Page 29 of Ward D
I am about to tell him exactly why getting back together would be a terrible mistake when I realize we’re no longer alone in the patient lounge. Unsurprisingly, a patient has wandered into the room. I look up and recognize Will Schoenfeld. The guy who hears voices telling him to kill people. Well,used tohear voices telling him to kill people.
Or so he says.
“Hey.” Will stares down at the two of us huddled together on the couch. “Is this room free? I was going to play the piano.”
“Uh…” Cam looks up at Will, who is already walking over to the piano in the corner of the room. “We should go back to the staff lounge. We can grab dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, hoping Cam can’t hear my stomach growl as I say the words.
“You’re welcome to listen to me play,” Will says as he sits down at the piano bench. He cracks his knuckles, then he rests his fingers on the keys. A second later, the sound of Mozart fills the room.
Cam gives me a look like he wants me to come with him, but I don’t budge from the couch. Thankfully, he doesn’t push me. I watch him stalk out of the room, his heavy footsteps accompanying the sound of music drifting from the piano.
“Any requests?” Will asks me.
“What you’re playing is fine.” I close my eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over me. He’s really good. Almost professional level, but what do I know? “Are you practicing for anything in particular?”
Will grins at me. “Actually, I just came in because it sounded like you were trying to end that conversation.”
I can’t help it—I laugh. My first laugh the whole damn night.
“So… what is he? Your ex-boyfriend?” he asks.
“That’s kind of a personal question…”
“Hmm. It feels like you askedmea lot of personal questions.”
I close my eyes again. “That’s different.”
“Fine, you want me to shut up,” Will acknowledges good-naturedly. “Okay, I get it.”
He goes back to playing the piano, and it’s nice to zone out to the music. It’s sad that somebody with so much talent had their brain crap out on them like that. But isn’t that what they say? That people with incredible talent are more susceptible to mental illness? Or maybe I just made that up.
Whatever is going on in his brain, Will seems like a nice guy. He did rescue me from an uncomfortable conversation with Cameron. Maybe he could help me out with some of my other questions.
“Hey,” I say. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“How dangerous is that patient in the seclusion room?”
Will’s fingers freeze on the keys. “You heard about that guy?”
“A little. His name is Damon Sawyer, right?” I study his face. “Did you know him?”
“No,” he says, a little too quickly. “I’ve only been here a couple of days, and he mostly stayed in his own room.”
“But you knew he was in seclusion…”
He isn’t playing the piano anymore. He turns on the bench to look at me. “They stuck him in there last night. They told us all to stay in our rooms so I didn’t see the commotion, but I couldhearit. We all could.”
“Hear what?”
Will’s Adam’s apple bobs. “He was screaming. Screaming that he was going to kill everyone here. It was pretty disturbing, to be honest.”
I would definitely agree with that assessment. “But he’s locked in seclusion now.”
“Right. They tied him up in restraints and everything.”
