~~~
Winter
~~~
"I just don't think it's true," Dottie said. "You know Jimmy's a liar."
She and John sat beside each other on the table behind his house, bored out of their minds. It was too cold and wet to do much outside—plus they had both decided they were too old to be tramping through the woods anymore—and as his mother had decided to deep clean the house, neither wanted to be indoors either. John had, at first, suggested seeing a movie but neither had any money. So they had no choice but sit on the table and discuss the rumors going around school and be bored.
"Everyone's talking about it," John replied.
Dottie pulled her coat tighter around herself, her breath visible in the cold air. "That don't mean it's true. Let's examine the facts. Jimmy claims he got caught kissing Miss Morrell. No one saw it and the only person who keeps bringing it up is Jimmy, himself." She shook her head. "And if that doesn't all speak for itself, Miss Morrell is seeing someone, or so I've heard, and Jimmy's ugly. Who'd want to kiss him in the first place?" She made a face.
"But he was out of school for a week," John pointed out.
"That don't mean a thing. He was probably just sick and wanted a good story. I bet he's never kissed anyone other than his mother."
John shrugged. He was sure that Dottie was right because she was always right. He sighed as he watched two fat squirrels chase each other up a nearby tree. At least they weren't bored.
"Have you ever kissed anyone?" She suddenly asked.
"Of course." He shot her sideways glance.
Dottie raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? Who?"
"You don't know her."
"What's her name then?"
John hesitated for a moment, his mind racing for a name, any name, but it drew a blank. "Uh... Dottie," he blurted out, the only name that remained at the forefront of his thoughts.
"Her name is Dottie?" There was an overwhelming dose of skepticism in her voice.
"Yes, she has the same name as you."
Dottie stared at him. "I know you're lying."
"Am not."
"You're like the worst liar I've ever known."
"Fine, Miss Nosy." He let out a sigh. "I'm probably the only one in my class who hasn't kissed anyone yet."
"You and Jimmy," she pointed out. "Maybe you could kiss each other."
John could feel his face flushing red. "Maybe you could go for a long swim."
She let out a huff. "Well, I was going to offer to let you kiss me if you want but since you'd rather be so rude—"
"How am I the one being rude...oh, okay."
"Close your eyes."
John obediently shut his eyes tightly and held his breath, counting the seconds in heartbeats. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. Then, he felt a quick peck on his lips.
"That's it?" He asked, opening his eyes.
"Should I feel insulted?"
"No, I just expected it to be...I don't know." He struggled to find the right words. "It was kind of boring."
"Well, I'm not exactly in love with you, so that's all you're going to get."
"I bet you've never kissed anyone before either," John guessed, taking a shot in the dark.
By the look on her face, he knew he was right. "I think I'm going to go home," she said as she hopped off the table.
"Dottie, wait!" He jumped off the table as well and ran after her. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"You didn't hurt my feelings."
"Good." He walked beside her for a moment, thinking of the kiss and how maybe it wasn't too terrible after all. "Could I kiss you again?"
"Why don't you go kiss your other Dottie?" With a sly grin, Dottie scooped up a handful of snow and threw it at him before taking off in a run.
John hesitated, wiping the snow from his face, as he debated on whether it'd be a good idea to chase after her. He thought of his mother and her deep cleaning, the simple fact that she would surely rope him into it, and made up his mind. He'd rather face Dottie's potential wrath than have to clean out the icebox.
~~~
Kate and Tommy sat at the kitchen table, engaged in a game of checkers while Henry quietly colored beside them. On the floor nearby sat Bridget in the Kiddie-Koop, happily babbling to herself and playing with a doll.
"Okay, I swear I'm going to win the next one," Tommy said. He had already suffered three defeats in a row, but his determination remained unshaken.
"Ye haven't lost this one just yet," Kate replied. She kept trying to let him win but he caught her every single time.
Tommy leaned closer to the board, his face scrunching up in thought. "I have one piece left. I don't think I can—" He stopped abruptly as Hugh came into the room.
The man leaned against the counter and looked at him. "Who's winning?"
"Mama," Tommy replied, not looking up from the board.
"Mama?" Hugh echoed. "Aren't you a little old to still be calling her that?"
Kate threw him a pointed look. "Hugh, stop it."
"I was only teasing." He ruffled Tommy's hair, earning a glare in the response.
"It's yer turn," Kate said, trying to redirect her son's focus back to the game.
Tommy moved his piece, taking one of hers and she retaliated by taking his last one.
Hugh laughed. "Oh no, mama won," he said sarcastically.
"Hugh, that's enough," Kate replied. "Another game?"
Tommy shook his head. "Can I go outside and play?"
"It's a little cold."
"I don't mind."
Kate could feel the tension in the room. "Go on then." The moment he had slipped out the back door, she turned her attention to her husband. "Why do ye do that to him?"
"It was only a joke," Hugh responded.
"Not a funny one."
"Oh, for God's sake, he needs to learn to lighten up or he's going to be eaten alive one day," he said. "You need to lighten up as well. You've been so damn uptight lately."
Kate rose from her seat and began gathering up the pieces. "No, what I need is for ye to stop pickin' on me son."
"Come on." Hugh grabbed her and pulled her close. "What happened to the fun Kate I married?" He gave her a squeeze. "Oh, I know. It's your brother and that wife of his, always in your ears, always trying to drive you away from me. I think they might've broken your spirit."
"Let go of me." Kate tried to pull away from him.
"Kate." He whispered her name, pushing her against the counter, his hands firmly on her hips. "My poor Kate."
She tried to push him away. "Hugh..."
He grabbed her wrist, leaning in against her, his face right next to her own. The other hand slid up her thigh, beneath her dress. "I could make you, you know." He whispered the words into her ear.
Kate felt a ripple of fear run through her. "I said no," her voice trembled slightly, the words coming out weaker than she had intended.
"No?" He repeated. "Fine." He kissed her cheek and let her go. "I'm going out. I'll be back late. Give you some time to change your mind," he said, before walking away.
She took a deep breath and smoothed out her dress. She looked at Henry who still sat at the table, watching the entire ordeal. Immediately, he held up his drawing. "That's very nice," she said. "Now, I'm goin' to need ye to stay put for just a moment, alright?"
Kate went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She turned on the faucet, grabbed a bar of soap, and began to scrub her arms and face, desperate to wash away his touch.
~~~
Spring
~~~
Cal was relieved to be reconciled with Fabrizio. A realization that he found amusing. If anyone had told him seventeen years earlier that one day he'd willingly spend time with the man, he would have scoffed at the thought, deeming him not even worth the briefest glance.
But here he was, standing in a dimly lit pool hall, his cue in hand as he lined up a shot, fully immersed in a game of billiards with Fabrizio and feeling only mildly uncomfortable. The hall was not the sort of place he would've typically found himself in, with the room heavy with smoke and its patrons unmistakably working class. Despite Fabrizio's reassurances to the contrary, Cal couldn't help but notice how his own attire made him stand out and it made him nervous.
For most of the evening, their conversation had revolved around Fabrizio's wife, but now it had shifted to Dinah and her recent brutal inquisition about the market and whether Cal had been taking necessary precautions.
"I doubt she knows what she's talking about," Cal remarked, his eyes fixed intently on the billiard table as he meticulously aligned his shot. "Probably heard some rumors and panicked. I mean without my money, her whole life is over. Can't really blame her, I suppose."
"Are you taking precautions?" Fabrizio asked.
Cal shook his head. "It's people trying to protect themselves that's going to topple the whole damn thing." He reached for his old-fashioned and took a sip.
"I wish you would not drink."
"It's only one drink."
"That's your second."
Cal shrugged. "Fine. It's only two drinks then."
Fabrizio took his turn at the table, sinking a ball before turning back to Cal. "What you tell Dinah?"
