Come Closer Page 3

  “I’m Morgan Tyler,” she says, holding out her hand.

  I’m a little baffled, but I don’t want to be rude, so I shake it. She grins at me.

  “And you’re Allison. I know you don’t talk, or can’t, and it’s totally cool. I mean, I talk enough for both of us.” Another grin. “You’re wondering how old I am, aren’t you? I’m eighteen.” She points past the huge stone fireplace. “I’m gonna snag another one of those blueberry muffins from breakfast. Want to come with me? I can give you the lowdown on this place.”

  Might as well. I’m not doing anything else. I follow Morgan past the fireplace, and she takes my arm like we’re old friends.

  “I’m not crazy, by the way. You’re probably wondering why I’m here if I’m not crazy. I mean, it’s not a secret or anything. No one’s story is secret here. When I was fifteen, my stepdad raped me. He married my mom for her money and told me we’d be getting to know each other real well. He was a big hunter, you know? So when he was asleep, I took one of his shotguns and blew his dick off.”

  My mouth falls open in shock. Did she just say she . . .

  “Yeah. I shot him right in the dick. Wasn’t trying to kill him, but I did. Not much of a loss to the world, though. Anyway, I was charged as an adult, but my mom hired a fancy attorney who got me a deal where I get to be here instead of prison. Temporary insanity, I think they called it.”

  Morgan pushes open a set of double doors, and we walk into a huge kitchen with wood-plank floors, marble counters, and wide stainless-steel appliances.

  “I work here,” she says, opening a container on the counter and taking out a blueberry muffin with streusel on top. “Want one?”

  I shake my head slightly.

  She takes a small bite of the muffin and leads the way out of the kitchen.

  “Level Ones can have jobs here,” she says. “We also get to wear regular clothes instead of scrubs, and we can do outside stuff like horseback riding and fishing. Dr. D takes Level Ones camping on weekends. We can have computers, but no Internet, so what’s the point?”

  She stops in front of a set of glass double doors. “You want to go outside?”

  I shrug and she pushes the doors open. The air is cool and smells lightly of grass. I haven’t felt the sun on my skin in a long time, and I soak it in.

  We sit down on a wood bench, and Morgan resumes talking. “You can get a room on the first level if you ask. All the Level Ones can. Level Twos wear blue scrubs, like you had on when you first got here. Most of them are functionally mentally ill. They’re not gonna hurt themselves or anyone else, you know? Paranoia, anxiety, that kind of thing. Crazytown is on Level Three. Those are your psychopaths, schizophrenics, OCDs . . . there are even a couple murderers up there.”

  My alarm must register on my face because she laughs and says, “Don’t worry. The security is tight up there. It takes a retinal scan and a password to open the doors.”

  I take a deep breath as it hits me that though this place looks like a high-end lodge, it’s a mental hospital. It’s a beautiful one, but the patients have the same illnesses and challenges as those at any other facility. I have to watch my back.

  Though I’ve been looking out the window of my room for nearly fifty days now, the view is still breathtaking. I think it’s because now I’m not just looking, but also feeling the spring air on my cheeks and hearing the sway of the grass and the songs of the birds.

  Hawthorne Hill overlooks a huge, open field that spans all the way around one side of the lodge. That side is where the stables are. People are riding horses in and out of a fenced pasture there. The other side of the lodge has several cabins spread out near the edge of a forest.

  Past the open field, there’s a mountain range. It’s spectacular and unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

  “You should come down for dinner tonight,” Morgan says. “I’ll save you a seat. I don’t work in the kitchen at dinnertime.”

  I nod, and she lights up with happiness.

  “Hey, can I ask you something? Can you talk?” She lowers her brows conspiratorially. “You could like . . . raise your hand if you can. We could come up with a code that only we understand.”

  I just smile. I can’t help liking Morgan, but I’m not looking to become an eighteen-year-old girl’s BFF.

  “Maybe later,” she says, shrugging. “At least you’re coming to dinner tonight.” She looks over at the stables and then turns back to me. “Also, the room next to mine is open. On the first floor. I’m just saying.”

