Wayward Souls: The Sequel to Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) Page 9

  I adjust the seat and mirrors and back away from the house, noticing his fire gear in the backseat. Shit! I wonder who will be in charge of contacting his chief and when was his next shift? Was he supposed to work tomorrow? How much patience would his boss have? My heart aches for my dad. If they kick him out of the department, he will self destruct.

  I’ve gotta stop thinking that way. Gotta cross one bridge at a time, and right now the priority is making sure he’s okay. The rest will happen later. I speed down the highway, trying to get my mind on anything else as I follow right behind the ambulance. I turn the volume up on the radio – an old country station blares. I am not into that kind of music, but I refuse to change the way he has things set. I’m pretty sure it’s Johnny Cash, and it makes me smile thinking about the types of music my father listens to. From The Rolling Stones to Johnny Cash – he’s cooler than I thought.

  I pull up in the emergency room parking and run inside, following the medics, but a nurse stops me. I’m crazy to think they’ll let me go back with him, but it’s worth a fighting chance. She’s calm – she probably deals with people ten times worse than me all the time.

  “He’s in good hands,” she says as she grabs some paperwork.

  “If I hear that one more time, I swear…” I cut myself off and take a deep breath.

  Her smile is comforting, and I notice that her name is Beatrice on her badge. “I take it you’re his son?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “I’m going to ask you some questions, and if you don’t know the answer, that’s fine. Just something we have to try to gather on the patient.”

  I know she’s trying to get my mind off of things. He’s been a patient here before. They should have it all in the system. She asks me what the cop already has – I give her our basic information. Home address, his name, my name, marital status, blah blah blah.

  “Does your father have insurance?”

  “Yes. He’s a firefighter. I hope to God he has insurance.”

  This makes Beatrice laugh, but I don’t see much humor in it. “Okay, well I’m going to go check on him. There’s a waiting room around the corner with vending machines and coffee. The cafeteria is also open twenty four hours a day, so if you want some real food, it’s on the second floor.”

  I nod and say thank you, and sit in the farthest chair away from everyone. The TV has some late evening talk show on and a family is engrossed in it. I can’t even think about eating right now, so I grab a magazine and thumb through it. The date is from several months back, but there’s not much else in the line for entertainment.

  My mind wanders to my father. What exactly happened at the pond? Did he decide to take a swim? He told me the pond wasn’t for swimming – too many things in the water, so why would he do it? Did he fall in? Or was he up to something? My father wouldn’t take his own life. He’s not suicidal. But after everything that has happened, is the pain so unbearable that he feels he needs to? Does he miss my mom that bad? I feel guilty even considering this – he’s the bravest man I’ve ever known. Something happened at the pond. Something I hope he remembers. Something that I hope makes him snap out of the denial he’s been carrying around.

  Beatrice approaches me, and it’s hard to read her body language. She’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell if she’s doing it to put a front up.

  “Rusty, your dad is stable, but he’s still unconscious. You can go in and see him. They are prepping to take him to ICU right now, but since you’re all by yourself, we’re making an exception for you.”

  I follow her back to the semi private room, and she motions me behind a curtain. My dad is there, asleep as she has warned me, and I walk to the far side of the bed. He’s on oxygen, and the weird plastic thing in his nose is the first thing I notice. The monitors above reflect his vitals, but as I’ve already realized from earlier, I know nothing medical, so they’re just a bunch of numbers to me.

  “Is he… Is he going to be okay?”

  She is busy checking his IV – I don’t even know what drugs he’s on, and even if I did, I would have no clue what they were for, but there’s three bags hung up, all dripping into one line.

  She looks up from her task, silencing one alarm that goes off. “He is stable right now and breathing on his own. He reacts to stimuli, so his brain is active. We just have to monitor him closely and make sure there’s no underlying damage to his lungs and brain. We will know more after tonight.”

  That doesn’t really answer my question, but by her response, I can tell she doesn’t want to commit to a yes or no. They are trained for that – to be vague, but hopeful, all at the same time.

