My Lost Daughter (33 page)

May was filing her nails at the round table. Karen was watching TV on the sofa with Norman. He was holding his small fan to his charred face. Alex was chatting with a remarkably normal-looking man in his late forties or early fifties. When Alex saw Shana, he ran to catch up to her as she began circling the room at a fast pace.

“That guy is a priest.” Alex matched her stride and fell into step beside her. “Can you believe it?”

Shana felt agitated and overwhelmed. “I can believe anything . . . absolutely anything. You should see who they selected for my roommate. I'll probably be dissected during my sleep.”

“Michaela is practically catatonic. She won't hurt you. You'll be fine.”

“Sure,” Shana said, cutting her eyes to him. “That's easy for you to say. You don't have to share a room with her. I'll never be able to sleep.” She thought of Milton, the “Walking Man,” and wondered if she'd suffer from sleep deprivation, exhibit bizarre behavior, and start killing cats. “What's the priest in here for? The usual, molesting kids, or does he believe he's the Virgin Mary? All we need is Jesus and we'll have a nativity scene.”

“Nick makes a good Jesus,” Alex told her, pointing at a tall, skinny
man with a scraggly beard and what looked like a cane carved from a baseball bat. “They're getting ready to open the kitchen. It's open from eight to nine every evening. They even have bagels. Everyone else is glued to the boob tube. Some kind of big disaster just happened.”

Shana tried to see the television but there were too many patients blocking the screen. News, she thought. What news? What world? Everything seemed so remote, so out of context. War, killings, disasters, all served up with a smile. Whitehall was similar to being in your mother's womb, hearing her heartbeat and knowing she was somewhere but not knowing where.

“You don't want to watch that,” Alex told her, clasping her hand. “We'll be alone in the kitchen. We can talk in private for a change.”

The kitchen opened up off the great room. Inside was a refrigerator, a microwave, a toaster, and a small table. Alex hoisted himself onto the counter and Shana did the same. “Do you know what happened?”

“Another plane crash or something.”

They gazed at each other in silence. Shana finally pulled her eyes away. “You know what one of the patients said to me this morning? ‘Tomorrow is the last day. Prepare yourself.' Don't you ever get freaked out by some of these people? Who knows? Maybe they're right and the world really is coming to an end.”

Alex scowled. “We're in a mental hospital. When the mind begins to splinter, certain individuals convince themselves that the world is coming to an end. It's the sense of impending doom they experience that causes them to develop this line of thinking. A person having a heart attack generally has a similar sensation. It's the brain's way of warning you something serious is happening to your body. Most of the patients here at Whitehall are schizophrenic. So it's their brain that's taking off in a different direction or a portion of their psyche.”

“Why are there so many schizophrenics?”

“Because most of the other mental illnesses no longer require hospitalization. They're easily treated with medication and the people
are seldom dangerous.” He tilted his head. “You're not going to start preaching, I hope.”

Shana ran her hands through her hair. “Dr. Morrow might have been right when he said I was psychotic. If I wasn't, I would have never let my mother trick me into coming here.”

“You're here because you can pay,” Alex said flatly. “Greed is a more rational explanation for your predicament than Armageddon.”

Shana found herself standing between his legs, swimming in his dark, expressive eyes. Part of her wanted to flirt with him, while another part wanted to run away. She didn't know if what he had just told her was true or if he had merely made it up to impress her, but it made him sound like a shrink instead of a patient. “How do you know I'm not insane, Alex? I mean, this is an insane asylum.”

“Whitehall isn't an insane asylum. It's a highly lucrative business.” He smiled mischievously. “People are here for a variety of reasons, most of them having nothing to do with mental illness. Now your new roommate, Michaela, or whatever her real name is, certainly isn't playing with a full deck. Anyway, move over. I'm ready for a snack.”

