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CHAPTER 38
HARRY'S POV
I did not know exactly what Jane was to me. A friend? An ally? Just another patient? No, definitely not the third option. The patients here were nothing to me, and she was at least more than that. She was someone. She was a strange, quiet woman with lots of problems. She was interesting, she was nice. She had a son.
But the fact that he existed was all we knew about him. Maybe that boy was young, maybe old. Maybe he cared about his mom and maybe he didn't. But now that son no longer had a mother. He could no longer yearn for the day of his her release, he could no longer feel inclined to visit, he could no longer contact a woman who was no longer there. And for some reason, I felt a hell of a lot of guilt for it.
"It's my fault." The words came out quiet, but Rose had heard. Instinctively she rested her hand over mine in comfort. "No it's not, you didn't-"
"Yes, yes it is," I interrupted. "When I went to tell Ms. Hellman to switch your guard, she asked why I wanted the guards switched." Rose's puzzled, anticipating expression urged me to continue. "So I told her about Jane." My eyes looked into my lap, not wanting to meet any of theirs.
"What?" Mikayla asked.
"Yeah, I told her that Kevin shouldn't be Rose's guard since he raped Jane. And I don't know why, but that's what made Ms. Hellman have her go into surgery."
"That doesn't make sense," Rose countered. "Why would she do that?"
"Who knows," I shrugged. "It's Ms. Hellman. She might've done it just to spite us. Or maybe she didn't want Jane talking, she didn't want any evidence that her guards were raping women. Bottom line; if I wouldn't have said anything, Jane would be here right now."
"You had no idea that Ms. Hellman was going to do that. You were only trying to protect me, Harry. You did the right thing." Rose's words eased some of the dread from my shoulders and I nodded for her sake, although I didn't fully believe it myself. "Plus," Rose continued, "We don't even know for sure that she's dead." But her voice didn't sound confident.
"Wait, dead?!" Mikayla asked a little too loudly, and for a moment I had forgotten she was still here. But she was ignored.
"She's been missing for two days, where else could she be?" I asked.
"Maybe she's still in that room," Rose said. "Maybe she's alive."
I took in a heavy breath. "No, Rose, I don't think so." She had a certain hope and trust in the good of people that I admired, but sometimes it could leave her disappointed. She just didn't know any better, where as I was skeptically aware of the evil that could lurk under human skin. They had no trouble in eliminating Cynthia Porter from existence, and I'm sure they wouldn't have a problem doing the same to Jane.
"Do you think they did it because they know we're trying to escape?" Rose whispered. Her deep eyes were afraid as they searched mine for refuge. And I so desperately wanted to be that for her, to be what she needed. I could protect her if it weren't for the damned bars that separated us each night.
But, "I don't think so," was the best I could do to reassure her, for now. "They probably don't want the sanest people here teaming up, that's all. I don't think they know what we're up to, though."
She nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. But her shoulders slumped and she sort of sat back into herself as if something were bothering her.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," Rose said, still distracted.
"Rose, tell me," I instructed.
"I just . . ." she began. "This is about Jane, not us. I shouldn't be bringing it up."
"Say it anyway," I demanded. Those big eyes looked at me again, and I saw in them that she knew I wouldn't let the matter go.
"Well . . . I mean, why wouldn't Ms. Hellman do what she did to Jane to us? We're the ones causing all the problems. Why not put us into surgery instead?"
I had thought over the idea of being erased from Wickendale's records since the day Cynthia disappeared, asking myself the same thing one too many times.
"Don't worry about that," I assured. "Ms. Hellman could never just kill us off." Well, not like that anyway. "We're too widely known. Everyone knows who I am. I'm the notorious Harry Styles who's known for skinning women. And you, everyone at this institution knows who you are. All of the employees and all of the patients. So if we magically disappeared one day like Cynthia and Jane did, too many people would get suspicious."
Rose nodded and relaxed again, comforted by the idea. Mikayla, however, was not so comforted.
"Okay, I'm sorry to ruin your little Sherlock Holmes moment, but what the hell are you talking about?" She asked both of us. "Are you saying that the warden lady actually killed Jane? And she's trying to kill you too?"
I looked at Rose expectantly. But she nudged me with her elbow, and it was obvious that I would be the one explaining. So I told her of our theory that brain tests and surgeries, illegal, dangerous ones, were being conducted here at Wickendale. It wasn't exactly a secret, but I spoke in a hushed tone so that we wouldn't be overheard.
I did not tell her of Ms. Hellman's son or our mishaps with that wicked family, though. I explained all I could while leaving out all that I could. Divulging too much could be dangerous.