"Oh, I played dumb. You know, what's a market? She already thinks so little of me, I'm certain she believed it." He chuckled. "It was the angriest I've ever seen her. She even threw something at me."
"And then?"
"I told her to let me have my children or I will pray to lose every last penny."
"She agree?"
"Of course not. She would never—can I help you?" A man stood nearby staring at them and Cal had grown tired of it.
"I was only wondering if you might be lost."
"You mean in life or geographically?"
"I just can't imagine how someone like you could possibly be enjoying yourself in a place like this."
"I'll admit the bourbon here isn't great on its own, but this place still manages to make a fairly decent old-fashioned." Cal picked up his glass but before he could take a drink, the man knocked it out of his hand. Cal took a step forward but was immediately pulled back by Fabrizio.
"It's fine. We'll go," Fabrizio said. "No need to fight. Come on," he said, pulling Cal to the door.
"You shouldn't have stopped me."
"Of course I should have," Fabrizio replied. "You would've lost."
"No, I wouldn't." Cal said, uncertainly. He knew the one man hadn't been alone but couldn't recall how many there were.
"And now, thanks to you, I can't go back."
"I'm sure your wife will be thrilled."
Fabrizio shrugged. "She probably will be. Might even make her like you."
"She doesn't like me?"
"Ah, she'll come around once she gets to know you." Fabrizio slapped him on his back. "I mean, I didn't like you when I first met you but now...you not too terrible."
"Thanks," Cal replied dryly. "What does she like? Maybe I'll buy her something."
Fabrizio stopped and looked at him. "You cannot get people to like you with money," he replied. "I thought you learn this with Rose."
"No, what I learned with Rose was..." What had he learned? Not to waste money on gaudy jewelry? That some people would never be happy? To beware of mothers pushing their daughters onto him?
"Yes?" Fabrizio pressed. "What you learn?
Cal sighed. "I don't know...likely nothing, I suppose. Or I wouldn't have ended up with Dinah." He tried to remember why he had married Dinah in the first place but it had never made a great deal of sense. All he remembered was that she was attractive and his father had approved. Maybe that was all there was.
"And what you learn from Dinah?"
"That I have very poor judgment and deserve every bit of unhappiness I've brought onto myself."
~~~
Summer
~~~
It had been a day of unpredictable storms, with heavy downpours that came and went like fleeting tempers. Sarah had been watching the sky carefully, wanting to get into her garden but not wanting to get wet. Finally, she grabbed a bowl and ran out, trying to pick as many shell peas as she could before the next storm could roll through. She had filled the bowl halfway when she heard the first distant rumble of thunder.
Sighing, Sarah went inside, setting the bowl on the kitchen table and staring at it. It was only half of what was in the garden. She heard the front door open and close and peeked out of the room, expecting to see Kate—who else could it have been—but it was Pat who stood there, covered in blood and looking lost.
"Oh, my God," Sarah muttered, rushing over to him. "Are you..." Her voice died in her throat.
"I'm fine," Pat replied. "I'm...uh...they had to close the mill for the day. That's why I'm home."
She took his hand and guided him into the kitchen. "Why?" She pushed him onto a chair and began looking him over for injuries.
"Someone died." His voice was strangely calm and he kept his gaze on the ground. "Cut right in two."
Whatever Sarah had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. "Pat, would you look at me?" She lifted his head so she could look him in the eyes. "Are you hurt?"
He shook his head.
"Alright, then what happened?"
Pat opened and closed his mouth as though unable to find the words. "It was me own fault," he managed at last. "I should have...I knew better." He started to bring a hand up to his face but then, catching sight of the blood on it, stopped and stared.
Sarah reached out and took both of his hands in hers and held them firmly. "Start from the beginning," she urged softly. "What happened?"
"Ye know what I do?"
"Of course." At least she knew it had something to do with logs and saw blades.
"I'm responsible for securin' the logs onto the carriage so they can be run through the blade," he replied. "That's me job."
"I swear I knew that." She gave him a smile but he didn't return it.
Pat closed his eyes briefly. "Ye know how the thunder had been rumblin' all day, off and on. It had me on edge or maybe I'm just makin' excuses. I certainly wasn't payin' attention like I should have. Ye know I don't like storms."
"I know."
He took a deep breath before continuing. "I forgot to secure the log, of all things. I don't know how I forgot such a thing. I've never forgotten it before. I just kept thinkin' about the storms and whether they were growin' fiercer and then I heard Hugh shoutin' at me and—"
"Was it Hugh who died?" Sarah hadn't meant to interrupt him but curiosity got the best of her and she needed to know.
Pat stared at her. "Ye think I'd be bothered if that man had been cut in two? It wasn't him."
"Oh, go on."
"It was this other man. I don't know his name, as he had only just started workin' there," he replied. "He tried to leap over the carriage to secure it himself but the carriage was movin' already and he fell. He landed right on the blade." Pat shook his head. "God, he was so young. Not much older than John."
"That poor boy." Sarah could feel his hands trembling within her own. She gave them a gentle squeeze.
"It's entirely me fault." Pat's voice broke on the words.
"No, no, no," she whispered, pulling him into a tight embrace. "It was only an accident. That boy shouldn't have been trying to jump over a moving carriage." Sarah could feel him trembling and thought he might've been crying. She only held him tighter. "It'll be alright. I promise it'll be alright." She had always hated the mill for how dangerous it was and now, she couldn't imagine Pat having to go back into such a place after what had happened. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "Just a terrible accident."
~~~
John didn't regularly sneak out of the house in the middle of the night. In fact, he hated the very thought of breaking any rules—for the most part. But, everyone in his class had gotten in the habit of meeting in the park long after dark and he couldn't just not be a part of it. Particularly, after Dottie encouraged him to go, telling him a mere two appearances would've been enough to keep from being ridiculed.
The first time he went, he was surprised to have enjoyed himself. He had assumed that the group would get into trouble—vandalism, was his guess—but was surprised to find that they only stood around and smoked, discussing their futures with the occasional dare thrown in. Although those were much less enthusiastically given after Jimmy had been clipped by a car—he was fine, unfortunately—while walking across the road blindfolded.
The second time, he had planned on bringing Dottie with him. John had waited until he was certain his parents were in bed and sound asleep and then waited another half hour just to be on the safe side. At last, he slipped from his bed and slid open the window. He climbed out carefully, grateful that the roof that overhung the front porch had a low incline. At the edge, he turned onto his stomach, gradually lowering his legs until he felt close enough to the ground to let go.
At once he wished he had gone headfirst and ended it all because standing there on the porch, watching him with crossed arms, was his father.
"I assume ye fell out of bed," Pat remarked.
John scrambled to think of an excuse but none came to mind. "I did."
"Then maybe we should be tyin' ye to yer bed. Wouldn't want ye to break yer neck."
"Are you going to tell mom?"
Pat sighed and took a seat on the porch. "I don't know, John. It feels like there's always somethin' of yers I'm keepin' from yer mother," he admitted. "Now, where were ye headed off to?"
"The park."
"To do what?"
"Hang around." John made a mental note to push Dottie down the next time he saw her. Sneaking out of the house was clearly a terrible idea and she shouldn't have talked him into it.
"With Dottie?"
"No," John quickly corrected, his face flushing. "I mean, yes. But not just me and Dottie. Everyone from my class will be there."
"Ye mean everyone except for you," Pat observed. "Now, get back to bed. We can discuss this in the mornin'."
John had been about to comply when something struck him as odd. How had his father known he was sneaking out? So far as he knew, he had been so careful. "Why are you awake?"
"Don't ye try to turn this around on me," Pat replied sharply.
"Oh." John realized. His father had already been awake; it wasn't about him sneaking out. "Does mom know you're not sleeping?"
"That's enough."
"Does it have to do with what happened the other day?" John didn't know exactly what had happened at the mill but he knew that whatever it was, it had been bad enough for his father to come home early, shaken to his core.
