Authors: P.D. Workman
“Thank you so much for looking after her,” Em said with feeling. “I don’t know what I would have done if she just never came home.”
Porter shook his head.
“It could have been bad,” he agreed. He paused as he started to turn away. “And she wasn’t—there was no baby, was there?”
“Baby?” Em questioned, frowning. “Do you mean was she pregnant?”
“No. She said that she had a baby there. Named Monica. We spent extra time searching the house, putting firemen’s lives in danger, because she said there was a baby.”
Em swallowed and shook her head.
“No, no baby. Monica
…
she used to have an imaginary friend named Monica,” Em said with a helpless laugh.
“Well, I guess she was hallucinating. I’d better be getting on. Take care of her. Hope she gets better soon.”
“Yes. Thank you. Again. I’m just so glad that you found her like that. Before something awful happened to her.”
Porter nodded again, smiling at her heartily, and left. Em peeked in the hospital room door at Justine, but it looked like she was still asleep. She didn’t appear to have stirred since Em had glanced in last. Em didn’t go in right away. She walked over to the nursing station.
“Hi
…
is Justine’s doctor around? The fireman said he just talked to him.”
The nurse looked at her with a frown.
“Justine?” she repeated.
“The girl that came in, from the flooding,” Em gestured toward her door. “The fireman was just in there.”
“Oh,” the nurse looked down at her records. “Katie Curry. That’s the name she gave us.”
Em felt a chill. The nurse looked back up at her.
“That’s not the right name,” Em said with a calmness she did not feel. “She’s putting you on. Her name is Justine. Justine Bywater.”
“Oh! Well, I’ll need to get all of her proper information from you. You understand, she was brought in here in pretty rough shape. She couldn’t talk much, we just took her word for it that that was her name.”
Her eyes were curious, and she waited for Em to fill in the blanks.
“She’s ill,” Em explained. “Mentally ill, not just physically. She does it for attention. She probably didn’t want me to find her, so she gave the wrong name. She ran away a couple of days ago,” her voice cracked a little.
The nurse nodded understandingly.
“Teenagers,” she said with a shake of her head. “They like to keep things interesting, don’t they? I’ve got one of my own. Let’s get the paperwork taken care of first.”
Em was handed a series of forms and worked through them diligently.
“Is the doctor here now?” she questioned. “I don’t want to miss him.”
“He’s doing rounds now. We’ll catch him at the end and make sure he talks to you.”
Em wiped sweaty hands on her pants and shook hands with the doctor.
“I’m Em Bywater. Justine’s mom.”
He looked blank for a moment and glanced toward Justine’s door.
“I thought
…”
“She gave a false name,” Em explained.
“Oh, I see.”
“She ran away. I guess she didn’t want me to track her down,” Em said with a shrug and a sigh.
He nodded empathetically.
“I see. Well, she’s recovering. I don’t see any barriers to her going home in another day or so.”
“What happened?” Em questioned.
“Well,” he pondered on it, “she was severely dehydrated and hypothermic. That’s the result of being somewhat exposed to the weather, and not getting enough water. But the cause of that
…” He trailed off. “I’m at a loss to explain any organic cause.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no underlying illness that would explain her not being able to take care of herself. She didn’t have any water, food, blankets
…
But she didn’t get up and leave when the situation became uncomfortable
…
You know, beg change for a cup of coffee, go to a shelter
…
Is she,” he paused delicately, “mentally challenged?”
“No, no,” Em said, “she’s exceptionally bright. But she
…
has some
…
emotional issues,”
He nodded.
“Do you want a psychiatric assessment while she’s here? Put her on a 72-hour hold and see if we can sort it out?” he suggested.
Em shook her head.
“We’ve got someone working with her already,” she hedged, not wanting to get into the private, personal details.
“She was apparently hallucinating when they brought her in. That’s not a really common symptom of dehydration or hypothermia. Possible that it was just confusion and not hallucination
…
But it could also indicate a psychotic break.”
