knowledge that several years ago she was sexually abused by her father’s former law partner. He preyed on young girls.”

  James didn’t think stripping a patient naked and tying her to a bed for twenty-four hours made for effective therapy, especially after hearing of her history. It was barbaric. The young woman didn’t even stir when they’d undressed her, turned her over to check her back, and changed her into a hospital gown. The bruises covering the patient’s body sickened him.

  Doctors took an oath to do no harm. In this case, James believed a great deal of harm had been done. He knew that despite the fact he was only a second year medical student, he had no choice. He had to report this abuse. He suggested to the charge nurse that she call the girl’s parents and let them see the results of Dr. Kent’s plan of treatment.

  As James followed the two nurses down the hallway, Dr. Bowman entered the unit. James was familiar with him. The emergency room staff called on him when they needed an initial psychiatric intervention or evaluation. The man was pleasant enough. Dr. Bowman hurried past them, disappearing into the girl’s room. The nurses hastened to join him. When he reappeared, his round, usually jovial face was beet red. He seemed quite flustered. Grabbing the girl’s chart, he disappeared into Dr. Kent’s office.

  James returned to the emergency room and explained the situation to his supervisor, informing him he planned to make a formal complaint against Dr. Kent. His supervisor pointed out the obvious, that it was risky for a second year medical student to open his mouth about anything, especially since James wasn’t even on a psychiatric rotation.

  Then he said, “Dr. Kent’s a major asshole. Go for it.”

  After his shift, James headed to the stairwell, planning to go to the medical library, hoping for a quiet place to write down his observations and review his notes. He heard male voices a floor up. At first he ignored them, but then he’d heard one of the men speak the patient’s name. Despite any discomfort James felt about eavesdropping, he listened. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was listening to the two orderlies who had dragged Cara to the locked ward.

  His fury growing by the minute, he listened to them rib each other about getting the biggest hard-on of their lives when they’d stripped her and tied her to the bed. One of them mentioned that he’d tried and failed to lift the keys to the girl’s room so he could use that hard-on. That was as much as James could stand. Tempted to beat both men senseless, he stormed to the office of the hospital administrator and demanded to speak with him.

  Now here he was, a day later, waiting to see if the girl’s father had any additional questions for him.
Apparently Dr. Bowman wasn’t quite as passive as James thought. After James left the psych ward, Dr. Bowman had called Judge Franklin and insisted he come to the hospital. Judge Franklin may have wanted some sense knocked into his daughter, but he didn’t want her manhandled and mistreated until she was black and blue. He never expected she’d be tied to a bed, helpless and humiliated. How could he know she’d be vulnerable to an attack from those two cretin orderlies, and dehydrated almost to the point of shock?

  James was glad to learn the judge had raised holy hell.

  This morning when James checked in with Debbie, she was within seconds of starting an IV. If the girl hadn’t come around when she did, he would have started it himself to get some fluids into her. They were all lucky she hadn’t gone into renal failure.

  In a low voice, Debbie said, “Dr. Kent’s hospital privileges have been suspended, two orderlies were fired, and the nurse has been placed on leave of absence. The entire psychiatric department is under investigation by the hospital board.”

  James was relieved his complaint hadn’t been the only one filed. Both the charge nurse and Debbie backed him up with statements of their own, as did the nurse’s aide who’d helped the patient when she’d collapsed in the shower.

  James looked up as the door to the administrator’s office opened and Judge Franklin stepped out. His movements heavy, ponderous, the man dropped into the chair next to James. For a few moments he said nothing. At last he cleared his throat.

  “I’d like to thank you. I imagine as a medical student it must have been difficult for you to come forward. You might have endangered your career by speaking up.”

  James looked Judge Franklin in the eye. “What happened to your daughter was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. I would have endangered my career if I didn’t speak up. I don’t think I would make a very good doctor if I looked the other way.”

  James wanted to ask the judge what he would do now, what would happen to his daughter, but he knew it really wasn’t any of his business.

  The judge said, “Cara’s refusing to see me.”

  “Is that so surprising?”

  Judge Franklin raised his eyebrows. “She’s my daughter.”

  “Well, that’s the point. She’s your daughter, yet you and your wife brought her here and gave her over into the care of Dr. Kent.”

  “How were we supposed to know this would happen?”

  “You didn’t know what would happen and you left her anyway.”

  Judge Franklin leaned on the arm of the chair and rubbed his forehead. “When I think of what those men did, what they could have done, it’s worse than . . .”

  “Worse than when she was raped by your law partner?”

  Judge Franklin’s head flew up. “How do you know about that? For Cara’s sake I went out of my way to keep it quiet.”

  James shrugged. “Things have a way of getting out. It’s a small town.”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” the judge said. “Maybe I was wrong to keep it quiet. Maybe I should have gotten Cara some help then. Tried to find out exactly what happened. But I didn’t want to know. I honestly didn’t want to know what he’d done to my daughter. I thought maybe, maybe we could all put it behind us. That it would be better for her if we never talked about it.”

  James wondered why the judge was telling him this. Perhaps the man found it easier to unburden himself to a stranger, a stranger who would be gone in another few months.

  “I’m at my wit’s end,” the judge said. “My wife won’t shut up about Cara, constantly going on about her, claiming she lies and manipulates everyone, yet I’ve never see any sign of it. At least I hadn’t until the other night. Cara’s always behaved respectfully towards me, but she’s quiet. She doesn’t talk much. She doesn’t confide in me, or in anyone for that matter. I have no idea what’s going on in that head of hers.” He paused for a moment. “She’s talented you know. The top student in her class, and she’s a wonderful artist. Last year a painting of hers was chosen to hang in the Capitol Rotunda in Washington D.C.”

