Unlocked Page 8

  Chapter Ten—Friday

  Clara awoke Friday morning to find herself restrained. Momentarily, an orderly entered, the same young man who had commented on her book the previous day. She scanned the room but saw no sign of it. She was both relieved and confused by this. How could they have known that’s what had set her off? For that matter, how had the orderly have known she was now awake? Were they watching her? Probably not. She was just being paranoid. The book had been flung across the room, so they probably assumed it had been the root of the outburst. And the orderlies came in and out periodically throughout the day. Who’s to say Jamil hadn’t already stopped in a time or two to check on his patient. She was relieved by the fact that they had left her locket and bandana behind. She supposed they had removed them from her head and neck at some point, because they were both on the nightstand.

  She wound the chain around her open hand twice, allowing the locket to dangle gently before winding it a third time and closing her fist around it. The handkerchief was folded neatly in half and then in half again next to where she had picked up the locket. She’d put her headband back on later, but for now she placed the locket around her neck, happy to still have it.

  “Meds,” he said evenly. He wasn’t rude, Clara thought, just awkward. She liked awkward. She was awkward too. She held out her hand and he gave her the tiny paper cup. It reminded her of what she squirted her ketchup into at McDonald’s. God, what she wouldn’t give for a burger, even at eight o’clock in the morning. Or a slice of Luigi’s pizza. Her heart sank on this last thought, reminding her of her final moments of sanity, digging through the fridge for leftovers.

  “Thanks,” she almost said, and then thought better of it. She didn’t want to thank someone for forcing her to take pills that made her feel so tired. She reached for them without thinking, but her arm was caught mid-air before she could take the cup.

  “They said I could take these off. Is that okay?”

  Clara just looked at Jamil as if to ask, “Are you crazy? Of course it is!”

  He removed her restraints and then placed her breakfast tray on her rolling side table and pushed it within her reach. To this, she did say thanks. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, she thought.

  On his way out the door, Jamil turned back toward the Clara. “Oh, hey. I found this in the floor. Is it yours?” He crossed toward her holding out a photograph.

  Clara steadied herself. No more fits, or they’d strap her down again. She took the photograph from Jamil, sucked in a deep breath, and looked at the picture. It was only a lake scene, nothing more. “Oh my God, yes. It’s mine!” Clara smiled as she remembered many childhood summers spent where this photo had been taken. “It’s Lake Cromwell. It’s my family’s favorite vacation spot. No one around for miles. I wish I was there now.” Jamil smiled, Clara took her pills, and Jamil exited the room.

  Breakfast wasn’t too bad. The bacon was crispy but cold, and the eggs weren’t too dry. She buttered her toast and looked out the window. She remembered that she had finally dreamed last night in spite of the heavy sedation that usually brought heavy, black sleep. In the dream, her mother was speaking to her. She was in the dark, unable to see her mom, but she knew her voice. Clara laughed out loud when she thought of what her mother was saying. She stopped and looked around, relieved that Jamil had left and didn’t see or hear her laughing at what appeared to be nothing. Her mom wasn’t making any sense in the dream. She just kept reciting some of her mom-isms that Clara always made fun of her for: “when a door closes, another one opens; knowledge is the key to unlocking the past; you can’t have a rainbow without a little rain; begin again.” God, my mom is a dork! Clara thought and chuckled again. As much as she teased her weirdo mother, she loved hearing those things. Some of them even made sense sometimes. Except “a little hydration goes a long way”. That one was stupid, Clara decided. The dream was random and meaningless, but it meant the world to Clara. At this point, she was willing to take anything she could get.

  When Lydia arrived, she knocked as usual and asked to be seated. She sat in silence for quite some time waiting for her patient to speak. Clara knew what her plan was, and refused to speak first. Worried that she was losing ground with her patient, Lydia finally spoke.

  “How have things been since I last saw you?” She asked, knowingly.

  “By the sound of that question, it looks like you already know,” Clara spat a little more angrily than she had meant to.

  “I’d like to hear it straight from you,” she answered.

  Clara sat mute for several minutes. She chewed hastily at her fingernail and finally said, “It happened again.”

  “What was it that happened again, Clara?”

  “Yesterday, after you left. I put it off for several hours, but that book…I just had to look at it. I pulled a couple of things out of it: my old blanket and my locket, and when I finally looked at the first page, I was so excited. It was my parents. But,” she looked down and picked at her fingernail, “when I turned the page,” now she looked up directly into Lydia’s eyes, “when I turned the page, it wasn’t them anymore.” She began to cry quietly.

  “Clara, I need you to know this. They showed me the book. I looked through it. Every picture is of the same people I’ve been meeting with. Every picture I saw in that book was a picture of the Mark and Melanie Marcel that I know.”

  “But…” she faltered, “then why am I seeing different people?” She asked knowing that the answer meant that she actually was crazy and that there was no way out of this other than to accept it and move on.

  “Clara, I think your mind is playing tricks on you. I think that your brain works so hard to recognize them, that it finally does, but it’s too much to continue to focus, so your mind travels off course. Do you understand?”

