Music in the Night by V. C. Andrews
"What's happening to me?"
"I feel you are on the verge of a complete recouping of the past with a minimum of selective amnesia. My sense of this is you could at any time remember the trauma and when that happens," he continued, "it will be like being hit by a freight train. Believe me. I've seen situations similar to yours many, many times."
His words frightened me. I settled back, my tension and resistance melting away. I saw that pleased him. He looked at Mrs. Roundchild and she stepped forward, reaching down to bring up a button attached to a plastic wire.
"If you need any assistance, you press this and someone will come in due time, but don't think they will fall out of the ceiling. We're understaffed here and people are always busy. Have patience," she warned, "and we'll do our best to see to it that you are comfortable and safe."
"Can't I at least have my arms free? I'd like to get a drink of water for myself or scratch myself when I itch," I said.
"I think that will be okay as long as you promise not to undo the strap around your legs. That will guarantee you won't fall out of the bed," Doctor Scanlon said. "What do you think, Mrs. Roundchild?"
"I'd like to keep the top strap around her waist as well. At least until she's stronger," she added.
"Fine. All right, Laura?"
I nodded. What else could I do?
"If you undo them," Mrs. Roundchild threatened, "we'll have to restrain your arms again."
Doctor Scanlon took my pulse and then checked a chart dangling from the end of the bed. While he did so, Mrs. Roundchild tightened the straps securely.
"Let's remain with this current pharmaceutical protocol," he told Mrs. Roundchild.
"Very good, Doctor," she said. She looked as though she were going to salute as well.
He turned back to me.
"I'm going to let you rest now, but Mrs. Roundchild will keep a close eye on your condition. If there are any dramatic changes, she'll inform me immediately and I'll be here as soon as I can," he promised.
"Does Doctor Southerby at least know what's happened to me?" I asked softly. He didn't like the question and hardened his mouth, turning his eyes to granite as well.
"Doctor Southerby knows you are now under my direct care. He has no concerns," he replied sharply. "Just so you'll know," he added after a moment, "Doctor Southerby interned under me. He thinks of me as his mentor. Do you know what that means, mentor?"
"Yes," I said. "You were his teacher."
"More than that. Doctor Scanlon was his idol," Mrs. Roundchild corrected. "And rightly so," she finished. Doctor Scanlon smiled at her and the two of them left my room.
I gazed down at my food, my appetite still gone, Nevertheless, I nibbled on some of the cold meat loaf, drank some juice, and lay back. A little over an hour later, Clare returned for the tray.
"I'm sorry I got you into trouble," I said.
"I got myself into trouble," she replied, took the tray and left without a word.
Fifteen minutes later, I had to use the bedpan. I pushed the buzzer for it to be taken away, but no one appeared for more than a half hour. Finally, Mrs. Roundchild came with Clare right behind her.
"Empty that," she told her, nodding at the bedpan. Then she handed me a cup with two pills in it, and gave me a glass of water, "Your medication," she said firmly.
"Will it make me tired? I'm still so weak and tired from before," I complained.
"Your medication," she repeated, holding it out. "Doctor Scanlon wouldn't prescribe it if it wasn't necessary, Laura. I'm sorry to have to be so firm with you, but it's an awesome responsibility to care for people who can't care for themselves."
I plucked the pills out of the cup and put them in my mouth while she hovered over me, watching me swallow the water and the pills. She nodded.
"Good," she said. Clare returned the bedpan to the table and they left me.
Never did I feel more alone. Strapped down, in a barren room with no one to talk to, nothing to look at, not even anything to read, I did truly feel more like a criminal than a patient. It was as if I were being punished, not helped. I listened hard, but the sounds that I heard from the corridor were few and
meaningless. There were no voices and little movement. If they were so understaffed, why wasn't there more going on?
I had to close my eyes. The pills are working, I thought. They're making my eyelids heavy again. In moments I was asleep, and soon after, I was dreaming. Wonderful, familiar faces began to reappear, rising out of the darkness. My mother was smiling at me and my father was looking at me with love in his eyes. A little hand reached for me. It was May and she was afraid. My brother stepped up beside her. His name seemed to be closer, my tongue struggling to form it.
"Come home, Laura," he said. "Please, come home." "Laura," my mother called. "Laura, come home." "We need you back here, Laura," my father said. May was signing and crying.
I struggled, twisted, and pulled against the straps in my sleep so violently, that I woke myself in the middle of the night. My skin burned where I had chaffed my waist and my legs. I groaned and cried out. The door to my room was nearly closed completely, so that most of the dim light from the corridor was gone. I was alone in the dark.
I closed my eyes again, drifting off. This time I immediately felt a wave of cold ocean water wash over me. I gasped. There was a hand reaching up and the top of a head emerging from the water. I struggled to get a grip on that hand and then . . I really felt something in my hand and my eyes snapped open.
"Shh," I heard, and turned to see Lawrence kneeling by the bed.
"Lawrence? What are you doing here?"
"Don't talk too loud," he said. "I snuck up to see you. We heard what happened to you and I tried to get information all day, but no one knew or would say a thing. Mary Beth and Lulu send their love."
