Flutter

by Olivia Evans

  With a nod, Presley looked at Dylan expectantly. His eyes darted from Presley to Milly before he cleared his throat and held his arm out for Presley to lead the way. He knew it was common for doctors and nurses to indulge some patient behavior. Arguing at every turn would only cause undue stress to the patient, and that wasn’t the purpose of treatment. Doctors had to give a little to get a little, but this was Presley, and it all felt so wrong.

  The quiet squeak of Dylan’s shoes bounced off the walls as they made their way toward Presley’s room. She walked silently beside him, the soft lighting casting shadows along her face. He took in his surroundings, the expensive fixtures and paintings on the walls, the smell of antiseptic that hung thick in the air, anything to keep from staring at the way she held the ratty blue blanket or the angry scar peeking out from the bottom of her shirtsleeve.

  His pulse pounded in his ears, and his body ached each time her arm brushed against his. The silence was nearly unbearable. He needed to engage her, see how much of her was the same and how much had changed. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Gray,” she said, her response immediate. The answer caused Dylan’s brows to lift in surprise. Presley’s favorite color had always been red.

  “Gray?” he repeated. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone give that answer before. Why gray?”

  Presley blinked, and her steps faltered as her face twisted with confusion. “I—I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just know that it is.”

  Dylan nodded, content to let it go. He could tell the question and her inability to answer agitated her. He hated to ask a question about the baby, but it seemed to be the only time she responded with ease. With a deep breath, Dylan looked at the blanket in her arms. “How old is your baby?”

  Presley smiled. It was the closest thing to a genuine look of happiness he’d seen since before she found out about the pregnancy all those years ago. He waited for her answer, hoping to hear a whisper of the girl she once was, but all that followed was silence. When he looked at her expression, he felt the blood drain from his face. She looked ashen, stricken. He stopped walking and grabbed her arm, turning her to face him.

  “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  She looked from Dylan to the blanket, her expression more and more distressed with each passing second. “I don’t know,” she gasped, her panic clear. “Why don’t I know?” Wide-eyed, she stroked a forehead only she could see. “Dylan.”

  Dylan’s body stiffened. He tightened his grip and pulled in a shaky breath. “Yes?”

  Presley didn’t look up. She just continued to stroke the face of a baby that never was. “His name is Dylan. He’s named after his daddy. His daddy left us because he didn’t want us anymore. I know all of this, so why don’t I know how old he is? Why don’t I know?” Her body began to tremble, and Dylan could see the hysteria building in her eyes.

  Panic overcame Dylan as he looked up and down the hall. He needed to calm her and he needed to do it immediately, or his chance to save her would be over as quickly as it began. “He’s six months old,” Dylan said in a rush. “You told me earlier. It’s just the medication that has you foggy. You’re tired. He’s teething, remember? You haven’t slept well. You know how old he is. You’re just exhausted. Come on, let’s get you to bed. Everything will be better in the morning, I promise.”

  Presley blinked as she looked from Dylan to the blanket, the panic slowly draining from her face. With a relieved exhale, she nodded and licked her lips. “You’re right,” she said, her words thick, lethargic, the rush of adrenaline surely causing the medication in her bloodstream to hit her faster. “I just need to rest.”

  “You just need to rest,” Dylan echoed, guiding her down the hall. He kept walking until he came to the room number that matched her ID bracelet and led her inside. He ignored the stab of pain at the sight of the tiny doll crib in the corner of the room and how Presley tenderly placed the blanket inside. Everything about this situation was the worst kind of fucked up, and he would have to find a strength he wasn’t sure he possessed to get her back. After she’d placed the blanket in the crib, he guided her across the hardwood floors to the twin bed on the other side of the room. The seafoam green walls and inspirational quotes covering the surfaces would have caused the old Presley to wrinkle her nose. This Presley, however, moved around the small space like it was all she’d ever known. She crawled under the thick white down comforter and sighed. Her contentedness killed him. Everything was wrong. From the white bedding to the bland wall color to the impersonal decorations on the walls. The top of the chest of drawers was vacant, not a single picture, tube of lip balm, or crumpled store receipt anywhere. She’d been there for six years, and he couldn’t find a single trace of her in that room. With a sigh, he pulled the comforter to her shoulders as her eyes fluttered shut and her breaths evened out.

