The Night Visitor (24 page)

50

Rory heard her name as if someone were shouting it from a distant hilltop. She struggled to open her eyes and gave up. Her body felt heavy. She didn’t think she could move even if she tried. She didn’t try. Her head ached. Fragmented images ricocheted in her head. She couldn’t tell if they were things that had actually happened or dreams. She prayed they weren’t real.

“Rory. Are you awake, Rory?”

She opened her eyes a slit and winced at a fluorescent light. It shone from a fixture embedded in the ceiling behind a protective steel grid. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs surfed through her headache. She was vaguely aware of another light source, a window. Her head throbbed. She moaned and closed her eyes again.

“That’s good, Rory. Let’s wake up now.”

She detected a familiar fragrance. She was aware of the components contained in it. She could almost taste them. Her hearing and vision were amplified. Junior. Thank goodness Junior was there with her. She felt his apprehension beneath her breastbone. He was afraid for her, for them.

She felt something against her lips, being wormed between her teeth.

“Take a sip. It’s ice water.”

The cool water that came through the straw tasted like nectar. It helped shake the fogginess from her head. She opened her eyes and saw a woman with short silver hair. Not so very old, but she’d let her hair go gray. Rory knew why. Gray gave her stateliness.

“Good afternoon, Rory.”

She knew the woman from her mom and Richard’s social circle. “Dr. Olga Ostermann. You’re wearing Anya perfume.”

“The sample from the La Vie en Rose Ball. It’s my favorite fragrance now.”

“Glad you managed to snag your goodie bag.”

“It’s always such a lovely event. Such a tragedy, how it ended up this year.”

“Uh-huh. Do you have an aspirin or something, please? My head is killing me.”

“Of course.” The doctor got up and went out a door that closed solidly behind her.

Rory was on her back, a hard pillow beneath her head. She tried to reach up to pull off the bed coverings, but her wrists were restrained. Her ankles were also immobilized.

Angry now, she managed to rise onto her elbows. The room was small and Spartan. There was a chest of drawers; an unbreakable, stainless-steel mirror; a closet; and a desk with a chair. There was also an easy chair. The window had reinforced glass. A door led to a bathroom. On the chest were items she recognized as hers. She looked at herself. She wore her UCLA Bruins T-shirt and lightweight sweatpants.

Dr. Ostermann returned carrying a paper pill cup and a plastic cup of water, which she set on a rolling table.

“Dr. O., why am I tied up?”

“It’s for your protection, Rory. Let’s get those off you.” The doctor ripped open the fabric restraints, which were attached with Velcro.

Rory started to sit up but reeled. The doctor steadied her and helped her turn on the bed, hanging her feet over the side. Rory blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. “Did you drug me?”

“You were agitated last night, Rory. You were given medication to relax you.”

“Relax me? More like put me back into a coma. What time is it?”

“Two in the afternoon.”

“Two?”

“You needed the rest. Your mother says you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Rory took the two aspirin and water that the doctor handed her and swallowed the tablets with all the water. “Where am I?”

Dr. O. sat on a chair made of resin. “You’re at the Casa del Fuente.”

“Casa del…” Rory rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “The mental hospital. Why?”

“It’s the best place for you right now, Rory.” Dr. Ostermann crossed her legs. She wore a light-gray herringbone suit and sensible black pumps.

Rory sharply exhaled and shook her head. She looked at her hands. Her rings were gone. She felt her earlobes. No earrings either.

“Your mother has your jewelry.”

Rory tried to stand, but her legs buckled and she sat back down. Dr. Ostermann rose from her chair to help, but Rory put up her hands. She got to her feet and haltingly walked to the window. It was sealed shut. It overlooked a park-like area with a lush lawn, thatches of trees, and a pond covered with lily pads with a fountain in the middle. Two men in light-blue uniforms sat smoking on a wooden bench.

Rory had been on that lawn before, wearing a cocktail dress, carrying a glass of champagne and a plate of hors d’oeuvres at a fund-raiser. The psychiatric hospital had been raising money for a children’s wing where families would pay what they could afford. The wing had been constructed and bore the name of the largest contributor: the Tate family. Rory had opened her checkbook that night. A suite in this hospital bore a brass plaque with her name. She marveled at the irony that she might be locked up in the very suite.

