Asleep

by Krystal Wade

“Excuse me?” Dr. Underwood said, stepping up to his desk, pressing his fingers on the surface until the blood drained from the tips.

  “Oh, I believe you heard me.” Mrs. Bennington smiled, like she’d won, like she knew he was a cheat and just caught the man in a trap. “We’ll be making surprise visits, and we’ll make them as often and as long as we’d like. It is our obligation to your patients, and in case you’re wondering, yes, I do have the authority.”

  “As I have the authority to try to stop you.” Dr. Underwood leaned down so that he was at eye level with Mrs. Bennington. “And let’s be clear here: I don’t mind you visiting Rose”—at the less formal use of Rose’s name, Mrs. Bennington narrowed her eyes a hair more—“but I do not appreciate any visitors arriving here unannounced. Disruptions like that ripple through my patients like the plague in a small village. I require at least twenty-four hours’ notice, or I’ll call up the Governor and let him know that his eldest son’s healthcare is in jeopardy.”

  Mrs. Bennington flushed and shifted in Dr. Underwood’s leather chair. “Fine. Twenty-four hours. But not a minute more. I’ve seen her chart. I know her conditions, and while I realize what she’s telling me could be completely fabricated in her mind, I would not be well-suited for this job if I left this claim unchecked. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You’re not accusing me.” Dr. Underwood stood straight once more. “You make yourself clear.”

  Mrs. Bennington rested her gaze on Rose and smiled. “Have you anything else to add, dear?”

  Nodding, Rose said, “Yes. Ask Phillip MacGregor. Ask him about the nightmares. Ask him about the abuse. He’ll say the same thing.”

  Mr. Walker pulled a small stack of papers from a briefcase beside the desk and then began sifting through. It took Rose only a moment to realize it was a list.

  After reaching the end, he shook his head.

  “Sorry, Miss Briar,” Mrs. Bennington said. “Have you said his name correctly?”

  “Yes.” Rose’s breath rushed out of her lungs. No file. No name on the list. She glanced toward the window. Couldn’t remember being in this place for six months. He was real. That kiss was real. His fingers laced with hers were real. Dancing under the stars. She had to believe it. “Phillip MacGregor. Sometimes goes by Greg.”

  “Nope. I can’t find him, Sally,” Mr. Walker said, shoving the list back into his bag. “Dr. Underwood, can you confirm this patient so that we may speak with him?”

  Dr. Underwood pulled a chair from the back of the room and set it next to Rose. He took a seat and rested his arms on his knees. The pity in his eyes would have destroyed Rose if not for the feel of Phillip on her lips, the way his pressed against hers so fervently, the need in the way he held her. He didn’t want this place to take him away from her, and that’s exactly what they were trying to do. Dr. Underwood didn’t have to say anything.

  But how would Phillip know that? How would he expect them to erase him from her life?

  Unless he wasn’t real.

  Unless subconsciously, she knew that.

  “Rose, I’m so sorry you’ve had to find out this way,” Dr. Underwood began, taking a moment to toss an angry look at the two social workers, “but Phillip manifested in your mind when you arrived here. He’s been a way for you to escape, for you to cope with losing your family, your friends.”

  “No.”

  “Do you need proof?”

  Rose shook her head. “No. He’s real. I don’t need proof that he’s not. He’s real. He’s real, and he knew you’d try to take him away from me. Just like you’re taking my sanity.”

  Dr. Underwood reached out and took one of Rose’s hands. She yanked it away.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Okay, let’s try a different approach. Have you ever seen him interact with other patients?”

  Rose didn’t want to play along, but for some reason she did. She thought of all the times she’d seen Phillip: in Hall F, eating alone; in Hall D, at a table by himself; outside, near the fence, alone. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t real. It meant he hadn’t found anyone he could relate to, not until Rose came along.

  She stared at Dr. Underwood and refused to answer. He’d only use that against her.

  “Have you ever seen him interact with nurses? With me?”

