No.
Couldn’t be.
I kept drinking, and while I drank I waited for the ten o’clock news to see if they had any additional information on Julian. They did.
“This latest just in about Julian Dye. Unknown sources have told us he’s going to be kept under a seventy-two-hour mental health hold for further evaluation. These holds are used to protect a patient who might be a danger to himself, and the patient can either agree to be held voluntarily, or be placed under involuntary hold. Which raises a lot of speculation about the true nature of what happened today. We’ll have a more thorough report on Julian Dye in tomorrow’s broadcast.”
I shut off the television and looked out the window at the river below.
“That didn’t sound good,” Devon said.
“I need to see him.”
“That’s not gonna happen since you didn’t have much luck the first time. I kinda think they’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”
I swung around. “Let me use your laptop a sec.”
Devon handed it to me, and I did a quick Google search of seventy-two-hour mental health holds. It looked like both involuntary and voluntary patients were allowed visitors.
They wouldn’t let Ellie Barlow past the nurse’s station, but they might let someone else. I just had to decide who I wanted to be.
Chapter 28
~ Julian ~
The doctor, a guy with light red hair and light red beard, stood next to my bed, explaining things to me. The words that jumped out were seventy-two-hour emergency hold. “It can be voluntary or involuntary,” he explained. “I would advise voluntary because voluntary involves more privileges and is less of a stigma.”
As if I gave a shit about stigma.
Then he went into an extended explanation of how I needed a full psych evaluation. Once he said that, I knew what was going on. This had nothing to do with my heart and my collapse. This was all about my mental state. I’d been here before. They were looking to commit me. Involuntarily, courtesy of Valerie.
Jesus.
Last time, I hadn’t cared. I’d been shut off and thought maybe it was what I needed. Now I wasn’t so sure it had been the right choice. Now I suspected Valerie hadn’t been thinking straight either. She’d never been the most practical person, and suddenly she’d found herself thrown into the role of caretaker for her nutty little brother. Lock him up.
Later she told me she was afraid I was going to kill myself. And hey, I’d thought about it, because I couldn’t get the images in my brain to shut off. And the pain of grief—I just hadn’t been prepared for the endlessness of it. So I’d started doing stupid things. Getting arrested for drugs and drunk driving, mainly. So I got why she’d done it. I’d been a danger to myself and others.
But now…
I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the numbness. Not after getting a taste of the world again. And running. I couldn’t cope without running. And even when I thought about the shit that had happened with Ellie… I’d felt so alive with her.
Yeah, she damn well broke my heart, and I’d messed up by stopping the drugs cold turkey. The doctor had explained all of that to me, but it was no reason to lock me up.
And now, thinking about how they’d been plotting all of this shit behind my back, I flipped.
Just lost it.
Right when I should have been trying to prove I was the sanest person in the room, I ripped the oxygen from my nose, pulled out the IV, and went running from the room, screaming like some madman, truth be told.
Up until that point, it had been hard as hell to get anybody’s attention. When I wanted a drink of water or wanted something to eat or when my IV bag was empty and beeping, I’d push the button and nothing would happen. Nobody ever responded until an hour or two later when some nurse would saunter in like every day was Sunday.
But once I shot from that room, nurses came out of the walls. Some big dude, who must have had training for just such an event, jammed my arm behind me and brought me to my knees. Another pushed my face against the cold tile floor. From behind and above, the doctor yelled for him to let me go. It was a lovely scene. Really white trash.
An injection was ordered STAT, a needle hit my ass, and in no time at all my eyes rolled back in my head and I didn’t care if I ended up with a life sentence. I didn’t care about anything.
Chapter 29
~ Ellie ~
My costume was a simple black dress and a red, knee-length coat with wide lapels, the outfit set off with black heels and a red leather bag over my wrist, all courtesy of Macy’s, all with the price tags still attached so I could return them once this gig was over. On top of my head was a blond wig from Devon’s salon, and clipped to the lapel of my coat was a laminated photo ID with the name Dr. Rebecca Madden. Along with that was an English accent I hoped would convey a sense of authority.
I imagine most doctors didn’t take the light rail to the hospital, but there you go. This was most likely my first year, and I had a shitload of debt to pay off.
I got off the train at the campus station, and walked the half-mile to the University of Minnesota Medical Center. And since I’d already been to the hospital not twenty-four hours earlier, I knew exactly where to go, punching the elevator and riding it to the eighth floor. Once there, I walked down the hall with a confidence I didn’t feel, but it was all about projection and attitude. Head high, spine straight.
The nurse at the desk looked at me with no recognition in her eyes even though I’d spoken to her yesterday. “I’m here to see Julian Dye,” I said, putting all the pompous into my accent I could manage. “I’m currently shadowing Mr. Dye’s psychiatrist who sent me here for a follow-up and second opinion.” I flashed my badge, but didn’t lean too close. “Dr. Madden. If Mr. Dye has company, I’ll wait because I’d prefer privacy.”
