One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest (21 page)

He reached over and took a dead cigar from the ashtray. When he picked up the lighter, I leaned over farther, but was careful not to give him any thrill if my breasts got too close. “Don't even think about it. I hate smoke.”

He flicked the lighter.

I gave him one of those looks that my mother always used on us kids when we were doing something wrong—or even
thinking
about doing something wrong.

While I triumphed over the fact that Fabio had shoved his lighter and unlit dead cigar down on the desk, I thought—Oh . . . my . . . God.

I'd just acted like Mother.

My
mother.

Fabio finally paid me—not in full(he promised the rest later), but enough to make my payment on the Lexus I not only never drove, but also never even had seen. Sometimes I'd wake up at night and wonder what color it was. Money. The root of all evil, yet necessary.

Rent was still due, so I had to get back to work. Maybe because I wouldn't let Fabio smoke his cigar, he'd said my next case could take a few weeks to have ready for me. He wasn't firing me, more like punishing me in a way I had no control over. Stalling my earnings. That's what he was doing.

Slimy creep.

I couldn't get out of him the reason why my cases had to coincide with Jagger's and whose idea that was, but figured Jagger had some kind of gag order on Fabio—even if he owned the business. Jagger didn't work for Scarpello and Tonelli Insurance Company, but being Jagger, he seemed to have influence wherever he went.

I decided that I had to go help Margaret, despite what Jagger, Goldie, Miles or Spanky said. Yeah, the little doggie had given me a mean look when I told him where I was going, so I bribed him with an extra doggie treat and headed back to the Institute in my own car. Couldn't waste money on a cab.

I parked in the most distant section of the parking lot and made sure no one was around when I got out. This way, no one would question whose car it was. They'd figure it belonged to some visitor.

When I got out, I pressed the button on the key chain Nick had given me and felt a bit down. Too bad it couldn't have been different between Nick and myself. He was a nice guy. Why hadn't there been an attraction there for me?

I started to put the key chain into my pocket, telling myself not to dwell on Nick because then my mind would find some reason to think of Jagger, and then I realized that I couldn't take the keys inside with me.

Surely Spike or someone in charge would confiscate them.

Shoot. I looked around the grounds. Empty.

I started to walk around the parking lot, trying to think of what I could do with my keys. Hide them. The thought struck me, and while I walked back to my car, I worked the ignition key off the key chain, pocketed it and stuck the chain into the glove compartment. A single key would be much easier to hide and if someone found it, they wouldn't know what it went to.

After locking the car, I headed for a sitting area beneath the leafless trees. No patients would be out in the cool March weather, so I tried to lift the leg of the wrought-iron bench to stick the key under it. No such luck. The bench weighed more than me and there was still ice on the ground.

In the center of the sitting area was a lily pond complete with a naked statue of a little Cupid that peed water into the pond when turned on in the summer. He held a bow and arrow, and I leaned over the water to tuck the key safely in the crook of Cupid's arm. I had to shove a bit so that a strong wind wouldn't shake it free.

It had to be a good omen that Miles's clock had two Cupids too.

The evening was starting to darken, so I hurried toward the front entrance. I'd have to think up some excuse why I had been outside, so I told the receptionist that I was lost. She looked at me horrified, as if I was going to harm her. Because I scared her, she didn't interrogate me as to how I got to the lobby. I'm sure she just wanted to get me locked up again.

Within a few minutes I was taken back to the old unit after telling the nuns that I felt it would aid my recovery to get back to the familiarity of my old room. It didn't hurt that I also said if they sent me back to the other ward, I'd find another way to “get lost” again. Soon I was in my old room, dressed in the stylish hospital garb.

Novitiate Lalli came to my door. “Glad to see you back here, Mary Louise.”

I'll just bet you are.
“Pauline. Call me Pauline.” I plopped down on my bed, feeling the taser bracelet press into my skin. For a second I felt a bit tempted to taser the insincere novice's butt.

Sure, not a Christian attitude, but she bugged me.

