Undertow (16 page)

“Marine life.” Fishing around in her mind, she dredged up something Professor Thompson had mentioned, that intertidal creatures seem to be disappearing because of global warming. Looking at the doctor, she said, “nudibranchs,” thrilled to have come up with something on the fly.

“What?” The psychiatrist’s skepticism was obvious. He knew she was taking him for a ride, but he couldn’t prove it.

“Nudibranchs are kind of like translucent sea slugs. They’re actually pretty.”

“I know what a nudibranch is. But what do they have to do with why you were seen strolling into the ocean wearing jeans and a jacket?”

“The tide had turned and was coming in. I thought I saw a sea lemon, but it disappeared under the waves. Then I saw another—they’re really hard to find, you know—so I walked out farther so I could get a better look.” Seeing his unconvinced squint, Marissa added: “Then a big wave came. That’s all I remember.”

“You were hunting nudibranchs. Is that what you are telling me? You weren’t trying to kill yourself?”

“Of course not.” Marissa locked eyes with him and held steady.

“And do you now have any desire to kill yourself?”

“Only if I can’t get out of this place.” Marissa bit her lip and wished she hadn’t said that.

To her relief, Dr. Cummins laughed. “Yeah, me too. I know what you mean.”

Boredom and curiosity finally drove Marissa to venture to the dayroom after she ate breakfast in her room. In an obvious but failed attempt to brighten up the ward, there were a few potted silk plants in the corners and framed prints hanging on the walls. An ugly orange chair, unoccupied, was placed against the wall. She claimed it, staking out her territory. If only she could render herself invisible.

Look at all these crazy people
, she thought. She wasn’t like them; why couldn’t the doctors see that? Why couldn’t Kelly?

In the center of the room were two middle aged men with stubble from a week’s neglect of shaving and messed-up hair like GQ models, except these guys looked like they hadn’t shampooed theirs for a while. A scrabble board sat on the table between them, covered with tiles.

“B-A-N-D-E-E is not a word,” the fatter man said, shaking his fist at his opponent.

“Yes it is!
Bandee.
‘To bandee about.’ That’s a word.” He jut out his lower lip. “Look it up.”

“B-A-N-D-Y, you idiot.” He jabbed a stubby finger at the other man. “Learn how to spell, or don’t play.” Jumping up, he tipped the game upside down and the tiles went flying. His opponent wailed.

A man’s voice boomed from the speakers like the sound of God speaking to Moses. “Is everything all right out there?” A door to the office at the end of the room flew open and a nurse ran into the lounge; behind the window, a tall black man hovered over a microphone. The patient spun to look at him, fear flashing in his eyes. He nodded and backed away from the nurse who now loomed beside him.

“Let’s go back to your room, shall we now?” The woman, sixty at least, spoke to him like she was his grandma and he’d been a naughty little boy; he shuffled off down the hall alongside her.

“They killed me, you know. I came to save them, but they turned their backs to my word and killed me.”

Marissa startled.
Jesus
, she thought,
how
the hell did he get here? Am I that out of it?

She looked up at the man towering over her; he was not much older than herself. His face was smooth and his clothes were clean. He looked . . . ordinary. Jeans, T-shirt, nothing strange. “Excuse me? I’m sorry. I didn’t see you come up.” She smiled. Thank God somebody else in this place was normal.

He gazed down at her like as if she were a pet, and spread his hands out in front of her face. “I came to tell them the truth,” he said, “the truth that will set them free. To bring them the Good News of the Father’s love.”

“What?” She blinked at him. His eyes shone with a zealous gleam and were unfocused as he looked through her. “What are you talking about?”

“Crucified. I brought them God’s love, and they crucified me.” He shoved his palms closer to her face. In the center of each hand were scars, exactly like puncture wounds, as if nails had been driven through his flesh.

Marissa shrieked and burrowed into the chair, turning her head away. The nurse, returned from escorting the cantankerous scrabble player away, slipped between Marissa and the guy who  was waving his hands in front of her.

“Is Jesus here bothering you, Missy?” She smiled and winked. Turning to him, she said, “You do unsettle us poor folk, don’t you dear? I keep telling you, Jesus: folks these days aren’t any readier for you to show up than they were back in the day. Let’s leave the little girl alone now.” Taking him by the elbow, she steered him away from Marissa.

Had she been dropped into Wonderland with Alice? Pretty soon, the Cheshire cat would appear. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d
definitely
go crazy
.

A red phone hung on the wall next to the nurse station. She rapped on the glass and a petite woman with short blond curls and thin lips opened the window. “Hi,” she said. “Do you need help?”

Marissa pointed to the phone. “Can I use this?”

“Sure. You can talk for up to five minutes, as long as we can see and hear you. Dial nine for an outside line.”

