The day after Lauren’s death, Riley and the other ARC patients were only allowed out for meals, seated one to a table to discourage conversation, before being returned immediately to their rooms. The following morning, plainclothes police showed up and asked everyone to describe what they saw. Their answers must have lined up correctly, because no further interviews were conducted.
On the morning of the third day, the door to Riley’s room buzzed and Henry entered. “Hey, Ready Riley,” he said, but there was no joy in his voice. “How you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she said, though her tired, red-rimmed eyes showed otherwise. “What’s shakin’?”
He didn’t finish the callback. “I’m making the rounds to let everyone know that the lockdown’s over, at least for now. They also want me to tell everyone that trying to get out of the hospital like that can’t ever happen again, okay? Folks are just gonna get hurt if they try. There’s no way out and no point to even trying.”
“I’m guessing the others didn’t much like hearing that.”
He shook his head. “That’s why they sent me to do the telling instead of Biedermann.”
“So how are you holding up?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. “I dunno, Riley. Never saw something that bad happen right in front of me. I mean, yeah, we’ve had some suicide attempts here before, goes with the territory when you’ve got all kinds of patients with all kinds of problems, but never like that. Sets you back on your heels a little, you know?”
His eyes went soft as he looked back at her. “I thought I had her, Riley, swear to God, I thought I had her good and tight, but—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Ain’t what it feels like. Even worse—and I don’t know if I should even be telling you this, but honestly, at this stage, what the fuck—they’re using this against Dr. Munroe.”
“What? How? He had nothing to do with it! He wasn’t even there!”
“He instituted a policy last year that physical restraints can only be used on patients while in their rooms, for their own safety, so no straitjackets. Most every hospital has the same rule, but that didn’t stop McGann from saying it was Munroe’s fault because Lauren never could’ve done what she did if she’d been in restraints. They’re also saying he exceeded his authority by countermanding the treatment plan Kaminski had all of you on, saying none of this would’ve happened if he’d been allowed to stick to the program. Julian’s fighting it best he can, but a patient committed suicide while in custody, and the state board’s gonna want someone’s skin for it.”
Riley bit back a string of profanity, enraged at the idea of McGann and Kaminski using Julian as a shield to cover their mistakes. “Do they know anything more about what happened when she tried to escape?”
He chewed at the inside of his cheek, then nodded. “There’s a lot I can’t say because there’s still an inquiry going on. What I can say is that she found a way out she thought was safe, but it only looked that way from the inside. Ever since the ARC program moved in, McGann’s been reinforcing the building to close up any holes. Some places need more work and more money than others. So while the contractors locked down the easy areas, he had them put in motion sensors to cover the rest of the exterior. Hardest part was putting in the sensors around the air conditioning building because there are all kinds of ledges and nooks and crannies. Last of the sensors went in around the same time you got here. They picked up Lauren the second she rounded the corner, and the security guards were out in force before she even hit the ground. She never had a chance. She just didn’t know it.
“So yeah, it’s been a hard few days,” he said, heading out. “Damned hard days.”
She was still sitting on her bed when the other ARC patients passed by on their way to breakfast.
“You coming?” Danny asked.
“In a second,” she said, and smiled him away. She needed a moment alone because three data points she had previously failed to connect were suddenly lining up in her head.
Data Point One: The first time she’d seen Frankenstein, restrained in his room, she had been drawn by the sound of his voice, which she’d initially thought was coming from the air conditioning building just outside.
Data Point Two: When the nurse came in to shoo her off, she said There’s been a lot of construction work going on outside and all the noise upset him. Strangers also upset him.
And now, Data Point Three: Hardest part was putting in the sensors around the air conditioning building because there are all kinds of ledges and nooks and crannies. Last of ’em went in about the time you got here.
She imagined Frankenstein peering out the window of his room, furious at the noise and disruption, watching through angry eyes as workmen installed and tested the motion sensors positioned right around the corner from where Lauren would later step out onto the ledge.
She never had a chance. She just didn’t know it.
But he knew. Because he’d seen the sensors going in.
With a sharp pang, Riley realized that he hadn’t pulled her back because he was being selfish or because he was mad at her for leaving.
He was trying to save her.
She’d screamed at him and cursed him and hit him and kept on hitting him, and the whole time, the most dangerous patient in the entire hospital, someone who could have snapped her neck without even trying, just stood there and took her anger and her fists until she wore herself out, then walked away, his eyes showing no rage, only sadness.
I have to make this right, she told herself. I have to fix this.
