My Soul to Lose (3 page)

survival advice written on parchment.

Hopefully there were also no video-game monsters

waiting to eat me the moment I got loose, because

even if someone had left me a gun, I wouldn’t have

known how to use it.

But my objective was clear: Get out. Go home.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done

without the use of my hands.

My pulse swooshed in my ears, a hollow echo of

real fear. That overpowering need to scream was gone,

but a different kind of panic had settled into its place.

What if there was a fire? Or a tornado? Or more

screaming? Would anyone come get me, or would they

leave me here to die? I would be easy prey for those

18 / My Soul to Lose

shadow things, or a natural disaster, or any random

psycho who wandered past.

I had to get off the bed. Out of these stupid…bed

cuffs.

“Please…” I begged the camera, frustrated by my

own weak whisper. I swallowed thickly, then tried

again. “Please let me out.” My words were clearer that

time, if no louder. “Please…”

No response. My pulse spiked, pumping adrenaline

through me. What if they were all dead, and the last

person on earth was strapped to a bed? Was this how

civilization would end? With leather straps and padded

handcuffs?

Get a grip, Kaylee.

The reality was probably much less far-fetched, but

just as scary: I was trapped. Helpless, and exposed,

and vulnerable. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t make my heart stop racing. If I didn’t get out

soon, I was going to start screaming again—from

normal terror this time, but the result would be the

same. They’d shoot me up again, and the cycle would

repeat ad nauseam. I’d be in this bed for the rest of my

life, cowering from shadows.

So what if there were no windows and the overhead

bulbs bathed the room in light? Eventually there would

be shadows, and they would come for me. I was sure

of that.

“Please!” I shouted, almost giddy to hear my voice

coming back. “Let me—”

Rachel Vincent / 19

The door opened seconds before I would have

started fighting my bindings in earnest. “Hi, Kaylee,

how are you feeling?”

I strained to lift my head and put a face to the

smooth, masculine voice. He was tall and thin, but

looked strong. Bad skin, good hair. “Like a frog about

to be dissected,” I said, as he unbuckled my left arm.

I liked him already.

“Fortunately for you, I was never very good with a

scalpel.” His smile was nice, and his brown eyes were

kind. His name tag read: Paul Conners, Mental Health

Technician.

Mental health?
My stomach tried to twist itself in

knots. “Where am I?”

Paul carefully unbuckled my other wrist. “You’re

at Lakeside Mental Health Center, attached to

Arlington Memorial.”

Lakeside.
The psych ward.
Shit.

“Um, no. I can’t be here. Somebody made a

mistake.” Panic poured into my bloodstream fast

enough to make my skin tingle. “I need to talk to my

aunt. Or my uncle. He’ll fix this.” Uncle Brendon had

a way of straightening things out without pissing

people off—a skill I’d always envied.

Paul smiled again and helped me sit up. “After you

get settled in, you’re welcome to call them.”

But I didn’t want to settle in.

My own sock feet caught my attention from the end

of the bed. “Where are my shoes?”

20 / My Soul to Lose

“They’re in your room. We had to take them off to

unlace them. For everyone’s safety, we don’t allow

shoestrings, belts, drawstrings, or robe ties.”

My shoestrings were dangerous? Fighting back

tears, I leaned forward to free my right leg.

“Careful. You might be a little stiff and shaky at

first,” he said, already working on my left ankle. “You

were out for quite a while.”

My heart thumped painfully. “How long?”

“Oh, just over fifteen hours.”

What?
I sat up and felt my eyes glaze over in

horror. “You left me strapped to a bed for fifteen

hours? Isn’t there some kind of law about that?”

“Lots of them. And we follow every single one.

Need help getting down?”

“I got it,” I snapped. I knew my anger was

misdirected, but I couldn’t help it. I’d lost fifteen hours

of my life to a needle and four-point restraints. I

wasn’t capable of friendly at the moment. “Why was I

buckled in?”

I slid carefully off the bed, then leaned against it

while my head spun. The dingy vinyl tile was cold

through my socks.

“You arrived on a stretcher, screaming and

thrashing though under heavy sedation. Even after you

lost your voice, you kept flailing around, like you were

fighting something in your dreams.”

The blood drained from my head so fast I got dizzy

again. “I was?” No wonder I hurt all over; I’d been

Rachel Vincent / 21

fighting my restraints for hours. In my sleep. If

chemical comas even qualified as sleep.

Paul nodded solemnly and stepped back to give me

space when I stood. “Yeah, and that started again a

couple of hours ago, so they had to buckle you back up

to keep you on the bed.”

“I was screaming again?” My stomach had become

a bottomless pit of horror, swirling slowly, threatening

to swallow me like a black hole. What the hell was

wrong with me?

“No, thrashing. You went still about half an hour

ago. I was on my way to unbuckle you when you woke

up.”

“What did they give me?” I reached for the wall

when a fresh wave of dizziness rolled over me.

“The usual mix. Ativan, Haldol, and Benadryl to

counter the side effects of the Haldol.”

No wonder I’d slept so long. I had no idea what the

first two drugs were, but Benadryl alone was enough

to knock me out for most of the night during allergy

season. It was a miracle I’d woken up at all. “What if

I’d been allergic to any of that?” I demanded, crossing

my arms over the T-shirt I’d worn to the mall. So far,

waking up in my own clothes was the closest thing I’d

found to a bright side.

“Then we’d be having this conversation in the E.R.,

instead of the restraint room.”

The restraint room? I was vaguely disturbed by the

fact that they had a name for it.

Paul pulled open the door. “After you.”

22 / My Soul to Lose

I steeled my spine and stepped into the bright

hallway, unsure what to expect. People walking

around in straitjackets, mumbling to themselves?