  A CNA walks out the double doors we came out of. “There you are, Morgan. You coming down to the stables to go riding?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She gets up and gestures for me to follow. “Come on, Allison. You can ride, too.”

  I shake my head. She shrugs and follows the CNA to the stone path that leads down the hill to the stables.

  Curiosity leads me to walk around to the side of the lodge where the cabins are. The log homes are built in the same style as the lodge, but on a miniature scale. Each one has a small front porch with a rocking chair on it. The row of cabins stretches back far—there are at least twenty of them. This must be where Hawthorne’s staffers live.

  I keep walking around the lodge, and in the back, I see a log shed and another, larger log home. There’s a huge deck and a stone patio with lawn furniture and a grill. Tall trees shade everything.

  On my way to the patio, I pass a small patch of freshly sown dirt. It looks like someone’s tiny garden, with neat rows ready to be seeded.

  And then I see my personal paradise—a rope hammock hanging between two trees. It’s a perfect spot to read. I can picture myself spending all afternoon right there, the breeze blowing through my hair as I’m cocooned in the hammock.

  I walk back into the main building through a set of open double doors on the deck and then make my way up to my room. When I go to pick up the Anna Karenina hardback from the nightstand, I’m stopped by the sight of something on my bed.

  As soon as I get close enough to see what it is, I smile and pick it up. It’s a paperback of Tarzan. When I open it up, I see the name Daniel Delgado scrawled on the inside cover.

  I take both books to the hammock. Looks like I found my next read.

  BRODY TILLMAN IS STRAIGHT UP terrified of our new patient. I knew it from the moment he asked two male CNAs to restrain Chad Larimore before we even walked into his room.

  I told the CNAs to hold off and wait outside the door. Brody arched his brows, mumbled, “It’s your funeral” and then walked in a good four feet behind me.

  “Morning, Chad,” I say in a neutral tone.

  His low laugh and the wild look in his eyes are meant to intimidate me, but I walk up to his bedside.

  “Those nurses sent you in here ’cause they’re scared I’m gonna hurt ’em,” he says, sounding satisfied.

  “I already warned you once, and I’m told you threatened to rape the nurse who came to see you this morning.”

  “It’s so good when they fight me.” He grabs his dick beneath the bedsheet and starts stroking himself.

  “From now on, Dr. Tillman and I will see to your medical needs.” I step aside so Chad can see Tillman.

  “Well, aren’t you cute?” Chad says to Tillman. “Come say hi, I don’t bite hard.”

  Tillman’s feet are rooted to the floor. Chad laughs again, still jerking off under the covers.

  “Only male CNAs will assist you,” I continue. “You can’t threaten our staff, Chad.”

  “You’ll be sedated and restrained the next time it happens.” Tillman’s effort at sounding tough falls short.

  “Restrained? Sounds kinky,” Chad says, his tone gleeful.

  Like all of Level Three, Chad’s room is bare bones. The staff at Hawthorne has learned over the years that psychotic and suicidal patients can make use of unexpected things to hurt themselves or others. Chad only has a bed and a Styrofoam pitcher of water on the floor. All the windows at Hawthorne are made of extra-thick, shat
terproof glass, but on Level Three, the blinds were installed between two panes of thick glass, and they’re opened and closed from outside the room.

  Chad has very little stimulus, but he’s rejected every opportunity to fix that, shredding the pages of a book and eating it a couple days ago.

  “You won’t wear me out, Chad,” I say, holding his gaze. “I was in the army for a few years, and after that, I went into emergency medicine. I’ve dealt with all kinds of people.”

  “People who skin others for fun?” He quickly jumps to his knees on the mattress, his wiry frame on full display since he refuses to wear his gown.

  I shrug. “Probably. I was stationed in Afghanistan for a while, and there were some sick fuckers over there.”

  He steps out of bed and stalks toward Tillman. Tillman shifts his eyes to me and then back to Chad.

