Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) (11 page)

“Where’s my stuff?” I ask as we walk farther down the same hallway, past tons of other rooms and people who stare at me as if I’m an alien.

“Your stuff?” Riley repeats as he opens the door to the bathroom.

“You know, my cell phone, my wallet, my clothes. Where is it?”

He takes me toward the back where there are several showers lined up like in a locker room. He sets two towels and a washrag on a bench and folds his arms over his chest. “You didn’t come in with a cell phone. As for your other stuff, we have lock boxes that they store those things in until a family member gets them or until you leave.”

I stand and stare at him. He gives no hint that he’s going to leave, and I feel vulnerable all over again. “You’re gonna stay here?”

He nods. “Believe me, it’s not a job perk, but you seem to forget those two little words I mentioned back in your room. High risk. You can’t be left alone in the bathroom. Now get on with your shower. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”

I strip down and try to tell myself that it’s just like back in the days when I played football or it’s after a fire and all of us are cleaning up at the station. Only I’m being watched like a hawk and they are just waiting for me to hurt myself.

The hot water pours over me and it feels good. My body is still very sore and the scratches on my arms and face sting. I feel the stubble on my face and Riley catches on before I ask.

“You can shave, but I have to bring another nurse in for that. Now you understand why there’s so many men walking around with beards.”

I go back to washing up, and scrub the shampoo down into my scalp. A shower used to be the one place I could relax and now I can’t even have enjoy it. I shut the water off and quickly dry myself. At least the sweats are comfortable as I slip into them.

“You mean you don’t give us fancy uniforms?” Again, my sarcasm is thick. I don’t think I’m ever going to tone it down here. It just pours out without even trying.

“We are state funded. You’re lucky you have a bed,” Riley replies as he takes me back out into the hallway. The two other nurses are waiting. At least all three of them weren’t in the shower with me.

“We’re about to escort you guys down to the cafeteria to eat, but it’ll still be a bit. How about you go into your room and get it situated? It’s about the only place you’ll be free from us, but the door stays open so we can still check on you.” Again, Riley pats me on the shoulder. I can’t tell if he wants to be friendly or if he wants to be hard to prove his authority, but there’s compassion in his eyes. “Don’t be a lifer here, Nathan. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I rake my hand through my damp hair and look back at him. “I think so.”

“Do your treatment and get on with your life. I’ve been doing this a long time. You don’t need to be here.”

With his last comment, he leaves the room and as promised, the door stays open. There’s a clear view right in, so there will no longer be a thing called privacy for me.

I lay back on the bed. The blanket isn’t very soft, but like Riley said, I do have a bed at least. I close my eyes and realize I now have a legitimate fear of doing it. I’m so scared of what I’ll see or what will happen to me. How will they handle things here in the hospital when I get attacked again? I’m sure I’ll get nice and familiar with the padded room.

Letting out a deep breath, my body relaxes into the twin-sized mattress. I think about Rusty and my dad. I think about Rose and try to shove the anger aside. Most of all, I think about my future and how I’m going to come back from something like this. Normal as I know it is long gone. I hope to God this isn’t going to be my new normal.

Just as I’m about to doze off, Riley’s voice calls from the hallway. “Nathan, time to eat. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

Rose

I stare out of mine and Nathan’s bedroom window. Night is settling in and the darkness heightens my horrible mood. The first day of his hospitalization is coming to a close and it’s been the longest day of my life. I can only imagine what he’s going through. I try not to think about it, but how can I not? I know it seems like betrayal, and I’m sure Nathan is reeling at the fact, but I can’t stand idle as he wastes away.

Rusty hasn’t spoken to me much since I told him. I still have to wonder if he really is seeing things too. Mental illness runs in families, and I hope that he’s not developing whatever Nathan has.

I draw the curtains and pull the covers back. A part of me wants to sleep on the couch. There’s so much Nathan around that it doesn’t matter where I am – there’s a constant reminder of him everywhere. His work duffel bag is by the closet door, ready to go for the next time he has a tour. If he has another tour. I try not to be so negative, but why is he being so resistant to everything?  I’ve read that a lot of times people go into psych hospitals and come out better than ever. Can that please be Nathan? Can he come out the man he was before this?

I turn the lamp off on the nightstand and pull the covers around me. I avoid his side of the bed, but his scent is still around me. Just like before, I almost can feel him next to me. I wish my mind would shut off so I can get some sleep.

The house is so quiet. Maybe the TV will help. Reaching for the remote, I flip it on to some late night infomercial. I just need it as white noise. Burying my head back into the pillow, I focus on what they are trying to sell. But then the voice changes. What the heck? Propping up on my elbow, I squint at the TV. The same people aren’t on there. Instead, it’s some creepy image of a woman with stringy hair and long nails. Was there a scary movie scheduled after the sales pitch? Did I fall asleep?

