Saving Meghan(62)

“She’s my daughter,” Becky said, her voice now breaking.

“Becky,” Carl snapped at her. “Don’t make it worse.”

Becky spun around and punched Carl in the shoulder with a closed fist. “Do something!” she screamed at him. “Do something! I want to be with my daughter! I want to know what’s happening to her!”

The man with the mustache came forward menacingly. “Ma’am, please come with me. I’ll escort you out,” he said, his voice thick with authority.

Becky sank to her knees. She looked at all the faces staring down at her. “It’s Dr. Levine, dammit!” Becky cried out in a helpless voice. “Don’t you see? He’s got it in for us. He’s trying to destroy us to protect his career, his reputation. He’s staked too much on this. He has to be right. Don’t you get it? Don’t you see?”

Nobody said anything, not even Carl.

“Damn you all,” Becky said, crying now. “Goddamn you all.”

But even as she cried, she knew one thing was true: Her daughter had been taken away, sick as could be, so maybe now, maybe after this episode, they’d finally believe Meghan’s illness couldn’t possibly be inside anybody’s head.





CHAPTER 28





MEGHAN


“How are you feeling?” The muffled voice pricked my ears before it faded. At first, I thought I was dreaming until I heard the voice say, “Open your eyes if you can.”

I tried, but it felt like someone had stuck tape across my eyelids. Eventually, I got them open. Light flooded my eyes, but for a time my vision stayed blurred. As things began to come into focus, I could make out Dr. Nash leaning over me, studying me. Her concerned look was the kind someone might give you if they’d seen you take a fall.

“How are you feeling?” she asked again.

The heavy smell of astringent cleaners acted like smelling salts, bringing me more fully to my senses. At that moment, I knew exactly where I was. Turning my head slowly, I glanced out the window expecting to see daylight, but instead confronted a darkening sky. The slight bit of movement sent a shattering pain ripping through my skull.

What happened to me?

The last thing I remembered was being with my parents in Charlotte’s Web, and my mom complaining about how silly those room names were because it spoiled her good memories of the cherished book. I was upset because they weren’t taking me home. For a second, I put my hopes on this being a dream, and that I was home, in my comfy bed, but the pain in my skull was too real—and even my nightmares weren’t that cruel.

I tried to swallow, but my throat was so dry I could have choked on air. Dr. Nash noticed and gave me a plastic cup filled partway with water. I propped myself up on one elbow and drank, slowly, savoring the wetness coating my throat. A chill went through me despite the sweatpants and sweatshirt I had on.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice raspy and weak.

It was then I realized Dr. Nash was not the only one in the room with me. Dr. Levine was there as well.

“You gave us quite a scare,” Dr. Nash said.

I stretched my mind, bending and flexing it, trying desperately to remember, but I came up blank.

“You got very sick,” Dr. Levine said.

“Sick?” I said, confused, while Dr. Nash refilled my cup of water.

But then, in a flash, visions came at me like headlights speeding my way, slicing through the void to illuminate all sorts of unpleasant memories. I remembered my stomach burning, cramping, and my vision going blurry. I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think straight either. My mother was there, scared for me. I could see her panicked face anticipating the worst. And that was the last memory I had before waking up.

“Do you feel up to talking?” Dr. Levine pulled over a rolling chair, then settled in beside my bed.

Talking? God no. What I felt like doing was crying, but I didn’t think I had a single tear left inside. I felt empty and useless as a flat tire. The deep ache in my heart simply wouldn’t go away. I thought of my room at home. If I closed my eyes, I could go there, see the lights I’d draped around the mirror over my dresser. I could touch the Himalayan salt rock on my nightstand, which my mom had bought for me because she’d heard it had healing properties.

I thought of my closet jammed with clothes that no longer fit right and my hiding place, too, where I kept my secrets. My little stash of booze. Letters I wrote but never gave to a boy I thought was cute in middle school, who to this day doesn’t know it. There was a letter I’d written to my mom about Dad that I hadn’t had the courage to give to her. But I’d written it. I’d put those words down on the page, wrote out everything I knew. Afterwards, I felt somewhat better, though no less burdened. My room was my safe place, where I could keep those secrets. It was my sanctuary. Not here. Not in this strange place with this strange man who studied me strangely.

“Meghan,” Dr. Levine said, his voice gentle as a breeze. “Do you remember what your mother said to you right before you got sick?” he asked.

“Said to me?” I asked, repeating his question because I found it so odd. “No, I … I don’t.”

“I’m going to be very blunt with you, Meghan. Did your mother say something that made you think you were sick?”