Two hours after renting a Grand Am at the airport and making a phone call to Municipal for directions, Jessica was heading north on Veron Road in Broussard just as she’d been instructed. Three blocks down, past Rowen’s Eye Clinic and Suire’s Med Supplies, on the left, was the entrance gate to the clinic. She turned in, then drove almost another block to the back of the L-shaped building before she found the visitors’ parking lot. It was nearly empty save for a blue Taurus with a busted taillight and crooked bumper parked in the south corner.
Jessica parked the car and killed the engine. She sat for a moment, both hands lying limp on top of the steering wheel, and surveyed the building.
The clinic was two stories of staggered pale bricks that looked as though it had been built in an age when architectural expression gave way to practicality and state budgetary constraints. The second floor featured spindly louvered windows framed in aluminum strips that had bled rust down the length of the structure.
The bottom floor had no windows, only a door at the end of either wing. Each was dressed with an overhead awning that jutted out like a worn bill cap. The canopy on the right sagged, looking apologetic in its attempt to shelter the metal door beneath it. A concrete bench with a jagged chunk missing from its seat had been placed at the far end of the right wing under a massive oak. The canopy off the left wing didn’t look as pathetic as its brother. It hovered over a glass door that had the word EXIT stenciled across the middle from the inside.
Jessica suddenly realized that the only sound she could hear was her breathing. For such a huge place, it was unnervingly quiet. There were no hustling sounds of the busy. No sounds at all. Just an emptiness that echoed the oppressive silence of decay. A gloom pressed into her. If all the loneliness in the world, she thought, every heartache, every anguish could be packaged and housed in one place, this would be it. She started to feel lightheaded and queasy.
“GO RIGHT!”
The shrill command startled Jessica, and she reflexively slammed a hand against the driver’s side window to keep the sound, or whatever had made it, from hitting her face. Through splayed fingers, she saw a couple of teenage boys racing on skateboards along the driveway of a rundown apartment building across the street.
Exhaling loudly, she tapped the window lightly with her fingertips. “Cool it,” she told herself firmly. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face, and she rubbed at it briskly. With the engine off, the car had quickly heated up to what now felt like three hundred degrees. Her linen pants and blouse felt shrink-wrapped around her body. Jessica reached over the seat, unzipped her travel bag and seesawed the Wal-Mart sack from it. Should’ve put his stuff in a nice carry bag, she thought. Too late now. She shoved her purse under the seat and got out of the car.
As she walked up to the glass door, she noticed there was a push bar on the inside to exit but no handle on the outside to enter. Just inside was a narrow vestibule floored in gray-and-beige-speckled linoleum. It dead-ended, after a few feet, into a windowless door. She sidestepped to the edge of the building and peered down its length. An uneven sidewalk ran parallel to the outside wall. A sign, fastened to a brick, read: VISITORS ENTRANCE. Beneath it, constructed from black electrical tape, was an arrow, which pointed back to the front of the building.
“Figures,” Jessica said. She chuffed sharply and started down the long walk.
Her feet meandered around the concrete path’s cracks and chips. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back, she thought, then wondered what kid had thought up such a rhyme.
Maybe, a kid whose mother swung at her butt and legs with the buckle of a belt just because the bathtub overfilled with water and wet the floor. Or maybe—just maybe because that kid accidentally knocked over a favorite knickknack that shattered into a million pieces. Yes, maybe when the beatings rode up high on her calves and back she’d sing that little ditty quietly, under her breath. And in the morning, with the welts and black and blue marks still stinging under thick blue jeans and a long sleeved blouse, she’d walk along the school yard sidewalk, stepping purposefully on each open crevice and hum that little rhyme, that wish, that canticle of remorseful hope.
Jessica shook the images from her mind as she approached the front of the building. A bulky canister filled to overflowing with ash-colored sand and cigarette butts flanked the short flight of steps she took to the entrance.
Cool, peppermint-scented air welcomed her as she entered the foyer. A few feet beyond the lobby was a spacious waiting room drab in its beige-painted cinder block walls and void of furnishings except for an enclosed reception area. The cubicle looked like a giant box in the middle of an empty warehouse. Sheets of scratched Plexiglas formed the upper portion of the box. An arched opening had been cut out of the bottom.
A stubby woman stood inside the box near a collection of filing cabinets with her back to Jessica. She seemed preoccupied with stacks of manila folders that fanned out along a foot-wide cornice. Jessica watched for a moment as the woman flopped a hand lazily over an open file drawer. She picked up a folder, studied its tab like it held a subliminal message that needed decoding, then slowly put the file into the cabinet.
