THAT FALL

Intern Lindsey Dempsey struggled to escape the elevator with the unbalanced cart of juice and medication. As juice splashed from the four cups, Lindsey deemed her Longwood experience unsatisfactory. She had accepted the unnerving things the patients said, and tolerated her daily housekeeping duties, but would not spend a term feeling useless. Whenever she attempted to contribute, she was negated. Whenever she offered a suggestion, she was shunned. Three weeks of being unappreciated had left her disillusioned with the pointless exercise and ready to quit if she did not receive recognition.

The dimly lit third-floor hall reminded her of every horror movie she had ever seen. She adjusted her ear buds and skipped two songs, thankful she had her music. Rolling carts down hallways and changing sheets reeking of urine was not allowing her to reach her full potential, and she chastised herself again for not accepting the internship at the county hospital. Her friend, Karen, was serving at county and had done intake sessions. County had a modern computer system and intercoms and beepers and everything. Longwood had a few old desktops and corded phones. Lindsey had to brag to Karen about efficient sheet folding methods devised so she could escape the smell of urine and bleach and return to her duties making copies on a machine older than her mother.

She waved at the security booth, pulled the ear bud from her left ear and called, “I figured after last night you’d never come back.”

Oren leaned against the booth’s door. “Yeah. I’m surprised, too.”

“Violent patient in thirty-one, huh?”

“You could call it that.”

Lindsey righted a tipped cup on the cart. She said, “I guess Lansing will be out for a bit.”

Oren picked at his cuticle, not meeting her gaze. “Guess so.”

“I heard he had a few broken bones. What happened?”

Oren glanced up the hall. He adjusted the necklace around his neck. He said, “Not really sure.”

“In all your years here, you must’ve seen some crazy stuff, huh?”

He met her gaze. “Nothing like last night.”

Lindsey ticked off the posts she had read online. Longwood was being investigated because that girl drowned and some other patient was suing for sexual assault. Between the scandals and the lack of modern conveniences, they would have to close this place. Obviously, the staff was incompetent. Lindsey was thankful that she was here to sort it all out. She asked, “The doctor fell?”

“No, Miss. That woman,” he said, tipping his head towards the end of the dark hallway, “the one in thirty-one. She got out ’a her restraints.”

Well, that’s impossible, Lindsey mentally noted. “I’m sure you thought you restrained her. You wouldn’t want anyone to think you forgot or something. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that would be.”

“I restrained her. And she never touched him. Hand to God,” he said as he put his hand over his chest.

“Well, if she’s violent, perhaps you could escort me?”

Oren retreated into the security booth, mumbling, “The patients are sedated. And Victor’s down the hall finishing up.” He looked back towards her, adding, “If you need help, press the call button. And take those buds out of your ears. Can’t have them here.”

Not helpful, she thought, pulling the ear buds from her head and shoving her phone into her smock. No wonder they were getting rid of these employees. Was he seriously worried about ear buds when he wasn’t properly restraining patients? She struggled to right the demon cart and winced at her throbbing wrist. She counted twelve doors along the hall, although the floor allegedly had only six patient rooms housing four patients. Lindsey was assigned to deliver each Quiet Juice. She smiled at the euphemism. Quiet Juice was a mixture of Gatorade and a Valium supplement, which kept the third-floor patients hydrated and sedated. But how was serving juice allowing Lindsey to reach her full potential?

Her internship supervisor had insisted that Lindsey’s time at Longwood, under Doctor Antoine’s tutelage, would be a positive experience. Lindsey had spoken with Antoine once or twice, but the man was self-absorbed. The person in charge–Nurse Vasquez, specifically–had assured Lindsey that the first floor was an appropriate assignment. The first-floor patients were green: run-of-the-mill depression or anxiety cases. Lindsey was told to observe, check their rooms, and to interact only when helping with activities. She did not have the authority to counsel, although her academic performance in her six psych courses more than qualified her to do so. And she regularly counseled friends and family. She was practically a doctor at this point.

Sage greens and cream-whites covered the first-floor walls and upholstery. What Lindsey considered tacky stock art, paintings of fields and beaches and wandering paths through autumn-leaved forests, dotted the drab halls. Dying plants hung in each of the several large windows, which Lindsey mentally reminded herself she was responsible to keep streak-free. The sunny and airy first floor reminded Lindsey that she could be outside, living life instead of stuck bleaching sheets. A swipe through her Instagram reminded her that her friends were having fun while she was folding sheets.

