Page 69 of Ward D
I snort. “I see. So they just went away on their own, is that it?”
“No, I…” He licks his lips as he takes a breath, carefully measuring his next words. “They never went away because I never heard them in the first place. I was never hearing voices. I… I lied about it.”
Okay. This is the absolute last thing I expected him to say. “Excuse me?”
“I lied, okay?” He scratches at his stubble. “I read a bunch of stuff about how a paranoid schizophrenic is supposed to act, then I went to the emergency room and read the script. And they put me here.”
I stare at him. “Why on earth would you do something like that? Are you out of your mind?”
“No, I’mnot. That’s the whole point.” He drops his voice so I have to strain to hear. “So here’s the thing. I’m not an Uber driver. I’m a reporter. This former patient of Ward D came to me with this story about how he felt patients were mistreated here. But, you know, it’s hard to get a straight story out of a lot of the patients here, and I didn’t want to print a bunch of patient hallucinations. So I thought the best way to get my story would be to experience it firsthand.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t even know what to say. He lied about being a paranoid schizophrenic? That’s pretty… I don’t even have words for it.
“In a few days, I was planning to say the voices went away,” he says. “Like I took some illegal drug and that triggered it, and now I’m fine. That was my plan, anyway. But it’s not working out like I thought it would.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Even before tonight, I had some issues to write about.” He looks back at the door to Mary’s room, still shut tight. “The seclusion rooms here… I don’t know how ethical any of that is. They should at least have windows on the doors so staff can check on them regularly. I didn’t see it happen, but you should’ve heard that Damon Sawyer guy screaming his head off when they locked him in there. And Miguel was screaming to get out too… At least, until…”
I study his features in the moonlight. Can I believe anything he’s telling me? It seems like such a crazy story. Who would pretend to be hearing voices, just to get a news story?
“I didn’t want to tell anyone the truth about me, obviously,” Will says. “But enough is enough. Between Cameron disappearing and that blood on the floor and now Mary…” His shoulders heave. “And, well, you’re the only person here that I trust.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I mumble.
“I know, I know.” He sighs. “I wish we had internet access, because I could look it up for you and prove who I am. Will Schoenfeld. I write forThe Daily Chronicle. I’ve been there for two years. My dream is to work forThe New York Times, but you don’t get there by doing fluff pieces.”
“You do it by pretending to have schizophrenia?”
He sinks onto the bed. “Obviously, I wish I hadn’t done that. And I’m paying for it right now. Amy, you have to know that something really bad is happening right now on Ward D.”
He’s right about that part. Something terrible is going on here tonight. I have no idea what it is, but I’m starting to be seriously worried that I might not make it through the night here. I’m not sure Cameron has.
“You don’t trust Ramona?” I ask.
“Absolutely not. I mean,strawberry jelly? We both know that was blood on the floor.”
He’s right. Out of everyone I have spoken to, he’s the only one who is willing to concede that the blood wasn’t a hallucination. “What about Dr. Beck?”
He hesitates. “I’m not sure. But either way, he doesn’t believe anything is amiss here tonight. So he’s nothelpingthe situation.”
“So suppose Idodecide to believe you,” I say. “What do we do about it?”
“Here’s what we need to do.” The whites of his eyes glow in the moonlight. “We survive the night.”
46
Will says the only way to get through the night is to stick together. His reasoning is that if we’re not alone, we will be safe.
I’m still not entirely sure if I trust him. Then again, most of his plan includes going back to his room and reading John Irving books for the rest of the night. It feels like the sort of plan that I can get on board with pretty easily.
“I still can’t believe you defaced your copy ofGarp,” I say when we get back to his room. “It’s hard to look at.”
“I know.” He pulls a frown. “But I didn’t have a choice. I tried taking the medications—you know, for authenticity—but I couldn’t think straight on them.”
Jade always complained about how hard it was to be on antipsychotic medications. Not that I thought she was making it up, but I’m beginning to realize what she has gone through over the last eight years. How hard her life has been because of her illness. Although I’m still baffled as to why she would make up a lie about Will being her boyfriend.
“So,” I say, “was anything you told me about yourself true?”
