Her eyes went wide and she danced back from the doorway, hands clutched to the center of her blue T-shirt and denting the fabric. The shadow in the doorway grew. Stretched. The growling got louder.
And the boy closed his eyes, flung out his hands and pushed.
He pushed hard.
He pushed for a long time, until his stomach got sick and he had to bend over to gag and choke. He fell to hands and knees on soft black sand. No more walls around him. No screams, not even his own. He wept fat, hot tears that sizzled when they hit the ground.
“Very nice,” the woman purred. “Do it again.”
And though it hurt him deep inside, the boy did.
Henry Tuckens wasn’t doing any better, at least not according to the chart at the foot of his bed. Tovah wasn’t supposed to be reading the thick sheaf of papers clipped to the splintered clipboard, but after two years of visiting Henry in the same room at Sisters of Mercy Hospital, she no longer bothered with protocol.
Catatonic schizophrenia. Whatever that meant. The doctors couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with Henry, who swung between the extremes of mania and depression with regularity—and ever-lengthening bouts of catatonia in between.
Tovah set the book she’d brought him on the nightstand. “Hey, Spider. I brought you something special. Maybe you’ll wake up and check it out.”
Henry stared straight ahead, eyes wide but unseeing. Tovah knew he could hear her, maybe even see her, but he was locked inside his head. She tucked the blankets around him more firmly, noting the places where his limbs felt thinner. His face looked more wasted, too, the cheeks hollow and lips pale. His hair had receded, leaving his forehead high and bare and vulnerable.
“C’mon, buddy. You can’t sleep your life away. You need to get up, get out of bed.” She took his hand, feeling the warmth there that told her he was alive, despite all appearances to the contrary. “Stop living in your dreams.”
She turned at the sound of the scrape of soft-soled shoes in the doorway. Ava, Henry’s favorite nurse, stood with a needle in her hand.
“Does he really need that?” Tovah asked, knowing the answer was inevitably yes. “I mean, look at him.”
Ava grunted and moved toward the bed. She was smaller than Tovah’s five feet six inches but wiry with muscle. She could take down a patient twice her size without blinking. Tovah had seen her do it.
“You weren’t here the last time he woke up.” Ava’s no-nonsense tone brooked no argument. “He took out three interns and broke the TV before we could wrestle him down. The interns I couldn’t give a shit about, but the TV was bitching hard to replace.”
Tovah looked down at the man in the bed. “He doesn’t mean to. He just gets confused.”
Ava swabbed the patch of skin on the back of Henry’s hand and slipped the drug into his veins. He barely twitched. Ava pulled the sheets tighter around him and turned to Tovah. “You staying for a while?”
“I thought I would.”
“We’ve got bingo going on in the rec room in about twenty minutes, if you want to join us.”
“Thanks.” Tovah smiled. “I think I’ll pass.”
Ava tossed up her hands. “Suit yourself. You used to love bingo, as I recall.”
“Yeah, well, that was then.” Tovah focused on Henry’s wan face. There was no point in pretending she didn’t remember those days, when bingo was the highlight of the week and she had to be forced to wash her hair and brush her teeth.
“You know something, Connelly? You’re the only patient I ever had who came back. Lots of ’em say they will, but you’re the only one who ever did.”
Tovah looked at the nurse who at one time had known her more intimately than any lover. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”
“Lots of them don’t,” said Ava as she left the room.
“That doesn’t make it right,” Tovah whispered to Henry, so Ava couldn’t hear.
She wasn’t, in fact, certain Henry could hear her.
And the boy closed his eyes, flung out his hands and pushed.
He pushed hard.
He pushed for a long time, until his stomach got sick and he had to bend over to gag and choke. He fell to hands and knees on soft black sand. No more walls around him. No screams, not even his own. He wept fat, hot tears that sizzled when they hit the ground.
“Very nice,” the woman purred. “Do it again.”
And though it hurt him deep inside, the boy did.
Henry Tuckens wasn’t doing any better, at least not according to the chart at the foot of his bed. Tovah wasn’t supposed to be reading the thick sheaf of papers clipped to the splintered clipboard, but after two years of visiting Henry in the same room at Sisters of Mercy Hospital, she no longer bothered with protocol.
Catatonic schizophrenia. Whatever that meant. The doctors couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with Henry, who swung between the extremes of mania and depression with regularity—and ever-lengthening bouts of catatonia in between.
Tovah set the book she’d brought him on the nightstand. “Hey, Spider. I brought you something special. Maybe you’ll wake up and check it out.”
Henry stared straight ahead, eyes wide but unseeing. Tovah knew he could hear her, maybe even see her, but he was locked inside his head. She tucked the blankets around him more firmly, noting the places where his limbs felt thinner. His face looked more wasted, too, the cheeks hollow and lips pale. His hair had receded, leaving his forehead high and bare and vulnerable.
“C’mon, buddy. You can’t sleep your life away. You need to get up, get out of bed.” She took his hand, feeling the warmth there that told her he was alive, despite all appearances to the contrary. “Stop living in your dreams.”
She turned at the sound of the scrape of soft-soled shoes in the doorway. Ava, Henry’s favorite nurse, stood with a needle in her hand.
“Does he really need that?” Tovah asked, knowing the answer was inevitably yes. “I mean, look at him.”
Ava grunted and moved toward the bed. She was smaller than Tovah’s five feet six inches but wiry with muscle. She could take down a patient twice her size without blinking. Tovah had seen her do it.
“You weren’t here the last time he woke up.” Ava’s no-nonsense tone brooked no argument. “He took out three interns and broke the TV before we could wrestle him down. The interns I couldn’t give a shit about, but the TV was bitching hard to replace.”
Tovah looked down at the man in the bed. “He doesn’t mean to. He just gets confused.”
Ava swabbed the patch of skin on the back of Henry’s hand and slipped the drug into his veins. He barely twitched. Ava pulled the sheets tighter around him and turned to Tovah. “You staying for a while?”
“I thought I would.”
“We’ve got bingo going on in the rec room in about twenty minutes, if you want to join us.”
“Thanks.” Tovah smiled. “I think I’ll pass.”
Ava tossed up her hands. “Suit yourself. You used to love bingo, as I recall.”
“Yeah, well, that was then.” Tovah focused on Henry’s wan face. There was no point in pretending she didn’t remember those days, when bingo was the highlight of the week and she had to be forced to wash her hair and brush her teeth.
“You know something, Connelly? You’re the only patient I ever had who came back. Lots of ’em say they will, but you’re the only one who ever did.”
Tovah looked at the nurse who at one time had known her more intimately than any lover. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”
“Lots of them don’t,” said Ava as she left the room.
“That doesn’t make it right,” Tovah whispered to Henry, so Ava couldn’t hear.
She wasn’t, in fact, certain Henry could hear her.
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