I used to think the night shift dragged on, but at least then I could get my work done quickly and read. It seemed like every lull I got during the day shift was just short enough to allow me to ponder my plight but never quite escape it. And the busy times didn’t stretch long enough to allow me to work through it. Instead the dread of going home, the self hatred, and the anger I could still muster up for Jeremy and my mother, all hung over me like a dark storm cloud heavy with emotions threatening to all come down on me at once.
I opened Snood. A dangerous action on my part, I could lose track of days playing that game. Ignoring phone calls along with basic living functions such as the bathroom and food. The thing is I get so attached to the little faces. I would make up back-stories for Jake, Mildred, Sunny, and little Zod, cursing when Numbskull foils us again. If I don’t eventually kill myself I’m sure my death will be caused by that game. The neighbors will find me starved to death after I’ve begun to stink with my mouse hovering over the “one more game” button.
* * * * *
I managed to conquer my obsession and close the game before I made it on to the high scores list. Mostly I was able to curb the tunnel vision of “must land a high score” because I heard the phone ring again and I had to get back to work.
I didn’t have to ask questions or direct the call; my heart sank immediately as I recognized Jeremy’s voice on the other end of the line. I fought the impulse to just hang up on him.
“Your mother called me and let me know you were safe.” His voice sounded stilted.
“Yes, she told me she had talked to you. I was going to let you know I was all right, but I wasn’t sure it would be a good time to talk to you.” I sounded as wooden as he did.
“Honestly Tawny, I don’t know how you turned out like you did. I was so surprised talking to your mom; she’s a very respectful woman. Yet the way you tell it she was no more fit to raise a child than John Wayne Gay’s mother was.”
“I’m not surprised you like her, she knows her place,” I felt tired. Why wasn’t I happier that he was talking to me again? “You don’t know how she is though, she chips away at something good, something right, until all you have left is a crumbling pile of rubbish.”
“She understands how things work. Your mother agrees with me that you were wrong in lying to me last night.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you were coming home,” his tone became accusatory. Now there was the fuzzy, broken in blanket I was used to. “Were you just lying to cause me more worry and heartache? Do you like to make me twist in the wind?”
I had to search my memory; it was easier to do because I managed to remain sober, though still slightly clouded in a sweet herbal smell.
“I didn’t tell you I was coming home,” I concluded.
“Do you have any idea how I felt knowing you were spending the night with another man? How can you justify doing that to me? I was sick to my stomach, I though my heart was going to burst from my chest. I considered calling the hospital because I thought I was having a heart attack.”
“So you called the police instead?”
“You don’t fucking care what you put me through do you?”
“I do care. I was so concerned when you didn’t call me back,” I shuddered at my morbid visions of his death. “When I found out you had been on the phone with Art...”
“Don’t keep lying to me,” he snapped. “It’s unattractive.”
“I’m not lying!” Heads turned in my direction at the outburst. I dropped my voice. “I was really concerned. I just couldn’t bring myself to call you. I didn’t want you to yell at me anymore.”
I thought about that one for a minute. I didn’t want him to yell at me anymore and yet here I was listening to his angry words and shrinking inside again. How could I love him so much and at the same time hate him so much for how he treated me. A sense of panic and need to escape grew in my chest.
“I have to go back to work. I’ll talk to you when I get off.” I dealt with him as I do all annoying calls I don’t want to deal with; I hung up on him, my hand shaking as I replaced the receiver.
I turned to face the looks of concern from the nurses and the P.A.R. from the adjoining ward. I shook my head at them as my face burned with shame. I shouldn’t let such domestic disturbances distract me at work.
The clock on the wall informed me I had less than 45 minutes until the end of my shift. I had a small stack of paperwork that needed to be filed and the decision between phoning in the last little bit or taking care of what needed to be done.
I flipped idly through the top of the pile while I decided which course I would take. A pair of orderlies rushed by signaling impatiently for me to open the door. I didn’t bother to wonder why they didn’t use their cards. The long, uncomfortable night and constant mind games I had been playing with myself had resulted in total apathy this near to the end of my shift. I tossed the pile aside and opened up the Internet.
It didn’t hold my attention for five. A commotion was starting to build in the ward that I was actively trying to ignore, but somebody shouting my name was making it very hard.
“Tawny!” the male nurse’s voice was urgent bordering on panic. “Did you hear me?”
