Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) (17 page)

“I’m sorry.” Sam rubbed his forehead, where a sharp pain was starting to develop. “But both of those…situations sound like they could have been misunderstandings. I don’t know why I’m here, but if you’re asking my opinion, I can’t say that the girl I’ve been treating is the same one you’re describing.”

“Please, Dr. Philips.” The Frenchman finally sat, easing into the chair next to Sam and crossing his legs. “Do not misunderstand me. I do not think that Viola is evil, or that she means to harm anyone. In her heart, I think she is a good girl. A sweet girl.” His mouth twitched upward in a pained smile. “When she was still in braids, she used to run to me and throw her arms around my neck, and give me a big kiss. And I must admit, she was such a pretty thing, no one could deny her. I tried to caution her father that too much freedom was a bad thing for a child, but he didn’t listen. To him, she was always his
chaton
—his little kitten. But because of his doting, she grew up into a
chat sournois
—a scheming cat. She spent her life learning to manipulate people to get the things she wanted, instead of working for them.”

Sam stood up, not wanting to hear any more. “Well, I’m not sure how I can add to this conversation, so if you’ll excuse me”—he looked at Dr. Chakrabarti for permission—“my shift starts in about five minutes, and I still need to change.”

“Sit down, Sam,” Chakrabarti said. “I’ll excuse you from rounds, just this once. Before you go, I paged you here to ask you a question.”

“Yes?” Sam waited.

“Has there been any instance, during your time with the patient, when you doubted her ability to tell right from wrong?”

Sam knew what he was asking—if Viola could be a sociopath, or something like it.

“Absolutely not.” He turned toward the door, anxious to shower and change so he could check on Viola, and make sure that she was okay. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Dr. Chakrabarti said.

“No,” the Frenchman said, at the exact same time.

Sam stood by the door, trying to hide his growing impatience with the man. “Can I help you with something else?”

“I have a question as well.”

“Okay.”

“During your time with Viola, have you ever felt—even for a moment—that she could not tell the difference between what was real and what was not?”

Immediately, the image of a crumpled up paper towel popped into Sam’s head. The look of sheer terror in Viola’s eyes.
Do you see it?
He shifted uncomfortably. The Frenchman narrowed his eyes, suspicion brewing on his face.

Sam opened his mouth to lie. To tell his attending, and the patient’s legal guardian, that he had never once doubted Viola’s grasp on reality.

But before he could, Dr. Chakrabarti spoke.

“Dr. Philips, I think you should know that Mr. Gosselin has asked me to place Viola under temporary psychiatric observation, for her own safety. I have agreed.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sam said, finally letting his anger overrule his judgment. “Based on what? A few stories from back when she was a teenager, and what…a tantrum of some kind?”

“You were not there,” the Frenchman said. “If you had been, I’m sure you would not be so quick to dismiss it. She accused me of murdering her parents, in front of a nurse and several others.”

“What?” Sam stared, openmouthed, trying to imagine what could have possessed Viola to believe that her parents had been murdered. Maybe she wasn’t handling the news as well as everybody thought.

“This is why,” Chakrabarti said, “I believe it is in Viola’s best interest—and ours—to convince her to commit herself to a 24-hour psychiatric hold. In this way, she will be able to receive the help and intense counseling she needs to get through these recent tragedies, which admittedly would be very difficult for even the sanest person. If she will agree to this, I can guarantee that she will have more control over the treatment process than if she were committed by order. And because she trusts you, I believe you are the best person to explain to her why this is in her best interest.”

“Dr. Chakrabarti, you can’t seriously be asking me to help you talk her into this.” Desperation crept into his voice. She’d never forgive him. “I’m an intern, for crying out loud.”

“An intern,” the Frenchman said. “That is something like a doctor in training, yes?” He looked at Chakrabarti like ‘why in the hell do you even care what this guy has to say?’

Dr. Chakrabarti sighed. Sam realized that this was going to happen, no matter what he said. Calling him in to persuade Viola, to get someone she trusted to break the news to her, it had only been a courtesy. A way for the attending to feel slightly better about kowtowing to the whims of a wealthy potential donor. Whatever helped him sleep at night.