"I said that's enough."
John took a seat behind him. "Are you alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
However, the tension in his father's voice and the clenched fists gave away the truth. "It's fine if you're not," John said. "You know Dottie has an uncle who fought in the war and when he came back, he wasn't fine. I mean he was but Dottie said he had nightmares all the time and never seemed to sleep. And he'd flinch at loud noises."
"I don't know what that has to do with anythin'."
John struggled to explain himself and suddenly felt foolish. Who was he to try to give advice to his father? He suddenly wished he was back in his bed. "I was just saying that he's her favorite uncle still. I even got to meet him once, that time I went with her family to the lake. I thought he was pretty brave with everything he'd gone through."
Pat let out a breath and stared at the ground in front of them. "Are ye finished?"
"Yeah," John replied. "Can I still go to the park?" He silently prayed for a yes even though he knew the answer he was going to receive.
"Are ye truly askin' me that? Go to bed. Now."
John sighed and stood up. He looked up at the roof.
"Use the door," Pat said.
"Oh, right." John reached for the doorknob.
"I never fought in any war, ye know," Pat said suddenly.
"No, but that's not..." John wished he knew how to make his point clearer but he was suddenly too tired to think. "Never mind."
~~~
Kate enjoyed those moments when the men were at work and the older children were busy with school. The times that reminded her of the period before Pat's return—not that she minded his presence; she was grateful everyday that he had come back. But there was a certain simplicity in just having her, Sarah, and their babies without any other complications.
On that day, they had finished eating lunch at Sarah's backyard table, taking advantage of the nice weather. Henry and Eileen were chasing each other around the yard and Bridget was dozing off in Kate's lap.
"Can you believe how big they're getting?" Sarah asked, looking fondly at the child in Kate's arms.
"It's absurd, that's for certain." Kate smiled as she handed off the baby to her.
Sarah gently touched the tip of Bridget's nose. "Little angel."
"Are Pat and you entertainin' the thought of another, then?" Kate asked.
Sarah shook her head, her smile fading. "I wouldn't mind but I don't think it's likely. I suppose I should just be grateful for the one we did manage to have. Eileen, put that stick down this instant." She directed her words at the toddler, who had picked up a large stick and was playfully brandishing it as she chased her cousin. "What about you?" She asked, turning her attention back to Kate. "Are you hoping for baby number four?"
"Sure," Kate replied. "If Hugh suddenly died and I found me a new husband." The idea of going through another pregnancy entirely on her own, as she always was with Hugh, filled her with dread.
"Hugh's not much of a father, is he?"
Kate frowned at the understatement. Not much of a father. That was putting it simply. She let out a sigh. "Don't be tellin' me brother any of this."
"I won't.," Sarah assured her.
"I mean it. I know ye tell Pat everythin'."
"I don't—"
"It's fine," Kate quickly cut her off. "But keep this one from him."
"Alright," Sarah replied. "What is it?"
Kate took a deep breath. "I think I've made a mistake in marryin' him. He..." She paused, afraid to utter the next words. "He hit Tommy the other day, right in front of me." Her voice trembled. She wasn't sure if she was more furious with Hugh for doing it or with herself for allowing it to happen. "I can handle him hittin' me, but not me son."
"It's not alright that he's been hitting you," Sarah stated firmly.
"At least that's me own fault. I say things that I know will set him off, but I say them anyway. No, Tommy spilled a glass of milk and didn't clean up properly." Kate shook her head. "I don't know what to do?"
"Could you divorce him?"
"There's no cause and even if there were, Hugh wouldn't allow it."
"But if you—"
"If there were just cause and if he were fine with it, I'd be left with three children and nothin' else."
"You have a house."
"Oh, that," Kate said. "Remember when he tossed me out last winter? And I said we had been arguin'?"
Sarah nodded, looking concerned.
"I found a mortgage hidden in his drawer," Kate explained. "He took it out on me house and signed me name at the bottom."
"How much was it for?"
"$900." She grew angrier every time she recalled it.
Sarah was taken aback. "What did he want that much for?"
Kate shrugged. "Don't know and I doubt he'd tell me. It really doesn't matter because I know that even if he'd be willin' to let me go, I'd lose me house in a flash and then what would I do?"
"You'd move in with us," Sarah assured her.
Kate let out a dry laugh. "I'm sure Pat'd be pleased at havin' to feed four more people."
Sarah lightly nudged her. "If it meant no more Hugh, he'd be thrilled."
"There's still no legal cause."
"What if you had an affair?" Sarah suggested. "It'd give you legal cause then."
"Ye mean it'd give him legal cause," Kate replied. "And I truly hope yer havin' me on because I can't think of a worse idea. Can ye imagine Hugh's reaction if he caught me with another man?" She vividly remembered his jealousy and anger when she had simply talked to Cal.
"But what if—"
"Assumin' he didn't murder me at once, I'd be at fault and lose custody of me children." She shook her head. "I'd sooner drown them in a river than lose them to him. It'd be kinder."
"Kate!" Sarah was horrified.
"Like ye said, he's not a father and there's no use in pretendin' otherwise."
A silence hung between them, broken only by the laughter of the toddlers as Henry now had the stick and was chasing Eileen.
"There's always poison," Sarah offered.
"I'm not goin' to poison me husband."
"Well, you have to get rid of him somehow."
Kate remained silent. As much as Hugh frightened her, as much as she wished she had never married him, she was still reluctant to return to the life she led before. She didn't want to be alone again.
When Kate returned home later, she discovered Hugh waiting for her with a bouquet of flowers in hand and the aroma of dinner drifting out of the kitchen.
"Now what's all this?" She asked.
He smiled. "I thought you deserved something nice. So," he said, setting the flowers down. "I left work early to surprise you."
"Ye made dinner?"
"I tried to make dinner. Can't say how well it turned out." He stepped forward and took her hands. "Oh Kate, my Kate. When I was growing up, I swore I'd be a better husband and father than my own had been, at the very least. But I know how terribly I've failed. You deserve so much better."
"Aye?"
"I am so, so sorry for everything," he continued. "But, you have to see that I'm not the only one at fault here."
"Yer not?" Kate raised an eyebrow.
"Something has changed in you and I need you to tell me what it is."
She pulled her hands free. "Yer the one that's changed, not me."
"Oh come now. I've always been myself, since the very first moment we met. But you...you've grown sad and timid. Afraid."
Kate looked at him and wondered whether he was right. She was happy, wasn't she? She wasn't sure she knew anymore.
"Tell me honestly, we were happy before we married, were we not?"
She nodded. "Are ye sayin' we never should have married?"
"I'm saying we were happy when we were a secret," Hugh replied. "You threw away your own happiness the moment you told Sarah." He gently caressed her cheek. "I know she's been trying to convince you to leave me."
"Sarah only wants what's best for me."
"Best for you? That's what you think?" He shook his head. "It seems obvious to me that she's jealous."
"Why would she be jealous?"
"Because you're not tethered to someone teetering on the brink of insanity."
Kate felt a ripple of irritation. "Me brother isn't—"
"Isn't what?" Hugh scoffed. "You know how many times John has come to me worried out of his mind about his father's sanity?" He took her hands once more. "Sarah knows she's losing her own perfect family so how dare you have one of your own."
There was something in the way he spoke that was so persuasive, that always seemed to make so much sense. But Kate knew Sarah. She had known her for years. "Hugh," she began. "She couldn't—"
"You know how much I love you," Hugh interrupted her, his voice softening. "I would do anything for you. Anything for us." He kissed her, first gently and then more deeply. "God, I'm mad about you."
For a fleeting moment, Kate felt a flutter in her stomach that whisked her back to that one evening at the Early Bird when he had kissed her for the very first time. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. "Ye have to do better," she said. "Please. I can't keep givin' ye more chances."
