Schasm (Schasm Series) (31 page)

With hesitation, I look down at my body. I’ve lost quite a bit of weight. I didn’t have that weight to lose. I look horrible and sickly; almost as if I’ve been starving the whole time I’ve been here.

I guess I have, in a way.

Charlie lifts the brakes on the wheelchair and rolls me out of the room and down the familiar hallway. We glide down a couple of halls and pass a large, round desk with a few nurses stationed around it. I look to the right to see the common room that should be across from them, but all I see is a wall. I look to the other side of the nurses’ station where Alex’s room should be, and I see another wall.

Misery thickens in my soul.

Alex doesn’t even exist and never has.

It was all in my head, just like my mother always said.

I’m back to being alone in this world with no soul mate, no love of my life, no friend, nothing—again.

Charlie turns me toward a large white room with six two-person tables, two benches, a piano, and a security guard who’s standing at the door. She rolls me up to the window. One of the patients is banging his head against a wall; another is slamming his wrists against the piano keys. Another is sitting at one of the tables playing a game of what appears to be invisible chess with her imaginary friend.

I look out the window. The snow is hanging on. Just seeing it casts a chill through my bones.

Two months later, and winter is still here.

Something clicks.

Two months ago, it was March…now it’s May.

What the hell have they done to me?

My mother is standing in the hall with a large bag of what I assume to be my stuff. Everything is weak within me, but I have to hear what she’s saying. I slowly shift the brake and wheel myself to the door. She’s talking to Dr. Greene, and I can hear her ask, “Do you think it worked?” She grabs hold of his arm, desperation in her eyes.

Dr. Greene places his hand on her shoulder and smiles. “Yes—” He stops short as he glances in at me and catches my eye in the reflection of the glass. He grabs my mother’s arm to pull her down the hallway.

I don’t want to think about this anymore.

I just want to lose myself in the snow, in time.

In everything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

A THICK BLANKET OF DARKNESS

DAYS BECOME NIGHTS
and nights become days on repeat here at the institution. Loneliness is my companion, and conversations with my pillow become compelling.

I have come to the conclusion that a mental institution can cause you to become mentally ill. I’m sure before long, sitting here confined to a building that’s haunted with trapped, emotionless bodies; I will become one of these mindless people who are rocking back and forth in the common room.

If I haven’t already, that is.

The first step to insanity was befriending my pillow. That was kind of nice. I had someone to talk to…finally. That made it easier to give imaginary chess a try. It isn’t as bad as I thought.

I can’t wait to see what happens next.

I’m lying in bed trying to fall asleep, but I see a crack in one of the tiles on the wall. I watch as it grows wider and wider. It then cracks like a window, splitting the entire wall in half. This doesn’t surprise me anymore. I keep watching.

Through the original crack, I see a dirt-covered hand with scrapes and bruises break through and grab hold of the wall. I recognize the round fingernails and the freckled knuckles. The tan skin.

Alex…

I’m not sure what that word means anymore.

I wait to see if the rest of him will pull through the crack as well. I’m interrupted by a sound in the hallway. When I look back to the wall, I find it returned to its solid white tiles. No cracks, no foreign body parts that belong to the imaginary person I thought I loved.

Just a wall.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

TIME. TICKS. SLOWLY.

ANOTHER WEEK HAS COME
and gone. My parents have stopped visiting me. My mother finally got her way. Who knows what she did to my father. She probably strangled him or locked him in a closet.

I’m here in my usual spot, staring out the window. The snow has melted. There’s only frost covering brown grass.

It’s not May.

I was not in a coma for two months.

I can’t explain the loss of movement in my limbs, however. I have gained some mobility back with the intensive physical therapy, but I’m still unable to walk or lift myself up.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

DARK

ANOTHER WEEK HAS PASSED,
and I’m giving in further to the madness. I lie helpless in my bed while staring out the door. I wish I had a window in my room so it would feel less like a cell.

I think that was their intention, though.

As a new hobby, I’ve decided to watch the specks of silver that are ground into the flooring in the hall. They shimmer whenever anyone walks by. Sometimes they move in a circular pattern, creating a dizzying spiral dance that I find intriguing and can watch for hours. They’re doing a new dance today, and instead of moving in a spiral direction, they’re flying like shooting stars and zooming by my room. With a gust of sparkling flecks passing by, a patient walks by my room. He’s slumped in a straitjacket. His hair is golden blond and reminds me of Alex’s hair when it shimmered in the sunlight.

Alex…

The word haunts me now.

He passes, and another person walks through him. He is also wearing a straitjacket. He also looks like Alex. I blink. There’s no one in the hallway. It was just my imagination. The dancing specks on the floor have come to a stop.

My cue to turn over onto my other side and stare at the wall again.

CHAPTER FORTY

DARKER

TODAY, I’VE BEEN FORCED
to sit in the common room for a while. The people here are worried about my depression growing at an unhealthy rate.

I think it’s coming along very nicely.

I’m now able to roll my own wheelchair, and it’s a satisfying feeling to be able to make my own way from my private cellblock to the larger, more spacious cellblock. I roll into the common room and see the usual crowd: the chess girl is here, and the crazy piano man. And Mr. Wiggles.

Without making eye contact with any of them, I roll over to the window. There’s someone new here today, too. He’s sitting in the corner facing the wall, and he’s wearing a straitjacket over a red sweatshirt with the hood covering his head. I’ve become quite the unsociable butterfly. I couldn’t care less about his presence.

The snow is almost melted. The trees are less bare, with a few bits of green growing on the branches. I’m not as excited for the hint of spring as I usually am. I know I won’t be able to go outside. Other than marking the passage of time, there’s no point even thinking about the weather.

