Insane

by H G Lynch

  He laughed again, and my heart stopped cracking to pieces. We lowered our hands, and he stepped forward, his eyes fixing on mine. His humour faded. “Tell me something, Cal,” he said quietly. I nodded. He flicked a glance at Casey, who was still deliberately not paying attention to us. “Do you like him?”

  I blinked. I started to nod, but Chester gave me a hard look. “No, I mean, do you really like him, Cal? Forget about where we are for a second, forget about your weird telepathy whatever. Does he make you laugh? Does he make you feel safe? Do you like him?”

  “I…” I shot a look at Casey, standing silent and thoughtful in a puddle of moonlight, beautiful and damaged. “I don’t know,” I murmured. “I’ve only known him for a few weeks but…yes, I like him. A lot.” I realized as I said it that it was true. Telepathy aside, there was just something about him…

  Chester nodded. “Okay then. If you really like him, I’ll try…I’ll try not to hate him so much. I’ll even be civil to him if that’s what you want. But just promise me you’ll be careful, Cal?”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  He frowned and added, “And for God’s sake, if you’re going to get all hot and heavy, please do it in his room. That way, I’m a lot less likely to see it.”

  I scowled at him and pretended to punch him. My fist went through his arm and he laughed. Leaning forward, he brushed an air kiss on my forehead, and murmured, “Night, Cal.”

  “Night, Ches,” I murmured. He disappeared, like mist melting away under the sun. I turned to Casey, who gave me a cautious sideways glance. I sat down on the rumpled bed. “So,” I said, “How exactly are we getting you back to your own room without being caught?”

  Chapter Eight

  ** Callie **

  Turned out, there was no way to get Casey back to his room. He and I stayed up the rest of the night, talking and occasionally touching. We didn’t kiss again by mutual silent agreement – Chester had a point after all; I barely knew the guy. So we remedied that in the hours before dawn streaked the sky outside the window with azure blue and pastel green.

  He told me about how lonely he’d felt as child after his mother died, how he’d turned to music to find solace, how it became the most important thing in his life. He told me about how scared he was when his dad got shot, ranted about how much of a bitch his step-mother was. I saw the pain on his face as he explained what it had been like to wake up the hospital, unable to hear, how devastated he felt when he was told – in a written note, of all things – that he would never hear again.

  I told him about my mother getting rid of my dog, Molly, when I was little, and about how I met Chester. I told him about my brother Evan, who had wanted to go with my mother after the divorce, but Dad had convinced him to stay. I told him about how I still felt guilty about Chester’s death, and how I still had nightmares about it – about the night the policeman came to my door to tell me he was dead, the day of the funeral when I watched strangers lower my best friend’s casket into the ground. I told him of my anger that my father wouldn’t believe me that Chester was a ghost, and that he’d put me in here. I told him how scared I was about these blackouts, told him what Chester had said about darkness and cold breath on his neck, and how I thought there was something unnatural in the hospital, and he didn’t laugh at me or call me crazy – he believed me.

  He said that if there was even a chance he wouldn’t get caught and probably sent to jail, he would escape with me. I said that I didn’t want to escape if he couldn’t.

  Then, once the sun was up and I could hear birds twittered through the glass, we talked about lighter things. I told him the story of the time Chester and I rode our bikes from our separate houses, all the way to the cinema at nine at night, when we were meant to be in our beds, just so we could sneak in and see the late showing of a new horror movie.

  He told me about the time his mother took him to the beach to listen to the waves because, she’d said to him, they were like the world’s natural music. He told me about the first time he played a tune on the guitar perfectly, and how awful he’d been at the violin until he found his mother’s old sheet music and learned to play the fast, hopping fiddle tunes she’d loved.

  And then there was the click of my door unlocking for the day, and I peered out to make sure the hallway was clear before motioning Casey out. We stood in the hallway outside my room for a moment, and then Casey held out his hand. I took it, and we headed to the canteen on our floor for breakfast.