  “Have you ever seen the painting?”

  Judge Franklin seemed to hesitate. “No,” he said, “I guess not. I’ve never seen it.”

  The older man and the younger man sat side by side in silence. James didn’t know what else to say. He wondered if the young woman would recover from this. To her, this must seem like one punishment added on top of the other. He imagined she felt completely alone, abandoned by the two people who were supposed to protect her—her mother and her father. What a lousy deal. He felt bad for her. From what her father just admitted, she had a lot going for her. She was intelligent, talented. Certainly she was one of the prettiest young women he’d ever seen, even in her weakened state, despite the bruises.

  “Will you leave her here?” James asked.

  “Dr. Bowman seems to feel she may need some time to recover and he thinks this might be the safest place for her.” Judge Franklin looked into his eyes as if asking for confirmation.

  James wasn’t her doctor. He wasn’t a doctor at all, yet the man sitting next to him seemed to expect an answer. Whether he liked it or not, James was involved. He had involved himself by filing a formal complaint against Dr. Kent.

  “I agree with Dr. Bowman. She’s probably still in shock. Who knows how she’ll feel or what she’ll do over the next few weeks? She’ll be safer here.”

  The judge turned towards him and James could see that his eyes were filled with remorse. “Have I destroyed my daughter?”

  James wanted to yell at the man, most likely, you fucking jackass, but he knew how much the judge was hurting.

  “Give her some time,” James said. “She’s young. Maybe she’s stronger than you think. Just give her some time.”

  Three long days passed before Cara left her room. Just dragging herself out of bed to take a shower or use the bathroom was exhausting. It seemed like Miss Mandy had to help her with everything and not just because of the cast. Cara had a tough time finding the energy to do much more than turn over in bed. Debbie finally pulled some clothes out of the closet, ordering her to get dressed and meet her for lunch in the dining room.

  “I don’t remember where the dining room is,” said Cara.

  “You’re a smart girl. You’re perfectly capable of finding it,” Debbie replied.

  Movements slow, Cara pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and a loose tee shirt. She wandered down the corridor, searching for the dining room. She joined Debbie at a table, the other residents shooting her curious looks. This was Cara’s introduction to the world of psychiatric medicine.

  The life Cara led in the inpatient ward was very circumscribed. She met with Dr. Bowman every day of the week except Sunday. She spoke with the nurses. Debbie was her favorite and she looked forward to the days she worked. Miss Mandy was usually available if she needed help, although Cara became quite adept at using her left hand to hold utensils, dress herself and even paint. Writing gave her problems but she rarely had to write.

  During one group therapy session, Dr. Bowman encouraged Cara to write a letter to her parents. She refused.

  She said, “I can’t write with my left hand.” She continued to decline visits, despite the fact that her father dropped by or called at least once a day.

  Two months passed and Cara barely noticed. It didn’t even register with her that school had ended for the summer. She passed through every day in a semi-stupor, as if she only marginally inhabited her own body. The medical student, James Mackie, came by one day to remove her cast. In silence, Cara watched him pry the plaster away from her pale, wasted arm.

  “I’m ordering a little physical therapy for you, so you can regain the strength and mobility in this arm.”

  Cara nodded, but she didn’t really care what he ordered.

  She appeared for meals, sitting at the table with the younger patients, but she ate very little. She attended group therapy three times a week and kept all her appointments with Dr. Bowman. She responded
politely when she was spoken to. She learned to play poker and a mean game of billiards. In the arts and crafts room, she used the potter’s wheel to create beautiful pots, plates and vases, which were very popular with the other patients and the staff. Cara gave them away without a second thought.

  A week before school was scheduled to begin Dr. Bowman called Cara into his office. Her father stood there. Cara took one look at him and turned away without a word.

  “Cara,” her father called out. “Wait. Please. Wait.”

  Cara stopped walking, but she didn’t turn around.

  “It’s time for you to come home.”

  Her father’s words didn’t quite register. “Home?”

  “Yes, it’s time for you to come home. Dr. Bowman is releasing you.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “Why would I go home? Why now?”

  Her father walked up to her. He seemed cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal.

  “School starts next week. You need to go back to school. You need to come home. Your mom and I want you to come home, Cara.”

  “I think you’re ready to be discharged,” said Dr. Bowman. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you, Cara?”

  Better than what? Better than the night I was dragged in here? She turned to her father. She looked into his face for the first time in nearly three months. He looked older, weary. “I don’t want to come home,” she said at last. “I want to go to boarding school.”

  “But why . . . ?” Her father seemed genuinely confused.

  “Because everybody knows, everybody at my school knows what happened. I’ll have to see it in their eyes every single day.”

  “It won’t be that bad. I’m sure you’ll still have your friends. This is nothing a girl like you can’t handle.”

  Cara stared at him. Friends? What friends? A girl like me? Do you know anything about me at all?

  She was careful to keep her face expressionless. It was a lesson that first night in the inpatient unit had taught her. Don’t let anyone know what I really feel. Don’t let him know how much he’s hurt me. How much he can hurt me. If I let someone in, if I allow myself to love someone, if I allow myself to care, I will have to pay a heavy price.