 “Fine,” he said quickly, before Chakrabarti could change his mind and dismiss him, cutting him out of the loop for good. “I’ll do what I can. But if I’m going to take sides against my patient—who is legally an adult, by the way—I want to know that she can check herself out whenever she wants.”

“I’m sorry,” Chakrabarti said, “but once she has been admitted, that will no longer be an option. It will be up to her psychologist. If, as you say, she is not in any way unstable, then she will be discharged after the hold has lapsed. After that, she will be free to leave the hospital, or to continue to seek treatment as needed.”

“I don’t want to see her in pain any more than you do,” the Frenchman said. “I only want her to understand that this behavior is not helping. She must make peace with what happened to her parents, without trying to invent an imaginary villain to blame. Once she does, she will be able to grieve normally. To move on with her life.”

Personally, Sam disagreed with that statement. He disagreed violently. If he had a dollar for every time someone had told him to move on with his life and live normally after Ben’s death? After what had happened with his dad? Well, he’d probably be out of debt by now. The truth was, losing someone you loved? It changed you. Made you stronger in some ways, weaker in others, but it didn’t make you normal. He knew that from experience. You’d never be normal again.

In spite of his personal reservations, he nodded, feeling like he’d just made a deal with the devil.

“I can’t promise she’ll agree, but like I said, I’ll do my best.”

After Chakrabarti had dismissed him, Sam headed for the locker room, moving like he was on his way to the gallows. He no longer cared about being late. In fact, he’d do almost anything to avoid what he’d just promised to do.

He was in the shower, wondering if it was possible to drown while standing up, when Brady found him.

“Dude, where the fuck have you been?” He reached in through the curtain and punched Sam on the shoulder. Hard. “I’ve been calling you all day.”

“Left my cell at my apartment,” Sam said, through a curtain of scalding hot water. Maybe if he stood there long enough, he’d cook. Then his problems would finally be over.

“Well, your timing sucks, bro. Things around here have been def-con batshit since about oh-eight-hundred. Your coma girl’s up there, tied to her bed, which would be kind of hot if it wasn’t so goddamned tragic. She’s been asking for you all day.”

“Wait, what?” Sam shut off the shower, shaking the water out of his ears before poking his head out from behind the curtain. “They actually restrained her?”

“Uh, yeah,” Brady scoffed, even though his face looked dead serious. “Earth to Dr. Philips. Like I said, def-con batshit. They wouldn’t even let me in there to talk to her, because I’m not technically one of her clinicians.”

“Fuck.” That meant she’d probably been in isolation for most of the day. Oh, God, she must be totally freaking out by now. Sam bailed out of the shower, catching the towel Brady threw at him in midair and wrapping it around him as he walked.

“Do me a favor and keep an eye on my other cases,” he called back over his shoulder. “I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

Brady followed him, turning his back as Sam got dressed faster than he’d ever gotten dressed in his life.

“Sure thing, bro. But what about rounds?”

“I’m excused from rounds,” Sam told him. He turned for the door, shrugging into his coat as he walked, not bothering to tie his shoes. Screw it. He could tie them in the elevator, while he practiced his speech that would go something along the lines of, ‘Hey, remember when you first came into this hospital, and I promised you I’d take care of you? Well, I’m glad you don’t remember that, because I’m about to totally sell you out for the sake of my career.’

“Whoa,” Brady pressed the elevator button. “You’re excused from rounds?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, as he stepped into the elevator. “All I had to do was agree to convince Viola to commit herself.”

“Shit,” Brady stared. “Well…I guess I’ll see you later then. If you survive.”

The elevator doors closed between them, as Brady stood there shaking his head. Sam glanced at his watch. Rounds would be starting on the third floor any second. He’d give almost anything to be a part of the herd again, instead of facing what he was about to do. Responsibility or not, Brady was right. This was going to suck.

Ten minutes later, he found himself standing outside the door of her room, which still had the ‘Sleeping Beauty, Do Not Disturb’ sign on it. One of the nurses—Candace, probably—had made it for Viola out of pink construction paper, more as a joke than anything else. It was covered with stickers of Disney Princesses. The kind they usually gave to the patients down in Pediatrics. But Viola had laughed and said they should put it up, so she could walk around naked in her room whenever she felt like it.