  Heat spread across Rose’s face, down her neck, and an ache settled into the pit of her stomach. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to rage. She wanted to smack Dr. Underwood for doing this to her.

  She wanted to ask someone to tell her what was real.

  Because she’d never seen any nurse, orderly, or patient interact with Phillip. They left him alone.

  So did that mean Rose knew what she knew about the facility—the passageways to other parts of the building, the rooftops—because she’d been here long enough to figure them out herself? Had she been the one to play cards with Gordon when he worked nightshift?

  No. Rose refused to accept this. She had no memory of ever going to the roof, of ever playing cards with the security guard.

  But she also had no memory of finding out Gracie’s name, or the other patients.

  Rose stood so fast her chair tumbled backward. “I have to go. I have to get out of here. I’m not comfortable anymore.”

  Dr. Underwood scooped up the chair, then made his way to the door. “You may go. Unless Mr. Walker or Mrs. Bennington feel they have any other questions for you.”

  He waited for them to shake their head, then opened the door. “Why don’t you stop by the nurse’s station, get something to help ease your nerves. I’ll call it in and then come find you when I’m finished with these two.”

  Stepping into Hall A with her head down, Rose knew she wouldn’t stop for more meds. She wouldn’t take anything this place gave her ever again. Not even food. Maybe she’d give that up and they’d have to move her to another facility.

  But then . . . Phillip. Rose couldn’t leave him.

  He was real.

  Very real.

  Just before Dr. Underwood closed the door, he added, “Oh, and, Miss Briar, I understand there’s some mail for you down in receiving. Please make sure to pick it up before you head to lunch.”

  She couldn’t force words to come out. Rose could barely make her muscles move. The only thing she wanted to do was find Phillip and drag him into Dr. Underwood’s office and say to the social workers, “Here he is!”

  And Rose looked everywhere for Phillip. Outside, Hall D, F, through the small secret rooms, up on the rooftop, then back to Hall A to check his room. After an hour, or at least two, she got sick of looking and decided to ask Mr. Gordon. If he and Phillip were truly friends, the orderly would tell Rose where he was.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the orderly crossed his arms and stood in front of the door. “Can’t let you go out again. Time’s up.”

  “That’s okay,” Rose said, offering a smile. “I’m just looking for Phillip. Have you seen him?”

  Gordon’s eyes drifted to the left, to the right, up the stairs, anywhere but on Rose’s face. “Phillip?”

  She forced out a laugh, even though it was fake and sounded more like a cackle. “Yeah, you know, Phillip. Occasionally goes by Greg, or MacGregor. You used to play cards with him when you worked nightshift.”

  “Sorry, Miss Rose, I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” Gordon said, his gaze still fixed to something at the top of the stairs.

  Rose turned and found Nurse Judy standing there, arms down at her sides, her face so pale, like she’d spent hours puking from the worst stomach bug, then Rose ran, crying.

  Right into the woman’s arms.

  Phillip wasn’t real.

  And Rose was very, very crazy.

  “Let’s go have that talk now.”

  20

  The sight of Nurse Judy retreating to her rusted baby blue hunk of a car was both relieving and nerve-wracking. Rose had already broken Dr. Underwood’s trust, but if he found out she’d sat outside with her nurse all day l
ong, crying, talking horribly about him, this place, the medicines? She’d likely never again see the light of day.

  Everything spilled from Rose’s lips. She only meant to tell the story in little bits and pieces, but once she mentioned one thing, everything else came tumbling after. And Judy listened, one arm wrapped around Rose’s shoulders, the other gripping her hand.

  Unfortunately, that’s all the nurse did, listen. She didn’t confirm anything, deny anything, even though Rose wanted Nurse Judy to swear Phillip was real, to promise, to make her feel a little less crazy. After allowing Rose to cry and whine and complain, Nurse Judy said she had to go, that today was Isabel’s performance in the school’s production of Peter Pan.

