The Girl in the Woods

Maria, apparently realizing for the first time that she had a strand of hair out of place, reached up and tucked it behind her ear.

 

"She woke up inconsolable this morning. She was thrashing and crying out. Mrs. Platcher tried to talk to her. Your mother scratched her face. It was terrible, like she really wanted to hurt Mrs. Platcher. Like she was going for her eyes."

 

 

 

Diana felt the muscles in her stomach contract. She felt sick.

 

"We had to put her in restraints and sedate her. But it didn't do much. She kept thrashing against the restraints so much so that we feared she might hurt herself. We've had patients break bones that way. They can snap a wrist or an arm. I've seen it happen."

 

 

 

Maria looked like she needed Diana to appreciate the gravity of the situation. "I believe you," Diana said.

 

Maria nodded. "So the decision was made to bring her up here, where we have the facilities and the personnel to handle someone in that condition."

 

 

 

Diana knew what that meant. Bigger restraints. Brawnier orderlies. Better drugs.

 

"If your mother's condition improves, then we'll certainly consider moving her back downstairs..."

 

 

 

But she might as well have added, Fat chance of that. Diana understood that these things rarely moved backwards, that her mother had a progressive condition, one that headed in only one direction.

 

"I understand," Diana said. "Thanks. Is she asleep? Can I look in on her?"

 

 

 

Maria cleared her throat. "Well..." She reached up and fiddled with the strand of hair again, even though it was still in place.

 

"What? I can't see her?"

 

 

 

"You can see her. Of course. I would never say you can't see your own mother, even though it is past normal visiting hours..."

 

 

 

"Then what?" Diana said.

 

"Well...we've noticed, some of us on the staff, that your mother's condition seems to worsen whenever she receives a visit from you."

 

 

 

"If you're talking about the other day—"

 

 

 

"It's not just the other day."

 

 

 

Some sort of alarm or call button began to beep behind the nurses' station, a low, insistent whine. After a number of long seconds, a nurse appeared and shut it off, then left again. She didn't even glance at Diana and Maria.

 

"We, the staff and I," Maria said, "think that your mother associates your visits with her missing daughter. She thinks you are your sister, and whenever you are here, she becomes quite agitated. This morning was a good example of that. She kept saying your sister's name, saying that she was in danger."

 

 

 

"I've told you that's a traumatic event for my mother. She hasn't moved past it. She refuses to move past it."

 

 

 

Maria smirked, and Diana knew she'd expressed herself the wrong way.

 

"She's not capable of moving past it," Maria said by way of correction.

 

Diana nodded, trying her best to look appropriately chastened.

 

"The bottom line is that the danger toward your sister is perceived as being quite real for your mother. She's experiencing it on a regular basis as a result of your visits."

 

 

 

"Are you saying I shouldn't come here anymore?"

 

 

 

"We're asking you to visit less frequently for the foreseeable future, until we have the chance to evaluate your mother's condition further."

 

 

 

Diana swallowed. She thought she hadn't been coming enough.

 

"You're asking me not to come at all," she said.

 

Maria started to say something, another euphemistic explanation, but she stopped herself and nodded. "Yes. That's what we're asking."

 

 

 

The nurse who had shut off the alarm returned, a stethoscope draped around her neck, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Diana watched the nurse let out a long breath and wondered why she didn't let one out herself. She had been carrying the burden of her mother with her for so long that to be released from that obligation, even for a short time, should feel like the removal of a giant weight. But in that first moment, Diana couldn't see it that way. She saw it as an abandonment of her mother, and hadn't the woman suffered enough of that in her life already?

 

"Can I see her now? Tonight?"

 

 

 

Maria looked sympathetic. "Sure. She's asleep anyway. You can take a look in."

 

 

 

She led Diana to her mother's new room, a private one with no TV in sight. Diana saw right away that her mother's wrists and ankles were in restraints, even though she was sleeping peacefully.

 

"Is that still necessary?" Diana said.

 

"It is. Until we know she can be calm, she has to stay that way."

 

 

 

Diane approached the bed. She saw the angry red marks on her mother's arms where her body had worked against the restraints. Her fingernails were broken and torn, and her upper lip looked puffy, as though she had been struck.

 

Diana pointed. "Her mouth."

 

 

 

"It happened in the struggle."

 

 

 

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