Finding Alice (28 page)

“Good job,” she tells me. “You should do that again this afternoon. And again later this evening. You’ll be surprised at how much easier it will be each time.”

I find this hard to believe, but I nod as if I do before I close my eyes and try to find one part of my body that isn’t racked with pain. Then it occurs to me, when I am in this much physical pain, my brain seems to function better. I wonder how this can be. But it reminds me of when I was dancing at the Christmas party, how it helped me not to worry so much. I find this interesting. I also find it interesting that I am still talking to God. I’m not entirely sure this is a good thing, but I finally told Faye about it, and she encouraged me to keep it up.

“He wants us to talk to him, Alice. He wants to be our best friend. He’s always listening, and he knows how to fix things.”

I hope she’s right. And it does seem to make me feel better. Yet
at the same time I am getting this eerie feeling that I am special again—
chosen
. I have been remembering the golden key and all the things I wrote down. I wanted to ask my mother about my notebooks when she was here yesterday, but I didn’t want to make her suspicious. I must keep these things under wraps for now. It’s weird, but even the accident seems to play a part in this, like God has done something miraculous with me, allowing me to face death and yet survive.

But here’s the weirdest part. I really tried not to think anything of it at first, but it seems to be getting clearer with each day. When I first came out of my coma a few days ago, Dr. Spangler asked me a bunch of questions for her medical form. One of the questions was “When did you have your last period?” Well, I had to really think about that, and the honest truth was that I couldn’t remember. It seemed like it had been months ago. So then she asked if I was on the pill, but I told her no.

“Is this normal for you?” she asked, glancing over her clipboard.

“Normal?” I echoed, wondering how that word applied to my life.

“Do you normally skip a month here and there?”

I shrugged, unsure as to what the correct answer might be.

“Could you possibly be pregnant?” she asked without even blinking.

I think I laughed at this and said something about “immaculate conception.” But since then I have been seriously wondering. Is it possible that God has given me a baby? Maybe it happened during that peaceful time during my coma. I’m just not sure. I must admit this idea seemed completely ridiculous at first, but not so much now. How would I possibly explain something like this to my mother? Or
even Faye? I’m afraid they would think one of two things—that I am crazy or that I am promiscuous. Neither scenario appeals much to me. So for the time being I will keep my mouth shut.

I wake up this afternoon to discover Dr. Golden standing by my bed. I blink in surprise, thinking he’s simply an apparition that will disappear if I’m patient, but he is still here. Now I wonder if this is a social or professional visit.

“Hi, Alice,” he says. “I was just visiting with Simon and thought I’d stop in and say hello. Last time I saw you, you were pretty out of it.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” I remind myself that this is Simon’s boss and good friend and that it’s highly possibly he is here to try to uncover what I did to cause that wreck.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I say quickly.

He smiles, it seems to himself, as he sits in the chair by my bed. “In the psychiatry world we say that
fine
is an acronym for something not so fine.”

It takes me a moment to remember what an acronym is, but then I say, “What do the letters stand for?”

“Foolish. Insecure. Neurotic. Egotistical.”

I feel my brows lift. “That sounds fairly accurate.”

This makes him laugh. “I figured as much.”

For some reason his demeanor makes me want to relax, to let down my guard, but this disturbs me, and I try even harder to stay on my toes. “How’s Simon?” I ask, hoping to deflect the attention from myself. So much for egotistical.

“He’s much better. But he really wants to get out of traction, poor guy. And his leg is itching something fierce.”

“I’m sorry.” I look down at the corner of blanket that I am steadily wadding into my hand.

“Yes, so am I.” Then he pauses, and I feel his eyes on me. “You know it’s not your fault, don’t you?”

I look up and stare at him without saying anything. I wonder what he’s getting at. Does he know something I don’t know?

“I’m guessing that you are blaming yourself for the accident.”

“Why?” I ask, but even
I
can hear the defensiveness in my voice. “Why would I do that?”

