Insane

by H G Lynch

  I grinned. “Shouldn’t you be telling me not to go sneaking off with another patient at all?”

  With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet and looked down at me knowingly. He raised one eyebrow. “Would it stop you?” he asked. I shook my head. He smiled wearily. “I didn’t think so. The best I can do is offer you slightly less rebellious suggestions. And anyway,” he added with a glint in his eyes, “There’s no rule against you having a little fun.”

  I laughed as he walked away to talk to another guard before turning and leaving the common room. I hoped he was going home to get some sleep. The other patients were finally settling and starting to drift away from the window, so I guessed the ambulance had left. Dr. Moore came into the room and went to talk to the pretty brunette nurse. I looked around, searching for a familiar mop of brown hair, but I couldn’t see Casey anywhere.

  Looking for me? The voice in my head startled me and I jumped as Casey threw himself gracefully into the chair RJ had just abandoned. I glared at him, and he grinned back. He flicked his gaze to Chester and dipped his chin once in greeting. Chester gave him the finger and then disappeared. I sighed and rolled my eyes. Your buddy doesn’t like me much, does he? Casey asked, looking amused.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s not normally an arse.”

  Casey shrugged. Maybe he’s jealous.

  “Jealous? Of you? Why would he be?”

  Casey smiled innocently, and my heart skipped a beat. God, he had a beautiful smile. Because I can whisper sweet nothings in your ear all day, and he can’t do a thing about it, he murmured, his ‘Voice’ low and intimate, brushing the insides of my skull like feathers and making me want to shiver. He leaned forward and took my hand from my lap, curling his fingers around it and stroking his thumb over my pulse. I hoped he couldn’t feel the way it jumped at his delicate touch. Because I can touch you whenever I like, and he can’t.

  His eyes bored into mine, a lush forest green that I could drown in, and I tried to keep my expression under control. Butterflies beat at my stomach, and I leaned back, pulling my hand out of his. A little afraid he might touch me again, I tucked my feet up on the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I muttered, glad he couldn’t hear the way my voice wavered. “Ches is just my friend. He doesn’t feel that way about me. He’s not jealous – he just doesn’t like you because he doesn’t trust you.”

  Casey leaned back and shrugged one shoulder. Whatever you say.

  I sighed, scowling. He was so frustrating. “Plus, you are sort of a tosser,” I added. He just grinned. I shook my head. “But, I guess I should thank you for last night.”

  He tilted his head, leaning his cheek on his fist. Which part?

  “Um, the keeping me from doing something stupid and trying to escape again...part,” I replied. Although I thought I really should thank him for his quick thinking with the fake-kiss thing. But he already looked too smug, so I decided against it.

  His eyebrows went up. Again? How many times have you tried to escape?

  “Including last night?” I shrugged. “Four.”

  His lovely lips formed a little ‘O’ like he was silently saying ‘Oooh’. He sat back and lifted one foot onto his seat, linking his arms loosely around his leg in a half-mimicry of my position. So, he said, his tone careful, I’m guessing you didn’t exactly check yourself in here? He waved a hand to indicate the hospital.

  I felt my expression turn angry, and said flatly, “No.”

  Casey nodded, looking away. It wasn’t until he looked away that I realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off me since he sat down. Now that he wasn’t looking, a little of the tension in my gut uncoiled, and I relaxed slightly. There was something…intense…about having a guy stare at you constantly while you talked. I knew he had to in order to read my lips – it wasn’t like he just liked looking at me – but still. Intense.

  He cut his eyes to me sideways, and I couldn’t read his expression. You don’t think you’re crazy. He said it as a statement, not a question, so I wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

  I remembered the first day I saw him in the common room, when I’d heard his voice, but his lips hadn’t moved. I remembered him yelling that he didn’t belong here.

  With a small shrug, I returned his gaze steadily and said, “Neither do you.”

  His lips turned up at the corners and he bobbed his head in acknowledgement of my point. Then he asked, So, who put you here? Your parents?

