Unhinged (8 page)

“Ms. Aimee Richardson, I presume?” he asks
seriously.

I nod my head in answer to his question, fear
robbing me of my speech.

He must be used to this so he continues. “My
name is Oliver Morrison and I am the psychiatrist assigned to your
mother,” he states. His grey eyes pierce my blue ones as he
pauses.

Apparently, he is waiting for me to respond.
Since this is my first time ever in any kind of looney bin, I have
no idea what to say. So, I nod my head again, acknowledging what he
just said in the hope that this will encourage him to continue.
Luckily, it does.

“Mary is suffering from paranoid delusions.
The clinical term we use for it is called persecutory delusion. She
truly believes that someone is coming to harm her, and those
delusions are keeping the rational side of her brain from
functioning correctly. We see this a great deal within the context
of diagnosed schizophrenia, but Mary has no history of that type of
behavior. Furthermore, we tend to see evidence of paranoid
delusions years before they take root this severely in a patient.
Can you tell me please, Ms. Richardson, if you have seen Mary
exhibit any paranoid behavior within the last year?”

Reeling from the information the doctor just
dumped on me, I search my memories of the past year for any sign of
paranoia or delusional thinking (whatever that is) and I come up
empty. Mary’s behavior hasn’t changed a bit in past years. She is
the same sweet, patient, caring woman she’s always been. The only
thing she is at all paranoid about is my safety, but that’s a
normal reaction for anyone that cares for a child. I look over at
Logan with my confused expression, silently asking for help. He
just shrugs, as much at a loss as I am. Our silence seems to be the
answer Dr. Morrison expected.

“I see,” he states while he scribbles
something on his clipboard. “I’m not at all surprised. The people
that I have seen in this hospital, referred here through hospitals
in your area, have all exhibited similar traits within their
paranoia. It’s like the disease was somehow inserted into their
subconscious. One day they are normal, functional people in
society. The next, they are fighting demons that are so real to
them they can’t decipher reality from imagination. We have put her
on muscle relaxers and dopamine, hoping to make her more
comfortable. If you follow me, you can see her now.”

Logan takes my hand as we follow Dr. Morrison
through the thick double doors that lead to hell. The nurse gives
us a knowing snicker as we pass her. I wonder yet again if she
isn’t as deranged as the patients in this hospital are. The minute
we pass through the doors, the décor changes from blue to stark
white. There are pictures lining the walls depicting happy scenes
or nature, which I can only guess are supposed to aid feelings of
calmness for the patients.

The hallways seem endless as we pass by door
after door. I peer into the little window of each one and I can see
that some are offices, while others appear to be patient rooms. As
I pass by one door in particular, I see a young man pacing about,
scratching his head and his face with his fingernails in obvious
agitation. His face is lined with angry red fissures streaked with
blood. His head is bald and he is wearing a white hospital gown
with birds on it. I face forward and quicken my pace. We finally
arrive at Mary’s room; the door is wide open and I can see Mary
lying in bed, wearing the same white gown dotted with birds. Her
eyes are closed and her face looks peaceful. The demons must have
taken a break. I look at the doctor and find that I have a voice
after all.

“What exactly have you done to her, Dr.
Morrison? Why isn’t she awake?”

“Mary has been through a lot. The
antipsychotics will have an adverse effect on her sleeping habits
in that they tend to cause insomnia. We have given her something to
help her sleep. In many cases, sleep is the only relief the patient
will get from their paranoia and delusions. You can come back and
speak with her in the morning, Ms. Richardson, but I must warn you
that she won’t be the Mary that you know. Her mind is crippled, and
until I have some time to work with her, she could be a danger to
herself or you.”

“I understand. Thank you, doctor,” I mouth to
him as I stare at Mary. She looks so peaceful in her sleep one
would think nothing strange happened to her today.

