The Perfect Child(83)

It’s just a dream. You’re having a nightmare.

I willed myself to breathe.

None of this is real. Wake up. Just wake yourself up.

And then it all came flooding back. Memories shoved their way into my consciousness in random flashes—Cole in the hospital, my screams, strange faces shining lights in my eyes. I shook my head, trying to clear the cotton from my thoughts. My throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. My muscles screamed; my body ached to move. How long had I been here?

Tears moved down my cheeks, unbidden. I cried myself back to sleep.



Nothing had changed when I woke up. The fluorescent lights above made my head hurt. I turned to the side. That’s when I noticed a small red light in the upper corner I had missed before. Someone was watching me.

I started to yell but stopped myself as quickly as I started. What would they do to me when they came in the room? My body flooded with panic again. Not being able to move was excruciating. The straps cut into my ankles.

I was so thirsty. I’d never been this thirsty. My teeth stuck to my lips, and pieces of skin came off when I tried to separate them.

A door opened behind me. I froze. The sound of footsteps moved around me. And then she was hovering over me, peering down at me—a woman I’d never seen before, and I’d remember if I had because she was stunningly beautiful. She had a face you didn’t forget—high cheekbones, lashes so long they looked fake, and perfect round lips.

She laid her hand on my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

I tried to talk, but my voice was gone; I was so thirsty it’d dried out.

“Would you like to sit up?” she asked.

I nodded eagerly.

She took the restraint off my left arm. I wiggled it around, so glad to be free. Then she took off my right restraint. She grabbed my arms and pulled me into a sitting position on the table. Angry red scratches lined both arms.

“You did those to yourself,” she said as if she could read my mind.

She released the straps around my ankles. Her scrubs were white—so bright they hurt my eyes—and perfectly pressed; there wasn’t a fold or a crease. Even her tennis shoes gleamed. She was spotless.

“I’ve let Dr. Pyke know you’re awake and out of your restraints. Once she clears you, we can have someone show you around the unit and to your room. Everyone has their own room here.” She spoke like a schoolteacher.

Another woman strutted into the room and moved past the nurse to stand beside my bed.

“I’m Dr. Pyke,” she said. She had a prominent nose and thin lips. Her short hair was clipped back. “How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” I managed to squawk out.

She motioned to the nurse. “Can you get her some water, please?” The nurse nodded and scurried away. “It’s frightening to wake up this way, and I apologize for that, but you had to be restrained and sedated for your own safety. Most patients find it very disorienting when they come out of it. Again, my apologies. We wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t understand or remember. What had I done? The nurse returned with a Styrofoam cup filled with water. I took the water from her and gulped it down. “Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Pyke said, taking the cup from me and tossing it into the trash can underneath the sink. Her face exuded a neutral warmth. She grabbed the stool and slid it beside the bed, taking a seat next to me. “You got pretty upset earlier today. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you?”

I stared at her, willing myself to talk, but I couldn’t. There were just images. Flashes. Pieces. I tried to focus—remember—but my memory had too many holes in it. Pain leaked out of me like a bad smell.

She stood. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to talk, then your nurse, Maureen, will take you to the unit. I’ll check in later to see how you’re settling in, and we can discuss your medication.” She pointed toward the door. “Go.”

The world spun when I stood. Maureen held open the door, and a long, narrow hallway greeted me. The obnoxious fluorescent lighting was gone and replaced with dull, barely visible light casting a murky gray on all the walls. A series of metal doors flanked the sides. Maureen held my arm and helped me forward, my legs still wobbly underneath me from whatever they’d given me. I stumbled through the hallway. The door to my left opened, and a nurse brushed against me. I stepped back instinctively as if I had a contagious disease.

We followed the hallway through another series of twists and turns—a sense of impending doom mounting with each step—before arriving at another set of double doors. Instead of using her key card to unlock the door, Maureen pressed a red button next to it. There was a loud buzz, and the doors opened into another hallway. People shuffled around with vacant eyes, some of them talking to themselves. The door clicked shut behind me. The lock engaged.

“You have to keep moving. You have to stay in front of the red line,” Maureen said as she nudged me gently forward.

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. I looked down. A thick red line stretched across the hallway in front of the doors. Maureen nudged me again. I stepped over it.

“You can’t go past this line without a staff member. If you do, it will sound an alarm. Do you understand?” She spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable like I had difficulty hearing.