  Dr. Moore came in while we were sitting in the common room. Casey was buried in Treasure Island, and I, huddled in the window seat next to him, listened to him reading the lines in his head. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the wall, enjoying the sound of his mental Voice as he read – it wasn’t nearly as nice as his real voice, but it no longer creeped me out, our telepathy. It was actually sort of soothing.

  “Good morning, Callie,” Dr. Moore said, touching Casey’s shoulder as she walked up, letting him know she was there since he couldn’t hear her.

  He blinked, looking up from his book, and grinned. “Hey, Dr. Moore,” he said casually, folding down the corner of the page he was on and shutting his book. Dr. Moore gasped, staring at him. Her hand rose to cover her mouth, and for a second, I couldn’t understand her shock. Then I looked at Casey and realized he looked a little shocked too, and I remembered him telling me that Dr. Moore had taught him to read lips, but until he met me, he hadn’t spoken aloud to another person in two years.

  Casey shot a look at me, and I grinned, amused. Slowly, he grinned back, and Dr. Moore looked between the two of us with dawning understanding. She started to smile too. “Casey, you’re talking. This is amazing progress,” she said, her lips forming the words clearly for him.

  He shrugged, dropped his book so he could make some quick hand gestures. My eyes widened. You know sign language? This whole time, you’ve been able to do sign language, and you’ve never used it before? I thought at him, surprised.

  He glanced at me. Dr. Moore taught me when I first arrived, but I don’t like using it. It feels stupid, like an advertisement of my deafness, and anyway, what use is it when she’s the only other person here who knows it? I just feel more normal reading lips.

  Dr. Moore cleared her throat, and I realized Casey and I had been staring at each other while we talked telepathically – to her, it must have seemed like we had just gotten lost in each other’s eyes or something. I blushed, looking away, but Dr. Moore smiled knowingly. She turned to Casey. “It’s time for your session,” she said, both aloud and using her hands. He scowled, tapping out some more hand signs. Dr. Moore shot me a glance, and I saw warmth in her eyes – I wondered what Casey had said. “Callie will still be here when you get back,” she said, laughter in her voice.

  I didn’t take offence at that, because it wasn’t a dig at my involuntary status here. It was said with fondness, and I knew I’d just earned major brownie points with Dr. Moore for having gotten Casey to talk. What did you say? I asked mentally.

  Casey bowed his head, blushing slightly. Nothing, he lied as he got to his feet. I bit down on a grin. He handed me his book so I could keep reading while he was gone, and I realized he knew I’d been listening to him read. My grin broke free, and he smiled back.

  Shooting Dr. Moore a quick glance, he bent and brushed a brief kiss on my forehead, stirring butterflies in my stomach. Then he turned and strode past Dr. Moore toward the common room doors. Dr. Moore looked like she was practically bursting, she was smiling so wide, and I knew that this was going to make a great addition to her notes.

  I was half-way through Treasure Island when Casey returned, greeting me with a tap on the head. I looked up and he smiled at me. “You’re up, Button.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, where Dr. Moore was standing, pretending she wasn’t watching us.

  I handed Casey the book and stood up. I felt his eyes on me as I crossed the room, and tried not to shiver. Dr. Moore beamed at me and said, “I think we have
a lot to talk about in our session today, Callie. Follow me.” She turned and strode out the Common Room doors, her steps swift.

  I turned and looked across the room to Casey, drawing a finger across my neck in a throat-slitting motion. Kill me now, I pleaded telepathically. He laughed. I smiled and pushed out of the common room, following Dr. Moore to her office.

  Dr. Moore’s office was a small room with beige walls and matching carpeting. A single large window looked out over the courtyard, and wooden bookcases loaded with books lined the walls. There was a framed piece of paper with the letters PhD on it hung on the wall behind her big, mahogany desk. Her chair was upholstered in brown leather and looked cushy and comfy. The chair on the other side of the desk was brown plastic, like you got in schools, but there were two beanbags squished into the corner of the room.

