The Beckoning of Broken Things (The Beckoning Series) (2 page)

She sets a card
board box on the desk. She fills a paper cup up with water from the blue and white dispenser in the corner.

She hands it to me and I gulp it down and
scrape my tongue up off the floor. “More, please.”

She wanders over to a small ‘fridge in the corner and takes out an ice tray. She twists it and ice chips fall into a tiny stainless steel sink. She scoops up a handful and puts them in the glass. “Here,” she says, thrusting the cup into my hand. “Suck on these. We have to moderate your fluid intake. These drugs can make you thirsty.”

No kidding.

“If you drink too much fluid, diarrhea can result.”

Is she making this stuff up?
I stare at her, shocked. It’s either dry to a crisp from the inside out or dry up through expulsion on the toilet. Either way, I’ll be dehydrated.
Whatever. I’ll take what I can get and flush this garbage from my system.

The therapist stands behind her desk, looking very pleased with herself. “Here we are. You’ll see that everything is here.” She pries open the cardboard flaps and pulls out several gallon size baggies.

“Oh, jeez, that’s not how you store fine jewels,” I protest. “I’m sure they’re insulted.”

“
You’re sure who is insulted?”

“The jewels. They’re not used to plastic surroundings.”

Her mouth falls into a crisp line like a Marine’s salute. “First, inanimate objects can’t think or feel. Second, we’re not a jeweler’s, Ms. Engles. This is a hospital.”

For nut jobs like me. Just say it.

“It’s a place for people with issues to heal.” She reaches into the box, pulls out a baggy, and spreads the opening wide.

It’s a place for you to drug people
with issues into submission. It’s a place where issues get really big when no one believes you when you say what you are.
I spread my lips wide in a psychotic smile.

She hands me a tangle of red and gold.
The instant my fingers touch the red and gold masterpiece, shaped by long-time family friend and fellow freak Diego Perona, sexual impulses shoot through my veins. This is the piece that I wear around my pelvis. This is a red diamond, one of the rarest diamonds in the world. The light and electricity inside starts to awaken like a jumper cable has been attached to my core. My hands start to shake. I drop the diamond on the desk like it’s red hot. It’s me that’s hot, however. I could blow this therapist’s mind if I let it flow. Crack her sanity until she was the one sitting in my place. “Good, good. That’s good,” I say, a little too quickly. “Hand me something else, please.”

She hands me a knot of green and gold. A brilliant emerald is set in the middle of an exquisite, delicate gold cup. When I touch this piece
love pours its cream through my soul.
Daniel.
All the swirls and tendrils that connect us reach out to source him, to find him. They reach through time and space, looking, searching, probing. Longing pulls my eyes closed and draws my mouth apart.
I want my lover. Now.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice intrudes on my search. “Not really.”
I’m sitting in a mental hospital.
“Are you?”

The prim Marine line falls into place
across her face. She fusses inside the box for another jewel. “Here,” she says. “I think this will be the last one we’ll let you hold.”

“And why is that?”

“Clearly, they’re stirring your emotions.”

I shake my head, wondering what’s wrong with having your emotions stirred
, but nothing falls from my mouth. I take the Herkimer diamond earrings. Clasp my fingers around them.
Daniel? Can you hear me?

Marissa.

It sounds like the faintest whisper, reaching into my mind.
Where are you? I can barely hear you?

The
Numina. They’re…

What? They’re what?
I think I’ve sat up straight in my chair.

The therapist eyes me carefully.

Daniel? Where are you?

Justice. They wanted justice for my…

For your what? Daniel? Daniel?
Usually I can hear him loud and clear. These diamonds serve to link our minds. They’re supposedly my training wheels until I learn to communicate mind to mind without them. Now, either the drugs are dulling the ability to hear him or something is very, very wrong.

I’m in a…

In a what? Where are you?

“Ms. Engles, that’s enough.”

Madame Therapist stands and totters over to where I am sitting, no standing, no, I’m pacing around the room. I didn’t even notice getting to my feet.

“Give me the earrings, please.”

I whirl to face her, snarling, “They’re mine. They’re…”
They’re the only way I can connect with my dangerous lover.
Madame Therapist’s face is like a cloud, airy, white, and lifeless. I must be frightening her. I soften. “I’d like to keep them.”