God, this was going to suck.

After stalling as long as he could, Sam forced himself to open the door. When he saw Viola lying there, wrists strapped to the bed with Velcro straps, his heart nearly broke. Her eyes were open, and she was staring up at the ceiling while tears streamed down her face. It was the first time he’d ever seen her openly cry, but then, she couldn’t wipe her tears away now, even if she wanted to.

“You forgot…to knock,” she sniffled, obviously trying for some semblance of her previous, haughty tone, and failing. Miserably. Closing the door behind him gently, Sam crept toward her.

“Viola, are you alright?”

At the sound of his voice, Viola’s head snapped toward him. She sucked in a loud breath, which immediately turned into a sob. She shut her eyes tightly.

“Sam. Where…the…hell…have you been?”

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, reaching over to grab a tissue from her bedside table. “I was out of town, visiting family.”

He gently dabbed the side of her face, wishing he could untie her from the bed and take her into his arms. She looked so small and fragile, lying there, that it was hard to imagine how he’d once thought she was impervious to emotional weakness. It was also hard to imagine her doing any of the things Mr. Gosselin—or Uncle Jack, or whatever his name was—said she’d done, intentionally and without remorse.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Viola shook her head. “I’m not sure I’d…even know where to start.”

Her aphasia seemed to be getting worse again, but whether it was a result of stress or the symptom of something progressive, Sam couldn’t tell.

“Start at the beginning,” he told her.

“Well…I didn’t take my sleeping pill…last night.” She sniffled, staring up at the ceiling again. “Brady brought it to me, he can tell you if I was acting…normal or not. And when I went to sleep, I dreamed about…the night I…got in my…car…the night I…had the accident.”

“You did?” Sam was surprised that Chakrabarti hadn’t mentioned this. “What happened in the dream?”

“It wasn’t…” she started, then glanced at him once, before continuing. “It wasn’t…a dream. More of a…forgotten memory, I think. I remember…remembered being at the warehouse, waiting for Aiden.” She closed her eyes, as if trying to recall every detail. “It was snowing. There were lots of people. I had a… I ordered a glass of wine. It was terrible.”

“Okay.” Sam tried not to get too excited. She could be manufacturing an entire new memory, or mixing it in with bits of truth. That was the worst thing about patients who might be suffering from delusions. It was sometimes impossible to tell the difference between their reality and everyone else’s. “What happened next?”

“I was waiting for Aiden,” she said again. “Only, he didn’t come.”

She opened her eyes, staring at him for a long moment. “Can you untie…one of my hands, please? My nose itches.”
He smiled, in spite of the situation. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that unless there’s another clinician in the room,” he told her. “But if you want, I can scratch your nose.”

Viola’s face looked positively mutinous, but after a few more seconds, she agreed.

“Okay,” she said. “But use a tissue.”

As gently as he could, Sam balled up a fresh tissue and rubbed it across her nose until she told him to stop. She sniffed resentfully, wiggling her nose like a bunny. It was adorable.

“Anyway,” she continued, “you were there. You came up and asked me a question.”

Sam froze. “And what did I ask you?”

“I can’t remember,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “I think I was too…upset to pay attention.”

Feeling himself blush, Sam couldn’t decide if he was disappointed or relieved. He looked down at her wrist, which was starting to turn red from the restraint. She’d been struggling, he realized.

“Does that hurt?” he lifted her wrist, inspecting it more closely.

Viola shook her head. “Not as much as my pride does. Julia would be proud, though. She said I should…experiment with BDSM. After I got out.” She smiled, and Sam couldn’t help but admire that she was still able to joke, in spite of everything. “Looks like I’m getting a head start.”

“So this dream you had about me,” he cleared his throat. “What else do you remember?”

“Not a dream,” she reminded him sternly. “Memory. Or flashback. Whatever you want to call it. It’s broken into pieces, but it’s real. I swear.”

Sam couldn’t look her in the eye. He wanted to hear her say it. The kiss was real. It happened. Why did it seem so crucial that she was the first one to say it?