  Clara shook her head from left to right, drying her tears with the palm of her hand.

  “Clara, the photographs aren’t changing, your perception of them is. This is actually a good sign, a move in the right direction. When you recognize the people in the photograph, you are seeing your parents. Now we just have to make it so that you recognize them in all of the pictures. We have to stop your mind from altering its perception.” Lydia explained hoping that her patient understood. It was a lot even for Lydia to wrap her head around, let alone a mentally unstable and frightened teenager.

  “Last week, I was a sophomore at Edison High. I was studying and babysitting and dreaming of boys I’d never have.” As if Clara could read Lydia’s mind, or more realistically, see the quizzical look on Lydia’s face, she continued, “I was younger than everyone in my class. In elementary school, I skipped a grade. They didn’t need to teach me to read or write. I just…knew. Math was simple too. They wanted to move me ahead another grade, but my parents wouldn’t allow it. They wanted me to be around kids my age, or close to it anyway. I just don’t understand.” She paused. “I don’t understand how I could be so worried about who was going to prom with who last week, and now…now I’m here…in this place…worrying about if I’m bat-crap crazy or not. It’s not fair!”

  “You’re right, Clara. It’s not fair. You should be living a normal life, doing normal teenage things, and not sitting here at Breemont with me. Clara, I’m here to help. If you work with me consistently, and if you are open to our discussions and therapy plan, if you are compliant while here, together, we can get you back to that life. The sooner you let me help you, the sooner you won’t have to see me anymore.”

  Lydia said this with a smile, hoping Clara would do the same. She almost did, but when she spoke, he voice was flat.

  “So, if I work with you to become “sane” again, and when I recognize my parents, I can go home?”

  “Yes. There’s much more to it than that, but yes, the sooner you get better, the sooner you get to go home.” Lydia answered.

  “Well, then I guess we had better get started.”

  “Okay. Let’s do that.” Lydia smiled, reassuringly. “Clara, I kno
w you must feel anxious about what is happening. It’s a very unnerving experience. I just want to reiterate that this is a no-judgement zone. Anything you say here will be safe. I’m here to listen, okay?”

  “I understand.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to say about how you are feeling?”

  “Just that this sucks. It’s scary, and I don’t understand why it’s happening and why it feels so real. I feel like I went to bed normal and woke up a crazy person. I don’t feel crazy at all, and that’s the most terrifying part of it all.”

  “It would be scary. And I know that it feels real to you. I promise, we will get through this together. I’ll help you guide yourself back. You just need to trust me. I’ll try to earn that trust.” Lydia was hoping to further build the bond with her patient. She knew that in order for Clara to come back to reality, she was going to have to trust someone. So far, so good. “I’ve been in touch with Breemont, and they had originally agreed to allow you out of your room today, however, after your incident yesterday, they’ve retracted that decision. I’ll see what I can do about taking you on a tour on Monday, okay?”

  “Monday!? You’re not coming tomorrow?”

  “I’m sorry Clara, we are set up for sessions Monday through Friday. As of right now, I will not be seeing you on weekends.”

  Clara’s face was one of horror. “But, Dr. Lindenhurtz, that’s two days from now! No one comes to see me except you...and the orderlies...but they only come in long enough to throw down my slop and babysit me until I swallow my pills!”

  “Clara, they won’t allow me in if I come tomorrow. You are only cleared for three visitors: your mother and father and me. And I’m only cleared to see you on Monday through Friday. I will do what I can to come in tomorrow, okay? But I can’t promise you anything.”

  “But in my fragile state,” she said mockingly, “don’t I need some stability?”

  “That’s very true. I will see what I can do, Clara. But one thing I do know is that when I come back Monday, barring any issues that may arise, I will be taking you on a tour of the facility. You’ll actually get out of your room on Monday.”

  Clara was excited about this. She wasn’t happy about being locked away with no visitors, but she was relieved to know she’d be seeing the outside of this veritable prison in which she was being held.

  “I’ll need you to be very clear and upfront with what you are feeling and thinking, even if it’s something you’d rather not discuss. Anything you say can help.” Clara nodded in comprehension. “The first thing we need to do is discuss anything you haven’t already told me about your symptoms, whether it was something that happened before Friday, or things that have been happening since you’ve been in Breemont.” Clara nodded again. “Another activity I’d like you to practice is to keep a detailed journal when I’m not with you. You can write anything in it: how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, and day to day happenings. I want you to write anything and everything. This journal is yours to do with as you please. I won’t read any of it unless you’d like for me to. I will ask about it from time to time, though, if that’s ok.

  Clara had always enjoyed writing. And drawing. She wasn’t thrilled with the reason she had to keep a journal, but she was happy to have an outlet. She wanted to get her thoughts down on paper, so this was perfect. Lydia opened her briefcase and pulled out a notebook. It had a hard front and back cover with zebra print, which Clara loved because it reminded her of her rug in her room at home and a quote on the front outlined by a pretty drawn frame:

  THE FUTURE BELONGS TO THOSE

  WHO BELIEVE IN THE BEAUTY OF THEIR DREAMS.

  –ELEANOR ROOSEVELT.