  The mousy woman closed the door and sat down in her big, cushy seat behind the desk, and I took the hard plastic chair. “So. How are you today, Callie?” she asked, smiling.

  I considered the question, and said, “Good. I’m good.” It was true, too. I was good. I felt better than I had since...well, since Chester died.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Now, before we get properly started, I have to ask you the usual questions. Procedure, you understand. So, here we go. Are you hearing voices today?”

  Other than Casey’s? “No.”

  “Are you seeing things?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? Do you see Chester?”

  In the room? “No. Chester is dead.” That much was true.

  Dr. Moore nodded in approval. “Yes, Callie. I’m satisfied that you can accept that now,” she said, scribbling something on a piece of paper in front of her. I said nothing in response. I had never denied that Chester was dead. “Do you feel depressed? Do you feel like hurting yourself or anyone else?”

  “No.” Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve been able to answer that question truthfully.

  What did she ask? Casey’s voice popped into my head, and I almost jumped. I smoothed out my expression before Dr. Moore could see though and thought back, Spying on my session? What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?

  Casey chuckled in response, the soft sound of his laughter tickling the inside of my skull.

  You mean you didn’t spy on my session?

  Of course not.

  Uh-huh.

  I didn’t.

  Just as well. I told Dr. Moore all about our exciting, secret sex life.

  What sex life?

  The one we’re going to have.

  “Callie?”

  I blinked. Dr. Moore was staring at me, her eyes narrowed, and I realized I was grinning like an idiot. I cleared my throat and dampened my smile. “Sorry, I was just...thinking about something...what did you ask?”

  She looked at me for a long moment, her brown eyes probing, and then smiled knowingly. “I understand. Young love can be very distracting.”

  I spluttered. Casey was laughing hysterically inside my head, making it impossible to come up with an appropriate response. Dr. Moore went on, ignoring my stammering. “It seems that Casey has had as much of a good influence on you as you have on him. You’ve been perfectly behaved the last couple of weeks, Callie. No more attempts to escape,” – that she knew about anyway, – “No more outbursts against staff, no fighting, you’ve even been taking your meds,” – actually, I had a stash of pills in my pillowcase; I intended to dump them in the courtyard next time Casey and I were allowed out.

  Naughty girl, Callie, Casey whispered into my mind. His warm, mischievous tone made me shudder and my heart speed up. Not taking your pills? I think you need to be punished for that. Do you need me to punish you, Callie?

  My stomach dipped, and I bit my lip harder, squirming. Oh dear god, please shut up.

  “...love to hear how you got Casey to talk to you,” – no, she really wouldn’t; it involved my dead, ghostly best friend scaring the hell out of us both, and I had just established the not-seeing-or-hearing-things thing. “That’s an amazing achievement, and it’s clear he has very strong feelings for you...”

  Oh, yes, very strong feelings. Right now, I feel very strongly that I'd like to kiss you again. I feel like tasting your lips and your skin. I feel like sliding my hands through your hair, down your neck, under your shirt...

  My face was growing hot. Shut up, Casey.

  “...important to make emotional connections, but you must be careful that you don’t become dependent on each other...”

  ...want to unbutton your shirt, slip it off your shoulders, lick your skin...

  Jesus. He was trying to kill me. What do you think you’re playing at? Shut up!

  ...on the bed, over you, against you...

  I closed my eyes, trying not to picture what he was describing.

  ...moving, sweating, moaning...

  Fuck. “SHUT UP!”

  “Callie?” Dr. Moore sounded shocked.

  Shit. I opened my eyes. Dr. Moore was staring at me, her face expressionless, but I could see the concern in her eyes. She leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk between us.

  “Do you want me to shut up, Callie? Or were you talking to someone else? Do you hear a voice besides mine right now?”

  Double shit. Casey had finally gone quiet in my head, but I could still feel him laughing silently. Bastard. “No, I...um...sorry. I just...have a bit of a headache.”