Beside me, Dr. Morrison takes his leave with
no further advice to give. I approach the bed, uncertain of what to
do next. I look down at Mary and watch as her chest rises and falls
with each breath. For some reason this comforts me. Logan moves to
stand next to me and I feel his arm slip around my waist. Though I
don’t lean into him, I’m grateful for his gesture of comfort. I
have no idea how long I stand there watching Mary, my thoughts too
jumbled to even think; my fear too raw to move from her side. I
know dusk has settled as little light now shines through the bars
covering her window.

“It’s time to go I think,” Logan says from
beside me.

Though I loathe leaving, there is no way they
will let me stay with her in her current, unpredictable condition.
Nor would I sleep much anyway knowing I would be surrounded by
crazies. I nod to Logan, and together we follow the signs that
point to the exit.

Lost within my thoughts, I follow Logan
blindly. I worry for Mary and wonder what she will be like when she
wakes up, if she will ever be normal again. I think of poor Kyle
from class today, and the boy from the cafeteria a few days ago.
What will happen to them? But more importantly, how did they get
that way in the first place? My mind keeps coming back to that one
thought—what in the world happened to them that caused them to go
instantaneously crazy?

I am so lost in my thoughts as we meander
through the stark halls of the mental facility that I just about
jump out of my skin when I hear a loud thud from the door to my
right. A small cry escapes my lips. My hand immediately goes to my
heart hoping to keep it in my chest.

“What the hell!” screams Logan from beside
me, clearly just as frightened as I am by someone pounding against
a (hopefully) securely locked door.

What the hell indeed
.

I look up through the glass and my blue eyes
lock with a set of brown ones. But these eyes aren’t normal.
They’re hazy, glazed over, and almost completely filled with crazy.
The boy looks not much older than Logan or me, but his shaved head
makes it hard to tell exactly. He’s wearing the same white gown
with birds. He’s snarling at us, drool dripping from his mouth like
a rabid animal. Through the metal door, I hear a loud scraping
sound like fingers against a chalkboard. Even from the hallway, I
hear his chant, and I cringe as it grows louder and louder,
piercing what little strength I have left. I have no idea what it
means, but it shakes me to the core.

“He and you, the only two. Death of one,
destiny be done,” repeats the crazy boy over and over, louder and
louder until he is jumping up and down like a crazed monkey, his
beating on the door getting more and more intense.

Thankfully, Logan is as freaked out as I am.
“Come on, Aimee, let’s get out of here,” he says as he pulls me
away from the door and the crazy boy behind it.

My mind, already a jumble, can’t take anymore
so I shut it down and concentrate on only one thing: getting the
hell out of this loony bin.

I see the double doors that lead to freedom
and I run to them. I know they’re locked, but it doesn’t matter to
my addled brain. All I can process is that I want out. I pound on
the doors as I scream, “Let me out!” but no one seems to hear me.
Since pounding isn’t enough, I begin to kick and cuss at the doors,
the last obstacle to my freedom. Finally, I hear the buzz and feel
the doors begin to shake as they open. As soon as I’m able, I run
through the slight opening and out the front doors to breathe in
the blessed cool night air. I head straight to the bushes and throw
up, the horror of today too much for me. I try to catch my breath
as my stomach heaves piles of bile out of my body, but it's no use.
I can’t stop. It’s as if my body is trying its best to purge the
evil that resides not only within me, but also in this hospital. I
feel a droplet touch my hand and realize that my face is wet from
tears I didn’t even know I was shedding. The unfairness that seems
to define life is too much for me to bear.

I feel Logan place his hand on my back and
whisper my name softly, but I don’t recognize it. Though I wish he
wasn’t here to see me break down, I realize that despite my best
attempts to push him away, he has always has been here for me, and
it is my fervent hope that he always will be. He is my reason to
get up in the morning, my rock that stands firm and steadfast
through the churning, violent sea that is my life. It’s for him
that I choose not to let everything in this life break me. He’s
seen me worse, I know, but I was hoping that was over. I dared to
hope that from the moment I kissed him in the dark dungeon of
torture all those months ago, he would only see my best.

“What can I do to help you, Aim?” asks Logan
as he strokes my hair, the powerlessness we both feel evident in
his voice.