Lindsey did what she could. Just this morning, she counseled Misses Bergstrom to do some deep breathing, sure that the advice was more helpful than any medication. Blogs were reporting the booms were merely methane explosions in the atmosphere. Perhaps those military people and scientists should do some web searches. And some deep breathing. It’s amazing what people will believe when it was so easy to photoshop a spaceship into a video. But people like Mister Geddies were easily led by shock jocks and fake news. A little spaceship hoax sent them to the hospital.

And Josey would be happier if she could have a phone to take selfies or check her Facebook. Why didn’t the patients have computers or phones? And they only had that one television in the activity room. It was criminal. The doctors here were too old to appreciate modern technology. Doctor Antoine’s phone was at least two years old! He obviously could not understand how the patients would enjoy time on social media. And who didn’t love reading friends’ posts? Or being able to text? Longwood’s archaic rules and practices were unacceptable. When Lindsey had suggested providing cell phones to patients, Nurse Vasquez laughed and directed Lindsey to finish filing.

She could understand Oren being unfriendly. The investigation would prove that Oren had not restrained the patient properly. Or Oren, himself, had injured Doctor Lansing. But, Nurse Vasquez also avoided Lindsey, always claiming to be too busy. The other nurses who rotated from the hospital also ignored Lindsey, always shooing Lindsey away as they struggled with IVs or entered data into the computer system. The orderlies were standoffish; the security guards off-putting. No one would even explain what was in the little syringes they all carried. Lindsey researched it on the net, learning Hal-Pro, or haloperidol-promethazine, was a strong tranquilizer for unstable or violent patients–and all the orderlies and nurses carried a syringe containing an average dose to control patients. Lindsey wondered why she was not given syringes in case she needed to medicate a violent patient.

Trying to focus on her newly assigned third floor duties, Lindsey fiddled with the cart’s irreparably twisted caster. Someone, perhaps out of frustration, had caused the damage by running the cart into a wall or a door. This place was too cheap to get a new cart, spending money instead on plants that died and extra sheets because the doctors could not counsel these patients to use the bathroom. With effort, she swung the cart away from the wall, wishing Oren would have at least offered to push the cart. And what did orderlies do, anyway? Orderly was really a misleading title for the huge men who looked more like bouncers than nursing assistants. She had witnessed two orderlies wrestling a new arrival into the elevator. The angered, growling patient, an overweight, balding man, surrendered as the larger orderlies brought him to the floor onto his bearded face. Orderlies certainly knew how to bring order. Apparently, that violent patient was in one of these rooms. She wondered if she could easily locate or identify the call button.

Like the blood-colored walls, they called the third-floor patients red. Violent criminals. Psychopaths. Schizophrenics. For Lindsey’s first foray into the red world, only one, very unwilling orderly was on duty. Wasn’t Victor around here, too? Lindsey waved Nurse Vasquez’ passcard over the scanner to trigger the lock. She turned the cold silver handle, pushed the unusually heavy metal door and entered the windowless room. She noticed the ever-present bleach odor. On the bed, the large blond man, a Mister Reynolds, was lying flat, strapped down by thick restraints on his wrists and ankles.

“Good afternoon, Mister Reynolds,” Lindsey said, certain her greeting was appropriate for therapist to patient.

Reynolds blinked and watched Lindsey struggle to get the cart into the room. Using her foot to hold the heavy door open long enough to pull the cart, the problematic wheel stuck on the door saddle.

“Leave the cart outside. It will be easier,” Reynolds offered.

Startled at not only his speaking at all but also at the calm logic of his instruction, she halted and left the cart trapped between the door and the door frame. She located the tray and the small paper cup labeled for Mister Reynolds, surreptitiously deposited his pill into his Quiet Juice, swirled it around for a few moments, and watched it dissolve. Reaching his bedside, she said, “I will adjust the bed so you can lift your head and drink your juice.” She noticed the blue of his eyes. If he had not had the restraints on his limbs, he seemed like a professor reading a book. He did not seem drowsy or crazy or dangerous, but, since he was on the third floor, he obviously was.

He asked, “Have you been working here a long time?”

She did not respond and pressed the bed control with her foot. The motor groaned as it sluggishly raised the top of Reynold’s massive frame.