"I promise, I will."
~~~
Fall
~~~
Sarah hadn't wanted him to return to work. She was even more adamant than she had been after he was injured and the resulting argument had been larger than any they had ever had before. But she didn't understand. Pat knew how precarious their financial situation was. He knew how important it was that he worked. And that he didn't know how to do anything but work at the mill.
Not that he wanted to be there. Every day since the incident, he had been waiting for it to happen again. Every day, he double and triple checked his work, refusing to be responsible for anyone else's death. He wished he could forget it. He wished he could go back to the way things were before. But, still, the words kept up a steady refrain in his head. It was his fault. It was his fault. It was his fault.
Never before had Pat been so grateful for the midday break, when he could escape the mill if only for a few moments. He had just sat down in his usual spot when he spotted the foreman walking toward him.
The man stopped a few feet from him and wordlessly gestured for him to follow.
There were several men in the office he didn't recognize and Pat stared at them as he took a seat. He felt inexplicably nervous. The sudden thought that perhaps he was about to be arrested for the man's death flicked through his mind.
"Alright, you don't need to be here." One of the men, older and sterner than the others, spoke to the foreman.
"He's my employee," Harris replied. "So I'd rather stay, if you don't mind."
"If you want." The man turned back to Pat. "Good afternoon," he began, pulling out a notepad and pen. "Could you state your full name and date of birth?"
Pat looked at Harris who gave him a nod. "Patrick Murphy," he said quietly.
"And your date of birth?"
"October 12, 1892."
"Married?"
Pat nodded. He could hear his heart beating.
"And what's her name?"
"Sarah." There was something wrong. He could feel it. "Why am I bein' questioned?"
"I understand there was an incident here not long ago," the man said.
"It was an accident." The flutter of fear returned.
"I'm sure it was."
"Am I bein' arrested?" Pat asked. "Because that happened quite some time ago and it was an accident."
The man laughed. "Oh no, nothing like that," he replied. "It's just that a few people have been a bit concerned lately about your well-being."
"Me well-bein' is fine," Pat asserted, although his words felt weak in the face of his rising panic.
The man ignored him. "Now, have you noticed any changes in your mood lately? Any thoughts of feelings you'd like to discuss?"
"What?" He was fine. He was fine. He was fine. "I haven't...nothin' at all. I'm fine."
"How would you describe your sleep? Do you feel well-rested?"
He could feel the questions closing in on him. He gripped the chair's armrest tightly. "Fine...it's fine."
"Uh huh." The man scribbled something down. "And have you ever heard voices?"
"Voices?" It was absurd.
"In the walls or at night when you're trying to sleep?"
"I'm not mad." It was as though he had swallowed a block of ice and he could hear the desperation in his own voice.
"That's what we're here to determine," the man responded, his tone coldly clinical. "Now how would you describe your support system? I believe you're from Ireland, is that correct? And is your family here or are they still back where you belong?"
"Me support system is fine. And if ye fetch me wife, she'll tell you I'm not mad." Pat looked at Harris for help but the man remained silent and still. "I'm fine. There's nothin' wrong with me." He was desperate to make them understand. They had to understand.
"If you'll give us a moment." The men gathered together to confer in hushed tones, their eyes flicking occasionally toward him. As he waited, each passing moment only amplified the thunderous pounding of Pat's heartbeat in his ears. He was fine.
They finished at last and the man approached him. "There's actually a few more questions we'd like to ask you but first I'm going to need you to come with us."
"No. I'm not goin' anywhere."
"I wasn't asking," the man said, taking hold of his arm. "Come on now. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Pat pulled free from his grasp and took a couple hasty steps backward. "Ye can't make me go anywhere. I'm not goin'."
"Would you just go with them?" Harris cut in. "It's for your own good."
Pat stared at him a moment, confused by his betrayal, then bolted for the door. He nearly made it before several men were on him, grabbing his arms and pulling him backward. He struggled against them. "I'm not goin'."
"Sure you are," the man said calmly. "Making it more difficult for yourself won't change anything."
While they held him in place, someone clamped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists, cold and unforgiving and then they began to forcefully usher him out of the room to a vehicle waiting out front. "Could ye fetch me wife?" Pat called out. "Please." Sarah would fix everything.
"I'm sure she'll be informed later," the man replied.
Pat kept his eyes closed on the drive, trying desperately to force himself awake. It had to have been a dream, one he had had many times before. Any moment, he was going to wake up with Sarah clinging to him and all will be well.
But then they arrived and he was led out of the vehicle and into a large, sprawling building, into yet another room where a fresh barrage of questions awaited.
"How would you describe your health overall?" The man asked. "Any recent illnesses or injuries?"
"Me health's fine," Pat replied. He held up his hands. "Could ye take these off?"
"I'm afraid not." The man didn't even look up. "What drugs are you taking?"
"I'm not takin' any drugs. I don't need to be here. I'm fine." But the more he said those two words, the more he began to doubt them.
"Have you ever thought of harming yourself or others?"
"Of course not."
"How often do you drink on a regular basis?"
"I hardly touch it," Pat replied. "Can I go home now?"
The man scribbled something down and then stood up. "If you'll come with me."
Pat followed him out of the room and into the next one. Briefly, he imagined himself escaping. But there were so many people around and his hands were still handcuffed and he knew it was impossible.
The moment he entered the next room, the man handed him a pile of clothes. "Put these on."
They were pale blue and made of soft cotton and he was reminded of prisoners. Immediately, Pat let them fall to the ground. "No, no, no..." He backed away but the man grabbed him and pushed him forward again. "Please don't make me. I don't belong here. I need to go home. Please let me go home."
"Now, now," the man said. "There's no need to get so upset." He tapped the handcuffs on Pat's wrists. "Now, I'm going to remove these and you're going to change into those clothes. And if you still don't wish to do it yourself, we can do it by force and I can't imagine that'd be very pleasant."
Pat looked around the room, taking in the stark white walls, the mismatched chairs that lined the walls. A desk stood on one side, stacks of paper covered the surface and a vase of silk flowers, dusty and faded, sat on a doily in the corner. He looked back at the man and felt a hopelessness that he had never known before. "Could ye tell me wife where I am?" He asked as he began to undo the buttons on his shirt.
"I'm sure she's already been told," the man replied. "I'm going to need that too." He gestured to Pat's hand.
"Me weddin' ring?"
"It's for your own good."
"No, ye can't...please..." The thought of taking it off, losing something that connected him so deeply to Sarah was almost more than he could bear.
But the man simply held out his hand and waited.
Pat could hear a rushing in his ears as he reluctantly slid off the ring and handed it over. None of this could be real. "This is a mistake," he said, more to himself than anyone else.
The man only smiled. "There we go. That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, once you get changed, I'll show you to your room."
Please wake up , he silently pleaded with himself. Oh God, please wake up.
~~~
Pat didn't come home and Sarah knew something must've been wrong because he always came home. She managed to wait until the sun had begun to set, before she couldn't wait a moment longer. It was too easy to picture him lying dead on the floor, covered in blood and sawdust. She left Eileen in John's care and walked to Kate's house, hoping desperately that he was there.
Sarah knocked on the door. "Is Pat here?" She asked, the moment Kate opened the door.
"No, I haven't seen him all week," Kate replied. "Why are ye askin'?"
"He didn't come home." She tried to keep her voice steady but could hear the tremble in her words.
From somewhere behind Kate came a quiet laugh. Kate turned to look. "Why are ye laughin'?" She asked. "Did somethin' happen at the mill?"
Hugh came to the door and leaned on the frame. "No one died, if that's what you're asking." He looked at Sarah. "Pat's at Eastern State."
"What's Eastern State?" The name sounded familiar but Sarah couldn't place it.
"Eastern State Hospital for the Insane," he replied. "At least I think that's it's full name. I've never been there so I wouldn't really know."
