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“Where have you been hiding?”

  Patrick was startled by the question. Following his session with Dr. Kearney, he had quietly edged his way towards the smoking room for a possible second glimpse of Justine. The high-pitched, squeaky voice had come from behind him as he’d peered into the hazy little alcove.

  Turning his head, Patrick got his next look at Justine. Now she was in close-up; he plain/pretty face, framed by long, light brown, wavy hair, was near enough for him to reach out and touch.

  “Me?” Patrick blurted, taking a step away from her. “Uh, I was with m-my doctor.”

  “Yes, I know,” Justine giggled, moving right up to him, eliminating the space he had just put between them and then some. “I saw you following him into his office. So you’re Patrick – or is it Pat?”

  “Patrick, please.”

  They shook hands at her initiative. Justine was not quick to disengage her long, slender fingers from his palm.

  “Let’s have a seat,” she said, nodding towards the smoking room and tugging at his hand.

  “Sure,” Patrick said dreamily.

  The walls had been yellowed by all the smoke that had ever clouded up the place. The institutional window wasn’t built to open all the way and the summer breeze wasn’t strong enough to dispel the cigarette smog.

  Three other patients were already sitting around the room, puffing away. The fat, walrus-like man who’d related to Patrick’s memory loss was in one corner. A small, emaciated, and brittle-looking woman was sitting opposite the short couch. On the couch, occupying the seat cushion nearer to the window was another woman, middle-aged and flabby, wearing a blue bathrobe.

  The walrus introduced himself as Albert but said little else. The brittle woman said her name was Trudy while the third patient kept quiet as though lost in thought. Patrick sat on the couch next to her after Justine made it clear that she was piloting him towards that spot. Then she sat on the table next to the couch, right alongside Patrick, so that he had to look up to see her.

  Patrick noticed that Justine gave a disdainful glare to the woman sitting next to him before pulling a cigarette from her pack. Patrick declined Justine’s offer of the cigarette. Smiling, she lit it up for herself and crossed her legs; Patrick looked furtively at her anklet.

  “So, you’ve got Doc… tor Kearney,” Justine said after exhaling her first mouthful of smoke.

  “That’s right. How ’bout you?”

  “I’ve got Adams,” Justine answered with a scowl. “You’re lucky. My doctor’s always talking down to me and he loves to hand out the pills.”

  Patrick didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Some of these staff get off on telling you what to do,” Justine went on, flicking ashes into a sand-filled metal bucket next to Patrick’s left foot.

  “Simon seems pretty nice,” Patrick suggested.

  “He is,” Albert spoke up from the corner.

  Patrick glanced in his direction and then looked back up at Justine. She seemed annoyed by Albert’s intrusion on their conversation.

  “Well, yeah, Simon’s pretty laid-back for a counselor,” Justine allowed. “But push comes to shove, he’ll boss you around, too. That’s the bottom line around here. This your first stay at Hillside?”

  “It’s my first stay at any place like this,” Patrick replied, hoping for more sympathy by now.

  “Oh, real… ly?” Justine smiled. “I’ll tell you what’s what around here, don’t worry.”

  Patrick laughed nervously.

  “What?”

  “You’re the third person today who’s told me that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who else?”

  “Simon… and then that guy Charley.”

  “Charley!” Justine exclaimed. “That airhead? No, you listen to me. I was in a real hospital before they sent me here. They can’t fool me. I was at McLean – that’s the number one mental hospital in the state.”

  “And they transferred you here?”

  “Ran out of private insurance,” Justine shrugged. “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You got any visitors coming in?”

  “Not yet. My brother’s out of town ’til Monday. I’ll have to call him. Got no parents.”

  “My family doesn’t even care about me.”

  Patrick shook his head in sympathy. He was feeling itchy from his scalp to his crotch and wondered how badly he was stinking.

  “I… I think I should take a shower,” Patrick remarked. “And shave, maybe.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Justine said with an encouraging smile. “Hey, where’s your room?”

  “Right across from the staff office,” Patrick said as he started to stand.

  “Yeah, they want to put you right up close to the office the first few days so they can watch you.”

  “I guess.”

  “My room’s just around the corner,” Justine said, pointing out the doorway, “right by the washing machine.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Only,” Justine added as Patrick passed in front of her, “patients can’t visit each other in their rooms.”

  Patrick stared at her. The idea of going into Justine’s room hadn’t occurred to him so far.

  “Right,” he muttered, blushing.

  “I have to go to a group session soon,” Justine said. “Let’s have lunch together, okay? I get hungry when I miss breakfast.”

  “Me, too.”

  Hilda the ward clerk had given Patrick a robe to wear to and from his room along with a pair of foam-rubber slippers. The robe was so thin, it felt like it was made out of paper. At least it wasn’t translucent.

  It was a relief to feel clean again. Patrick had also been issued a set of green scrubs, the kind of lightweight garment nurses and doctors wore in medical facilities. The top had short sleeves and the bottom was fastened with a red string, sweatpants-style. Simon had gathered Patrick’s sole set of clothes and put them in the wash during Patrick’s shower.

