YOU, A PYROMANIAC psycho-killer? Right. Tell me the Unit didn’t soften your brain so much you believe that crap.
The protocol didn’t kill the voice.
If I hadn’t faked the doctors into stopping it, would the treatment have had time to work? Would she be dead?
Would you?
Paul’s lying, this is all a plot. He’s trying to throw you off your purpose. Your mission.
Purpose. Mission. Here we go …
He’s trying to make you think you’re insane.
Funny, I was thinking that was the voice’s job.
And now she’s back to continue her work—which begs the question: How long, exactly, has the voice been back? Maybe she didn’t just emerge. Maybe the voice resurfaced last night and decided I should take a little trip to town to arm myself.
No enemy dragging me out of this house.
No government conspiracy.
Just me. Just her.
And like when I torched my house and nanny, I was powerless to stop it. Turns out my sanity and freedom are on a lot shakier ground than I thought last night when I told Paul I was fine.
Fine is definitely off the table.
“Dee, are you listening?”
Paul. What did he just say? I look up. Eloise has joined us. Both are watching me closely. Maybe Paul knows the voice is back. But how could he possibly know? Don’t get paranoid—
“You okay?” Paul asks. I should tell him she’s back. I owe him that. Honesty for once. Full cooperation. Freedom depends on my cooperation.
What kind of BS has he been drilling into you?
Ethan and Kyung, the Guest—they exist. Or will.
Nope. I can’t let Paul know about the voice. She’s too big. It would be the end of any hope for Paul and me. For his trust in my mental state. And then where would I be? At Hanover, locked away in a chronic ward.
So I gather my wits and answer calmly, “Yes, I’m fine. What were you saying, Paul?”
“I said I know what I’ve told you, after the night you’ve just had, is a lot to take in.”
“Being found like that in the hardware store, it’s bound to be upsetting,” Eloise adds. She knows the whole story. Great.
“But there’s reason to be hopeful,” he says. “You’re so much better than you were. I think the protocol really did help … calm things. Most importantly, the voice in your head, Bix, she’s gone now. That’s going to make a big difference.”
Did they see me flinch? Hope not.
“We can make this work, Dee,” he says, “your life outside the institution, but we’ll need to take greater precautions.”
“Like what?”
Paul nods to Eloise, and she leaves the room. “I made a big mistake,” he says to me. “I see that now. Rushed your exposure to the outside world with all its triggers. The strain was too much. I think that’s what brought on last night. So what we’re going to do is pull back a bit. Slow things down so you can adjust to your new life. Its requirements—”
“What requirements?” I ask.
“The first would be limiting interactions with outsiders, strangers who could witness your … lapses. People less understanding than Arthur Morris, who might tell the police.”
Or might help you …
“What else?” I ask him.
“I need to know when you’re feeling it,” Paul says, “that dangerous belief you’re a savior meant for greater things. So, no secrets. You need to be completely honest with me.”
Really? Is that a mutual thing?
“Anything else?”
“Yes,” he says, eyes leveled on me. “For the time being, I think it best if I make the decisions involving your welfare.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your medical care. Eloise was right: It’s time we listened to the doctors. Use the medicine they prescribed to make things easier.”
Keep you under their heel.
Paul goes to the door and calls to Eloise. The nurse reenters the room, now holding a glass of water. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out two capsules, one green, one blue.
“Sedation. During the day? There’s got to be another way. Couldn’t we—”
Paul takes my hand. “Maybe last night’s events were actually a blessing. Now that we’ve seen what could happen. How easily you could end up back in Hanover if the right choices aren’t made about your care during these early days. So it comes down to trust. Do you trust me to make those choices now?”
Hell no! He’s trying to keep you from the mission. Stop you. You’re gonna need to kill him now. It can’t wait any longer.
And there it is—no better illustration of the truth in Paul’s words than this homicidal voice in my head trying to lure me over the edge in broad daylight. Coaxing me to kill my husband. There is no other way. I need to let Paul be in charge for now. Tie me to the friggin’ mast. Dose me.
I take the pills from Eloise. Swallow each with the water.
“Let me see, Mrs. Frasier,” Eloise says. Is she serious? Yes, she is. Waits till I open my mouth wide, then moves my chin around, checking every angle. “Now lift your tongue up.” Christ. But I do it.