Jessica cleared her throat. The woman didn’t turn around. She cleared her throat again.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be right there,” the woman said irritably.
Slightly taken aback and beginning to feel a little more than awkward, Jessica glared at the woman’s back.
File up, look, twist, put in, turn back. File up, look, twist, put in, turn back.
Jessica tried again, “Excuse me, I’m looking for Todd Guidry.”
File up, look, twist, put in, turn back.
“The police department told me to come here.” Jessica hoped her enunciation of the local authority title would cause a reaction.
It didn’t.
File up, look, twist, put in, turn back.
The sudden chirping from the phone did make the woman turn around—eventually. She wore white slacks and a matching tunic that zipped in the front. A large, plastic tag with the name MILDRED CARRIER stenciled across it adorned her breast pocket. Her hair, short and salt-n-peppered, was slicked back from a broad forehead that looked like it had never known a worry despite the fact that she must have been nearing sixty.
Mildred scowled as she picked up the phone, her gray eyes clear and suspicious and intent on Jessica’s face when she placed the receiver to her ear. “Municipal,” she said, the word sounding wrapped in thick mucus. It made Jessica clear her own throat. “Yeah, five o’clock.” Mildred cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Yeah, sure.” She banged the receiver down on its bed.
“Yeah?” Mildred finally addressed Jessica through the plastic divider.
Jessica bit the inside of her cheek, then said, “Jessica LeJeune. I’m here to see Todd Guidry. The police department contacted me and said they were bringing him here.” Jessica stepped closer to the scarred plastic, all awkwardness replaced with building anger. “Will you let someone know I’m here?”
“Are you a family member?”
“I’m his sister. My name is Jessica—Guidry—LeJeune.” She wanted to add, “Is that family enough for you, you thick-headed piece of shit?” but didn’t.
Mildred slowly dropped her eyes to a clipboard, and she flipped through the few pages attached to it. “Yeah, he’s here,” she said. She placed a thick hand on top of the counter and looked up, her face a sardonic mask.
Jessica bit down harder on her cheek, causing a sharp pain to shoot across the side of her mouth. She winced and released it. “Could you tell me where I can find him?”
“Sure, but it won’t do you any good.”
“And why’s that?”
“Policy.”
“Policy?”
“That’s right.”
Jessica drew closer until her nose nearly touched the divider. “Mildred,” she said evenly, “what the hell are you talking about?”
Mildred’s eyes became slits, and her lips tightened like taut rubber bands. “Policy here is that no one—especially family—can have contact with the patient for at least one week.” She let out a sarcastic huff and backed up a few inches. “Did you bring his clothes?”
“What do you mean I can’t see him for a week?” Jessica asked loudly. She pressed a hand against the glass, inadvertently releasing the Wal-Mart bag. A clatter echoed through the room as a can of deodorant hit the floor and rolled out of the bag.
Mildred wasn’t fazed. “I told you. Policy.”
“I want to talk to someone in charge,” Jessica demanded.
Mildred stared at her, amused.
“Do you hear me? I want to talk with your supervisor or the doctor in charge.”
Mildred’s expression became one of mild aggravation, as though Jessica was a gnat buzzing around her ear and needed to be swatted away. Picking up the phone, she pressed two buttons and waited. She wasn’t glaring at Jessica now. That game had been played and lost.
Jessica folded her arms across her chest and widened her stance, watching as the woman barked to someone on the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, there’s someone here who wants to see Todd Guidry. His sister. Yeah, Jessica LeJeune. I told her that. She wants to see someone in charge. Yeah—all right.” She slammed down the receiver and scratched the back of her head.
Jessica lifted her chin, awaiting the verdict.
“Go through that door,” Mildred said, tossing her head to the right, “when you hear the buzzer.” Her hand reached under the counter. "Go down to the end of the hallway and take a right. There’s gonna be a door straight ahead. That’s the commons area. Someone’ll let you in and talk to you there.” She poked a finger hard against the glass. “You’re gonna have to leave that bag up here.”
Jessica was a bit surprised the woman had even noticed she’d carried one in. She picked up the bag, herded the deodorant can back into it, then looked for an opening in Mildred’s cage. She didn’t see one. Not up to another pissing contest, Jessica lifted the bag, flattened it as much as she could, then reluctantly pushed it through the hole in the Plexiglas. She had a strong suspicion that Mildred Carrier was going to do a thorough inspection of the contents.
“Please make sure Todd gets this.”