“What?” I regretfully snapped out of my stupor.
“I said we need the On Call and a crisis team now, and I need you to watch the door.” His face bore a mixture of anger, concern, and impatience, but he rushed out without further word.
The scene that greeted me as I looked around with newfound curiosity was that of chaos and confusion. The patients who had stayed behind had gathered around the front, pushing past the line on the floor they were required to stay behind. Some were there for the show, some for reassurance, and others for the opportunity to make a difficult situation even harder. They all irritated me. And they all seemed to know more than me, judging by the way they were whispering amongst themselves.
We all turned to watch the fresh air group get whisked into a consultation room by the crisis team. I noticed that Kelly wasn’t among them. Chelsea came through the door looking pale and shaky. She walked through the crowd of patients and into the staff room without noticing any thing.
I ignored the ringing phone and the shouts of questions as I rushed to follow her.
Chelsea was sitting unsteadily on the couch staring past the window, a haunted look on her face. I sat on the couch but said nothing. Somebody would be in to talk to her soon I was sure, but I wanted her to know that somebody was there for her, somebody unofficial, somebody who just cared.
“Dakota, I don’t know what I could have done,” her voice was hollow. “Could I have stopped her?”
“What happened?”
“She had wrapped her arms and body with toilet paper. It was hidden under her long-sleeved shirt. We had been smoking for a few minutes when she must have set it on fire with her cigarette. It seemed strange though, her shirt seemed to catch faster then it should. Like she had some accelerant.”
“She looked nice today,” I started slowly.
“What do you mean?” Chelsea focused on me for the first time.
“I thought it was a sign of her getting better.” I paused to ponder my theory. “She had washed and styled her hair, she was going out for the first time. I wouldn’t doubt if we looked at the logs that she checked out hairspray too. Did she smell of it?”
“Someone did,” she said after a thought.
“It was my fault then, if I checked it out to her. I wasn’t really paying attention to my job. I’m not sure how much there was when I gave it to her or if she even gave it back. She could have taken it into her room and doused her shirt with it for all I know. You can tell them that when they interview you. I had a bad night and have been distracted all day.”
She looked at me gratefully, happy the negligence wasn’t all on her.
“I’m not sure you could have stopped her either,” I went on. “We don’t routinely check people’s shirts for toilet paper. It isn’t a danger we’ve really been trained for.”
She still looked somewhat defeated as the door opened and another doctor and administer entered.
“Dakota Tawners?” he asked looking at me. I nodded. “You have a call waiting on line one.”
My relief staff was sitting behind the desk and order had been somewhat restored. Some patients still lingered near the front, frightened. The illusion of safety had been shattered. We weren’t supposed to be able to hurt ourselves here, but someone had. Was there any protection left to be offered then?
I sighed as I looked at the flashing line waiting for me. Unless it was Brian, nobody should be calling me at work, I had already talked to everybody else. Once was enough.
“This is Dakota, how may I help you?”
Jeremy’s voice held no emotion as he answered, “I am outside your work now. What time do you get off?”
“Less than ten minutes,” I said with a glance to the clock to confirm. “But there was an incident at work and I may be asked to stay longer to answer some questions.”
“No.” He was harsh and firm. “You will clock out right at the time you were scheduled. You will talk to nobody as you walk straight to my car. I know it takes you less but I will give you five minutes from the end of your shift to get down here.”
He hung up without waiting for my response. Just trusting, knowing, that I would comply. I stared at the phone also knowing I would comply. I was in trouble and needed a savior. I desperately searched my short list of friends for somebody who might qualify. Any male to come to my aid would only make matters worse. I couldn’t think of one female friend I could call on.
With just moments before my shift ended I hastily scrawled a note to Chelsea and put it in her box.
“In trouble at home, please call, use pretence.”
Danie Radtke Keller is a 28 year old para-educator working for the San Mateo Office of Education. When she isn't working or going to school for a degree in special education she enjoys writing, making jewelry, and starting--but not finishing--DIY projects. She also likes participating in NaNoWriMo, hot chocolate, pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. Danie lives in California with her husband, two cats, and five chinchillas. You can view a small amount of her jewelry work at www.damikdesigns.etsy.com, or cyberstalk her here. Click here to read Part One of this excerpt and here to read Part Two.
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