She softens. “No, dear, the studs have points. You can hurt yourself with them. I’m sorry.” She reaches for the diamonds and drops them in the baggy. Slides the seal shut. “We’ll keep them safe for you for when you’re well.”

“What makes you think I’m not well?”

“The delusions.
The rants. The anger. You’ll thank me when you’re well again.” The brittle smile appears one last time and this time, I leave it alone. The drugs have kicked in big time. I can barely keep these iron curtain eyelids from slamming shut. I give up. For now. The therapist is mistaken about who should be thanking whom. She’s probably thanking
me
right in this moment for giving up the fight. In truth, I’ve only just begun to fight.

I wake up surrounded by white – white walls, white window blinds, white hospital grade blanket, white pillow case, white sheets. Little white plastic wristband with my name typed on it.
Engles, Marissa.
White clipboard hanging on the wall with a white plastic pen attached to it, hanging from a white plastic coil. Why is it I always come back to white?

When my parents died and I left my world of color and vibrancy to move in with Aunt Topaz, she literally white-washed any remaining color
still leaking from my soul. Picked up a bucket of strange goo and painted it all over the walls leading from my bedroom, trapping the light and color inside the drywall. She gave me some kind of voodoo, witch magic concoction to remove my Light Rebel abilities and any memory of them until I was just a shell of myself, living in her pale world. Being immersed in white meant losing myself.

When I met with my sorcery trainer
, Tom, in the ether world, we always dropped into a world of white. Being immersed in that white reality meant finding myself. What will this white world hold for me?

As if in answer, the door swings open
, wide. A tall, tall, tall, lanky man dressed in khakis and a blue polo shirt pops into the room, a huge smile on his face. “Ms. Engles?” He holds a blue, plastic rectangular tray with a small paper cup and a larger paper cup.

Drugs. More drugs.
I sigh. I just woke up and already they want to sedate me. I grab the white covers and pull them up to my neck. “Yes, that’s me.”

The man is the color of dark chocolate. His face is
marked with dimples. He looks happy. He looks like something I felt once. He looks alive and passionate and content within himself. I was just starting to find that place inside of me when I was brought here.

“It’s time for your morning cocktail, your morning ablutions
, and then, it’s group therapy time.”

He says that like I should be really, really excited, like I’m a child getting ready to go to the zoo.
I don’t like the sound of any of it. Even the phrase “morning ablutions” sounds like a cold, clinical process instead of a warm, wet welcome into the day. “What if I say no to all three?”

He throws back his head and laughs, like I have said the most amazingly hilarious statement he’s ever heard. He almost makes me smile. Instead, I cock my head and regard him. I don’t think he’s making fun of me. I think he’s just happy.

“Don’t look so glum. I don’t bite. I am here to serve.”

“
I’m here against my will. I didn’t ask to be here.”

He nods
and winks, as if we’re in on a conspiracy. “You know that and I know that. But I still have a job to do.” He holds out the tiny paper cup. It looks like a thimble in his big, beefy hand.

“Am I just supposed to take this without knowing what it is?” I ask.

“No one has explained these medications to you?”

I shake my head in negation.

“Your therapist, Dr. Beasley, was supposed to fill you in during your orientation.” He frowns.

“Is that what last night was?”

He nods.

“Didn’t happen.”

The huge smile returns. “One quick second then.” He whirls and exits like a strong wind.

I sigh, push back the covers, get up
, and wander into my sterile bathroom. I hate this place. It reminds me of living with Aunt Topaz. I pull down my cotton pajama bottoms and plunk onto the toilet to relieve myself. My tongue feels like it is wearing a woolen overcoat, courtesy of the drugs. I stick it out and examine it in the mirror. It’s coated with a strange greenish substance, like mold.
Why did they position the mirror so I can watch myself on the toilet?
This is a strange, strange place. I don’t belong here. I don’t know where I belong. Where do Light Rebels normally hang out?

All Smiles
returns, big grin in place. I see him through the partly open bathroom door. He is followed by Madame Therapist, now known as Dr. Beasley. Dr. Beasley seems as prim as All Smiles is happy. “Ms. Engles?” he asks. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh huh. If you can call being in a mental hospital
okay.” I wipe, flush, and stand, fluffing my long brunette hair with my fingers. Brushes are probably forbidden here.
I could poke my eyes out with the bristles. Right. Like that would help me escape.
I exit the bathroom and stand before them.

