We'll Never Be Apart (24 page)

CHAPTER

T
ODAY
I
FEEL PURPLE.
I think back to when Cellie and I stayed in that group home, the one where we pretended to be prisoners of war and slept in metal bunk beds with thin mattresses. They had this chart in there, and every morning we had to go up to it and spin a color wheel. At the top of the chart it said
TODAY I FEEL
. . . and then we'd use the spinner and guide it to the color that best reflected our current emotional state. Cellie always felt red (a color I associated with anger and the fires she loved so much), and usually I felt yellow. The yellow on the color wheel was bright and happy. Often I wished it was more of a pale yellow, the color of sickness, of decay. But today, if I had that chart in front of me, I would push the spinner to purple and leave it there.

Chase and I are not talking, the kind of not talking that people notice and wonder about, the kind of not talking that makes everyone else feel a little on edge. And in a mental hospital, that's the most dangerous kind. During breakfast we ignore each other, and I choke down a few bites of egg even though I'm too upset to taste anything. In group therapy we sit as far away from each other as possible, which in a circle means almost directly across from each other. It's as if we are the opposite ends of a magnet. We're facing each other, but we repel. Dr. Goodman continues his discussion on relationships. He asks Chase to share, presses him, and won't let anyone else talk until he does. But instead of some smart-ass comment or some clever quip, Chase mutters, “This is bullshit,” and storms out of the room, overturning an empty chair as he does.

As the day goes on, my purple deepens until it's heavy and covers my shoulders like a shroud. I miss Amelia and wish she were here. It seems like everything has gone to shit since she left. I wonder what she's doing. If she's happy at Green Lake. If she's calling other patients muff eaters or accusing them of wearing dirty underwear.

During dinner the rain is so loud that it's almost disturbing. Clouds the color of bruised and battered eyes fill the sky. The weather puts the patients on edge. It's a trigger for some, makes their anxiety worse. They're still like jellyfish, but now it's as if God's own hand has come down and is stirring the ocean, making a whirlpool. I don't mind the weather because it matches my mood. It's dark, and I'm feeling dark.

When I go to my evening one-on-one with Dr. Goodman, he notices that something is off with me and says he's concerned. He doesn't have to tell me why. It's all over his pity-filled face.
Relapse. Better hide the razors.
I curl my lip in a snarl. I fold three origami animals: an ape, a hippo, and a bird.

When I get back to my empty room and I'm locked in for the night, I set the paper animals out on the dresser. The zoo is coming along. I touch the lion's mane. The bird I made teeters and tips over.
My little bird with a broken wing.
Anger, like a tidal wave, takes me, and suddenly I'm ripping up the little bird, shredding it to pieces.

As I lay down to sleep, staring at my little zoo, I realize that I've gone the entire day without speaking to anyone. This is what purple feels like.

I wake to a crack of thunder and sparks falling outside my window. Then all at once a boom echoes through the building, followed by a whoosh of doors unlocking. I get up, feeling my way along the wall. At night the light from under the door usually guides me. But tonight it's gone. Another flash of lightning fills the room with a neon glow. I can hear patients filtering out of their rooms and into the hallway.

I make it to my door and hesitate. I'm not sure what's out there, on the other side. The power is out. And it seems that the locks on the patients' doors have failed. But then it occurs to me. This is my chance. No locks. No alarms. The C and D wards are totally open. Vulnerable. This is what I should have been focusing on all along. Cellie. And my revenge. Instead I let myself get blindsided by Chase and all his empty promises.

I turn the door handle all the way down and open it just a fraction. I peer out. The hallway is still and empty; even the sign above the emergency exit is out. It's like staring into a never-ending black tunnel. And though it's scarier than hell to think about navigating the darkness, I don't have a choice. An opportunity like this won't come again. Just as I am about to slip from my room another flash of lightning strikes, followed by a quick roll of thunder. I jump and it lands me outside my room. My steps are hesitant at first, but when the hallway stays quiet, I begin to walk faster and then I break into a semi-run. Keeping my hands in front of me, I use them like a blind person's stick, tapping along until my fingers meet the metal bar of the emergency exit. My body twitches with adrenaline as I begin to push the door open. Already I'm thinking ahead. Cellie is stronger than me. I may need a weapon. I'll have to find something along the way.

