by J. R. Tate
“What do you want?” I ask. There’s nowhere for me to go. My body is up against the wall and she has me pinned in a corner.
She wraps her hand around my throat, but doesn’t put any pressure on it. Her breath is hot against my skin and I hold my breath to try to block the stench. I almost recognize her from somewhere. She’s oddly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“I visited your wife tonight,” she replies. “She thinks it’s all just a dream, that I wasn’t really there. I tried to tell her you weren’t crazy.”
I feel the urge to vomit and swallow the saliva that kicks in from the nausea. “Leave her alone. Leave her and Rusty alone.”
She starts to clamp her hand around my neck, but it’s still not hard enough to cause any pain. “I’m standing up for you. I’m doing something for you that you couldn’t do for me.”
“What do you mean?”
Her nails dig into the back of my neck, and from the moisture, I know it’s blood. I wince as she clutches on and looks me right in the eye. Her dull expression doesn’t change, but the pressure on me does, and suddenly I’m unable to breath. My legs kick out and I swing my arms, trying to get her to stop. She pulls at my neck now and slams my head against the wall with a loud thud. Where are the nurses? Do they not hear this commotion?
The edges of my vision grow black, but I fight it. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not done talking to her. “Stop,” I say between breaths, but it comes out so forced that it doesn’t sound like it.
A child’s laughter cuts through the night air, sending a chill down my spine. Suddenly, the woman is gone and I’m left to catch my breath. I swipe my hand down the back of my neck and see the blood all over my palm. I’m still too scared to move from against the wall, but when I hear the child’s laughter again, I fight through it and crawl back toward the bed.
“Hello?”
Again, whatever it is giggles. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I ask. “Who are you?”
The child appears in the light from the hallway. It’s the same boy I saw on the street in front of my dad’s house. Just like with the woman, he looks familiar to me. He approaches me and extends his hand, but I don’t respond to it. I stare at it, trying to piece this all together.
“You’re a fireman,” he says. “You’re supposed to save people.”
I nod. “That’s right. How do you know that?”
“I want you to come with me.”
He turns to walk away, and I crawl to follow him. It’s probably not the brightest idea, but I want to get answers. One day is enough in this hospital, and maybe if I go with him, it will all become clear to me. I’m now out in the hallway, keeping an eye on the child’s backside, feeling confident that I’m about to get all of the answers to questions that have been plaguing my family and me.
“Nathan?”
I feel a hand on me and suddenly, the child is gone. The nurse who tried to issue me meds is standing over me.
“Where are you going, Nathan?”
I try to jerk away from his grasp, but I’m unsuccessful. There’s more than one worker hovering over me, but I don’t care. I was so close and yet again, my chances are ripped away. Gritting my teeth, I try to crawl away, but who am I kidding? It’s three to one and I’m so disoriented that I stand no chance to get anywhere. Where would I go? The place is so locked up that I wouldn’t get far.
Still, my fight or flight response kicks in, and something tells me to fight. I kick at one of them, making contact. I hear footsteps around me and someone mentions getting the syringe, but I ignore it. If they’re going to drug me up again, I need to go down fighting. The familiar dull ache of the needle pierces through the skin in my hip and again, I feel like I’m in thick mud.
From what I can tell, I’m thrown on top of a gurney and am being wheeled somewhere. The nurses are looking down at me and the light overhead is passing by fast. I’m in and out of consciousness and nothing is making sense. The woman and boy’s faces flash before me, and I jerk to shield away from them.
“He’s hallucinating,” I hear one of them say. “He’s got deep gashes on his neck. We better get that treated and stitched up. And someone, get Dr. Clint on the phone. He wanted to be notified if anything happened with him.”
Everything fades and I can’t fight it anymore. Everything goes dark.
***
“Get Dr. Clint.”
Again, bright light hits me and it takes me a second to realize what has happened. There’s people around – I can hear them scrambling around. I feel the IV in my hand and try to reach out and pull it, but I’m restrained. That’s no surprise.
“Nathan, can you open your eyes for me?”
I recognize the voice and when my vision finally clears, I see Dr. Clint sitting beside the bed. I’m not sure if I’m happy to see him or pissed. It doesn’t take long for my memory to come back, and it all flashes before me like an epiphany so strong that it seems to all be happening again. The woman and the young boy’s voices echo, and I try hard to fight it.
“You were supposed to have a session with me this morning, so how about we just do it now? Are you feeling okay?”
I cringe at his question. Of course I’m not doing okay. I don’t even know where the hell I am, but I know for sure I’m not back in the padded room.
“Where am I?” My voice sounds like it’s booming in my head.
“You’re in the hospital. We had quite the scare with you last night.”
I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t allow it. “You had quite a scare?” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you could only see the things I have. Then you’d know what scare means.”
Dr. Clint leans in. “Is that what happened last night. You see something?”
I don’t want to talk to him. I want him to go away and I want to go back to sleep. Apparently, whatever they gave me hasn’t completely worn off. I lick my lips and try to avoid his question. “Can I get some water or something?”