"Did you do this?" Sarah asked, her voice cold with fury.
"Sarah, that's a strong accusation," Kate said.
"It's an accurate one, I'm sure," Sarah replied. She took a step toward Hugh. "I know you're behind this and you had better fix it."
"Believe what you like but I had nothing to do with it," Hugh responded. He reached out and gently pushed her back. "You ever think that just maybe, he got himself admitted?"
"There isn't anything wrong with me brother," Kate insisted.
"I'll probably do him some good," Hugh continued.
Sarah felt as though she was falling from a great height and braced herself for the impact that didn't seem to be coming. "There's nothing wrong with him," she said. "He belongs with me. It has to be a mistake. It has to be. I mean how could they—" Her voice broke and she suddenly couldn't catch her breath.
"God, would you shut up?" Hugh said disdainfully.
Sarah threw herself at him but Hugh easily stopped her, pushing her into the doorframe.
"Hugh!" Kate tried to pull him away. "Let her go."
He let go and pointed outside. "Go."
Sarah looked at the both of them, struggling to catch her breath, her hands shaking, then turned to leave. She wiped away the tears that had started to fall as she walked.
"Sarah!" Kate called out as she ran to catch up to her. "It'll be alright," she said.
"You don't know that."
"I do know that," Kate replied. "Tomorrow mornin', we'll go down there and tell them it was a mistake. They'll let him go. I'm sure of it."
Sarah looked at her. "I know Hugh's behind it."
"Hugh may be a lot of things, but I don't believe he'd do something like this," Kate insisted. "It was likely someone at the mill."
"Hugh is someone at the mill."
"Sarah, please leave me husband out of this."
"Fine." Sarah wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I need to get home. I left John in charge and he wasn't happy about it."
"I'll pick you up in the mornin'," Kate said.
Sarah managed a weak smile. "In the morning." Regardless of Kate's bewildering insistence in Hugh's innocence, she found it nearly impossible to believe. The man had already tried to kill her husband once before, why wouldn't he also try to lock him up?
~~~
Kate was all too aware of the sort of things Hugh was capable of but she still had a difficult time believing he would do something so terrible as having her brother committed. How could he? Ever since their conversation several months earlier when he had promised to do better, he had been living up to that promise. Attentive, kind...he had even shown Tommy how to change the oil in the car. She prayed that the change would be permanent. But even if he had wished to do such a terrible thing, she didn't know if he'd have the ability to do so. A regular man couldn't possibly get someone admitted just because they disliked them. It would've had to go through someone with more authority. Along those same lines, and despite her reassurances to Sarah, she didn't know how easily they'd be able to get him out.
They went first thing in the morning. Sarah didn't speak a word on the drive over, instead tapping her foot anxiously and looking as though she hadn't slept the entire night. After they arrived, she walked ahead of Kate as they entered the building and approached the reception desk.
The woman sitting behind the desk lowered her glasses at their approach. "Can I help you?"
"My husband was admitted yesterday and I'd like to know the reasons behind it because it was clearly a mistake," Sarah began at once.
The woman sighed. "It is hospital policy to not disclose any patient information but I can assure you, all decisions regarding admissions are made by medical professionals and, as such, there are no mistakes."
"What's your name?"
"Carter."
"Well, Miss Carter, I would like to speak to whoever's in charge."
"I'm afraid there's no one at liberty at the moment, but I will inform the relevant personnel of your visit and your concerns. Have a good day." The woman returned to her work.
"No." Sarah shook her head. "This is unacceptable. There's been a mistake," her voice rose with every word. "My husband is fine."
"Ma'am, I sympathize with your concerns but I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Then I demand to see him. I need to see him."
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
"Why not?"
The woman sighed yet again. "Here at Eastern State we believe in the importance of isolating the patients from the world for their own well-being and safety."
Kate stepped forward and placed a hand on Sarah's arm. "What if we come back and—"
Sarah slammed her hand on the desk. "To hell with your policy. You're going to march back there and bring my husband out right now."
"Ma'am—"
"I'm not moving from this spot until I see him."
The woman waved down a passing orderly. "Would you be so kind as to fetch Dr. Barrett please? Tell him it's urgent." She turned her attention back to Sarah and smiled. "You seem a bit upset. Why don't you take a seat and someone will be right out to speak with you."
Kate stepped in at once. "No, no. We'll just be headin' off now," she said in a rush. "Could ye kindly let them know we've been here? And that we'll be returnin' later?" She tightly gripped Sarah's arm and led her outside.
Sarah yanked her arm free. "Why are you giving up?"
"I'm not givin' up," Kate insisted. "But if ye keep carryin' on like that, ye'll find yerself admitted and what good will that do us? Ye need to calm down. We'll sort this out, I promise." She glanced up at the building with its barred windows and felt a shiver run down her spine. "Do ye think I want to leave me brother in a place like this?"
Sarah wrapped her arms around herself. "Maybe we can speak with a lawyer?"
"Sure, if ye can find one willin' to work for nothin'," Kate replied. "No, I didn't mean..." She quickly added as Sarah began to cry. She pulled her into a hug. "We will get him out. Even if we have to tear down the walls of the place ourselves. It'll be alright."
~~~
All the days ran together; each indistinguishable from the one before. Pat didn't know how long he had been there. Trapped. He never went outside and the windows, all equipped with bars, only showed that it was not yet winter.
The initial shock of being thrown into such a place gave way to a sense of routine at a speed he would've found shocking if he had been able to think straight. Clarity, like sunlight, was not allowed in such a place. Pat didn't know if it was due to the sheer exhaustion. Between the constant nightly checks and the screaming—oh, God, why was there always screaming?—sleep was nearly impossible. Or perhaps it was the medication they forced him to take—he gave up trying to fight it after the first few times as fighting only sent him to the suffocatingly small room with the mattress on the floor and a tiny window that hardly let in any light or air. No, he quickly learned it was better to do as he was told.
But every day was the same. Every day, he was jolted awake by the clanging of a bell—if he had been asleep at all. He joined the others in the dining hall and forced down breakfast—it took him three days before he was hungry enough to eat it the first time. Then it was the Common Room until lunch. God, he hated the Common Room. Being forced into socializing with people he wanted nothing to do with, the world tantalizingly close just outside the windows, behind the bars that kept him trapped. He wished he could stay in his bed until he woke up because he must have been dreaming. Over and over and over he reminded himself that Sarah assured him he hadn't lost his mind and Sarah was always right.
But there was no staying in his bed because no one was allowed to leave the Common Room. Orderlies stood guard at the door, watching, always watching. Pat usually wished away the time in a chair tucked into a corner of the room, next to a window—a barred window—where he was away from everyone else. Time passed so slowly when all he could do was stare out the window or watch the other patients, horrified at the thought that he might be one of them. The other patients who sat at the small tables and played cards or chess or conversed with unseen demons. One always cried. Pat refused to speak to any of them because he didn't belong. He wasn't one of them. He couldn't have been one of them. It was all wrong. He needed to wake up.
He spent his time thinking of Sarah and Kate. He hadn't seen or heard from either of them and he didn't understand why. They must've known where he was. How could they not? How could they not have known at once, the moment he didn't come home? The idea that they didn't care, that they were glad to be rid of him, picked at the edges of his mind.
It was lunch and then back to the Common Room and his seat in the corner and once again trying to will himself awake. Why wouldn't he wake up?
It took him a moment to realize someone was speaking to him. An orderly, in his crisp white uniform, a name tag that read 'Charlie.' Pat stared at him as he waited for his words to register.
"You have a visitor," the man repeated. "If you'd come with me."
A visitor?
Sarah. It had to have been. She found him at last and was there to take him home.
Pat followed the man through one room and hallway into another. He tried to pay attention to where he was going but everything looked the same. Sterile white walls and so many doors, identical doors. Like being on a ship.
