The Golden Spiral

  Leo caught my gaze and held it. “I know things are bad right now. I know it’s hard to see the end. But believe me—we can fix this. We will. You, me, and Dante—we will. Can you believe that? Can you hold on?”

  Hold on. I had made Dante promise me the same thing at the end of my dream. I looked up at Leo. With his dark hair, he looked so much like Dante it made my heart constrict. I felt a tingling in the palm of my right hand and I squeezed my fingers into a tight fist.

  I felt like all I had were my memories of what I knew to be true. I would be strong and hold on until I could find a way to fix things, return them to the way they were supposed to be.

  “Yes,” I said. “I will.”

  Leo nodded solemnly. “Good. Then what would you like me to do first?”

  ***

  Leo and I talked for another hour, trying to figure out a plan of action, but without knowing exactly where Dante was or what exactly was happening to him, it was hard to settle on something that would work. Finally, I asked Leo to go back to the bank and make sure—doubly sure—that Dante wasn’t there. It was all I could think of to do. Leo wasn’t happy about it, but in the end he agreed. I assured him I would be fine while he was gone, but once he had left and I was alone in the broken ruins of the Dungeon, I wondered if I had told him the truth.

  Fine was such a noncommittal response, a word that covered a host of emotions and meanings. It was the best I could hope for under the circumstances.

  I turned the ballerina on her music-box stand, the notes filling my hands like fine grains of sand. But once they slipped away and I was left standing in silence, I realized how hard it was to hold onto anything anymore.

  Chapter

  6

  You’re sure you want to go by yourself?” Mom asked me the next afternoon. She had parked the car in the small lot, but left the engine running. She touched my arm as I stole a glance at the building in front of us and read again the sign posted in the immaculate lawn: James E. Hart Memorial Hospital.

  The building didn’t look like a hospital. In fact, it looked more like a bed-and-breakfast with its brightly painted shutters and gingerbread trim around the eaves. A flower bed lined the cobblestone walkway, and a white wicker patio set sat empty beneath a tall oak tree. It looked so normal it gave me the creeps.

  I took a deep breath and unfastened my seat belt. “I’d like to see her alone. I’ll be okay,” I said, hoping it was true.

  “Call me when you’re done?”

  I nodded and opened the car door. I waited until Mom had driven away before I turned and walked up the short path to the front entrance.

  The woman who opened the door was dressed in pastel hospital scrubs; her shoes were somewhere between sneakers and slippers. She wore a small plastic name tag that read “Dr. Blair.” She smiled brightly at me. “You must be Abby,” she said, stepping aside so I could come inside. “Dr. Hamilton said you would be coming by today.” She closed the door and looked at me expectantly.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, fumbling in my purse for the note from Dr. J. Hamilton’s office granting me permission for a one-hour visit with Valerie. Since when did friends need a doctor’s note to visit? It sounded like the setup to a very bad joke with a worse punch line: When that friend was in a mental institution.

  I handed the note to Dr. Blair, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and hating every moment of it.

  She briefly glanced at the note before tucking it into her pocket. “Right this way, please.”

  I followed her into a side room that had been decorated more like a parlor than an office. Instead of hard plastic chairs along the wall there was a cozy love seat draped with blankets and covered with pillows. Dr. Blair sat down behind a desk and adjusted the lace tablecloth, moving the vase of fresh flowers to the other corner of the desk so we could see each other more easily. She turned on the stereo, and soft music floated into the room from hidden speakers.

  I felt the hairs on my arms prickle with unease. Why couldn’t it just have been a hospital? I could have handled a hospital. I didn’t know what to make of this strange hybrid of hospital and hotel.

  Dr. Blair clasped her hands on the desk and smiled at me.

  I felt strangely like I’d been called to the principal’s office. I sat on the edge of the love seat, tense and ready to bolt out of the door if given the chance.

  “Abby, there are a few general rules here at James E. Hart Memorial Hospital.”

  I nodded, gripping my purse tighter in my hands. I just wanted to see Valerie. Why couldn’t she take me to my friend, already?

