by D. J. Palmer
“Mama. This your boy?” Rapino appraised Ryan up and down. “Big fella. Fed him good.”
Annie came out from the kitchen to see what was going on. Seeing her reminded Grace of the gun in the safe in the back office. Annie was a shooter. The number of ‘Annie, get your gun’ jokes made over the years were far too numerous to count. Grace had been to the range with her and could attest that she could group her shots into her initials if she desired. Hopefully those skills wouldn’t get put to any test.
“Everything all right?” Annie asked as her gaze traveled across the hard-looking men lining the front of the counter.
“It’s fine,” Grace answered quickly, still holding on to Ryan’s shirt. “Vince, what do you want?”
“So okay, no cake. So…” He checked the menu for a second time. “How about some fountain Cokes for me and my boys then?” he asked.
“How about you—”
Grace gave Ryan’s shirt a tug, both to keep him quiet and to anchor him in place.
“Okay, and then you all go,” said Grace, finding a measured tone at last. “Annie, please get them some Cokes, no charge.”
Annie poured the Cokes from the fountain machine while Vince looked around the restaurant.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said. “Can’t believe we haven’t checked it out before. So, where is big Frank tonight? He here? Can I meet the fella?”
“Frank is my father-in-law, and no. He passed.”
Annie returned to the counter with the Cokes.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Rapino said, not sounding sorry in the slightest as he took his Coke and stuck a straw in the lid. “Your husband, he’s dead too, right?”
Ryan tensed.
“Get out,” he demanded.
“Just asking,” said Rapino, faking his upset. He leaned forward, squinting his eyes at Ryan, and growled in a low voice, “Why so hot, bro? You looking for something?”
Grace knew what that “something” meant to these men. Ugly. Violent. No way would she allow that to happen.
“Ryan, it’s okay.” Grace tried to ignore a sour taste that had settled in her throat. “Please, Vince, just go.”
Vince appraised Ryan for a beat, perhaps thinking maybe he wouldn’t just go, but then turned his attention back to Grace. He sent a leering look that filled her with a fresh flutter of fear. Then something changed in him. Like a car downshifting, he seemed to suddenly relax.
“Happy birthday, Rachel,” Vince said, removing the lid from his Coke as he took a big sip from the open top. He raised his paper cup skyward, holding an ice chip between his bared teeth. While sending Grace an angry stare, he tilted his cup to the floor, allowing all of the sticky, brown, syrupy Coke to spill out. It made a loud splash, mixed with the delicate tinkling of tumbling ice cubes. Vince let the empty cup fall from his grasp.
“See you in court, Gracie,” he said. “Looking forward to watching your baby girl get marched off in chains. But I’ll tell you this: one way or another, justice will be served—maybe even before the verdict comes.” He made his final statement while looking Grace dead in the eyes.
Then he turned around, his companions following suit as if it were a choreographed sequence. Away they marched out the door, the bell announcing their departure, the three of them oblivious to the shocked stares of the diners who watched them go.
Ryan shook with furious anger and might have leapt over the counter if Grace hadn’t maintained a hold on his shirt.
“Don’t,” she said firmly. “Let them go. It’s nothing. We’ll clean it up.”
“Nothing?” Ryan’s eyes glimmered with rage.
Sarah, a longtime employee who had watched the encounter from a safe distance, approached with a tentative air. She had a sunny smile, but she needed some natural sunlight and a polo shirt maybe one size larger to keep some of the customers from gawking. Grace liked her chipper personality and knew she was not one to easily get ruffled, but what she’d seen had rattled her good.
“I’ll clean this up right away,” she said hurriedly before setting off for the maintenance closet.
“What an asshole.”
Ryan couldn’t let it go as he kept his eyes locked on the door, maybe hoping for a return visit. Grace felt a wave of relief knowing they were gone.
“What did he want?” asked Annie nervously.
“To taunt us, I guess,” said Grace as she came out from behind the counter to stand next to the spill, which had spread on the floor like a brown lake with a jagged shoreline.