At last, they reached a room with multiple tables and chairs set out and there, sitting at one of them was his visitor, smiling.
Hugh.
The orderly directed him to that man's table and Pat took a seat across from him and stared at him. Glared at him. He was angry, he knew he was angry, told himself he was angry, but it was anger with the edges worn off. An anger from a great distance. "What do ye want?" Pat asked.
"Just wanted to say hi," Hugh replied. "That's a good color on you."
"Why are ye here?"
"I told your sister I'd check on you."
"Why didn't Katie come herself?"
"Too afraid to look you in the eye, I imagine."
Pat looked at the table between them. There were scratch marks on it. From ordinary wear or something with claws. Katie was something with claws. He had never known her to be afraid and certainly not of him. "Why would she—"
"She's the one who signed the papers," Hugh cut him off. "Oh, no one told you? Here." He reached into a bag and pulled free a packet of papers which he slid across the table. "Look right there."
Pat looked at the signature and blinked. "Katherine Werner," he read. It didn't make sense. It wasn't right.
"I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you but—"
"But that's not right."
"Like I said, I'm sorry—"
"Her name's Kathleen," Pat insisted. "Not Katherine."
Hugh whipped the papers back and looked at them. "Well, now I'm sorry to tell you that you misread. It says Kathleen."
Pat reached for them but Hugh pulled it out of his grasp. "Nah, you already saw it." And the papers went back into the bag.
Had he misread? He tried to recall what he had just seen and maybe it had said Kathleen and he had only wished for Katherine. "She wouldn't have done such a thing."
"No? Well, look around," Hugh replied. "You see her here anywhere?"
"She couldn't have." Wrong Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The word repeated itself in his head. Everything was wrong. "Sarah wouldn't have allowed it."
"Sarah?" Hugh sighed. "I admit I don't know your wife very well but she didn't seem to put up much of an argument." He tapped his fingers on the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. "Maybe she was tired of you."
"No." It was all wrong. Hugh was lying. Pat was certain of it and would've known what was happening if he could think clearly but all he could think of was the tap tap tap ping of Hugh's fingers on the table between them. Why did his words make so much sense? They would have visited. They should have visited.
"Truthfully, Kate and I had a bet going on whether it'd be you or your wife who ended up in the loony bin first. I thought your wife but, well, your sister clearly cheated."
No.
Pat lunged across the table, his fingers reaching for Hugh's throat, but he was pulled back, away from the man. He struggled against his captors, the orderlies in their white uniforms, trying to reach Hugh, trying to claw his eyes from his face. Hugh who only stood back and laughed.
"Ye don't understand. It's his fault." Pat tried to make them understand. He needed them to understand. Hugh was the dangerous one. "Please. I have to—" Someone hit him and he was on the ground, fighting to catch his breath.
He hardly noticed as they put the leather restraints on his wrists and led him from the room. Away from Hugh and his laughter.
Hallway after hallway and into the suffocating room, made darker by the cloudy day just outside the tiny window. Pat tried to pull away, to run, to escape. Anything to avoid being shut in that place. Trapped. But they pushed him in and the door was shut, locked behind him. He let himself slide to the ground.
Pat tried to pull his hands free from the restraints they had left on his wrists but they were too tight. Instead, he put his face in his shaking hands and tried to calm his breathing. Still his breathing. Stop his breathing. No. Sarah told him to breathe. He had to breathe.
Not that it mattered.
He found the mattress on the floor and curled himself on it. And waited to wake up from the current nightmare. Waited for Sarah to notice him struggling and shake him awake. The way he had so often done for her. Why was it taking so long?
The next morning, he woke to the sound of the door opening, his head mercifully clear.
"Good morning!" It was the orderly who brought him to see Hugh. Charlie.
"Go away." Pat didn't want to speak to anyone. He didn't want to be dragged back out into the Common Room among the lunatics. He didn't want to be forced to take medication he didn't need nor want. Medication that made it hard to think, hard to focus.
"Now how about we get these off?" Charlie bent to undo the restraints.
"How about ye let me go?"
The orderly ignored him. "Now have we learned our lessons about hitting visitors?"
"I didn't manage to hit anyone, now did I?" He snapped. He wouldn't have minded the restraints, the dark room—at least he couldn't hear the screams in there—if he could have just hurt Hugh.
"Intentions matter."
"I'd like to hit yerself," Pat muttered. "Or burn this place to the ground."
"I highly recommend you don't do either," Charlie replied. "If you think this is bad, you have no idea how much worse it could be. Now, come on then. I bet you're hungry?"
"For the shite ye call food here? I'd sooner go without." Truthfully, he was hungry, having not eaten since lunch the previous day, but he'd rather be hungry than fall back into the unending routine once again.
"Lot of attitude for someone who just spent sixteen hours in isolation." Charlie looked at him, his expression softening. "Oh, I bet you missed your medication last night. No worries. We'll get that taken care of and then you'll be back to your usual self in no time at all."
The thought of slipping back into the fog where every emotion was smoothed down, rough edges worn away, terrified him. How could anyone believe that was his usual self? Pat imagined himself knocking Charlie out, stealing his keys, and making a desperate run for freedom. But it was a futile hope and nothing more. He knew he'd never make it to the door. He looked around as they walked at the sterile hallway and identical doors then down at the clothing he was forced to wear. The place on his hand where his wedding ring should've been.
He wished he could remain angry.
~~~
They weren't usually out late at night. Fabrizio had stopped with the speakeasies the moment things became serious with Lelia. And Lelia never cared for them to begin with. But every year around their wedding anniversary—the exact date was subject to change, they made sure to drop Caroline off with Lelia's mother and go out for dinner, just the two of them. This always led to a very late night as by the time they finished eating and picked the baby up once more, the sun had long since set.
"Next time, I think we leave Caroline with your mother," Fabrizio said, holding the sleeping child as they walked home. "Pick her up tomorrow."
Lelia shook her head. "No, I like to keep her with us."
They had just reached their building and both stopped at the same time, surprised and confused by the sight of Cal sitting on the front steps.
"Did you know...?" Lelia whispered.
"No, I not know he was coming," Fabrizio replied.
The moment Cal saw them, he stood up and immediately stumbled on the steps.
Fabrizio handed Caroline off to his wife. "Why are you here?" He asked, directing his friend to sit.
"I don't know," Cal replied, staring at the steps beneath him as though they had betrayed him. "I inexplicably found myself on a train and now I'm here."
"You're drunk."
"I think I might be."
"I thought you were going to stop drinking."
"I am...haven't had a drop."
"You expect me to believe that?"
Lelia put a hand on Fabrizio's arm. "Cal, what's going on?"
"Nothing," he replied. "Nothing's going on. Nothing at all. Everything is fine. This is what I want, remember? This goddamn..." His voice trailed off. "You have anything to drink?"
Lelia looked confused. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
"You need to go home and sleep it off," Fabrizio said. "We talk in morning, yes? When you're not so drunk."
Cal appeared to consider it for a moment then shook his head. "No, don't want to go home. My lovely wife's there. And she doesn't want me to go home either so here I am. Out of her sight."
Caroline stirred at all of the noise and began to cry.
"Then go wherever you're staying," Fabrizio replied, his voice sharp. "It's late and you're drunk."
"Fine." Cal shooed him away with his hands. "Go then."
Once inside, they began walking up the stairs but Lelia paused and looked back toward the door. "We can't leave him there."
"He's fine."
"He's sitting on the steps again."
"For now. He'll go home soon."
Lelia sighed. "Fabri, he's so drunk he can hardly walk and it's November. He'll freeze."
Fabrizio looked back at the door. He knew his wife was right. As much as his friend might drink on a regular basis—regardless of how often he insisted he was cutting back—he had never reached that level before. The last thing he wanted was to find his friend frozen on his front step first thing in the morning. "You go on ahead and I'll bring him up," he said. "If he'll go."