Back in our bedroom, Paul shuts the curtains, blocking out the daylight so I can get some rest after my long night.
A slumber room of one’s own.
I get in bed, and he pulls the covers over me. “I’m hopeful we won’t always have to be this strict, Dee.”
“You are?”
He nods. “After some time has passed, and you’re feeling more stable—no more ‘episodes’ like last night—we can look into lowering the dosage, even begin taking some trips together. It’ll be a whole new beginning for us. We just need to be patient, not rush it. Allow things to stabilize, let the positive effects of the protocol have a chance to take hold,” he says, then kisses me and walks out the door.
Maybe he’s right. Things could get better. With time I might become less of a nutter, less in need of containment. There’s a chance my wings won’t always need to be clipped. That someday I could have a job, travel alone—but it’s not happening anytime soon.
The notion that if I could just get out of the Unit, out of Hanover, I’d regain my self-rule—that was just another lie of the mind. I’ll always be the lunatic wife the townsfolk have been warned about, kept safe up here. A protectorate of Paul and his good intentions.
That’s where we differ—his intentions.
I don’t think they’re good.
The first days were bad, but it’s getting better. I’m settling in, making peace with the new medicated normal. Paul’s taken some time off from work so he can be close by during this period of adjustment to help reacquaint me with my life.
And Eloise has been keeping me occupied with little projects where I can be useful: baking, putting up holiday decorations around the house. She makes sure it’s nothing too taxing. I know I wanted her gone when I first got home, but now I’m honestly so grateful she’s here, keeping the house running smoothly. Not sure how we’d make this work without her.
Things are definitely more peaceful, my keel more even. One day, not sure which, I came down the stairs and found Paul wrestling a Christmas tree into its stand. I froze, bracing for the holiday scene to engulf me in panic. But only brief flashes came to me, all nebulous and vague. Nothing substantial enough to launch a panic attack. The pills are doing their job, coating my nerves, breaking down my big, fearful ideas into bland, bite-size thought kibble. Best of all, they muffle the voice enough to make things tolerable. She only emerges at the fringes of my pill schedule, when the meds are lapsing.
So I slid past Christmas and have been wending my way through these last days of December mostly fine—but there are still those times when I need extra help. Like a moment ago—
We were watching the news on TV. Some senator speaking to the cameras from the steps of the Capitol. And I noticed a man in the crowd behind him who looked so much like the doctor in the Unit, the one with the wary, bits-of-coal eyes. The man the voice thought might be the doctor with the key to saving the far, fucked future.
Now adrenaline is surging through my body. I can feel it slamming into the tips of my fingers as my nerves are hijacked by the fear I’m not doing what needs to be done—about a problem my mind has invented. Pure fiction.
But my nervous system doesn’t care what’s fiction. It’s gone into angst overdrive, and the dread is overtaking me. Heart’s racing, mouth’s gone dry, and I’m struggling to get enough air. Paul takes my hands. “Let’s you and I say the words, okay?”
Paul’s mantras. He came up with them to help me when the drugs aren’t enough. Been reciting them with me, helping me learn. They’re a bit self-helpsy, hippie woo-woo, but they do seem to relax me. I nod, and he starts us off. “How do you find peace right now, in this moment, Dee?”
“By not craving a life I don’t have,” I answer, and immediately feel the call-and-response begin to work its magic, my nerves starting to back down.
“That’s right,” Paul says softly. “And what must there be instead?”
“Acceptance. I need to say yes to this life that’s right in front of me.”
He nods. “And what about the sadness and anger? What about the fear?”
“They’re just emotions,” I say. “Not real. So I let the feelings come and go, not resisting or opposing.”
“Good. Now tell me how you will stay free, be able to live your life outside Hanover.”
“By respecting you and others like Eloise caring for me, trusting you’ll know what needs to be done.”
“And how do you show that respect and trust?” he asks.
“By always cooperating. Freedom depends on my cooperation…”
We go through all the phrases, Paul’s whole mindfulness catechism, and when we finish, there’s such a lightness, such a sense of relief. The feelings of panic and desperation to do some mysterious something have all fallen away.
“Feeling better now, Dee?”
“Yes. Thank you.”