One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest

by Lori Avocato

  Then he touched my arm, and I didn’t pull back. Not that I didn’t want to, but suddenly his touch was comforting. Jagger may have gotten me into this, but in my heart I knew he wouldn’t let me get hurt. After all, he could have let me get killed several times before on other cases and never had.

  “Look, Sherlock, we need to find out more about the guy from the airport. Be on the lookout for him. His name is Vito Doran. Works as an orderly.”

  “What if I see him?” Okay, with Jagger’s hand still on my arm, my temper had defused—for now. Hey, Jagger’s touch could work miracles … and he knew it.

  And I knew I couldn’t fight it.

  “If you see him, tell me.”

  “Oh, sure, Dr. Dick. I’ll phone you pronto. How the hell am I going to get in touch with you? They don’t exactly give me phone privileges around here. They don’t even give me my clothes.”

  Jagger shook his head—once. And then he grinned.

  I mentally slapped myself in the head. Of course, Jagger would always be around or at least popping up when least expected.

  I chose to look at that as a bright side to my incarceration.

  He let my arm go and turned toward the door.

  “Okay. I’ll watch out for Vito.” Before Jagger stepped out, I said, “Oh, hey. Where’s the real Mary Louise?”

  He paused and said, “Missing.”

  “Miss … missing!”

  Jagger stopped, turned and shook his head.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so loudly. But, I mean, missing?”

  “Yes, Sherlock, she disappeared at the airport.”

  Now I shook my head, this time in disgust. “Great. I’m trapped here. The male ‘nun’ is on the loose, and your client is missing. Some case we got here.” He didn’t move, so I said, “Speaking of cases, what about mine? Number three? How am I going to do it while here helping you?”

  “It’ll get done.”

  That was it. Short and sweet. It’ll get done. And, it probably would, because I’d make damn sure that Jagger paid me back by helping me out. I needed money real soon.

  “You’re going to pay me for this, too.” I said it with as much bravado as I could muster, knowing I couldn’t force Jagger into doing anything he didn’t want to.

  He merely looked at me.

  For a second I thought I saw disappointment in his eyes as if I was accusing him of trying to cheat me. Then, I realized Jagger had every intention of paying me, and really didn’t stick me here for any other reason but his case.

  What a guy.

  I groaned. From behind Jagger I could see Sister Liz approaching. Yikes! She was coming to get me. “Jagger, do something.”

  He looked at me. “About?”

  Through clenched teeth I said, “The treatment. My treatment. The brain-zapping thing. My brain.”

  While he looked at me the nun came closer.

  “Are you finished, Doctor?”

  He nodded.

  “Fine. We need to get you upstairs, Pauline, before you are late. No one wants to be late for that technician.”

  I looked toward Jagger. Make that looked toward where he’d been because now it was an empty hallway. Gone. He was gone like some magical creature.

  And me on my way to get my brain zapped.

  Sister Liz took my arm to guide me upstairs. We never had to leave the patient unit. There was a locked stairway that she opened and, I assumed, if I ran down instead of up, the doors would all be locked too.

  No means of escape.

  “Um, Sister Liz—” I paused on the stairway and looked at her. “Can I call you Sister Liz?”

  A ruddy hue spread up her cheeks. “Oh. My. I guess that will be all right.”

  Great. One step closer to becoming friends with my ticket out of here. “Wonderful. I really don’t feel too well. My head is killing me. Sinuses. You know.”

  She nodded and guided me to the door, which she unlocked. Stepping aside so I could walk in, she said, “Oh yes, child. Sinus problems are horrible. I suffer in the spring, so I barely go outside.”

  I may never see the outside again.

  “Yes. But since my head hurts, perhaps my treatment could be postponed.”

  Sister stopped. “My, no. We have to keep our schedule around here. Sister Barbara is quite adamant about that. No. You cannot postpone anything. Besides, my child, your head will feel better after … you know.”

  You know. You know. You know!

  Yeah, I’m guessing a gazillion volts of electricity could make a headache go away if your head didn’t zoom off your neck in the process. Sure I knew this treatment wasn’t that much electricity, but I preferred no electricity to my brain.

