21. Olly
TWENTY-ONE
OLLY
I had officially lost track of how much time I had been here for.
I could find out with my Kindle, but it still didn’t solve the problem of my escape.
I needed to get someone who worked here, on the inside, on my side.
I needed a night when neither of the nurses working was Organization.
Nurse Elizabeth would be the obvious choice, but she never worked nights.
One afternoon I thought to hell with it and walked down to the laundry room, where I could sense Nurse Elizabeth.
I was going to ask her to endanger her entire career for what?
My death, but Bea’s life. It was an easy choice to make when things came down to Bea or me.
When Nurse Elizabeth saw me, she opened her mouth, and I put my finger up immediately over my own mouth, making the universal sign for quiet!
She stopped, put a basket of folded clothes down, and allowed me to approach her and reach for her hand.
The moment we touched, I was able to show her images in her head so much more clearly than just speaking into it.
Now, I used my telepathy to create a combo of words and pictures to paint a portrait of the fact that every moment that went by, Bea was in danger.
We had to get out, and I showed her what her role in the plan could be.
Her eyes were full of tears when I was done showing her the final image I wanted to share, of Bea with Clark and Shepard.
She nodded in the affirmative when I asked if there were any nights in the next few days when no members of an evil cult were manning the nurses’ station.
She thought, with all of her might, TOMORROW, and the force was such that I almost tipped over.
She mouthed, “Sorry!” and I knew that despite being scared, she would do her best, as would I.
Little did I know that we were both two steps behind the hag who ran this place, and that Bell, or someone working under her, had seen this coming.
I could feel my bump getting bigger over the past few weeks, and I was on less medication, I think, precisely because of that reason: I could think.
And right now, I was sitting on the leather sofa in the unit’s living room, watching TV with the crying patient Sylvia and paying no attention whatsoever to the game show playing.
I was due for another therapy session with Dr. Bell in about a half hour, and I had several drawings to show her, drawings I wanted to rip out and hide because I knew they would piss her off.
She had her own special way of showing her appreciation for my art.
She had begun to punish me when I didn’t cooperate or offer up the most personal of details.
Psychic attacks were her favoured method, direct attacks which felt like cannonballs where they crashed into my walls.
But still, the walls held. I’d seen the Battle of Helm’s Deep enough times to know that just one crack would be enough for her to blast her way in, and I used plenty of my energy and time searching through my own mind, making sure that those walls would not fail.
As I was thinking about Lord of the Rings—I wanted to think of anything that didn’t have to do with my escape plans—Sylvia surprised me.
She turned to me, tears still streaming down her face, and said, clear as a bell, “Could we have another snow party? It was so...I don’t... ” I put my hand on her arm.
“Sometimes it’s hard to say how you’re feeling, isn’t it?” I asked, and she nodded. “It’s okay. I think, in the snow, you were crying from joy. Because you felt happy, and almost like you were outside.”
“Like I was a little girl who forgot her mittens and I was too cold, but oh, it was such fun!” She laughed, then, and something in my heart almost stopped. I had never pictured the day when I would hear that woman laugh, and it be genuine.
“I’m so sorry I don’t have time for another snow party. I have to go see the doctor any minute now. But Sylvia? If you can find something to smile for every day, it might become a habit. A good one.” I got up, made sure I had my sketchpad, and walked down the hall to Dr. Bell.
Dr. Bell had me on a pretty short leash these days, adding something to my med schedule that made me groggy in the afternoons and a bit more compliant, something that occurred to me a few times, and I promptly seemed to forget.
I yawned on my way to her office, almost forgetting to amp up the shields around my walls.
As I sat on the chair to her office, I knew to behave, because I still had my powers, and she still had—in theory, anyway—whatever she had injected me with the day of my kidnapping that took them away.
“Well, you seem to have a lot on your mind today, Olly. Your head is quiet, but you are very...twitchy this session. Afraid of what’s in your sketchpad?” I have no idea what compelled me to tell her the truth, but I did.