He went back outside and saw Cal still sitting on the steps, his head in his hands. "Come on," he said, pulling the man to his feet.
"Where we going?" Cal asked.
"Where you want to go?"
"Spokane."
"Well, we're not going there," Fabrizio replied as he began helping his friend up the stairs.
~~~
Cal woke up on a worn sofa in a place that at first he didn't recognize. A bold light shone through the windows, making his head pound and blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to return to sleep but then a piece fell into place and he realized where he was. He opened his eyes once again and looked around the room. A baby in a playpen stared back at him and laughed.
"Good morning," Lelia said cheerfully, holding out a cup of coffee. "You look terrible."
"Where—"
"Fabri's working," she explained. "I took the day off because neither of us wished to leave you alone."
"How did...why am I here?" He desperately tried to piece together the night before but none of the pieces he recalled seemed to fit.
"That's a good question. Why are you here?"
Cal pushed himself upright and took the offered coffee.
"I have toast too unless you'd like something more substantial," Lelia offered.
He shook his head. "I'm not sure I can even handle toast at the moment."
"How much did you drink last night?"
"Couldn't say...don't really remember much about last night."
"Well, what I remember is coming home from a very nice evening and finding you on our doorstep, so drunk you could hardly stand," Lelia said. "What happened?"
He thought of the previous night...no, day. Dinah was angry. She was often angry but this had been worse. It had been bigger. A giant piece fell into place and he let out a deep breath. "I think I lost everything."
"Everything?" She quickly sat beside him.
"No, not everything, I suppose but...God, I don't even know." He remembered receiving the news. The urgent command to sell as much as he could. The plummeting numbers. Dinah's fury. "I don't know why it even bothers me. I've dreamt of losing all of my money, being free from all the damn rules and...and, especially the people. But now..." For the first time since his father had died, he wished the man was still alive. He would've known exactly what to do.
"Reality isn't always the same as a dream," Lelia said softly. "What did Dinah say?"
"Oh, she's furious, of course," Cal replied. "Maybe that's the bright spot in all of this. She might finally be looking for that divorce." He looked around the room. "God, I'm so sorry for showing up like this."
"Why did you show up?" Lelia asked. "Here I mean, of all places?"
Cal shrugged. "I don't think I have any other friends."
"What about Kate?"
"I haven't spoken to her in years." Truthfully, in an attempt to remove all thoughts of Spokane from his mind entirely he hadn't spoken to Sarah either.
"Since you kissed her?"
"Yes, since I kissed her," he snapped, then immediately regretted his tone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," Lelia replied. "I shouldn't have mentioned it." Caroline let out a shout and Lelia turned to pick her up. "What's your plan now?"
Cal sighed once again. "First, I'd like a drink."
"No," she quickly replied. "No more drinking. You'll kill yourself otherwise."
"In that case, I have no idea what to do next."
Lelia looked at the child in her arms and smiled. "You know what I think you should do?"
"What?"
"Isn't it obvious? Speak to your lawyer," she said. "Like you said earlier, Dinah may be looking for a divorce. I think you should take advantage of the current situation and make it happen." She shrugged. "You may not get another chance."
Cal took a drink of his coffee, grateful that she had brewed it strong. "That's true," he said thoughtfully. "I'll call on him the moment I get home. Once I can think clearly again. Did I die last night? I feel like I might've died?"
Lelia laughed. "No, but I think it may have been close." She shifted Caroline to her other side. "Stay as long as you need."
"Thank you," Cal said. "I really mean it."
~~~
Pat couldn't stop fixating on Hugh's words. He knew the man had to have been lying. Kate wouldn't do that to him. He knew her. He knows her. She wouldn't. Could she? Would she? He rubbed his face. Why did they have to medicate him? It made it such a struggle to grasp any thought long enough to fully consider it. Why hadn't anyone visited? Kate would've visited. She wouldn't have abandoned him. Hadn't he once abandoned her?
The screaming again. God, he hated the screaming. He clapped his hands over his ears. Why couldn't he wake up? What was taking Sarah so long?
The door opened with a loud wrench. A flashlight shining in his face. He shut his eyes against its blinding beam. After a moment the orderly left, back the way he came, the door slamming shut. And then silence.
Silence? There had been no click of the lock. Pat sat up and looked around the room, packed with metal beds and sleeping people. How could they sleep through all the noise?
The door was unlocked.
Quietly, he left his bed and approached the door. He pushed it open, wincing at the noise. He held his breath, waiting, but no one stirred.
Pat picked a direction and began walking. The hallway, bathed in harsh, white light, lay eerily deserted. Still, he walked cautiously, his heart pounding. It was so loud. Voices coming from one room; cries from another. All with identical, matching doors. He reached the end and door that looked different. He pushed on it but it remained shut. Locked.
He took a deep breath and turned the corner. Still walking, still looking for escape. Then the sound of keys, footsteps, voices. Pat ducked down another hallway, same as the others. His heart pounded so loudly. He couldn't go back.
That hallway ended in a dead end. He backtracked and turned another way. Another set of doors. Locked. Memories of another labyrinth of corridors, locked doors, dead ends rushed back, flooding his mind. Oh God, he was back on the ship. Somehow. Inexplicably. Pat quickened his pace, desperate, the end of another hall and this time the door opened. But to a staircase going down. He stared at it, confused. What floor was he even on? He couldn't remember. A voice in his head urged him to descend, demanding it. But why? He couldn't remember that either. He went down the stairs and met a gate, locked across the bottom.
And panic tightened around him. Trapped. He was trapped. Pat ran up the stairs and started back the way he had come.
A sudden whistle, loud and sharp, brought him to an abrupt stop.
Men pointing; running toward him. Pat turned and ran, desperate. He refused to drown.
Someone collided with him, sending him painfully to the ground.
He struggled against the hands that held him down, desperately clawing at them. More men swarmed around him, dragging him to his feet. He yanked an arm free and struck one of them.
"Someone fetch the restraints."
The words sounded distant, incomprehensible. Restraints?
And the world rushed back at him. He was in the hospital. He was trapped. "No, I don't belong here! I don't belong here!" He pleaded, but his words fell on deaf ears. They tightened the restraints on his wrists until he lost all feeling in his hands. "I don't belong here." He fought against them as they began to drag him down the hallway. "Please, I have to go home. I have to go home. Please, let me go home."
And then they realized where they were taking him. He tried again to break free from their grasp but it was useless. He was trapped. Trapped.
The door opened and the room swallowed him in darkness, the small window now shut, cutting off air and light.
"Better do ankles too," a man said. "Wouldn't want him running off again."
Running off? He had only tried to go home.
They pushed him down and he kicked one of them. The restraints were only tightened further. And then they were gone, leaving him alone in the dark and the silence. He found the mattress and curled up on it the best he could. His arms hurt and he couldn't breathe. Why did he feel so numb?
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine himself lying in bed with Sarah pressed against him. Why had that ever bothered him? Why wouldn't he wake up?
Pat thought it might've been early morning when Charlie came in and opened the window, letting in air and a sliver of gray light. "I did warn you," he said, shaking his head. "You might as well get comfortable. They plan on keeping you here for a few days. Apparently you broke someone's nose."
"Good," he muttered as he pushed himself upright. He wished he had broken more than that.
Charlie came closer and examined the restraints on Pat's wrists. "I'm not allowed to take these off but I don't see why you should lose your hands," he said, loosening them. "Are you alright?"
Pat looked at him, trying to judge his sincerity. "I only want to be goin' home," he said, at last.
"I know," Charlie replied. "And I'd let you, but it's not my decision."
"Whose is it?"
But the orderly only straightened up and looked around the room, a frown on his face. "I'll bring you something to eat," he said. "And another blanket. It's cold in here."
