“Milo’s bipolar.” Sinking back against the couch, she puts her feet up on the dark wood coffee table. “He’s got some rapid mood swings. It doesn’t make me like him any less, though.”
A CNA peeks around the doorframe and tells us it’s fifteen minutes to lights out. One thing I definitely miss about my former life is not being sent to bed like a child every night.
“I need a favor,” Morgan says in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Do you know where I can get some condoms?”
My mouth falls open with surprise.
“Not for right now,” she says quickly. “Just . . . for later. Milo’s still on Level Two, so it’s not even an option yet. But when it is, I just want to be prepared.”
I sigh softly. Of all the times to be silent. There are so many things I want to say to her about this.
“We can talk about it another time,” she says, getting up from the couch.
I can’t blame her for being lonely and quickly getting attached to the only male patient here who is close to her age and not on Level Three. But she’s moving too fast.
The swell of protectiveness I feel for Morgan makes tears well in my eyes. I always felt this way about Allison, too. When Bryce Weaver pushed her down on the playground in first grade, ripping her dress and skinning her knee, I’d punched him in the gut so hard he cried.
I wasn’t normally tough enough or strong enough to draw tears from the biggest kid in our class, but when I’d seen her crying and bleeding, that didn’t matter. She made me tougher. She made me stronger.
And now I’m just me. Half of a whole. Growing up with an identical twin is like nothing else. Allison was my best friend. My shoulder to cry on and my constant cheerleader. She was my conscience. Neither of us was perfect, but between us, she was the good one. Always doing the right thing and putting others first.
It should have been me who died that night. Letting people believe I’m Allison has been easy because she’s the one who deserves to live on. She didn’t have a vengeful bone in her body.
I do, though. Dax should have just broken off our engagement. In sending men to kill me who accidentally murdered my sister, he woke a sleeping giant. And that giant is my love for my sister.
I won’t let it pass. I’m stuck at Hawthorne Hill for now, bound by the promise I made to Daniel not to escape, but I won’t be forever. I’m sane, and I’ve moved to a stage of grief that won’t allow me to just feel despondent about Allison anymore.
Is there a stage of grief that includes plotting revenge by turning your ex in to the police so he can rot in prison? I’m on that one.
I SPEND THE next couple days working on Leonard’s garden. What started as a patch of dirt is now worthy of that name. I’ve pulled the weeds that sprang up in his absence and enlarged the space a little, slowly tilling the earth by hand and sorting out the grass.
The garden is now five feet by three feet. I measured it as I expanded and am considering making it even bigger. Working outside is proving surprisingly therapeutic. The warm sunlight and cool earth make me feel alive in a way that’s not painful. Out here, I don’t feel alive at the expense of Allison. I just feel like a tiny square in a patchwork quilt of life.
My sister loved container gardening. She had a space on the roof of her apartment building where she grew peppers and strawberries. Tending to Leonard’s space makes me feel a little closer to her.
He checks on me through a window from time to time, his expression lined with worry. Leonard is convinced there are assassins out here. I can tell when I talk to him that he’s torn between not wanting them to get me and being pleased that I’m keeping up the garden.
I’m turning over the same patch of earth for the twentieth time, smoothing the soil and crushing the small lumps of dirt with my shovel, when I see Daniel approaching.
My pulse picks up at the sight of him. He’s wearing gray dress pants and a dark blue polo shirt, his biceps testing the stretchability of the fabric. And of course, his trademark Timberland boots.
“How’s it going?” he asks, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile.
I nod and smile back. It’s best if I keep up my silence unless we’re completely alone. I’m not ready to talk to anyone but him yet.
He twists open a bottle of water and passes it to me. I wipe the back of my hand across my sweaty brow and take it, drinking half of it. Guess I was thirsty.
“So I’ve got an idea with potential,” he says in a low tone. “A former colleague of mine in LA is doing a four-week PTSD program. The next one starts in three weeks. I need you to write to your aunt and tell her you want to be in it. If I can get a request from her, I can convince the administrator here to let you go. You’ll get weekends off, and I’ll take a few days off while you’re there and we can go to Chicago. We’ll have to work fast, though. You’ll have to finish the program and come back to Hawthorne after it’s over.”
I nod, feeling a glimmer of hope. I don’t need much time. I know exactly where Dax’s book is, and it’s safe. All I need to do is get it and bring it to the police. I want to deliver it with my own hands and tell them everything I know about Dax and that night.
“Get me a letter for your aunt, and I’ll send it out immediately,” Daniel says.
I wipe my hands on my shorts and start gathering my gardening tools. I’m going to write that letter now. This has to work.
“Thank you,” I say under my breath.
Daniel nods and takes some of my gardening tools, following me to the shed. When we’re alone inside, I lay my palm on his forearm and meet his eyes, letting my feelings shine through. It’s so good to let my guard down, just for a moment. His eyes are warm with affection, but there’s still restraint in his expression. Even stolen moments here are risky.
“Someday, Ava,” he says softly. “Someday, we’ll be more than this.”
I ONLY MISS MY BED a little. By the time I lie down on the couch in my office every night, I’m too exhausted to care where I’m sleeping.
