Chapter 42
42
PENNY
The benefit of having two wealthy brothers is that spending a thousand dollars to get driven three hours away from Portland is easily manageable—albeit impractical. I can think of so many other ways I could have used this money, but I’m in that anxious level of desperation.
I just don’t trust myself.
I’m either being haunted or I’m going crazy—and both sound plausible and equally horrible.
I need help. Plain and simple…
Except nothing is easy.
Nothing.
The con of coming back here is that it gives me the newfound fear that I may never be able to leave. Maybe my short-term living mindset is best viewed as a long-term arrangement, and it’s that possibility that freaks me the fuck out.
What if my mind is too damaged to be saved?
All these months I’ve tried to assimilate back into society, and where has it gotten me? I’m heartbroken and lonely, and my brothers are tainted with a warped impression that being with Collins is what hurt me.
The truth is, being with Collins healed me.
He was my lifeline.
But with him gone, I fear that I’ll forever be in a state of mental unrest, and the glimpse of happiness I had at my fingertips is just a ghostly reminder of losing a once-in-a-lifetime love.
Collins is my once in a lifetime.
“Hi, how can I help you?” the worker asks from the call button’s speaker.
“I’m a previous patient,” I say as clearly as I can into the built-in microphone.
“It’s long past admission time.”
“Please, I’m desperate. I need to be here.”
After several seconds, the door cracks open a few inches. When the worker catches sight of me, she grants me complete access.
“This is against protocol.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“What brings you back?” she asks, giving me the once-over.
I follow her inside the building, where she moves behind the front desk and resumes her position.
“I am going crazy,” I blurt out.
“Oh, dear. This isn’t an outpatient facility.”
“I know that.” I angrily wipe at tears dripping down my cheeks. “I just paid someone one thousand dollars to drive me here. I’m in the system and spent many months here recovering. I’m not a new patient. I’m a returning one.”
“I see. Your name?”
She must be new. She must not realize that my brothers made a hefty donation to this facility when I got discharged months ago. She must not realize that I would never come back here if I wasn’t desperate and sick—really sick.
“Penelope Josephine Hoffman.” Opening up my handbag, I pull out an insurance card and some credit cards.
“What are your symptoms?”
“Do you really need to know all of this?” I’m not at some shop getting my hair done. “Doesn’t this violate HIPAA?”
Her eyes follow mine as I look behind her and pray there is someone else here to check me in. It shouldn’t be this hard. If I have the money to pay for the hefty facility and medical fees, then why bother with the interrogation?
“Please let me stay. I need to be here.”
She types onto her keyboard, looking at her screen. Then she hums.
I decide to throw her a bone. “I’m hallucinating.”
And as if there’s a major aha moment when she pulls up my file, she smiles endearingly at me. “Yes, okay, sure. You can stay.”
There must be something starred on my file for her to suddenly be accommodating.
“Good.”
“I’m going to page Dr. Radinsky though so she is aware. She’s our on-call doctor.”
“Fine,” I say hurriedly. “I know her well.”
I honestly don’t care who they inform. I just need to clear out my sick mind. It’s being infiltrated with a looming evil that I doubt I’ll ever be able to exorcize from my system—at least not completely.
“I’ll see if there’s an available room in the main wing. Otherwise, you can stay in the overflow space.”
I nod. I don’t really have a preference. I just need help.
“As you are aware, all of your personal belongings need to be placed inside a locker. Here’s a bin.”
I place my handbag into the plastic tray. Then I place my connection to the outside world—my phone—into the bin. It’s useless anyway without a charge. I have a habit of forgetting to plug it in at night when I cry myself to sleep, and I drained the battery at the charity fundraiser.
Grabbing a bag down from a shelf, she hands it to me. “This is a set of clean garments for your comfort. There are more items in your room for you to use until your family can drop off some personal items.”
“Thank you,” I say, clutching my new supplies to my chest.
Doubt seeps through my conscious thought.
Am I doing the right thing coming here?
Should I be here without any tangible connection to my family who will probably worry about me?
“Follow me,” the worker says.
She uses the keycard around her neck to access several locked hallways.
It’s now late into the night and everything is calm and relaxed here, just as I remember it to be during my long-term placement.
But something is different this time around.
For one, I don’t remember ever checking in the first time. I definitely don’t have any recollection of handing over my personal items, although it makes complete sense. It’s just that there are huge chunks of time that have dissolved in the recesses of my mind. They are grayed-out memories I may never get back.