"How did you get up here?"
I sat up until the strap cut into my waist.
"There's another stairway that's used to bring up supplies mainly. It's right near here. I didn't know what room you were in, of course* I checked two others before finding you. The chart on your door says that they don't want you to be disturbed. Has something terrible happened to you, Laura? Have you remembered something horrible? Is that why they brought you up here?"
I told him what had happened with Doctor Scanlon and what he wanted done with me and why.
"I don't see why that meant you had to be brought up here," Lawrence commented.
"Neither do I. I want to go back downstairs, be with people, move about on my own."
"Did you tell him that?"
"Yes, but he keeps saying they're doing this to protect me, to ensure that I don't hurt myself."
"I don't know why they can't protect you downstairs just as well," Lawrence said. I nodded.
"Anyway, at least I know where you are now. I'll come up to see you as much as I can, but it will have to be at night. If I get caught, they'll lock me up someplace, too, or ship me away like Megan."
"I can't believe you got up here. You know everything about this clinic," I said. He was barely visible in the dim light from the hallway, but I saw him smile.
"I've been here long enough to know every corner of the place," he said. "Are you going to be all right?"
"I'm scared,-Lawrence," I said, holding on to his hand. "I don't want to be here, but I'm frightened of putting up too much of a fight. What if Doctor Scanlon's right? He's the head doctor, isn't he? They said even Doctor Southerby learned from him."
"I don't know, but I don't want you to be frightened, Laura," Lawrence said softly. He rose and brought himself closer to me. I knew what courage it took for him to come up to see me, how much of his own problem he had to have overcome.
"Thank you for coming up here, Lawrence. I want you to know that it means a lot to me that you snuck up to see me."
"I couldn't sleep, thinking about you and worrying about you," he said.
We heard footsteps in the hallway.
"Someone's coming," I whi
Moments later, the door opened and Mrs. Roundchild stood silhouetted in the hallway light. She stared in at me. I closed my eyes and waited, praying she wouldn't come in. She stood there for the longest time and then she left, closing the door behind her. Neither Lawrence nor I spoke or moved until we heard her footsteps die away. Finally he got to his feet.
"That was close," I said. "You'd better go."
"All right."
I started to sob. I didn't want him to go. I felt more secure, more at ease with him holding my hand. He leaned toward me again and I touched his face. His lips drew closer and closer until they met mine. It wasn't so much of a kiss as it was a brush of lips and a sigh.
"I wish I could stay here with you all night," he whispered. "I wish I could put my arms around you and hold you and protect you from your own fearful thoughts. When I'm with you like this, I don't think about myself and I don't get panicked, Laura. I need to be with you as much for myself as for you," he admitted. "We're good for each other, Laura."
"I don't think I'm good for much right now, Lawrence. I'm no better than an invalid. I can't even get off the bed to go to the bathroom."
"You'll get better and get better. You'll see," he promised.
"You've been so nice to me, Lawrence. I'm glad we got to know each other," I said.
"I hope we can get to love each other," he followed quickly. I think the darkness made him brave. It brought a smile to my face.
He held his face close to mine for another moment and then he kissed me again, only this time, he held his lips to mine longer and made it into a real kiss.
I moaned softly, desperate for a loving touch, for affection.
He kissed me again, moving his lips over my cheeks and back to my lips. Then he kissed my forehead and held me.
"Robert," I said softly, my cheek against his chest. "What did you say?" He pulled back. I opened my eyes. "What's wrong?" I asked quietly.
"I thought you called me by another name just now. I thought you said Robert."
Neither of us moved a muscle.
I searched my thoughts and waited, but it was as if a dark cloud had suddenly appeared, shutting away the light and enveloping me in darkness once again.
"I don't know," I said, frustrated. "I don't understand." I started to cry. "You see, Doctor Scanlon is right. I am disturbed, too confused to be on my own."
"Don't, Laura. Please." He kissed away a tear.
We heard the sound of a cart being wheeled in the hallway and we waited until it passed my room.
"You'd better go," I whispered.
"I'll be back tomorrow night," he promised. He kissed me again. "Good night, Laura."
"Good night," I said. He held my hand until he started away and had to let go. I watched him walk to the door and peer out. Then he was gone.
Moments afterward, alone in the dark and quiet room with only my thoughts for companionship, I had to wonder. Had I dreamed Lawrence's visit or had he really been here?
In the morning, I realized I must have cried most of the night in my sleep because my pillow was soaked with my tears. I knew my dreams were full of sadness, but I couldn't remember the details of a single one. It was as if everything had been written in the sand and as soon as I woke, the ocean came up and washed out each and every word, carrying them back to the depths of the sea. There was nothing to do but start all over.
A different nurse's aide brought me my breakfast. She was just as closemouthed as Clare and seemed even more afraid of doing anything wrong. All I learned about her was her first name, Della. She was a heavy black girl with very pretty ebony eyes. She wore her hair very short, which made her look even chubbier than she was, I thought. She emptied the bedpan, gave me fresh water, and helped me wash.
"When can I take a bath or a shower? These sponge baths aren't enough."
"I don't know," she said. "You have to ask the nurse."