  Rose stood there, staring at the small parking lot, empty inside, raw. The lawn was quiet and still. The birds and sun had even retreated today. Heavy, dark clouds loomed overhead, threatening to ravage the land with torrential rains and lightning strikes. The best Rose could hope for was a tornado to come and whisk her away to a faraway land.

  Nurse Judy’s door croaked out an awful sound as she pulled it closed and started her car, the engine turning over with a whinny. She pulled her boat onto the pebble drive and took one more look at Rose, worrying her bottom lip, then left, the sound of rocks crunching beneath the tires lingering even after she passed through the gate and disappeared behind the thick wood.

  “That was interesting.”

  Rose jumped at the sound of Phillip’s voice. He reached for her, and she almost took his hand, but movement in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. She looked up and spotted Dr. Underwood on the second floor with his hands pressed to the window ledge, staring down at them. What would that look like? A girl all alone, reaching out for someone who isn’t there?

  Phillip took notice of the doctor as well and withdrew. “I’ve always hated plays.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” Rose curled into herself, tucking her hands into her pockets, trying not to cry. “How’d you know she was leaving for a play?”

  Leaning his head to the side, Phillip said, “Been sitting on the stairs long enough to overhear.”

  If he would just admit to being a figment of her imagination, she could make him go away. She didn’t want to have to ask. She didn’t want to let him go. Rose needed Phillip. More than anything. But she’d keep pressing, keep trying to figure this out. “And Gordon let you out but wouldn’t let me out?”

  “Told you we were friends. You’ll get to know him soon enough.” He cracked a smile, but it quickly fell into a frown. Phillip touched Rose’s cheek. His fingertips were so warm, and her skin tingled where they rested. She wanted to lean into his touch, to believe in him, in herself. But she took a step back, and he let his hand fall to his side, his frown deepening. “What’s wrong?”

  Rose shook her head, refusing to speak her fears out loud, and tried to come up with something, anything, else to talk about. “Do you know where receiving is? Dr. Underwood told me I have mail.”

  Silently, Phillip padded along to the entrance, not bothering to see if Rose was coming. She was, of course, watching his feet touch the ground, noticing the indentions they left in the grass. Bending down to inspect the stalks as they righted themselves wouldn’t look too crazy, would it? Besides, what would that prove? Her messed up brain could be making it all up.

  Phillip led Rose past Hall D and all the patients grabbing dinner in F. They were too busy staring into space to notice Phillip, or Rose. A few barely managed to get a spoonful in their mouth. While a few others rocked back and forth, business as usual for the evening.

  She studied Phillip as they made their way down a set of stairs at the other end of the institute. Rose took in the square line of his jaw, the hard determination in his eyes, the way he held his shoulders back and yet leaned close to her as they walked. Through the slight twinges of fear he emanated a silent strength, and she wanted to memorize him. Wanted to be able to remember him when he was gone. Her mind healed.

  They stopped at a nurse’s station, much like the one upstairs, only without rows and rows of medications behind them. This office held files, hundreds of them, on large metal cabinets with wheels.

  “May I help you?” The woman at the window had a nasally voice and a bored look in her eyes, as if this job was the last thing she expected she’d be doing with her life.

  “Mail run,” Phillip said.

  Rose remained silent.

  The woman just stared as time ticked by on a clock above her head. “Miss?”

  “He just told you. We’re on a mail run.”

  The door to their right buzzed open, and they continued down the hall, Rose trying not to grab hold of Phillip and shake him and beg him to be real.

  “Why the security back here?” she asked, instead.

  But there was no need for Phillip to answer that question. As they passed person after person locked behind bars and wearing the familiar white scrubs, only with numbers dyed across the chest, Rose realized very quickly that these people were the inmates Dr. Underwood told her about. Crazy ones who were following her with their eyes, aware, alert, not at all like the people eating their lunch upstairs.

  They reached another security gate, and the guard, armed at the waist with a gun and on the chest with a badge, looked up from his book and rubbed his eyes. “Ahh, now there’s a fresh, young face. So much nicer to look upon than the felons down here. What can I do for you?”