He grabs a cup off of the stand nearby and helps me drink from the straw. It tastes so good and I drink it too fast.
“Nathan, what did you see last night? Richard, the nurse on duty last night, tells me you refused the meds.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need them. And before you start in on me about why I saw something, it’s not because I didn’t take the meds.”
Dr. Clint leans back in the chair and it’s the first time I notice the clipboard. It seems none of the staff goes anywhere without that damn thing. “What happened to the back of your neck? If you don’t explain, we have to assume you did it.”
“Awful drastic of a thing for me to do, considering I’m on high risk. Might want to think about hiring better staff to keep an eye on me.”
He writes a few things and then looks at me again. “You took about ten stitches. It’s pretty serious. I want to know how it happened.”
“Are we alone, Doc?”
“Well, we aren’t in my office like what should’ve happened, but it’s pretty confidential. I’ll make sure none of the nurses come back until we’re done.”
To hell with it. I’m going to tell him everything I’ve seen and what has happened. Resistance intrigues them more. Maybe if I let it all out, take the meds, and still don’t get better, it’ll make them really start to wonder about me. Until then, I feel as if I’ll be stuck in limbo.
“I’m seeing and hearing things. It started about three weeks ago. Hell, I don’t know how long it’s been since I don’t even know what day it is. I’ve been trying to interact with the voices and the people. One is a lady. One is a girl that I first saw during a call at a fire. Talked to her in front my whole crew and she was dead. And then there’s this little boy. They’re all familiar to me, but I can’t figure out from where.” I take another drink of water. “I try to interact to get answers, but so far, nothing.”
“And the injuries?” Dr. Clint asks, never tak
ing his eyes off of me.
“The woman is the only hostile one so far. She’s done all of it.” I feel like an idiot. Out loud it all sounds stupid. If it weren’t actually happening to me, I’d feel the same way everyone else has about it. That’s what is so damned frustrating about it all. I know it’s true and even I’m having a hard time believing.
“So she’s who you saw last night?”
“Her and the boy. I was following the boy. He wanted me to go with him. That’s when they found me in the hallway.”
“Where do you think he was taking you?”
“I wish I knew,” I reply. “One night at my dad’s, something tried to drag me away. Pulled me off the bed and everything. I don’t know where they want me to go. To hell, probably. Where else?”
“I’m really glad that you’ve opened up to me, Nathan. It’s a good step. I need you to do one more thing for me. I know we’ve tried before, but I want you to think about it.” He pauses as he adjusts his glasses. “Will you try the medication? It might help you. Even if you feel it won’t help, then there’s not much to lose.”
Sure there is plenty to lose. The side effects of psychotropic drugs are horrible. I’m just too tired to fight it. I know I won’t respond to them. Maybe it’ll be a step in the right direction for them to open their eyes and realize that I’m speaking the truth. Or maybe I really am crazy and I’m in extreme denial. I’m starting to wonder.
“What do you want to put me on?”
“Seroquel. It’s for schizophrenia. I haven’t officially diagnosed you with that, but I want to try and see if this helps you.”
“I know what Seroquel is, Doc. Do what you gotta do.” I can’t believe I’m giving in, but there’s no other option. It’s like the saying – fight fire with fire. None of my options are very appealing. I’m hoping this will eventually work in my favor.
Chapter Twelve
They hold me in the hospital for the whole day, and take me back to my room that evening. Out of habit, I run my hand down the back of my neck and feel the gauze bandage covering the stitching. I want to see what the wounds look like. I want to see how bad it is. The fact that I had to get stitches makes my stomach churn. How long are the woman’s finger nails and how deep did she go? I can’t remember how painful it was after all of the drugs they pumped into me, but there’s a dull ache that heightens after I touch it.
Dr. Clint escorts me into my room. I’m shocked he’s still here, seeing as he’s been around all day. He must care about me or I’m his morbid science experiment he wants to get rich off of.
“I’ve included Seroquel in your meds for the evening, along with a sleep aid. After the night you had, I suggest taking both. You need some good, deep rest.”
I nod, though I don’t completely agree with it. “I guess you win, Doc. My wife can’t even get me to take over the counter stuff and here I am, agreeing to a schizophrenic medication.” All day I’ve wrestled with the idea that I could possibly be as crazy as I sound. I’ve thought about how I can be a stubborn man and my denial knows no bounds. But something deep inside is still telling me that I’m not. My instincts are screaming at me, keeping me from falling into the psychological wormhole that so many people can’t get out of.
“I think we’ve had a breakthrough today. I want to see you again in the morning, and preferably, in my office. I’ll let them know to take you there after breakfast, okay?”
He walks to the door and I stop him before he gets out into the hallway. “Hey Doc, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Nathan. Anything.”
“You ever have a patient that you weren’t able to figure out? You know, one who doesn’t respond to meds or therapy?”
He heaves a deep sigh and contemplates my question. I’ve put him on the spot, but he’s an educated man. It shouldn’t be too hard to answer. “I’ve had a few, but it was due to their unwillingness to cooperate, much like you have started out being like.”