It’s been almost a week since Joanne turned down my request to take Allison, who is actually Ava, away. Ava wrote a letter to her aunt, and we’re hoping for a quick response.
In the meantime, I’ve been on alert all the time. By day, I focus on work but am also looking for anyone or anything that seems suspicious. I sometimes go get a cup of coffee from the lounge just so I can find Ava and make sure she’s okay. I wake up in the night and check my phone to make sure the camera in her room is working, fearing that the equipment failed and someone’s in there hurting her.
That footage of Eric pressing a cloth over her face as she slept has stayed with me. Clearly, Dax has a high level of interest in that book, if he thinks the woman he believes to be Allison can lead him to it.
When the alarm on my phone rings to wake me up at 7:00 a.m., I realize I slept through the night for the first time in a while. Must be why I feel decent.
I go to the Hawthorne gym and run a few miles on the indoor track, then lift weights. I can’t help checking the camera feed in Ava’s room on my phone a few times. She’s still asleep, a light cover thrown aside, giving me a view of her bare legs.
Seeing her in the tank tops and shorts she sleeps in is a nice bonus to the camera in her room. I can so easily imagine her in my bed, her perfect round tits within reach if I slide my hand up her tank top. She doesn’t wear a bra to bed, so does that mean she also doesn’t wear panties? These are the questions I ponder when I let my mind wander from the important issue at hand, which is her safety.
After a quick shower in the gym’s locker room, I put on my clean clothes, skip shaving, and head back to my office to get my coat and tablet for rounds. The Hawthorne housekeeping department has been doing the laundry they find in my office, which I’m not complaining about. Joanne offered to have them do my laundry all the time when I started here.
My rounds are pretty routine. Morgan asks me to prescribe the Pill for her to clear up her skin. Since her complexion is clear and she
’s been running around with the new bipolar patient, I’m pretty sure it’s got nothing to do with her skin.
Leonard is quieter today, but I can tell from his expression there’s still a war raging in his mind. His new antipsychotic meds take time to fully kick in, and in the meantime, he’s left to remind himself that the things he believes to be true may not be. I hate seeing him suffer this way.
“Want to play some poker tonight?” I ask him over lunch.
He arches a brow and nods. Leonard loves poker. We play for small amounts of money, and he cleans me out every time. I think his mind tracks the cards and calculates the odds in a way I’ll never be able to do.
“Bring your piggy bank, Doc.”
“This is gonna be my night,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “I can feel it.”
He laughs, and it’s the first time I’ve seen a smile reach his eyes in a while. “It’s your night to lose, my man. I’d like to win that stethoscope of yours.”
I look down at the stethoscope hanging around my neck. “What do you want with it?”
He shrugs. “I just think it’d look good on me.”
I laugh and clap him on the back. “It would, but I’ve had this one since med school. I’m attached to it.”
“Just your money will do, then.”
We walk back into the great room. Light rain pelts the windows. It’s been drizzly all day, so Level One patients who would normally be outside are all inside. I glance around the room for Ava and see that she’s curled up on a couch with a book. She’s not reading it, though, because Morgan is talking to her.
I go back to my office to catch up on paperwork. It never ends, but at least it gets more automated. I’m halfway through a state certification report when the sound of yelling makes me look up from my desk.
“They’re coming! I knew they were!”
I recognize the voice immediately as Leonard’s, and he’s very upset. Without thinking, I grab my emergency sedation kit from my desk and run toward the great room. I never want to sedate a patient unless I have to, but if he’s upsetting other patients, I may have to.
Leonard is yelling, telling everyone to run because the assassins are on their way. Patients are murmuring, and the nurse at Leonard’s side is trying to console him.
“You’re all right,” I say to Leonard as I approach. “It’s okay.”
A loud bang sounds, and the double front doors fly open, the wood frame splitting in places. Two men walk inside. They’re dressed in black, wearing ski masks and carrying guns.
The patients’ murmuring turns into gasps of terror. One woman bursts into tears.
“No one move,” I say in a level tone.
The way the air stills in my lungs reminds me of some of the shit I faced when I was in the army. I assess things the same way I did then, looking for a way to neutralize these men without anyone getting hurt.
I’m reeling over Leonard’s delusion coming to life and busting down the door when one of the men points his gun at the nurse next to Leonard, Cathy.
“Listen to the big guy. No one move.” He flicks the wrist of his hand with the weapon toward the other man. “Up the stairs, then turn left. Fourth door on the right.”
Ava’s room. My blood runs cold. How the hell do they know exactly where her room is? The second gunman hurries upstairs. At least I know she’s not up there.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Tillman walks into the room and looks around.
“Don’t move,” the first gunman says sharply.
Tillman puts his hands up and keeps walking. “Are you guys robbing us? We don’t have anything valuable here.”
I use the time the gunman is focused on him to carefully reach into the sedation kit in my coat pocket and take out the needle.
“They’re here for me,” Leonard says with a scowl. “Took you assholes long enough to find me.”
The gunman furrows his brow. “We’re not here for you, old man. Shut up.”