  “I won’t lose you again,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “I love you, Elvis.”

  Sucking in a ragged breath, he straightened and walked out of the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him. A sense of urgency weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew he had to tread carefully, that one mistake could cause everything to fall apart, but he feared time was not on his side. The longer Presley remained in her current state, the more difficult it would be to pull her back. If it was even possible at all. He needed help, and so far, Milly seemed like the most likely source of information. Determined, he made his way back to the lounge.

  Chapter Seven

  Dylan eyed the doors of each room as he passed. Some had charts in the plastic holders attached to the door, while others held only a single sheet of paper. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Pausing, he grabbed a paper from its slot on the door next to him. The information was standard: patient name, date of birth, diagnosis, medications, and physician, but it lacked any notes from the doctors. As a matter of fact, it was completely devoid of writing other than the nurse checks.

  He grabbed another page from the door across the hall. It was Cody’s. Like the other paper, it was lacking any additional information. With a slow turn, Dylan looked back down the hall, his stomach dropping when he saw only a single sheet of paper in the tray attached to Presley’s door. Alarm bells sounded in his head as he dropped the paper back in the tray and continued down the hall. Something was definitely off.

  Walking into the nurse's station, he found Milly standing with furrowed brows as she looked over a sheet of paper. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Milly gasped, her hand flying to her chest before she regained her composure. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m just a little confused by the changes on this list.”

  Dylan leaned forward, realizing she was holding the same list he’d read to her earlier. “Is it wrong?”

  Milly shook her head. “No, just altered. There are a few patients who’ve had their dosages increased. It happens, but it caught me off guard this time.”

  Dylan relaxed his stance and leaned against the desk beside him. He wasn’t going to get a better opportunity than this to ask her questions. “What was different about this time?”

  Milly let out a tired sigh and moved to the chair at the desk across from Dylan. Easing into the seat, she dropped the paper on the desk. “The changes are all for patients under Dr. Sanders’s care.”

  Dylan raised a brow, his face a mask of calm even as his heart raced. That had been the name on Cody’s sheet. “Which patients?”

  “Cody, Presley, Heather, and Adam. He’s a great doctor, but sometimes, I can’t help but wonder who he’s making things easier for.”

  An unsettling feeling washed over Dylan. Was Dr. Sanders doing to Cody what he was doing to Presley? Was he pumping him full of medications he didn’t need? Dylan shook his head. Cody suffered from dissociative identity disorder. That was nothing like Presley. Or was it? Presley was on antipsychotic medication. Medication given to patients with schizophrenia. If Dr. Sanders was wrong about Presley, couldn’t he also be
wrong about Cody? Dylan dragged his hands down his face. He’d met Cody as well as Maverick. Dr. Sanders wasn’t wrong about Cody. Did that mean he wasn’t wrong about Presley? Dylan pushed his hands into his hair and gritted his teeth. There were too many unanswered questions. Too many possibilities.

  “Are you okay, Dr. Walker?”

  Dylan’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Just trying to solve all the world’s problems at once. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

  Milly gave him a sad smile. “That happens a lot to the young ones. Give it time, and you’ll feel as helpless as the rest of us.”

  “I don’t want to feel helpless,” Dylan answered. “I know what helpless feels like. I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

  Milly gave him a puzzled look, and Dylan immediately realized his mistake. He’d said more than he meant to. He had to throw her off or risk ruining everything. “Someone close to me committed suicide. I missed every sign, or ignored them, depending on how I’m feeling the day I’m beating myself up.”