He asked, “What is your name? Are you the doctor?”

Happy Reynolds thought she was the doctor, she offered the cup and said, “If I hand this to you, you can raise it to your own mouth.” He raised his hands against the restraints, but instead of taking the cup, grabbed her aching wrist. She cried out, “Oren!”

Reynolds let go whispering, “I am sorry that I scared you. I just wanted to talk.”

Lindsey backed away, trying to not spill any more of the juice. “I’m not scared,” she said as she placed his cup of juice on the edge of the nightstand. She took another step towards the door, sore that this would not be an opportunity for a Snapchat post.

“Yes, you are scared. I know that like I know this cup is full of sugar and Valium. Just like I know I will not drink it.”

Lindsey assumed her most official voice and said, “I’ll need to report that.”

“Go right ahead,” he said. “I need to keep a clear head–as much as I can in this place.”

Another patient who needed counseling, she thought. “I suppose we give you the Valium to relax you.”

“To make me compliant. Let’s not mince words, eh?”

She felt herself nodding, but stilled her head, trying not to encourage or agree with him. She struggled to find the therapeutic words for the situation. She had never read about chatting with a psychopath.

He asked, “Did you visit Angie Krigare?”

Lindsey’s confidence renewed with the three feet of space between the large man and herself. “Mister Reynolds, you need to be concerned about your own care and health. The others in this care center aren’t your concern.” His reactive grimace informed Lindsey that he needed counseling. Good thing she was there for him. She took a step closer, regarding him with her rehearsed concerned face. She had at four pictures wearing her concerned face. Took a whole night in front of her mirror to get it just right.

He closed his eyes, stating, “Fair enough.” Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling and asked, “What about a guard named Dave Johnson?”

“Mister Reynolds. Read your book and worry about yourself.” She struggled to extricate the cart from weight of the door, finally managing to shove it into the hallway.

Oren was outside the doorway leaning against the wall and picking at his teeth with a folded slip of paper. He asked, “All good?”

Lindsey leaned the cart against the wall. “Well, he wasn’t restrained properly and grabbed my wrist.” She rubbed her wrist, raising it to eye level.

Oren said nothing, continuing to pick his teeth.

“And how does Reynolds know Krigare’s on this floor?”

He stopped picking, and grunted, “Huh?”

“Reynolds. How would he know another patient’s name?”

“He said her name?” he asked, looking towards Reynold’s room.

Lindsey crossed her arms, wincing as she twisted her wrist. She said, “Yes. He said her full name.”

Oren said, “Maybe he heard someone say it.”

“He also asked for Dave.”

Oren raised both eyebrows. “By name?” Responding to her head nod with, “He must’ve seen his name badge or something.”

Reminded that she was never given a name badge because she was only an intern, she gripped the handle of the cart, pulled it from the wall, and shoved it towards the next room.

Oren did not follow but called out, “Here if you need.”

Right. So helpful. She checked for the next patient’s cup and tray, adding the three pills to the cup and swirling until the medication dissolved. Unwilling to risk her wrist again, she left the cart outside room thirty-three and entered to find Mister Edgars similarly restrained and awake. This was the bald guy the orderlies had wrestled into the elevator. The bleach odor burned her eyes. For a moment, she wondered how to proceed, not wanting to be grabbed again.

He stared wildly, asking, “Who’re you?”

“Good afternoon, Mister Edgars. My name’s Lindsey.” The one without the name badge, she thought, adding aloud, “I’m here with your juice.”

“Is it poison?”

Lindsey insisted, “Oh, no, sir. It’s Gatorade.”

He glared at her. “Prove it.”

She pretended to sip it and swallow. She said, “Just Gatorade. To keep you hydrated and all that.” She moved toward the bed and noticed his wrists were secured to the sides of the bed. She offered, “Let me help you lift your head.” She did, and he drank quickly, lapping the last drips from the cup with his tongue. She adopted her encouraging voice, asking, “Good, right?”

He dropped his head back into the pillow and said, “You know, you remind me of the girl I cut up last month.”

“I do?” Lindsey controlled her internal scream. This third floor was full of surprises. When she graduated, she would not be working with these kinds of crazy people, that was for sure. And she would not have this guy in a selfie with her. No way.

He smiled, pleasantly. “She smelled like lemons. You smell like lemons, too.”