“I guess that would be the egotistical part.”

“Huh?”

“You think you have control over things like that. Perhaps you get scared or think something bad will happen. And then when it does, you take responsibility for it. As if you have some supernatural powers.”

I stare at him and wonder if
he
has some supernatural powers. How else would he be able to read my mind like this?

“But you need to know, Alice, the accident was
not
your fault. Simon has told me he was going a bit fast down the hill that night. He said he’d had such a good time at the party that he’d forgotten about the icy conditions. He’d had only one glass of wine, but he places some responsibility on that, too. Poor Simon swears that he will never drink again.” Dr. Golden shakes his head. “I don’t really think that had anything to do with it, but just the same it makes me feel a little guilty for being the host that night.”

I can’t believe that Simon is blaming himself or even that Dr. Golden feels somewhat responsible. But somehow this comforts me.

“I really believed it was my fault,” I confess. “I couldn’t remember
why exactly, but I felt certain that I must’ve said or done something to cause it.”

He nods. “I understand. But you need to keep telling yourself that it’s not so, Alice. You have some control in the way that you think.”

I shake my head now. “I’ve heard Simon say that, but I find it pretty hard to believe. I mean you haven’t been inside my head, Dr. Golden. You have no idea the kind of stuff that goes on in there.” I glance around the room now. “Or out here, for that matter. My reality is different from other people’s. I think I just have to accept that.”

He rubs his beard. “Some of that is true. You’re right. We all have our own realities. But sometimes there are interfering factors—things that skew your reality. And you need to deal with those factors in order to live a functional and productive life.”

“Deal with them?” I remember Pastor John’s way of dealing with them through exorcism. Or Dr. Thornton’s prescriptions to dull my perceptions into a stupor. “How exactly do you suggest I deal with them?”

“I think you’ve already made some good progress, Alice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the way that you are able and willing to talk about your psychosis with a fair amount of clarity.”

“My psychosis?”

“Yes, the things that are happening to you that aren’t real. The voices and whatnot. You are able to talk about these things, and you can sometimes differentiate between what is real and what is not. Am I correct?”

“I’m not sure.” I consider telling him my latest, my immaculate-conception theory, but think better of it.

“I’m not saying that you’ve got this thing beat.” He sighs. Is it in exasperation? “The truth is, I am concerned for you, Alice. I feel you need some serious treatment.”

“Serious treatment?”
Now I am imagining electroshock, straitjackets, restraints, hypodermic needles, perhaps even brain surgery.

He smiles. “I mean
good
treatment, Alice. Some good counseling, group therapy, and, yes, perhaps some meds if needed but only to get you stabilized.”

“You think I’m unstable?”

“What do you think?”

I look away.

“Alice, I know that I told you we have a yearlong waiting list, and it’s true; we most certainly do. But I’ve been discussing this with Simon, and I’d like to see if we can make an opening in the treatment center for you. If you’re interested, that is. Remember, we only take residents who
want
to be there. The Golden Home is only for people who truly want to get well, people who are willing to take an active part in the healing process.”

I’m not sure what to think about this. Before the accident, an offer like this would’ve made me run fast—in the opposite direction—but so much has happened since then. I just don’t know how to respond. But I know I won’t commit to anything. If anything, I will try to appear cooperative and interested. Anything to get him off my case and out of here. I can see Amelia lurking like a shadow over by the bathroom. Has she come to protect me, to warn me? I think I’ve actually missed her a little. Then I notice the dark, skeptical expression on her face. She doesn’t need to say a word. I know what she’s thinking.

“I realize you’ll need to give this some thought, Alice. Perhaps you’ll want to discuss it with your family. I just wanted to let you know that we would consider making this exception.”

“I appreciate it,” I manage to say, diverting my eyes from Amelia. He is standing now. “Well, give it some thought. Talk to Simon about it. He can tell you more about our program. You might even want to come up and look around. See what happens on a daily basis.”