After he left, the door closing behind him, Pat leaned against the wall. He tried to think of a plan, a way to go home, but every possible idea died before the thought could cross his mind. There was no way out.
He was trapped.
~~~
Winter
~~~
It was strange without his father around. Quieter. Sadder. John would often slip out of bed in the middle of the night for a drink of water, only to stumble upon his mother sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, staring into a cup of untouched tea. He remembered too clearly the days when she'd refuse to leave her bed and wondered if it was the same sort of thing. He didn't know what to do as his father had been the one to bring her out of it but now his father wasn't there.
John had quickly learned where his father was from Hugh, but his mother never mentioned it. Not by name. She had only told Eileen that he was away on a trip and would be home soon. She repeated it so often that he began to question if she was, perhaps, starting to believe it herself.
His mother had wanted to treat Christmas just as another day, same as all of the rest. But John couldn't bear the thought of Eileen feeling left out; she was only three and didn't understand everything that was going on. So he took charge in decorating the house and finding a tree—a small one as he had to bring it back to the house himself. He even reached out to his aunt, hoping she'd be willing to make dinner but she had declined, stating that his mother might prefer to be alone. She had looked sad and he suspected that she was also speaking of herself.
On Christmas morning, his mother seemed to regain some of her former self as she distributed presents that had likely been purchased and wrapped months before they took his father away.
Eileen, blissfully unaware of the tension, eagerly tore the wrapping paper from her gift. Her eyes lit up upon discovering a tiny stroller with a new doll inside, ready to be pushed around.
John approached his own present more slowly, his breath momentarily catching in his throat when he unveiled its contents. It was the Spirit of St. Louis model kit that he had wanted so badly, the one his mother had said was too expensive. He looked at her with a mix of surprise and curiosity.
"You'll have to thank your father for that," she said, momentarily letting her guard down before catching herself and placing a hand over her mouth.
John looked at the model kit then back to his mother, the sudden feeling of anger rising up in him. "Why are you pretending like he's just on some trip and will be back in just a bit?" He asked. "We all know where he is."
"John," she pleaded, casting a worried glance toward Eileen. "We can discuss this later."
Later. Later. Always later. He was tired of his parents refusing to tell him anything, tired of them always pushing difficult conversations to a later that never seemed to arrive. "No!" he snapped, frustration boiling over. "I'm not waiting until later. Why aren't you doing anything?"
"John," she said again, distress in her voice.
"Why are you leaving him there?" John's voice rose with each word.
She wrapped her arms around herself and one foot tapped anxiously against the floor. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple," he insisted. "You left him in that place and you're not doing a damn thing to get him out. It's like you don't even care."
A heavy silence hung in the air as his mother began to cry and he immediately regretted his words.
"Who says I'm not doing anything?" She asked, her voice trembling. "I'm doing everything I can. Everything. But they won't..." her voice broke and she took a breath. "I'm not giving up. I promise."
John sat on the sofa beside her and leaned his head against her shoulder. "Why can't we just break him out? We'll go in the middle of the night, wear disguises and everything. Dottie's great at drawing fake mustaches," he suggested. "And then we find him and we go home."
His mother wiped her eyes and offered a weak smile. "If we have to, we will," she said.
"Mama look!" Eileen, unhappy with being ignored, held up her new doll.
"That's very nice," his mother replied. "What are you going to name it?"
The toddler grew serious as she considered the question for a moment then a smile spread across her face. "Olna."
"I thought your other doll was Olna," John said.
She nodded. "She's Olna and this Olna."
"Is he okay?" John asked suddenly, his thoughts drifting back to his father.
His mother sighed, her voice heavy with uncertainty. "I'm sure he's fine. He's survived terrible things before and he'll get through this," she replied, as though trying to reassure herself as much as him. "We all will."
But John didn't think she sounded all that certain.
~~~
Pat sat in his usual corner of the Common Room and stared out the window. He was afraid to say anything or do anything wrong. Terrified of being sent back to the dark room, the restraints. All he could do was lie in bed at night, pretending to sleep or sit in his chair in the corner of the Common Room, pretending to look out the window. He didn't want to give up. He knew that he desperately wanted to escape, to return home. But he couldn't think of it. Consider it. He couldn't think of anything, nothing more than the most fleeting consideration. He assumed they must've increased whatever medication they forced down his throat twice a day but he couldn't be sure. One pill looked like another. And why didn't he care?
He gave the briefest look as Charlie approached and took a seat beside him.
"I haven't done anythin'," Pat said at once.
"I know," the orderly replied. "You've been very good."
Ordinarily such a comment would've rankled him. He knew he should've been irritated. But all he could do was shrug and return his attention to the window. It had just started to snow.
"You know it's Christmas," Charlie pointed out.
"Is it?" Pat didn't care. Without his family, it was only another day. "Could ye leave me alone?"
"I could," Charlie replied. "But you sure you want me to? You look miserable."
"Maybe that's just how me face looks."
The orderly sighed. "I know it can be difficult to come to terms with your own family throwing you away like this."
Pat turned and looked at him. "Me family didn't throw me away." But he said it without any conviction, any belief. Why had no one visited?
"Well, someone sure did."
He didn't wish to talk about it. He didn't wish to think about it. It was already so difficult to think about anything at all. "Please go away."
"I met your wife the other day."
There was a sudden swooping feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Sarah?"
"She's real pretty," Charlie said. He lowered his voice and leaned in a bit closer. "I thought it'd make you happy to know she hadn't forgotten you."
"She hasn't visited."
"Of course not. You're on the no visitors list. She couldn't see you if she tried. And I know she tried because she frightened Miss Carter something terrible." He chuckled. "She had to lie down for twenty minutes afterward."
Something felt off. Felt wrong. But he couldn't grasp it. Sarah had been there. "When was this?"
"Quite a while back." There was a shout from the other side of the room and Charlie sighed. "Back to work, I guess," he said, standing up. "Anyway, Merry Christmas."
Later that night, Pat went to his room and laid down, trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent, something rational. Why couldn't he think clearly? Why hadn't anyone told him that Sarah had been there? He wished she was there beside him so desperately it hurt. As he adjusted his pillow, his fingers brushed against something tucked beneath it. He pulled it out and stared at the small bundle of folded pages.
It was too dark in the room to read it from where he was but carefully maneuvering through the beds that packed the room, he carried it to the window where the moonlight was streaming in. With trembling hands, he unfolded the pages and a strangled cry escaped his lips as he recognized Sarah's familiar handwriting.
Pat, the letter began, and as he read those first words, a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed hard and looked around the room, making sure everyone else remained asleep.
You cannot possibly know how much I miss you. Her words seemed to echo in the silence, and he could almost hear her voice trembling with emotion. His vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes, but he wiped them away with his sleeve.
I don't think I've slept a single minute since I last saw you. I try, but I wake up, and you're not beside me, and I can't breathe. Pat closed his eyes briefly, trying to regain his composure, but the ache in his heart only grew worse.
The thought of never seeing you again is too much to bear. God, I hope you're reading this. He nodded silently in response.
I paid a nice young man to deliver this letter to you. I desperately hope he followed through. You don't belong there. You belong at home with your family. Please remember that. I will get you released somehow. If necessary, I will tear the place down brick by brick with my bare hands.
But it was her final plea that undid him completely.
Please don't give up. You're not forgotten. I am here, thinking of you, trying desperately to bring you home. I won't give up until you're safe in my arms again.
He buried his face in the letter, muffling his cries, and let the tears flow freely onto the pages.
As the sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears, Pat's trembling hands quickly but gently refolded the letter and tucked it inside his shirt, just in time for the door to creak open, a beam of light slicing through the darkness. "Bed now," the orderly commanded. "Or you'll force me to tie you down."
Pat hastily scrambled back to bed. His heart pounding next to the hidden letter.
Not forgotten.
Not alone.