“There’s no one in there right now,” she said. “His sister just left. Said she was going home to take a shower and eat. Mr. Dye is at the end of the hall, room 816.”
“Thank you.” Curt nod.
The carpet ended and my shoes made a sound my shoes never made. This kind of delicate click that seemed to carry me down the hall. Outside Julian’s room, my heart began to pound even harder. I hadn’t really thought about this part. About what I’d say. I just needed to see him. Needed to know that he was okay regardless of what I’d heard on the news. Because really, I knew damn well you couldn’t believe half that stuff.
I raised my hand to knock, thought better of it, then slipped inside.
He was asleep.
His skin was ashen, and an IV drip was attached to his arm.
Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless made my throat go tight. Maybe I wouldn’t even talk to him. This was all I needed. Just to see him.
I moved closer, tiptoeing because of the stupid shoes, stopping just inches from the side of the bed, close enough to touch him. But I didn’t. I just watched him as he slept, his chest rising and falling.
An involuntary choking sound escaped me, and I slapped my hand to my mouth, muffling it.
Too late.
Julian’s brow furrowed and the cadence of his breathing changed. That slow awareness of the space beyond his brain and beyond the world of dreams, expanding to reach his surroundings.
I considered running, but I was glued to the floor.
His eyes opened. It took him a while to focus on me, or try to focus on me. It was obvious he was under heavy sedation, which led me to believe they were probably keeping him here involuntarily.
“Hi, Julian,” I whispered.
“Hi.”
He moved his hand, and his fingers brushed mine. I thought it was an accident, but he did it again. This time I latched on. His skin was cool and dry, like that of a sick person.
Had I done this to him? “I just wanted to come and see you,” I said.
“That’s good.” The words were breathless and slurred. Our fingers shift
ed until he was holding me. And then he brought my hand closer, pressing it against the side of his face, against the rough hair of his unshaven jaw, and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Not a word about what had happened, about what I’d done. In his drugged state, had he simply forgotten to hate me? Yes. I was pretty sure of it.
I wanted to crawl into bed beside him and wrap my arms around him and just hold him tight. I didn’t.
He drifted off, and his hand released mine and dropped. The movement was enough to startle him awake, his eyes once more searching for and finding my face.
“I like your brown hair better.”
“This is a wig.”
“Good.”
Long silence. I knew I should leave. Knew I should get the hell out of there before I was found out, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
“Ellie?” Eyes closed again, breathing short and shallow, as if the effort was too much.
“Yes?”
“Are you here to rescue me?”
How many times could a heart break? A lot. “I just had to see you,” I said. “To make sure you were okay.” This was definitely not the time to talk about what had happened between us. He was too messed up for that.
His eyes opened. “You have to get me out of here.”
“What?”
“You have to get me out of here.” And now I could see clarity and conviction in his gaze. He grabbed my hand again, and this time his grip was firm. “They’re going to commit me.” He gave his head a small shake. “I can’t have that happen. I can’t go back there.”
I let out a sob.
He tugged me closer so I bumped up against the edge of the bed. “Get me out of here, Ellie,” he whispered. “You can do it.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my palm. Then drug exhaustion swept over him and his body went limp. He dropped my hand and his eyes closed, but he was still aware. “Rescue me.”
Chapter 30
~ Ellie ~
Sometimes we do things we know are wrong, but we make this conscious decision to do wrong. To run that red light, to not walk in the crosswalk, to drink underaged, to stick that joint in our mouth, to drive over the speed limit, to sign a contract and pretend to be someone else.
And then those more serious things. Like stealing. I stole some food once. More than once. I wasn’t proud of it, but I justified it because I was hungry. So I stole a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread. Try hiding a damn loaf of bread in your pants. It ain’t easy.
I was caught, but the store finally let me off. And I didn’t feel bad about stealing, I felt bad about being bad at it. About being caught. That’s because I’d been hungry, and hunger justified my actions.
I knew Julian wasn’t playing with a full deck at the moment. I knew that when he sobered up or came down or whatever you want to call it, he might really regret asking me for help, asking me to save him. But maybe not. Maybe he needed rescuing.
There was one narrow closet in the room, but no clothes inside. Just a pair of hospital slippers and a hospital gown. Okay, the plan of just walking him out was shot down, and I wasn’t all that sure he could walk.
Outside the room, I spotted a wheelchair in the hallway. I grabbed it and rolled it to Julian’s bed, locking the wheels, making sure the footpads were out of the way.
Julian was watching me, and he understood what I was up to. Before I could stop him, he untaped the IV needle and pulled it from the back of his hand. Blood ran down his fingers. I grabbed a pile of gauze squares from the bed table and pressed them to his hand. “Hold that firmly.”
I pulled the thin housecoat thingy from the closet, along with the slippers. When I turned back around, Julian was sitting on the side of the bed, and whatever slight color he’d had in his face had drained away. Even his lips were white.
“Are you going to faint?” I asked.
He shook his head.