  “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes, Rusty. We’re about to move him.”

  I don’t look up at her, but study my dad. He is pale, and I grab his hand. It’s cold and clammy, and he doesn’t squeeze back. “Hey Dad, it’s Rusty. Can you hear me?”

  His eyebrows move and his hand, while weak, does finally respond. His hair is spiked out in every direction, and it hurts to see him like this.

  “Dad, everything is going to be okay. I love you.” He moves his head and his eyes don’t open, but I can tell he’s trying. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest.” I feel bad for getting him riled up. “Once they get you moved I’ll be right by your side. I won’t leave.”

  Beatrice and two other nurses come in and that is my cue to leave. I stop at the curtain, taking one long glance at him. Something’s gotta give. Maybe this is rock bottom, and he’ll get back to business once he’s awake. It’s the only positive thing I can hold onto, and I hope I’m right.

  ***

  Nathan

  Confusion hits me when I wake up. I’m staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, with something plastic stuck up my nose. I try to turn to my side, but a sharp pain stings the back of my hand, and I realize there’s an IV in me. Everything is fuzzy – I can’t remember how I got here or what got me here, but the nurse must have heard me, because she comes in, checking something above my head.

  “Good to see you awake, Mr. Gallagher.”

  “Where… what happened?” Damn, my throat is dry, and she must’ve heard it in my voice, because she scoots a cup of water my way and I sip on it.

  “You almost drowned, Mr. Gallagher. Do you remember any of it?”

  I almost drowned? I don’t remember any of it. Sitting up, I adjust the pillow and it makes me dizzy. “When?”

  “Last night.” She stops what she is doing and looks at me, her brow creased. “You don’t remember it?”

  “No.” I shake my head and regret it. It feels like my brain is sloshing around inside. She looks at me again, this time like she doesn’t believe me.

  “Mr. Gallagher, your son found you out by the pond at your house. Do you remember being out at it?”

  “Please, call me Nathan.” I can’t stand to be called Mister. It makes me feel old, and with the way she’s treating me, like I’m I child, it doesn’t mesh well. “Rusty found me?”

  “He did. He’s in the waiting room if you want me to go get him. He’s been by your bedside since you got here, but we had him leave about an hour ago when we bathed you.”

  Maybe Rusty knows more about it. It really bugs me that I can’t remember anything. “Yeah, that’d be good.” I lean my head back on the pillow and close my eyes, my breathing labored. Why is it so hard to catch my breath? Maybe because my lungs were full of water.

  “My name is Beatrice. I was the nurse on duty when they brought you in, and I’ll be here for another few hours today as well. Please let me know if you need anything and I’ll also let the doctor know you’re awake.”

  I keep my eyes closed and feel the cool stream of oxygen from my cannula flow into my nostrils. Damn, I hope Rusty knows something. Did someone try to kill me? The last thing I remember is Britney picking Rusty up for their date. Past that, my memory flashes bits and pieces, but it’s like a dream where I can’t tell reality from imagination.

  “Dad?”

 
My son’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I try to sit up. My body doesn’t allow it, and I have no energy. “Hey, Russ.”

  “How are you feeling?” He steps to the bedside and touches my hand. I can’t imagine what kind of worry he’s going through and I feel guilty for this happening, even if I don’t know how it did.

  “Not bad. Just confused.”

  “I…” He brushes his hand through his hair and tears gather in his eyes. “I thought you were dead. I was so scared when I saw you lying there on the dock like that.”

  “I’m not dead, Russ. I just… I don’t remember anything. Do you know what happened?”

  He pulls up a chair and sits in it. “No. I got home from my date and couldn’t find you in the house, so I went out to the pond. You were passed out on the dock, hanging halfway in the water. At first you weren’t breathing. I tried to do CPR and everything.”

