"I'm sorry, Ry. I'm just too tired," he said, something coming into his eyes that caused a sharp spike of terror to stab through my gut. Something . . . something. I didn't know what. His hand loosened in mine, our sweaty palms slipping apart as I screamed. And as his body hit the ground below with a loud thud, I shattered.
He was gone.
He was gone.
Gone.
My hero was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ryan
I'd convinced Brandon to take me to Whittington. He'd humored me with a worried frown on his face. But I hadn't cared. I'd been desperate to find Lily. When we got to the gate, though, there was a rusty padlock on it that hadn't been there before. "It was open last time," I'd mumbled. After walking around the perimeter, we found a broken portion of the gate next to the garden and squeezed through.
The garden obviously hadn't been maintained in a very long time, but it was bursting with color, perhaps even more beautiful for its wildness, the way vines grew up the brick wall and everything blended together. Funny the things you notice even when your heart is breaking.
"This is the creepiest shit I've ever done," Brandon had muttered, as he’d followed me inside the building through the front door that was still unlocked from the last time I'd been here. "But kinda awesome, too," he’d admitted, a small chuckle following his words. For fifteen minutes, we'd wandered the mostly empty hallways, stepping around rusted wheelchairs, pushing aside heavy metal doors, looking inside small rooms that must have been cells once upon a time, me calling Lily's name again and again. That's when I'd found the rooms I’d recognized—the rooms I'd detoxed in. They were empty. There was no furniture, except a metal bedframe in the room where I'd made love to Lily.
I had, hadn't I?
I'd sagged against the doorframe, massaging my head, gasping for breath, whispering her name. I knew this place. I'd been here before.
No, no, no. "I don't understand," I'd gasped out.
Brandon's hand had gripped my shoulder. "Man, there's no Lily. Okay, whoever you thought you saw—"
"No!" I’d insisted, shrugging his hand off, despair racing through my veins. "No, I didn't fucking imagine her. No. Lily! Jesus, Lily, please, please," I’d choked, gripping my head in my hands. God, had I made her up? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. No, no, she was real. I wouldn't believe otherwise.
"Did you bring drugs with you, Ryan?" Brandon had finally asked. "Did you sneak drugs into your bag?"
I'd let out a shuddery breath. "Yes, but they weren't hallucinogens. They were pain pills. And . . . Look," I'd said excitedly, going over to the fireplace mantle, "no dust. How could there be no dust in here unless someone had been using it?" I’d looked at him expectantly, perhaps a little desperately.
Brandon’s hands had been in his pockets and he’d stared at me piteously and shrugged. "It's in the middle of the building? Sealed up tight. I don't know," he’d said. Clearly he hadn’t been convinced pain pills couldn't make me high enough to see shit, or he’d thought I was completely off my rocker. God, I was. I was off my rocker.
Oh my God. I was insane.
My father had told me I was crazy, and he was right.
He was right.
I was crazy.
I was worthless.
"No," I'd said weakly.
I had let Brandon lead me out of there. No. Lily, Lily, Lily . . .
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ryan
I saw her everywhere. Walking down sidewalks, in crowded restaurants, once in the brief flash of dark hair and white lace right before an elevator door closed. Without thinking, my heart thundering in my chest, I'd run up four flights of stairs only to find that it was someone else. Someone holding a little boy's hand. She'd pulled him closer to her side as she’d exited the elevator, looking at me warily as if I might grab him and run.
Those were the times I still doubted my own sanity, still questioned whether she had ever existed at all. But then I'd remember the feel of her fingertips on my skin, the slippery silk of her hair, the sound of her laughter, and the way I loved her still, and I'd know, I'd know, deep down to my soul that she was real.
I dreamed of her, and in the darkness, she held me in her arms. In the darkness, she whispered that I was strong enough to hold on, that I was worthy of the love she'd given, and she reminded me who I was before I was anyone at all.
My Lily of the Night. Only of the moon.