  I looked around the room. Stark. A treatment table with that paper roll thingie tucked beneath. A few cabinets. And a horrendous looking gizmo of a machine near the bed sprouting wires and leads and electrodes. On a nearby table were a tongue depressor and some gel.

  I could bite my tongue during this treatment.

  I did not want my tongue bitten by anyone, even me.

  Well, I’d learned to save myself in my past cases, and now was no exception. So, I took in a deep breath and shoved Sister Liz with all my hundred and fifteen pounds. This was one time I wished I was a plus-size kinda gal.

  “Oh!” From the corner of my eye, I noted that the sister had landed on the treatment table. But that was all I saw since I ran so fast to the door. Shit! It was locked. I hurried back to her and stared to grab her habit. There had to be a set of keys hanging from her rope belt. “I’m so sorry to have to do this!”

  “Stop, child!”

  I felt something and grabbed with all my strength. A hundred pearl-looking balls scattered to the floor. Sister’s rosary beads. Oops. Not only did I face a brain zapping, but surely I was now on the wrong side of the higher-ups, who’d probably punish me for trashing a blessed set of rosary beads. I quickly said a silent prayer/apology to Saint Theresa so she’d pass it up to them for me.

  While preoccupied, I felt something on my shoulders. I spun and came around face to face with Spike—and he didn’t look any too pleased with me.

  Within seconds, I was strapped to the treatment table with Spike standing guard at my feet. Sister Liz stood in the background, fingering her broken beads. Every muscle hurt, especially my arm where I’d received that shot at the airport.

  I looked at her. “I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new set. It’s just that … Please. Listen to me. I am not Mary Louise. And I’m a Catholic! I am Pauline Sokol, a nurse—”

  The door swung open. In walked what looked like a Swedish masseuse, dressed in a white pantsuit. Gigantic. Arms like boiled hams and a head of straight brown hair. I had no idea if it was male or female.

  Sister Liz nodded. “She’s going to behave now, Gretchen. Aren’t you, Pauline?”

  I looked from one to the other to Spike. I should lie here quietly, I thought. After all, the procedure couldn’t be too dangerous, or they wouldn’t be doing it on the mentally ill. Then again, I was sane, and what the heck would happen to my normal brain cells once they fried? That, I hadn’t learned in nursing school.

  Then again, maybe I too didn’t have any normal brain cells. After all, I’d taken this job.

  I felt a glob of gel on my skin and Gretchen sticking the electrodes to my head.

  I could lose my memory. Never know my family again. Never know Goldie or Miles. Never know … Spanky.

  I sucked in a breath as Gretchen continued to connect the machine’s electrodes to my head. Then, I started to shake my head so vigorously, the leads pulled off. Amid Gretchen cursing in some European language, Spike’s warnings, and Sister Liz’s prayers, I fought with all my might to get out of this treatment.

  Boom!

  I screamed, thinking my head had exploded off my neck in time to see Dr. Dick hurry through the door. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Late!” I screamed. “How about stopping this insanity!”

  Withi
n seconds, Gretchen had me reconnected, the machine made a soft whirring sound, and I shut my eyes, ready to convulse.

  Nothing.

  I felt something poke my arm and peeked out of one eye to turn and see Jagger glaring at me, with a look of “you’ll have to do better than that” and noticed the electric chord in his hand.

  “What the hell is wrong with this?” Gretchen said.

  “Must be some kind of electrical delay,” Jagger said.

  Before anyone else could speak, I lifted my chest in a dramatic convulsion and even went so far as to arch my back. Suddenly I was Meryl Streep performing as if my life depended on it.

  And apparently it did.

  Five

  Exhausted, I lay on the twin bed in my room after Sister Liz tucked me in following my “treatment.” She’d hovered about like a helicopter, every once in a while poking at the blanket. I wanted to see Jagger to “thank” him, but he’d disappeared before anyone caught on.

  Thank him. That was perfect.

  For crying out loud, he’d gotten me kidnapped and admitted to a psychiatric facility against my will, and I wanted to thank him for pulling the plug before my brain fried. What was wrong with that scenario?