* * *
Though the ARC patients were finally free to leave their rooms whenever they wanted, all the usual counseling sessions had been canceled, leaving only a grief counseling session with Dr. Nakamura that no one wanted to attend. So Riley spent her time going from the solarium to Frankenstein’s room on this ward, hoping to talk to him. But he had once again gone to ground in whatever hidey-hole he’d made for himself.
At four, their usual meeting time, she returned to the solarium to find him sitting on the bench, hunched over, hands folded in his lap.
Not sure how he would respond to seeing her, she stepped quietly forward. When she got closer, she saw that his hands weren’t folded; they were moving ever so slightly. As she came around to the front of the bench, she saw that he was again shoving the tip of an unfolded paper clip under the fingernails of his left hand. His eyes were dark and distant, as if looking on from somewhere outside his body as the thin line of blood ran from his fingers to the floor. There was no sign of pain, only a dull resolve as he repeated the action, finger to finger, thumb to pinky and back again.
She sat beside him. If he was aware of her presence, he gave no sign as he continued to drive the tip deep beneath his scarred and blackened nails.
“Please stop,” she whispered.
He didn’t. The tip slid beneath the nail of his index finger.
“Please . . .”
Middle finger.
“Is that what your parents used to do to you? To punish you?”
Ring finger.
“Because sometimes we learn to hurt ourselves in the same way we get hurt. We do it when we’ve done something wrong because we think we deserve it, and we know how to punish ourselves better than anyone else because we know where it’ll hurt the most.”
Little finger.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I hit you and I called you names, and you didn’t deserve any of it. You were trying to help. I’m the one who was wrong, and I’m sorry for the way I acted. If anyone here should be punished, it’s me, not you.”
Then she covered his hand with her own, shielding his wounded fingers. He could only keep doing what he was doing by driving the metal pin through her skin first. And as he silently studied her hand, it occurred to her that this might actually be an option.
She kept it there anyway.
“I know you think you can’t feel pain, that you’ve convinced yourself you can’t feel it, but deep inside, you still do. Please stop hurting the part of you that can’t tell you to stop.”
He slowly looked up, and as his eyes met hers, allowed the paper clip to fall from his fingers. Then he took her wrist and gently pressed the back of her hand against his forehead for what felt like a long time before returning it to its place.
In return, she took his hand, the skin cool to the touch, and pressed it to her own forehead. “Friend,” she said, tears filling her eyes.
“Friend,” he whispered, and as she again covered his hand with her own, she felt the wetness of his falling tears, and the weight of his silent, broken sadness.
They remained like that for over an hour, side by side, hands interwoven amid the lengthening shadows.
* * *
The next day, in need of some quiet time to process everything that had happened, Riley found a seat in the back of the cafeteria between meals where she could be alone with her thoughts. I just need to try and let it all go, figure out my next steps and—
“Hey, Riley.”
She looked up to see Steve approaching. So much for meditation.
“Thought you might be in here,” he said, sitting across from her at the table. “I heard about what happened with Lauren, wanted to see how you were doing. Are you okay?”
“It’s either, ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ or it’s an hour-long conversation. So, yeah, I’m fine. Getting there, anyway.”
“Translation: pushing it all down to where nobody else can see it so they won’t be hurt by your shit until you get it all in hand?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“Just had pretty much that same conversation with my sister,” he said, pulling back his sleeve to show the scars that ran from elbow to wrist. “She said I can have these tattooed over so nobody else has to see them, and after a while maybe I’ll forget they were ever there. Even suggested I get musical bar lines going up the arm, because they’d line up with the cuts and I could put the notes of my favorite song on it. Turn it into something beautiful.”
“Ohmygod . . . a suicide sonata?”
“Yep.”
“So are you gonna do it?”
He rolled the sleeve back down. “No. I want the scars where I can see them, because I think that’ll make it harder for them to ambush me. When they were on the inside, like your scars, they were always trying to sneak out so the rest of the world could see them. That’s when they’re the most dangerous, because the only way out is to cut their way through. If I have them tattooed over, she’s right, I might forget they’re there, and that’ll just piss them off, make them want to tear their way back out again to get my attention. Better for me if they’re out here, where I can keep an eye on them, in case they decide to start trouble.”
“I’ve come to a decision,” Riley said.
“What’s that?”
“I like you,” she said, extending a hand. “You’re okay.”
He laughed and shook it. “Only took, what, two months? Three?”
“I’m what people call a slow burn.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. Then he glanced at the open door and waved. “Yo, Theresa, in here.”
