It was one of those nights where the calm before the storm hovered in the night air like a foreboding of what was to come. A time for when change was lurking on every corner and the smell of eruption blanketed the city. The very same night Susan paraded to the hospital with no knowledge of what was waiting.
Those Manhattan streets became quiet under the downpour that erupted the moment Susan came out of the subway station. She’d forgotten her umbrella but was intent on completing her journey to the hospital. Taxis squealed across the pavement and her soggy shoes sloshed through puddles when the streetlights turned red. Her skin wrinkled with goose bumps from the cold autumn chill.
The hospital wasn’t too far off, and she knew Aunt Jamie would be too thrilled with a visit. She used to call Susan her little rose, and Susan was sure Aunt Jamie would need the company on such a cold and stormy night.
Susan battled the rain in a mad dash across the city, arriving at the hospital doors. Despite the trepidation that scurried frustration through her veins – Susan had always been leery about confronting the mentally ill, believing they were all violent and mad and would see right through her—she was begging to be let inside for a moment’s peace from the slaughter of nature’s indifference. The awning swayed under the heavy push of wind and rain, and the thought crept in quickly that it would be ripped from the concrete, ending quickly Susan’s momentary relief from the cold condensation. There was a bell by the door, and she pushed it vigorously.
No one’s coming, she thought.
The sky erupted into a haven of blue light as lightning ripped across the skyline in fierce successions as the river screamed in chaos behind the hospital walls. Skyscrapers illuminated like ancient coffins in the darkness. And what followed was nothing less than a growl from Hades, and the furious pounding of that thunderbolt remained in her psyche long after its dissipation. She would’ve sworn the devil’s anger was in that growl.
There was no answer from inside, and as she waited alone, cold, and angry, she thought of leaving, of heading back to the subway and putting the visit to rest. And Susan thought then about what she would say to Aunt Jamie. It wasn’t as if she were suffering from a physical ailment or had surgery or an accident. She wondered if Aunt Jamie would be the same Aunt she’d grown to know. What words of wisdom could she possibly offer? At twenty-two years old she was all too naïve to the ways of society. A young woman just trying to make her way in the world.
“City Hospital,” a voice said over an intercom by the door. She was both startled and relieved. The voice was female, cold, abrupt, and just a bit jagged, considering the intercom was more than a decade or two old.
“City Hospital.”
Momentarily, she thought of leaving. She didn’t believe anyone would actually care.
“Ms., are you here to see a patient?”
Big Brother. How could she have forgotten? There was a camera secured in the corner beneath the awning. She waved.
“Yes, I’m here to visit Jamie Prescott,” she said, and the front door clicked open with a loud buzz.
“Have a seat. Someone will greet you in a moment,” said the voice. The door closed on its own, locking shut with a click and suctioned force. Locking out the echoes of wind, rain, and thunder.
There’s no turning back.
She was inside a small foyer, a tiny corner of the universe, a box with locked doors for which she possessed no keys. The walls were painted yellow and apparently had not been retouched in years. The seats were solid wood with torn cushions. There were bloodstains on two of the seats. A musty stench—putrid almost—like the smell of a towel stained with urine, burned her nose, gagging the throat. And there she was, still dripping wet.
I need to be more prepared, she thought. How long is this gonna take?
Rain pounded the windows. Lights in the distance forced a sparkle through the bleak night. The entrance door opened unexpectedly. A tall man in blue scrubs, a grim look in his eyes, was holding a towel.
“Hello,” he said, offering the towel.
“Thank you, God,” she said. “Nothing worse than getting caught in the rain.” “Can I take your coat?” “Please do.”
Quickly the coat was off, and she exchanged the wet fabric for the towel, wiping down her arms and neck. There was a long mirror on the wall, but she hardly recognized the image that stared back. Eyeliner was smeared across her cheeks, but the towel was fine to wipe the smudges clear. She put her hair back as good as could be.
“Ready?” he said with an almost angry tone.
“Just a minute.” She was lining the last out-of-place curl into the web of the ponytail she’d thrown together. “Okay, are we ready?”
He laughed. He was chewing gum, and his sly smile wasn’t appreciated. “Follow me,” he said.
She didn’t realize it at first; looking back, that she treated the experience as a joke, thinking of rows of mad men licking paint off the wall. But nothing became more real than when the front door slammed and locked shut, and Susan immediately thought with an air of fear, What kind of place is this?