"Holy shit," she breathed when I was finished. "That's crazy, they can't do that!"
"Yeah they can," I disagreed. "I mean what can we do to stop it?"
"I don't know but we have to do something. Go to the police. The guards, maybe?"
"They're almost as bad as Ms. Hellman herself. It won't do any good."
Mikayla huffed and leaned back into her chair, and in her expression I could see her thinking it over. But I knew that all too soon she would discover the inevitable; there was nothing we could do. So we just sat their in our defeat and our sorrow and grieve as we thought of Jane. But there was no crying. No prayers sent and no resemblance of any type of funeral or closure. Because none of us had known Jane well enough for that right. And none of us could just act like it had been nothing. Because we knew Jane, even if only for a little while. It didn't feel right to crack a sarcastic joke and try to lighten the mood or to change subject, but we couldn't reminisce and sob together about nonexistent memories of her, either. We could only sit.
I had entertained the idea that she might still be alive, but a two day disappearance after she had been seen entering "surgery" didn't provide much room for hope. And anyway, the only hope I had left was instilled into mine and Rose's escape. I looked down at her small hand still on mine, and I tried to focus on that. Maybe Jane didn't make it, make Cynthia had disappeared, maybe a few others would be left here forever. But Rose and I were different. We could make it. We had to.
Although these were positive thoughts, the atmosphere and mood of the hour were anything but positive. So I was relieved when lunch was over after minutes of sitting in a silence of displacement.
Mikayla left without a word and I said my goodbyes to Rose in the form of kisses. I just hoped to God that tomorrow we could get through lunch without a death to grieve over.
ROSE'S POV
This was a fact that I admitted with great pity, but Harry was used to losing people. It broke my heart that it was true, but everyone who was supposed to love him he had lost at the hands of death. So Jane's death, although he had taken the responsibility and guilt upon his own shoulders, was not as heart-wrenching for him as death should be.
But I, however, was not used to it. I had been fortunate enough to not see many deaths around me during my life. So Jane, although I hadn't really known her too well, left an anger and sorrow inside of me that left me in a terrible mood. Even now that we were painting to let our emotions out in some sort of ridiculous form of therapy, an activity I had been waiting for since the first day of my admittance, all I could do was sit and stare at the blank canvas. Other patients scattered throughout the room either mindlessly or vigorously dragged their brushes across paper. But I didn't feel an ounce of inspiration considering today's events.
That was, until I heard a husky, deep voice inches away from my ear. "That looks amazing babe."
I jumped in surprise, turning to see Harry's face hovering over my shoulder. I laughed when he flashed me a goofy smile. "Doesn't it?" I asked sarcastically. Then, more seriously I added, "I just can't think of an idea."
"No, I'm serious," he argued, walking over to the blank white paper. "Its fascinating. This piece really speaks to me."
"Shut up," I laughed. "Let's see you try and paint something."
"Okay," he agreed, taking on the challenge. There was a table next to me filled with numerous colors and brushes. Harmless tools for the groups of patients to paint with. Harry chose a deep blue and a large, thick brush. He stirred the paint and watched it swirl in its tiny cup, before yanking out the brush and flicking his wrist toward the paper. It created splattered blotches all along the once blank space.
He went to repeat the action, but just before he flicked his wrist he turned it toward me. I let out a small cry as the liquid hit in darted spots across my cheek. Harry began to laugh and I tried to suppress my growing smile. "What are you doing?" I demanded, laughing.
"I dunno. Just lightening the mood I guess." He stepped toward me with the paint brush but I caught his wrist in my hand before he could get too close. He must've seen my smile fade too quickly, because he sighed and then his smile faded, too.
"Look, lunch was rough," he told me. "But we can't dwell on it. I know she had a son and that she didn't deserve it, but if we keep thinking about those things it'll make us crazy. We can't do anything about it now."
I nodded and forced a smile, but still didn't feel as if the matter was resolved.
"Hey, look at me," Harry said and placed a hand on my cheek. "Don't think too much about the things that are happening here. I'll take you far away from this place one day. I promise that there will be no more deaths or surgeries or torture. We'll run away and I'll keep you safe, okay?"
"Okay." I nodded my head against his hand as he pulled me in, sealing his lips around mine. We were only spared a few precious seconds before we would start attracting attention, so the kiss ended before it started.
But when I looked to him I noticed something strange in his expression. He was trying to press his lips into a tight line, but he couldn't suppress his smile. I was slightly confused, until he pulled his hand away and I felt a big wet spot on the cheek he had been holding. My eyes darted to his hand to find it stained with blue paint.