“He’ll get it,” Mildred answered tartly, not looking at her.
Heading toward the door, Jessica looked back over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, hoping the small offering of truce would at least allow Todd to get his underwear.
The buzzer sounded, and the door opened heavily when she pulled. She walked into the hallway, and a flutter rode through her. Twenty feet down the narrow corridor, the flutter became flat-out fear, and Jessica wanted to run through the building shouting Todd’s name. Instead, she concentrated on the sound of her footsteps and turned right at the end of the hall.
She hadn’t quite reached the door ahead of her when it swung open and a young, muscular man greeted her.
“How ya doin’?” he asked, a broad smile filling his face. He had blond hair trimmed short and combed stylishly away from a round, almost feminine face. He stood with his left shoulder against the door, holding it open at half-mast. An overlapping of whispers and grunts came from inside the room behind him. “Come on in. They called Dr. Rocheaux. He’s here somewhere making rounds and shouldn’t be but just a minute.” He swept his right hand down and low. His white uniform, similar to the one Mildred wore, whispered a starchy crackle, and Jessica expected him to finish off with, “After you, mi-lady.”
“Thank you—Russell,” Jessica said, reading the tag pinned to his jacket.
His grin widened. Jessica returned it warily and stepped in front of him, feeling his eyes follow the top of her head as she walked by.
The room was of considerable size, windowless, and smelled of corn chips and stale sweat. The walls and floor were the same gray and beige as in the hallway, only with signs of much heavier wear. Metal folding chairs accompanied six tables that were lined up cafeteria-style in the middle of the room. Leaning over one of them was a heavy-set, dark-skinned man, his face gleaming with perspiration. His nostrils flared and pulsed as he studied the face of his scrawny companion who sat across from him, shoveling through a family-sized bag of Fritos. The small man grunted heavily as he pressed more corn chips into his mouth, stretching his cheeks out farther and farther until he looked like a mutant chipmunk.
“He’s gonna do it! He’s gonna hurl! Gonna do it! Gonna hurl!” the large man chanted excitedly.
Feeling as though she had intruded on some secret ritual, Jessica looked away quickly and surveyed the rest of the room. Two card tables stood near the far right wall, both scarred with old cigarette burns. A middle-aged man with gray hair that clumped together in greasy ropes sat at one of them. When he spotted Jessica looking his way, he shifted hurriedly in his seat, folded his hands in his lap, and began rocking the upper part of body. His pale, thin lips moved frantically, emphatically, as though in muted debate.
At the back of the room, a television sat high on the wall, the volume barely audible. Two women sat reticently watching the screen, one absently twisting strands of hair around her finger.
Against the left wall stood an enclosed cubicle like the one in the reception area only smaller. In it were two women, one reading from a folder and the other hovering over tiny paper cups.
“You can sit here,” Russell said, pointing to the first table near the door. He must have sensed her hesitation because he added, “I’ll be right here until Dr. Rocheaux gets here. Okay?” He glanced over at the guy with the puffy cheeks. “Hey, Ben, stop with the Fritos! You don’t want me to take them away from you, do you?”
Ben grabbed the bag and pulled it tight against his chest, crushing most of the chips. His cheeks now a purplish pink, he looked up at Russell and shook his head.
“Sorry,” Russell said, turning his attention back to Jessica. He pulled out a chair, sat, and folded his hands together with an exaggerated flourish. “So, your brother’s here and you’ve come to see him?”
Jessica felt nearly every eye in the room turn toward her as she sat down. “Yes,” she said. “I was contacted yesterday and told he was being transported here.” She looked at Russell and felt a sudden need to explain the lapse of time in her arrival. “I live in Memphis.”
Russell chuckled heartily. “I’ve been to Memphis,” he announced. “A couple of years ago. Got to see the King’s house and airplane and all. It was great! It must be terrific, getting to see it anytime you want to, huh?”
Jessica smiled politely. There was something openly innocent about Russell, and she knew he would be floored and filled with a thousand questions if she admitted she’d never been to Presley’s house. The thought of going through a dead man’s home and looking through his belongings and private life gave her the creeps. But she didn’t feel like playing fifty questions. “Yes,” she answered simply, then changed the subject. “Have you worked here long?”
“A bit over a year.”
Jessica heard a chair screech roughly across the floor and looked up to see one of the television watchers making her way over to them. The young woman wore pink shorts and a red-and-blue plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Pink slippers with open backs flopped loudly against her heels when she walked. A black, lopsided ponytail hung over her right shoulder.