He led her down a long corridor. Bright beaming lights bounced off the white walls and tiled floor. Closed door after closed door, all of them were dark inside with no movement beyond the tiny windows. Up ahead, the final destination loomed like a dreaded choice for which there was no good outcome, no sanity. They were going through that door, she knew, and it was then that she noticed he’d been talking all along.
“I’ll need you to sign a waiver for it,” he said, holding a key in his hand.
“A waiver?” She cleared her throat.
His eyes revealed that he was privy to Susan’s lost concentration.
“There’s a lot of patients on the unit. I need you to sign a waiver relinquishing the hospital from any harm you might witness.”
“Is that standard procedure?”
“Yes,” he said abruptly, sliding the key into the door. “The hospital was sued some time ago after a visitor had been assaulted.”
He opened the door with a struggle; it was thick and heavy and screeched when it opened.
“After you,” he said.
But Susan was lost, looking into the room at the patients in gowns who seemed to multiply the longer she stood in the doorway. A television, bolted to the wall, aired an episode of Law and Order. Some of the patients sat on couches, others stood against the wall, a few paced the tiled floor, and still others sat with family in quiet conversation. The mood reflected her own—fear.
“I can’t keep the door open.” Hesitantly, she stepped inside.
“Over here, dear,” said a woman sitting behind a long desk. “I need you to sign the visitor log, and we need to keep your purse behind the station.”
Susan was quiet and did as instructed, holding back her tears in fear that they were all staring at her. They can smell fear, she thought. Their eyes burning a hole through her soul; she felt transparent, vulnerable, and timid.
The lady behind the desk stood up holding a paper, which she placed on the counter. She glanced at the log
Susan had signed. “You’ll be seeing Jamie,” she said.
“Yes. She’s my aunt.”
The woman stared at Susan and smiled. “You’ll be okay,” she said. But the reassurance did little to deter Susan’s fear. “My name is Lucy,” she said, offering her hand.
“Susan,” she replied.
“I’m the unit nurse, and I’d be more than happy to answer any questions you might have.”
Susan paused. I should ask something. “How’s she doing?”
“Jamie is doing fine. She’ll be going home tomorrow.” “Oh?” She was complacent. Why did her mother force Susan to visit if Aunt Jamie would be home tomorrow? She grinded her teeth, looking over the paper in front of her; the waiver the tech had told her about. Quickly she signed the document.
“Thank you,” Lucy said. “Jamie’s been sleeping since dinner. I’m not sure she knew you were coming.”
“Is it okay to wake her? I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”
“I’ll get her,” the tech who’d escorted her in said, and before Susan could protest, he was gone. She watched as he disappeared into the crowd of patients. One of the male patients, who was leaning against the wall and talking rapidly under his breath, started to pace the unit. He slapped his skull with his palm. She couldn’t clearly hear what he was saying. His words were muddled and spoken rapidly. But there were exceptions as certain words that were repeated started to make sense. Words like, “FBI… surveillance…cameras in the wall.”
Lucy said something but Susan had missed it. Her fear was worn on her face.
“Susan,” Lucy said.
A second patient stood up from the couch. He was holding a Bible and several magazines. He was young, about Susan’s age or a year or two older. The youngest on the unit for sure, and her heart went out to him. To have to experience such an ordeal as being committed when there was so much to do in the world. He was walking to the nurse’s station and never noticed how Susan stared. He was tall and thin, slender to the bone with long black hair that framed a slightly plump face. All in all the boy was gorgeous, but it was his eyes that caught her attention; those deep blue eyes seemed to hold years of courage and wisdom but were also wrought with a similar fear and depths of sadness. He returned her stare, and Susan thought to deter her eyes, struggling with the task.
Lucy acknowledged him. “Bishop,” she said, “how are you this evening?”
His lips quivered, and his jaw seemed unable to force the words from his throat.
“Will you be going to bed early tonight?” Lucy said.
In that moment of indecision, Bishop found Susan’s stare and she couldn’t help but return the gaze. He smiled briefly, and the smile touched her heart with comfortable warmth.
“Bishop?” Lucy said.
She interrupted their moment.
“I don’t like the new med,” he said. His voice was soft and gentle like a child too timid to ask for something. “It’s blocking my thoughts, and I can’t think clearly. I can’t read… or concentrate.”
“Well,” Lucy began, “Bishop, more than anyone else, you know it takes several weeks for the medications to work.”