The sound of legs from a metal chair scraping against the linoleum tiles startles me out of my daze. I turn around to see the guy with the red sweatshirt walking out of the room.

Must be nice to walk,
I think to myself
.

I turn back to the window and continue gazing until the daylight disappears once again. Once the sun has gone to sleep for the night, I make the journey back to my room.

I roll myself out into the hallway and down the next one, peering over toward the nurses’ station. My mother has made an appearance. She’s talking to one of the doctors. I’m curious to hear what she’s saying, especially since she hasn’t been here to visit me in at least a month.

I pull up against the wall out of anyone’s view.

I hear “…muscle relaxers.”

“Are they working?” my mother asks as she runs her finger up and down the doctor’s arm in an inappropriate way.

The doctor doesn’t appreciate her behavior and pulls his arm away from her. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this can’t continue. I think it’s about time we stop. She’s becoming one of the mutes. It’s unhealthy to do what you’re requesting. Your
bribery
is no longer welcome here.”

She recoils. “Where’s Dr. Greene? He’ll talk to me.”

“Dr. Greene was let go yesterday.” He says nothing else, but his expression tells her plenty.

Humiliation crosses her face like a cloud. “I will cut off the payments at once if you refuse to do as I’ve requested.”

“Very well, ma’am. If that’s the case, Chloe will return to your care…or be remanded to the state.”

She doesn’t respond.

It’s as if she doesn’t even hear what he says.

This is surprising even for her. Since I’m already insane, I might as well act the part for her.

 I roll right up to my mother’s heels and sit there until she notices.

“Has she already had her injection today?” she asks the doctor.

Bitch.

I roll my wheelchair one inch closer, pushing my knees up against the back of her legs. She whips her head around, stunned to see me in my little wheelchair. She remains speechless, her expression frozen in shock. “Thanks for everything, Mother,” I say, in as haunting a voice as I can.

“Chloe, dear…I was just making sure they were taking good care of you.”

“I bet you were.”
Bitch.
I can’t stop thinking it.

I twist my chair to go around her, my ice-cold stare locked on her weak eyes. I maneuver the chair to roll right over her toes, causing her to cry out in pain.

“Sorry.” I wheel away from her.

The injections came to an end that day. I’m sure the doctors are fearful of what I’ll do once I’m out of here. I’ve made a mental note on my to-do list for when I escape this hellhole.

After a few days of being off of the muscle relaxers, my strength is returning. I can walk again. I thought I would be happier than I am for that.

My depression is worsening.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

FIGMENT

IT’S TUESDAY.
Housekeeping comes to clean my room, forcing me to make an appearance in the common area. As I take my usual spot against the window, I hear the door open and then slam shut behind me. I turn to see the man with the red sweatshirt walk to his normal corner. I’ve yet to see his face, but I’m sure he looks the same as everyone else here. The dark irises, black circles around both eyes, skin paler than the white linens, and protruding cheekbones that can make a skeleton look healthy. He sits down in his normal chair and turns to look at me as if he knows I am staring at the back of his head. I see him.

No…

This can’t be real. He’s just a figment of my imagination. He lifts up his finger and places it against his lips to hush the words he must think are about to come out of my mouth. A sweet smile and the eyes I’ve grown to love follow his silencing gesture, but it doesn’t matter. He isn’t real.

I’m not giving in to these delusions anymore.

With my frustration beating me senseless, I walk out the door, unable to look back and see if he’s still standing there. I just know I need to forget about him. The pain is breaking through my new-found numbness. I’m not sure how much I can take. I walk the halls for a bit and decide to return to my room. Housekeeping can work around me.

He’s there, too. Sitting on the edge of my bed.

Alex.

I fumble around to the other side of the room, coming face to face with him. I peer into his eyes, melting at the sight of him. I wait for him to speak, disappear, or turn into some lunatic.

He doesn’t speak. Neither do I. It hurts too much to buy into this illusion of my mind. Maybe if I stare at him long enough he will just disappear and take the pain with him.

I will not give in. I have to be strong.

I close my eyes and count to twenty in my head.

I open them again, and he’s gone.

I try to cry, but my tears have run dry. My emotional wiring is all mixed up and doesn’t seem to work anymore.

My room is empty and my mind is too wired to rest. My eyes wander over to the bag in the corner of the room. It’s the bag my mother brought in for me a few weeks ago. It’s a bag of my things.

I sling the bag onto my bed. I tear open the top and look inside. My drawers from home were dumped into the bag, just like they were before. I rip the contents out in search for the one thing that will make me happy. There’s nothing in there but the old clothes she’s left me with. I guess that answers that.

He was never real, Chloe.

I’m so stupid.

And insane.

I lie down on my bed and stare up at the flat white ceiling until I fall asleep with my eyes open. I’ve gotten good at shutting my brain off. The drugs they give me don’t hurt, either. I’m at ease with the comfort of knowing that my heart can’t remain in this much pain forever. With each new day, my heart will hurt just a little bit less. It has to.

Either that, or it will stop altogether.

Whichever it is will be fine with me.

As I force myself to relax, the fire alarm sounds. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. I see nurses, security guards, and doctors running around the halls, all seeming frantic. Security comes around and rushes us all out of the building into the confined barbed-wire courtyard. At least I can walk out of this place on my own.

I stand at a mandatory hundred-foot distance away from the building, shivering as the cool breeze blows up against my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to block out some of the cold. Something soft and warm wraps around my shoulders.

Red sweatshirt.

It may not be real, but at least it’s keeping me warm, even if only in my head. I turn around and find no one, just as I suspected I would. I’m left with the sweatshirt as a reminder of what seems to be burning a hole through my fragile mind.

Finally, the fire marshals allow us back into the building. We’re escorted directly to our rooms. I pull down the covers on my bed to once again wander into sleep for the night.