Because now, just as then, when daylight came, she was no longer there.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ryan
"During the time you were in Colorado, did you ever question whether you were really Holden?" Dr. Katz asked. She never wrote anything on the notepad on her lap, so I wondered why she had it sitting there. Maybe she vigorously scrawled out notes between appointments and wanted to make sure it was at the ready. Maybe she just held it to look professional. Did I want a doctor who needed props to convince her patient she was professional?
I'd seen a psychiatrist the first six months I was back in San Francisco, but he seemed less interested in hearing my story than in prescribing medication. The last thing I'd thought I needed was more damn pills. And so about a month ago, I'd made an appointment with a psychologist. Maybe I just needed to talk to someone. This was only my third appointment, and despite her notepad prop, I liked her.
I shook my head. "No. I mean, there were places I think I kept myself from going in my mind, things that felt wrong that I didn't choose to investigate, but . . . no. I never actually questioned it. I had all his thoughts, all his feelings, all his memories. For that time, I was him. Only . . . I wasn't either. It's so damned confusing. Even for me."
She nodded her head. "Ryan, had you ever ‘gone away’ in your head before this?"
I sighed, moving my thoughts back to her question. I'd thought about it a lot. "Yeah, when I was a kid. My dad, he, well, to put it bluntly, he beat the shit out of me on a pretty regular basis." I paused, swallowing. Goddamn, the very memory of that man was still so painful. He had put me in a cage sometimes to punish me like a worthless animal. Bark like a dog! Bark like a dog, you dirty fucking animal. Bark like the dog you are and I'll let you out. He'd died seven years ago, and I hadn't even flown back for his funeral. I'd never said goodbye. I'd thought of it as a small way to get him back, but in reality, maybe I’d been the only one damaged. I'd never gotten closure. As if that was even possible. "I tried to harden myself, but . . . I never could. I just never could." I sighed. "So instead, I got pretty adept at going somewhere else in my mind, you know? I'd just . . . leave. I got so good at it that after a while I didn't even feel the punches, the burns. Pissed him off, you know, me not reacting. But I couldn’t blank out and still pretend it hurt, so I just got beat extra hard. Didn't matter though." I shook my head.
"Why didn't it matter, Ryan?"
"Because there was nothing I could do to stop it. I just had to figure out how to survive it."
"Did you ever become someone else during those times, Ryan?"
"No. Never."
She nodded, chewing on the end of her pen, regarding me pensively. Did she not believe me?
"I saw in your file you were hospitalized one time. What was the reason for that hospitalization?"
I took a deep breath. "I . . . I was in college. I was under stress, lonely—"
"Holden wasn't with you then."
"Right. I went to Arizona State. I wanted to get far away from Ohio, far away from my father. I just didn't realize how hard it'd be . . ." My words floated away.
"Go on."
"I just . . . I had a lot of anxiety. I just wasn't doing well."
"But your hospital stay, that helped you?"
"It did. I got back on track and was able to return to school, graduate, start my career."
Dr. Katz watched me again for a minute and I shifted in my seat under her penetrating gaze. "So, initially, with your father, you just removed yourself mentally from the situation. That's how you survived it. Unti
l Holden?"
Pain squeezed my heart. Would I miss him forever? Would I want it any other way? I relaxed, breathing deeply. "Yes, until Holden. He befriended me." I laughed softly. "I mean, that sounds passive. And Holden was never passive—not like me. He’d practically demanded I be his friend. It's the only way it would have worked, you know? I was so mistrusting of everyone. But Holden, he was like this force, this force of just . . . energy and goodness."
"You worshipped him."