“I don’t need medications,” he said.
“Now that’s your mother talking. Dr. Whalberg talked with you about this.”
Bishop nodded. “He doesn’t talk. He orders. He wants me to believe I have a disease I don’t have. He tried to convince my mother of the same, and look what happened. I don’t want to be here any longer.”
Lucy paused. “You won’t be here forever, Bishop. We just want to make sure you’re stable before you leave. It’s important.”
“I’d be stable if you stopped pumping me with pills.” “Well, you can talk with Dr. Whalberg in the morning.”
He touched his head with his palm, resting his elbows on the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay, Bishop. Why not try to get some sleep?”
After a long pause he replied, “Okay,” and cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lucy said, and she smiled for Bishop.
Susan wanted to say something, but the fear again pulled the words from her throat. He stepped closer, and his hand brushed against the small of her back. She couldn’t let the moment pass.
“Do you always read the Bible?”
He paused, holding the Bible close to his heart. “Every chance I get. In here, it’s the only way I can keep my sanity. My mother would read it to me when I was scared.”
“She’s a good mother.”
“She believed in me,” he said, and at the time Susan thought the comment was strange, eerie almost, as his voice held a kind of sad desperation. She saw tears develop in his eyes. “It was nice to meet you,” he said. “I can tell—” he paused, looking away. “I know your heart is pure.”
She didn’t reply but watched as he slipped into the bedroom.
“Such a poor soul,” Lucy said. “His mother destroyed him.”
“How so?” Susan said softly, still staring at the empty darkness of the bedroom.
“She filled his head with nonsense. She was a patient here too. Took her life not too long ago and left him to fend for himself. Police picked him up in an alley. He said he could see people’s souls on their faces. He was petrified, kept saying the devil was after him.”
“Susan,” my aunt called, her eyes tired. She was yawning as she walked across the room.
“Aunt Jamie.” Susan smiled as Jamie dragged her feet. Quickly, Jamie started to smile. “My little rose,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Susan with a big squeeze. “So happy you came.”
Susan returned the embrace thinking, So am I.
But that was all Susan would see of Bishop for a long while. Jamie was discharged as promised, and there was no reason to go back to the unit. But Bishop remained in her thoughts, as if he was calling to her over a long distance to hold him in memory. They met again in a bookstore six years later.
Susan was looking through titles on meditation, and Bishop was involved in reading a chapter on hypnosis when he caught her eye. Her heart just about stopped.
His hair was cut short, close to military style, and his face was thin. But she recognized him just the same. Bishop didn’t return the gesture, however, as he was thumbing through his book. Susan stood and stared remembering his touch, that cool brush of his hand. She remembered how her bones shivered with a sense of peace. Remembered how her thoughts always kept his memory, and she knew something had to be said.
Drawing in a deep breath she cleared her throat and stepped closer. “Have you read much about hypnosis?”
He took a moment to be sure the question was directed at him. His eyes turned to her, those big, beautifully round, blue eyes. “For the past few years,” he said. “My teacher recommended this book.”
“Oh. So you’ve been under hypnosis?”
Comfortably, he started to talk, “We’ve all been under hypnosis in some form or another. You’ve probably hypnotized yourself and didn’t know it.”
“How so?”
A smile crept across his lips, and with that smile his eyes twinkled. “Hypnosis is a concentrated state of consciousness. Think about the last time you were on the subway and missed your stop because you were lost in thought.”
“Happens more often than I’d like,” she said, and we shared a quick laugh.
“Well, that’s hypnosis.”
There was a pause then as Susan couldn’t take her eyes off him. Perhaps her gaze made him uncomfortable as she could feel a shy discomfort interrupt his thoughts. “I guess I sound a bit strange,” he said, and he returned his book to the shelf.
“Not at all.” She wanted him to be comfortable. “But
I’d like to hear more about hypnosis if you have some time. My name is Susan,” she said, offering her hand.
“Bishop,” he replied. His hand was soft and delicate. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
He hesitated. “Are you sure you want to hear about this?”
“Why? Does it seem strange?”
He didn’t remember who she was, and at the time Susan thought it was best not to address their first meeting. They talked until the early morning, and Susan knew then that her waiting was not in vain. She knew they would always be together.
But this is not a love story. This is a story of the divine light found through darkness on a day when all the world’s madness and hysteria came to know a higher power.