Unhinge

  Melanie backed away from me slowly and then practically ran down the hall. I walked behind her, saying nothing but refusing to let her leave my sight.

  I watched as she walked out of the lobby. She brushed off the valet and hurried toward an old Corolla. She pulled out of the parking lot like the devil was nipping at her heels. Not once did she look back at the front entrance to see if I was watching her go. But I think she knew I was there.

  November 2015

  After dinner, I slowly walk back to my room.

  The memory of telling Sinclair I was pregnant is seared into my mind. We were so happy. So hopeful. I glance down at my daughter. Evelyn was his. All this time she’s been his. So why wasn’t Sinclair happy to see her? Why didn’t he ask to hold her? Love on her?

  Just when I take two steps forward toward uncovering my past, I end up having to take twenty steps back. So many times I’ve reminded myself that the bad has to happen in order for me to reach the good¸ that there’s light at the end of the tunnel if I look close enough.

  Yet I can’t see that light anymore and I don’t think I ever will.

  I’ve had enough of the memories. And of Fairfax.

  Yet all my thoughts come to a screeching halt the minute I turn the corner. I’m a few steps away from my room, but I know something’s up. The nurses who normally linger in front of the nurses’ station are gone. A few patients are standing outside their rooms. A few form a little circle. Yet all of their eyes turn my way. A new girl turns away and starts to giggle when I look back at her.

  Ignoring them and the warning bells ringing through my head, I hurry to my room. The door is open. Nurses are talking quietly among themselves. When they see me standing there, they step to the side and reveal Alice.

  She smiles at me viciously and holds out a pile of pills. “Well, this is interesting.”

  She steps closer. I take a step out into the hallway. Yet that’s not good enough; I feel like the walls are closing in around me, shrinking my chances of ever escaping this place. “This is at least six, almost seven weeks’ worth of pills.”

  There’s no use in denying they’re mine. I stare at her solemnly, bracing myself for what she’s about to say next.

  The rest of the nurses filter out of my room. Kate’s one of them. She doesn’t make eye contact with me.

  Coward.

  “Something like this doesn’t go unpunished.”

  “My doctor isn’t here. You can’t do anything,” I point out.

  “She may not be here but going against the rules has consequences.” Alice looks so sure. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “You can’t do anything,” I repeat.

  Alice shakes her head and smiles. There’s nothing kind about that smile. “No, I can’t. But the doctor on shift can.” She holds her hands out. “Give me the baby, Victoria.”

  Instinctively, I hold Evelyn closer. “No.”

  “Give her to me.”

  “No.”

  Alice grabs on to Evelyn’s stomach and tugs. I hold on, slapping Alice’s hands away. But her grip is stronger than mine. She rips her away and holds my daughter close to her chest, as though it’s her baby. Not mine. The action wakes Evelyn up. She wails loudly in fear. Alice smiles.

  The anger that overcomes me is unstoppable. I’m a force to be reckoned with. I can’t calm down even if I try. I lunge for Alice. For once she looks scared. Good. Even she should know that you never take a child away from her mother. It’s like poking a sleeping bear. You won’t like the results.

  I hear raised voices around me. Someone grabs me around the waist, trying to pull me back. My hands are extended, fingers stretched, clawing at thin air.

  Alice continues to hold my daughter.

  My daughter.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this much rage before. It scares even me. “Give her back!” I scream.

  More people are starting to come out of their rooms. I don’t care; I continue to yell at Alice, calling her every name in the book. It’s a small consolation that her smug grin slightly fades.

  Someone’s hand covers my mouth. I bite down on her flesh. Someone cries out and instantly the hand is gone. Then they start dragging me down the hall. I resist. I fight with everything I have.

  Alice follows behind me, like this is a funeral procession and she’s getting ready to give me my last rites.

  “You can’t take her away from me!” I say. “You can’t do this!”