This is not what I want on, so I go to change the channel, but the woman turns and looks at me, her eyes black. “Nathan…” she whispers and it sounds full of static. Did she just say Nathan? “Your husband isn’t crazy…” she trails off again and I’m so freaked out that I turn the TV off and bolt down the stairs into the living room.

I flip on every light, trying hard to shove the image from my mind. No, I am dreaming. I’ve had all of this weighing on me for a while, and dreams reflect our subconscious. It is my head playing tricks on me, but it feels so real. I take a long drink of water and sit at the kitchen table, replaying it all.
Your husband isn’t crazy.
Dreams are our subconscious. I keep telling myself that, but why would it say he’s
not
crazy?

I can’t over analyze it. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. I feel guilty for having Nathan taken in against his will. I’m worried about Rusty. How much longer before I get sick like my husband? I can’t let that happen. I can’t get freaked out by a dream.

I grab a blanket from the hall closet and decide to stay downstairs on the couch. I turn off a few lights, but leave some on for safe measure. I remember that this is how Nathan started to act with it all too – he always kept the lights on, even at night.

I can’t do this. I need sleep. It was a dream. The scary woman was
just a dream.

***

Nathan

“Nathan Gallagher, come get your meds.” A nurse is standing in the common area with a clipboard and a medicine cup. I look around the corner from my door and don’t go. Aside from supper, I haven’t left the bed. Sleep hasn’t happened, but I still can’t face the other people in the ward.

When I don’t respond, he comes in my room and extends the cup. “Here’s your meds. Did you hear me calling? We do this about the same time every night.”

I shake my head no. “I’m not taking any meds.”

“It’s Dr. Clint’s orders. You have a problem with it, you can take it up tomorrow when you have your session.”

“Good, until then, I will not be taking it.”

The nurse lets out a deep sigh. “Look, Nathan, I know you’re new here and all, but believe me when I say you’re gonna want to at least take the sleep aid.”

I scoff and stare at the cup that has to have at least four pills in it. I’m the type of guy that tries not to take ibuprofen if I can fight it, much less four unknown pills. “Why is that?” I arch my eyebrow. “Is that when this place really comes to life? Is that when you whisk us away to do your torture on us? The more drugged up, the better it is for you?”

The nurse jots something down on the clipboard. “Suit yourself, Nathan. I can’t force you to take this, but Dr. Clint needs to know about your refusal.”

“What’s in that cup isn’t what I need.”

The nurse chews on the end of his pen and smiles. “And what exactly is it, that you think you need?”

Without hesitation, I answer him. “A priest.”

“If I had a penny for every time a patient tells me that, I wouldn’t be working night shift and dealing with a hard ass like you, Nathan.”

“Maybe you oughta think about that. Maybe we are onto something that people around here just don’t want to admit.”

The nurse walks to the door. “Maybe so. Get some rest. Your session with Dr. Clint is right after breakfast.”

He turns the light off and leaves me alone. It’s not completely dark. With the door open, the light from the hallway cascades in, to the point where it’s just enough to frustrate me. I pull the thin blanket up to my neck. I’m tired, but with so much on my mind, sleep is an unknown dimension. I toss and turn, and suddenly I understand why the nurse suggested the sleep aid. The beds aren’t comfortable and there’s screaming, crying, and conversation coming from other rooms not too far from mine.

At first it’s hard to decipher if it’s things I’m hearing or if it is other patients, but I’m almost certain that it’s the others, dealing with whatever demons they have been facing.

I close my eyes and put the pillow over my head. It doesn’t block any of it out. When I open my eyes again, there is a face right in mine, and I jump back so fast that I knock myself off of the bed and crash to the floor. Blinking, I scoot back, hitting the wall as the image follows me and is almost nose-to-nose with me. I can’t make out who it is at first, but when I finally grasp my bearings, I see it is the woman with the long hair and nails. She reaches her hand out and it is soiled as she motions toward me, almost beckoning me to follow her.

“What do you want?” I ask. There’s nowhere for me to go. My body is up against the wall and she has me pinned in a corner.

She wraps her hand around my throat, but doesn’t put any pressure on it. Her breath is hot against my skin and I hold my breath to try to block the stench. I almost recognize her from somewhere. She’s oddly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.

“I visited your wife tonight,” she replies. “She thinks it’s all just a dream, that I wasn’t really there. I tried to tell her you weren’t crazy.”

I feel the urge to vomit and swallow the saliva that kicks in from the nausea. “Leave her alone. Leave her and Rusty alone.”

She starts to clamp her hand around my neck, but it’s still not hard enough to cause any pain. “I’m standing up for you. I’m doing something for you that you couldn’t do for me.”

“What do you mean?”

