DAKOTA SAT IN THE COMMON ROOM OF BELLEVUE STARING straight ahead, missing nothing. The chaos surrounding her made her want to scream, but she swallowed her rage and remained silent. To her right, a woman carried on an animated conversation with no one, gesticulating, grimacing, and flailing her arms about. Dakota wanted to slap her, tell her to shut up, but she kept her expression neutral. Across the room, a man pinched his own arm every few seconds then yelled, “Ow, stop!” No one paid any attention.
A young man in his early twenties was screaming as a nurse chased him around the room.
“No needles, beetles, stop, lop, mop. No!”
Dakota sprang up from her seat and ran to his side. “Nathan, eyes!” She got between him and the nurse.
He looked at Dakota with terror in his eyes. She spoke calmly. “The nurse is not giving you a needle. It’s just your medicine. I promise.” She turned around to the nurse who was new to the floor. “You have to show him the pill, be careful how you approach him.”
The nurse held her hand out, showing Nathan the cup holding several pills. “See, Nathan? It’s okay.”
His breathing became less ragged, and he took the pills and water from the nurse and swallowed them. Dakota led him over to a sofa and sat next to him, whispering in his ear. “I’ll come back and get you out of here, I promise. Just be good until then. Okay?”
He looked at her with adoration. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Okay, dokey, lokey.”
“Good. Now just relax and watch the TV. I have an appointment with Dr. Clary.”
She had been here over two years—after the court decided her mental state deemed her not criminally responsible for what she had done. She had to make Jack understand how miserable she was at being forced to accommodate the intruder that was taking over her body. In the beginning, when she still looked pretty and thin, she had liked the attention. Everyone was congratulating her and smiling, making her feel so special. But then things began to change. Her breasts were sore, and her legs turned lumpy with ugly blue veins. She had to pee constantly, and she was always exhausted. She was sick of being told what to do. No drinking, eat right, take your bloody vitamins. And Jack, always looking at her as though she was doing it all wrong, like he didn’t trust her with his precious child. She knew what he had planned, could see the disdain in his eyes when he looked at her. He was biding his time until she had the baby and then he would leave her. Take the wretched thing and start a life without her. Well, she wouldn’t let him. The baby was in her body and he would never get his hands on it. She chose the day knowing he would be working late. She intentionally started a fight with him so that when he came home and found her he would blame himself. The last words he said to her—that she made him say to her—would haunt him forever. She recalled the conversation with satisfaction. Her vitamins had been sitting on the table, unopened.
“Haven’t you been taking these?”
“They make me sick.”
Jack exhaled slowly. “It’s important for you and the baby.”
She stuck out her tongue. “All you care about is the stupid baby.”
Jack gave her a withering look. “Stupid?”
She put her face inches from his and sneered. “Stupid. Just like its father. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “What’s the matter with you? How can you talk about our child like that?”
“Because, Jack, as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have a maternal bone in my body.”
He was speechless.
She goaded him. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say you’re not cut out to be a mother.”
He turned his back on her and walked toward the door. “I’ll say no such thing.”
She ran up to him and grabbed his arm. “Be honest for once in your pathetic life. Maybe then we can start to change things. Say it!”
He spun around, defeat in his eyes. “You win, Dakota. You’re not cut out to be a mother.”
“Ha.” She was triumphant. “I knew you felt that way. Get out of here.”
When he got home that night she was nearly unconscious, but she was determined to hang on until he appeared, so that she could whisper the condemning words to him: “I guess I’m not cut out to be a mother.”
The lawyers advised her to plead insanity, and the court-appointed shrink had diagnosed her with bipolar disorder. Her attorney argued that the pregnancy hormones had sent her over the edge. She was more than happy to go along with them. She knew how to play the game. So here she was, waiting like a good little girl to see the useless doctor and continue to feed him the lies that would get her released. She had studied hard for her role as the improving patient and had no doubt her brainless doctor would soon let her out.
He opened his office door and called her in.
She bestowed her most enchanting smile on him. It was so easy. It bored her to death. She spoke her well-rehearsed lines, cried when appropriate, made her voice catch in the right places. He was nodding at her now, his facial expression one of earnest empathy.
She was a great actress. Her stint with Jack had been her longest-running role. Oh, the long seasons of depression left her bored, but the one thing that kept her going was her amusement at his clumsy attempts to cheer her up. He was pathetic, and his codependent behavior sickened her. When she was tired of being “depressed,” she would miraculously recover and become the Dakota he loved once again. What delight she took in the knowledge that his happiness was short-lived and at the complete whim of her moods. She threw herself into their lovemaking with one goal—to enslave him. She reveled in the sexual power she held over him. She broke him down, built him up, and broke him down again, all the while mocking him in her mind. She was sorry when the role came to an end, having grown fond of the game and crushing his spirit. She got her parting shot in, though—cutting the baby out of her stomach had been her idea—her masterpiece. She wanted to destroy him, make sure he would be no good for anyone else. She did so knowing she would have to pay for it, but it was worth it. The session was almost over.
She dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up tissue and looked at the therapist. Her lip trembled.
He stood. “Dakota, I’m so pleased with the progress you’ve made. I do think you’re ready to take the next step.”
She feigned grateful surprise. “Really, are you sure, Doctor?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, quite sure. You are ready. I’ll make my recommendations at your hearing.”
Dakota thought he looked pleased with himself. Soon she would be free of this place and back where she belonged. She had played her hand well and was ready, finally, to claim her reward. She couldn’t wait to be with him again. The only man she considered her equal and worthy of her devotion. Damon Crosse.