The clock hanging above the nurse’s station showed she had a good chance of catching him if she called now. Jim should be out of physics class, and labs wouldn’t start until one. Praying he’d answer, she dialed.

“Yellow!” His voice calmed her nerves, still frizzling from her Jesus encounter. Amazing how Jim had that effect on her, even miles away.

“Hey.”
At last
, she thought,
a sane person to talk to
.

“Hey, babe, is it really you?” The playfulness slipped from his voice for a moment. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” she lied, hesitating. “No, not okay. This sucks. I’m stuck in this psycho ward with a bunch of crazy people. They think I tried to kill myself.”

Five minutes, not much time. She counted the seconds. Jim inhaled softly, but was silent. “Jim. Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here, sugar.” His laugh sounded forced.

“They have to let me go soon. Another day or two.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

She detected the off note. “You don’t sound too happy.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m sorry, that really is great.”

He’s a lousy liar
, she thought
. Yet another improvement over Drake
. “What’s up, Jim?” Twenty seconds passed as Marissa watched the hand on the clock sweep away her precious time and wondered what the hell was happening in his mind.

“Yeah,” he said. “So, look, here’s the deal: I’ve been pretty worried about you since that thing at Erin’s.”

She shuddered, trying to blot her ex-roommate’s face from her mind and erase the vicious sound of Erin’s voice when she evicted her. Marissa bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tight to keep the tears from falling.

“Baby, I just want you to be yourself again, you know?” Jim’s voice was soft and serious. “All that mess, your notebooks, the raving about weird stuff. You spooked me. Maybe the hospital will help you.”

Marissa watched the minute hand slide toward another mark on the clock.

“Sugar, you know I love you,” he said. “I’m just glad you are getting some help, okay? That’s all.”

Marissa cupped the receiver in her hands. Warm tears rolled over her cheeks and dripped off her chin. “Okay,” she whispered. “I have to go now, time’s up.”

“Hang in there, babe.” He sounded like he was abandoning a puppy at the pound.

Inside, she screamed,
No, not yet, don’t go
. “Wait,” she blurted. “Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” Speaking the words, she realized they were true. True as they had never been before; not with Drake, not with the sea creature in her dreams.

“Well, sugar. It took you long enough.” He laughed. “Don’t stress. Everything’s going to be great. You’ll see.”

Twenty-Five

L
unch was in the commons, and she flipped through a magazine to keep her attention off the woman rocking on the sofa and silently mouthing to the empty space beside her. None of it interested her; it was filled with articles about how to keep or gain something:
Ten Tricks to Keep Your Man
, and
Lose Your Butt in Ten Days
. Every few pages some girl with pouty lips rocked the latest must-buy of the season. Two years ago. Apparently, even magazines got locked up here forever.

“Hi Marissa.”

She jerked to attention and dropped the fork which hovered over her potato salad. Fixing a smile on her face, she looked up. “Hey Doc.”

“Lunch decent today?” He pointed to the remains of the faux burger on her plate.

“Yeah, you know, it’s pretty good actually. One thing I can’t complain about.” She wiped her mouth and crumpled the napkin, dropping it on her plate.

“Well, if you’re done eating, maybe we can talk?”

“Sure.” She was determined to act normal
,
sane
.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter.” He gestured toward the hall. She followed him to a room no bigger than a closet and chose the sole armchair, forcing him to lower himself awkwardly to the sagging sofa. He attempted to lean back casually and asked the obligatory stupid question: “How are you feeling today, Marissa?”

“Great. I feel really good.” She coaxed her jaw to unclench and thought,
how do you think people usually feel, here in crazy jail? If they’re sane? This isn’t the Holiday Inn.

“That’s great.” He sneaked a look at his watch. “So let’s talk again about why you are here. Some surfers saw you walk into the waves, and when you went under, they swam out and pulled you in. Is that correct?”

“I really don’t remember that part,” she mumbled, looking down.

“That’s probably because you were already unconscious from the cold, and drowning. The hospital said you would have died, if the surfers hadn’t been there and if Life Flight hadn’t made it in time. Quite the rescue, don’t you think?”

Marissa shifted her weight to her left hip. “Yeah, I know. Just lucky, I guess.”

 “
Very
lucky.” He leaned forward. “Marissa, what you did was by its very nature suicidal. The only question is whether you intended it to be.”

“I told you yesterday I wasn’t trying to kill myself.” She folded her arms across her chest and set her lips into a straight line, giving him a defiant stare.

“Yes, I recall. Your story is that you were hunting sea lemons.” He squinted at her. “But is that all you were hunting? Or is there some other reason you might have strolled into a freezing ocean?”

Marissa shook her head, held his penetrating gaze, and refused to say another word.

He looked at his watch again and sighed impatiently. “What about the mermaid?”

Her eyes widened involuntarily. “Excuse me?”