  Yet even as I say those words, I’m doubtful. It’s nine o’clock. After hours. Dr. Calloway isn’t here. She can’t help me.

  We turn the corner. Patient rooms are becoming sparse. I’ve been down this hallway before. It’s not a place you want to be at Fairfax. At the very end of the hall is the white room.

  The on-call doctor runs up toward us. He’s so young he reminds me of Doogie Howser. He has no idea who I am and what my situation is. None of that works in my favor. But he does look frightened by me as his eyes jump from Alice to Kate.

  I jump at my chance.

  “Don’t let them take my daughter away,” I plead. “Please, just let me go back to my room. Please.”

  He looks shocked.

  “She’s been hiding her pills in the wall for weeks now,” Alice tells him.

  “Shut up! Shut up! This doesn’t involve you,” I snap.

  Doogie opens the door to the white room. I’ve never felt such blinding fear. It’s powerful enough to make me double over in pain.

  I make one last plea. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it.” My voice goes down and even to my own ears I sound like a child begging for its parent not to hurt them. “Please don’t do it.”

  Alice encourages him, tells him that I’m out of control. He gives me an apologetic look before he sticks the needle into my vein.

  The drugs don’t kick in instantly. But it’s pretty damn close. Already I can feel my body become weightless. I know I should move my legs and try to resist, but I can’t think.

  I feel light as a feather. In my mind, I see myself floating in the sky, slowly drifting toward the ground. The air dances across my skin. I stare up at the white ceiling. I smile and then I close my eyes.

  The last thing I hear: “Fairfax is no place for a baby….”

  I’m a good person.

  I know I am.

  I don’t deserve to be in here.

  How much time has gone by: a few minutes? Hours? Days? I don’t know. And that’s the scary part. In a room where all noise is absent, time stands still. Your breaths become punctuated. And your conscience becomes this malignant creature, festering inside you, just waiting to turn your words around on you and watch you suffer.

  In the white room you become your own worst enemy.

  The second I woke, I stared down at my body. My sweats were gone, replaced with a hospital gown. On my right wrist is a blue wristband. And a green one. I don’t know what they mean or why they’re even there. Both of them say the following:

  DONOVAN, VICTORIA

  5-19-2015

  #5213627

  There’s no reason for this. Why put this on me? I know my name.

  This is ridiculous.

  But maybe this is on purpose. Maybe they know I’m losing it, and I’ll forget my name. Maybe they’re helping me out.

  Or maybe not.

  Maybe they’re planning something much bigger than me. To give me a drug so strong my memory will be wiped clean and I won’t know who I am or what I’ve done or who I’ve loved.

  Or maybe they simply want to rob me of my sanity.

  The very thought makes me start pounding on the door, screaming to be let out. Now my hands ache. There will be bruises. My throat is raw.

  All four walls are padded in white squares. I’ve counted them multiple times. The number is never the same. The ceiling is white and the floors are white. There’s not a stitch of furniture in here. Just a blanket in the corner with a small, flat pillow. These two additions look like add-ons—a last-minu
te thought placed in here to make it look “roomy.”

  I’m in the corner of the room, my back against the wall, as far back as I can get from the door. I know I’m alone in here, but I can feel eyes on me, tracking my every move.

  No one’s come in here to check on me. Are they going to leave me in here to rot? I want to say no, but I’m starting to doubt myself.

  Very faintly, I can hear a baby crying. My heartbeat skyrockets. In my mind, I can vividly see Evelyn lying in her bassinet. She’s scared and I’m not there to comfort her.

  The very thought makes me want to vomit. If she was here right now I would reach out and count the beats of her heart. And then I would know I’m alive. I would know that I have a chance of surviving this.

  “Bad mom…bad mom…bad mom…”

  I don’t know what my brain’s doing—bringing up dark moments from the past. No matter how hard I try to ignore the words, I can’t, because the actions from the present back it up. I am a bad mom. I let go of her. I didn’t fight the nurses and doctors hard enough.