The flashlight that crosses my feet and the voice that accompanies it might as well be gunfire. “Whoa! Monroe, where do you think you're going?” Donny says.

All that adrenaline I was feeling quickly transforms into fear. I turn slowly. The flashlight shines in my face and I squint and move an arm to block it.

“Shoot, sorry.” The flashlight lowers so it rests across my feet again. “Power's out in the building and the emergency generator hasn't come on yet. Doc wants all patients to go to the cafeteria . . .” Donny trails off.

We watch each other across the flashlight's beam. Donny holds a radio, and chatter bursts over it with updates:
“A and B wards secure, C and D wards, patient updates? . . .”
I'm waiting to see what he'll do. If he'll call a code red again, send me back to the Quiet Room. Donny keeps studying me like I'm one of those drawings
where if you let your vision blur just enough, another picture appears. I'm just about to melt to my knees and beg him to not send me to the Quiet Room when he speaks. “Sooo . . . I suppose that's where you were heading just now, right?”

“What?” I ask him, confused. Is he playing some game, messing with my head? He's never been so unkind before.

He gazes at me wide-eyed, like he's talking to a four-year-old. “The cafeteria. That's where you were going, right? I assume that because the hallway was so dark you just didn't realize what direction you were headed in.”

Unless I've forgotten the difference between left and right, it's impossible for me to make that mistake. But he's giving me an out. I nod my head slowly and lick my lips. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he says, mirroring my slow nod. “That's what I thought.” He puts the walkie-talkie to his lips and says something like “Monroe secure.” Then he motions for me to follow him.

Patients are corralled in the center of the cafeteria while techs and nurses with flashlights walk the perimeter. The patients seem antsy as the storm continues to rage, and the hospital staff looks so rigid it's as if their spines are going to break in two. I search the crowd for Chase, despite the unpleasant developments in our relationship. I find him almost instantly. He's on the outermost fringe of the crowd, almost leaning against the wall. His hat is pulled down low and his hands are jammed in his pockets. He looks defeated and sad. I want to go to him, but I'm still too mad.

Dr. Goodman leaps onto a table and calls for attention. When that doesn't work, Nurse Dummel blows a whistle. Dr. Goodman frowns a little. “Thank you, Ms. Dummel. Ladies and gentlemen, as you have probably already surmised, the power has gone out.” Some of the patients cheer while others begin to cry. “I'd like for everyone to return to their rooms. Techs will be patrolling the hallways along with other staff. I know the storm can make some of you feel anxious. Please see a nurse or tech if you'd like something to help you sleep. That is all.”

Dr. Goodman jumps down from the table, and techs and nurses begin breaking patients into groups to be escorted back to their rooms.

Donny spots me. “Yo, Alice,” he says, jerking his head for me to come with him. As we make our way out of the cafeteria I look for Chase again, but he's lost in the sea of patients. When I get back to my room, I huddle under the covers. Outside, the storm has quieted. The thunder and lightning have receded. Now a heavy rain falls. I count the drops, hoping for sleep and trying to forget about Chase.

A shrill, wicked laugh filters through my dreams.
Cellie's laugh.
It's been a long time since I've heard it, but it's not the kind of sound you forget. She laughs again, close to my ear, so close I can feel her breath and her cheek grazing mine.
You've been a bad sister, Alice
. I close my eyes tighter and fight against the dream. There's the distinct sound of matches being struck, and the smell of sulfur permeates the air. I toss and turn, throw the covers off of me. I'm hot. I wish I had taken off my jeans before going to bed. I'm suffocating. I can't breathe. Little tendrils of smoke are sucked into my windpipe, and it feels as if knobby fingers are crushing me from within. I come awake in an instant, faster than you can snap your fingers or say
abracadabra.
The room is filled with smoke. Like an apparition, Cellie slips out the door and slams it behind her.