“Thank you,” she said, adopting a calm demeanor as she swiped the card over the lock. He offered some additional pleasantries, but thankfully she could not hear the details. She leaned against the cold, metal door and tried to feel her numb legs. Her pulse was way above anything close to normal and sweat beaded on her forehead. She took a few deep breaths, pushing aside her disgust.

Oren asked, “Did Edgars get you upset?”

“Why? Do I look upset?” She put the empty cup on the cart and retrieved the third cup and the three pills from the fiendish cart.

“You look pale as my grandma’s ghost.” He tilted his chin towards Edgar’s room, saying, “He’s a bad one, that one. Killed, they think, sixteen girls. Said the crickets told him to do it.” Picking at his front teeth with his thumb, he added, “Evil, crazy crickets.” He didn’t smile.

Turning, she proceeded up the hallway and keyed herself into Mister Stevens’s room. He was unconscious, so she left the juice at his bedside with what appeared to be two other juice-filled cups. Hesitating, she pulled her phone from her smock, leaned over his unconscious body, assumed her practiced, professional face and snapped a picture. Examining the shot, she judged that Stevens looked pale, but her skin looked great. She looked like a doctor. With eagerness to see the resulting comments, she posted the shot across her social media pages with the text: Getting people better. Then, she quickly returned to the cart, thankful she was almost done with what was obviously a job for the orderlies or the nurses. She was going to be a doctor, not a nurse or orderly. Having her deal with this cart duty was so inappropriate.

Oren was still picking his teeth and watching her. “That one in thirty-four. Stevens? He’s always out. They have him so sedated, I usually leave his juice. Did you leave it there?”

“Yes,” she said, taking the fourth cup and dissolving the one pill from Krigare’s labeled tray into the juice. She passed the card over the lock scanner, but noticed the door was already ajar. She also noticed the small window of the heavy red door had a large crack going through the glass. All this bleaching but they allowed the door to remain damaged. As she entered, she noticed the room smelled sour–and this patient, a woman, was hooked up to a vital-signs monitor. The green and yellow panel lights of the monitor were the sole illumination and cast an eerie glow over the stark white sheets and Victor’s face.

Victor toyed with the IV bag and said, “Getting her IV adjusted.”

Lindsey knew Victor was the one accused of patient abuse. She said, “I have it from here. Oren needs you up front.”

Victor sauntered out of the room and Lindsey noticed Krigare was restrained as the others, legs and arms. She briefly considered Nurse Vasquez’ admonition to have no contact with the patients.

She adjusted Krigare’s sheet and blanket, asking, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Krigare croaked, “I need water.”

“I can get you water,” Lindsey assured her as she scanned the room around for one of the bright pink pitchers. There was none.

“They won’t let me have water. Only Gatorade. And this stuff,” she said as she jiggled her IV attached arm. “You’ll have to sneak it,” Krigare whispered.

“I’m sure you can have water! Don’t be silly–”

“No, they won’t let me. Doctor’s orders.” Krigare looked around the room, asking. “Am I still in the same hospital?”

“Yes, same hospital.” Lindsey followed Krigare’s gaze, noticing the war-zone damage to the wall at the end of the bed. This place was falling apart. They should at least house this patient in a well-maintained room. She passed the foot of the bed to review Miss Krigare’s chart but hesitated, recalling Nurse Vasquez’ explicit instruction that Krigare had to receive her sedation. She asked, “Did Victor touch you inappropriately?”

Krigare turned away, staring at the blank, stark whiteness of the wall. She said, “He brought me water.”

Lindsey considered that response as confirmation. She said, “Well, I’ll bring you water without violating you.” She would need to locate a pink pitcher. She leaned forward, repressing her fear, and pulled the blanket up to Krigare’s chest. Although the patient looked frazzled, she would make a good selfie-partner. The room had no chair. Lindsey leaned on the bed and said, “Tell me how you got here.”

Krigare looked down at her hands and toyed with her blanket. She said, “I’m not sure.”

Lindsey could tell this was another boom-patient. Why had Lansing not concluded what was so obvious? Lindsey offered, “Was it the booms?”

“No, I fainted before that. And then I had this horrible headache… I remember having these weird dreams… I don’t know,” she paused, seeming to fight the residue of the sedative. “That was the first day of those booms–”

“Yes. That was yesterday.” If these people had phones, they could keep track of the days. Barbaric.