  There’s so much I didn’t do.

  I start to shake so violently, my teeth chatter.

  I think that nothing can compare to the insanity and fear suffocating my soul, but a deep dark voice in my head tells me that I’m wrong.

  “Why can’t you just listen?”

  I scream and stare into the eyes of Wes. He’s to my right, kneeling so his knees brush against my arm. I want to jerk away but I’m trapped.

  He brushes the hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. “I told you to leave this alone, didn’t I? All this time I’ve been trying to protect you from this.”

  I draw my legs up to my chest and rest my forehead on my knees. He’s not here…he’s not here…he’s not here.

  This is all just in my mind. That’s what happens when fear takes over.

  But he’s here. Nothing about him is made up.

  “They took her away,” I groan. “They took my daughter away.”

  “This is all your fault.” Wes’s voice goes from being sweet and gentle to menacing and cruel. “I had a beautiful life planned out for us. You realize that, don’t you?”

  Maybe if I close my eyes, maybe if I talk over him, he’ll just disappear.

  “Close your eyes and count to ten. Soon it will be over before it ever began,” I chant.

  “Stop it,” he growls.

  I don’t. If anything, my voice becomes louder with every word.

  “Soon it will be over before it ever began….”

  “Stop it!”

  His hands curl around my arms. He’s shaking me, screaming at me to shut up.

  Close your eyes and count to ten. Soon it will be over before it ever began. Close your eyes and count to ten. Soon it will be over before it ever began. Close your eyes and count to ten. Soon it will be over before it ever began. Close your eyes….

  The door slowly creaks open.

  I don’t bother lifting my head. My hand slaps erratically at the wall over and over and over. The noise my palm makes against the padding is the only reminder that I’m still alive and present.

  “Victoria, I’m so sorry.” Dr. Calloway bends down until she’s kneeling next to me. She wears an expression of concern. I stare at her blankly. “I didn’t know you were in here all night. I would never approve of this.”

  She places her hand on my shoulder and I jerk away from her touch. Someone can only take so much before they break. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats.

  Dr. Calloway holds her hand out, but I stand up on my own. She didn’t shut the door behind her, and now I can hear the very faint voices of nurses and patients.

  “How long have I been in here?” My voice cracks.

  “Just one night. No more than nine hours.”

  Impossible. It feels like years have gone by.

  Right then the image of Evelyn slams into my mind. “Where’s my daughter?”

  Dr. Calloway holds her hands out in front of her. “She’s fine. She’s just fine.”

  “Where is she?” My voice is frantic now. Until I see her with my own eyes I won’t be satisfied. The scariest part of this room is the separation. Countless times I heard her cries. But after a while, I don’t know when, they stopped.

  And then I begin to fear the worst.

  I know it sounds impossible, but when I searched for my own pulse, telling myself that if I could find my own, then my daughter was still alive, well, I didn’t find it.

  “Where is she?” I yell.

  “Victoria, she’s fine. But I need to talk to you about something I found in your file. I—” Dr. Calloway’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear a word over the beating of my heart. I try to listen. I really do.

  But my mind is screaming at me to find my daughter and I can’t avoid it. Ducking beneath her arm, I run out into the hall.

  “Victoria!” Dr. Calloway calls out behind me.

  “I need to know she’s okay!” I shout and run down the hall. It doesn’t take me long to reach my room. The door is wide open; one look inside and I know Evelyn’s not there.

  I quickly move toward the dayroom. The hallway is empty. A therapy room next to the locked doors is open. A nurse is ushering a group of ladies into the room. She makes the mistake of leaving one of the doors open. I run through it and into the dayroom.

  All eyes are locked on me. I probably look like a maniac. At this point it’s hard to care. My appearance is the last thing on my mind.

  Where is she? Where is she? Where is she? I turn in a circle, and then I see Alice. She’s standing next to the nurses’ station. My daughter is in her arms.