Rory moved stiffly to the easy chair and sat down. Noticing that Dr. Ostermann was studying her, Rory tried to relax, settling into the chair but not pressing too hard against the wounds on her back, which were sore after her prolonged sleep on them. “I’ve had a good night’s sleep. I’m calm. I’m fine. I’m ready to leave.”

Dr. Ostermann uncrossed her legs and leaned forward onto her arms. “Do you remember what happened yesterday afternoon?”

“Of course I remember.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“Dr. O., I don’t know why I was brought here. I know I need rest, but I can do that more comfortably at my mother’s house.” Rory looked at her feet. She wore socks she didn’t recognize. They had nonslip patches on the bottom. “All I need are my shoes, my purse, and my cell phone.”

“Rory, you’ll be staying with us for at least another two and half days.”

“What?”
She stood up, shuffled to the closet, and opened the door. Some of her casual clothes were hanging inside. She bent over for her slip-on tennis shoes, grabbing on to the door when she felt woozy. “What do you mean, I’m staying with you? Who’s responsible for this? My mother?”

She sat on the bed, pulled off the socks, and put on her shoes.

“You’re here on a fifty-one-fifty hold.”

“A what?”

“Section fifty-one-fifty of the California Welfare and Institutions Code allows an individual to be taken into custody for seventy-two hours for evaluation and treatment if there’s cause to believe that she’s a danger to herself or others. After the seventy-two hours are up…well, there are several courses of action.”

“I’m locked up?” Rory went to the door, opened it, and stepped into what looked like a dormitory hallway. At the end of the hall was a glass-walled area with uniformed nurses and orderlies.

“You’re in a secure ward of the facility, but you’re free to leave your room. We encourage it. There’s an activity room, library, exercise—”

“You can’t keep me locked up. I’m not a danger to myself or anyone. I need to get out of here. I have things I have to do.”

“What must you do, Rory?”

“To begin with, I have a business to run. It’s critical that I be there because my stepbrother is trying to seize control of it from me. Are he and his father behind this? And anyway, why was my mother following me?”

“Rory, everyone in your family is only concerned for your welfare and good health. You’ve been through an extremely traumatic period. You need rest. We’ll also take this time to get acquainted.”

“All due respect, Doctor, but I’m about as well acquainted with you as I care to be. You cannot keep me here. I’m calling my attorney. Where’s my phone?”

“No phone calls or visits during the seventy-two hours.”

Rory slowly returned to the easy chair.

“Rory, it’s not unprecedented for a person to suppress feelings about a traumatic event and years later experience another traumatic event that serves as a catalyst for the release of those feelings. We’ll explore that together.”

Dr. Ostermann stood. “Simon Weber, one of our administrators, will show you around and get you something to eat. We’ll chat again later today.”

Rory calculated the time. She’d already been there almost a day. She and Junior could make it through. “The day after tomorrow I’ll be free to leave, right?”

“That depends on how you’re feeling.”

“What does that mean? I thought you had to let me go after seventy-two hours.” Rory began to clench and open her fingers.

“It’s possible to extend your stay another fourteen days. After that, there could be an additional fourteen days. That’s the maximum amount of time we can keep you here unless you decide it’s in your best interests to sign into the hospital as a voluntary patient.”

“You’re saying I could be here a month.”

“Possibly.”

Anxiety surged through Rory and into Junior like a dose of bad dope. It married with his fears and accelerated back to her. She knew he didn’t understand what was going on, but he sensed that it was bad for them.

Rory darted her eyes around the room. She pulled her feet onto the chair, hugged her knees with both hands, and scratched her arms as she rocked herself. A little voice deep inside warned her to play it cool, to calm down, but she couldn’t.

She vigorously shook her head. “No way. I can’t stay here that long. No way. There’s no way.”

“Why not, Rory?” Dr. Ostermann asked.

She pushed herself up. “I can’t. I’ll die. Don’t you get it? I’ll die. Do you hear me?”

She took several steps toward the doctor, who retreated to the door, her hand on the knob.

“Rory, please calm down.”