“I was in my office and saw things. Men in my office.”

Lindsey noticed the patient becoming agitated. “We need to get you better so you can go back to work.”

Krigare gripped the sheets tightly. She said, “I remember something.” She stared at her own hands, adding, “I remembered a husband. And my son….” She began to cry.

“Okay… okay, Angie, right?” Krigare nodded, sniffling. Now, Lindsey thought, I can be helpful. This woman just needs to talk out her pain. Lindsey knew this because she had read it in her textbook. She said, “Tell me about your son.”

Krigare shuddered. “I don’t know… I live alone. I’m not married. That, that doctor kept reminding me of that.”

Lindsey was sure the doctor was Lansing and Lindsey wanted to avoid discussing that incident. No reason to agitate Krigare more than she was already. She said, “Well, that doctor is not here now. I am.”

Krigare was crying, quietly, and twisting the blankets in her hands. She asked, “You’re not… not a doctor?”

Lindsey said, “Almost. But not yet. Consider me a friend.”

Krigare nodded and tried to gain composure. “I could use a friend in here….” She sniffled. She said, “I live alone, except for my cat, Sam. He’s a cute little guy–I should have someone check on him!”

“Okay, don’t get upset. You know what? I’ll take care of that for you. Okay?”

“Yes… thank you…”

“What else about these memories?” Lindsey asked, excited about all she could report to Doctor Antoine.

Krigare said, “That day. That day at work. I remembered my son,” she shuddered again, adding through tears, “I could see his little face. Like in my dreams. How do I remember that?”

Lindsey looked into her eyes, asking, “It’s like a memory?”

“It is a memory,” Krigare stated, seriously. She raised her voice, snapping, “I know when I am fantasizing and when I am remembering something.”

Lindsey remained silent. The Psych Central website explained that therapists often remained silent to let the patient talk it out. When Krigare did not speak again, Lindsey offered, “Okay, but having a memory or a thought doesn’t get you into a hospital.”

Krigare sniffled. “I realize that. All I remember is my son. And my husband. And a house… a castle in the clouds. It was beautiful….” She paused, thinking, wincing, adding, “Then I fell.”

“You fell?” Lindsey prodded, asking, “Down the stairs? Out of a window?”

Krigare looked up at her, her eyes clear and wide, though puffy and red. She said, “I fell from the sky.”

Lindsey decided the whole exercise was getting tiresome. She reached for the cup on the nightstand and offered it, saying, “Time for your juice.”

Krigare turned her head away, hissing, “I don’t want any.”

“You said you’re thirsty. It’ll refresh you. Then we can take a picture with my phone. You can post it on your social media pages.”

Krigare’s eyes narrowing, she snarled, “Aren’t you adorable.”

“Let’s get you some vitamins,” Lindsey said, leaning over the bed now, the cup in her left hand. Krigare was securely restrained. No worries here. She reached behind Krigare’s head to help her lift it, but Krigare violently pulled away, knocking into Lindsey and causing some contents of the cup to splash over the sheets and pillow.

Krigare screamed, “Get off of me!”

Lindsey regarded the contents of the cup and realized she would need to report some juice was lost to the sheets. She sighed. “Miss Krigare, it’s just juice.”

Krigare turned, her eyes wide and glaring, she screamed, “Liar! Get away from me!” Shaking her head back and forth wildly, she raged against her restraints. She called out: “I want my husband! Where is my son? Get off me!”

Oren appeared at Lindsey’s side, took the cup of remaining juice from her hand and used his free hand to slam Krigare’s head against the pillow. He drove his fingers into Krigare’s eye sockets and repeated, “Open your mouth. Open your mouth.”

Krigare wrestled against him and cried out as two of his fingers drove into her eyes and her brow while his other two fingers and thumb pinched her nose shut. Krigare opened her mouth to breathe and Oren quickly poured the cup into it, watching her sputter and swallow.

Lindsey stood back, shocked at Oren’s violent procedure and at how he did not look calm the way the other orderlies appeared when handling patient outbursts. His eyes were wide, and his hands shook as he toyed with a syringe. He muttered, “Doc wants her awake,” and returned the syringe to his pocket.

Krigare almost immediately dropped into unconsciousness, barely mumbling, “I need water…”

Lindsey marched out the door with Oren lumbering in tow. As she was about to reach the security booth, where Victor was dallying, Doctor Antoine and Nurse Vasquez exited the elevator.