“And what happened to these people?” I know I’m not going to like his answer.
“More times than not, suicide. They can’t handle it and eventually take their own lives. Twenty to forty percent of those with schizophrenia attempt suicide. It’s a startling statistic, which is why I’m trying my hardest to help you, Nathan. For the sake of your family, but most of all, for the sake of your life.”
The percentages shock me, and for a second, I doubt that it’s accurate, but I remember reading something about it. “But you said earlier that you haven’t officially given me that diagnosis yet. I can hope that I’m not completely doomed yet, right?”
He smiles and nods. “Right. The reason I’m hesitating is because you’re older than the average onset of the disease. It usually occurs in late teens and early twenties. There are a few things that don’t match up, which is why I need you to be completely honest and compliant with everything I suggest in your treatment. As soon as we get all of our ducks in a row, it’ll seem clearer.”
“I’ll do my best, Doc, but I can’t promise anything.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Nathan. Get some sleep.”
He makes his exit and I lay back on the bed, avoiding putting pressure on the back of my neck. The nurse brings around meds and I don’t give any objection to it. Why the hell not? I’m starting to doubt my sanity and this could really break open what is happening. The light from the hallway cascades in again, and I think about my visit from the woman and the boy from the night before.
I notice that there is more staff presence up and down the hallway, and they nonchalantly look in, attempting to not raise suspicion as they watch me. I have to wonder if I’m their hardest patient right now, but there are guys down the hallway that are kept in more secure rooms than I’m in. They’re probably suicidal and homicidal, and I fear that I could eventually get to that point.
I shift in the bed and it’s hard to get comfortable. I suddenly start to feel the effects of the medicine. I can’t remember what some of the side effects of Seroquel are, but like with most psychotropic drugs, drowsiness is probably one of them. Taking that on top of a sleep aid is only going to make me feel like a zombie when it’s time to get up.
I begin to doze, and I’m in the state where I’m about to completely fall asleep, but I can hear everything around me. The silence on the floor is deafening. I swear I hear whispers, but this time, I try to ignore them. I don’t want to be bothered. I’ve tried finding this all out on my own. All it’s gotten me is beaten to a bloody pulp and in trouble.
“Nathan…” I hear the voice and feel the breath on my ear, but I don’t open my eyes to look. I swat at it, and don’t make contact with anything. “Nathan, you’re giving up. Don’t give in to it. You’re not crazy…”
“Leave me alone,” I mutter, but with as tired as I am, I’m sure it doesn’t come out sounding anything like that. “Just let me sleep.”
“Come with us…”
I sit up, finally looking around. There is nothing there, only darkness and the beam of light from the hallway. I swipe my hand across my forehead and sweat covers my skin. It feels like a heater is blasting around me.
“Come with us…” the voice repeats.
“Leave me the hell alone!” I yell, and lay back down, pulling the covers over my head. I just want this to go away. I want the voices to stop. I want it all to stop. I want someone to save me from the dark.
“Checks.”
I pull the cover down and see a nurse at the door, checking off that Nathan Gallagher is exactly where he needs to be. I’m certain he heard me yell, but with all of the other patients doing the same thing, he probably doesn’t think twice about it.
I’ve become like the others. Nighttime is dark. Nighttime is scary. Nighttime is when the dead come to life and I can’t wait for the sun to rise in the morning. A part of me hopes that the meds will do their job and get me leveled out so I’ll never have to hear or see the things that I have ever again. A part of me hopes that the doctors are right
and that I am wrong, but I know it isn’t the case. The drugs aren’t going to do a damn thing to save me.
***
Rose
I look at the calendar in the kitchen and it’s hard to believe that Nathan has been in the hospital for almost a week now. I know that psychiatric hospitals are handled differently than medical hospitals, but I want to visit him. I want to see if he’s made any progress. It’s Nathan’s sole decision to include me in his treatment and progress, but I’m hesitant to call and see if he has allowed it.
How will I take it if he hasn’t? It’ll hurt, but I wouldn’t blame him if he doesn’t want anyone to know. Psychology is such a young science that the subject is still very taboo. The less who knew, the better it’d be for him to make a full recovery and get on with his life.
Rusty comes down the stairs, pulling me from my daydream. Since his father’s hospitalization, we haven’t spoken much. I want to sit him down and get on the same page and make sure he really isn’t seeing things, but he doesn’t give me much chance. If he’s not at school, he’s tucked away in his room, unwilling to even make eye contact with me.
“Rusty, why don’t I make you breakfast?”
He grabs his backpack near the door and looks at me with hesitation. “I’m gonna be late for school.”
“Since when do you care about that? I’ll call them and tell them you’re gonna miss your first two classes. You want breakfast burritos? I can scramble up some eggs and bacon.”
His apprehension never fades and I hate that we’ve gotten to this point. I want him to trust me and feel like he can come to me about anything.
“What’s the occasion? Dad getting out?”
I shake my head as I gather the food from the refrigerator. “No, not yet.”
“Have you heard anything?”