  Milly’s expression twisted with sympathy. It made Dylan sick. He’d seen the same expression on countless faces over the last couple years. To know that all their empathy was based on a lie told by horrible people made him want to put his fist through a wall. So much sadness, so much grief, and it was all for nothing.

  Dylan shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

  Milly looked as though she wanted to say something, but after a moment, she gave him a short nod, acknowledging the conversation was over. “Well, do you want to go over anything specific, or shall we start with the standard regimen?”

  Dylan eased into the desk chair and folded his hands in front of him. “Actually, I was wondering if you could tell me why some of the doors are missing patient charts.”

  Milly’s lips turned up into a half smile. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Those are Dr. Sanders’s patients. The thing is, Dr. Sanders isn’t employed by the facility per se. He has a contract with the hospital, whereby he remains the sole physician for any patient admitted under his care. He doesn’t rotate with the other doctors, and he doesn’t treat any of the other patients. He has an office here, but other than drug information and vitals, all of his patient files are kept off site.”

  Dylan couldn’t hide his shock. “How is that possible or even legal? What happens if a patient needs help and there are no files for reference?”

  Milly exhaled. “They are to be transferred to Grace, and Dr. Sanders is to be notified immediately.”

  Dylan shoved his hands into his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s insane.”

  “Money talks. His patients are very high-profile in one manner or another. They pay an extraordinary amount of money to keep information restricted and confidential.” Milly stood and walked over to Dylan, patting his hand before grabbing a chart. “Don’t fret. Even though the arrangement seems a bit unorthodox, nothing bad has happened to a patient under his care here.”

  Not physically, Dylan thought as he swallowed around the lump in his throat and stood. “Are we ready for checks?”

  “We are. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the less stressful parts of the job as we walk.”

  Dylan followed behind Milly, his head once again swimming from the things he’d learned. It was going to be nearly impossible to get his hands on Presley’s file, but he’d find a way. There was no other option.

  Triazolam: schizophrenia, mania associated with bipolar disorder, mental disorder with loss of normal personality & reality, feeling of apprehension, combative and explosive behavior

  Fluoxetine: depression, panic disorder

  Haloperidol: schizophrenia, acute psychosis, mania, delirium, agitation, and severe anxiety.

  “Fuck.” Dylan rubbed his eyes and blinked at the computer screen. For the last two weeks, he’d read every possible condition that would require someone to ingest Presley’s cocktail of medication, and over and over, he came to the same conclusion.

  There wasn’t one.

  Each pill was given to treat the side effects of another. It was the way of the world. Have a headache, take an aspirin. If it causes stomach pain, take a pill for that. It was a never-ending cycle that sickened Dylan. He knew the only way to reach her was to wean her off the medications, but without having access to her file, without seeing the full scope of her medications, he could kill her.

  Dylan swore when the alarm on his phone sounded. He closed his laptop and grabbed his keys. Today was his first day shift at Hilltop, and he wanted to get there early. He wanted to be there for morning medications.

  Driving faster than he should have, Dylan pulled into the parking lot of Hilltop nearly a half hour before his shift. Swiping his security card, he hurried down the hall toward the nurse’s station in the lounge. He rolled his neck and slowed his pace as he approached Katherine. Her look was the same as before, her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail and draped over her shoulder, but this time her scrubs were a deep red with white polka dots. He noticed a wedding band on her left hand and the hint of a tattoo on her wrist. For some reason, those tiny details made Dylan feel a little more at ease.

  “Hi,” he said with a friendly smile.

  She looked up, startled, but returned his smile. “Dr. Walker. I see you’re joining the land of the living today.”

  Dylan laughed and nodded. “I’m a little off my schedule. Being awake during the day is definitely an adjustment.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. Nighttime is for sleeping.” Inclining her head toward the paper in her hands, she spoke. “If you’d like to put your things away and come back here, you’re welcome to help me with morning medications. I understand Cody’s taken a liking to you.”

  Dylan smiled. “He’s a good kid.”

  Katherine sighed. “He is. He’s the same age as my son. My heart breaks for him.”