  Now he was trying to shave. To his mild surprise, Patrick had already been assigned a locker box where a safety razor and a travel-size can of shaving cream were being kept along with his wallet and apartment keys. Simon logged out the razor and cream can on yet another form carried on the big clipboard.

  Next came the tricky part. Patrick had to try and make out his face in the shiny surface of the paper towel dispenser. Since the white foam was so obvious in the blurred image, he was able to make sense of where to drag the razor, managing to scrape the foam and hairs under it from his skin without cutting himself.

  By the time Patrick returned the razor and shaving cream to Simon, it was time for lunch. The food trays were brought up on a cart and were stacked high, red covers fitting snugly into the green trays above and below them. Blue paper menus with patient surnames written on them stuck out from under the red covers. Yellow menus indicated special diets, usually meant for patients who had diabetes.

  “You can choose your own menu for tomorrow,” Simon told Patrick as he gave him the tray designated COYNE. “For now, you’re stuck with a grilled cheese sandwich and waxed beans.”

  He removed the cover to show Patrick a meal that looked like something from a high school cafeteria.

  “I don’t mind,” Patrick said. “I’ll eat almost anything now, I’m so hungry.”

  “Even liver?”

  “As long as it’s cooked.”

  Justine waved him over to the far end of the table near the bookcase. She had either neglected to make a lunch choice or preferred grilled cheese anyway. Patrick barely had enough time to say hello to her when Charley hurried over to join them. He sat down across from Patrick, who was next to Justine. Close enough to touch her.

  Justine seemed to be trying to pretend that Charley wasn’t there. His chatter made it difficult but Patrick felt less self-conscious with the traction this third wheel was bringing to the conversation.

  The
y traded information about their backgrounds. Patrick had been raised in Lincoln, having moved to the metro area after flunking out of college. His brother had actually graduated and was already established in Waltham when Patrick had needed a place to stay. After their mother died, Scott had inherited the family house only to sell it in order to finance his own computer business.

  That venture had failed a year ago and Scott had been forced to work for a more successful entrepreneur. Patrick had been more or less along for the ride, working part-time in a neighborhood liquor store. But he figured he’d lose that job once the boss found out what had caused his absence from work this week.

  Justine had been a student at what she referred to as a second-rate private college in Newton. She insisted that her inability to comply with unrealistic demands at school had caused vindictive parents, administrators, and doctors to classify her as mentally ill. She was being punished for asserting herself. But at least she had a boyfriend who loved her.

  Patrick almost choked on a wax bean when he’d heard that.

  As for Charley, he lived on a sheep farm up in Essex County and hadn’t even graduated from high school. He had been working on the farm since then, living with his parents. When shepherd Charley decided to liberate his flock one day, the Doolan family secret was out in the open. Charley’s first commitment to a state hospital had followed; this time he was at Hillside for cutting down a neighbor’s roadside mailbox with a chainsaw.

  It was a dull afternoon and evening for Patrick. Charley and Justine had their days planned out for them by now; activity and therapy groups gave them some measure of structure. They also had privileges to leave the ward on their own while Patrick was still restricted to the floor as part of the admission protocol, according to Simon. After the first couple of days, Dr. Kearney would surely write an order allowing Patrick to go downstairs – at least with staff escort.

  It gave Patrick something to look forward to but until then he was still left with hours just sitting around the day room, watching TV. He gazed up at soap operas and talk shows, waiting for news bulletins. But there were no announcements of a sudden suspension of the Bill of Rights.

  Not entirely reassured, Patrick watched the regular news broadcast for any hint of constitutional jeopardy. Not even Justine’s company on the sofa could distract him before the hard-news segment was over. Then she was able to lure him back to the smoking room until supper time.

  By then, Simon had already gone home. Before his shift ended at three o’clock, he had reported to Gloria on each of his assigned patients. Gloria would be passing the pertinent information along to the incoming evening shift staff in an oral report. As Dr. Kearney’s team leader, she would also notify the psychiatrist if the counselors had uncovered anything remarkable about his patients.

  Simon and Gloria had been sitting at the staff office table, the door closed for the sake of confidentiality. The counselor made his report after finishing up the progress notes for each of his assigned patients which would be added to their individual medical records.

  “And she said the devil tells her what clothes to wear,” Simon had reported, slouching in a cushioned chair. “If that’s true, the devil has really bad taste!”

  Gloria had grinned appreciatively. She was more experienced than any other nurse on the ward, Rachel included. Her sense of humor about clinical psychiatry was generally sardonic – it was a defense mechanism shared by most of the staff.

  “That’s it for Diana,” Simon had declared, reaching for his coffee mug. “Now on to our new boy.”

  “Right,” Gloria had nodded, preparing to write in an open notebook.

  “He seems to be doing fine. He’s been out and around the floor, keeping visible. At first, he was isolating in his room but that was before Dr. Kearney talked to him. Since then, Patrick cleaned himself up, had something to eat… and he’s been making friends.”

  “Friends, huh?”

  “I know what you mean,” Simon had sighed. “But it’s not only Justine. He’s been very tolerant with Charley Doolan.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “As for Justine, I haven’t caught them touching each other or doing anything else inappropriate.”