“I had nothing to do with JFK,” Leonard continues. “You know that, though, don’t you? This whole thing is one big setup.”
“I said, shut the hell up, old man.” The gunman gives him a warning look.
“This is a mental hospital,” I say. “Please just . . . remember that. No one here wants to piss you off.”
“Room’s empty,” the second gunman calls from upstairs.
“Where’s Allison Cole?” the first gunman demands, turning to me.
“She was discharged a few days ago.”
“Bullshit.” He turns the gun on me. “I know for a fact she’s here. She was here this morning.”
Patients are turning their heads toward Ava, and I cringe.
“There you are,” the first gunman says.
He stalks toward Ava just as a security guard runs through the front door, his gun drawn. The second gunman, who is running down the stairs, shoots at him and misses.
Leonard moves fast, moving to stand in front of Ava.
“It’s not her you want,” he cries. “Leave her out of this.”
I’m only about four big strides from the gunman. I’ve got two of them down when the gunman mutters, “I warned you, old man,” and fires.
Ava screams as a bullet hits Leonard in the chest. I raise my arm and plunge the needle into the gunman’s upper arm, tackling him to the floor at the same time.
When I look over at the other side of the room, the security guard is standing over the body of the second gunman, who is lying in a pool of his own blood.
The first gunman is struggling beneath me. I take his arm and pull it back at an odd angle, making him scream, though it’s muffled because the sedative is working.
“Who told you where her room is?” I demand. “Tell me now, or I’ll break your arm in a way that will never heal right. And then I’ll break the other one.”
“I can’t . . .”
“Fucking tell me now,” I grind out, pushing his arm almost to the breaking point.
He howls with pain, and I rip off his ski mask, revealing messy blond hair and tears streaming down his face.
“A . . . a lady doctor,” he says in a high, panicked tone. “I don’t know her name, I swear.”
Heaton.
I push him to the floor, and he goes limp as I release his arm. Tillman is beside me.
“What should I do?” he asks. “We’ve called 911.”
I take the gunman’s weapon and pass it off to Cathy, the nurse. “Go give that to the guard. Tillman, send someone for restraints and tie this guy up till the cops get here.”
He nods, climbing onto the gunman’s back as I climb off. He’s passed out from the sedative, but restraining him is a good precaution.
“You heard what he said about Heaton?” I ask Tillman.
“Yeah.”
“Tell Joanne Hawthorne. And take care of this place while I’m gone.”
“Gone?” He gapes up at me.
I walk over to Ava and move Leonard’s body off of her. Once I have him on the floor, I check for a pulse, but there’s nothing. He was hit in the chest and is bleeding heavily. Ava is sobbing, probably reliving her sister’s murder right now.
Fuck. This whole scene traumatized every patient in here. We’ll need to bring in counselors. It’s not a good time to lose our psychiatrist, but I believe we just did. I’m not at all surprised Heaton was helping Dax, but I still don’t understand why.
Two more guards walk into the room. The cops will be here soon. If I don’t get Ava out of here now, I may not be able to.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand and helping her up.
Her pale pink shirt is soaked with Leonard’s blood, and she’s shaking. We don’t have time for her to change or grab anything, though.
“We need to go,” I say.
She nods numbly and follows me out the opening where the front doors used to be. I keep ahold of her hand as I run, leading the way to the garage where the Expedition is parked. I keep a spare key in my wallet, and I take it o
ut and unlock the vehicle, helping Ava into the passenger seat.
I start it up and pull out of the garage, heading for the dirt road that leads to the highway. Ava’s still sobbing next to me.
“Leonard,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I know.”
She turns to look at me. “Where will we go?”
I only hesitate a second before saying, “Chicago. After a stop by my friend Pike’s shop in Greenville for a couple guns. I’ve got a bag of cash stashed under my seat for an emergency.”
“Chicago,” she says numbly.
“It’ll be okay.”
“As long as we get Dax, that’s all that matters. I don’t care if I die doing it.”
My brows shoot up with alarm. “Well, I care a hell of a lot, so I’m not letting that happen.”
She nods and wraps her other hand around mine as a new wave of tears strikes.
Leonard’s dead. When I’m not in crisis mode, that’ll hit hard. His illness haunted him to the end, but he still died a hero, protecting Ava.
For now, though, I can’t think about any of that. I have to focus on getting Ava to safety, and then, on how we’ll get that book and use it to bring Dax down.
NO MATTER HOW MANY MILES Daniel puts between us and Hawthorne, I don’t feel any distance.
Morgan is probably distraught. Same with June, the patient who burst into tears when the gunmen broke down the front doors this morning. I hope someone at Hawthorne is holding everything together and comforting people. Usually, that would be Daniel.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks me.
“I go back and forth between thinking about Leonard and all the things I want to say to Dax.”
Daniel’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “What kinds of things?”
“Oh, you know . . . I hate you, you should have been the one who died, you’re disgusting . . . that sort of thing.”
He pauses before asking, “Are there unresolved feelings?”
I turn to face him, shocked. “Are you asking if I still love him?”
Come Closer Page 13