  I squirmed, adjusting my feet on the seat. We were getting into personal territory. But he turned himself around so he was sitting on the chair sideways, his legs dangling over the arm – totally casual. As if we were discussing rugby scores. I blew out a breath. “My dad,” I said. “My mum’s...honestly, I’ve got no idea where she is. My parents got divorced five years ago.”

  He nodded, but he lowered his eyes, long lashes brushing his cheekbones. It was hard to tell because he was good at hiding it, but I thought I saw a ghost of grief on his face. I wondered what his story was. But before I could ask, he raised his gaze and asked, So how long have you been here?

  I looked out the window for a second, at the red and gold leaves on the trees. Those leaves had been a rich summery green – not unlike Casey’s eyes – when I first came here. “Four and a half months,” I said, hearing the misery in my own voice. Then I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “What about you? How long have you been here?”

  He blinked. Do you know the date, he asked.

  “Um, the twenty-second, I think.”

  He rolled his eyes upward, his lips moving. I thought he was counting. Then he smiled thinly and replied, I’ve been here two years, four months and six days.

  My mouth dropped open. “Whoa,” I breathed. “Either you’re a lot crazier than you seem, or you just really like it here.” Two years was a hell of a long time to be stuck here. How hadn’t I seen him around before? The answer came to me almost immediately: he’d been on a higher floor. Which meant, he really might be dangerous. Oddly, the thought didn’t scare me.

  Casey shifted, looking uncomfortable now. He stared at his knees, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. Well, my stay here is…sort of involuntary. He glanced at me to catch my reply.

  I frowned. “Sort of? What does that mean?”

  His expression darkened, and his drumming picked up pace so I could hear each of his fingers hitting the wood of the chair arm in quick succession. Let’s just say I had two options: come here, or go somewhere a lot worse for a lot longer. His tone made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and it took me a second to figure out what he was talking about.

  I leaned back, dropping my feet off my chair. “Wait,” I said, blinking. I licked my lips nervously. “You mean, jail?” My shrill tone caught the attention of a nearby patient, and I lowered my voice, whispering, “Jesus, Casey, what did you do? Kill someone?”

  I was only joking, but he looked at me full-on, and his expression made me want to run away from him. Holy shit, he did. He killed someone, I thought. Casey stood up abruptly and I realized too late he’d heard my thought. Shit.

  He started to walk away, and I stood, calling after him. “Casey, wait!”

  But, of course, he didn’t hear me, and I was too cowardly to run after him. He was a freakin’ murderer!

  I sat down again. Hard. I felt sick again. I’d been alone with him last night, in the dark. Another thought struck me like a ton of bricks, and I covered my mouth. What if Casey killed that woman? What if he pushed her down the stairs? Oh God.

  Worse? I still felt a delicious thrill when I thought of the solidness of his body against mine last night. Hell. This wasn’t good. This was so not good…

  I had a crush on a murderer.

  Chapter Four

  ** Callie **

  It was another week before I saw Casey again, and by then, I felt horrible. I mean, I’d basically accused him of murder. Sure, I hadn’t sai
d it aloud, but I’d thought it. Somehow, that seemed worse. He hadn’t even admitted to killing anyone – maybe I’d just misread his expression. Maybe he’d just thought my joke was in poor taste. Whatever he was sent here for, whatever he was avoiding jail for, he had to have had a reason.

  I was still thinking that when I spotted him in the hallway on my way to the common room. He was coming out of Dr. Moore’s office, and he looked terrible – like he hadn’t been sleeping. His hair was sticking up wildly in the front, as if he’d run his hands through it in frustration. Shoulders slumped, he turned and started walking in the opposite direction of the common room.

  With his head down, he didn’t even notice me – or maybe he did, and he was just ignoring me. He hadn’t been in the common room all week, and I’d gotten the impression he was avoiding me. I guessed he was going back to his room now, and I chewed my lip, debating what to do.

  Finally, I made my decision and grabbed his arm as he walked past me. His head jerked up, his expression going from surprise to anger in an instant. For a second, the viciousness in his eyes made me stop short. Jaw set, he yanked his arm out of my grip and made to stalk off. I hesitated, and then sucked it up. I wasn’t letting him go that easily.