A woman Riley hadn’t seen before started toward them: early forties at a guess, with auburn hair and the kind of skin that showed way too much time in the sun.
“This is the one I was telling you about, Riley Diaz.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Riley, meet my new friend, Theresa Connolly. She’s a newbie, just got in this morning.”
“Hey, Theresa.”
“Good to meet you,” Theresa said, joining them at the table. “What are you here for?”
“Protesting.”
“Me too,” she said. “And that’s just so unfair. Neither of us should be here.”
“I know,” Riley said, “but for now, the system is what it is.”
“Oh, you’ve got that right. Like I told the doctors, I don’t belong here. This won’t do any good, because I’m not crazy. There’s nothing mentally or emotionally wrong with me, I just get a little excited is all.”
“Totally get that,” Riley said.
“You ask me, they want to turn the whole world into a prison so they’re the only ones who are free.”
“Yep.”
“They say we’re crazy or criminal so that when we say they’re the ones who’re the criminals, they can say we’re just projecting.”
“Hadn’t thought about that, but it makes sense.”
“They even have signs they use between them so they can identify each other and do things to us, and nobody else knows what they mean,” Theresa said. “Sometimes it’s, you know, the way they touch their face, it’s a signal, and you have to watch them all the time, real careful, because you know, some of them can kill at a distance.”
Waaaaaaaaiiitasecond. “Sorry?”
“It just happens, they look at you a certain way, and it’s all over for you. I can feel it when they’re looking at me, like they’re thinking about killing me but they’re not sure if this is the right time, but I can still feel it, like I’m being choked or someone’s squeezing my heart. Do you know what I mean? I can tell you do.”
Uh, huh. “So Theresa, what did you do before you got involved with protesting?”
“Oh, I don’t like the protesters,” she said, as if she hadn’t actually said what she’d just said. “They’re trouble. I like having a regular job. I was a lawyer for ten years, but I could feel them watching me all the way back then, so I thought I should go into something more private, so I became an airplane pilot. Flew all over the world. I was in Mexico on layover, and my phone was turned off, but I could still hear people talking inside it, and that’s when I found out they were following me, because they can talk to you through cell phones even when you think they’re turned off. So I became a doctor to try and stop them, but they figured that out too, and that’s when they put me here, so I can’t tell anyone the truth, because people will think I’m crazy. I have to go pee. Be right back.”
As she moved off, Riley turned to find Steve grinning at her.
“You’re such a dick,” she said. “I take back everything nice I said about you.”
“Couldn’t help myself,” he laughed. “The paranoid delusional ones are amazing, you can never pin them down on anything, because they just jump to the next thing. It’s like watching someone build a skyscraper out of words.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“Object lesson about this place. I always wait a while before agreeing with a newbie about anything. The secondhand crazy can be strong if you’re not careful.”
“Thing is, she was actually making sense there for a second.”
“Sometimes sanity is the first sign of madness. And sometimes madness is the first sign of sanity. Maybe I’ll put that on a T-shirt.”
“Do you have any friends in the outside world? Like, at all?”
“Nope.”
“Explains a lot,” Riley said. The knowledge that she was stuck here for however long it would take to find another way out had gone down hard, but she was finally coming out the other side. Being Irish means laughing in the face of whatever’s trying to hurt you, her mother once said. And being Cuban means getting drunk in the face of whatever’s trying to hurt you. So you are either going to be completely fucking invulnerable or a really funny drunk.
Steve leaned in closer. “The reason I was looking for you, beyond wanting to make sure you were okay, is that I wanted you to be the first—well, among the first—to know that I’m getting out of here on Monday.”
“You’re checking out!”
“My sister turned twenty-one yesterday, and she signed the papers to get the trust fund transferred to her as sole signatory. There’s nothing my family can do now to hurt her or hold over her head. Only reason I’m leaving Monday instead of today is that the lawyer is taking his time turning around the docs allowing me to un-commit.”
Annnd there goes my last connection to the outside world.
“That’s great, Steve! Congratulations! I won’t lie, I’ll miss seeing you around.”
“Maybe I’ll come by and visit once in a while.”
“Don’t,” she said, and the firmness in her voice surprised both of them. “Either I won’t be here by then, so there’d be no point in making the trip, or I will be here, and seeing you would just depress the shit out of me.”
“I get that,” he said, then stood, pushing his chair under the table. “At least we have a few days before I go. Catch you later.”
