I bit back a curse and started walking past the people in wheelchairs in my path. If Jennifer hadn’t been moved, it meant she was still in the ward for bona fide psychopaths, marked as a danger to herself and those around her. I wasn’t sure why I thought that would change. Perhaps some part of me hoped that in some way she’d made progress in my absence.
The overwhelming odors of piss, shit and vomit were impossible to cover with the best cleansers in the world, and I tried not to gag. It was a short walk to the elevator, and when the doors closed, I breathed a sigh of relief. As I traveled upward, I dry washed my eyelids, begging my body that was exhausted from hours of travel to hold out for a little while longer.
When I finally hit the top floor, I exited the small confines of the elevator. Another desk awaited me, one that I’d have to pass to gain entry into the room of a person they deemed unsafe for the average visitor. The older lady guarding the gates was much nicer than the one on the ground level below.
“Patient?” she asked as she clicked away at her computer.
“Jennifer Cunningham.”
“And you are?”
“Rhiannon Murphy.”
When the woman’s fingers faltered, I knew she was aware of our story. Hell, what had occurred to us had once been on the Primetime News. She was able to pull herself back together fast, which I gave her proper credit for. It wasn’t every day that you meet someone who has survived what my sister and I had.
“You’re all clear. She was medicated recently, so you can visit for an hour.”
Something else I didn’t really want to know, but I didn’t say anything. Jennifer had to be medicated. Otherwise she’d find some way to kill herself.
The steps to her room were some of the longest I’d ever had to take in my life. I remembered making this trip before I left Miami, feeling as if my feet were weighted by sand. It was much the same now. It was ironic, really. Wanting to see someone so badly but being afraid to do so.
When I got to her door, it was slightly ajar. I pushed my way inside, glancing at the right corner of the ceiling where a camera was installed. Jennifer was seated in front of the windows, the blinds pulled up so she could see the sky just beyond her reach. I placed my duffel on her bed before I slowly walked over, forcing my feet to keep going, afraid of the sight that would welcome me.
She had recently been bathed, because her hair wasn’t oily and her face was free of any traces of drool. Unfortunately, there was no shower in the world powerful enough to wipe the blank stare off her face, or the way her eyes were glassed over. Taking a knee in front of her, I carefully placed my fingers over her left hand. Nothing happened. She didn’t move or respond. Much like the last time, she continued staring past me, seeing something I could not.
“Hi Jenny,” I whispered, hoping that somewhere, deep down, she could hear. “It’s me.”
When she didn’t respond, I started talking.
I told her about New York and my life there, excluding my necromancy as I had always been afraid to share my secret with her, terrified it would scare the only person I had left in my life away. When I got to Disco, I revealed how I felt about him, told her how much he’d hurt me, and how afraid I was to go back. I told her everything I couldn’t tell Goose, including the things that had occurred in Disco’s bedroom, which I would never utter to another soul. She remained quiet as I babbled, gazing past me to the sun, her hand limp beneath mine. As my tears came, I let them. There was only one person I’d never been ashamed to cry in front of, and that was the woman seated in a wheelchair in front of me.
After I finished and I was sniffling my own snot, I swiped at my nose. “See, I leave town for a while, and this is what happens. I’m a total fucking mess.”
For a brief moment, I thought I felt her finger move, but when I looked into her face, her vacant expression was the same. It didn’t really matter. I’d returned to see her, and now that I had, I knew it was okay to do so again. She wasn’t an unwanted memory of my past—she was the glue that helped me hold it together.