  This time I shook my head. I had to get out of there … soon.

  I did try to convince myself that in this job I might have to do things that I wouldn’t normally do, but being locked up was not one of them.

  My eyes started to close. Obviously stress and the threat of losing brain cells had taken a toll on me. I decided to give in to a short nap. After all, plenty of foreign countries had siestas every day. One couldn’t hurt me. Then I’d be in better shape to plan my exit from the Cortona Institute of Life.

  “Stop! No!”

  My eyes flew wide open. The voice shouting in the hallway was female. Sounded a bit like Margaret Seabright. Then I heard Miss Myra shouting too. I had to see what was going on and if I could help. So, I un-tucked myself and jumped up. Thank goodness the higher-ups hadn’t deemed it necessary to have me on “constant” watch. I wasn’t sure if they even did that kind of thing anymore, but back in my psychiatric training days, a staff member had to watch “at risk” patients constantly. That meant in bed, in the john, in the dayroom. The patients even had to sleep with their hands outside their covers, since most were either suicidal or homicidal.

  Well, at least those in charge gave me some credit for sanity.

  I grabbed my hospital robe and ran to the door. When I swung it open, I saw a scuffle in the dayroom. Miss Myra was pulling at someone. Jackie Dee sat twirling her hair. I imagined she envisioned a real feast soon. A huge person pushed Margaret up to the wall. At first I thought it was Sister Dolores in her whites, but when I got a load of the arms, I knew the wrists were way too big for a female.

  That had always been dear Goldie’s one flaw. And I do mean one.

  I ran to the side wall—and froze.

  It was him. The man who had given me the intramuscular mickey at the airport. Vito Doran! I ran forward and grabbed at his arm. “Leave her alone!”

  With one turn of his head, he gave me a look that sent me flying. Well, his left arm was what actually sent me to the floor, but the look would have done it.

  “Ouch!”

  Ruby grabbed my hand and yanked me up. “If you know what’s good for you, stay out of it.”

  I would hope at my age I would know what was good for me, but Ruby’s tone gave me pause. Did she mean she’d do something to me … or … that he would?

  Before I was able to ask her, Margaret was led out of the dayroom toward a locked door.

  “Shit,” Ruby mumbled.

  “Shit?” I repeated.

  She turned to me as if I didn’t know what the four-letter word meant. Maybe she, too, had heard that my version of cursing was “Jagger.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Cold wet packs,” she mumbled and I figured Ruby had been swaddled in them before.

  Now it was Margaret’s turn.

  I would have loved to go help her, but knew I couldn’t if I ever wanted to get out of here. A chill raced up my spine at the thought of the cold wet packs. That I remembered from the old days too. When a patient got “out of control,” their clothes were stripped off, wet sheets were wrapped around them like a cocoon of comfort to calm them down.

  Once I had to sit in a tiny closet of a room with a patient swaddled in the sheets, who kept seeing bugs on the walls. I had to take her temporal pulse over and over until, thank goodness, my shift ended … because I was starting to see those bugs too, and was ready to call my mother to borrow her flyswatter.

  My heart ached for Margaret. I looked at Ruby. “What’d she do?”

  Ruby gave me a vacant stare. “Grabbed his cell phone—”

  “—And was going to call someone to help her get out of here. She said she doesn’t belong here,” I added.

  “She doesn’t.” With that Ruby headed off toward the

  TV, plopped herself in front and stared at a commercial for low-carb snacks.

  I leaned against the wall and knew I had to find Jagger … fast. Maybe I could succeed at getting one of the staff’s cell phones.

  The instincts that had served me so well during my nursing career said Margaret Seabright was right. She didn’t belong here … and who else didn’t?

  I looked around the dayroom to make sure some staff was within listening distance. Of course, in a psych hospital you didn’t have to look too far to find any staff. The patients were never, or at least should never be, left alone. I shut my eyes and told myself I was Meryl Streep again. With that thought, I opened my eyes and started to wail.

  “Oooooooh! Oooooooh! I need to seeeeeee … Dr. Carpenter.” I looked at Spike heading toward me.