Alex slid off the counter and he grabbed a bagel from a large basket. After slicing it with a plastic knife, he put the two pieces into the toaster. They were standing so close now that Shana could feel the heat emanating from his body. The dreadful cold had penetrated her bones.

“I don't know,” she said, still pensive. “A shrink would say I have unresolved conflicts from my childhood. I also have some pretty weird thoughts when I don't get enough sleep.”

“You are
not
mentally ill,” Alex said emphatically. “Everyone has strange thoughts from time to time. If you're crazy, then I'm a certifiable lunatic.”

“Why? You seem perfectly normal to me.”

“Because of the way I get when I'm working. The psychiatric term is mania. More creative people call it inspiration. When I get an idea for an invention, I can work for days at a time without
sleeping or eating. The energy just keeps flowing. Michelangelo, Einstein, Da Vinci, and a lot of other famous people would be classified as mentally ill by today's standards. Good thing these geniuses lived before psychiatry. In Michelangelo's time, working for days without sleep or food meant he was receiving inspiration directly from God. Granted, Michelangelo had his problems but no one locked him up in a loony bin and drugged him into normalcy.” He stopped speaking and stared off into space. Turning back to her, he said, “Let's talk about something more uplifting, like how amazing your eyes are. Green eyes are rare, you know.”

“I've heard that but I don't know why.” Shana resisted the urge to press her body against his long enough to get warm and feel the touch of another human being. Alex spread cream cheese on their bagel and handed her half. His kind words and nurturing manner were becoming addictive.

“The reason why green eyes are so rare is that the genes that produce green eyes are themselves rare. One set of genes has a brown and blue version, one set has a green and a blue version, and one set controls shading in brown eyes. The best explanatory theory right now actually suggests that brown is dominant to all other colors, which means a person with a mix of genes is probably brown-eyed. Green is dominant to blue,” Alex continued, pausing to take a bite out of his bagel, “so a green-eyed parent and a blue-eyed one will have some green-eyed kids and blue becomes completely recessive. The reason blue is more common than green as an eye color is that there are just so few green-eyed genes in the population. Cool, huh?”

“It's good to know something about me is unique.” Shana thought of her mother and how much they looked alike except for their eye color. She wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering. “Why is it so cold in here? They don't even have blankets on the beds, only sheets. I guess I'm not accustomed to air-conditioning.”

Alex tossed what was left of his bagel into the trash can and then jumped back onto the counter. “They keep it cold because of
the psychos. Cold temperatures keep them calm.” He rolled his eyes around. “These are my psycho eyes.”

“Funny.” A few moments later, she blurted out, “Were you really going to kill yourself?”

“The IRS decided I was making too much money,” Alex explained, taking the napkin out of her hands and disposing of it. “I'm practicing in case they send me to prison.”

Shana took a step back in shock. “You're hiding, then?”

“More or less.”

What a brilliant idea, she thought, chewing on a ragged fingernail. Who would ever think of looking for someone in a place like Whitehall? “Can't the IRS track you by your Social Security number?”

“Whitehall doesn't report Social Security numbers. Why would they? It doesn't matter anyway. I gave them a fictitious one.”

“Couldn't you hide out somewhere other than a place like this?”

“Let me explain,” he said, becoming animated. “The economic downturn along with the stock market crash created unprecedented opportunities for individuals with liquidity. I took advantage of those opportunities and increased my wealth substantially. The only problem was I failed to set aside enough money to pay my taxes.” He leaned over and ran a tapered finger down the center of her nose. “You're beautiful, you know. I don't know why you're worried about makeup. Your skin is perfect, and your hair, the color is fantastic. You can't get something like that out of a bottle.”

For the first time, Shana wasn't chilled. She even felt flushed. He was so close, she was certain he was going to kiss her. With his face next to hers, she could feel his breath on her cheek and it was warm and sweet.

“As soon as Morrow raises your level,” Alex told her, “you'll be able to go outside to the courtyard from nine to nine-thirty every evening.”