“Hey, Terri.” Russell said to the girl. “How ya doin’?” He sat back in his chair, and Terri moved closer to Jessica. “Me and this nice lady are talkin’. Is there something I can get for you?”
Terri shuffled up to Jessica’s chair and pressed her shins against the edge of the seat. “You got a cigarette?” she asked loudly, her eyes darting from Jessica to Russell, then across the room. “I can have a cigarette?”
Startled, Jessica leaned away from the girl. “I don’t smoke,” she said hurriedly.
“Now, Terri,” Russell said, “you know there’s no smokin’ in here. You gotta wait for break time, and you’ll get your cigarettes in the smoke room.”
Terri didn’t register understanding or caring at Russell’s reminder of common room etiquette. She fixed her gaze on Jessica and pulled at the bottom of her shirt nervously. “You got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke,” Jessica repeated louder. She looked at Russell anxiously.
He unfolded his large hands and smiled at Jessica. “Come on now, Terri,” he said. “Leave the lady alone. You know you can’t smoke in here anyway.”
Terri started shifting from one foot to the other as though she meant to walk through the chair. Jessica stiffened. The girl was so close and her gaze so intense it frightened her. She fought the impulse to jump up and bolt for the door.
Terri cupped a hand over her mouth as though intending to cough. She leaned closer to Jessica, then jerked her hand away quickly. “You got a cigarette?” she asked again, louder this time. Her emerald eyes blazed, and she began to wag her head from side to side. “Yeah, yeah, the bitch’s got a cigarette. She ain’t sharin’. She ain’t gonna hand it over.”
Jessica leaned back so far and hard against her chair it wobbled, and she struggled to keep from falling over.
“Come on, Terri,” Russell said, already on his feet and moving toward her. “Be a good girl. Go watch the soaps or somethin’, okay?”
Terri plucked at the buttons of her shirt and tossed her head back, yelling, “You got a cigarette?”
Frito Ben pulled his chair closer to the table, and another teeth-clenching screech filled the room. As if on cue, his partner resumed his enthusiastic mantra. “He’s gonna hurl! He’s gonna hurl!”
Terri stepped back slowly as Russell approached her. She grabbed her ponytail and yanked hard. ”Yeah, she got one. Look it, she got cigarettes. The bitch’s stashin’ ‘em in her drawers. That’s what she’s doin’, stashin’ ‘em in her drawers.”
“Okay, here we go,” Russell said, taking the girl by the arm and pulling her gently. She let go of her hair and crooked her arm around his. Russell glanced back over his shoulder at Jessica. “Be right back.”
Jessica watched nervously as he walked Terri back to her seat and pushed down gently on her shoulders until she sat. The girl quickly snatched a strand of her hair and began twisting it around her index finger. Russell patted her shoulders, his smile broad and open.
Jessica stood up slowly, trying to be inconspicuous. Peripherally she noticed the man at the card table rocking harder now, his lips still moving in silent fury. Ben, who had evidently been distracted by Terri, turned back to his attentive friend and resumed shoving corn chips into his mouth by the handful. The women in the cubicle, who Jessica assumed were nurses, looked up only briefly to watch Russell with Terri.
A buzzer sounded, and the door next to Jessica clicked open. A balding man with wire-rimmed glasses walked briskly into the room. His eyes darted about before settling on Jessica.
“Ms. LeJeune?” he asked, marching up to her.
Jessica never thought five foot five was significantly tall for a woman. But now she felt like an Amazon as she stared at the pink wrinkles on the top of the man’s head. “Yes, I’m Jessica LeJeune,” she answered, holding out her hand.
He shook it limply. “I’m Dr. Rocheaux,” he said. “I hear there’s been a misunderstanding?” He took his hand from hers and tucked it beneath one arm.
“A deputy from Lafayette contacted me yesterday and said that my brother was going to be brought here,” Jessica said. She thought she sounded like a scratched CD, hopping over the same words again and again. “I’d like to see him. Can you tell me anything about his condition?”
“Todd Guidry is your brother?”
“Yes.”
Rocheaux unfolded his arm and leaned against the table. “No one explained our policy to you?” he asked, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head.
“When I called yesterday, the receptionist told me to bring clothes and toiletries. She never said anything about a policy.” Jessica shifted uncomfortably.
Suddenly, a loud “YO!” and thump came from the neighboring table. Jessica and Rocheaux turned simultaneously.
Frito Ben’s face was now a vivid purple, and globs of pasty corn chips mixed with what looked like ham chunks and cottage cheese flowed out of his mouth in waves. Ben’s rooting companion pounded on the table, his face bright with triumph. “I knew it!” he shouted. He leaned over examining the clots on the table like they were precious jewels.
