She turned to me. “Your three-day suspension begins now, Mr. Whelan. Be ready to attend the meeting with the director and Dr. Stevens on Monday. I suspect they’ll want to hear from you.”
I nodded. In the past, the idea of talking in front of people would have made my blood run cold. Now my thoughts were for Thea. She’d been so happy painting and then it all went to shit.
“Jim?” Alonzo said, weighing my name heavily with disappointment.
“I’m going,” I said.
On the way to the break room to change out of my uniform, Rita caught up with me.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “This isn’t right.”
“You’re working tomorrow?”
“Yes. They can’t spare a single nurse or else I’d be going home, too.”
“Will you text me that she’s okay? Please?”
“Of course.”
I walked out of Blue Ridge feeling like I was betraying Thea. Breaking a promise. I was supposed to fight for her, but what could I do? If I refused to leave, they’d think I was a psycho and have me arrested.
You didn’t protect her. Doris sneered. You fucked her up more. Go home, you big dummy, and leave your broken-down girl to the professionals.
That was likely the truth—I’d hurt her when I was trying to help, but the gnawing in my stomach grew stronger and stronger the further my motorcycle took me away from Blue Ridge.
At home, I sat on my couch in the falling dark, wracking my brain for what went wrong. Thea had been so happy, dancing to her music, and her painting was perfect until…
Black streaks across the blue of the sky. Black against the perfection of the Empire State Building. Black mourning bands. Something lost. Something ruined.
I pulled my guitar on my lap and sang Pearl Jam’s “Black.”
All the pictures, washed in black…
I sang and played, not caring if the neighbors heard. My hands hit the strings harder, slapping instead of strumming. My voice raised until the lyrics vibrated my bones.
Turned my world to black…
The last notes faded. Something turned Thea’s world to black, and I was going to get kicked out of Blue Ridge before I could find out what. I put the guitar away, disgusted and helpless, and fell into a fitful sleep.
Around nine the next morning, when I knew Thea would have eaten breakfast, I texted Rita: How is she?
The answer came a few minutes later: Was just about to text you. Better. She ate something today, seems a little more like herself.
Relief and pain gripped me as I typed, Glad she’s okay.
Because I’m not there. It’s better for her. This is better.
So far so good, Rita texted. I’ll keep you posted.
The hours crawled. The day was hot and sticky and quiet. My phone chimed with another text from Rita around two o’clock. Thea’s rec time.
She’s drawing again. Word chains. Egypt. Darker stuff than her usual, but Anna’s taking her off watch.
I stared at the words. Good. Thea was better. It was all that mattered.
Thanks, Rita. I guess it was painting that triggered her after all.
The reply came quick. IDK. She was happy painting. And happy taking her FAE with you. But maybe the painting was it.
Point taken. I fucked up because I was just an orderly. Not a damn doctor. Stupid of me to try.
I heated a frozen dinner in the microwave, hardly tasting it. The night grew blacker. The silence outside deeper. Like Thea’s silence, I imagined. Deep and dark and endless.
Around ten, I thought about going to sleep, but something kept scratching at the inside of my consciousness. I grabbed my phone and scrolled through Rita’s texts.
She’s drawing again. Word chains. Egypt. Darker stuff than her usual…
Darker than usual. What did that mean?
It means she’s still recovering from the snake incident.
But the answer wouldn’t stick. The itch dug in deeper, with claws.
I typed a text to Rita, Send me a photo of Thea’s drawing?
A pause. The rolling dots of a response came then, I’m in the parking lot.
Please. I need to see it.
Another pause, and then, Hold on.
My chest was tight as I waited. Finally, a photo appeared on my phone. A desert bathed in shadow. Clouds darkening the sky. A pyramid casting a long slant of darkness. And in the center, a coiled snake made of words. If Thea was talking through her word chains, then this was her story.
Asp rasp gasp last late hate help hell fell flesh flush force flow know no no no
That collection of words made my throat go dry. Help. Hell. No.
I went back to the word chain. Round and round the coil. I had to hold the phone still and tilt my head, reading upside down and sideways.
Touch much crush creak weak wake why cry stop stop stop
My heart began to pound so loud that blood thrashed in my ears.
Cleopatra was alone, Thea had said. She put her hand in the snake’s basket to end the pain.
“What pain, Thea?” I whispered.
I put the phone down on the table and walked around the image, as the chain kept coiling tighter and tighter. The words lashed out at me, piercing my heart.
Hand man pan pant grip grope groan lone alone alone alone
“No,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face. “Holy fuck, no.”
I hit Call on my phone. It rang once and Rita picked up.
“Jim, I’m going home,” she said. “Enough. It was the painting. You… we shouldn’t have messed with it. And I shouldn’t be sending you photos—”
“You said she was better this m-m-morning,” I said, cursing my goddamn stutter. Inhale. Exhale. “But last night, she was watched, right? A n-n-nurse was in her room?”
He’s been going in her room.
“Yes, but—”
“That’s why she was better,” I said, rage and horror flushing through me, washing out my stutter, flooding every particle of my being. “Because he couldn’t get to her. But the nights before that…”
“What are you talking about?”
Brett Dodson’s lazy smile rose up in my mind, along with his promise that he’d find a way to keep his night shifts interesting.
Fuck, what’s he been doing to her?
Words flashed before my eyes.
Flesh. Force. Grope. Stop.
Three times, she’s screamed stop on the page. And no. She screamed no.
I was holding the phone so tightly; it was in danger of being crushed. I squeezed my eyes shut against the constriction in my chest.
“He couldn’t get to her, Rita. But tonight he can.”
“Who?” Rita asked. “No one can get into resident rooms. They’re locked. Only the duty nurse has the key.”
“Mary Flint?” I shouted. “She sleeps all night. He took the key. He’s been going in her room.”
“Who?”
“Brett Dodson,” I said. “He works the n-n-night shift…”
I couldn’t get another word out. God, I was so fucking stupid. He all but told me his plan, and I hadn’t heard. But Thea told me… Told all of us.
Inhale. Exhale. “Go back,” I told Rita. “Please, go back to her room.”
“Jim, I’m tired. I’ve been working six fifteen-hour shifts in a row. My husband hasn’t seen me—”