“Lindsey? Is everything okay?” Nurse Vasquez asked, her doe eyes wide with concern.

Lindsey shook her head, stuttering, “Everything is far, far from okay.”

“Miss Dempsey?” Doctor Antoine asked.

“Doctor. With all respect. I need to report an incident. And I think it’s best you and I speak privately.”

“You think it best?” He asked, his indignation obvious.

“Yes. I saw something.”

“While observing the patient?” Doctor Antoine asked, his brows furrowed deeply.

“Yes.” Lindsey caught her own breath. “I saw Victor touching the patient inappropriately.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. He muttered, “Bullshit.”

Lindsey avoided looking directly at Victor, but gestured to him, insisting. “I saw him. He had his hands under her shirt.”

“Liar.” Victor almost growled. As he moved towards her, Oren stepped between them.

Oren held up his hands, saying, “Easy, boss.”

Lindsey blurted, “I saw him. I came up like you told me,” Lindsey rushed her words, noticing the concern and shock on Doctor Antoine’s face. “And I found Victor touching the patient under her shirt–”

“I was fixing her IV. I told you that!”

“-- Yes, that’s what you said, but the patient told me she allowed you to do that so she could have water. That you could do that so you would bring her water.”

Doctor Antoine looked up at the ceiling, groaning. “Victor, did you give Krigare water?”

Victor shrugged and said, “I did, yeah. She was complaining for water.”

“I left strict instructions,” Doctor Antoine said, moving towards Victor, “strict instructions that Krigare was not to have water. Ever.”

Lindsey shook her head to clear the fog. She said, “Perhaps you didn’t hear me, Doctor. He violated her.”

Doctor Antoine reeled towards Lindsey and said, “I heard you, Intern Dempsey. I’m not deaf. I’ll deal with the obvious complete violation of decency and illegal behavior after I determine whether he gave patient Krigare water.”

Lindsey looked to Nurse Vasquez. “Do you hear this? Water consumption’s more important than a patient being sexually assaulted?”

Nurse Vasquez touched Lindsey’s shoulder, saying, “Lindsey, that patient can’t have water.”

“Is everyone in this building insane?!” Lindsey snapped as pulled away from Nurse Vasquez’ touch. “No wonder this place is getting shut down. What’s wrong with you people?”

The doctor asked again, “Did you give the patient water?”

Victor shrugged. “Yeah… this morning.”

“Toi idiot!” The doctor raised his hand in frustration. He snapped, “I am the doctor! I left instructions!”

“Is there something I don’t understand here? A patient was sexually assaulted!” Lindsey said, trying not to scream.

Nurse Vasquez looked at Victor, demanding, “Did you touch the patient inappropriately?”

Victor was silent and grinding his jaw. Lindsey noticed the sides of his face pulsing and how large he was. Victor was a large man who now hated her.

“Did you touch the patient?” Nurse Vasquez asked again.

Victor said, “I don’t know what this little bitch is talking about. I gave her water, yeah. And adjusted her IV.”

The doctor waived the pile of charts in his hand, saying, “This is unbelievable. Not only did you give her water against explicit instructions–but you–well, obviously, you’re fired.”

“I don’t even get to tell my side?” Victor asked, pushing against Oren who held his ground against the push.

“What’s your side?” the doctor asked, his own jaw grinding as he spit the words between his teeth. “That you gave her water? That you violated her? That you defied my orders and endangered all of us? Which side?”

Victor glared at the doctor then at Lindsey. He backed away from Oren and pressed the elevator button, snapping, “This is fucked. I never touched her–”

“I saw you.”

“--I was fixing her IV, bitch!”

Lindsey felt tears well in her eyes. She said, “You were hurting her.”

Nurse Vasquez moved to face Victor. She snapped, “What were you exchanging with the patient to bring her water in violation of the doctor’s explicit instructions?”

Victor’s face flushed. He pursed his lips. His nostrils flared. He turned away and said, “I wasn’t exchanging nothing–I was doing it because she asked nicely.”

Doctor Antoine interrupted and said, “You’re fired. This is not the first accusation, Victor. It’s more like the third or fourth, yes? Come back tomorrow for your final check. Clear out your locker.” Doctor Antoine began to walk up the hallway.

