Chapter 3 #2
“January, you can still earn your points for compliance if you follow today’s routine with the rest of the group. Even if it’s not our normal routine, you can still…”
January screams the most obnoxious scream I’ve ever heard and falls to the ground, bawling and red-faced.
Here we go again. She kicks her legs wildly, taking out the med cart.
Empty paper cups and a half-full pitcher of water scatter across the floor.
Nurse Patrick moves toward the meds closet for the diazepam, but he pulls up short when Ms. Michelle hurls into a nearby garbage can. Everyone freezes in horror. Even Jan.
Watching someone vomit is not a rare event here. I’ve been living with at least a dozen kids at a time for most of my life. I’ve seen a lot of puke. This is different. I’ve never seen anything like the putrid black mess spilling out of Ms. Michelle.
I look at Nurse Patrick, and I don’t think nurses are supposed to look this scared in situations like these.
I scan the hall to see Keisha’s reaction but can’t find her.
Down the south hall, I see just the ends of her braids as she ducks into her room.
The rest of the girls cover their noses and stare, waiting for it to end, but it doesn’t.
Ms. Michelle isn’t a big person. Ten minutes ago, I would not have guessed there was enough room inside her to fill that entire wastebasket with ooze. I would have been wrong.
When she finally stands upright, her eyes are bloodshot and streaming tears.
She wobbles. Nurse Patrick finally recovers his wits and leads her to the dayroom couch to lie down.
Ten anxious faces turn and look at one another.
No one knows what to do next. With Mr. Josh off on an emergency call and Ms. Michelle sick, the only staff member left on the floor is Nurse Patrick.
The therapists don’t come in until two in the afternoon.
I’ve never seen the unit this vulnerable.
January, still lying on the floor fresh off her tantrum, looks up at me, of all people.
“How are we going to get breakfast now?” she whines.
I ignore her.
“Everybody go back to your rooms. When Mr. Josh comes back I’m sure he’ll pass out cereal,” I tell the girls.
All ten girls walk back to their rooms in stunned silence.
Before I turn to leave, I grab a roll of paper towels from the desk. I know I’m not supposed to touch staff supplies, but I throw a few towels over the mess around the wastebasket anyway. Maybe it will keep the smell from wafting down the hallway.
On my way back to my room, I stop at Keisha’s doorway and tap on the frame.
“Keisha? Keisha, we need to—” I call quietly.
“I went back outside last night,” she interrupts, meeting me in the doorway with a whisper.
“You what? When? What did you see?” I ask frantically.
“I went out after everyone was asleep. The night shift guy passed out in his chair around one, and I decided to risk it,” she explains.
“I can’t believe you went without me,” I say accusingly. Resentment flares in my belly, but the need to know more has me forgiving her before her apology leaves her lips.
“I’m sorry. It was too risky to come get you. Listen, something is happening.”
“Yeah, I’m putting that together. What did you see? Did whoever broke in get Ms. J? Did the cops come?”
“Yes.” She pauses as if she’s afraid to tell me more.
Her eyes flash down the hall toward the stinking garbage can before she continues. “I watched them carry Ms. J out of the building last night. She was dead, Quinn.”
“Oh wow. Could you tell what happened to her? Did they—”
“That’s not the craziest thing,” she says, waving her hand, cutting me off. “She got back up, Quinn.”
“Wait, slow down. I don’t understand. I thought you said Ms. J was dead.”
“Listen to me. She was dead. They carried her out, strapped to a stretcher and covered by a sheet like in the movies,” she explains, her words pouring out faster and faster.
“Before they loaded her in the ambulance, the paramedics were just standing there talking to the cops like assholes, laughing and carrying on. Then Ms. J started trying to sit up! For a second, I thought maybe she was okay. Then the sheet fell off, and I saw her neck. It was shredded. There’s no way she could have survived that.
Then somehow she snapped the straps and rolled off the stretcher.
I’m telling you she woke up! But she didn’t look like herself, and she moved so fast!
Then she went after the paramedics, Quinn. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I’ve read a lot of patient charts. I’ve seen some seriously disturbed kids come through the Pegasus Center.
Keisha isn’t one of those kids. But she has conned a lot of people.
In fact, I’ve never seen anyone lie so smoothly in my life, but she’s not lying now.
And unless something has changed very recently, she’s not the type to hallucinate or have delusions.
I’m tongue-tied trying to come up with a third reason why she’s telling me absolute nonsense.
Maybe she just wasn’t close enough to see it all clearly? I go with that.
“It sounds like Ms. J wasn’t dead after all, Keisha. You were all the way up on the roof. Maybe you didn’t…”
“No! You’re not listening to me! Ms. J attacked them. The paramedics. She bit one guy in the neck! She wouldn’t stop! They tried to pull her off, and then she bit the next one. Quinn, it was a bloodbath!”
She’s still talking a mile a minute. I interrupt her. “You’re not making any sense, Keisha. First of all, Ms. J is a tiny old lady. How could she possibly…and why would she be one of the rioters?” I ask.
“Rioters?”
“They’ve been mentioning it on the news all week, and then I saw it on TV this morning. There are groups of people rioting in Chicago. Ms. Michelle seemed to think maybe the riots are spreading into smaller cities too,” I explain.
“Oh my god,” Keisha says, then goes silent, staring off into nothing.
“Keisha. Keisha? Keisha!” I urge, trying to bring her back to me. “What happened to Ms. J and the paramedics? What did the cops do?”
“That’s just it, Quinn. It turned into a brawl.
Nobody came to help. They tried to fight back, but Ms. J bit every single one of them and didn’t stop until they were all lying on the ground.
She just kept biting and biting and biting, even after they all went still.
Just when I thought she had killed everyone, I heard gunshots coming from the park over on Jamison Street.
That’s when they all stood up. It was like they heard an alarm clock.
They just stood up and ran away toward the sound of the gunshots. All of them,” she says.
I still can’t accept what she’s saying. I scan her face again, looking for the lie.
Keisha has a way of convincing people to believe what they already know is ridiculous, but I know all her tells.
I know that when she lies, she takes lots of deep, slow breaths to appear calm.
I know she keeps her voice even. I know she blinks more frequently.
And I know Keisha isn’t lying to me right now.
She really saw something out there, and it lines up perfectly with what I saw on the news this morning.
“Okay. Okay,” I say, pacing just outside her doorway. “So you’re saying Ms. J was dead.”
“Yes.”
“And then she woke up and bit a bunch of paramedics and police officers to death.”
“Four of them,” she says, nodding.
“Four of them. Okay. Then after they died, you heard gunshots in the park, and they ran toward it?”
“That’s what I saw.”
“You realize you’re describing zombies, right, Keisha?”
She looks down at her feet. “Quinn, I’m not lying this time,” she says, slowly looking up to meet my eye.
“I know.”