My Lost Daughter (37 page)

With a smug look on her face, Weir said, “What you have is nothing.”

“Exactly,” Mary said. “But since it's January and it alludes to December, I don't think we should spend a lot of time on this one.”

Putting the paper down, she continued. “Three teenagers killed themselves in Palo Alto just the other day by stepping in front of a Caltrans train. Our UNSUB hasn't killed a teenager yet, but if you ask me, it's only a matter of time.”

“Good work, Stevens.” Adams stood and pushed his chair back to the table, his way of signifying that the meeting was over.

After lunch, Shana curled up on the sofa next to Norman, exchanging playful glances with Alex from across the room. Dr. Morrow burst through the double doors, stopped off at the nursing station to pick up her file, then gestured for Shana. She had her head resting on the arm of the sofa, her feet in Norman's lap. When she didn't budge, Morrow walked over. “I'll see you now,” he said, looking down at her. He turned his head and looked at Alex, then turned back to Shana.

“I'm busy right now,” she told him, furious over her night in the padded cell. Norman snickered, but Alex shook his head. Smoothing down her sweater, she stood and followed Morrow. When they passed the window, she stopped and stared at the sunny courtyard. “Let's talk outside. You're a big shot here. It's not like I'm going to escape or anything. I already tried that the first day.”

Morrow reached into the pocket of his baggy black slacks and came up with a large key ring. A short time later, they were standing in the afternoon sun. The weather was perfect and Shana walked ahead of him at a brisk pace, wishing she was free to enjoy the day. The weather in the San Francisco area was strange, with the hottest months being September and October. Today, it had to be in the low seventies, which was unseasonably warm.

“The staff says you're hanging out with Alex. They say you're with him all the time. They even observed you embracing him on several occasions.”

“What's it to you?” Shana tossed over her shoulder. She suddenly halted and Morrow almost collided with her. “I'm formally rescinding my voluntary commitment. Take me to court. No matter what you write in your report, I'm going to get out of here. When I do, you can kiss your medical license good-bye. You've held me against my will, administered drugs you had no right to give me without my consent, and one of your staff members exposed me in front of a male attendant. She also struck me.”

Shana gave thought to reminding him that her mother was a superior court judge, but it was hard to know where Lily stood since
she was responsible for her being at Whitehall. To be fair, though, she doubted if her mother had any idea what went on inside the hospital. Even she had been deceived by the hospital's appearance. “There's still a chance, though.”

“Let's talk, okay?” Morrow said, brushing his hair off his forehead. “If I raise your level and give you access to the courtyard, will you sign a consent for treatment?”

Now he was bribing her, which gave credence to the fact that he couldn't treat her with Thorazine without her consent. Shana kicked a snail off the sidewalk, looking down at her new suede shoes. “I'd be an idiot to sign anything at this place. You tricked me the first time. Keep playing games with me, and you'll lose more than your medical license. This entire hospital will be history. Do you think I don't know what Whitehall is all about? You're raking in a ton of money off defenseless people.”

“Okay, okay,” Morrow said, holding up a palm. “Sign the papers and I'll stop the injections as well as agree to release you this Saturday. That's only four days. Force me to take you to court and you could be here far longer. I can present a good case for commitment. Once a judge officially commits you, you might never go home again. Are you prepared to take that great of a risk?”

It had to be more than the Thorazine. Her suspicions about the hospital's unscrupulous practices must be accurate. The events of the night before passed through her mind, and she was fearful of pushing the psychiatrist any further than she already had. “Why do I have to sign a consent?”

“It's just a formality. I'll have the staff prepare it this afternoon.” He glanced at his watch. “I have another patient waiting. We have to go back now.”

“It's the Thorazine, isn't it?” Shana said. “You failed to get me to sign a consent for treatment with Thorazine. You knew I wasn't psychotic. I had a severe reaction. Shit, the drugs are more dangerous in here than they are on the street. Of course, you know I don't have a drug problem.”

Morrow spun around. “You struck a staff member. You're a
violent person, Ms. Forrester. Perhaps you should spend about ten years in the state hospital instead of Whitehall.”

Shana wasn't a poker player, but she knew this was a hand she had to play. “I'll sign, but I want my release date in writing.”

Morrow smiled, exposing his large teeth. “I did your astrology chart, by the way. Tell me what time you were born, and I'll research it more thoroughly. It's highly unusual. Your coordinates form a circle with a star inside.”

“What does that mean?” The heavy jeans and sweater had felt wonderful inside the frigid hospital, but perspiration had started dripping between her breasts. She took the edge of her sweater and held it away from her body, hoping a breeze would come along.

Morrow's eyes were focused on her chest. The dampness had made the white sweater even more transparent. “I'm not really certain what it means,” he told her. “You're either someone extraordinary or something extraordinary is about to happen to you.”

“And this isn't extraordinary?” Shana said, shocked that he'd shifted from locking her away forever to a discussion about astrology. “Trust me, I don't need any more extraordinary events in my life.”

Morrow took off again and Shana tagged along behind him. She saw the keys come out of his pocket and was tempted to snatch them. Even with the keys, she doubted if she would be able to make it to freedom. Only four more days, she told herself. Now wasn't the time to take chances.

“You know,” he told her, inserting the key in the lock, “I've become accustomed to skeptics. Astrology and physics are the keys to the universe. I never intended to go into psychiatry. Whether you believe me or not, I do know what I'm doing.”

“As a psychiatrist?” she asked. “Or do you mean as an astrologist? I haven't been through Hell to be treated by a fucking astrologist, have I?”