  I ran after him and instead of catching his arm again, I stepped into his path, forcing him to stop. I held up my hands, and he came to a halt bare inches from me, and I swallowed as butterflies suddenly kicked up a storm in my gut. Whoa, Callie. Take a chill pill. The guy’s hot, but this isn’t the time, I thought, careful to keep the thought shielded from him.

  Blinking to refocus, I raised my gaze, and found Casey was already glaring at me. With those startlingly green eyes. Ignoring the winged party in my stomach, I squared my shoulders. “Hey, look,” I said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I was just...surprised.”

  He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the pale green fabric of his t-shirt taut. I tried not to notice. Why? he asked, his tone belligerent. It’s not like you didn’t already think I might be a psychotic serial killer.

  I sighed, guilt subduing the happy fluttering in my gut. “You don’t seem like a serial killer. Or any kind of criminal, let alone the crazy kind,” I admitted.

  He tilted his head, curiosity sparking on his face. How do I seem then? he asked.

  I answered easily. “Damaged.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. I’m in a psychiatric hospital. Anyone can tell I’m damaged.

  Biting my lip, I looked at him. Really looked. Under his obvious good-looks, there were the circles under his eyes and the lines of strain around his mouth. The closed-off body language and carefully controlled expressions. But I remembered the shadows of pain in his eyes when he refused to talk about why he was in here, the ghost of grief when I talked to him about my parents.

  I answered telepathically, my tone soft, You seem like you’ve been through crap you shouldn’t have had to go through.

  For a long, long moment, Casey just stared at me, his eyes burning. The silence stretched, the only sounds in the hallway our breathing. I waited for him to turn and walk away, thinking I’d said the wrong thing. But then he smiled faintly and asked, Do you want to go for a walk?

  I laughed, certain he was making a joke. But he just looked at me and I realized he was serious. I blinked. “What?” I made a show of looking around, lifting my hands dramatically. “Where? There aren’t exactly a lot of places to walk in here.”

  His lips curved up slightly. The courtyard.

  My eyebrows went up. “You’re allowed in the courtyard?” I asked, indignant and surprised. He nodded. I tried not to pout. The convicted criminal was allowed outside, but I wasn’t? That seemed unfair. But then, he probably hadn’t tried to escape three – technically four – times. Which, coming to think of it, led to one little issue…

  I shook my head. “Okay, well, you might get fresh air, but there’s no way in hell they’ll let me outside. I’m a repeat offender with the escaping thing.”

  His smile widened and he looked smug. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned back toward Dr. Moore’s office. Winking at me over his shoulder, he replied, Give me ten minutes. I’ll get you a pass.

  Casey was as good as his word, if not exactly on the dot about the timing. It was more like fifteen minutes than ten, but somehow – probably using methods that involved lots of his pretty smiles and silent charm, and undoubtedly, written contractual agreements – he got me a pass to visit the courtyard for half an hour.

  So I ended up standing on the lush green grass, breathing in the first fresh air I’d tasted in months, and wanting to fall to my knees and kiss the ground. I actually felt tears burn my eyes, and I held them back, embarrassed that I was getting so emotional just because I was outside.

  I mean, it was bloody freezing – September in Scotland wasn’t exactly cosy, and I hadn’t bothered to ask for a jumper or anything in my haste to use my outside-pass before Dr. Moore changed her mind and revoked it – and it wasn’t like I was actually free or anything. The entire courtyard was enclosed by high, unscalable grey walls, topped with shards of glass embedded in the stone, and there were guards patrolling the grounds, keeping an eye on us discreetly at all times. But still, my throat felt thick with emotion, even as my chest felt light with joy.

