Crazy Dangerous (26 page)
Jennifer didn’t speak again. But she gestured frantically, pointing away from the front of the building.
I lifted my eyes, followed her gestures. I looked to the rear of the building. There were spotlights back there. They picked small swaths of lawn out of the surrounding darkness, bathing them in their soft glow. They also made it possible to see the brick wall that surrounded the grass. The wall wasn’t high. I thought I could get over it.
Beyond the wall, as far as I could tell, there was nothing but forest.
I nodded once.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Jennifer and I ran off together.
A sprint across the grass. A running leap. I grabbed hold of the top of the wall and, grunting, pulled myself up. As the sirens sounded closer and closer, as the red glow of the police flashers lit up the surrounding forest, Jennifer, barefoot, raced to join me. I sat astride the wall and reached for her as she reached for me. Now her hand was in my hand. I pulled her up. I took one last glance across the lawn at the hospital. I saw aides pouring through the rear doors into the night, passing their flashlights over the back lawn, searching for us.
No time to wait around. I slid off the top of the wall and hung from it, as far down as I could—then dropped onto the forest floor on the other side. Jennifer did the same, but as she landed . . .
“Ouch. Ow!”
The sticks and rocks bit into her bare feet, and she flinched and stumbled, crying out in pain. I knew it was only going to get worse in the forest.
I glanced up at the wall. I could see the flashlight beams piercing the night above it as the aides crossed the lawn, searching. If we were going to escape, we had to go into the woods and we had to go now.
I lifted Jennifer into my arms. I was amazed how easy it was, how light she was. It was like picking up a doll. She put her arm around my neck and rested her head against my chest.
“Sam Hopkins,” she said tenderly.
Oh brother!
I carried her into the forest.
There was no path, but the trees were spaced pretty far apart and the brush was fairly thin. We also got a lucky break from above: the clouds went sailing past and the moon came out. Its light shone down through the bare branches, making it easier to see. It wasn’t hard to make my way through the darkness, even carrying Jennifer.
After a while the ground began to rise. I was gasping for breath by that time and my arms were starting to ache pretty badly. I knew I couldn’t carry Jennifer much farther. I found a small space and set her down. I sat beside her. Looking back through the trees, I couldn’t see anything but moonlit darkness. No one seemed to be coming after us. I figured we had some time.
I took off my sneakers. They were way too large for Jennifer, but I thought my socks might do her some good. I took those off too, and pulled them over her feet to give her a little more protection. As I did this, I felt her watching me with her big eyes. I glanced up and tried my best to smile at her.
“This oughta help your feet a little at least,” I said.
“You’re my only magic friend,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. What are you supposed to answer when somebody says that? “Right,” I said. “Sam, the magic friend, that’s me.”
I put my sneakers back on my bare feet, ready to go. But something else occurred to me now: it was cold out here. I hadn’t noticed it before. When we were running, the motion had kept me warm. But I could feel it now—and I could see the gooseflesh coming up above Jennifer’s wrists. She wasn’t wearing anything but a flannel nightgown, remember.
“Stand up,” I said.
She jumped to her feet as if this were the army and I was a general who had given her a command. I stripped my jacket off and put it around her.
“This’ll keep you warm,” I told her.
“But you’ll be cold.”
“I’ll be fine. My fear will keep me warm.”
She laughed. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard her laugh, and I looked at her in surprise.
“You’re funny,” she said.
“Oh yeah, I’m a laugh riot.”
“You’re good too,” she said then, serious. “No one else helps me. When I’m with you, I feel better.”
“Jennifer . . . a minute ago you were safe in the hospital; now you’re on the run in the forest. I don’t think I’m helping you at all.”
“But you are,” she said. “You are.”
I rolled my eyes again. There was no talking to her. “Let’s go.”
We set off again, moving more slowly now. My guess was that the aides and the police would be in no hurry to go wandering through the forest in the middle of the night. They would do a thorough search of the hospital and its grounds before they came chasing after us. If we were lucky, they might even wait until morning before making a full search. But even if they didn’t wait, I thought we might be able to evade them out here in the darkness of the woods, at least for a while.
So we went on at our own pace. We picked our way through the trees. It was an eerie scene, an eerie place to be. The naked branches stirred above us as the wind rose, their motions strangely rhythmic and alive. The moon dodged in and out of the clouds, sending weird, tangled shadows every which way. The crackle and squeak of the bending wood filled the forest, which was already loud with other noises: night peepers and crickets—and startling bursts of motion as animals and birds escaped from us through the brush. Now and then, there was a distant sound of traffic—a car or truck passing on the road. Once, a freight train let out a lonesome whistle, and my mind went back to how all this began: that desperate race over the rail bridge with Harry Mac after me. Poor Harry Mac.
When I thought it was safe, I paused a moment. I turned on my flashlight and passed it over the scene. The twisted branches and moving shadows went up the hill as far as I could see. I felt very alone, far away from my home, my ordinary life.
Finally, near the top of the rise, we came to a clearing. It was an open circle of ground surrounded by winter oaks. They were big trees with big branches that reached out to one another, creating a lacework canopy above our heads. There was a little brook gurgling along underneath them. As we entered the clearing, the moon came out. The branches of the trees cast dense shadows that moved back and forth hypnotically. The running water of the brook winked and sparkled with the silver light. Then the clouds raced over the moon again and there was only darkness and the whisper of the wind.