I paused, considering that. "I guess . . . yeah, I guess. But it wasn't because he was a great football player, or that he was a big shot or a celebrity. I loved Holden because he had this way about him . . . somehow he made every single person in the room feel like they were the most important one there. And how did he do that? It always amazed me. He . . . it's hard to explain. You had to know him." I paused again. "He was just so genuine. And his parents were such good people, too." Running my hand through my hair, I allowed the memories in. "I got to finally experience what a family was supposed to be." If you're not going to help yourself, there's nothing I can do for you, I'd told him. I'd said that to him after everything he'd done for me. After all the times he'd come to my rescue. After all of his persistence, I'd left him to fend for himself that night. If only I'd stayed to talk to him, to reassure him, to force him off that balcony before . . . I'd failed him. God, I'd failed him, and it still burned like a knife that would forever be planted in my gut. It sliced into me each time I moved. I felt my mind get foggy with grief and fought to pull myself to the surface.
Dr. Katz nodded again. "Did Holden's parents know what your dad did to you?"
I swallowed. "Yeah. I mean, they saw the bruises. They wanted to turn him in, but I refused. I didn't have anyone else, and I didn't want to go into foster care."
"Did it bother you that Holden's parents didn't offer to adopt you?"
"They practically did adopt me, even though they didn't have much money either. And once they understood what was happening at home, Mr. Scott went to see my dad. I don't know what was said, but my dad mostly laid off me after that. Mostly."
"So they did protect you?"
"Yeah," I choked out. "Yeah, they did."
"And they passed away the year before Holden?" she asked.
I nodded, a lump moving up my throat. "They were older. They'd had him later in life." It'd hit us both hard. Sometimes I almost felt like I took it harder than he did . . . But I also knew it was part of the reason Holden had gotten addicted to the pills, why they had been so appealing to him.
"I can understand why you were so attached to Holden, why you saw him as not only your friend, but your hero, your savior. I can see that, Ryan."
My chest felt tight. "Yeah," I sighed. "We did everything together. We went to different colleges, but then he got drafted to the 49ers and he helped me get the interview for the job as their athletic trainer." He'd been different after that, though. Somehow the fame had seemed to . . . dim him. It dimmed the light that had been Holden's spirit. And then he'd gotten injured and started taking pain pills . . . The same pain pills I'd eventually started taking to take up where he'd left off. Somehow it'd been less painful than accepting he was dead. It had been the only way I had to keep him alive and make myself disappear. "Do you think I'm crazy, Dr. Katz?" I tried to laugh, but it came out strange, choked.
"Crazy? I try not to use that word in my diagnoses, Ryan." She smiled. "We're all crazy in our own ways. Would I diagnose you with a mental illness? I would say that I somewhat agree with the psychiatrist you originally saw, Dr.—"
"Hammond," I offered.
"Yes, Dr. Hammond. He diagnosed you with a dissociative disorder brought on by trauma. I would tend to agree, based on our sessions so far, although the disorder generally pertains to the patient having two or more personalities. You present differently than some other patients in that you took over a real person's identity and gave up your own. Nevertheless, that would be my diagnosis if I had to check a box. Unfortunately, the mind doesn't always fit itself into neat little boxes, does it?" She gave me a faint smile before continuing. "In your case, though, it makes sense, does it not? You learned early on how to separate your mind from grief, from pain. And then when Holden died, you experienced trauma once again and fell back on your reinforced and conditioned response: mental removal. You blamed yourself for his death. You blamed yourself for not seeing the extent of his unhappiness, and for not being able to do anything to help him. I think that in an effort to understand it, you became him. You looked to save him as he saved you, and in so doing, escaped a bit of your own grief. And the pain pills made it easier, of course, to distract yourself from the true issue, although they did not cause this disorder."
I leaned my head back, looking up at the ceiling. "That sounds . . . crazy. How did I even manage to put one foot in front of the other while I was that out of my mind?"
When I looked back down, Dr. Katz gave me another small smile. "The mind can be very mysterious. There are things that can break us all. But people with mental disorders still often hold jobs requiring complex skills, and contribute to society in a number of valuable ways. But if we're using the word crazy to cover the broad spectrum of mental sufferings, including yours, then yes, you were crazy for a time. Do you still feel crazy?"