Feeling very bold, I asked, “Why did Margaret move?”

Novitiate Lalli's eyebrows wrinkled. “How did you know she moved?”

Eek. Good question. “Well, she's not here, is she? She's here, then not here. Then she's moved. Then she's here. Then she's . . . who knows where?” I decided to use some psych-patient jargon and maybe confuse her. I was certainly getting confused myself.

Novitiate Lalli blinked. “That doesn't mean that we moved her. She could have gone home, you know.”

I got stuck on the “we” part. Lalli had made it sound as if she was involved in something.

“Where did
we
move her to?”

“I didn't say that she moved,
Pauline.”

What an un–nunlike tone she had used on my name. I don't think Novitiate Lalli liked me. Damn. I hoped
she
didn't suspect me of knowing something. And here I prided myself on making a good first impression, yet she'd used this attitude with me from day one.

Okay, Pauline, time to shift to Plan B.

I gave her a smile, trying to look as sane as I was. “Please tell me where Margaret is. I really liked her. She has a son, you know.”

She touched two fingers to her chin.

Wow. A nun with a French manicure. That had to be telling in some cosmetic/religious fashion.

Before I could contemplate the nail thing, she said, “I can't discuss other patients with you.” She started to turn.

I chuckled. “Come on, Sister Lalli, you know there's a grapevine around here that could make enough jelly to slather on peanut butter sandwiches to feed every kid in the Hartford elementary schools. Might as well just tell me where my friend is and why she's not here anymore, since I'll find out soon anyway.” If any of these whackos gets a moment of sanity, maybe that statement could actually be true. The grapevine part was indeed true, but most of the rumors were figments of the other patients' imaginations.

And what rumors they came up with.

If you don't eat your meal, the staff will tie your tongue with special tape and feed you next time. If you talk to yourself, you will not get dessert. (This one was not enforced as far as I could tell, probably due to the overwhelming number of self-talkers.) And if you didn't turn your lights out at the correct time, the sleep fairy wouldn't come. Her, I didn't want in my room. I knew she'd scare me to death.

Novitiate Lalli looked at me.

Paging Meryl Streep
, I thought, then went into dramatic action. I sniffled, wiped at my eyes and started to talk more about Margaret's little boy. Not knowing that much about him, I drew on past remembrances of my nephew Wally. My face contorted in concern mixed with a tad of pain until Novitiate Lalli glared at me and . . . her face softened.

“Margaret is on Ward 171. She was moved because . . . well, she was causing trouble here.” Lalli turned and started to leave.

“Wait!” I reached out then, realizing grabbing a nun, even a novitiate was frowned upon, I calmed my voice and said, “Trouble? Margaret? You know she was very cooperative and even a bit shy.” I forced a huge smile. “Come on, Sister Lalli. Margaret wasn't trouble.”

She stared at me a few minutes then said, “I'll be back with Sister Barbara Immaculatta to give you your medication.”

Novitiate Lalli had pulled a chameleon transformation—much like ol' Ter had.

I dressed and got ready for breakfast after a very peaceful night's sleep. Being back and not having to worry about death and Terry calmed me enough to really get some rest. Despite the fact that Jagger wasn't around, I felt very good today. Positive. Had that “I can do it” attitude.

So I made my way to the dining hall and looked around the room. Whom should I target today? Ruby sat eating by herself, as usual. She glared at me through squinty eyes. Wow. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the manacles.

Miss Myra sat talking to herself. I hadn't seen her around much lately, but patients came and went and were moved to other wards depending on the types of care they needed.

Behind her sat Jackie Dee, and I knew my appetite couldn't take her coiffure snacks this early in the day. I really missed seeing Margaret . . . Oh . . . my . . . gosh!

Margaret was
back.

She sat at a table near the window, eating and not talking. Bingo. I made my way over there, despite a few patients mumbling something about my having had some fun with Terry before he croaked. I kept silent and shook my head, hoping they really didn't believe that Terry and I had been having sex when he died. I wanted to shout, “We were fully clothed when you all saw us, you morons!” but there was that frowning-on-outbursts thing around here.