  “First, you should know that our guests—we refer to them as ‘guests’ and never as ‘patients’—are here because they need a safe place to rest and recover from whatever traumatic event brought them here. We do all we can to make their stay with us as comfortable as possible. So while you are here visiting, we ask that you speak quietly, move slowly, and that, at all times, you exude an aura of peace.”

  I blinked. How, exactly, was I supposed to do that? I didn’t dare ask.

  “Second,” Dr. Blair continued, “we ask that you don’t interact with anyone other than the guest you are here to visit. I know it may be tempting to smile or say hello to the guests you see in the common area or the yard, but for your own safety it is best if you avoid any unnecessary contact.”

  I swallowed. What kind of place was this? How could Valerie’s parents stand to keep her here?

  “And lastly, we forbid any kind of electronic devices on the premises.” She held out her hand. It took me a moment to realize what she wanted.

  “Oh, of course,” I said, opening my purse and handing over my cell phone.

  “And since you will be visiting with Valerie today, I’m afraid I will also have to ask for your watch.”

  I glanced at the gold watch on my wrist. I’d gotten the watch for my last birthday, and I’d worn it today specifically because I’d hoped it would remind Valerie of her life before all this happened.

  “We have learned that with Valerie it is best not to take any kind of timekeeping device into her room. No watches, no clocks. You understand.”

  Actually, I might be the only one who did understand. I obediently unclasped my watch and handed it over as well.

  Dr. Blair swiftly locked my watch and my phone into the drawer and then brushed her hands together briskly. I wondered if her smile was permanently fixed on her face.

  “Now, then, shall we go visit your friend?”

  I nodded and followed her out of the room, trying my best to exude an aura of peace.

  Valerie’s room was on the second floor and, thankfully, we didn’t pass any other staff or guests on our short journey down the hall and up the stairs. I didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with anyone I wasn’t supposed to.

  “Now, then, Abby, you may visit for one hour. If you wish to leave early, simply say so and I’ll escort you out.”

  “But Dr. Hamilton said I’d be able to see Valerie alone,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, that’s true. But we watch and record everything that goes on with our guests.” Dr. Blair pointed up at the black dome attached to the ceiling. “It’s just one more way we make them feel safe and secure here at James E. Hart Memorial Hospital. Now, are you ready for your visit?”

  Dr. Blair didn’t wait for me to answer, instead reaching past me to open the door to Valerie’s room. I stepped inside, feeling cautious and shy. For one crazy moment, I felt like I was meeting a blind date.

  Then I heard the door close—and lock—behind me. My mouth was dry and I felt my hands tingle with fearful anticipation.

  “Valerie?” I whispered.

  She sat in one of the two chairs that had been arranged next to the window, the pale drapes parted to let in the morning sunlight. I tried not to notice the diamond pattern of reinforced glass on the window or the fact that the chairs were made of molded plastic so there were no sharp edges or any way to take them apart. A faded bedspread covered the twin bed
pushed into the corner. Two dolls lay propped up on the pillows.

  Along one wall was an open closet filled with hangers of identical fluffy white bathrobes and folded stacks of gray sweatpants and loose shirts. My heart sank at the sight of Valerie sitting passively by the window, wearing a pair of those sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. Her hair was still short and black, the same as the last time I’d seen her, on the night of the Spring Fling all those weeks ago; the nurses here must be keeping it trimmed. Her face was free of any makeup or expression. Her vacant eyes stared without blinking.

  The Valerie I knew, who loved the latest fashions and the brightest colors, wouldn’t have been caught dead in such bland and shapeless clothes.

  But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? She hadn’t died that horrible night on the bank—she’d simply lost her mind.

  And it was my fault.

  If I hadn’t asked Dante to take me to the bank, then Tony wouldn’t have seen the bridge and the door and then Zo wouldn’t have taken Valerie away and then she wouldn’t be here in this horrible place under the care of the unsettling Dr. Blair.

