Come Back To Me (7 page)

She pictured Rick and thought about their night together. She relived it over and over again until at last, she was able to block out every single thing that had happened since. Cara closed her eyes. She decided if necessary she would keep them closed forever.

T
he next morning a nurse entered the room and released Cara from the restraints. To her shame, Cara had already wet the bed twice during the night. She’d had no choice. She’d held it as long as she could. With the nurse’s assistance, Cara slid to the edge of the mattress. When she tried to stand, every muscle in her body cramped and she collapsed onto the floor. The nurse helped Cara to her feet, and helped her to dress, taking care not to hurt her aching arm.

This nurse was young and pretty. She seemed perturbed, apologizing over and over again about the fact that she couldn’t offer her a bath or a shower. She helped Cara to the sitting room, the room that had terrified her the day before. She unlocked the door to the Nurse’s Station and said, “Stand right here.” She returned shortly with a folding metal chair. She set it next to the door and urged Cara to sit. She said, “Don’t worry; I’ll keep an eye on you.”

One after another, the residents approached Cara, exploring her with their dirty hands, touching her hair, her face, the cast on her arm. It was as if she was a visitor from another planet. Cara cringed, but she didn’t have the strength to fend them off. The previous day and night had literally and figuratively stripped her bare.

She was terrified of what lay in store. The pain of her broken arm was negligible in comparison to that fear. Layered over all was the deep, visceral knowledge of what she’d lost. It wasn’t only Rick she’d lost. How could she return to her home? Parents didn’t do this to their children.

The door opened once more, and the nurse asked, “Do you want some breakfast?”

Cara shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate or drank, not that it mattered to her. Her stomach was tied in knots, her throat constricted and aching from her struggle the previous day and the tears she’d shed all night long.

The nurse returned to her station.

Without a wall clock or any exterior windows to gauge the time of day, Cara had no way to determine the passage of time. She didn’t know if she waited in the chair for twenty minutes or several hours. At last the nurse reappeared.

“Someone will be coming to take you to your room,” she said.

Cara lacked the strength to ask
what room
, so she merely nodded, indicating she understood the words if not the meaning behind them.

A young man entered the unit. He looked Cara up and down before disappearing into the nurses’ station. When he emerged, he carried a manila folder in his hand.

“Follow me.”

Cara rose from the chair, her movements slow, awkward.

The young man ignored her. He headed to the door hand in his pocket, searching for the key. The young nurse stepped out of the nurse’s station. She lay a soft hand on Cara’s arm, stopping her. Leaning her head close to Cara, she pressed her mouth against her ear.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered. “Don’t make waves and you’ll get out of here sooner rather than later. When they give you pills, put them under the back of your tongue and hide them until after they check your mouth. Spit the pills into your milk carton.” The nurse took a breath. “Be careful what you say to Dr. Kent.”

When the nurse let her go, Cara almost fell on her face. The young man glanced back, impatient now. The nurse steadied Cara and gave her a little shove in his direction.

“She hasn’t had a thing to eat or drink in nearly two days,” she said. “And make sure she gets help with a shower. Female help,” she added. “I’ll be down to check on her later.”

Cara stumbled after the young man. He led her to a bank of elevators, pressing the button for the farthest one. He and Cara stepped inside and she noted the elevator only went to two floors, two and four. They descended to two. The elevator doors opened onto a short, well-lit hallway. The gray linoleum floors were scrubbed clean. Doors opened off the hallway into bedrooms. The rooms resembled dorm rooms but they each contained only one bed and a dresser. There were no knobs on the doors, no locks, simply a handle on the outside.

They passed what appeared to be an arts and crafts room. Patients worked on various crafts. One man used a potter’s wheel. Several women were painting. A few people knitted, some made those simple, childish potholders Cara had made back when she was a Brownie.

She continued to follow her guide down the hall toward another locked Nurse’s Station. The farther she walked, the more lightheaded Cara grew. She forced herself to remain upright. The last thing she wanted to do was faint and be at
their
mercy, whoever
they
might be. The young man unlocked the door and left her standing in the empty hallway. Cara watched him hand the manila folder to a woman in a white uniform. She heard him repeat the other nurse’s parting instructions.

“Cara Franklin?”

Cara nodded.

“Let me show you to your room and I’ll see what I can do about getting an aide to help you with a shower. I believe there are some clean clothes waiting for you. Lunch will be served in an hour. After lunch, I’ll let you know what’s expected of you. Looks like you’ve already had your meds this morning so we can skip those today. Oh, it appears you have an appointment with Dr. Kent at two.”

Cara was relieved at the professional tone in the nurse’s voice. She would rather kill herself than have a repeat of last night. Unfortunately, most of what the woman said went in one ear and out the other. Cara struggled to focus. She didn’t want to mess up.
She’d already had her meds this morning?
Cara was quite certain the nurse upstairs hadn’t given her any medication. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the universe in general and to that nurse in particular for her help.

Dazed, Cara followed the woman down the hall to her room. The nurse tried to be informative, but Cara was incapable of absorbing much. Finally the nurse gave up her futile attempts to illicit a response. She made a comment about needing some time to adjust to the new medications.

Cara was content to let the woman think whatever she wanted to think. She had gone into physical and emotional overload and her cognitive systems were shutting down. She waited passively on her assigned bed for an aide to come to her room and take her to the shower.

The aide, a good-natured middle-aged woman, wrapped Cara’s cast in a plastic bag and escorted her to the shower room. Weak as a kitten, Cara had to lean on the aide’s arm for support. She stood, helpless, beneath the stream of hot water, unable to shampoo her hair or even hold a bar of soap.