  Dylan licked his lips and leaned down, pushing his bag under the desk next to him. Hard as he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get Milly to give him any details about why Cody was there. In the absence of the boy’s file, Dylan was completely in the dark. However, whereas Milly was reluctant to talk about Cody, that did not seem to be the case with Katherine. Dylan refused to miss the opportunity.

  “I’ll just leave my bag here if that’s okay.”

  Katherine raised her brow and grinned. “You young ones are always so eager.” She handed him the medication list and pulled the tray of labeled cups in front of her. “You call out the names and medications, and I’ll fill them.”

  “Sounds good.” Dylan relaxed back in his chair and started calling out medications down the list. While Katherine set about filling the first cup, Dylan cleared his throat. “Did Milly tell you I’ve been bringing books in for Cody and Maverick?”

  Katherine smiled. “She did, so did he. That was very kind of you.”

  Dylan shrugged and read off the next name and medication. “Like I said, he’s a good kid. It’s why I can’t figure out what could have happened for him to end up here for the past three years.”

  Katherine looked at Dylan, her expression colored with surprise. “You don’t know?”

  Dylan shook his head. “As you know, Dr. Sanders keeps minimal patient information on site, and I haven’t wanted to bring it up with Cody. I didn’t want to risk potentially upsetting him.”

  “He killed his mother,” Katherine whispered. “His father found him standing over her with a blood-covered knife. Cody’s father was stabbed in the process of trying to wrestle the knife away. While he only suffered minor injuries, Cody’s mother wasn’t so lucky. She died before the paramedics arrived.”

  Dylan stared at her, wide-eyed. “I don’t understand. Cody wouldn’t hurt a fly. What was he, nine, ten?”

  “Cody wouldn’t hurt a fly. The same can’t be said for Zach.”

  Dylan pushed his hand through his hair, his mind s
wimming. “Why is he here? Why isn’t he in a state hospital or some kind of juvenile facility?” If Zach killed his mother and stabbed his father, how could he be allowed in the general population with others? Something was missing.

  “A technicality,” Katherine answered. “Cody’s aunt is some big-time corporate lawyer. She hired a team of very successful defense attorneys, and they did just enough to keep him from spending the rest of his life behind bars.” She let out a soft sigh and shrugged. “They convinced the judge to allow him to come here. His father hired Dr. Sanders to be his physician, and the rest is history. He’ll likely be here until the day he dies.”

  “Is he not considered a danger to the other patients?”

  “For the first year, he remained in relative solitude. During that time, he underwent intensive therapy. Once Dr. Sanders found the correct balance of medication, Cody was slowly acclimated to being around the other patients.”

  “What about Zach? Aren’t you concerned he might snap and attack someone?”

  Katherine shook her head. “Not my call, obviously. But other than the occasional bit of mischief, Zach rarely makes an appearance. Over time, he’s become less and less of a presence. As a matter of fact, no one has heard from Zach in months.”

  “Wow,” Dylan exhaled. “That’s a lot to take in.”

  “Everyone here has a story, some are just more traumatic than others. Who’s next?” Katherine asked, her eyes flickering to the paper clutched in Dylan’s hands, effectively ending the conversation.

  In a daze, Dylan continued down the list, trying his best to remain focused on the task at hand. When he got to Cody’s cocktail of medications, his head spun. He wasn’t sure how the kid remained upright throughout the day. He just couldn’t reconcile how the boy he’d spent so much time reading to and talking to could be capable of such a monstrous act. Could Zach’s personality really be that much stronger?

  All thoughts of Cody abruptly came to an end when he reached Presley’s name on the list. More Fluoxetine. More Haloperidol. And a low dosage of Valium. His heart sank. The time passed like quicksand as they finished doling out medications. Dylan could hardly wait to get to Presley. Grabbing a tray, he placed Cody’s and Presley’s meds on it, along with Heather’s, Adam’s, and a few others before walking out of the nurse’s station into the lounge.