  “Dr. Underwood sent us down here for Rose Briar’s mail.” Phillip pointed at Rose with his thumb and leaned into her. Warmth spread up her arm, to her neck. His even, calm breaths stabilized her shaking nerves.

  Until the officer met her eyes and asked, “Miss? Did you hear me?”

  Rose gripped onto the ledge outside his window so she wouldn’t fall over. “I’m here for my mail.”

  “Name?”

  “Rose Briar.”

  “Be right back.” He ventured off to mail tubs on the left side of the room while a metal wall on the far side rolled up, opening to reveal a white box truck and a man moving packages from that into the building. Two more officers approached the opening, guns on their holsters, eyes scanning the secured room, not the loading dock.

  Must be where the inmate got through.

  “Here we are,” the guard said, handing over a bundle of mail held together with a rubber band.

  He followed the direction of her gaze, then turned back. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, mistaking her silence. “Ever since that patient broke out of here last week, we’ve been on high alert. We’re still not sure how he got in here in the first place.”

  Last week.

  The man delivering packages had one of the officers sign a form, then stepped out of the building. The metal door lowered and was locked into place. Only then did the men all seem to relax their shoulders and breathe.

  “Need anything else while you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you,” Phillip said, ushering Rose back the way they came. “You okay? You didn’t drink the water earlier, did you? You keep zoning out.”

  “I’ve been doing that all day.” How would Phillip have known about the water being drugged if he was a figment of her imagination? Unless the whole scenario was. “I didn’t drink the water.”

  Phillip didn’t say anything else until they were back in Hall D and seated at the same table as Gracie and Paul. “You going to open those or stare at them all day?”

  Rose waited for the other two to look up, to respond to Phillip, for them to cast their gaze in his direction. Anything. But they were too engrossed in their game of Checkers to notice.

  Huffing, she tore into the bundle of letters. Two from Josh, one from Megan, and another from the Chicago Academy of Fine Arts. Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes. She couldn’t believe her parents hadn’t written, that they didn’t miss her or care about her enough to sit down and write a few lines to their only child.

  What were they doing at home? Were they out at their f
ancy socials, meeting prospective clients who would buy out the next part of the mountain? Were they in their office, working through the night? Because she knew they weren’t worried about her. They weren’t thinking about her.

  They didn’t care.

  And maybe that was Rose’s fault. Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed back. Maybe she should have listened to Mrs. Briar and stayed away from Megan and Josh and paid more attention in school instead of sneaking out and smoking pot just like Heather Shepperd.

  Hands shaking, Rose opened Megan’s letter first. After the way she ran out of here the other day, or other month, whenever that was, she’d have the most to say. Besides, Rose wasn’t sure she wanted to read anything Josh had to write. In fact, she’d like to burn his letters.

  Rose,

  I thought a lot about what you said, and I want you to know I’m sorry. If only we hadn’t lied to each other, things might be different. Josh is an asshole, and I’ve told him as much. I wish I never had to see him again, but I do. I guess I’ll have to see him or be part of his life in some capacity for as long as I live. I wanted to tell you then . . . I was so excited. But then I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to punch you or punch Josh or kill myself because just five minutes with you destroyed everything I’d been excited about.

  I’m pregnant, Rose. And if you never want to talk to me again, I understand. Just take care of yourself. Hopefully we can fix our friendship when you get out, and you will get out. It is our fault that you’re there, at least partly. You’ve always had your issues, but we crossed a line.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m fixing my life.

  Now fix yours.

  Love,

  Megan

  Tears dripped onto the tabletop.

  Megan pregnant. With Josh’s baby.

  Josh.

  Someone Rose had loved. Someone she’d counted on.

  Someone she’d lost her virginity to.

  Someone who came to her window and coaxed her out of the house and lied to her best friend to make her seem cool.

  He seemed so perfect.

  So mysterious.

  So bad.

  Yet good.