Dirty Secrets

Part 20

"Coming in?" Ryan asked.

She stepped into the entryway and froze.

"Something wrong?"

"Feels different."

"Same old house. Just glad to have you back in it."

She smiled.

"Felt like you were gone a long time."

"I know. Same."

He took the bags from his daughter's hands and crossed the kitchen to the basement door. He flung the bags down the wooden stairs. 

"Got some other laundry down there," he said and went to the pantry. "Get to it later."

"I can do it."

"I don't even remember if there's laundry detergent down there." 

While he took inventory of the pantry shelves she looked through the entryway into the living room. 

The decades-old couch and her dad's chair were welcoming sights. A short stack of folded newspapers on the coffee table and the vacuum's tracks on the rug were evidence of Ryan's last-minute cleaning efforts before driving to the hospital to pick up his daughter. 

She slid her bag from her shoulder and set it on the kitchen chair while reflecting on her time at the hospital. It had been a frightening and confusing experience. But now, with the benefit of perspective, Lyla re-evaluated. What Doctor Hayden and Matthew said made sense. Traumatic shock could definitely trigger nightmares, hallucinations, and wild imaginings. Totally legit.

Keenan was dead. That was verifiable. Moments before assaulting Lyla, he tumbled into the path of Jack's car. She witnessed his body cartwheeling over the hood. Saw it with her own two eyes. She heard his neck snap when he hit the pavement. 

Lyla persuaded Jack to cover up the accident by hiding the body. Only Jack could confirm that, but she believed that incident, too, really happened. And as far as retrieving Keenan's body and burying it in his family's plot, those memories were indelibly etched in her brain.

But maybe the other nightmarish episodes that had been terrifying her for the past weeks had been self-inflicted. Psychological penance for withholding her secrets. Horrifying evidence that she was losing the battle to suppress the gnawing pangs of guilt. 

Darcy was so right when she said, "Secrets can grow teeth if you hold them in too long." Lyla often felt the sharp teeth of her secrets savagely trying to chew their way out.

But with the proper medication and with continued therapy, gradually things would probably return to normal-ish. She could put all of this behind her and start fresh.

From her shoulder bag, she removed the zippered mini travel bag that contained her prescription medications. The pill bottles rattled.

After a bowl of cereal for dinner, and once she'd taken her evening meds, she curled up in the corner of the couch in front of the television watching "Grown-ish." Occasionally, her dad peeked in, especially when the language got a little raw. He didn't need to say anything. She knew that look. She lowered the TV's volume and snuggled back into the cushions, tucking her feet beneath her legs.

Lyla was awakened by a jostling of her shoulder.

"Let's go. Eight o'clock."

She opened her eyes groggily.

"Come on," said Shaniece. She took Lyla by the hand and dragged her out of bed. "You're gonna miss your meds."

"I didn't get my shower yet."

"You slept through it. We need to go."

At the nurses' station, Natalie lifted a paper cup to her mouth and tossed back the tablets. Shaniece rushed to the window. She swallowed her meds, chasing them down with a gulp of water. It was Lyla's turn. The nurse pushed the paper med cup at her. Lyla's eyes widened. She saw something moving inside the pink and gray capsule.

"Go on," the nurse prompted.

"There's something..."

It looked like a spider with a thick body and short, stubby legs.

"Come on," said the nurse with irritation.

Lyla shook her head.

"You're gonna take your medication. One way or another." The nurse rose from her chair.

"There's something wrong with this pill. Look! There's something moving around." Tears welled in Lyla's eyes.

Strong hands seized her shoulders from behind and yanked her backward. Her head struck the marble floor. Petie pinned her arms. Lyla kicked and wailed. The custodian grabbed her ankles.

"Don't fight, Kitten." He sneered, displaying his crooked yellow teeth.

"No! No!" she screamed.

The nurse knelt beside her, purple rubber mouth props in her hand.

"Open your mouth."

Lyla clenched her mouth shut. The nurse roughly clamped Lyla's nostrils. "I said open your mouth."

Lyla's lungs burned. She needed air. She resisted as long as possible, arching her back and thrashing. Finally, she opened her mouth. In that split second, the nurse jammed a rubber bite stick between her jaws, then shoved the mouth props into the corners of her mouth one at a time.

Tears streamed from Lyla's eyes. She writhed and twisted to no avail.

The nurse picked the pink and gray capsule from the paper cup and held it above Lyla's mouth. The spidery creature wriggled, its legs pushing against the walls of the capsule.

Lyla yanked her head away, her tongue working furiously at the rubber props.

"Hold her head."

Petie straightened Lyla's head.

PLUNK.

Lyla felt the capsule hit the back of her throat. She fought to block it with her tongue, but a flood of water washed it down and began filling her lungs.

She was drowning. In the blackness that followed, she sensed her body rise and drift to the floor. 

When she opened her eyes, Lyla discovered that she was lying on the living room rug, her father patting her back. She coughed and attempted to sit.

"Just lie there for a minute," he said, his voice trembling.

"What happened?"

"I think you were having a seizure."

"I was choking. On something."

He rubbed her back.

"I'm okay now," she muttered. 

He wasn't convinced. "Just be still."