We all look at one another.
All Smiles beams. Dr. Beasley frowns. I stare.

Dr. Beasley clears her throat and begins. “Matthew mentioned that you’re concerned about your course of drugs.
”

Matthew. So that’s his name.
I’m going to stick with All Smiles.
“So, I’m on a course of drugs? Not just one, but a whole course?”

She clears her throat again. “
We’re the experts here. It seemed wise. It seemed like the best way to proceed based on your symptoms.”

I shake my head.

Dr. Beasley smiles. It’s the first time I’ve seen a genuine smile on her face. “Our job, Ms. Engles, is to determine the best course of treatment for someone such as yourself.”

“What does that mean? For someone psychotic?” I stomp over to the bed and sit down.

Dr. Beasley follows. “No, dear, for someone who presents…” She looks to Matthew for guidance.

All Smiles
beams at me. “We get a lot of people in here, Ms. Engles. Some of them are quite ill when they arrive. We have a good track record at making sure they are back in the wellness boat when they leave. You’ll be one of those, I’m certain.”

My face crumples
in consternation.
Where do they come up with these terms?
“What the hell is the wellness boat? Do I get to go on a cruise when I get out of here?”

All Smiles laughs heartily. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just meant that…” He looks to Dr. Beasley and
tosses the conversation back to her like a well-trained quarterback.

“He just meant that our methods work. You’ll be pleased when we’re done.”
She nods.

“I’ll be pleased when I get out of here, that’s for certain. Now tell me about this ‘course.’ I might
skip it and get right to dessert.” I smile at my touch of humor.

All Smiles suppresses a chuckle.

“Well,” Dr. Beasley begins. Her eyes dart left. They dart right. They focus on my face. “We’ve started you on Haloperidol.”

My jaw drops to the floor.
I have to wrench it up to speak. “Are you kidding me? That’s for people with schizophrenia. I did an ad campaign for the Seattle Psychiatry group.”
When I had a job, at least. I worked for PS Publishing before I was kidnapped. I designed ads and websites. Since I’ve returned from Brazil and landed here, I imagine that job is history.

“Not always,” Dr. Beasley responds.
She smiles and smoothes her skirt. Today, it is a brown tweed skirt. The woman must have a lot of tweed in her closet.

“Yeah,” I scoff. “It’s also used for psychosis, Alzheimer’s
, and Tourette’s. I assure you none of those are affecting me.”

“You were hearing voices when you came in.
”

I was listening to Daniel before my earrings were taken.

“And suffering from delusions.”

I’ve been processing the reality of being a supernatural woman who can make things from nothing
and who can stab undead dead things back to where they came from.

“
This is…” She looks to All Smiles again for support. “This is for the best. You’ll need to let us know if you experience weight gain, a decrease in sexual ability or interest, problems with menstrual periods, sunburn, or skin rashes. Also, watch out for nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, dry mouth, nervousness, spontaneous eye movements, mood changes, breast enlargement, difficulty urinating, and occasional movement disorders.” She smiles, nods, and waits for me to respond.

She sounds like a commercial.
I roll my eyes.

“
We’ve already started you on a low dose of Carbamazepine to stabilize your mood.”

“What, the mood I’m in over being put in here?”
I have got to get out of here. I’ve got to get Sober Dober, find Daniel, and deal with Aunt Topaz and Armando Navid.

“Okay, then. We’re set. Matthew?” Dr. Beasley seems to think we’ve accomplished something here.

He hands me the little cup again. There are two pills lying innocuously on the bottom.

I feel like Alice in Wonderland.
Here goes. Just until you can figure out a plan, Engles.
I swallow, smile my new psychotic smile, and wait for them to leave.

“I’ll be just outside. Get
showered and dressed, and I’ll take you to breakfast. Then, off to group therapy we go. You’re going to like it.” All Smiles beams again.

Dr. Beasley has already made her exit. I look over at him and purse my lips. “I really don’t think I’m going to like group therapy any more than I like being in here at all.” The drugs are already having an effect. “But I’ll go. What choice do I have?”

“None at all, Ms. Engles. None at all,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Oh, there’s always a choice. I just don’t know what it is right now.