Oren led Victor to the elevator. Victor slammed his hand into the elevator doors. He pressed the button again and boarded, hitting the inside wall. The strike echoed through the hallway like an explosion. He pointed at Lindsey as the elevator doors closed. Lindsey shuddered.

Nurse Vasquez put a hand on Lindsey’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, Lindsey.” She released Lindsey’s shoulder, adding, “It’s really not as bad a place as it seems.”

Lindsey nodded, blindly following the doctor who was scanning his card to open the door of what must be the observation room contiguous to room thirty-one. Oren had followed them up the hallway and now the four stood inside the darkened room. Doctor Antoine hit the light switch and the fluorescent overhead lights hummed. Beyond the glass of the observation room was the sedated patient and the deep crack in the wall.

Nurse Vasquez blurted, “That wall is beyond damaged.”

The doctor drew a deep breath. “Yes. It is. And as we are the only four left on duty for the rest of the day, except for Dave. And since the hospital cannot spare anyone, we’re it, folks. So, I see no option but to instruct the staff–even the intern–as to procedure when dealing with Patient Krigare.”

Nurse Vasquez threw her hands in the air and sat on the edge of the observation desk. “Do what you think is best.”

The doctor continued, looking at Lindsey, “I understand you asked for Krigare’s file this morning.”

“I thought it pertinent.”

“You? An intern? You thought it pertinent?”

“Yes. I thought it would be helpful.”

“Because you have so much medical training? Years of patient experience, hmm?”

Lindsey pursed her lips. “I just thought…”

Doctor Antoine pointed through the window at the wall. He said, “You just thought. You just thought. Let me explain something, Miss Dempsey. You’re an intern. You’re to follow procedure and are free to ask questions, but you’re not a doctor. I’ve seen your transcripts. Not overly impressive. I’m surprised you’re intelligent enough to even operate that phone and those earbuds you insist on wearing while on post. You have not even completed your graduate work never mind medical training of any kind. Are we clear? Do we agree on that?”

Lindsey nodded, fighting back inevitable tears. “I just wanted to help.”

The doctor’s eyes softened. “I can see that you’re a person who demands explanation. And since we don’t have adequate staffing, and that you’ve already witnessed more than I would like,” he glared at Nurse Vasquez, “I can see I’ll have to give you more information.” He paused, staring at Lindsey. “Look at me.” Lindsey looked up, red-faced. He said, “I appreciate your reporting Victor’s behavior. And for reasons I will not provide, I believe you. I want you, and Oren, to understand why we can never give Krigare water.” He sighed and looked to Nurse Vasquez. “Not that I can even explain it.”

Nurse Vasquez said, “We were contacted by federal investigators.”

Lindsey frowned. “For Victor?”

Nurse Vasquez smirked. “No, honey. Although police may become involved with Victor....” her voice trailed off. “No, federal investigators are coming to take patient Krigare. And patient Reynolds.”

Lindsey turned to the doctor, asking, “Is that typical?”

The doctor shook his head. “Never in all my years–in all the felons and killers and rapists and child molesters that have been housed on this third floor and at the main hospital. This morning, we got a call and a fax with directives from Washington.”

Lindsey smiled. “This is a joke on the intern, right?”

“We thought it was a joke on us, too,” the doctor continued, “but they’re in charge of her case. We’ve not been told why. We were told to house her until they come get her.”

“Reynolds, too,” Nurse Vasquez added.

The doctor nodded, “Reynolds, too. The feds provided us directions on how to handle them both.”

“Well, I should tell you that Reynolds asked for Krigare. He knew she was here,” Lindsey said.

The doctor asked, “Reynolds? Asked for her? Merde.” He looked at the patient. He looked at the damaged wall. “All I can tell you is when Doctor Lansing and Oren gave her water, she did that.” He pointed. “She also, somehow, caused the glass in the vestibule to explode. Oren saw both events, so I was hoping we could review what happened before I enter that room. Oren?”

Oren mumbled, “I told you this morning….” He backed up towards the door, reaching for his shirt. He looked at the floor, then at the wall, then the floor again. He held something on a chain around his neck. His gawked at the crack. He whispered, “I don’t know what I saw.”

“Whatever information you can provide will be helpful,” the doctor said.

“I’ll told it to you accurate, Doc. And I don’t want… if I say anything that sounds crazy… I don’t want it to endanger my transfer.”