But it’s in my nightmares that I gained back the memories from the night Mark drugged me. I remember those vivid details now.
I don’t even know how long I’ll stay this round. I just know that I can’t keep going through life thinking that every man standing in the shadows is Mark Tanner. I refuse to be haunted by him forever.
Maybe a doctor here can hypnotize me or offer some kind of reprogramming.
I actually feel like I’m going insane, as if Mark is lurking around a corner just waiting to pounce when I least expect it.
“Here we are,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Lights-out is in fifteen minutes, but I’ll send Dr. Radinsky down to visit when she gets here. She’s on her way now.”
“Okay, sounds good. Thanks.”
I wait until the door closes and locks before I start undressing out of my charity event gown. Just kicking off my heels causes me to groan in satisfaction. I definitely didn’t anticipate needing a getaway outfit.
That’s what I get for being impulsive.
There’s something about being back in this space that I find oddly comforting. I didn’t expect to actively choose to come back, but here I am—just as fucked up as ever and arguably worse.
I glance around my room. It’s nothing to write home about. Everything is functional, but some effort has been made to make it a bit cozy. At least my bed linens are tinted in color and not the bleach-white ones that remind me of a hospital.
Folding my dress in half, I place it over the armchair near the window. I haven’t missed the cold, starched clothes that are a staple here, but appreciate not having to sleep in pantyhose and layers of tulle. Anything is better than that. I’d rather sleep naked than be itchy.
Moving into the connecting bathroom, I unwrap a fresh bar of soap and scrub my hands and face, before rinsing off all of the suds. I brush my teeth with a new brush and travel-sized paste.
When I’m all freshened up, I walk to the bed and pull back the covers. Lying down, I roll to my side and tuck my knees up into my chest.
Then I cry.
I let out the roar of breath that it seems like I’ve been holding in ever since Collins walked out of my life. Lying still, I try to flood out the pain that I’ve been forced to bury.
There’s no pretending anymore. There’s no wishful thinking or going through the motions.
And in this moment, I can’t tell which is worse—having a broken heart or having a broken mind. But right now, I definitely have both, and the combination of it all is debilitating.
Outside the room, I hear some clicking sounds, followed by the creak of the heavy metal door. Rolling onto my back, I see the fluorescent hallway lights flicker through the little window in the door.
Getting up from the bed, I move to the outside window and pull back the blackout curtains just to discover it’s raining out—pouring, actually.
I guess I arrived just in time before the storm moved into the area.
The sky lights up with streaks of lightning, allowing me to see the puddles forming along the parking lot and sidewalk.
There isn’t a car in sight though, and all of the parking lot lights are out.
Weird.
Thunder sounds, causing me to jump.
Something seems off, but I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just a feeling though, and feelings aren’t facts.
My eyes move to the tree path lining the border of the facility’s property, and when the sky lights up the earth with the flash of lightning, I see a creepy man in a trench coat and rain hat staring at me.
Fuck.
My feet are frozen in my stance, but when I’m given another glimpse a few seconds later, he is gone.
I feel pieces of my mind crumbling to dust one by one.
I’m seeing things. That’s why I’m here—to hopefully get better.
I am safe.
I am fierce.
I am… loved?
Flopping backward onto the bed, I stare up at the ceiling.
I’m going to be okay.
Taking a deep breath, I roll to my side, facing toward the door.
Through the glass window, I see the lights from the hallway shut off, realizing that we’ve officially hit the lights-out target time. It’s either that or the power source got compromised with the storm and the backup generator is taking some time to kick on.
I try my nightstand lamp, but it doesn’t work.
I need to sleep. My mind is playing tricks on me, and maybe rest will fix this feeling of being in a limbo state.
Placing my hand under my pillow, I feel the rustle of a piece of paper underneath it. Lifting it up, I discover a note with what appears to be a handwritten word on it, but I can’t make it out in the darkness of the room.
The lights in the hallway flicker like a strobe light.
Getting up from the bed, I move toward the door and my only real light source at the moment. It’s locked as expected for this facility, but Dr. Radinsky should be here soon. She’ll know how to help me.
Placing the paper near the window, I allow the flickering light to illuminate the message.
No.
In black marker, as clear as can be, I see the one-word message.
ESCAPEE.
