Something had gone terribly wrong at The Dragon when she’d lived there, something much worse than one prank phone call and a fall that might not have been an accident. If she ever wanted to move past this, she’d have to learn the truth. She plugged the address into her phone’s map and headed east.
She survived the drive on coffee and determination. By late afternoon, Allison was nearing her destination. As soon as she took the exit off the interstate, she knew she was in money country. The houses were large and hidden behind high walls and old trees. The streets were clean, the sidewalks were in excellent repair and the children she saw getting out of school were being picked up by well-heeled parents and nannies who drove shiny SUVs. McQueen had said Antonio was in a private hospital. Those didn’t come cheap. She found her way to the road, which seemingly led straight into a forest. Once she passed through the outer perimeter of thick tall trees, she saw she was driving not through a forest but a park surrounded by forest. The signs that warned her not to drive more than eight miles per hour weren’t the ordinary black-and-white metal sorts on every city street in America, but elegant wooden signs, painted in cheerful colors.
The winding path went on so long, Allison wondered if she’d ever find the hospital. Then she saw it, the prettiest hospital she’d ever seen. It looked like an old English manor house. The exterior was gray stone with dark wood support beams here and there, possibly decorative. It was a three-story hospital, far wider than it was tall. She counted twenty windows in the top row, and that was just the front of the building. She could tell it stretched on far back into one or two other wings. The lawns were extensive and neatly manicured. People in regular clothes walked the paths in the park. The only signs that this was a mental hospital and not a posh private home were the abundance of people in wheelchairs and the dozen or so security guards keeping a close eye on the people taking their afternoon strolls.
Allison found the visitor parking section and went through the front doors to find the reception desk. Even inside, it looked like a luxurious private home. Everywhere she looked she saw comfy armchairs, cozy rugs, fireplaces and fine art on the walls. Soothing classical music played in the background. Was this a hospital or a boutique hotel?
Yet for all its surface beauty, nothing could completely disguise the building’s purpose. A woman in a white robe sat silent and still in a wheelchair that was parked near a window. With glazed eyes she gazed out at the park. From behind a heavy set of double doors Allison heard a low hopeless keening. A patient suffering? Or a heartbroken visitor?
Tucked away in the corner of the lobby was a grand U-shaped desk with a woman in a crisp white nurse’s uniform, a stack of files at her elbow.
“Welcome to Fairwood,” the nurse said from behind the desk. “How can I help you?”
“My name is Allison and my foster brother is a patient here. I was hoping I could see him. Antonio Russo.”
The nurse’s eyes widened slightly, as if Allison’s request was unusual. Then she politely held up her index finger to indicate this would take a moment before she disappeared into another room.
The nurse returned shortly, wearing a smile.
“I apologize for the wait,” the nurse said. “He’s never had any visitors before, so I was under the impression he wasn’t allowed any. But he is, I’ve been assured, so we’ll have an orderly come and take you to him. I’ll just need to see your ID and have you sign in.”
Allison had to sign more paperwork than when she’d bought her car. She barely read the forms she signed. They all seemed to be full of legalese. She had no intention of suing the hospital if a patient up and decided to throw a punch at her. She wasn’t scared of sick people. If she’d been living in a hospital for fifteen years like Antonio, she might feel like throwing a punch or two herself.
A young orderly in blue scrubs arrived shortly thereafter and led her through double doors into the main wing. She’d thought that behind the doors she’d find where the money ran out and the elegant lobby would reveal itself as a front for the cold, metal-barred institution she’d been expecting. But it wasn’t the case. Even behind the ward doors, it looked like a five-star hotel. The floors were dark wood and freshly polished. Windows let in light and the few rooms she could see into looked homey and warm. No bare cots in sight.
“This place must be expensive to stay in,” Allison said to Michael, her orderly escort. He gave her a tight smile.
“I’m just glad I work here,” he said. “I couldn’t afford to live here.”
“I guess it’s where rich people go when they get sick?”
Michael nodded, then lowered his voice. “Rich or important,” he said. “Safe to say we don’t take Medicaid.”
Allison had to wonder how Antonio’s family was able to pay for a place like Fairwood. She knew from personal experience rich kids didn’t go into foster care. At least, none of the kids she ever met in the system came from wealthy families. If the kid had money, there was a relative somewhere willing and ready to take them in. Did the same person who paid for Kendra’s house pay for Antonio’s stay here? Was that person Dr. Capello? Allison hated to think so, but she couldn’t deny it was the most likely answer.
Michael led her through another set of double doors into a narrower hallway and another wing.
“It’s quiet in here,” she said, glancing around. The silence was far more eerie than the noises of the other wards.
“This is the wreck ward,” he said in a low voice.
“Rec ward? Like recreation?”
“No, with a W. Wreck. Surgical wrecks. Mostly PVS patients.”
“PVS?”
“Persistent vegetative state. PVS sounds nicer than calling them vegetables. Wreck doesn’t sound very nice, either, but that’s what the docs call them.”
“So Antonio’s considered a wreck?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know? You’re his sister, right?”
“Foster sister. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” She hoped Michael wasn’t good at spotting lies. “Is Antonio...is he a PVS patient, too?”
“Tony? No. He’s here because something went wrong during a childhood brain surgery. Doc either cut too much out or didn’t cut enough. His mind wanders a lot and he’s got impulse-control issues now, which is why we have to keep him mostly sedated and in restraints. He’s a sweet kid, really. Can’t help himself. But keep a little distance from him, for your own sake.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
He pointed at a door, dark wood, like the hallway. Michael knocked, and when there was no answer he scanned a key card on a panel, opened the door and went inside ahead of her. Allison peeked in and saw Antonio lying on his side away from her in a hospital bed. The room was bare of knickknacks or flowers or anything personal at all. Antonio wore gray sweats and white socks and what looked like cloth shackles on his ankles.
“It looks like a prison cell,” she whispered to Michael.
“His room and board is paid for. No money left over for decorating,” he said. “You can go in. He’s awake.”
“You sure it’s okay?”
“Tony’s good,” he said. “Just remember what I said.”
“Keep a little distance.”
“That’s right. Buzzer is by the door when you’re ready to leave. I’d say no more than fifteen minutes with Tony. He might not stay awake for you that long, anyway.”
“Is there anything else I need to know about him?” she asked. “I didn’t know he was here until today. I don’t want to upset him or hurt his feelings or anything.”
Michael gave her a kind but almost patronizing smile.
“He says anything and everything on his mind. Don’t take it personally. But as for hurting his feelings, he’s been stuck here most of his life,” he said. “And he’s probably going to die in here. You can’t hurt him more than life has.”
Michael held open the door for her and Allison went inside.
Nervously, she walked around the hospital bed until she stood three feet from where Antonio lay facing the open window.