Admissions (9 page)

“Carl, can you lead the evacuation?” Judy says. “I need to stay here and see if they’ve found the missing patients. Luanne, this is my husband, Carl. He’ll lead you all over to 21.”

Carl takes me by the arm and waves goodbye to his wife as we struggle through the deep snow in the courtyard. He instructs the patients to line up by twos. We follow orders, clutching warm clothing around us. Carl motions the line through the iron gate of the courtyard, away from the back of the building.

“Okay, ladies. Start walking. Hold the hand of the lady next to you. Walk quickly, but do not run.”

As the line clears the rear wall of Hall 19, I see the fire running along the attic, the entire length of the south wing. I come to a dead stop. The patients behind me trip over my heels. My knees buckle, and I fall into the deep snow.

“Lady, what’s wrong. Keep moving,” Carl pulls me up by the waist. I put my arm around his neck and point up. “Look!”

Silhouettes of men set against a glowing background fill the second floor windows. Their arms are raised. I can’t see their faces, but I can imagine them.

Chapter 16

W
hen I wake up the next morning, I rise up on my elbow, scan the cots set up in the halls of Cottage 21. Drugged, most of the refugees still snore. I think I spot Beth asleep a few rows down.

“Beth, are you awake?”

“I am now,” she says. She blinks her eyes. “I thought I might be having a nightmare. I guess we’re really here.”

“I’m going to find the others, see what’s going on.” I weave through the cots toward the dayroom. Autumn is asleep near the nurses’ station. Women are gathered in the dayroom waiting for breakfast. Isabel sits on the floor, dragging on a cigarette. She’s talking to Estee.

“Estee, you’re here!” I hug her around the neck, practically sit in her lap.

“Yeah,” Estee croaks.

“Where were you? Where did you go?” I glance over at Isabel. She shrugs her shoulders.

“I had to be saved, Luanne. I met the test. God sent angels.” Estee stands up, speaks as if she were giving a sermon, hands punctuating her story. “The siren blared.
I’m coming,
I said. I moved toward the sound, the empty halls wispy with smoke. I was terrified, and I yelled,
Lord, why have you forsaken me?
Tears streamed down my face. Smoke snuck under the doors, burned my eyes. I heard the voices of the damned screaming from below.

“Then I ran, my arms straight out, toward the double doors. They flew back on their hinges as I hit them hard with the palms of my hands. Smoke billowed in from the hall. I staggered back, wiped my eyes, stumbled through the entryway, found the wall, pressed my body against it, slid along slowly. There had to be a way out, a way up. Hell was not far below, I could sense it, feel the heat. I took it slow, one hand pressing the plaster, the other flailing in front of me.

“I couldn’t see, so I reached for the hem of my state-issue, wiped away the tears and soot. I kept blinking. Then I saw it, a red eye glowing through the smoky haze. Terror gripped my chest, my heart pounded like a piston
. Be gone, Satan. I cast you out in the name of God Almighty. Cast ye down, demon.
I yelled as loud as I could. I wanted to run, hide, but I knew I must meet the challenge. God was testing me. I had been chosen, Luanne.

“It took all the faith and courage I had, but I moved forward, toward the glowing eye. I remember blinking and blinking, my eyes burned. The smoke coated my tongue, I swallowed, coughed.
I cast ye down.
I screamed out the words, and each tiny step moved me closer to the demon. I would face it, stare it down. Then I made a cross with my arms as I slid along the wall. I could feel God with me.

“Suddenly, the red eye expanded, transformed itself. It glowed its message of salvation—
EXIT. Thank you, Lord. Thank you.
I laughed with joy and fell to my knees in prayer. Then I heard his voice, ‘
I am with you now, Estee.’
I stood under the
EXIT
sign. My hand touched the doorjamb, then the knob. I turned it. The door opened, revealing a staircase, steps ascending up.”

Estee drags me down next to her, as she kneels on the floor of the dayroom. “Thank you for showing me the way, Lord. I am so alone.”

She’s a tough act to follow. All I can say is “Ah, okay.”

“I am blessed now. Lord, please save my sister, Luanne. She’s pure of heart, Lord.” Estee’s voice raises as she rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. She takes my hands, squeezes them tightly. “It is God’s will. Fire and brimstone, Luanne.”

As soon as the
Observer
comes out, I run to the nurses’ station and grab a copy, rush to the dayroom with it.