Just like Clare, Della avoided looking at me most of the time she was in my room. It made me feel as though I were ugly, a hideous creature that no one could bare to look at.
Doctor Scanlon finally appeared late in the afternoon. He gazed at my chart and then pulled a chair up beside the bed.
"I see that you had a restful twenty-four hours. That's good," he commented.
"Restful? I woke with a soaked pillow and my arms and legs are chaffed from all the tossing and turning I did against these straps. Please take them off. Please," I begged.
He considered.
"All right. I'll trust you to watch yourself." He scribbled something on his pad. "Now, tell me about your memories. How are we doing on that score?"
I described my visions, the ones I could remember. He seemed to tiptoe gently about the descriptions I gave him of the ocean, the waves, the hand coming up.
"Your memory is returning, Laura. We're handling this right. I'm more convinced than ever. Continue to cooperate, take your medication, and let your mind feel at ease enough to permit the past to seep back into your consciousness slowly. It won't be long before you walk out of here," he promised.
"However, with the trauma threatening to make itself heard dramatically and completely, I'd like to increase your medication a bit. Just to play it safe," he added and made another note. "Okay?"
"Okay," I said and he gave me the phoniest smile he had given me yet.
"To reward you for your cooperation, I'm leaving instructions for you to be taken on a short walk through the halls so you get some exercise. How's that?"
"I'd like that," I said. At this point, I thought, I'd like anything that resembled or suggested a normal life.
"We'll do it before it's time for your next dosage of medicine so you can be a little more alert." He rose.
"We're in control of your problems rather than permitting them to be in control of you, and as long as we keep it that way, we're on the right track," he concluded.
Clare returned at the start of the late afternoon shift and announced that she had been instructed to take me for a short walk. For that purpose, I was given a light blue cotton robe and a pair of cotton slippers. She undid my restraints and helped me put on the robe and slippers.
"Maybe this will help your appetite, too," she commented, noticing how much food I had left over from lunch. Then she bit her lip as if she had said something blasphemous.
"I hope so," I said. "It's not because the food is terrible. I'm just not hungry," I added quickly, imagining the same people prepared the food for the Tower floor.
She helped me to my feet. I was shaky at first, but as I took one step and then another, my blood began to circulate and I felt stronger. We left the room and paused in the corridor.
It was very different up on this floor. The hallway was just as immaculate, but there were no paintings, no chairs, and the windows were covered with heavy drapes that blocked out all signs of the sun. I noticed also that there were very few rooms at the far end of the hall. Instead, there was a glass double door through which I saw Mrs. Roundchild talking with another nurse. To my right was a sharp turn in the corridor.
"What's around that way?" I asked.
"At the very end of this corridor is the Zombie Ward," Clare said.
"Zombie Ward?"
"The patients in there don't talk except to scream or cry. Many of them just sit or stand for hours staring at nothing, shaking their arms or their heads madly. They've got to be fed and washed all the time. There are young people in there who took too many drugs and burned out their brains," she added.
"How horrible."
"You're lucky compared to them," she said.
We walked in that direction. After a while, Clare lessened her hold on me and I took stronger steps. When we made the turn, I looked down the hallway and saw there were glass doors there, too. I could make out some patients sitting in chairs and a couple of young women standing.
"I'm not supposed to take you that far," Clare said, nodding toward the glas
Suddenly, from a room on our right, we heard a loud crash, the sound of a bedpan slamming to the floor and then a shrill scream.
"Oh no, it's that Sara Richards again. Just wait here," she ordered, and went into the room. I continued to walk toward the doors.
As I drew closer, I thought I saw a familiar face. It intrigued me and I sped up until I was only a few feet from the doorway and could look through the windows. There, standing with her wrists all wrapped in bandages and staring at the doorway, was Megan. Her mouth was open, drool seeping out and down the sides. Her eyes were wide but vacant.
"Megan?" I whispered.
Clare came up beside me quickly and grabbed my elbow.
"You can't be down here. Come on, let's go back, Laura."
"But that's a friend of mine from downstairs, Megan Paxton. I thought she was being moved to some other hospital. What happened to her? She looks terrible."
"I don't know, but if she's in there, it wasn't good. Please, let's get back before Mrs. Roundchild catches us and gives me double demerits. When you reach ten, they fire you. Come on, Laura," she urged and turned me.
I looked back as we walked.
Megan seemed to recognize me. She lifted her arms and held them up and then, I thought she screamed. I couldn't hear anything. Maybe she wasn't making any sounds, but she was trying to scream. A nurse moved to her quickly and directed her into a room and she was gone.
"Megan," I murmured.
"You have to get back into your bed now," Clare said as we rounded the turn and headed toward my room. Mrs. Roundchild was gazing our way suspiciously. "Poor Megan," I said.
And then I wondered, could that happen to me? Would end up on the Zombie Ward, too? Maybe no one gets better here. Maybe they all just end up locked away in the Zombie Ward. Or worse.
"Time for your medicine," Mrs. Roundchild said, bursting into the room moments after Clare had helped me into bed. She thrust the cup of pills at me.
"I don't need them. I want to try to sleep tonight without them," I said.