“Alone?”

“I can come along if you want. We can take a walk in the moonlight. We won't even have to contend with your buddy, George. He gets off at nine.”

Shana fantasized about them necking in the night air. They weren't that far apart in age and since Brett had left her, she was free to do whatever she wanted. Alex poured her a glass of punch from the refrigerator. “Thanks,” she said, taking a long sip. “When are you leaving?”

He mistakenly thought she was referring to the courtyard. “There's nothing for me to do out there by myself, so I usually stay inside. Tomorrow, ask Morrow to raise your level. I can go anywhere I want.”

“Really? Why do you get special treatment? Do you pay an extra ten grand a week?”

Alex hesitated before answering. “I was scheduled for discharge the day you were removed from isolation. Once I saw you, I decided to stay.”

Shana was flattered but somewhat taken back. “You're not serious, I hope.”

“Dead serious,” he told her, getting down off the counter and taking both of her hands in his own. “Why don't we leave together? You know, when you're released.”

Shana became caught up in his fantasy, imagining the two of them whiling away the days on a sun-drenched beach in some exotic location. No more papers to write or books to study. And she wouldn't have to stay up all night worrying that she'd flunk the bar exam and humiliate her mother. She could simply vanish, walk away and never look back.

“Will you come with me?” Alex whispered. “I have money. I can take care of you. We can go to France, Spain, Greece, anywhere you want. We could spend the rest of our lives together.”

Shana stared at a spot above his head. Brett had made similar promises and she'd been stupid enough to fall for them. How could Alex ask her to run away with him? They hardly knew each other.

“Don't answer,” he snapped, storming out of the room.

Shana started to call after him and then decided to let it go. Whitehall had intensified her vulnerability. Regardless of the confidence Alex projected, she sensed an aura of desperation around him. Why had he run off and left her in the kitchen? What had she said or done to piss him off?

From this point on, Shana would have to exercise more caution. As attractive and appealing as Alex seemed to be, there was something underneath the surface that frightened her.

MONDAY, JANUARY 18
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Shortly after Alex left her in the kitchen, Shana headed to her room, removed the pathetic green pajamas, and crawled into her bed. She had wandered around and found the laundry room, seeing a clean stack of pajamas, so at least she didn't have to wear the same pair every day.

The clock read nine-forty and she was already sleepy. Her eyelids had started getting heavy even before Alex had stormed off. At least her stay at Whitehall had accomplished something. Her bout of insomnia seemed to be broken.

A swatch of light streaked across the room. The hospital required that the doors to patients' rooms be left partially open at all times. Shana preferred it to be completely dark when she slept, but she doubted if anything could keep her awake tonight. She pulled the sheet tightly around her body. The temperature seemed lower in the room than it was in the rest of the hospital and she was shivering.

Although she'd never heard the woman who called herself Michaela speak, she could see the outline of her body and hear the bedsprings straining under her weight.

Shana couldn't understand why her mother hadn't called to
check on her. She wasn't too busy to fly up here and ruin her life, but she couldn't find the time to make a single phone call. No wonder she'd fantasized about being with Alex. The only person who loved her had abandoned her.

She knew her relationship with Brett was history. More than likely, he had dumped her so he wouldn't have to pay back all the money he owed her. For all she knew, the money could have gone for something other than his tuition. Maybe he was the one who was using drugs.

Her life reminded her of two separate movies. The first one was filled with toys, friends, parties, and laughter. Then that life abruptly ended. Even her memories of that first life were vague, so much so that she didn't know what was real and what she had imagined. Her second life began as a horror movie, then later became a tragedy, and finally became as close to normal as it would ever get. Whitehall fit perfectly into her second life. She had somehow recovered from the rape when the man who had raped her and her mother came back and took the life of her beloved father. She was destined to end up in a mental institution. In a way, she was relieved that it had happened. When she got out, she could move forward with her life, knowing the worst was behind her.