Having sex with Terry. Yuck.

That
I could not handle.

I got into the line near where Margaret sat and took my oatmeal, skim milk, tea and wheat toast with a packet of butter. When I neared her, I asked, “Margaret, may I join you?”

She kept eating.

“Margaret. Everything all right?”

In robotic motions, she lifted her coffee cup, took a sip and didn't even look at me over the rim.

Damn. Maybe they'd zapped Margaret's brain to cause her to forget. Forget where she belonged. Forget that she sure didn't belong here. And forget her family, her son.

I sat down without an invitation, jiggled my green tea bag in the lukewarm water—that was so patients wouldn't harm each other by throwing hot water—and leaned near her. “Margaret. It's me, Pauline. I'm back to help you.”

I noticed a twitch in her lip as if she were trying to speak. I eased my hand over and felt for Margaret's pulse. Bradycardia. Her heartbeat was slower than my Uncle Walt trying to walk around the block.

Margaret must have been highly medicated.

Thank goodness, I thought. That had to be better than the long-term effects of brain shocking. At least the meds would wear off and I'd be able to talk to her eventually.

After breakfast, I shadowed Margaret for the rest of the day. When I'd see Sister Barbie, with her little Novitiate Lalli shadow in tow, I gently took Margaret's arm and walked her in the other direction. We managed to avoid the medication cart for now.

And Margaret's glassy stare was subsiding.

I walked to the western section of the unit where there was a dayroom without a television. Subsequently, it wasn't the most popular place on the unit. A few older gentlemen sat staring at each other, in some form of nonverbal communication, I guessed. All three wore red pajamas.

A young woman sat talking to her doll—Career Barbie. I recognized her from the “Terry incident.” She had shaken Barbie at us.

A teenage boy slept on the couch while sitting upright, and I wondered if he wasn't a drug patient. His hair was spiked out in blue threads and rings of silver hung from most features of his face. He snored softly, and I felt saddened that someone with so much to live for would be hidden away here in sleep—while his life passed him by.

“Let's sit by the window, Margaret. The sun is nice and bright today. You can even see new buds on the trees. Soon spring will green up the depressing sight.”

She turned to me. “I'm the depressing sight around here.”

My eyes burned with tears, and I told myself I had to suck it up and avoid emotions if I was to try and help Margaret. “No, you're not. Did they give you a lot of medication?” I eased her down by the arm.

Margaret sat in silence, looking out the window. Maybe a layperson had no idea how much medication they received around here. For me I knew one green pill was way too much.

She turned toward me. “I think . . . so.”

I'd almost forgotten the question, but I took in a breath and said, “Well, I think it's wearing off. You are looking perkier.”

A faint smile crossed her lips, and she touched my hand. “Thank you.”

I figured that was for the picture of her son or maybe for trying to help. Either way I winked at her. “Do you know why they moved you?”

Our voices, although in a whisper, filled the nearly empty dayroom. It was difficult to keep them down enough and yet still hear each other, since the woman with the doll kept talking louder and hollering to her doll, “Just wait until you have dollies of your own! You just wait, young lady. I hope I'm around to see the day and see them treat you like you treat me.”

Margaret and I smiled at each other and she said, “No, Pauline—” She yawned.

I hoped she could remember something.

“—I don't know why.”

Shoot. “Then just tell me what happened.”

She nodded. “I was sleeping. It was in the middle of the night as far as I could tell. The next thing I knew, the night orderly—Vinny, I think his name was—came into my room and started gathering up my things. Oh, he was nice about it . . . ”

She drifted off, as if in thought, as she once again looked out the window.

“Margaret?” I said softly.

She remained still and yawned a few more times.

Damn. I was losing her, and to make matters worse, the woman with the doll was getting rowdier. She had its head in one hand and was about to yank. I knew the staff would be descending on the dayroom any second. One of the red-pajama men told her to cut it out, which helped for a few minutes.