“Let’s rest here,” I said.
The moon appeared again as Jennifer sat down on a rock next to the brook. In the dim light I saw her reach her hand into the water and bring it up to drink out of her palm. I turned away, hugging myself and shivering. Now that we’d stopped moving—and now that Jennifer had my jacket—the cold was really beginning to get to me.
I tried to ignore it. I tried to think. All I could think was:
What am I doing here?
Was I as crazy as Jennifer? I had helped her escape from a mental hospital! Where the doctors were taking care of her! Why did I do that? I must’ve been out of my mind. I probably should’ve been in the hospital with her!
I turned and looked at her. She continued to sit on the rock and drink from the spring. She didn’t seem worried or scared at all. Of course not. I was her magic friend. She trusted me. I made her feel better. Which only made
me
feel worse because . . . well, because look what I’d done to her! Was it all for some ridiculous idea I’d gotten stuck in my head? Some stupid notion that Jennifer was having “visions” instead of hallucinations? Was it all just nonsense I’d concocted for some reason?
Boy, if that’s all it was, I was in real trouble now. With the police. With my father and mother. With everyone.
But then I thought:
Well, what if it’s not nonsense? What if I’m right?
Then I had to find out what Jennifer knew, didn’t I? I had to find out what she was about to tell me when the nurse burst in on us . . . That’s why I’d taken her out of the hospital in the first place.
I took a deep breath. I had to try it, anyway.
“Jennifer,” I said.
She looked up at me for a long time as if she were thinking deep thoughts. When she did speak, she spoke very gently. “Sam Hopkins,” she said.
I came toward her. I rubbed my eyes, exhausted, trying to clear my mind. “Jennifer, do you remember what we were talking about in the hospital?”
She looked away again, down at the water. I saw her nod. “I remember.”
“The demons, right?”
She nodded again. “They’re not real, you know,” she said.
I was startled. “They’re not?”
“No. The doctor explained it to me. I have a sickness—in my brain. That’s why I see them. The medicine is supposed to make me better, then they’ll go away eventually.” She raised her face to me, and at that very moment, a single broad beam of moonlight fell through the canopy of branches and touched her. It bathed her pretty, bookish features in silver-white and brought her mournful expression out of the darkness of the clearing. “I hate it, Sam. The sickness, I mean: I hate it so much. I can’t . . . I can’t break through it to be me again.”
It made me hurt to hear her say that, as if someone had reached inside me and grabbed my heart.
What would it be like
, I wondered,
to be trapped inside your own sick mind?
“Maybe the doctors will be able to help,” I said. It sounded pretty lame, even to me, but I had to say something.
“Maybe,” she said sadly. Then her voice broke and she said, “Why did God let this happen to me, Sam?”
I lifted my hands and opened my mouth, but no words came. I didn’t know how to answer her. I tried to think what my dad would say. I said, “I don’t know, Jennifer. Bad things happen in the world, that’s all. It’s like—it’s like the world is broken or something. I know it shouldn’t be like this, but sometimes it is.”
“Does God know I’m still in here? Does God know it’s still me inside?”
“Sure he does! Of course he does! He’s right with you. He’s right there.”
“Because I feel really alone sometimes.”
“You’re not alone.” I moved to her, put my hand on her shoulder. “You’re not, believe me.”
She put her hand on my hand. “I know,” she said. “I guess I know that, but . . . but I’m glad you’re here too. I’m glad there’s someone I can touch and see. You’re my magic friend, Sam.”
It was funny. A minute before, I’d been thinking about how crazy this was, how stupid I’d been to come here, to take her out of the hospital, into the woods like this. But suddenly just then, it didn’t seem crazy or stupid at all. It made sense somehow, as if it was what I was supposed to do. Because I knew how Jennifer felt: even though you know God is with you, it’s easier to feel him there when a friend shows up to be with you too.
So I said, “Yeah. Yeah. That’s right, Jennifer. That’s right. I’m your magic friend.” Because I figured—well, I was.
Jennifer was quiet after that. We both were. I was thinking that maybe I’d gotten everything wrong. Maybe I hadn’t taken Jennifer out of the hospital to talk to her about demons and hallucinations and whatever else. Maybe I’d taken her out just for this, just to tell her she wasn’t alone. Maybe now I should take her back . . .
Then Jennifer whispered: “They have guns, you know.”
I stared at her. I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. “They . . . ? What?”
Suddenly Jennifer jumped to her feet, surprising me so much I fell back a step. She stared at me. “I saw them. I remember now. I saw their guns.”
Now she turned away, still staring, as if she saw something deep in the darkness of the clearing. She started moving. She moved past me into the farther shadows. Her hands were out in front of her, like a blind woman feeling her way in the dark. Her eyes were distant, empty. Her mouth was open, but no words—only a long, slow breath—came out of her. In a daze she walked away, as if I weren’t even there.
“I heard their whispers. In the night. In the dark. In my room. I heard their footsteps. And I followed them.”
I stood there, watching her. I had stopped shivering. If it was still cold, I didn’t notice it anymore. The sight of her—a white shadow moving gracefully around the clearing, reaching for the invisible things she saw in the dark, mesmerized me—made me forget everything else.
“I followed them down the stairs and out the door,” she said. “They went behind our house. They gathered there in the little shed. They whispered to each other. About death. They said, ‘We’re going to bring death on them, then they’ll be afraid . . .’ ”