“You'd rather be out here than in the hospital, so I'm going to explain something to you,” Morrow told her. “The human body contains somewhere between seventy to eighty percent water, and the Earth itself is covered by three hundred and twenty-six million trillion
gallons of water.” He paused to give her time to absorb what he was telling her. “Yes, I said three hundred twenty-six million trillion. Lots of water, right? Well, an ocean tide is the cyclic rise and fall of seawater. Tides are caused by slight variations in gravitational fields between the Earth and the moon. The Earth and the moon have a geometric relationship with locations on the Earth's surface. Tides are periodic primarily because of the cyclical influence of the Earth's rotation. The moon is the primary factor controlling the temporal rhythm and height of tides. The moon produces two tidal bulges somewhere on the Earth through the effects of gravitational attraction. The height of these tidal bulges is controlled by the moon's gravitational force and the Earth's gravity pulling the water back toward the Earth. At the location on the Earth closest to the moon, seawater is drawn toward the moon because of the greater strength of gravitational attraction. On the opposite side of the Earth, another tidal bulge is produced away from the moon. However, this bulge is due to the fact that at this point on the Earth the force of the moon's gravity is at its weakest.”

Shana stopped him. “I know the argument you're presenting. Since our bodies are made up of so much water, we're subject to the same forces that act on the Earth's water. You're trying to convince me that astrology is science. Your analysis is anecdotal and therefore flawed. Science is not based on assumptions. You must have proof and you don't have it.” She stopped, feeling like lashing out at him but knowing it would only make matters worse. “Let me tell you something. You could do a million charts and you'll never know me. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go inside.”

Once he pulled open the door, they were hit by a blast of frigid air. “If you refuse to listen to anything,” Morrow said, “at least listen to what I'm about to tell you. You're in over your head with Alex.”

The psychiatrist started to walk off when Shana tugged on his sleeve. “Two o'clock,” she said. “I was born at two o'clock.”

“Morning or evening?”

“Are you going to tell me about Alex?”

“I've told you all you need to know.” Morrow glanced at her
chest again. “Whoever brought you the clothes should have brought you some underwear. You're titillating the male patients. Some of these men haven't been with a woman for years. I suggest you take my suggestion seriously. If you don't correct your clothing, we'll have to put you back in the clothes we provide for you.”

The green pajamas, Shana thought, disgusted at the thought of having to wear them again. “I'll take care of it.”

 

Everyone lined up for medication before dinner and Shana stepped to the back of the line behind Alex. Under her white sweater, she now had two Band-Aids covering her nipples. She hoped her solution would satisfy Morrow, as she refused to let him put her back in the green pajamas.

“Maybe I don't have to take the Valium since I'm going to be released in a few days,” she whispered to Alex. “Should I get out of line and see what happens?”

“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging.

“Why cause problems?” Shana said, answering her own question. “I've been taking the pills all along.”

Peggy handed her two cups, one with a pill and the other filled with water. Shana removed the pill and examined it. This pill was round and white, whereas the Valium was oval and pink. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but you've made a mistake. This isn't my medicine.”

Peggy slapped her meaty paws on the counter. “That most certainly is your medication. Dr. Morrow ordered it for you a few hours ago.”

“But I don't even know what this is,” Shana told her. “You can't expect me to take something if I don't know what it is you're giving me. I've had bad reactions to some of the medication.”

Peggy stood and the counter shook like a small earthquake. “You take that pill this instant or I'll have you placed back in the Quiet Room. Are we clear?”

The mere mention of the Quiet Room was sufficient. Shana tossed the pill in her mouth and swallowed it dry. She started to take to the sides of the room for a brisk walk. Milton was already
circling, though, and she wasn't up for discussions about sleep deprivation and aberrant behavior. She opted for Norman and the sofa.

“Alex says you're leaving Saturday,” he said. “Everyone will miss you. Alex is leaving, too. This place won't be the same without you guys.”

“What about you, Norman? When are you going home?” Shana stared at his face without cringing. His entire scalp was burned, leaving only a few strands of hair. He had no eyelashes or eyebrows, and his nose consisted of a flat surface with two holes. The tiny fan was held between the stubs of his right hand. Two of the fingers on his left hand were melded together. Shana thought of gloves with the slots for five fingers, then thought of mittens and wondered if the person who had invented them had been a person like Norman.

“Can you talk about what happened?” she asked, reaching over and gently touching his free hand.

He looked at her and sighed, moving the small fan in front of his face. “It just happened, you know? Not many people really understand.” He leaned forward in his seat, shifting his body closer to Shana. He kept his voice low, looking around to make certain no one was listening. “All my life I felt like there was this hideous thing inside me. I knew it was there even though no one could see it. Now it can't hurt me anymore.”

Shana asked herself how anyone could set themselves on fire. What had possibly driven Norman to such a desperate act?

“I lost my job,” he continued. “Last December . . . you know, only a few days before Christmas. I was a department head at Macy's. Seven years I worked for that store and they fired me for absolutely no reason. They said they were cutting back due to the economy. That was a lie. I wasn't a strong enough manager. The employees in my department took advantage of me.”

“With your experience,” Shana offered, “surely you could have found another position.”

“They said I could stay with the store, but I had to go back to
the sales floor. My salary would have been a fraction of what it had been before, and it wouldn't have been enough to support my family. I'd already promised my son a new bike for Christmas. We were two months behind on our mortgage and my wife was pregnant again. How could I tell my family I'd lost my job? This horrible thing inside me kept tormenting me, pushing me.”