  I sat down in the chair across from Valerie and her distant eyes, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight. I reached out and touched the white plastic name band that overlaid the black chains tattooed around her wrists. Somehow the sight of that black-and-white combination made the whole thing real. I swallowed hard and felt a hiccup in my chest.

  Was I a bad friend if I wondered whether perhaps death would have been a kinder fate than being locked up in this place?

  “You’re not a bad friend,” Valerie said. “And I’m glad I’m not dead.”

  “What?” I didn’t think I’d spoken my thoughts out loud.

  “I’m glad I’m here at the James E. Hart Memorial Hospital. They take good care of me.” She finally turned to look at me and there, deep in her shadowed eyes, was a flicker of light, but if it was of lucidity, I couldn’t tell.

  “It’s good to see you, Valerie,” I said. My voice sounded funny to my ears, muffled by my pounding heartbeat. “I’ve missed you.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, and I squirmed a little under her gaze.

  I saw a flash of color on the wall behind her. “Did you draw that?” I asked, pointing over her shoulder.

  Valerie didn’t look where I pointed, but simply nodded. “I like drawing pictures. They help me see what’s real.”

  “What’s it a picture of?” I stood up from my chair and took the few steps to her bedside.

  Heavy crayon strokes and shapes covered the paper taped to the wall. A line of neon green for the grass, a ball of yellow for the sun, three triangles stacked on a stump for a tree. Standing next to the tree was a man-shaped shadow with dark hair curling up from the head like smoke. The only feature on the blank face was a razor-sharp grin.

  My heart stuttered. “Who is this?” I asked, though I feared I knew the answer. I knew that grin.

  Valerie joined me. “He watches over me,” she said. “He keeps me safe from prowlers and predators.” She suddenly looked down. “Would you like to play with my dollies?” She plucked the two dolls from the bedspread and sat on the edge of the bed. “They don’t like me having my dollies, but they don’t like me not having my dollies more.” Her smile didn’t look quite right. I couldn’t help but think of the bared fangs on a rabid wolf. “They haven’t learned yet that I always get what I want.”

  I swallowed and nodded cautiously, sitting next to her on the bed. “I’d love to play with you.”

  “Good. I’ll be the Pirate King.” She held up one figure. The doll had dark hair fringed with white and a wide, predatory smile beneath coal-black button eyes. For all that it was a simple rag doll, it looked eerily like Zo. I could see where Valerie had drawn chains around the doll’s wrists with a yellow marker. I wondered about the chains, though—why were they gold instead of black? Maybe yellow was the only color she’d had access to.

  “And you can be the River Policeman.” Valerie handed me the second doll and I felt a flush of surprise. This doll also had dark hair and yellow chains inked around his wrists, but his button eyes were silver and his smile was small and secretive. He wore a long blue coat with a sheriff’s star drawn on the lapel. I half smiled at the thought of Dante as a policeman, patrolling the river, on the prowl for lawbreakers.

  Then I remembered the ghostly feel of his hand holding tight to mine and the whisper of his voice, Hurry, Abby. Please.

  “What should we play?” I asked, my mouth dry and my mind rough with unwelcome thoughts.

  “Oh, I know a lot of good stories. They’re in my head all the time now, but sometimes the endings change when I’m not looking. Stories can be tricky that way. You have to watch them carefully all the time or else they’ll catch you and you’ll never get away.” She clapped her hands in delight. “I know! Let’s play the story of how the brave Pirate King escaped from the bad River Policeman.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “This is one of my favorites.”

  “I don’t know that story,” I said, glancing between the Zo and Dante dolls. I knew, with a sinking feeling in my heart, that this story was not going to be one of my favorites.

  “Of course you don’t, darling,” Valerie scoffed, and for a moment she sounded like her old self. I glanced up in hopeful surprise, but her eyes held a hard edge of anger. “Don’t be stupid. I haven’t told it to you yet.”

  “Oh,” I murmured, my heart quiet. “Right.”

  “The story starts with a gunshot.” Valerie slapped her hands together with a bang and I jumped, making the bed bounce a little.