Why is this here?
Then I think back to all of the other cryptic notes that have been sent to me.
One.
Two.
Three.
I’m an…
And putting them all together, I have that epiphany and finally realize they spell out one big, premeditated message: One, two, three, I’m an escapee.
Fuck.
Mark Tanner is free. He is on the loose.
Dammit.
And I’m sure he is coming for me. Feeling the blood drain out of my face, I crumble up the piece of paper and throw it over to where the wastebasket is, missing the toss and watching the ball roll onto the cold tiled floor in the shadowy flicker of the lights.
Something is wrong…
Instinctively reaching for my phone, I realize that I dropped it off at the front desk, as per protocol. It’s in the little plastic bin stored away for safekeeping.
The battery is drained anyway so it wouldn’t be any use, even if I had it in my possession.
Moving back to the window leading to the outside, I spot the trench-coated man now on the sidewalk.
He’s real.
I can feel it.
He’s not a figment of my imagination.
And he’s coming for me.
I am no longer in a facility that can help me. I’m in a place where I’m going to die.
The sound of the door opening causes me to scream.
“Penny, calm down. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
My body whips around to see Dr. Radinsky standing in the doorway, wearing her signature dress pants, camisole, and cardigan. “You startled me.”
“I’m really sorry about that. The power is acting finicky but other than that, you are safe here.”
I shake my head. “I’m not safe at all. We need to get out of here.”
“What? Why?”
“I see him.”
“See who?”
I point to the window. “He’s outside.”
But when I turn to look, I see nothing but the ghost of my memory. I grab my head. It’s throbbing. “He was just there.” My words come out as a whisper.
“Shh…don’t cry. Let’s get you tucked back into bed.”
I try to push past the doctor, only to have two male workers wearing white scrubs and surgical caps join her, one on each side.
Then I remember the note. “He’s sending me threatening messages,” I say, pointing over to where the crumpled paper is resting on the floor. My eyes blink. Was. “The paper was right there.”
My throat closes up. I’m going to be sick.
“I’m going…” Crazy. I’m going crazy.
I look at the male worker on the left, pleading with my eyes for some sign of comfort. But when my focus locks in on the man on the right, I am struck with familiarity.
“What the hell…”
He grunts in response, morphing before my eyes from someone safe to someone determined to bring me harm.
I see the evil behind the twinkle in his eyes.
“Rex?” I choke out. My throat feels dry, and suddenly I’m overcome with a nagging thirst.
It can’t be. I’m seeing things.
Blinking hard, I feel the start of a migraine forming at the center of my head.
Nothing is making sense.
Like blocks falling from an unstable tower, I feel the pieces of my mind plummeting down into a pit of uncertainty and despair. I’m not putting a puzzle together. I’m tearing a constructed one apart.
Then I see Dr. Radinsky take a little vial out of her pants pocket, followed by a clear plastic syringe. She’s convinced I’m a danger to myself, and maybe I am.
Except everything about this feels wrong, and Rex’s sneer is indication that’s so.
“No, no, no,” I say slowly, backing up until I’m pressed firmly against the wall. “No drugs. Please. ”
It was drugs that landed me in Soulful Mind to begin with last year, and here I am full circle and just as helpless as I was then.
Nothing has changed. I’m still just as broken but for a completely different reason.
I can blame it on Mark all I want, but it’s my inability to stay afloat when I feel like I’m drowning that is causing all my turmoil.
I put myself here.
So it’s me who will have to get me out.
My fists lash out when the three move in on me.
“You need something mild to help you relax,” Dr. Radinsky says, her voice soothing, as she dodges my flailing arms. “Don’t you want to sleep and have an opportunity to wake up refreshed?”
“No!”
I dart to the side of the room, only to be flanked and restrained by the two men. Rex holds me tight— too tight.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, truly dumbfounded as to why the man I met outside the coffee shop in town almost four months ago is the one who is holding me hostage now.
“I’m just following orders.”
I swallow hard. It’s not the doctor’s orders he’s following though. Dr. Radinsky is just doing what she thinks is best for me. It has to be Mark’s plan that he is executing instead.
“Let me go!”
“Hold her steady,” the other man calls out.
And without warning, I feel the prick of the needle as it punctures through the skin of my arm, then the warmth radiating through the surface at the site of the injection.
I’m fucked.
And I’m going to die at the very place I came to get saved.