  She liked it. Lydia presented the journal to Clara along with two sharpened pencils.

  “Can I have a pen instead? I hate when my pencils go dull.”

  “I’m sorry Clara. This is all they would allow me to give you. Hospital rules, I guess.” Lydia answered, apology in her tone.

  Clara took the pencils and the journal, holding them as she spoke. “These are fine.” She said reluctantly. “Thank you.” She forced a smile.

  “Use them, okay?” Dr. Lindenhurtz said. Clara agreed that she would.

  When Dr. Lindenhurtz had left, Clara opened her new journal and stared at the blank page. Finally, she began to write.

  Friday, May 22nd

  This is stupid. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be writing about. It’s a…diary….what? Like I’m supposed to write about cute boys and mean girls I don’t like? No. I don’t think so. Dr. L told me to write about anything I was thinking or feeling. You know what I’m thinking? I’m pissed off. I don’t want to be here. I don’t deserve to be here. And you know what? I’m scared. Lonely. Bored. I just want to go home. To what I remember, to what I know.

  “Knowledge is the key to unlocking the past.” God, I wish my mom was here to say something like that to me. Some silly saying that would make it all okay…or at least make me laugh at her.

  But…what if what I remember isn’t even real? Seeing those pictures was really freaky. The way they changed. It made me wonder if I really am crazy. Surely not, though. I mean, I don’t feel crazy at all. But I guess most crazy people don’t feel crazy either. A lot of people probably have no idea they are crazy. Maybe I’m one of them.

  Chapter Eleven—Friday Evening

  Where in the hell is he? Lydia wondered as she sat at The Pub waiting to order dinner. Any other damn night this is where he’d be, but tonight, when he’s supposed to meet me for dinner, he’s nowhere to be found. Figures. Lydia looked at her watch—old habits die hard—and then checked her phone to see if Dylan had texted back. He hadn’t. She threw a peanut back in the basket and grabbed her purse. She kept her head down as the left The Pub which was packed with its regular Friday night crowd, trying to avoid embarrassment.

  Once back at in the lobby, she paused to check her mail. “Oh, hello, Lydia.” Ollie whispered. Lydia had just entered the building and Ollie was just inside the doors.

  “Good evening,” she replied making her way to her mailbox in the lobby looking troubled.

  “Oh, shhhh!” Ollie warned, his eyes wide as he pointed to the ceiling with one hand and his ear to the other.

  “Ollie, why are you whispering?” Lydia asked, unable to stop herself. Curiosity had gotten the best of her lately, and she had begun inquiring when Ollie said something strange, which was quite often. When he wasn’t saying something strange, he was doing something strange. Just last month, he had disappeared for almost an entire week and then came home as if nothing had happened.

  Ollie grabbed Lydia and gently pulled her back outside near the fountain. He continued to whisper, “Shhh, Lydia, they’ll hear you. Didn’t you see them working on the ceiling last week?” Of course she had. They were patching and repainting, and she was glad of it. That awful lobby needed a facelift. “It was them. They installed listening devices. Anything we say will be transmitted back to them.”

  “Ollie, I don’t think that--”

  “Lydia, trust me. They weren’t painting the ceiling. The only thing they were painting is a picture of what they want us all to see. At least it’s just the lobby. And probably the elevator. I haven’t seen them on our floor yet, so for now, we’re safe there.”

  Lydia refrained from telling him that they in fact had been on the fifth floor. They as in the Orkin man and his assistant, anyway. Routine maintenance was all. Sprucing up the place, scheduled spraying, all buildings did this kind of thing. But, Ollie, poor paranoid Ollie, she thought.

  “Listen Oll, I’ve gotta get home. I’m starving, exhausted, and I just want to put my feet up. I’m sure everything is fine, but if you insist, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.” She mimicked sealing her lips and tossing away the key and smiled in the hopes that it would reassure Ollie. Judging by the troubled expression on his face, she wasn’t sure it had. She’d stop by and check on him later maybe to make sure he was alright, but right now, s
he just needed a few minutes to herself to relax and to forget the embarrassment of being stood up by her live-in boyfriend.

  Lydia pushed the elevator button and when the doors opened, she stepped inside and tapped the “5”, but it didn’t light up. She pushed it again wishing the maintenance men that had been around would do a better job of maintaining. As the doors finally closed, a hand reached through the shrinking opening and startled Lydia. She gasped and clenched her arms to her chest, but relaxed when she saw that it was just Ollie crossing the threshold as the doors bounced open.

  “Oh, hi again, Ollie.” Lydia greeted breathlessly. Her mood cheered slightly at the comedic sight of him overloaded with grocery bags. Though, he hadn’t had groceries a moment ago.

  “Good evening again to you, Miss Lindenhurtz. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I had put my bags down in the corner while I inspected the lobby. I almost forgot them.” He shifted his weight to better balance the load he was carrying.

  “Let me take one of those for you.” Lydia offered.

  “Oh, no, Miss Lindenhurtz, no, no, no.” He bounced a bag on his hip, and it ripped open. Fresh produce tumbled out and rolled across the elevator.