  My daughter.

  Alice sees me. The cocky demeanor that she had while she encouraged the doctor to inject me is gone. She looks terrified. Of me.

  “Give me my baby.” The minute the words slip from my tongue I have a sense of déjà vu. This trips me up for the barest of seconds. I grab my daughter, ready to kill for her if I have to.

  I hold her tightly in my arms. She’s crying. I try to soothe her but she won’t calm down.

  “Look what you did….”

  Wes’s voice is whispering in my ear. I whip my body around. He’s not there. The television is on just as usual, but no one’s watching it. Board games are paused. Books are on the table and multiple sets of eyes are on me.

  And that’s when I see him.

  He’s outside, walking along the length of the building. Plain as day.

  I take a step forward but stop when he disappears out of my line of vision.

  “No, no, no…” I whisper. This isn’t happening again. Not again. He’s not getting away so easily while I’m trapped in this prison. I walk toward the dining room. In this hall the blinds are always open, letting in bright white light, and in this case they give me a clear view of Wes.

  His hands are in his pockets, and his eyes remain looking forward. He has a dark smirk on his lips.

  My pace matches his, step for step. In front of me the hall cuts to the left and right. In front of me is the back door where the nurses take their smoking breaks.

  I slam my shoulder against the door; it opens but a siren goes off instantly.

  “Hey!” a nurse shouts behind me. “Come back here!”

  Once I’m outside I take off. Wes already has a lead on me. He’s running toward the woods, cutting a trail between the long grass.

  Barefoot and with my daughter in my arms I run after him. I can hear multiple voices behind me, but I don’t stop. I can feel it in my bones that this is the coup de grâce and everything has been leading up to this. All I can think about is that I have to catch up with Wes. The dry grass snaps beneath my feet. My heart is pounding so fast I think it is going to burst from my chest.

  The alarm seems to be getting louder. And then I hear Sinclair’s voice. He’s yelling at me to stop.

  But doesn’t he get it? For weeks I’ve been trying to untangle my past, undoing the knots, and I knew I was so close to having my lif
e back. It was right there. I could practically touch it.

  “Wes!” I shout. “Stop!”

  He continues running. My muscles burn so badly I want to collapse in one big heap and greedily suck in all the air I can.

  Yet we draw closer and closer to the trees until the next thing I know, I’m swallowed by them. The grass gives way to damp ground covered in leaves, pine needles, and broken branches. They puncture my feet. I barely register the pain. My heavy breathing mingles with the drone of the alarms. I lose my footing on uneven ground. I stumble a bit but remain upright.

  Evelyn is screaming. This time I feel her heartbeat. It’s as frantic as my own.

  But Wes remains unfazed. He jumps over fallen tree trunks. Dodges along slopes.

  Sinclair’s still behind me. He continues to call out my name. I feel the weight of his stare on my back.

  Clouds move in front of the sun, surrounding me in further darkness. The wind picks up, rolling through the trees. Strands of my hair whip into my face, blurring my vision before I impatiently pull them back.

  We keep running. I don’t know where we’re going or what will happen. Wes is ahead of me, weaving in and out of the trees, stepping over thick branches as if he’s done this many times before. Finally the trees thin out and in the middle of nowhere stands a small cabin. Wes runs inside it, leaving the door open.

  I hesitate.

  And then I step into the cabin. I’m panting, ready to drop from exhaustion. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see what’s around me. On the wall, my face smiles back at me. There is not a square inch that isn’t covered in pictures. Some of them are of me alone. The others are of Wes and me through our entire relationship.

  The small cabin has been transformed into a replica of our master bedroom in our old house. The same four-poster bed. Same bedspread. Same rug. The dresser against the wall has a wedding picture of us in a silver frame.

  I feel like I’m in a funhouse. I won’t be surprised if the floor shifts beneath me and reveals a secret room with more surprises waiting for me.