  “Thanks, Russ. I’d probably be dead if you…”

  “Don’t talk like that.” His soft voice turns to anger and he stands up, pacing at the foot of the bed. “What happened? Did you fall in? Did you jump in? Or…” He stops himself, edging closer to me again, lowering his voice as he eyes where my nurse is sitting. She’s not far away and can probably hear us. “Did you get a visit? Did someone pull you in?”

  I clench my jaw and stare up at the blank TV. I feel like I can sleep for another full day, but I feel my pulse raising, and I’m sure whatever damn monitors they have me on will start ringing to alert the medical staff.

  “I don’t remember, Russ. I mean it when I say that.”

  “You don’t remember, or you don’t wanna tell me?”

  Before I can answer, Beatrice comes back in my room and a man in a white coat follows. I’m assuming he’s my doctor, and they both look over a folder before speaking.

  “Can you give me your name and date of birth, please?” The doctor commands as he skims through some papers in the folder.

  “Nathan Gallagher. Date of birth is July seventh, nineteen-seventy two.”

  “Thank you. My name is Dr. Hocutt and I’m a doctor here in the ICU. How are you feeling today?”

  “Good. Fine. I want out of here.”

  “I can’t release you just yet, Mr. Gallagher. We’ve got some tests to run and we need to keep you for observation.”

  “Is memory loss common with something like this?” Rusty interrupts him and his bold question shocks me.

  The doctor looks at Rusty and says, “And you are?”

  “His son. Rusty. I’m the one who found him at the pond. Is memory loss normal?” He repeats the question, his eyes set hard on the doctor.

  “It can happen, yes, but his brain scans have come back showing no damage. But after certain traumas, it can take time.”

  I hate being talked about like I’m not in the room. “I just want to get back to work. How long do you have to observe me?” It dawns on me that I had a tour today – that’s one thing I do remember, and it makes me sit up fast and I have to brace myself until the vertigo clears. “And speaking of work, did anyone call my chief?”

  “I did,” Rusty says, and if I didn’t already feel guilty before, I sure do now. “He came up here. Left those flowers.” He points to a vase by the window. “Said your shifts are covered and to keep him informed.”

  “Nathan, listen – we can’t release you yet. There’s some things we have to follow up on. Things we need to discuss in a more private manner. Would you like your son to leave?”

  I look at Rusty and back to him. “What in the hell is so private that we can’t discuss in front of him? He saved my damn life, for God’s sake.”

  “Your mental health. We keep a much tighter ship when it comes to that. You can have him leave, or he can stay, but you have to give me permission before we talk about it in front of him.”

  “My mental health? What does it have to do with me almost drowning?”

  “Can we discuss or does Rusty need to leave?”

  I make eye contact with my son again. I’ve never seen the boy so sad. “It’s your call, Russ. If you want to stay, you can. If not, I understand.”

  “I can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t stand any of it.” He hurries to the door, leaving me, the nurse, and Dr. Hocutt alone.

  “Nathan, we have been speaking with a psychologist that is familiar with you. Not the same doctor you had during your stay at Sunset Canyon, but one on staff during your time there. We’re concerned. We’d like to discuss how this happened. It’s suspicious and we want to make sure you’re taken care of. I have to protect you. It’s my job to check this stuff.”

  “For the last damn time, I don’t remember how this happened.” The mention of Sunset Canyon terrifies me. My heart races, and just like I predicted, the monitor dings, and Beatrice silences it. “Where’s my therapist from Sunset Canyon. Why aren’t you talking to him? He’ll tell you my story. You won’t believe a damn word from me.”

  “He resigned not long after you were discharged. Said he was going to focus his studies on something else. You really were a different patient for him, which is all the more reason why we need to ask these questions.”

  Dr. Clint resigned? A lump forms in my throat and I look away, toward the wall. There go my chances of someone vouching for me. How many other people would say I really did see those ghosts - that I wasn’t a schizophrenic who resisted the medications? I’m pretty much screwed. The people who knew the truth wouldn’t even say it – it goes against societal norms.