"Harry!" I protested and hit his chest. As soon as my hand connected with the fabric of his uniform he burst out into a chuckle.
"I did mean it though!" He said through his laughter. "I meant what I said, but I just had to do that."
All I responded with was a grin and a slow disapproving shake of my head. I quickly dipped my hand into a small container of red paint on the table. Before Harry could react, I used my fingers to fling the tiny red droplets his way. He tried to run but I was quicker.
"Hah!" I said victoriously when the paint hit his uniform.
Harry bit his lip as he looked down at the mess. "Oh, you're in for it now," he said with a wicked smile. He swiped the blue paint brush from its position on the easel. My eyes widened as I realized his intentions. I spun around and took off, weaving through the sea of people actually painting paper rather than each other. I shrieked and laughed as he got closer, and the loud room didn't carry the noise all the way to the attendant.
There was a small area in the back, just barely out of sight. It was an extension of the room, almost a small hallway. It sectioned off into storage rooms and bathrooms, maybe. It stopped only a few yards out from the rest of the room, hitting a dead end at the back wall.
I ran through there and stood with my back to the wall immediately, flattening myself against it. But Harry had been watchful, and he found me just a moment later. "Gotcha." His tall figure approached slowly, taking his time now that he knew he had me. I was stuck at a corner and begged, "No! No, Harry, don't!"
But my laughter throughout the sentence made it sound like less of a plea and more of a form playful teasing. Harry approached until he was only a foot away, and even though I cowered back, he was able to slide the brush along my neck as we giggled and chuckled and laughed. Pushing him back was no use, so instead I tried grabbing the brush from his hand. After several attempts of him pulling his arm away I ripped it from his hold. I waisted no time in swiping it across his face. The blue streak when from his cheek all the was down to the bottom of his jaw where it met his neck. "Gotcha," I said, mocking him from earlier.
Suddenly in one soft motion, Harry had knocked the brush from my hand, pinned my wrists up against the wall, pressed his chest against me and crashed his lips against mine. The kiss was deep and hungry but also sweet with our smiles having yet to fade. My breathing increased with the sudden change and I felt my breasts flatten against him with each breath. He was so close to me, yet these damn uniforms were still in the way. We needed to be closer.
Harry pulled away then. "I need to get you out of this uniform," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "I need to see you, all of you."
He nudged my head to the side with his nose so the he could sponge kisses down the skin of my neck. Well, the part of it that wasn't covered in paint. "I bet your so beautiful under this ratty uniform," he whispered. "All of your curves and your soft, smooth skin."
I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him up so that his lips were back to mine. I had kissed him many times but still felt all of the butterflies and excitement that I did back in his cell so long ago. "I love you," I said as soon as there was a break in the kiss.
"I love you," Harry breathed.
Footsteps echoed across the opening into the short hallway where we were. Suddenly I noticed that it wasn't a very isolated area. We could get caught any second. Harry realized this too and pulled away so that we didn't get noticed. "Come on," he smiled, grabbing my hand and dragging me from our few short minutes of privacy.
Once we reemerged into the civilization of the rest of the patients we actually tried to paint on the paper. Harry kept pushing my shoulder to mess me up and I kept swiping my brush across his easel, so neither of the paintings turned out all that great. But I saved mine from further disaster in the year one-style cubbies they had set up along the walls. I found my name written on one near the bottom and slipped my halfway finished artwork inside. The plastic drawers were ridiculous really. We weren't five.
When I stood back up from the embarrassing and insulting cubby, I was surprised to find a woman standing directly in front of me. She had tangled, ratty darkish gray hair. Underneath her eyes there were dark bags that drooped and wrinkles that drew themselves in lines along her face. But she didn't look much older than forty.
"Help me," she faintly whispered to me. I was alarmed by her stealthy approach and jumped a little. I looked to Harry but he was still working, hunched over his work and unaware.
"With what?" I asked as nicely as I could manage.
"The man is back. He was here years ago but now he's back and I'm so scared," she spoke in sharp, quick whispers that I could barely understand.
"Calm down," I instructed. "Just breathe."
"The man is scary. The worst of all men, and he's right here with us in this very room. He's scary and we must all stay away! He did something awful back then. And he's here again. I had to warn you. You have to stay away." She was becoming desperate and frantic. Her body was shaking and she looked so incredibly scared.
"Who is this man?" I asked. I expected her to point to Kevin or James maybe. Or to point toward a patient like Normam. But she did what I did not expect. And with that shaky, bony hand of hers she rose a finger, and pointed it to Harry.