  “It’s not a real gun, silly,” she said, giggling. “It’s just the sound I hear in my head when I tell this story. Sometimes it sounds like a door closing and a key turning in a lock. Do you know what that sounds like?”

  I nodded. The echo of the door closing behind Dante rang in my ears every moment of every day.

  “Then the story sounds like footsteps—running from the beginning straight to the end. It’s a fast story, so I hope you can keep up.” She tapped her toes on the floor, the bottoms of her slippers rasping like sandpaper.

  “The Pirate King likes to run too.” She moved the doll’s legs up and down on her knees. “He likes to run through grass and across fields and over bridges. But mostly he likes to run through puddles. He likes to see the splash and the ripples. He even likes to run on the deck of his boat. He built a boat, you know—a fast boat—and sails it up and down the river. His boat is so fast that nothing can stop him. He knows that for a fact so he stands at the front of his boat and laughs into the wind.”

  She tilted the doll’s head back with her fingers and laughed. I felt a sick twist in the pit of my stomach as Zo’s laugh filled the room.

  “But one day, when the Pirate King was standing high on the crow’s nest looking up at the stars, he saw a strange sight. A River Policeman was sailing behind him in a dinky old dinghy.”

  She held a doll in each hand so they were face-to-face.

  “‘Stop!’ the River Policeman shouted.

  “The Pirate King just laughed into the wind. ‘You can’t stop me. I am too fast for you.’

  “‘I’ll follow you wherever you go,’ the River Policeman said. ‘You won’t get away from me.’

  “‘Full speed ahead!’ the Pirate King shouted to his crew.” Valerie paused, looking at me with her head tilted to one side. “I think every pirate ship needs a crew, don’t you? I don’t have any other dolls yet, so you’ll just have to imagine the other pirates.”

  It was all too easy to imagine Tony and V as rag dolls with matching black button eyes, following in Zo’s footsteps. I tasted acid in the back of my throat. But Tony wasn’t with Zo, I reminded myself. He was with Dante somewhere in the dark place between doors, disappearing with each successive scream. I dragged my thoughts back to Valerie’s story. As unsettling as her words were, I preferred them to thinking about the alternative.

  ?
??The Pirate King orders the crew to sail faster and faster, and it seems impossible, but the River Policeman keeps up with them. In fact, it starts to look like he’s gaining on them, that he’ll catch the Pirate King and his crew.”

  Valerie chased one doll with the other up and down her lap.

  “The Pirate King can’t let that happen. He knows the River Policeman would take him away in chains and wouldn’t let him run free through the grass and the fields and the puddles anymore. So the Pirate King orders his crew to stop and make a stand.”

  She paused. I held my breath for the next part of the story.

  “The River Policeman climbed aboard the pirate ship and cornered the Pirate King’s crew. But it was a trap! The Pirate King was smarter and stronger and faster than anybody could have imagined. They fought and fought until the river turned black with blood and the stars fell from the sky.”

  The two dolls wrestled on Valerie’s lap while she growled and grunted deep in her throat.

  “But just when it looked like the River Policeman was going to win—surprise!”

  Suddenly, she reached out and tore away the policeman’s eyes, the silver buttons as small and thin as dimes in her hand.

  “‘I’m blind,’ the River Policeman shouted. He tried to cry, but since he didn’t have any eyes, how could he have any tears?”

  She threw the ruined doll on the floor by her feet and lifted the Pirate King high above her head in victory. “And so the Pirate King and his crew sailed away, off on another adventure, and they left the River Policeman on the riverbank, blind and bleeding and helpless.”

  She lowered the Pirate King doll and looked at it fondly. “I love stories with happy endings, don’t you?” She looked at me with a huge smile. “What was your favorite part?”

  She didn’t let me answer, which was good since the only word I could think of was no. Just—no. A unilateral negation of everything that was happening.

  “My favorite part is the ending. When the story is in my head, I can see all the endings. And they all end the same way—with a kiss between the king and his queen.” She lifted the Pirate King doll up and kissed the painted mouth with a loud, smacking sound. “I can’t wait,” she sighed and tucked the doll into her arms, rocking it like a small child.