  “The more you give us, the easier this will be,” Dr. Hocutt says, pulling up a chair. “We have a psychiatrist here. I can page him.”

  “No. I’d give you something, but there’s nothing to give.”

  “How long have you been with the fire department, Nathan?”

  “Why are you bringing up my job? You planning to rip that away from me too?” If they deemed me unfit to work this time, I’m certain my chief’s hands will be tied. He won’t be able to cover for me. I’ve missed too much work, had too much stuff happen, and people will be onto me.

  “No, that didn’t even cross my mind. It’s just, by your scans and what I’ve seen, you were under the water for a good amount of time. You are part of search and rescue. You have to be a good swimmer for that, right?”

  I nod in agreement, finally able to look at him again. I can see why they’re thinking this about me. On the outside looking in, I’d probably be skeptical too. “I am a good swimmer.”

  “Then how did this happen? How were you not breathing when your son found you?”

  “Until I remember, I really can’t tell you, Dr. Hocutt. I’m telling you the truth when I say I can’t remember even going out to the pond.” That doesn’t help my case, and I know it. If they think this was a suicide attempt, a failing memory could mean different things, like drug use or being drunk. But they have tests to detect that, which I’m sure they’ve already run. That could be an issue – the chances of me knocking back a few aren’t far fetched. A failing memory could also mean I was so far out of it, that my brain is zapped, and again, not helping me.

  He pats my leg and cracks a smile. “We’ll hold you and wait until some details come back for you.”

  I fight my aching body and sit up again, reaching for my IV in the back of my hand, yanking it out. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this, and I go through déjà vu. “You can’t hold me here. I’m leaving.” I have to get out. If I don’t leave, they’ll throw me back in Sunset Canyon, and without my normal doctor there, I’ll probably never see the light of day again.

  I kick my legs over the side of the bed and put my other hand over the IV wound – it’s bleeding some, and the sting is unbearable. Dr. Hocutt stands over me, as well as two other men in scrubs who I didn’t even notice come in.

  “You are under suicide watch, Mr. Gallagher. You really don’t have much of a say when it comes to leaving.” The smile on Dr. Hocutt’s face fades. “We have a caseworker on their way for a deeper asses
sment, and until we get the all clear, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “A caseworker?” My voice shakes and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. When did things get so out of control? I have denied the ghosts. They’ve been nothing but dreams. How is this happening again? Maybe the caseworker will have access to all of my previous psychological notes. Maybe she’ll see that I’m not crazy.

  “Beatrice, we’ll get him situated and you get his IV cleaned up. He’s soaking through his gown.”

  I look down and don’t even realize I’m hurt that bad. I’m numb to the pain and I’m not sure what to do. I’m surrounded by linebacker looking men, hindering any options I might think are available.

  I worry about Rusty. He’s underage with one parent – a parent deemed unstable. What will happen to him? I’m scared to ask it out loud. If I put it on their radar, will that same caseworker cart him off to some home he’s not familiar with? If only I could sneak a quick chat with him, I’d tell him to get out of here and hide. That poor kid has been through too much, and I’m just making everything worse.

  To add insult to injury, they handcuff my wrist to the side of the bed and now I feel like a criminal on top of everything else. But it’s all familiar – I went through similar stuff just months before when Rose had me committed. The only problem now is, an actual psychologist said I was sane and I never knew this could ever happen again. Twice? How is that even possible?

  Beatrice looks down at me with sympathy, and I wish they didn’t pity me. She cleans the wound on the back of my hand and wraps it in gauze, redoing the IV on my other hand, the hand that isn’t cuffed. I’m sure she does it for a reason, so I can’t yank it out again. The treatment I’m getting feels like it’s not legal, but as I learned the hard way, when it comes to mental health, the rules are different. They can hold me. Any chances of leaving against medical advice are thrown out the window. If they think I’m a danger to myself or others, they can do what they want. I won’t be surprised if they have an officer camped outside my door to make sure I don’t try anything.