As he turned away, he dropped a folded piece of paper onto the seat of his chair. Riley glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slid the paper off the chair and unfolded it.
It read, art room. three o’clock. you had a call.
* * *
Two-thirty.
Riley was about to head for the art room when Henry knocked on her door. “Hey, Riley. How goes?”
“Goes good,” she said, then she noticed he wasn’t smiling. And he hadn’t called her Ready Riley. “What’s up?”
“Got to bring you to a meeting downstairs.”
She glanced at the clock. “Could we do this later?”
“You got somewhere else to go?”
“No. Why?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s just go, okay?”
Something’s wrong, she decided as they took the elevator down to the first floor. He’s never like this.
They stopped at the door to Kaminski’s office. “I’ll be right outside,” he said pointedly, then opened the door to let her in. Kaminski was at his desk, flipping through papers. Biedermann stood behind him, silhouetted against the window.
What am I doing here, and what the hell is she doing here?
“Ms. Diaz,” he said without looking up. “Take a seat.”
“Thanks, I’ll stand. Didn’t much like the view last time.”
“As you wish.”
As he finished writing out his notes, Riley turned her attention to the desktop tower on the floor, remembering the text she’d received. I’ve seen metadata from emails between K&M & Homeland Security but can’t get past the headers. Might be nothing, but may be important. Need to get hard access. Any chance you can get in? I can send you a link to a keylogger.
So near and yet so far. Hey, doc, mind if I borrow your computer for like ten minutes? I need to order a few things online.
Kaminski clicked the pen closed and leaned back, his attitude disturbingly self-satisfied. “Every month, we do a full review of all the ARC patients to assess their progress, or lack thereof, in order to fine-tune our treatment modalities. As you know, we began treating you with haloperidol to try to curb your violent tendencies.”
“Is that why she’s here?” Riley cut in, nodding to Biedermann.
“Nurse Biedermann is here because the presence of a matching-gender nurse is required under the terms of the treatment program you will shortly begin. May I continue?”
I was right, this is bad. Let’s find out how bad. “Sure.”
“The haloperidol initially had a positive effect, but as Dr. Munroe pointed out in his guidance, it’s not intended for indefinite use. But as I predicted in my response to his guidance, once you were taken off the haloperidol you began to revert back to your past behaviors. You walked out on or refused to attend therapy sessions and incited the other patients to act against hospital policies, undoing weeks of treatment. And while we do not yet have sufficient evidence to confirm our suspicions, I’m not alone in believing that you helped coordinate the escape attempt that ultimately led to Lauren’s suicide. Which brings me to this.”
He picked up a sheaf of papers. “These are signed witness statements by staff members who were present when Lauren took her life. They confirm that you were so desperate to get to her that you attacked a fellow patient—”
“I didn’t attack Danny, he was holding me back—”
He continued over her. “—descriptions that confirm my own written assessment of the events of that day, which led me to the opinion that you were trying to reach Lauren so you could take your lives together rather than continue to receive treatment. I believe that the two of you shared a suicide pact in the event that the escape misfired.”
“That’s bullshit!”
“Nonetheless, in my professional opinion, the self-destructive actions that have been evident in your behavior since your arrival—refusing to eat, your attempt to join Lauren in her suicide attempt, and your subsequent refusal to receive treatment necessary for your survival—are clear indications that you are still at risk of taking your own life.”
The room turned very cold as Riley remembered his threat. I am going to fuck with you in ways you can’t even imagine. I am going to hurt you in ways that are disgusting.
“So for your own safety, we are putting you on suicide watch, effective immediately. You will be moved to another part of the hospital for observation to ensure that we don’t have another unfortunate incident.”
“I want to see Dr. Munroe,” Riley said.
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” Kaminski said, pressing the button to call Henry back into the room.
“She’s all yours,” he said to Biedermann.
When Henry put his hand on Riley’s arm, she yanked away hard. “Let go! I want to see Dr. Munroe!”
“The patient violently resists being moved for treatment,” Kaminski said, noting it in her profile. “Understand that any acts of violence committed by you during your period of treatment, large or small, will be recorded in your file and used to determine how long you remain on suicide watch. This is your only warning.”
She looked to Henry, whose eyes said, Don’t fight this, you’ll only make it worse, and when he took her arm again, she allowed the touch, her heart full of rage.
Biedermann led them to a locked ward on the third floor and into a narrow hallway containing four numbered rooms with heavy green metal doors and narrow viewing slots. She unlocked the door marked number 3 to reveal heavily padded interior walls in tones of cream and brown, with a single bed and an exposed sink and toilet.