Her nails dig into the back of my neck, and from the moisture, I know it’s blood. I wince as she clutches on and looks me right in the eye. Her dull expression doesn’t change, but the pressure on me does, and suddenly I’m unable to breath. My legs kick out and I swing my arms, trying to get her to stop. She pulls at my neck now and slams my head against the wall with a loud thud. Where are the nurses? Do they not hear this commotion?

The edges of my vision grow black, but I fight it. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not done talking to her. “Stop,” I say between breaths, but it comes out so forced that it doesn’t sound like it.

A child’s laughter cuts through the night air, sending a chill down my spine. Suddenly, the woman is gone and I’m left to catch my breath. I swipe my hand down the back of my neck and see the blood all over my palm. I’m still too scared to move from against the wall, but when I hear the child’s laughter again, I fight through it and crawl back toward the bed.

“Hello?”

Again, whatever it is giggles. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Who are you?”

The child appears in the light from the hallway. It’s the same boy I saw on the street in front of my dad’s house. Just like with the woman, he looks familiar to me. He approaches me and extends his hand, but I don’t respond to it. I stare at it, trying to piece this all together.

“You’re a fireman,” he says. “You’re supposed to save people.”

I nod. “That’s right. How do you know that?”

“I want you to come with me.”

He turns to walk away, and I crawl to follow him. It’s probably not the brightest idea, but I want to get answers. One day is enough in this hospital, and maybe if I go with him, it will all become clear to me. I’m now out in the hallway, keeping an eye on the child’s backside, feeling confident that I’m about to get all of the answers to questions that have been plaguing my family and me.

“Nathan?”

I feel a hand on me and suddenly, the child is gone. The nurse who tried to issue me meds is standing over me.

“Where are you going, Nathan?”

I try to jerk away from his grasp, but I’m unsuccessful. There’s more than one worker hovering over me, but I don’t care. I was so close and yet again, my chances are ripped away. Gritting my teeth, I try to crawl away, but who am I kidding? It’s three to one and I’m so disoriented that I stand no chance to get anywhere. Where would I go? The place is so locked up that I wouldn’t get far.

Still, my fight or flight response kicks in, and something tells me to fight. I kick at one of them, making contact. I hear footsteps around me and someone mentions getting the syringe, but I ignore it. If they’re going to drug me up again, I need to go down fighting. The familiar dull ache of the needle pierces through the skin in my hip and again, I feel like I’m in thick mud.

From what I can tell, I’m thrown on top of a gurney and am being wheeled somewhere. The nurses are looking down at me and the light overhead is passing by fast. I’m in and out of consciousness and nothing is making sense. The woman and boy’s faces flash before me, and I jerk to shield away from them.

“He’s hallucinating,” I hear one of them say. “He’s got deep gashes on his neck. We better get that treated and stitched up. And someone, get Dr. Clint on the phone. He wanted to be notified if anything happened with him.”

Everything fades and I can’t fight it anymore. Everything goes dark.

***

“Get Dr. Clint.”

Again, bright light hits me and it takes me a second to realize what has happened. There’s people around – I can hear them scrambling around. I feel the IV in my hand and try to reach out and pull it, but I’m restrained. That’s no surprise.

“Nathan, can you open your eyes for me?”

I recognize the voice and when my vision finally clears, I see Dr. Clint sitting beside the bed. I’m not sure if I’m happy to see him or pissed. It doesn’t take long for my memory to come back, and it all flashes before me like an epiphany so strong that it seems to all be happening again. The woman and the young boy’s voices echo, and I try hard to fight it.

“You were supposed to have a session with me this morning, so how about we just do it now? Are you feeling okay?”

I cringe at his question. Of course I’m not doing okay. I don’t even know where the hell I am, but I know for sure I’m not back in the padded room.

“Where am I?” My voice sounds like it’s booming in my head.

“You’re in the hospital. We had quite the scare with you last night.”

I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t allow it. “You had quite a scare?” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “If you could only see the things I have. Then you’d know what scare means.”

Dr. Clint leans in. “Is that what happened last night. You see something?”

I don’t want to talk to him. I want him to go away and I want to go back to sleep. Apparently, whatever they gave me hasn’t completely worn off. I lick my lips and try to avoid his question. “Can I get some water or something?”

He grabs a cup off of the stand nearby and helps me drink from the straw. It tastes so good and I drink it too fast.

“Nathan, what did you see last night? Richard, the nurse on duty last night, tells me you refused the meds.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need them. And before you start in on me about why I saw something, it’s not because I didn’t take the meds.”

Dr. Clint leans back in the chair and it’s the first time I notice the clipboard. It seems none of the staff goes anywhere without that damn thing. “What happened to the back of your neck? If you don’t explain, we have to assume you did it.”

“Awful drastic of a thing for me to do, considering I’m on high risk. Might want to think about hiring better staff to keep an eye on me.”

He writes a few things and then looks at me again. “You took about ten stitches. It’s pretty serious. I want to know how it happened.”