Rory leaned toward her, her arms rigid by her sides, her hands in fists. “You have no clue what’s going on. I have to get out of here
now.
”

“Rory, I’m asking you again. Please calm down. I don’t want to have you restrained or to give you a tranquilizer, but I’ll be forced to if you don’t control yourself.”

Rory summoned all the willpower she could and stepped away from the doctor. She returned to the easy chair and smoothed her hair with her hands. “I’m fine. I apologize for that.”

“Thank you, Rory. I’ll see you shortly.” She left.

Rory again pulled her feet onto the chair and circled her arms around her knees. She whispered, “Hold on, baby. We have to hold on. I know you’re tired. We have to stay strong.” Junior couldn’t understand her words, but she had to say them for herself. Junior’s deteriorating physical state was taxing her own weakened health.

She began to hum, mixing fragments of songs with tunes she made up into something like a lullaby.

51

Tom entered the small restaurant in Pasadena and saw Evelyn at a corner table. It was early evening but dim inside, yet Evelyn was wearing large sunglasses, which Tom knew meant that either she’d been crying or she was hungover, or both. On the table in front of her was a half-empty martini glass.

She stood when he came over.

He gave her a hug and said, “Thanks for meeting me.” He was the only one there wearing a suit and tie.

“Of course, Tom. I’m glad you called.” She plucked an embroidered handkerchief from her purse and reached beneath her sunglasses to dab her eyes.

He sat across from her.

A waiter came by. Tom said, “I’ll have a cup of coffee now and a hamburger to go.”

Evelyn declined a second drink and stashed her handkerchief back inside her purse. “Don’t eat by yourself. Please have dinner with Richard and me at the club.”

“Thank you for offering, Evelyn, but I have to get back to the office. So, I just came from meeting Dr. Ostermann at Casa del Fuente. I wish you’d called me before you got the authorities involved. That mental health lockup is going to be on Rory’s record. Not to mention what Rory’s going through right now.”

Evelyn glared at him. “The police are the ones who put Rory on that psychiatric hold. They were going to take her to General Hospital. Thank goodness I was able to reach Dr. Ostermann and she was able to intervene and get Rory into Casa del Fuente. It’s the best place for Rory. Tom, she’s a danger to herself. She needs help.”

“Evelyn, in my opinion it could have been handled differently.” Tom leaned back as the waiter returned and set down his coffee. “Thank you.”

“I could do without the second-guessing.” She pointed at him. “You didn’t see her walking around that disgusting place in a trance, talking to people who weren’t there. I thought she was going to jump off the fire escape. I was terrified.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I can understand how scary that must have been for you, Evelyn.”

“Please don’t be condescending.” Evelyn took off her sunglasses and put them into her purse. Her bloodshot eyes made her irises look even greener.

During the ensuing tense silence, Tom stirred cream and sugar into his coffee.

“Tom, were you able to see Rory?”

He shook his head as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. “But I did have an interesting conversation with Dr. Ostermann. Fortunately Rory gave me medical power of attorney when we got engaged. Dr. Ostermann says that Rory’s exhibiting signs of schizophrenia.”

Evelyn sat straight. “Schizophrenia? Out of the blue, at thirty years old, Rory becomes schizophrenic?”

“It’s ridiculous,” Tom said. “I think Dr. Ostermann is grasping at straws. She says that women sometimes don’t develop symptoms of schizophrenia until they’re in young adulthood.”

“Fascinating.” Evelyn turned to look out a window beside her. After a moment, she again faced him. “If you think about it, a schizophrenia diagnosis makes a lot of sense. We’ve both seen that Rory can’t tell the difference between delusions and reality. She thinks that Junior’s talking to her. She thinks she’s him.”

“Well, that was just one of Dr. Ostermann’s ideas. She also said it’s possible that Rory’s suffering from a sort of hysteria brought on by trauma. Sometimes a brain injury can alter the wiring in a person’s brain, changing their personality from day to night. Add the ordeal of the Lara family resurfacing, putting Rory through all their accusations again. The doctor talked to me about sending Rory to some place in Manzanillo, Mexico.” Tom blinked and shook his head.

Evelyn drank the last of her martini and waved to the waiter to bring her another. “I’ve heard of that place. Some of the best people go there. Very hush-hush, of course. It’s a convalescent hospital, but it’s like a five-star resort.”