  “You think I only like to fuck unwilling women?” His laugh is more like a maniacal shriek.

  Tillman puts his hands out in front of him.

  “Get your ass back to the bed, Chad,” I say.

  “Not yet.” He moves closer to Tillman, who looks disgusted and scared at the same time.

  Tillman needs to assert himself, but he’s clearly not going to. I approach them, and Chad stops moving.

  “You’d be scared of me if you weren’t so big,” he says to me. “You think your size keeps you safe from me, but you’re wrong.”

  “Take your best shot, then.”

  He stares at me for a couple seconds before saying, “Not now.”

  “Not ever. You’ll learn that life is better here when you cooperate.”

  Chad grabs his dick and starts jerking off again. How the guy can get hard right now, while arguing with me, I have no idea. He really does have deep psychological problems. His file was one of the most disturbing I’ve ever read.

  “I hear there’s a hot mute woman in the house,” he says. “I would love to get my hands on her.”

  I stiffen. The thought of him even being in the same room with Allison makes me sick. And who the fuck is telling Chad about our other patients? I’m laying down a new rule at the next staff meeting. Not that I should even need to.

  “You’re in an isolation wing,” I say, forcing neutrality I don’t feel into my tone. “So that’s not happening.”

  “Mute,” he muses. “I would miss the screaming an awful lot. But then . . . the things I could do without anyone knowing if I could just get her alone.”

  He laughs gleefully, and a muscle in my jaw twitches. I could wipe that smile off his face so easily, but I can’t let my feelings show. I remind myself that he’ll never even see Allison, let alone get his hands on her.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” I say. “Terrance will be delivering your meal trays today, and Dr. Tillman will check on you tomorrow.”

  Tillman hightails it for the door, probably not wanting to turn his back on Chad without my cover. The door buzzes as it locks behind us, and I point to a small conference room down the hall.

  “Let’s go,” I say to Tillman.

  As soon as we’re inside and the door is closed, he lets out a deep exhale. “Man, that guy is fucking off.”

  “You do realize you work at a mental hospital?”

  “Yeah, but . . . he’s missing something. There’s no remorse.”

  “That’s often the case with psychopaths.”

  He sits down in a chair on the other side of the small conference table, but I just stand behind one, holding on to the top of it.

  “Psychopaths can also be charming and are often intelligent,” I continue.

  “What’s with the lesson? I know all this.” Tillman glares at me.

  “Do you? Because you just gave him the upper hand in there. He knows you’re scared of him, and he’ll play on that.”

  Tillman scoffs. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “Don’t bullshit me. It’s Saturday, and I was supposed to leave for a hike with patients ten minutes ago.”

  “The guy’s a murderer, Daniel.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not gonna murder you with a bed. Bring Terrance in there with you if you need to, but don’t let Chad control the dynamic of your interactions with him. If it gets out of control, you leave. But don’t ever leave with your tail between your legs.”

  “He needs to be sedated and restrained, man. That guy is dangerous.”

  My muscles tense as I take a deep breath and look down at the floor, trying to keep my cool.

  “Everyone here is potentially dangerous, Brody. Either to themselves or others. Anyone with a mental illness that requires inpatient treatment needs to be treated with respect and compassion, but also with no doubt about who’s in charge.”

  “You.” There’s an edge of bitterness in his tone.

  “When it’s you and a patient, you’re in charge.”

  “Until you correct me later.”

  I shake my head and glare at him. “Always in private. Hawthorne has a philosophy about patient care. It’s my job to see that we all stay on the same page about it.”

  His nod is reluctant. “It just seems like it’s your philosophy.”

  “Yeah, I happen to agree with Hawthorne’s approach to patient care. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “I figured it was because you couldn’t get hired anywhere else after your license was suspended.”

  The air changes in the room, turning thick with tension. I let Tillman’s words hang in the air for a few seconds before responding.

  “So you looked up my licensing records.”

  He gives me a smug look. “Is the Hawthorne administration aware you lost your license?”