Nurses in white uniforms with starched hats? But the

hall was empty and quiet.

Paul stepped past me, and I followed him to the last

door on the left, which he pushed open for me.

I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide how

badly they were shaking, then made myself cross the

threshold.

Another white room, not much bigger than the first

one. The bed was a mattress set in a heavy wooden

frame, too narrow and too low. Draped with a plain

white blanket. Empty, open shelves were bolted to the

wall in place of a dresser, and there was one long, high

window. No closet.

My stringless shoes lay at the end of the bed. They

were the only things I recognized in the entire room.

Everything else was foreign. Cold. Scary.

“So…I’ve been committed?” My voice shook. I

couldn’t help it.

“You’ve been hospitalized,” Paul said from the

doorway.

“What’s the difference?” I stood at the end of the

bed, unwilling to sit. To get comfortable.

“This is temporary.”

“How temporary?”

“That’s up to you and your doctor.” He gave me a

sympathetic smile, then backed into the hall. “One of

Rachel Vincent / 23

the nurses will be by in a minute to get you settled in.

Hang in there, Kaylee.”

I could only nod. A second later, Paul was gone. I

was alone. Again.

From outside the room came the steady rattle-clank

of a cart being pushed down the hall. Shoes squeaked

on the floor. And somewhere nearby, someone cried in

great, dramatic sobs. I stared at my feet, unwilling to

touch anything for fear that it would make the whole

thing sink in. Make it real.

Am I crazy?

I was still standing there like an idiot when the door

opened, and a woman in pale pink scrubs came in

carrying a clipboard and pen. Her name tag read:

Nancy Briggs, R.N.

“Hi, Kaylee, how are you feeling?” Her smile was

wide and friendly, but felt somehow…measured. As if

she knew just how much to give. How to appear

friendly without welcoming actual conversation.

I missed Paul already.

“Confused and homesick.” I gripped the edge of the

shelf with one hand, willing it to dissolve beneath my

touch. To fade into the bad dream I’d surely wake up

from any minute.

“Well, let’s see if we can’t fix at least the first part

of that.” The nurse’s smile grew bigger, but no

warmer. “There’s a phone in the hall. Someone’s on it

right now, but when it’s free, you’re welcome to use it.

Local numbers, legal guardians only. Tell someone at

24 / My Soul to Lose

the front desk who you want to call, and we’ll connect

you.”

Numb, I could only blink. This wasn’t a hospital, it

was a prison.

I patted my pocket, feeling for my phone. It was

gone. Fresh panic exploded in my chest and I shoved

my hand into my other pocket. Aunt Val’s credit card

was gone. She’d kill me if I lost it! “Where’s my

stuff?” I demanded, trying to stop the tears that blurred

my vision. “I had a phone, and some lip gloss, and a

twenty-dollar bill. And my aunt’s credit card.”

Nurse Nancy’s smile thawed a bit then, either

because of my tears or the fear they no doubt

magnified. “We keep all personal items locked up until

you’re discharged. Everything’s there except the credit

card. Your aunt took it when she left last night.”

“Aunt Val was here?” I used my bare hands to wipe

my eyes, but they filled again instantly. If she was

here, why didn’t she take me home?

“She rode in the ambulance with you.”

Ambulance. Discharged. Locked up.
Those words

played over and over in my head, a litany of fear and

confusion. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty. They’ll bring lunch in about half an

hour. You can eat in the common area, down the hall

and to the left. Breakfast is at seven. Dinner’s at six.”

She reached to her left with the hand holding her pen

and pushed open a door I hadn’t noticed, revealing a

tall, white industrial toilet and a shower stall. “You can

Rachel Vincent / 25

shower whenever you like. Just come to the nurse’s

station first for your hygiene kit.”

“Hygiene kit?” My eyes went wide as my insides

went numb.
This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“We hand out soap and shampoo as needed. If you

want to shave, you’ll have to be monitored by a staff

member.” I blinked, uncomprehending, but she

continued. “There’s a group session about anger

management at nine, one about coping with depression

at eleven, and one at two this afternoon about

symptoms of mental illness. That’s a good one to start

with.”

She smiled patiently, like she expected to be

thanked for passing out information, but I just stared at

the empty shelf. Her entire briefing was irrelevant to

me. I’d be out very soon, surely, and the only group I

was interested in was the group of my own family

members who could make that happen.

“The boys’ rooms are in the opposite wing, on the

other side of the common area. Girls are not allowed

on that wing, and vice versa. Visitation is every night

from seven to nine. Lights out at ten-thirty. Someone

will check on you every fifteen minutes when you’re

out of sight of the nurses’ station.” She paused again,

and I made myself look up to meet her detached gaze.

“Do you have any more questions?”

My eyes watered again, and I didn’t bother to wipe

them. “Why am I here?”

“That’s a question for your doctor.” She glanced

briefly at her clipboard. “Dr. Nelson. He makes rounds

26 / My Soul to Lose

after lunch, Monday through Friday. So you’ll see him

tomorrow.” She hesitated, and this time set the

clipboard on the shelf bolted to the cinder-block wall.

“How’s your neck? You didn’t need stitches, but they

did clean out the wounds…”

Wounds?
My right hand flew to my neck, and I

flinched at how tender the skin there was. And

how…rough. My heart thumping, I rushed into the

bathroom. The small, reflective aluminum mirror over

the sink showed that what little mascara I’d worn the

day before was now smeared beneath both of my eyes.

My skin was pale, my long hair hopelessly knotted.

I tilted my chin up and angled my body toward the

overhead light. My gasp echoed in the small room. My