Em hesitated.
“A psychotic break would explain why she didn’t leave and get some help,” he pointed out.
“Maybe she just got trapped by the storm,” Em said, “and she got hypothermia because she didn’t want to go out where it was colder and wetter.”
He nodded.
“Maybe we’d better put off the decision until she’s had a chance to explain what happened.”
“Okay,” Em agreed, nodding.
“Why don’t we go in and see if we can wake sleeping beauty up?”
Em led the way into Justine’s hospital room. She laid there still, unmoving, only her chest rising and falling rhythmically. Em touched her arm tentatively.
“Justine. Sweetie, it’s time to wake up.” She shook a bit harder when Justine didn’t stir. “Justine. Come on, wake up.”
She looked at the doctor.
“I don’t think she’s ready to wake up,” she said.
“Oh, she’ll wake up,” the doctor assured her.
He strode over and shook her hard. He peeled back her eyelid and shone his penlight in her eyes. He rubbed his knuckles briskly down her sternum.
Justine reacted, rousing slightly and trying to push him away.
“Ow, stop it,” she protested groggily.
“Justine. Time to wake up. Come on!”
Justine rubbed her eyes and frowned, trying to remember why she was there, in hospital, with a doctor leaning over her. Then she smiled tentatively.
“Uh—hi,” she greeted.
“Nice to see you awake. We wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
Justine glanced around the room to see who else was included in the ‘we.’ She saw Em hovering nearby.
“Oh. You.”
“Hi, sweetie, how are you doing?” Em tried bravely.
“Fine,” Justine shifted around, testing for any pain or discomfort. She felt like she’d been sleeping heavily for a long time. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten there.
“Do you remember what happened?” the doctor said.
Justine shook her head.
“No
…
why am I here? Did I have an accident?”
She didn’t seem to have any head injuries. Nothing that explained her disorientation.
“You were in an abandoned house,” Em filled in, before the doctor could say anything else. “You got trapped there in the storm, with the flooding.”
“Oooh
…” Justine remembered the house. The night-time rescue during the storm was vague in her memory, with only occasional images, a few flashes of clarity. “Yeah, sure. I remember.”
“Why were you in the house?” the doctor questioned, watching Justine intently.
Justine glanced around the room. It looked like it was just a normal hospital room. She wasn’t in restraints or anything. But the way the doctor was watching her, assessing her
…
she sensed she had to be careful what she had to say.
“I was just hanging out there,” she said. “The door was open, and I was just checking it out.”
“And then?” he prodded.
“Then what?” Justine questioned.
“How long did you ‘hang out’ there?”
“Umm
…
I dunno. I wasn’t feeling really good, so I just stuck around, until I was feeling better. I guess I fell asleep. And then the storm came
…
and I couldn’t get out,” she was feeling her way along the explanation, watching him carefully for his reaction. Nothing she had said seemed to provoke a negative reaction, but he still seemed to be waiting expectantly.
“How long do you think it was?” he questioned.
This was dangerous ground. Justine looked at Em, who shook her head. Justine ground her teeth, thinking it through.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly, pursing her lips, “I think
…
just from the evening until the storm
…”
“You were extremely dehydrated for only having been there a few hours.”
“Oh, well
…
I hadn’t had much to drink during the day. And I skated a lot, so I guess I probably was. Maybe that’s why I was feeling a bit off. Maybe I just needed some water.”
Justine glanced up at the clear IV fluid dripping down the tube into her arm, and touched her cracked lips gently.
“Does that happen a lot?” the doctor questioned.
“What? Feeling sick? No, not really,” Justine shook her head, looking at Em for her to confirm it to the doctor.
“No,” Em agreed, “she’s usually pretty healthy.”
“Well, I’m a little concerned. How about Monica?”
Justine gasped, looking up at him.
“Monica?” she repeated, floored.
He raised an eyebrow.