“That’s all for now, Henry,” Biedermann said.
Henry nodded, glanced worriedly in Riley’s direction, then headed out.
“There’s a paper gown on the bed. Change into it.”
“Can I have some privacy?”
“There is no privacy under suicide watch. You will be under observation at all times by a female nurse, either in person or via camera.” She pointed up at a lens visible inside a plexiglass cage in a corner of the room. “You are not permitted to possess shoes, belts, or anything else that can be used for self-harm. Once each day you will be interviewed by Dr. Kaminski or another staff member to determine your state of mind.”
“How long will I have to stay here?”
“The room has been made as safe as possible. Paper towels and toilet paper can be found beneath the sink. The bedsheets and blankets have been locked to the frame so they cannot be removed. Your hands must be in view of the camera and staff at all times, even when sleeping.”
“Nurse Biedermann, how long—”
“If your period begins, you can ask the on-duty nurse for Maxi Pads on an as-needed basis, but tampons are not allowed as they represent a choking threat.”
“This is how you hide, isn’t it? Repeating the rules over and over saves you from thinking about what you’re doing.”
Biedermann met her gaze levelly. “How long you remain under observation depends entirely upon your actions. Now please change into the paper gown, or I will have to call for assistance.”
Riley began to unbutton her blouse.
* * *
There was no clock in the room, no television, and nowhere to sit other than the narrow bed that was bolted to a wall opposite the camera. They even took her watch because the glass could be broken and used to cut herself. The only way to know the time was to peer out the slot in the door to a clock down the hall. That was how she figured out that the nurses were coming in to check on her and run vitals at fifteen-minute intervals—“How are you feeling? Are you having any suicidal thoughts?”
Fifteen minutes later: “How are you feeling? Are you having any suicidal thoughts?”
Fifteen minutes later: “How are you feeling? Are you having any suicidal thoughts?”
She wanted to say I wasn’t when I got here, but I sure as hell am now, but opted for discretion, knowing that every word was being recorded, logged, and dissected in search of anything that could be used to keep her here indefinitely.
“I’m cold,” she said to the camera.
“The temperature is seventy-two degrees, the hospital standard,” replied the voice behind the lens.
“Yeah, well, I feel a draft,” she said, tucking the paper gown beneath her thighs to try to warm up.
The camera said nothing.
* * *
Dinner was a carton of milk served alongside a sandwich and food that could be eaten without a fork and knife.
I wonder if Steve knows what’s happened to me. When I didn’t show up, he probably started asking questions, but who knows what they told him, and it’s not like he could tell them why he was looking for me.
Steve would be leaving on Monday. This was Thursday. That gave her four days to get out of confinement before she lost her lifeline to the outside world. Tomorrow is Friday, Friday means grand rounds, grand rounds means seeing Julian, and seeing Julian means I could get out of here by the weekend.
* * *
Riley tugged at the thin blanket anchored to the bedframe, trying for maximum coverage. Curling her legs into a fetal position only succeeded in pushing her knees outside the cover. To warm her hands, she tucked them between her thighs.
“Hands,” said the voice behind the camera. “Please keep your hands where they can be seen.”
She clasped them in front of her face, but every time she started to fall asleep, they drifted back beneath the blanket.
“Hands,” the voice said repeatedly through the night, startling her awake. “Hands.”
By morning she was exhausted, desperate for sleep, but a check of the clock down the hall showed that Julian would be along at any time. Despite the lack of a mirror, she did her best to look presentable and not at all suicidal, then sat primly on the bed, awaiting his knock.
Half an hour passed.
Any time now, she reassured herself. He’ll be here any time now.
Thirty minutes became an hour.
Then two.
“Excuse me,” Riley called to the camera. “When do grand rounds start in this part of the hospital?”
For a long moment the camera said nothing. Then: “Grand rounds have been postponed.”
“Well, can I at least see Dr. Munroe?”
Another long pause. “Dr. Munroe is no longer on staff, pending administrative review of recent events.”
Riley closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy, her hands flat on the bed for support. That must be what Kaminski meant when he said seeing Julian wasn’t an option. I’ll bet he waited a whole five minutes after Julian was gone to send Henry to fetch my ass.
Locked down on suicide watch, without anyone to help her or look for her, she felt as if she had been swallowed whole by some massive animal.
I’m in here, she thought at the universe. I’m in here. Can anyone see me? Can anyone hear me? Anyone?
Anyone?