  Ruby turned around from the TV long enough to whisper, “Plummer.”

  I paused my wailing to let that sink in. Oops. Wrong building trade. “Doctor. My Dr. Plummer. I need to see him!”

  By now Spike was within breathing distance, but hadn’t grabbed me yet. Sister Barbara was fast behind. Suddenly I worried that she might have some kind of “calming” shot in her hand, so I eased up on the Meryl bit and wiped at my eyes.

  “Oh, Sister Barbara, could you please call Dr. Plummer for me? I’d really appreciate seeing him right now.”

  She stopped within a few feet, her forehead wrinkled in what I could assume was suspicion. Maybe my transformation was too quick. Maybe I was too good an actress. Or, maybe the nun bought my act and thought I was really whacko. Either way she didn’t stick any needle into my arm or any other body part.

  Phew.

  “What is wrong?” she asked.

  Damn. Now what? I couldn’t say I needed to fill my partner in on our fraud case. So, I said, “It’s … personal. You know, Sister, no offense, but it’s between my doc and myself. I really feel the need to talk to him.”

  From behind her I could see Ruby smirk. Hmm. Maybe I could use her. We seemed to have made some kind of connection and at least I knew Ruby didn’t eat her hair, talk to herself or throw herself at walls. Not that I took a drug problem lightly, but Sister Liz insinuated that Ruby was “normal” and here instead of in jail. Besides, the kid appeared perceptive and clever, as lots of drug addicts are. She probably was a rich kid hooked on coke and who knew what else. At least she wasn’t wiped out all the time.

  Geez, now I was relying on a rich, bratty, teenage druggie.

  I gave her a quick wink and turned toward Sister Barbie. “Please.”

  “You know, you’re lucky he left orders to call him if you asked us to. That’s pretty unusual. Most doctors don’t do that unless it’s an emergency. I’ll put in a call to him.” With that she turned toward Spike. “Stay with her until her doctor arrives.”

  Yikes. “I’m just going to watch TV,” I mumbled, quickly took a seat next to Ruby and glued my gaze to the set. That way Spike wouldn’t have any reason to manhandle me.

  Every once
in a while I’d sneak a peek at him. Yep, within manhandling distance. Even though I didn’t watch daytime TV, I was suddenly very interested in why women cheat on other women who are their ex-lovers’ relatives and never moved out of their homes, along with only wearing bright red and sharing a common bathroom, courtesy of Mr. Springer.

  What was this world coming to?

  “Pauline?”

  I swung around to see Sister Liz. How cute. She’d used my real name. Our bond tightened. “Yes, Sister?”

  “Your doctor is here to see you.”

  Maybe I sprung up a little too fast, but my action had Sister Liz pull back, clutching her new rosary beads. Spike was fast on the nun’s black, sensible heels and he looked anxious to subdue me.

  I felt bad about the rosary, but stood ready to go. “Where to, Sister?”

  She motioned for me to come with her. Spike joined in. Guess once you made a bad name for yourself on this unit, it followed you until discharge.

  Please, God, I prayed that there was a discharge—soon.

  Sister opened the door to an office and moved to the side.

  “Thanks,” I whispered as I looked to see Jagger, still with his carrot-top ’do on and looking delicious, sitting at an oak desk. The guy fit into any situation. I wondered if he’d ever taken acting lessons, and who the hell did his makeup?

  He gave Sister Liz his usual smile. For a second I wondered, too, if her sisterly insides reacted like mine always had when he looked at me. Of course they do, I thought. Nuns were human.

  “I’ll be fine with her, Sister. If I need anything, I’ll holler.”

  And Spike will attack me. Once the gang left, I looked at Jagger. “Vito Doran ruffed up Margaret Seabright today.”

  He stared at me.

  “Margaret is the patient who said she doesn’t belong here.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?” I hated sounding so fascinated by what he said and reminded myself I was still pissed at Dr. Dick.

  “You know. You know? What the hell does that mean?” I flopped onto a straight-backed chair and let my legs dangle over the side—not out of reach of Jagger’s legs, though.