  Even though I’d seen it out of the common room windows almost every day since I’d been here, the courtyard suddenly seemed beautiful; like seeing it through the leaded glass windows had drained some of its color, its sharpness, and made it dull. Now, spread out around me, it was bursting with the colors of autumn. Red and gold and amber leaves rustling on the trees dotted around in no particular pattern I could see, the emerald grass crisp with melting morning frost, the sky a gorgeous, clear blue that seemed to stretch on forever, flowing out over the boundaries of the tall, imprisoning walls. The wind was gentle, but with a crisp bite of chill, and the scents of frost and damp leaves and the sweet, earthy scent of autumn filled my nose and lungs.

  After four and half months of nothing but pale walls and pale floors and pale clothes, the smells of bleach and lavender fabric softener and gooey, overcooked hospital foods – after all that, this was heaven.

  My desperate urge to touch the grass overcame my embarrassment and I fell to my knees, planting my hands on the grass. The soft, springy blades tickled my palms, frost melting and damping my fingers and soaking into my trousers. Goosebumps sprouted up on my arms, and I sighed, tipping my head back and closing my eyes, feeling the wind and cool morning sunlight on my face. Footsteps crunched softly next to me, and I didn’t bother opening my eyes.

  I haven’t been outside in over four months, I thought quietly, sending the message to Casey. I felt his hand settle lightly on my shoulder, warming my skin through my thin shirt, and I opened my eyes to look up at him. I had to squint, and against the light, he seemed to glow, like a beautiful, silent angel. My chest tightened, and it had nothing to do with the colorful beauty of the courtyard. “Thank you,” I whispered, both aloud and in my head.

  He just smiled sadly and dipped his head. I thought I saw a blush rise to his cheeks, but it might have just been from the cold. Then his smile faded and he looked up. From my position on the ground, with the light shining from the angle it was, I couldn’t see his face clearly as he said, I wish I could hear the birds sing. There was so much sadness and longing in his voice that I automatically reached up and took his hand. He looked down at me in surprise and I glanced at our joined hands. His skin was a few shades darker than mine, his fingers calloused.

  Caught off-guard by my sudden breathlessness, I got to my feet abruptly, dropping his hand. I bent over to brush grass off the knees of my trousers, giving me an excuse to hide my expression until I could get it under control. When I straightened, Casey was holding out his arm, grinning. Let’s walk, shall we?

  I laughed and looped my arm through his. There were wide, curving pathways winding between the tre
es, beautiful amber hexagons of stone slotted together. We strolled along the path slowly, and I tried not to think about how warm his arm was or how my stomach dipped every time his hip accidentally bumped mine. After a while of walking in companionable silence, Casey glanced at me and asked, Where’s your boyfriend today?

  I rolled my eyes. “Once again, he’s not my boyfriend. And his name is Chester,” I stated, and then frowned. “And I actually have no idea where he is today. I haven’t seen him.”

  He was quiet again for a moment, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was chewing his lip, his expression caught between curiosity and uncertainty. Then he noticed me watching him, and sighed. Chester… he began, his brow creasing. He’s really a ghost?

  Looking down, I nodded.

  Quietly, Casey’s voice brushed my mind as he asked, How did he die?

  My throat clogged and I swallowed several times. I came to a halt and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to talk about it. If I didn’t think about it, I wouldn’t feel the guilt and pain of causing my best friend’s death – oh, yeah, Chester had told me over and over it wasn’t my fault; so had my dad, and my first therapist, and now Dr. Moore in our weekly sessions. The anti-depressants she had me on helped a little. But mostly, not thinking about any of it was best. It was easier not to feel the crushing guilt when Chester was standing in front of me, looking real as could be – looking alive.

  Without him here, all I could see was his pale, lifeless body in a casket. Of course, there had been no showing at the funeral because he’d been pretty messed up in the car crash, but I’d pictured him lying there beneath the shiny varnished wood, silent and unmoving, never to smile again.

  I opened my eyes quickly, and found Casey had stopped walking too. He was standing in front of me, concern and sympathy on his face. I realized there were tears on my cheeks, and my heart was beating too hard. Hastily, I swiped my hands over my cheeks to wipe away the tears. Casey squeezed my fingers gently. I’m sorry, Callie. I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to tell me, he said, his voice tender in my head.