Night Corridor (2 page)

"Oh, God, no please…" She was choking on her tears, wriggling away from him, trapped, like a butterfly on the head of a pin. He smiled when she reached for the door handle on her side, and then drove the knife into her upper arm. She screamed and he wound his fingers into her hair. "Be quiet," he said, while she held her arm with her other hand and wept like a child.

As he had wept. As he wept still.

"You can't get away," he said. "There's no place to go."

TWO

On Monday morning, Caroline Hill woke with such a sense of dread that it was a struggle to get a full breath, as if there was a clot of air trapped under her ribcage. The smell of eggs wafted up from the kitchen and made her feel sick to her stomach. Pushing herself up in the narrow bed, she took a few deep breaths, the way Nurse Addison had shown her, and by the time she left the room, she felt calmer, but hardly calm. She dressed and went down to breakfast, knowing she would eat little this morning.

Just the thought of walking through the big oaken doors of Bayshore Mental Institution (formerly called The Lunatic Asylum) and out into a world that no longer knew her, nor she it, struck terror into her heart. Nine years since she had been a part of it all. Her hands were sweaty. She was anxious, yet at the same time a small part of her was excited at the thought of freedom.

Not that it was so bad in here now. Not like it used to be. Olga Farmer, one of the old ones who had been here forever, said it was a thousand times better than in the early days. Warmer, for one thing, since the central heating went in, and the food was edible most of the time, and there was more variety. Meat and cheese were often served at meals, for example. That wasn't always the case. Olga said she remembered when a patient had to have specific doctor's orders to be allowed such luxuries as an egg or a glass of milk.

Olga turned eighty-five last month and they had a cake for her in the big hall, and Mrs. Green, who'd once been a school teacher, banged out Happy Birthday on the out-of-tune piano the way she did for all their birthdays, even those for whom birthdays meant little.

She stood at the long, barred window looking out beyond the high reddish-brown fence to the world on the other side, to the wooden houses in their greens and browns, climbing hills. Higher up, the church with its clock steeple, farther out the blue water of the bay.

The people looked small, like the ones she'd read about in Gulliver's Travels. But she could see them well enough, scurrying here and there, going about their daily business, oblivious to her here in the window, watching them. As she stood there, a fresh wave of apprehension washed over her, swamping all anticipation of leaving, filling her with a terrible sense of foreboding. She shivered involuntarily.

"Cold?"

She looked to see Nurse Lynne Addison at her shoulder, smiling, her eyes questioning.

"No. I'm fine, thank you, Nurse Addison."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Caroline. I know you're scared and I don't blame you. I'd be scared too. But don't worry. It's going to be fine. We've arranged a bed-sitting room for you in a very nice rooming house," she said, "and you have that dishwashing job waiting for you at a restaurant called Frank's, not half a block away. You'll be eating most of your meals there. I've been there with my husband; the food's great."

"Really?"

She grinned. "Really. You'll do great, honey. Later when you're feeling more confident you might decide to do something else with your life. Maybe even go back to school. You're a smart girl, Caroline. You can do anything you want to do. Not right away, of course. It'll take a little time getting used to being on the outside. But you will. The dishwashing job will be a breeze for you. God knows you've had lots of practice in here. Oh, did I tell you, there's a nice park not far from your building, with benches and a lovely fountain. You can sit and read on days you're not working. You love to read."

She was about to say something else when one of the office staff waved to Nurse Addison from across the room, just outside the office. The wave said it was important.

When Nurse Addison was gone, Alice Barker, a patient, headed for her, her moon face full of purpose. Her flowered dress hung loosely on her short, plump frame, shoelaces tapping on the dark green tile floor.

Caroline could smell the ever-present Juicy fruit gum she was always chewing. According to Martha Blizzard, if the gum was putty there'd be enough in Alice's mouth to seal a good sized window. Caroline tried not to smile as the image popped into her mind.

"You going home, Caroline?" she asked, talking around the gum. "Martha said you were going home. "Will you tell my mother to come and visit me?"

"Sure," Caroline said, knowing Alice's mother had been dead for years. Caroline's mind replayed the words
going home
and the faint smile fell to sadness. She hadn't a home anymore. Not really.

Down in the grassless yard, male patients endlessly retraced their steps, as they'd done yesterday, and the day before that. Sometimes fights broke out and the burly men in white coats would come running and drag the ranting offender away. A divider, made of the same dull brown fencing that cut them all off from the world outsider, separated the women's yard from the men's. She sometimes took a book outside with her, and read.

She thought about sitting in the park, reading, and felt better about things. Her mother had taken her to a park once. From time to time images would leap to her mind; her mother's smile, her father's bent head as he read from the Bible, the pale amber light from the lamp fallen on the printed page. Sensations too—the smell of green grass, the warmth of the sun on her face. She wasn't altogether sure if her memories were real or imagined. Perhaps fragments of dreams.

The strong scent of Lysol broke into her thoughts, overwhelming the egg smell and she turned to see Raina, who had a foul mouth and wore loads of chunky jewelry that always announced her, washing the floor. They used a mop nowadays. When it was Caroline's job she used to scrub the dark green floors on her hands and knees, creeping over shadow-bars when the light was just right. Her knee had swelled double its size and throbbed with pain all the time and the doctor who checked it said she had water on the knee, and drained it and wrapped it with a thick bandage under her special brown stocking. All the patients who were capable were given jobs to do. It was part of the therapy. Some worked in the kitchen, the laundry, or did other jobs, including working in the vegetable garden on the other side of the building, which produced the food they ate. When Caroline could no longer scrub the floors, they put her to work in the kitchen washing dishes where she'd been for the last three years. She liked immersing her hands in the warm suds, and listening to the chatter of the other women that went on around her. She seldom joined in, but it was fine just to listen to them talking and laughing. She often felt like a child among adults, which made her feel safe and comforted.