The woman lowered Cara to the wet floor and left, returning with a plastic chair and the nurse in charge. Cara sat, staring at the blank white wall, while the aide shampooed and showered her with the nurse’s assistance. The aide dried her and helped Cara into clean clothes. With a vague sense of unease, Cara noticed that the clothes were her own. She helped Cara to her room where she combed out Cara’s thick, tangled hair and braided it neatly. When she finished, Cara slumped across the bed and promptly fell asleep.

∗    ∗    ∗

“Cara, wake up,” a voice intruded on her dream. “Cara, wake up and drink this.”

“Leave me alone,” Cara replied. It hurt to talk “Don’t touch me.” She tried to move away from the voice, but her body refused to obey.

“Cara wake up and drink this or we’re going to start an IV.”

Cara struggled to open her eyes. They felt gritty, like she’d rubbed sand into them. Her mouth was dry as burned toast and her throat felt raw. Every joint, every muscle in her body ached.

“C’mon sweetie, sit up. Dr. Mack, could you please come over here and help me get her up?”

Cara felt herself pulled gently into a sitting position. Someone slid behind her. Limp as a dishrag, she leaned against the person. Cara pried her eyes open.

“That’s better,” the woman said. “Do you know where you are? Do you remember me?”

Cara blinked and looked up. The woman’s face seemed out of focus, but she wore a white uniform. Suddenly Cara remembered. “Oh God,” she cried out. “Don’t hurt me again.”

The woman muttered something under her breath. “No one is going to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s not going to happen again. Now drink this. Please. Drink this so we don’t have to start an IV. You’re very dehydrated. You’ve slept for over twenty-four hours since we brought you down yesterday. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Cara nodded and reached for the glass the woman held out in her direction. She stopped and looked at her right arm, confused by the sight of a cast. Then she remembered how that happened too.

The woman helped her to drink the entire glass of juice and poured her another one, making her drink that too.

“All right, that’s better. You stay here with Dr. Mack while I get you something to eat. You’re going to eat all of it and then I’ll help you get cleaned up and we’ll talk. My name is Debbie, by the way. I’m your nurse today.”

Cara watched the woman leave the room. With a sigh she leaned back, but then what the nurse said registered and she remembered there was still a body behind her. Cara jerked herself forward.

“Get away from me.”

Dr. Mack, as the nurse referred to him, disengaged himself from her and stood up. He walked around the bed until Cara could see him.

“I’m James Mackie,” he said. “I’m a medical student.”

Cara looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I thought I was supposed to see another doctor,” she said, rubbing her sore throat with her left hand.

“Dr. Kent,” he replied. “He’s not here right now.”

Cara couldn’t think of anything to say. She was too tired for questions. Besides, she wasn’t certain she wanted to hear any of the answers. Cara collapsed back onto the pillow and shut her eyes. It seemed as if only a few seconds had elapsed before Debbie was shaking her again.

“Cara, wake up. You’ve been asleep for nearly an hour. C’mon, sit up. I brought you toast and a couple of boiled eggs and some fruit. You need to eat right now.”

Debbie helped Cara to sit at the edge of the bed, pulling a bedside table over. A tray of food sat on it. An involuntary groan escaped Cara’s lips as she moved into a sitting position.

“Does your arm hurt?”

“Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Debbie said. “We’ll try to make it better after you eat. I have a pain pill for you, but I want you to have something in your stomach first.”

Using her left hand, Cara reached for a piece of toast. She nibbled at it while Debbie peeled the boiled eggs for her. “Um, it’s just a pain pill, right?”

“Yes,” said Debbie. “It’s just a pain pill.”

“I remember what you said the other morning. I remember about the pills. Why did you do that? Why did you help me?”

Debbie remained silent for a few moments, as if considering how much to tell her. Finally she said, “I don’t normally work on that ward. And we don’t, we’re not . . .” Debbie stopped speaking for a moment. “What happened to you upstairs was wrong. I don’t know how it happened.”

Cara stared down at the tray of food. “Do my . . . ? Do my parents know? Did they tell the nurse to do it?”

Debbie cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to answer that. Maybe you’ll have an opportunity to ask them.”

Cara stopped nibbling on the toast. “I can’t.”

“I believe your father will be here later today,” Debbie said.

“What if I don’t want to see him? Do I have to see him?”

“No, you don’t have to see him.”

∗    ∗    ∗

Cara refused to meet with her father, preferring to remain closeted in her room. While he spoke with the doctor, she huddled on her bed, left arm hugging her knees tight to her chest. He didn’t meet with Dr. Kent.

Debbie said, “You’ve been assigned another doctor, Dr. Bowman. Do you have any questions?”

Cara shook her head. There were so many questions running through her mind that even if she’d wanted to ask something, she didn’t know where to begin.

She’d been locked in a mental hospital. A cast covered her right arm from a close encounter with a concrete sidewalk and she was covered with bruises, courtesy of the two men who had dragged her into the locked ward and stripped her clothes from her. Her ankles and her left wrist were raw from pulling against the restraints, and she had a huge purple welt above the cast where the nurse had restrained her right arm.

Try as she might, Cara couldn’t wrap her brain around the events of the past three days. Yes, she’d lied, but there had to be some other way for her parents to punish her. She reminded herself, her parents weren’t some other parents. They were
her
parents. Her father was a judge. He sentenced people to prison. He believed people should behave in a certain way. In his world things were black and white. You were wrong or you were right. He didn’t allow for shades of gray.

Despite that, Cara knew he loved her. She wasn’t quite sure how she knew, she just did. What she couldn’t understand was why he let something like this to happen to her. Why did he give his permission for this? How could her own father let them hurt her like this?