“I’m actually thinking about my cell phone, probably long at the bottom of the sea, and how just before that, it had been scrubbed of everything to do with Clark, and I felt so mad I saw red.
And why is it just hitting me now that someone had deliberately tried to make me feel seriously mentally ill by pretending that Clark didn’t exist?
No, not someone, several people had been involved in the conspiracy, right down to the furniture rental people for his apartment.
And my head is all swimmy on today’s new med cocktail, I can tell. ”
Dr. Bell looked incredibly pleased, her pen scribbling away. “You said your head feels swimmy, which I take it means strange. Do you feel more powerful? Maybe even more like yourself before you went into the sea?”
“I’m not...I don’t know. But I can see that something is missing, some like, really essential piece of a puzzle. I mean, who had the resources and the connections to both Clark and me to take us both from work...work...Rose Financial. Those sons of bitches.”
“Olly, we’ve talked about profanity in sessions before. I don’t care if you cuss like a sailor outside, but in this room you will show me, and this process, respect, young lady.”
Her evaluating look made me flinch and completely distracted from reasoning out the conspiracy.
“You know I’m not a young lady,” I answered.
“I haven’t been young since the day I was thrown from that flaming car wreck, and I haven’t ever been a lady.
Whoever I am, whoever I’m meant to be, that label does not apply.
I’m nonbinary, and I would appreciate you using my preferred pronouns, which you know perfectly well.
I would ask you to respect me as part of this process. ”
Everything went still as we stared at each other, and I swear, the very air in the room crackled. I knew better than to use the big “C” word—crazy—in here on the unit, but damn if that wasn’t a crazed look in Dr. Bell’s eyes.
“I think we’ve learned everything we can from each other today. Rip out your drawings and leave them with me.” I hesitated, and she hollered both inside my mind and verbally, “Do it!”
I had pushed and pushed over these past few weeks, and found Dr. Bell’s limit.
Goddess, save me from the consequences. I pulled out the drawings, placed them on the red folder, and before I could leave, she twisted the proverbial knife, saying, “If you think you’re getting out of here before you are eight months along, you are insane. You’re not the only Seer on our rolls.”
I turned and fled.
In my room, with the calmness of Mozart playing through my earbuds, I thought carefully back to every person who had made me feel like I was going off the deep end the day Clark vanished.
Jeff for sure, and that really stung because I had thought we were friends.
Kate, his secretary. The elderly astrophysicist Edward Evans.
And there’s no way The Organization For The Advanced Mind—and what kind of fucking ridiculous name was that, anyway—had set up shop in Robert Barkhouse’s company without him knowing about it.
No one so much as farted sideways in that office without him knowing.
I always said he was a financial genius.
Well, maybe he had some special ability of his own that I hadn’t picked up on.
I did know that everyone’s thoughts were shielded when I woke up from my...
nap? Drugging? Or psychic interference? That would take someone very powerful to accomplish.
Someone like Dr. Bell...or maybe Robert?
I was thinking about this as I waited in line to collect my supper tray from the cafeteria cart that arrived a few moments ago.
When we heard that cart, we were meant to form an orderly line, take our labeled tray out, and sit at the long wooden table to eat with the rest of the group.
Nurse Elizabeth would often take a pitcher of water and go around, filling everyone’s cup even though it wasn’t her job.
I noticed she looked absolutely rattled as she moved around the table, and when she leaned in to my cup, she whispered, “Bell knew we were cooking up a plan. And said not before you’re eight months. I’m so sorry.”
When I was eight months along? I was only at the start of five, now.
I wanted to scream, but instead, I forced the muscles in my jaw not to lock up and my eyes to be open fully, and dutifully ate my chili, rice, and corn, drank my tea as those at the table discussed favourite movies—Return of the Jedi was tied with The Shawshank Redemption—and then ate my mango yogurts.