Before Rocheaux could get to him, the big man began to poke at the spongy lumps with a finger.
Russell, who had wandered off to chat with the nurses, shouted, “John-John, stop that! Stop it now!” His long legs giant-stepped their way to the table, and he snatched the man’s hand away from the mess. The steady wall of vomit from Ben had stopped and was now spreading across the table in a voluminous pool.
“Russell,” Rocheaux barked, his face paling dramatically. “Get that man cleaned up, now!” He glanced over at Jessica, who turned her head to keep from retching.
“Yes, sir, getting to it,” Russell said. He’d already reached John-John and put his arm over his shoulders, nudging him toward the nurses’ alcove. One of the women came out with a pan and towel. She took John-John, who was still grinning and claiming, “I knew it. I knew it!” and led him out of the room. Russell took the pan and towel and headed back to the undigested corn chips.
Terri jumped up from her seat and hurried over to Ben’s table. She looked at the mess like it was yesterday’s newspaper; something there, just not important anymore.
Rocheaux rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “I apologize, Ms. LeJeune,” he said, pulling his glasses back over his eyes. “I don’t usually meet people in here. It’s just that my office is occupied at the moment.” His eyes didn’t meet hers as he talked. He was busy watching Russell clean up Ben and the table. “There are reasons for the one week, no visitation policy.” He turned and walked to the cubicle, where the remaining nurse handed him a stack of folders. He spoke up to compensate for the distance. “Once a patient arrives, there are many issues that need to be addressed. Stabilization is of the utmost importance, and, of course, there is the need to process the diagnosis, the medication needed, and the appropriate therapy.” He cradled the folders and turned sharply, heading for the door. “Dr. Lee is the one responsible for Todd’s case. You’ll need to contact him regarding his condition. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Wait a minute, please,” Jessica pleaded. “Can’t you make one exception? I just want to see him, to make sure he’s all right.”
Rocheaux did a quick twist of the wrist and looked at his watch. “There has to be time for stabilization,” he reiterated, reaching for the doorknob. “If we make an exception for you, we would have to make them for everyone, wouldn’t we? I’m sorry, Ms. LeJeune, I really must be going.” As if someone had fired off a starter pistol, he blurted out his remaining comments in rapid succession. “Like I said, Dr. Lee is your brother’s doctor. Dr. Philip Lee. He’s off today, but I know he will be glad to make some time for you to discuss your brother’s case. Check at the information desk for an appointment time.” A buzzer sounded. “Russell, would you please show Ms. LeJeune out?”
Jessica stood open-mouthed as the door closed behind Rocheaux. She looked back at Russell, who was still wiping chips from Ben’s shirt. Terri stood close by, observing.
“Let’s go,” Russell said cheerfully to Jessica. “I’ve gotta take the Frito champ back to his room for a change.”
“Russell,” Jessica said quietly, walking toward him. “Russell, I want to see my brother. Can you help me?”
Russell tapped Ben on the shoulder, a signal that brought the small man to his feet. “Don’t worry, Ms. LeJeune,” he said brightly and a little too loud. “Your brother is gonna be just fine. They take good care of people here.” His eyes darted toward the cubicle as he maneuvered Ben toward the door. “I can’t,” he whispered to her over Ben’s head. “They got him in lock-down right now, and I can’t get in there.”
Jessica couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “You mean my brother is locked up?”
“Shh! Please, Ms. LeJeune,” Russell whispered sternly. He looked back nervously. “It’s okay. They put most of the new ones in there to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. I’ll try to check on him for you. I promise.”
“Hey, lady?” It was the man at the card table. He was standing now and leaning against the rickety table. “You gonna do me?” he asked, his eyes darting across the room, “You gonna do me, too, after the new guy?” The man’s voice shook, and he began to cry. “Please, can you do me, huh? Please?”
Ben spun out of Russell’s grasp. “Me, too, lady? I can be after the new guy, then after Roy there. Will ya? Will ya do me, too?”
Jessica looked from one man to the other in utter confusion. Their voices rang louder in unison, "Me, too, lady, me, too!”
Terri shuffled toward her, “You got a cigarette?”
“Please, lady, me, too! Me, too!” Both men were crying now.
“Got a cigarette?”
Everything churned in front of Jessica nonsensical and impossible. She turned from face to face, not knowing whether to answer them or run. Russell made the decision for her. He pulled her by the arm and shoved her through the door.