I released a breath of air, looking out the window, unseeing for a moment. Did I feel crazy? Mostly, no. I recalled that sense of being in a dream that I'd felt after Holden died and the entire time I was at Brandon's lodge. I had walked and talked, convinced myself I was Holden, lived his life, picked up right where he'd left off, but I'd had no real connection to anything. Until Lily . . . It's how she'd brought me back, made me want to face reality again. "No," I finally answered. "I still feel sad. Maybe I'll always feel sad." It wasn't the kind of sorrow that brought tears anymore, though. The sadness simply was part of me now. It had settled into my bones and I just kind of figured it'd always be there. "But I don't feel crazy."
I couldn't help but think of Whittington. If I'd lived a hundred years ago, I'd be one of those people drooling in a corner somewhere, perhaps lobotomized, my organs removed. At the very least, I'd be forgotten . . . invisible, worthless. A shameful stain on my family and society.
She nodded. "Ryan, do you think that, in part, you became Holden because you believed you should have been the one to die that night? Did you wish it had been you instead of him?"
I studied my hands. "Yes. Sometimes I still think that."
"You realize, of course, that's your father speaking, right? Neither of you deserved to die. Not Holden, and not you."
I sighed. "I know," I finally said. But especially not him. Not him. He was the superhero, the golden boy.
"Good." Dr. Katz paused. "Do you still think about the girl? Do you still question her existence?"
That was a more difficult question to answer. I'd been back to Whittington every month for the first nine months. I'd wander the halls, calling for Lily, looking for anything that might indicate she'd been back. I'd go into the woods and call for her, but she never appeared. She wasn't there. I looked for any evidence that she'd existed, but couldn't find a thing. It made me feel like she had been a part of what my mind had done while I was there—just a beautiful part of my crazy. But how could that be? She'd expressed thoughts that weren't mine. She'd said things I wouldn't have even known. Hadn't she? I'd made love to her, learned her body. I ran my fingers through my hair, the memory of Lily doing the same that first night on the rock coming back to me. "I don't know," I said. "I don't think so, but . . . I have no proof other than the fact that I still miss her so damn much. Do you think she was a figment of my imagination?"
"I can't say, Ryan." She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment. "The fact that she just disappeared right at the moment you admitted to yourself who you really are indicates there was some connection . . ."
Sadness filled my chest. "I know. It does seem like too much of a coincidence."
"But may
be it is just that—a coincidence. Perhaps the girl, Lily, had some other reason to leave."
"Maybe." I sighed. "The thing is, if I really did create her—created a whole person, created feelings around that person—then it just adds to my insanity. It could indicate I do require several diagnoses."
"No one requires a diagnosis. A diagnosis of something doesn't change the disorder, it just makes it easier to treat. But if Lily was a symptom of your grief, she's gone now."
"I know," I said dismally. "But, God, she saved me. In so many ways . . ."
"And perhaps that was her role. Perhaps you created her to save you. Perhaps if you search your memory, you'll find that you'd done the same thing before. Perhaps not. The point, though, is that she did her job and then it was time for her to go. It was time for your mind to let go of her."
You know you don't need me anymore, right? But I did. I did need her.
"Wow, that sounds really crazy," I murmured.
Dr. Katz laughed softly again. "They say crazy people rarely question their own sanity."
"Who's they?"
"The crazy people," Dr. Katz deadpanned.
I laughed and she grinned. "And the other piece of good news is that dissociative disorders respond very well to therapy, specifically individual psychotherapy. I'm glad you found me."
"Yeah, me too."
She smiled momentarily and then her expression became serious. "It has been almost a year since you've been back in San Francisco, though. Are you going out with friends? Are you dating again, Ryan?"
"No," I said. "I haven't been interested. And truthfully, I've felt like I needed to focus on getting myself better again."
"Good choice. But don't cut yourself off from other people. You deserve happiness, Ryan. You deserve love. It might be time to make a few social plans, get out, test the waters."