My body spasms and I cough violently, trying to exorcise the black smoke. I try to breathe in, but all I get is more black air that tastes of hot ash and feels heavy in my lungs. The smoke thickens, and it's hard to see. I scramble out of bed, arms outstretched, trying to feel my way out.

There's light, a haunting orange glow that I recognize all too well. Flames. They're suspended in the smoke on top of my dresser. My paper zoo, which I lovingly crafted, folded with my own two hands, is burning.

“No,” I choke out. For some reason this seems so much worse than Chase's treachery. Cellie has always known how to cut the deepest. I can't stand to watch them burn, to watch another thing I love turn to ash, wither away under Cellie's wicked hands. I slap my open palms against a burning lion, against a smoldering monkey—trying to extinguish the flames. They bite into my hands and my skin starts to blister, but I can't stop. I keep going, trying to save as many animals as I can. I cough and sputter and snuff out the flames. But they jump, reach out, and connect with one another. I'm not fast enough. I can't save all the animals. Maybe just one then. Just one more.

The smoke thickens, turns a darker shade of gray, and billows up to the ceiling. The smoke alarm goes off. I don't notice the door opening beside me or the flood of technicians. They grab me, but I clutch at the dresser, scraping my nails against the wood, bloodying my fingertips as I am pulled away. I kick. I scream. My voice is raw and hoarse from the smoke.

“One more,” I say. “I want to save one more.” Patients pour out of their rooms and stand there, stunned. At last the jellyfish are still.

Another door opens, and I am shoved into a dark room. I land on my knees, white padding softening the blow. A whimper escapes my lips and then a word that sounds like a jangled combination of
no
and
please.
I lie on my side and bring my knees up to my chest. Something crinkles in my hand. It's dark in the Quiet Room, but I trace the shape with my fingers. An animal. I saved one. It's the butterfly I made with Chase during group therapy. When I told him all about butterflies, how fragile they are, but how they survive with clever camouflage. When he said he liked listening to me talk. God, that hurts. I press the butterfly to my chest. I squished it while I was trying to save it. Now it's all I have, a butterfly with two ripped wings.

Nobody comes for what feels like hours. I don't even think I'm being monitored. I'm not safe in here, in the Quiet Room. Cellie's found me. She's come. I need to get to her before she finds me again. It's only a matter of time. I was the hunter. Now I'm the hunted. She must have escaped the D ward when the power went out. Probably tried the same thing I did, slipping out through an emergency exit. But she succeeded where I failed.

The door opens, and a tiny crack of light washes over the white room. The power must have come back on while I was stuck in the dark. I put my hand over my eyes and recoil. The person comes in and lets the door close behind her. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding like a rabbit. I back into the corner and press myself into it. It's Cellie. I'm sure.

The person speaks, and it is the sweetest voice I've ever heard. “Alice.”

“Chase!” I hurl myself into his body. He doesn't expect this. His breath hitches and he lets out a little
oomph,
but he catches me all the same, wrapping me up in his embrace. I dig my cheek into his shoulder. “Cellie's here. She got out of the D ward. I don't know how.”

“Shhh.” He rubs circles into my back.

“She set a fire.” I back away from him and open my palm, showing him the crumpled butterfly, but that's stupid because he can't see it in the dark. “She lit my zoo on fire. I saved a butterfly.”

“Jesus Christ. I'm so sorry.” He brings me in for another hug and holds me even tighter. “This is all my fault. I didn't mean any of it, any of what I said. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone.” He pushes me away from him and brings his hands to rest lightly on my shoulders.

“It's not safe. I need to get out of here.” I step away from him. “I need to find her before she finds me again.” She wouldn't have gone back to the D ward. There's only one place on this godforsaken island where she would feel safe. The only place she thinks I wouldn't dare go. I wrap my fingers around the card in Chase's hand.
“I think I know where she's gone. But I'll need your keycard.” It's the last favor I'll ask of him.

“I don't think you should go alone.” His voice is pinched with worry. “I'll go with you.”