THE OBSERVER

Traverse City State Hospital. The paper by and for patients and staff

April 4, 1969

SEVENTY-SIX SOULS LOST IN FIRE

Reports were released this week from the Traverse City Fire Department. The March 26
^th
fire at the State Hospital claimed the lives of seventy-five patients, seventy-three from Ward 20, Men’s Wing, and three patients from Hall 12 and Hall 16, all in Building 50. One staff member, Nurse Supervisor, Judith A. Reinbold, also perished in the fire.

 

THE OBSERVER

April 4, 1969

Page 3

CAUSE OF FIRE UNDER INVESTIGATION

Chief Barry Mead, Traverse City Fire Department, fought the fire, March 26 in Building 50. The fire fighting effort lasted two full days with the help of firefighters from five counties. Crews from as far away as Cadillac battled the blaze. Chief Mead indicated that the cause of the fire has not yet been determined, but it appears that a cigarette may have ignited the curtains on the second floor of the men’s wing.

“Is that a picture of Nurse Judy and her husband?” Autumn asks.

“Yes, at the last Christmas Party.” I wince at the sight of Nurse Judy with her husband. They look so happy.

“Hey. Remember when I told you I thought the attendant was my dad when I first came in? Well, here he is right here.” I point out Carl in the paper. “Nurse Judy’s husband, Carl Reinbold.”

Isabel scans the paper. “They don’t say a word about the faulty elevator.”

“Here’s an article by Father Fred,
God’s Divine Plan
.”

“God’s will be done,” Estee says.

“Here’s the names of the victims.” We lean in to read down the list.

“Creepy,” Heidi says.

Estee closes her eyes, bows her head. “You don’t have to worry about them. I talked to the victims. They told me they’re happier in heaven than they ever were at the hospital.”

Chapter 17

T
he announcement scratches and crackles from the wall speaker. “Patient Luanne Kilpi to the nurses’ station.”

“Now what?” Being summoned, plucked from the safety of my circle of friends, jolts me. I feel a surge of anxiety.

“You better go,” Heidi says, her fake brows knitted with worry.

“Jeez, what?” I push back my chair, step over Estee’s legs, walk slowly toward the nurses’ station.

“Luanne, your visitors are here. An attendant will escort you to the visitors’ room,” the nurse supervisor says.

“Visitors? I …nobody told me …who?”

The nurse checks her paperwork. “The order says
three approved visitors
, that’s all it says.”

I feel dizzy, disoriented. Life in the hospital is so routine, the only surprises are bad ones. My mind ticks like a roulette wheel, tries to match the message with its meaning. “I’m not ready.” As I glance back at my friends, I long to be back in the circle, a little girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts.

“Are you declining the visit?”

“No, no …of course not …ah …”

“Do you need a few minutes to get ready?”

“Um …yeah …hold on.” I take a deep breath and hurry to the safety of my friends.

“I’m getting …I have visitors.”

“That’s great!” Heidi says. “Jeff?”

“Three. My mom and sister, probably. This sounds stupid, but I’m scared. I don’t want to go.”

“It’ll be okay,” Autumn says.

“Christ, I look like a tramp.” I pull at the sides of my baggy sweat pants.

“Here, let me smooth your hair, tuck it behind your ears.” Isabel stands and circles me, primping. “Autumn, take off your shirt and give it to Luanne.”

Autumn starts unbuttoning her blouse, holds it out to me and then slips my ratty t-shirt over her head.

“Beth, your stretch pants,” Isabel says.

“I …I don’t feel comfortable taking off my pants.”

“Here, sit down, slip them off. Luanne, give Beth your sweatpants. We won’t look.” Isabel turns her back.

“Thanks.” I button and smooth the cotton print shirt, adjust the black pants around my waist. “Good?”

“You look great,” Beth says.

“Good luck,” Estee adds.

Jeff, Molly, and Mom are lined up on straight-back chairs against the north wall, away from the other patients and visitors. They stand up in unison when I come through the doorway as if somebody pulled a lever under their seats.

Mom steps forward, gives me a hug. “We were so worried. Thank God you’re okay.” Jeff hugs me next, then my sister Molly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I can feel my knees shaking.

Jeff pulls a chair over, and motions for me to sit down. They scoot their chairs into a tight circle.

“First we heard about the fire, then they said no visitors for two weeks.” Mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My God, you’re so thin and pale.”