“Oh, sure,” says Amelia. “Do go in and see, Alice.” Then she laughs in her harsh, sarcastic way. “And see if you ever walk out of there again.”

My heart begins to race as I imagine myself in captivity again. I want to tell Amelia that this place might be different. If the patients—rather residents—are allowed to come and go at free will.

“Don’t be a fool, Alice. Can’t you see this is just an elaborate hoax?” She rolls her eyes, then turns abruptly away.

Now, I realize that Dr. Golden is speaking to me again, but I’ve totally missed it. “I’m sorry,” I say.

He smiles. “I was just saying that Julie sends her best. She said to tell you that she’s been praying for you.”

“Praying?”

He nods. “Yes, we believe prayer is an integral part of the healing process. Connecting with God is vital to good mental health. But I know it’s not always easy.”

“God can be pretty confusing.”

“I realize this. But it’s just one of the many things we try to work through at our facility. I think you’ll find we have quite a unique approach,” he says. “I hope you’ll give us a chance to help you, Alice. We think you’d fit in well.”

I thank him again and watch in relief as he leaves. Why is he so persistent? What’s in it for him? He must know I have no money. Does he run a prostitution ring? Or sell body parts on the black market? Oh, I know those thoughts are preposterous, at least part of me does, and I hate being so suspicious, but it’s just the way I am. What can I do?

“He wants your baby,” whispers Amelia. I didn’t realize she was still in the room. “You’re absolutely right to suspect him, Alice. He has ulterior motives. Dr. Golden knows that you are carrying God’s child. And he wants to keep you in his prison until the baby is born. Then he will steal your baby and kill you.”

I try to convince myself that this is totally absurd. That Amelia is crazier than I am or simply part of my “psychosis,” as Dr. Golden might say. Despite my arguments, her words seem to have the ring of truth. After all, she’s been right before, and like the seed that is planted in my womb, her words are planted in my mind.

chapter
THIRTY

The White Knight

I
am mostly convinced now that I am not to blame for the car accident. As a result I finally persuade myself to pay Simon a visit. I know that I still look pretty awful, but I wonder why I should even care. I brush my hair, apply some lip balm, and slowly make my way to his room.

“Alice,” he says when he sees me, “I thought you’d never come.”

“I’m sorry.” I shuffle over to his bed and look at him. We look amazingly alike in our colorful patchwork covering of bruises and lumps. Only he doesn’t have a long scar across his forehead like I do. He looks like he’s wearing a partial coat of armor with his long casts on one arm and one leg. Like half of a white knight.

“No, I’m the one who should apologize,” he tells me. I see tears form in his eyes, and I notice he’s not wearing his glasses. “I am so very sorry, Alice. I can’t believe that I almost killed you that night. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Of course, I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault, Simon.”

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply. “I think it was. I wasn’t being very careful, and I’d had that glass of wine, and—”

“But one glass, Simon. I just don’t see how …”

He opens his eyes and looks into mine. “I don’t know why it happened, Alice, but I know that I wasn’t driving carefully enough. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’m just so relieved that you forgive me. You have no idea how worried I was that you’d be angry or hold this against me. Who would blame you?”

I consider telling him how I thought it was all my fault, but somehow I’m not sure I can even begin to explain this. It makes so little sense to me now. And yet it seemed so real just a few days ago. I wonder how that can be.

“I hear they are going to release you,” he says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I know Faye would be glad to have you back.”

“Yeah. She’s probably my first choice.”

“What about the Golden Home?” I can sense the hesitation in his voice, as if he is afraid he will offend me.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

He smiles. “Good. Dr. Golden and I talked about it some. He said he was going to mention the idea to you. It’s such a great place, Alice. You’d really like it there.”

“Maybe.” I look away. For some reason I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Maybe it’s because he looks so vulnerable with his leg strung up like that. I’m not sure.

“Do you have some reservations?” he asks. “I can understand if you’re worried. I remember how you kind of freaked at the Christmas party.” He laughs.