As she sat there in the empty kitchen, the silence hit her like a backhanded slap. For some reason she thought of Patrick’s face, and she stood up and went to the sink. Not good to think about him now. She needed to focus.
When she used to wake up like this as a child she would sneak out onto the front steps, hug her knees to her chest, and look at the stars. The stars were always larger and brighter in the country. If she tried very hard, she could find the answers there. The night sky gave her perspective. She would feel impossibly small in a universe of endless planets. Somewhere up among the stars, she felt sure, someone was looking back at her.
At the window now, she leaned over and craned her neck to see if she could see the sky. She felt a moment of numb heat in her palm, before something bit down hard.
She yelped and yanked her hand away from the still-hot coil on the stove, then pressed her palm to her mouth. Already the skin was throbbing. Damn it. Unreasoning anger welled up inside, the product of too much stress and lack of sleep, and as she turned to run her hand under cold water from the tap, her half-full mug of tea slid off the kitchen table and shattered on the floor.
She stood for a few moments in disbelief. Brown liquid had spattered across the linoleum, up the front of the refrigerator and cabinets.
Someone pounded on the floor from the apartment below and shouted at her. She swore to herself and went about cleaning up the pieces of ceramic, being careful not to cut herself on the sharp edges. Otto padded over and licked at the tea with a pink tongue. She grabbed a wet sponge from the sink and wiped all the surfaces down before he made himself sick on milk and sugar.
When she had finished cleaning up the mess, she soothed her burn with an ice cube from the freezer. By then the sky had lightened with the coming dawn.
The day was not off to a very good start. First the dream, then this. Somehow the shattered cup seemed to symbolize where her life had gone. And she still had to come to some sort of decision about Sarah. What was she going to do?
Just because you don’t understand something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. How do you think Isaac Newton felt? Or Ben Franklin?
Okay. All right. But we’re losing track of what’s important here. Inside this hypothetical situation was a very real little girl. A girl who was confused and alone and very probably scared to death. No matter what happened, Jess would not allow a witch hunt. That was far too dangerous.
Perhaps Shelley could help. Jess looked at the clock by her bed. After four; she considered calling anyway. Instead, she dialed Charlie’s number. She was surprised when Charlie seemed to be expecting her. She did not even mention the hour.
“Patrick’s a good boy,” Charlie said. “He may be a little intense, but he’s honest.”
“I know, Charlie, but do you trust him?”
“Absolutely. Listen, you trust yourself, girl. Then let the rest come.”
“Where would I be without your advice?”
“I suppose you’d be happily married to a millionaire.”
“I’d die first.”
She could hear Charlie grinning through the phone. “Well, maybe you’d settle for a slightly mad scientist with a fetish for the paranormal. He’s single, you know.”
“You don’t say. He is kind of cute. I think he’s carrying a torch for someone else, though.”
“Why don’t we all get together for drinks when this is over?
“I’ll think about it.”
She hung up smiling, then thought about climbing into bed for just a few more minutes. Maybe there would be a chance for some honest sleep after all.
—23—
Sarah lay on an examining table, arms and legs hanging limp, eyes vague and unfocused. Straps held down her wrists and ankles; Wasserman had insisted upon them, though they were hardly necessary, Jess thought. They had pumped her so full of tranquilizers it would be a wonder if she could move a finger.
“She’d stopped taking her regular medication,” Dr. Wasserman said from their place by the door, as they watched the young doctor do her work “We found them under her mattress. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”
Jess glanced at him. “I had no idea.”
“That’s how these things happen. The brain is a very delicate thing. The slightest change in chemistry, and you’ve lost all that you’d gained.”
Jess had the feeling that Wasserman was speaking for his own benefit as much as hers. But he seemed to have regained his footing, looking calmer and more self-possessed than the last time she’d seen him. She had expected more resistance from him than she had received; when she had pressed for a fresh opinion on Sarah’s condition, then asked to be present at the exam, he had not only agreed but seemed almost glad to have her. His only requirement was that it occur on-site.
The doctor undid the restraint from Sarah’s right leg, then stretched it and released. Then she tested Sarah’s reflexes lightly, tapping the bottom of her foot with a hammer.
“I want to make something clear,” Wasserman said. “I must admit you seem to have connected with her in some way. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that you’ve gone against my wishes on two separate occasions. I’m only allowing you in here because Jean insisted upon it.”
So that was it. Her urgent phone calls had done some good, after all. Professor Shelley had missed last Thursday’s class, leaving only a note taped to the lecture hall door saying she was ill and giving the week’s reading assignment. Jess had been unable to reach her. She had left several messages on the professor’s machine, but did not know until now whether she had received them.
The doctor looked into Sarah’s eyes with a penlight. She raised Sarah’s lids and lowered them, frowning; flashed the light on and off, on and off. She felt about Sarah’s skull and neck, ran her fingers carefully through the girl’s hair, searching for scars. “We’ll need to do some more scans,” she said. “MRI, EEG, CAT. I want to absolutely rule out a lesion. Are you sure she’s never had a serious fall? Some sort of disease or swelling in childhood, an infection?”
“We’ve tested for all that already, years ago,” Wasserman said. “Do you have a firm medical opinion?”
“Well,” the doctor said, “from what you’ve told me I’d say it was some sort of muscular contractions caused by damage to her temporal lobe. A lesion such as that would explain the schizophenic-type behavior, as well as the seizures. Though I can’t see anything right away that would bear that out… is this level of sedation really necessary?”
“She’s tried to harm herself before. And when I’ve tried to bring her out she’s begun to have the convulsions again. Right now this is the only way I’ve been able to keep her still.”
“All right. It will make testing her more difficult, but not impossible. I’d like to start with the EEG. We’ll look for an abnormal pattern, and then, if nothing shows up, I’d like to go to the GAT scan. Maybe we can uncover a pocket of fluid somewhere that’s causing a pressure.”
They set up an IV glucose drip to deliver a continuous stream or medication and keep her relaxed and docile. Jess requested and received permission to have a cot set up next to Sarah’s bed; for the next several days she left only to go to class, and to go home to shower and feed Otto. She saw Jeffrey during her first visit every morning and evening, when he came through to clean. He would smile at her in that soft, gentle way of his, and it made her feel safe to know he was nearby.