“I wish I knew, Logan. I wish I knew,” I
respond sadly from my bent over position in front of the bushes. As
tears fall from my eyes, I let the hopelessness consume me. I have
no more strength to fight it. In the past few days, I have seen
more bloodshed and heartache than I ever thought possible in a
sleepy little town outside of Atlanta. This was supposed to be my
safe haven, the place where the boy with no memories could never
find me. Instead, it has turned into an inferno with no apparent
escape. And the next victim could be anybody.

“I need to check on Dejana,” I say to Logan.
“She wasn’t feeling well earlier and after all that has happened
today, she could use a friend as much as I could. There’s nothing
more we can do for Mary tonight anyway.”

“Agreed,” states Logan as he bends down and
helps me up from the ground. “I would feel much better if you
stayed with her tonight anyway. With all that’s been happening
lately, it may be better to stay in groups.”

Though I honestly can’t decipher his
reasoning regarding group safety, I don’t argue with Logan. The
thought of returning home tonight scares the crap out of me. As we
walk together hand in hand back through the parking lot, we agree
it’s best to leave Mary’s car at the hospital. We slide into
Logan’s vehicle and head toward Dejana’s house. I look at the clock
on my phone and see that it’s barely five past nine at night, still
early enough for Dejana to be up. I send her a quick text to let
her know we’re coming and then lie back in the seat and let the
mental exhaustion take over. I don’t think at all; I just let the
sway of the car calm me. Logan must be deep within his own thoughts
because he too says nothing. Before long, we arrive at Dejana’s
house and pull into the driveway. There are lights on in the den
and kitchen and the only car I see in her driveway is hers.

Logan and I get out of the car and make our
way to the front door. I ring the doorbell and wait a few seconds,
listening for movement within. After hearing none, I ring the
doorbell again. Maybe she’s asleep? Logan lifts his right hand and
knocks loudly on the door. Still we hear nothing. Certain that
Dejana just fell asleep on the couch, I turn to leave. The last
thing I want to do is disturb her. I grab Logan’s arm and pull him
down the steps back towards his car. I have no plan, I just know
that after what happened today, Dejana probably needs her sleep
more than she needs a visit from me. We are half way back to our
car when we hear it. The scream echoing through the night and
reverberating off my soul.

I take off running towards the house, my
heart beating out of my chest. Panic fills me as my heart races
from fear and exertion. My breath comes faster and faster, I can’t
seem to catch it. My imagination runs rampant. With all that has
happened, I can’t even fathom what kind of wrong is going on inside
Dejana’s house right now. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.

I yell, “No!” and dig my heels deeper into
the ground, willing my tired body to go faster. Just as I reach the
door, Logan overtakes me and lunges at the door with his shoulder,
breaking the locked door off its hinges. He flies through, his
stance ready for danger.

“Dejana!” I scream, desperate to find the
reason for her distress. “Dejana, where are you?” I plead.

We’re met with an eerie silence filled with
foreboding. I turn to Logan. “You search the kitchen. I’ll go to
her room. Please, Logan, we have to find her,” I implore, the
desperation clear in my voice.

Logan turns right towards the kitchen as I
run left to the staircase adjacent to the foyer entrance. I run up
the stairs two at a time, the exhaustion I felt just minutes ago
completely gone. A mix of adrenaline and fear pulse through my
veins, fueling me now. At the top of the stairs, I don’t even slow
my pace as I turn right and make a beeline for Dejana’s room. I
burst through the door, slamming it against the wall in my
desperation to find my friend. I make a precursory look about the
room, my eyes flying left and right, looking for her brown
highlighted hair, but I don’t see her.

I’m just about to give up on her bedroom when
I see her favorite pair of black boots poking out from behind her
bed. I run to the other side of the big four-poster king sized bed
and there I find Dejana, lying on the floor of her room face up,
eyes closed, and in the same clothes she wore earlier to school. I
fall down to my knees and shake her.

“Dejana!” I cry. “Are you okay? Please answer
me!” I implore as I shake her shoulders, desperate for her eyes to
open and tell me to get the hell off her.