“It’s all right, folks,” Grace announced in a loud but calming voice to the patrons, who were still chatting nervously amongst themselves. “Those men are gone, nothing to worry about. Free slice or a drink for anyone who wants one. We’re sorry for any inconvenience, but everything is fine.”
Grace found a folding Wet Floor sign tucked behind the counter and set it in front of the spill, wondering what was taking Sarah so long to get the mop and floor cleaner.
“Why would he come here to taunt us?” asked Annie.
“I don’t know,” said Grace, wondering when the anxious feeling would abate. “Add insult to injury, I suppose. Make us suffer.”
“Because he’s suffering? He didn’t look too broken up to me,” said Annie. “I didn’t get one vibe off him that he gives a rat’s ass about Rachel.”
“Maybe that’s because he knows what really happened that night and he doesn’t care,” said Grace.
“Yeah, because he was there at the apartment, murdering her,” said Annie. “But then why come here?”
“Why does an arsonist return to the scene of a fire?”
Grace answered before Annie could.
“Because they get off on seeing the damage they caused, that’s why. The trial is coming up. For a guy like Vince that’s like a full moon calling out the crazies.”
At last Sarah returned, with a bucket, mop, and the news that they were out of floor cleaner.
“No, we’re not,” Ryan said. “We have a box of ammonia in the storeroom. You just have to dilute it with water. Hang on.” He managed to keep his tone a few tics from condescending. He headed off for the storeroom in a huff, Sarah following behind.
Grace was about to use the mop sans floor cleaner, but something held her back. She turned her attention to Annie.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Annie said, then grimaced. “Oh, sorry. Expression.”
“Actually, it is Penny I’m thinking of,” said Grace. “Ammonia … it might not have crossed my mind, except Ryan just mentioned it. That’s what I smelled in the visiting room when Penny suddenly reappeared. Someone got sick or something before I got there, and the place had been fumigated with ammonia.”
Annie’s blue eyes conveyed her curiosity.
“At first I was sure it was Eve who’d shown up to lunch that day because, well, that cold look in her eyes was there. Then I remember she sniffed the air and her whole expression changed. She got a strange, blank look, and before I knew it, it was Penny. She was back, with no idea where she was or what had happened.”
“She also stuck around for a while afterward in the ER,” said Annie, who knew the story.
Excitement blossomed on Grace’s face. “Scent can be a powerful trigger,” she said.
“Do you think smelling ammonia could bring back Penny again?” asked Annie.
“There’s only one way to find out,” said Grace.
CHAPTER 20
MITCH MADE HIS WAY (without getting lost this time) to the visitors’ entrance, where he awaited Grace’s arrival. He’d spent the night researching the innate power of the fifth sense—smell—and he couldn’t wait to debrief her on all he’d learned.
A buzz rang out, followed by a loud clank as the steel door to the visitors’ entrance opened. In stepped a burly guard, and close on his heels came Grace, with a determined stride and cool smile. Perhaps if he’d said unequivocally that Penny had DID, a friendly embrace might have followed that smile.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, probing eyes narrowed on him.
“I’m fine,” he said, mustering some conviction, though Grace did not look fully convinced. “Didn’t sleep well last night,” he added, which was a half-truth. He wasn’t going to cloud the day with news about Adam and his return to rehab.
“Tell me about it,” said Grace, pointing to a trace of dark circles that only now did he notice under her eyes. “Are we all set?”
“The room is reserved, and I’ve got maintenance swabbing the floor with ammonia as we speak.”
On his way out of work yesterday, Mitch had slipped one of the custodial staff a twenty for the favor.
“Excellent,” said Grace, her head bobbing eagerly. She seemed both nervous and excited, and for good reason. “Are we using the same room as before? I think it’s important that everything be as close to the way it was when the switch to Penny took place.”
“The very one,” said Mitch, starting down the hall.