But this would be a new kitchen, with new people. Strangers. Her body thrummed with fresh anxiety and fear. Her skin itched. Would her room have a lock? Would other people have the key?

Now with her worn black suitcase packed and sitting in the lobby, she smiled and said her goodbyes to everyone. Some of the patients laughed and clapped for her.

Martha Blizzard hugged her, her warm brown eyes swimming in tears. "You're gonna do fine out in the world, Caroline. You a good girl. You were always nice to me and I ain't gonna forget you. I gonna miss you bad, girl. You stay close to Jesus, you hear?"

"I will, Martha. I'll come see you," she promised, hugging the slight, bony frame and fighting her own tears. Martha held her at arms length and looked hard at her. You could see she was pretty once, now there was a fierceness about her, though her inner beauty shone through. "You get outta here, girl, you stay out. You forget this place. And be careful. I'm not the only one who killed someone, you know. The devil is alive and well on the streets of St. Simeon."

"The devil? What do you mean, Martha?"

She gave her head an impatient shake. "Don't pay me no mind. I shouldn't have said nothing. You just be careful, Caroline."

Martha was a petite black woman who bludgeoned her husband to death with a baseball bat because he beat her when he was drunk, and he was drunk more than he was sober. She weighed about ninety pounds and she was either very strong, or else very mad when she did it, because she always seemed very calm and rational to Caroline. She was also religious and read her Bible every night before bed, though she was never one to preach. Unlike Caroline's father, who had been fervent in his preaching.

When Martha first came to Bayshore, they said she washed her hands all the time trying to get rid of the invisible blood on them, just like Lady MacBeth. But Caroline didn't believe that was true. Caroline thought she was probably fine once her tormentor was dead.

Martha's husband was asleep when she brought the bat down, cracking his skull at first strike. "He waved to me before he died," she told Caroline. But Caroline thought that must just been his body reacting to the blow, though she didn't tell that to Martha. Martha said he lived separate from his soul, and in killing him with the bat, she'd rejoined him to his soul and delivered him up to the Lord.

When Caroline had said her goodbyes to Ella Gaudet this morning, her roommate for the past five years, Ella merely nodded at her, and gathered up her imaginary wool from the skeins in the imaginary basket on the floor. Ella, who had a mole on her chin that sprouted white hair like cat whiskers, was not a talker. She kept to herself, mostly just sitting in that chair in her room, rocking, rocking…
creak…creak…creak
…hour after hour.

Once, Caroline told Nurse Addison that it was driving her nuts and they both laughed at the irony of that. She told Caroline that if she could make jokes at her own expense, she was indeed getting better.

"You ready to take on the world?" Nurse Addison asked now, as if Caroline's thoughts had summoned her. Her voice was filled with cheer and brightness, but it didn't sound quite true to Caroline's ears. "Ready to live by your own rules? The cab will be here in twenty minutes or so."

A cab. Taking her away. To somewhere.

"I…Would you go with me, please?" The fear took hold of her, making her head spin, her heart pound.

The nurse smiled. "I'm afraid I can't do that. But I'll carry your suitcase to the cab. How's that?" After a pause, she added, "There's a trunk that belongs to you, Caroline. It was sent here after your parents died. I believe there are photograph albums inside, personal effects. That sort of thing. The doctor thought it would be too difficult for you to deal with at the time, but I think you'll be okay with it now. We'll be sending that along to your new address."

A different kind of fear welled in her throat, making it hard to speak. "That's okay. You can just leave it here for me."

The nurse let on she didn't hear her and handed her a squat brass key. She was trying to be cheerful. Happy for Caroline. Caroline could see that. "And this too," she said, reaching into her uniform pocket and producing a small blue book with gold lettering. "This is a bank book. You have two-thousand dollars in the bank, Caroline. Your parents left it to you. It's not a fortune, but it'll be a nice little cushion for you if you're careful with it. Don't let anyone else have them. They are yours. Your private property."

She fought back the fear, forced her voice calm. "I won't let anyone have them." She tucked the bank book and the key to the trunk inside the zipper pocket. "Thank you for the new purse, Nurse Addison. I really like it. The leather is so soft and the blue goes with my suit." Someone had donated the suit, which was practically new and fit her perfectly.

"And your eyes," the nurse teased lightly. "It goes with your eyes, too. You're very welcome, Caroline. And you already thanked me for the purse a dozen times. But I'm glad you like it."

"I do. I love it."

"You'll be fine, kiddo. Got everything?" She slipped the shoulder bag off Caroline's shoulder. "Okay if I double-check? I'm like a mother hen, aren't I? But I worry."

"Sure. I'm glad you're like a mother hen."

Laughing, the nurse took a quick look inside the bag. "You've got your case—five crisp twenties. Your meds. These are mild," she said, holding up the small bottle of pills. "Enough to help you sleep, if you need to take one. "Or if you're feeling stressed. Maybe you won't even need them."

But they both knew that wasn't likely.

"Good. Good to go, then," Nurse Addison said, dropping Caroline's meds back into the new blue bag. She stood back to appraise her. "Well, almost."

Taking a comb out of the bag, she fussed a little with Caroline's brown, wavy hair, newly washed and shining, then she took out her lipstick and touched a bit of coral to her cheeks, blending it with her fingertips. "Perfect. You just needed a bit of color."

Caroline stood passively, allowing herself to be fussed over. She wished she could just stand here and let herself be fussed with into eternity, even though she was perfectly capable of brushing her own hair and applying rouge to her own cheeks, and they both knew it.