  “Has Patrick been discussing his delusions?”

  “Not with me.”

  “He gave Dr. Kearney an earful this morning,” Gloria had said. “Very paranoid about government agents watching him, or something.”

  “Yeah, I heard a little about that from the good doctor. Oh, well. At least there’s no bizarre behavior from him.”

  “He’s on hourly tracking now, isn’t he?”

  “That’s right. Did Dr. Kearney give him any privileges yet?”

  “No, I just reviewed all the new orders,” Gloria had replied as she wrote in her notebook. “Nothing in there for Patrick to have privs and Dr. Kearney’s left for the day.”

  Simon had sipped his coffee and muttered: “Too bad.”

  “Well, if Patrick has a good night, we’ll bring it up tomorrow morning.”

  “Great. I’d like to get him downstairs at least.”

  “And away from Miss Edwards?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s starting on a trial of some new meds tonight,” Gloria had said with a yawn. “Kind of tapering him onto it. I guess we’ll just have to keep watching.”

  “That’s our job, isn’t it?”

  Lights out came at eleven o’clock on weeknights. Unless special permission was granted, patients using their privileges independently were supposed to report back to the ward an hour before then.

  Justine had come back up as late as she could. She knocked on Patrick’s open door, distracting him from the old magazine he’d been reading.

  “Hi,” she said, leaning against the door frame. “About to go to sleep?”

  “Getting there.”

  “I guess it’s been a long day for you, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Want to sit up with me for my last cigarette?”

  “You bet!” Patrick agreed, putting the magazine aside.

  Although lights out was still a long while off, a good many of the patients had already retired for the night. It was quiet on the floor. Even Charley had disappeared. A couple of silent, older patients were sitting in the smoking room when Patrick and Justine got there. This time, they were able to sit together on the couch.

  Patrick told Justine about having taken the first of his new pills at nine o’clock that evening. There it had been, in a little plastic cup that looked like a tiny shot glass. Patrick had popped the capsule and then chased it with an ounce of orange juice.

  “Maybe that’s my cure. Least I hope so.”

  “Yeah, well, they say it’s all chemistry, anyway,” Justine commented. “Get the right combination of fake chemicals with the natural ones in your brain and you can be normal.”

  She puffed angrily at her cigarette.

  “I guess they’re still looking for the pill that will make me kiss up to them.”

  “The staff?”

  “The staff, my parents, store clerks… Anyone who wants to have power over me.”

  What about your boyfriend? Patrick wondered. What kind of controlling prick is he?

  “Well, good luck to you,” Justine said. “Maybe you’ll get out of here before I do.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I just got here.”

  “We’ll see,” Justine said, now smiling and tapping her knee against his.

  Patrick was startled into silence. But the tap had been a very light touch, as much a suggestion of sisterly friendship as anything else. He crossed his arms in his lap.

  “You’ll be all right,” Justine elaborated. “Kearney’s generous with the privileges. Next week you’ll be taking walks all by yourself. Trust me.”

  “Okay.”

  “So-o-o-o, Patrick, you never told me, do you have a girlfriend on the outside?”

  “U
h, no,” he mumbled, thinking that Justine should have realized he was alone since he hadn’t mentioned any girl.

  “Well, why the hell not?”

  Why the hell not, indeed? Patrick thought back to some of the other women he’d lusted after. Justine’s predecessors. College was supposed to be a time for wild, uncommitted sex, or so Patrick had been told. But every time he seemed even remotely likely to have a fling – even so much as a kiss – a nagging fear held him back.

  What if she was a DEA agent? Not that premarital sex was illegal… yet. But what if one of these young women had been sent to worm her way into his confidence? Manipulated him into some real trouble? He could be framed as a dope dealer, as anything.

  It had been safer to keep his distance.

  But how to explain that to Justine? Patrick didn’t want her to think he was a paranoid weirdo. But at least she probably wasn’t a provocateur. Just provocative in a sexy way.

  “I… I’m shy,” Patrick told her.

  “You don’t seem shy to me,” Justine replied, smiling at him and tapping their knees together once more.

  Patrick’s thighs tingled but he braced himself for what he expected was to come next: Justine would remind him that she had a boyfriend.

  But she didn’t. Justine finished her cigarette and stood up.

  “So I guess this is bedtime,” she said.

  “I guess.”

  “Walk me to my door.”

  Patrick got to his feet very quickly. A few second later they were standing by the washing machine, out of sight from the smoking room.

  “I was so glad to meet you today,” Justine told him softly.

  “Same here,” Patrick murmured. “I mean I’m sorry we both have to be…”

  Justine was looking past him, back down the hall. Wondering what she could be looking at, Patrick turned his head. The corridor was entirely empty, although it looked like the staff office door was open. He could hear the TV in the day room, the sound faint in the distance.

  Patrick turned back to look at her. The girl was so tall that she was able to kiss him easily, planting her lips right on Patrick’s although she’d kept them pursed.

  “Good night, cutie,” Justine whispered, backing towards her door.