Guards and patients, all females in this building, crowded the corridor, some chattering to themselves, others making low groaning noises. Grace, deep in thought, didn’t take notice of them. Because of Edgewater’s confounding layout, the only way to reach the visiting rooms involved some interaction between patients and visitors.
Grace had done this walk plenty of times, but even seasoned visitors sometimes found it hard not to stare. Mitch noticed her gaze fixated on a bedraggled woman with short dark hair, squinty eyes, and a square build. She held a well-worn Bible in her right hand, which she carried on her person most everywhere she went. Her name was Darla, a patient of Mitch’s. At one point Darla had a husband and children, but her disease—acute paranoid schizophrenia—caused impulsive and aggressive behavior, which was never a good combination.
Five years ago, Darla shot her husband in the face at point-blank range because she held an unshakable delusion that he was cheating on her—which, after his demise, proved to be untrue. Unfortunately, Darla still harbored delusions that women were after her long-deceased spouse, and her impulses, though tempered with medication, were hardly under control.
Mitch wasn’t overly concerned when he caught the brief eye contact between Grace and Darla, but he was keenly on guard. The vast majority of people with schizophrenia are not prone to violence of any sort. However, a small number who do suffer from the acute symptoms of psychosis can become quite violent, with delusions being the most likely trigger.
As Darla passed on the right, Grace refocused her attention forward, then took two steps before coming to an abrupt stop. “I should have ordered pizza to keep it the same as it was. I forgot. Dammit.”
“I wouldn’t be too worried about the pizza,” Mitch said. “We’re focused on the right thing here. I’m sure of it.”
Before they could resume their walk, Mitch’s senses became acutely heightened by a sudden surge of adrenaline. He turned to see Darla coming down the hall toward them, eyes blazing, guards nowhere to be seen.
“She screwed him, didn’t she?” Darla said, pointing an accusatory finger at Grace. “I saw that look she gave me. You whore. You bitch.”
Spittle shot from Darla’s snarling mouth as Grace recoiled from the sudden outburst.
Grace was too stunned to speak. Darla pointed her Bible at Grace’s face like she was flinging holy water.
“‘If a man commits adultery with another man’s wife, both the adulterer and the adulteress are to be put to death.’ Leviticus 20:10. Hear that, Missy Prissy? I’ll snap your neck if you so much as look at my husband again. Snap it like a twig.”
Darla mimed the promised breakage with a downward thrusting twist of her closed fists.
Survival instincts sent Grace backward, away from Darla, while Mitch, far more accustomed to these unexpected flare-ups, positioned himself between the aggressor and her target like a human shield.
“Darla, this is Grace,” Mitch said, speaking calmly, but in a firm voice. “She did not sleep with your husband. She doesn’t know your husband.” While Mitch gave the outward appearance of composure and total control, his insides were as tightly coiled as a jack-in-the-box waiting to spring.
“I need you to back away, Darla, right now. That’s an order from your doctor. Do you hear my voice?” He spoke in a commanding way to reinforce his position of authority over her. She didn’t budge, so Mitch changed tactics. “Your husband is dead and Grace has done nothing wrong to you.”
This got a reaction. Darla gazed wide-eyed at Mitch, looking profoundly confused. He knew the shocking information about Charles being deceased would require a moment’s pause for her to puzzle it out, and would, he hoped, help subdue her.
Behind Darla were two guards, who had somehow let her slip away from their sight. They were moving in quickly, ready to pounce, and from their eyes he knew they’d make it an aggressive takedown. By now, Mitch had seen enough fights at Edgewater to know that a quick resolution often meant a violent one.
“Easy does it,” Mitch said to the guards as he put up his hands to hold them in place. “I’ve got this.”
COs took orders from docs, and these two held their ground.
“Darla, I want you to look me in the eyes,” Mitch said. Instead, Darla kept her gaze and ire focused squarely on Grace, who continued to shelter behind Mitch. She was thick all around, squat like a tree trunk, and Mitch wasn’t entirely certain two guards would be enough if the situation were to escalate.