  Dr. Moore continued to stare at me, clearly unconvinced. After a second, she said quietly, “Callie, I understand it can be hard to talk about it, but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth. Are you still hearing voices?”

  I swallowed and shook my head. “No. I swear, there’s no voices.” Not now anyway. “I just have a headache. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  She gave me another long, hard look, and then nodded. “Okay then. I can give you some aspirin for the headache, if you like? How have you been sleeping? Have you been eating?” She opened a drawer in the desk and started digging around, presumably for the aspirin.

  What could I say? Oh, well, I didn’t sleep at all last night because Casey snuck into my room and we spent the whole night talking, after making out? I settled for a half-truth, hoping it would convince her I was just tired, not insane.

  “Actually, I haven’t been sleeping that great. With the blackouts, and those patients dying...I’ve been sort of scared.” There had been another death last night during the blackout; I’d heard two of the guards talking about it earlier. They were saying the hospital was cursed – I was of a mind to agree with them.

  At that explanation, Dr. Moore looked up, making a sympathetic face. “Oh, yes, of course. The blackouts have many of the other patients frightened as well. That’s perfectly understandable. We’re getting an electrician in next week to have a look at the wiring.”

  “Next week?” How many patients would die before then? Not that I thought an electrician could fix whatever was happening in the hospital; whatever was causing the blackouts, it wasn’t faulty wiring.

  Finally retrieving the little white bottle of aspirin, she popped off the lid and tapped out a couple of small, white pills and held them out to me. “Here you go, these shouldn’t react with any of the other medications you’re on. And yes, next week was the soonest we could get anyone to come in.” Because nobody wants to work in the asylum. She didn’t say it, but then, she didn’t have to.

  After I took the aspirin she gave me, we talked some more about me and my issues and my relationship with Casey and blah, blah, blah. Then she asked me if there was anything I’d like, as a reward for my good behaviour. I was struck with a sudden idea, and I chewed my lip, uncertain. I wondered if Casey was still listening in...but I couldn’t feel him anymore, so I didn’t think so.

  Hesitantly, I asked, “Could you...get a guitar?”

  Dr. Moore frowned, and I knew she understood it wasn’t really for me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Callie.”
r />   “Why not?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I know you’re just trying to help but...music is the one thing I’ve never been able to get Casey to talk about. I think those particular wounds are just too deep and too raw. Even letting him see a guitar could cause a relapse.”

  “A relapse?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Doctor-patient confidentiality. But I recognize that you and Casey have a unique bond, so I’ll allow it just this once.” She paused, adjusted the cuffs of her pale-blue shirt. Then looked me in the eye and spoke deliberately and carefully. “When Casey was brought in to us, he was very angry. He was resentful of the people around him because they could hear and he no longer could. He was in despair. He was, ultimately, suicidal.”

  My eyebrows drew together. “He never told me that.”

  She smiled faintly. “That’s probably because he doesn’t want you to think less of him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s weak. I see the way you look at him, and I know he notices it too.”

  “How do I look at him?” I asked, surprised and trying not to blush.

  “With awe. And I know that makes him feel strong. It makes him feel like he can handle anything.”

  Oh. “Did...did he tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “I’m a psychiatrist, Callie. I can read even the things that people don’t say.”

  I chewed my lip for another moment, considering that piece of information, and then nodded. “Okay...but if that’s true...if I make him feel like he can handle anything, then don’t you think he could handle seeing a guitar, if I was with him? I mean, don’t you think he deserves a chance to realize that just because he can’t hear music anymore, it doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy playing it?” She still doesn't look convinced, so I add, “Come on. I mean, Beethoven was deaf, and he did okay.”

  For a minute, Dr. Moore seemed to be thinking about it. Then, just when I thought she was about to put her foot down, she nodded and said, “Alright. Fine. I will get you a guitar, but the only time Casey gets to see it is in the courtyard, where the other patients can’t see, and you will be supervised by guards.”