  “Yes. They are aware my license was suspended. I was in good standing when I came here.”

  I can see the disappointment on his face. He was probably saving that information and planning to deliver a knockout punch with it, but it was more like a weak slap.

  “My job here is secure, Tillman. And yours will be, too, if you’ll take my constructive criticism and learn from it. I’m talking to you now because I don’t want shit to go bad. The sooner you assert yourself with a patient like Chad, the less likely he is to try anything with you. And if you’re not comfortable treating him, let me know and I’ll do it.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  I nod. “Okay. I have to go.”

  I don’t wait for him to leave the conference room with me. Instead, I wave at the nurse sitting at the Level Three station, and she buzzes me through the door to the elevator. There, I bend down for the retinal scanner and enter my code into a keypad.

  I’m pissed at Tillman. Guys like him just love being assholes. There are days I think it would be less trouble to handle all work myself than to constantly have to oversee and correct him.

  The elevator takes me down to the first floor, and as soon as the doors open, a small group of patients standing in the great room turns toward me.

  “There’s Dr. D,” Leonard says.

  Three patients are gathered for a morning hike. We only have seven Level One patients right now, and the others must be doing something else.

  Leonard is standing with Morgan and Tim, all three of them wearing pants, sweatshirts, and hiking boots.

  “Be right there,” I say to them. “I need to grab my backpack from my office.”

  I jog down the hallway and walk through my open office doorway. Two books on the outer corner of the desk catch my attention. I pick up the top one, which is my old copy of Tarzan that I left for Allison.

  When I open the cover, there’s a small, cream-colored piece of paper with neat handwriting.

  I had no idea this story was so romantic. Other than the end, that is. Jane should have chosen Tarzan. But other than my broken heart, I loved it.

  After setting the note back inside the cover, I close the book and return it to my bookshelf. I feel a strong urge to write a note back to her. If that’s how she wants to communicate with me, I’ll take it. But I don’t want to push my luck.

&nbs
p; I pick up the other book from my desk. She left a hardback of Pride and Prejudice from Hawthorne Hill’s library beneath Tarzan.

  Looks like it’s my turn to read a book she recommends. I tuck the book into the worn leather messenger bag I carry between my home and office every day and then pick up my backpack from behind my desk.

  It has first aid supplies, my utility knife, climbing ropes, water, and a few other emergency supplies. I have to be prepared for anything when I take patients into the woods.

  I head back to the great room and tell the hikers we’re heading out. We’re on our way out the door when I see someone running down the open stairway out the corner of my eye.

  “Hey, you made it!” Morgan says with a squeal.

  It’s Allison, dressed in jeans and a thin black hoodie. She’s wearing a Cubs baseball hat, her dark ponytail pulled through the hole in the back of it.

  When she looks at me, there’s a question in her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the run down the stairs, and I find myself just looking at her for a couple seconds.

  I’ve never seen a patient as anything but a patient, but right now, I’m just looking at a pretty woman. A very pretty woman.

  “Um . . . you want to join us?” I finally manage.

  Her lips curve up slightly into a smile.

  “Let’s go,” Tim says from behind me. “We were supposed to leave eighteen minutes ago.”

  He’s a middle-aged guy with OCD, but with the help of a strict routine, he’s pretty functional.

  “Sorry about that, Tim,” I say. “Let’s go, guys.”

  Leonard leads us down the stone path that takes us to the staff cabins, and then another hundred yards to the edge of the woods.

  “Everyone has to stay together,” I remind them. “And there’s nothing but woods for a hundred miles, so don’t try to run. I’ll catch you if you do, and you’ll get bumped back to Level Two.”

  I tell Leonard to keep leading so I can stay in the middle of the group. Tim’s behind him, and Morgan and Allison are behind me. Morgan’s talking up a storm, as usual. Sometimes I wish she’d take a breath once in a while, but I can’t help liking her. Any teenage girl who would shoot her piece of shit stepfather in the junk has guts, and I admire that.