“Look at me, Darla,” Mitch demanded again, more forcefully than before, and that got her attention.
“I want you to calm yourself down now, right now. You have the wrong woman. Grace did not sleep with your husband.”
That might work better, he thought. Rather than try to get her to accept the truth about poor Charles, it would be far easier for Darla to hold on to her delusion that her husband was in fact a cheater and convince her this was merely a case of mistaken identity. Since it wasn’t an outright lie, Mitch had no qualms about employing a little bit of misdirection.
To her credit, Darla continued to glare but didn’t charge. She took several deep breaths, as she’d been taught, to tamp down her rage.
“You’ve got the wrong woman,” Mitch repeated. With a slight head nod, he implored the guards standing behind Darla to take a few cautious steps forward. They were close enough now for Mitch to read the nameplates pinned to their shirts, opposite their shiny silver badges. He didn’t know the one named Steadman, but he should have recognized the other man right away: Correctional Officer Blackwood, the same Blackwood who had nearly clubbed Penny with his baton on the day Mitch had met Grace. He was a bit surprised to see Blackwood still had a job, but was nonetheless grateful that the guard was on hand to assist.
“Darla, CO Blackwood and CO Steadman are going to escort you back to your room now,” Mitch said. “I’m going to come check on you in a little bit, okay?” And probably up your dose of Clozaril, he thought, recalling from memory the medications she was taking.
“I need you to go with them without complaint.” He used a voice that would be good for someone hard of hearing.
“‘Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled.’” She held up her Bible so Grace would know it was the word of God. “If I find out she defiled my marriage, I’ll tear out her eyes with my fingernails.”
“That’s absolutely uncalled for, Darla, and very rude,” Mitch said, sternly but in a softer voice than before. “Go back to your room and wait for me there. Is that understood?”
Mitch set his hands on his hips, sending Darla a look that made it clear his order was not open to negotiation. Something clicked, a flick of a switch, and Darla seemed to deflate on the spot.
“I’m sorry about that,” Darla said, going a bit red in
the face while addressing Grace in an apologetic tone. “Guess I had the wrong person.”
That was a big admission for her, Mitch noted. It meant she was willing to take responsibility for a mistake, let her ego take a bruise, and see for herself that she could endure it without any lasting damage to her psyche. It was a positive step that he could reinforce in her therapy sessions. The guards came forward and took hold of Darla’s arms in a gentle fashion; guiding, not pulling her, away from Mitch and Grace.
“Thanks, Doc,” CO Steadman said, relief evident in his voice and eyes. CO Blackwood didn’t appear nearly as pleased, and even went so far as to send Mitch a glowering stare. Perhaps he was still stewing over having been reported for his mistreatment of Penny.
Grace and Mitch watched Darla depart. She looked as shaken as he felt.
“Second day in a row I’ve almost gotten in a fight,” Grace said, reminding Mitch of the incident with Vince Rapino that had triggered today’s experiment. “That was very impressive,” she added.
“Not really.”
Mitch started down the hall, and Grace fell in lockstep with him.
“Nobody wants violence,” he said. “But it’s rampant here, and honestly, having more guards than docs on duty is a big part of the reason. Most of the time there are ways to defuse situations. Unfortunately, I can’t be everywhere at once. Are you okay? I know that was a bit unnerving. Darla can be … well, intimidating, and I can attest that her bark is not worse than her bite. She’s a real brute.”
“I’m fine,” Grace said, shaking it off with a shrug. “It’s sad, is all. There’s so much suffering here. So many people battling their minds.”
“Your daughter among them,” said Mitch, resetting the focus. Today wasn’t about Darla, but Penny.
“Do you think it will work?” asked Grace with a hopeful note.
“I’ve come across cases in my research where a dank smell reminds a victim of a basement where some abuse took place, which resulted in switching to a protective persona as a consequence,” he said. “Of all our senses, smell is the one most closely linked to memory, so I think there’s a good chance you found a way to trigger the switch from Eve to Penny.”
