Page 65 of Ward D
“Quit asking. We’re almost there.”
I take a swig from my peach iced tea. My right temple throbs faintly. I should never have gotten in the car. Soon the sun will be down and my mom is going tofreak outwhen I’m not home. I had no idea we would be going this far.
But then the Dodge abruptly skids to a halt. She pulls up in front of a white house that looks like it has seen better days. The outside is made of wooden panels, and the paint is badly chipped. The lawn in front of the house is all sparse patches of dying grass. I get this awful sinking feeling in my chest. I should never have come here.
“Here we are!” Jade announces.
Uh….
“Where are we?” I crane my neck to get a better look at the house. “Whose house is this?”
Jade winks at me. “You’ll see.”
Jade climbs out of the car and I reluctantly follow her. Except she doesn’t go down the walkway to the front door. Instead, she walks down the driveway to the back entrance. There’s a screen door flapping in the wind and she yanks it open, then pulls open the inner door as well. I watch as she steps inside the house.
“Come on, Amy!” She waves for me to follow her. “In here.”
I shouldn’t follow her. This is a mistake. I should get out of here and run home.
Jade gestures more vigorously. “Comeon.”
“All right,” I say. “But just for a minute.”
I step through some wayward grass that has grown into the pathway to the back door. I climb the three steps and pass through the entrance to the kitchen. And that’s when I realize whose house this is.
My mouth falls open. The peach iced tea I have been holding in my right hand drops to the floor, spilling brown liquid all over the grimy kitchen tiles, intermingling with the droplets of crimson. And I realize at that moment that I will never ever be able to drink peach iced tea ever again. That I will become ill at the very thought of it.
“Ta-da!” Jade says, and she bursts into giggles.
Oh no. This is worse than I could have imagined.
42
PRESENT DAY
Dr. Beck and Ramona emerge from Mary’s room about ten minutes later, looking worse for wear. Ramona’s hair has come nearly undone from her bun, and Dr. Beck has a long red scratch on his forearm.
“Jesus,” Dr. Beck declares. “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen her.”
I stare at the closed door to Mary’s room. “Is she okay?”
Dr. Beck nods. “She’s finally calm, thank God. I don’t think she’ll give us more trouble the rest of the night. But starting tomorrow, she should be on a higher dose of Seroquel at bedtime. We don’t need another episode like that.”
I chew on my lower lip. “Should I check on her? She and I were talking a lot earlier, and she trusts me.”
“Leave her alone,” Ramona says. “She’s drifting off to sleep.”
“But—”
“I know you’re eager to help, Amy,” Dr. Beck says. “But when they get like this, there’s no reasoning with them. She won’t even know who you are.”
That’s not true. She saw me in a crowd and was calling out my name. She knew exactly who I was.
Ramona picks the steel knitting needle off the floor and holds it up. “My God, I thought she was going to stab me in the eye with this thing. These arenotthe children’s safety needles we approved. How the hell did she get this?”
Of course, it doesn’t surprise me at all that Mary somehow managed to get her hands on a real knitting needle and make the switch. She was resourceful like that. Too bad it didn’t pay off in the end.
Dr. Beck scribbles a quick note which he stuffs in the chart, then he heads back to his office, leaving Ramona and me behind. Ramona has Mary’s chart open, and she is writing her own note.