“I called right away. They said you were not on the list of injured or …passed away.” Jeff reaches for my hand, squeezes it.

“The other section is all burned,” Molly says. “Did you know anybody who got hurt …or …died?”

“Yes. Nurse Judy. Remember her, Jeff?”

“The one who helped us when I visited?”

“She died in the fire.”

“Gee, that’s too bad.” Jeff leans forward and rubs his palms together.

“The day I came in, an attendant reminded me so much of Dad. It helped make things easier. Then again, he helped me during the evacuation. I just found out he was Nurse Judy’s husband. They were such a nice old couple.”

“Man, you’re skinny! Maybe I should spend a few weeks here,” Molly says.

“I don’t recommend it as a weight loss program.” I manage a weak smile.

Mom flashes a look over her shoulder, leans forward in her chair toward me. “These people are …ummm …really mental, aren’t they? I mean …look at that one over there.”

“Mom!” Molly says.

“What are they doing here to help you?” Mom asks.

“I see the doctor a few times a week for therapy, I go to group. They reduced my medication twice already. I’m getting better.”

“Is your memory coming back?” Jeff asks.

“Bits and pieces.”

“Do you need to remember everything to get out of here?” Mom asks.

“I don’t think so. My doctor said it could take a long time. Or it might never come back. Not fully.”

“You might never remember that morning?” Jeff asks.

“What morning?”

“The morning Alexander …when we found him.”

“No. We’re going to have to work on that. Right now, we’re trying to piece together the night I almost drowned. I don’t remember that either.”

“Did they say how long you’ll be here?” Molly asks.

“Dr. Murray thinks another six to nine months.”

“That long?”

“That’s what she said.” I feel myself leaving, floating up toward the ceiling. What do they expect? I’m a patient in a mental hospital, no different than the woman Mom pointed at. Do they expect an instant cure, a few zaps of electro maybe? I feel ashamed, grotesque.

“How’s school?” I turn toward Molly. I can see myself mouthing the words, smiling. But I’m not there.

Molly starts talking, rattles on—who’s going steady with who, the lucky girls who’ve been asked to prom already, what trouble her classmates are in, details of the last basketball game. Mom adds news about the family, church, and the local gossip. Between the two of them, they keep the awkward silences at bay.

“Our time’s almost up. I’d like to spend a couple of minutes alone with Luanne.”

“Oh, sure, Jeff. Of course.” Mom jumps to her feet, Molly behind her. “We’ll see you again soon.” They hurry past the other patients and visitors, eyes riveted on the door.

“I just wanted to spend some time alone with you.”

“It’s good to see you, Jeff.”

“I love you, Luanne.” He kisses me.

I don’t want to, but I feel myself pull away. “Love you, too.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, pretty good. How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“I feel bad leaving you with all the bills, the house…

“I don’t want to bother you with stuff, but I’m working at getting the bills paid, working a lot of overtime. The mortgage is getting a little behind, Dad’s helping me,” Jeff says.

“I …I just can’t think about that …”

“No …of course not. Sorry.” Jeff stuffs his hands in his pockets, scuffs his feet on the linoleum floor.

“I’m sorry, too.”

When I get back to the dayroom, the same feelings creep over me. Separation from myself, observing from the ceiling of the visitors’ room.
Why didn’t I talk more?
Jeff is suffering. Alexander and Jeff, they’re the innocent ones. The baby grew inside
my
body. There must have been some seed, some cell, hidden deep inside—some contamination. Now Alexander is gone and I’m trapped, locked inside a life I don’t recognize, don’t want.

They’d be better off without me.

Chapter 18

THE OBSERVER
            
May 23, 1969

 

Page 7

BUILDING 50 CLOSING

Superintendent Dorsey announced this week the closing of Building 50 would begin this month. Cuts in state funding, fire restoration costs, and the addition of the Arnell-Engstrom Children’s Hospital, now under construction, have led to the decision. The closing could take up to two years, said the Superintendent.

A
steady stream of vans and trucks takes supplies and furnishings to the storage buildings. As Building 50 begins to close, Heidi and I are hopeful we’ll be moved to the outlying cottages. They crack the windows in the dayroom—the smell of spring is unmistakable. Autumn, Isabel, and I volunteer to unload flower trucks from local nurseries, a project created when the hospital greenhouses closed. We are picked up in front of Building 50 by a white van. I recognize the driver, Carl Reinbold.