“When you were rescued, you said that Monica was there, and the firemen looked for her.”
“Monica
…
no, I don’t know anyone named that. I was there by myself.”
“The firemen didn’t find anyone else. They figured you were hallucinating.”
Justine shook her head.
“I wasn’t really together
…
I don’t remember what I said.”
He looked down at her, considering, drumming his fingers on the little wheeled table beside the bed. He looked over at Em questioningly.
“I think she’s okay,” Em said. “I think it’ll be okay if she comes home, as long as you think she’s well enough.”
Justine frowned at the bizarre comment, and looked at the doctor to see what he thought.
“You don’t think you’re sick?” he asked her. “A flu bug? Something that’s been bothering you lately? Something you haven’t talked to anyone about?”
Justine laughed
“You think I’m pregnant or on drugs or something?” she demanded. “I’m not. I just
…
got too dehydrated and got confused, I guess. I’ll be more careful. Okay? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He reached over and took her wrist, and Justine was still while he counted her pulse. He held on an instant longer than necessary, looking deep into her eyes. Justine felt her face flush.
“Okay,” he said, “but if you need to talk to someone, all you have to do is ask. We’re here to help.”
Justine smiled and nodded, feeling warm. It felt good to be looked after. To have someone who cared about her welfare looking after her. She liked that feeling.
She was dying. It had been a long time since she had moved or cried. The room was hot during the day and cold at night. Her stomach was empty. Her lips were dry.
She had been there for a long time. The hours passed slowly. She spent most of the time lying still, just closing her eyes and resting. Not much energy to do anything any more. People continued to walk up and down the hall. Were they happy the babies didn’t cry any more? The TV droned on, mostly daytime talk shows. Flies buzzed noisily in the sunny window.
She was dying.
Justine awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. She looked around wildly, and found herself still to be in the hospital room. She hit the call button beside her bed. It wasn’t long before a nurse shuffled into the room. Obviously, it was a quiet night for them.
“What seems to be the problem, dear?” the nurse questioned pleasantly.
“I need help,” Justine gasped, her heart still racing from the dream. Her brain was still half in the dream. “She’s dying. Or I am. I don’t know.”
“Nobody’s dying,” the woman said soothingly. She pulled the cord to turn on the light over Justine’s bed. Her fingers curled around Justine’s wrists, fingertips precisely placed over Justine’s pulse. “You had a nightmare?”
Justine nodded.
“It wasn’t just a dream. It was
…”
The nurse looked up from her watch.
“It was just a dream,” she assured Justine. “Do you want something to help you to sleep?”
“Sure, yeah,” Justine said. She wouldn’t be able to sleep without something. The dream was sure to haunt her all night.
The nurse smiled reassuringly and nodded.
“I’ll get you something,” she promised. “Be right back.”
In the morning, a young nurse bustled into the room.
“How’s the patient this today?” she asked Justine cheerily.
She opened up the blinds to let the light stream in. Justine squinted for a moment, getting used to it. The nurse cleared away Justine’s empty water glass. She checked on the IV.
“How are you feeling?” she encouraged, taking Justine’s pulse.
Her touch was warm and reassuring. Justine felt safe at the hospital, with the doctors and nurses and other staff constantly around her, checking on her frequently, but not smothering her, not forcing their way into her life.
“Okay, I guess,” Justine said.
“You had a rough night?”
“A bit,” Justine agreed. “Had some nightmares.”
“Hospitals do that to a lot of people. Lots of noise and other things to interrupt your sleep. If you’re not used to it, you don’t quite get to the deeper sleep cycles you need. More dreaming. Sometimes crazy, disturbing stuff.”
“Yeah,” Justine agreed, “I had some really intense ones.”
“Well, no worries. You’re awake now, and the sun is shining brightly. Nothing to worry about.”
The nurse checked her temperature with an electronic thermometer stuck in her ear for an instant. She pulled down the blood pressure cuff hung on the wall and wrapped it around Justine’s arm.