I shoved the slippers on his feet. At least he was wearing hospital pants and a top instead of a gown. Pale blue that I now topped off with a floral-patterned housecoat with white cotton ties-—typical hospital fare.
His color looked a little better now, and his hand was no longer bleeding.
With his unsteady help, I got him in the wheelchair, grasping him at the waist and walking him backward until he collapsed in the seat. I put his feet on the pads and unlocked the wheels. Then I grabbed a blanket off the bed and arranged it over his lap and tucked it around his legs. At the last minute, I happened to think of the IV rack. I grabbed it, attached it to the wheelchair, and tucked the end with the needle under the blanket along with his hand.
And we were off.
Down the hall where the nurse looked up from her computer. Before she had a chance to ask where we were going, I shot out my words: “I thought a change of scenery would be beneficial,” I said with a voice of English authority. “I’ll take him to the sitting room in front of the window near the elevators.”
She nodded and smiled. “That’s a good idea.” Then to Julian. “Enjoy your stroll.”
Off.
Down the hall, around the corner, out of sight of the desk. I ditched the IV rack and punched the elevator button—G, for ground level—waited, all the while terrified that the elevator door would open and Valerie would be standing there.
Didn’t happen.
The metal doors separated. People made room for us, we boarded, and the doors closed.
Downstairs, I parked the wheelchair near a restroom. “Wait here.”
I ducked inside, removed my coat and wig, bundled them up, then exited the bathroom with my own hair and the black dress. I tucked the coat and wig under Julian’s blanket, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, and aimed for the hospital entrance.
Outside, the sun was beating down and the fall day was warming up. And Julian didn’t look so great. “What do you say?” I told him. “Should we just take a lap around the hospital, then go back inside?”
“No! Shit no!”
“Just wanted to make sure.”
Off we went.
Down the wide sidewalk, across the street, through the parking lot, over a curb, down another sidewalk to the light-rail station. I had my return ticket, but I needed to purchase one for Julian.
Ticket machine. Money fed in the slot. Ticket in hand. Train coming. Clockwork.
This was like some damn James Bond movie.
We boarded and I parked the wheelchair in the designated spot, then the train pulled away and we were almost home free. As I clung to the metal pole, I looked down at Julian where he was slumped in the chair. He smiled, then pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes in what I recognized as relief.
Three stops later, we got off and I pushed him as fast as I could in the direction of my place, the idea to get him inside before anybody noticed us. After that, I had no plan. No plan at all.
I supposed he’d finally come around once the drugs were out of his system. At that point he might want to know what the hell was going on. And if he wanted to call Valerie, I’d hand him my phone. And if he wanted to call the cops, I’d hand him my phone.
But I’d done what I felt I should do at that moment, stupid or not.
We scored another Bond moment when we arrived at my place and nobody was home. Up the elevator to the fourth floor, then inside, closing and locking the door behind us.
In the apartment, Julian tossed the blanket and coat and wig aside in one sweep. Gripping the arms of the wheelchair, he pushed himself to his feet while I kept hold of his waist. Then, without speaking, he shuffled down the hall to my room, shoved open the door, aimed himself at my bed, and collapsed.
I straightened him out as best I could. Pillow under his head, quilt over him, dropping the slippers to the floor. Briefly and inappropriately, given the bleakness of the situation, admiring the shape of his bare feet.
The final task was to fold the wheelchair, stuff it in a corner of my room, and toss a blan
ket over it. Mission accomplished, I closed the door and leaned my head against it, panting while half expecting to hear approaching sirens. Right now there was only one thing I was completely sure about—I’d lost my freakin’ mind.
Chapter 31
~ Julian ~
The reading of familiar words—that’s what woke me up. I had the feeling I’d been awake before, that maybe I’d drifted in and out, but this seemed more real, like a real awakening.
Full consciousness returned, and I became aware of lying on a soft bed in soft light cast through a blue lampshade. Sitting next to me, her feet curled under her, knees high, was Ellie, a book in her hand, glasses on her face.
She was reading to me.
In that moment, she broke my heart all over again. In that moment, I fell for her again, and I forgave her for everything she’d done. Maybe the next moment I’d change my mind, but I allowed myself to savor this one. Because I hadn’t had a lot to savor for a long time, and I wanted to let the sensation pour over me.
The familiar words were from Catcher in the Rye, and the edition she held had the highly recognizable red cover. Although I had several different covers, the red one was my favorite.
It was weird, because if you just saw that book without the Salinger connection, you’d think, What a shitty cover. What a boring cover. But because you knew what was inside… well, that made the difference.
I watched her as she read, trying to keep my breathing steady so she wouldn’t know I was awake.
She had a great voice, and the glow from the lamp cast her face in light and shadow, one shiny dark wall of hair half hiding her face. In a venue, this would be considered obstructed view, but it was the perfect obstructed view, because I could see her full lips as she read, and I could see the shadow of her lashes on her cheeks, somehow making themselves visible behind the large glasses.
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