Nurse Vasquez said, “You’re getting transferred, Oren. We’ll make sure.”

Oren related the exact story he had that morning with the only difference Lindsey’s presence. He added, “And, I swear to God above, she was restrained. Then she wasn’t. And she never, never touched Doctor Lansing.”

Lindsey now understood why Oren had reacted so violently when administering Krigare’s juice. But she had to admit that she did not understand much of anything else. She slipped her phone from her pocket hoping for the chance to get some pictures.

The doctor avoided looking at Oren and returned to reviewing the papers in his hand. He asked, “Did she drink the juice?”

Lindsey looked from Oren to the Doctor. She said, “Most of it.”

“Well, she looks sedated now.” He turned to Nurse Vasquez and said, “I have to assess her.”

Lindsey pulled her shoulders back. She said, “I interviewed her.”

“You what?”

Lindsey sighed, “I did interviews at clinic last year. I’m a good listener. And I thought I’d just listen.” Lindsey tried to stand taller. She continued, “And, I told her I’d get her cat. And that I’d give her water.”

“You what?”

“How could I have predicted you would deny a patient water, Doctor Antoine? Really?”

“Why would you do that?” The doctor was incredulous.

“Why wouldn’t I do that? Jeeze.”

Nurse Vasquez said, “Of course, you would think that. It’s water.”

The doctor asked, “You were alone with her?”

Lindsey figured this was the end. Maybe the county hospital was still recruiting interns. Or she could go back to career services. She admitted, “Yes. After I got Victor to leave, I went to her bedside and chatted with her.”

The doctor hit his forehead with the files in his hand. “Does no one in this institution follow my orders?”

“Actually, I broke Nurse Vasquez’ orders.”

Nurse Vasquez ignored Lindsey’s remark and asked, “What did she do? Did she say anything?”

“She asked me to check on her cat.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows, asking, “Relevance?”

“We have an address for her. We can send someone… maybe police?” Nurse Vasquez offered.

Lindsey said, “And she told me about her hallucinations.”

“That’s in the report.” The doctor leaned against the window and then stood away from it as if it was radioactive.

“And she remembered, like a memory, a son and husband she never had. I can write it all down.”

“Obviously delusional. And things we knew already. What else?”

Lindsey reviewed the conversation in her mind. What else? She said, “She told me she fell.”

“She fell? Oh, now she tells me the important facts.” The doctor leaned forward.

Lindsey frowned, considering how to phrase her words. “She told me she fell from the sky.”

“More delusions. But it may have been one hell of a fall. Could explain quite a bit. Did she tell you when?” the doctor asked, using the pen around his neck to make notes on the pages in his hand.

Lindsey shook her head. “No. She only told me she fell from the sky. Then she got very quiet. And she got rude when I tried to give her the juice.”

“You think it’s a head injury?” Nurse Vasquez asked, excited.

“The report says a head injury. She’s got a bump on her head. Doc Lansing felt it,” Oren said.

“That would make diagnosis straightforward and her condition manageable. At least we can tell the feds something,” Doctor Antoine said.

“A fall still does not explain the CT results, Doctor,” Nurse Vasquez gestured to the pages in his hands.

“No. No, it doesn’t.” He flipped through the pages.

“Or flinging Doctor Lansing with her mind,” Oren added. No one commented.

“What did the CT show?” Lindsey asked and was ignored.

The doctor continued to flip through the paperwork. “Well, the chart says she had had a physical at the hospital and they found only a small hematoma at the base of the occipital. But if she fell, even days before, that could trigger a psychotic break like this. Make fantasy seem a reality, imagination seem like memories. I need to interview her and examine her.”

Lindsey felt as hopeful as she had before they ushered her into the file room. “I can help.”

The doctor closed his eyes. He said, methodically, “Krigare may be dangerous. I don’t want to endanger a volunteer intern.”

“I’m a paid intern,” Lindsey said, pulling her shoulders back.

“Well,” the doctor said, addressing Nurse Vasquez, “that makes all the difference then.”

Nurse Vasquez chuckled. “Doctor, too much sarcasm. I think Lindsey means she’s staff, too.”

All Doctor Antoine said was, “Put that damn cell phone away.”

Lindsey replaced the phone into her smock but could not help smiling, even if the Doctor was still negating her.