As I participated in the conversation, I inwardly continued to think about the people involved that last day I would ever step inside Rose Financial.
I couldn’t help but think that Edward had some kind of role to play beyond just hoodwinking me.
Because I no longer thought I was insane, and I thought about how they could pull off such a bait-and-switch.
They’d have had to wait until Clark and I left the building that morning, and then immediately have a crew move Clark’s things into another apartment?
Yes, the empty one across the hall would have been perfect.
Then just install new furniture, change up the wall art, and plop in...
who? Was he an actor, or a real scientist who happened to have all these things in common with my Clark?
Hell, maybe he really was Clark’s grandfather.
If he was legit, he had provided more clues as to the ultimate goal of The Organization than I had ever remembered or been told by Thomas.
Thomas. I hadn’t seen him in a dragon’s age, and I missed him.
He could help me sort all this out in my tired mind.
I was sure of it. As I was debating how to trigger a visit when no doubt all efforts were being made to keep me away from my brother, my blood ran cold.
From what I remembered, this group of evil fucks hated a loose end.
If they had Clark tucked away somewhere, I was certain he could find a way to hang in there until I could locate him.
Becky, however. They didn’t need her. Tears filled my eyes, but I forced them not to fall out here in the common room as I thought of the sweet golden companion that loved tennis balls and who I always meant to take to the beach when the water was warmer.
Did they at least surrender her to a no-kill shelter, or did they just dispose of her that day, like she didn’t even matter?
A small amount of hope came over me when I realized that everything in The Organization was an Asset, or a Problem.
In the grand scheme, logically it would make more sense to keep Becky as an Asset to be used against Clark and keep him in line.
I took small comfort from that, and even though I hated myself for it, I cried into that scratchy, crinkly pillow.
Seven thirty in the morning and surprisingly I didn’t want to get up today.
After hearing yesterday I would be stuck here for about three-ish months, all illusion of optimism or hopefulness had flown away from me.
I longed for information. Information I knew would never come to me.
What medications had they been giving me under Dr. Bell’s orders, and how had they impacted my memory?
The whole experience of being in here felt at times like a fever dream, or like I was walking through a dense fog, fresh off the sea and impossible to see through.
Whatever cocktail I was on now had me feeling even more powerful than before I was a patient here, but what would be required of me, should that information slip out?
The closest I got to using my heightened powers was a quick surface check of the staff to see how many Organization members had wormed their way in here, and the results were dismaying.
I counted four nurses who were a part of the cult, plus Dr. Bell.
I hadn’t gotten everyone who came in and out, like the social worker, for example, but the cleaning staff was all legitimate, and I hadn’t found any members amongst the patients.
It had snowed again last night, outside.
I knew that much. The leaves were barely dropping when I was brought in the day of my seizure, and now the hardwoods are bare, and about twenty centimetres of snow was down.
Like my belly growing, time was passing quickly in here.
I guess that was how time moved when you couldn’t remember most of it.
The hospital put on a little Christmas celebration for us.
I thought the peak was the therapy dog they let come in, a beautiful golden Labrador.
His handler stayed close to him because some of the patients could be unpredictable, but I treasured every minute petting and scratching him.
My biggest surprise was a wrapped-up copy of the latest Laurel K.
Hamilton book. There was a little note inside: Stay strong.
With love, Fatima. Since when did ghosts have access to the bookshop in the mall?
I thought about it and figured that if she was aware enough to accept her condition as one of the no longer living—because not all ghosts are capable of that—all she’d have to do was find someone psychically gifted enough to siphon a bit of power from, and she could talk and walk around like anybody.
That had to be how she’d done it, and that was when it hit me: I already knew this, so was it the new-ish drugs robbing my memories and treating this like a revelation?
I put worry aside to enjoy my book and was very touched by her thoughtfulness.
Before I knew it, it was 2025, and by the end of January, my little Bumblebee was six months along.