“Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cried out. I shoved at her, but she wouldn’t go away. I knew why. We always know why, even if we don’t want to admit it.
Her piercing scream mixed with mine. Sobs and coughs emitted, I was drowning in fear and wounds from the being. Back against the door, I closed my eyes, convinced it would end right there. I wouldn’t escape Redwood. I was no hero, after all. Just as I was about to succumb to the eternal darkness, though, I stumbled backward, falling with a thud that knocked the wind out of me.
The screeching stopped. My face was sticky with running mascara and snot. An arm shook me, and I jumped. My flesh burned.
“Jessica? Dude, what happened?” I opened my eyes to look up at Brett, his stoner eyes studying me.
I bolted upright, peering out the door into the darkness. But there was no yellow, no distorted face, no being. It was as if I’d imagined her. Just like I’d told myself that night when fate or disaster or simply bad decisions brought us together not so long ago.
I sunk back into myself, breathing out, and thinking about how the past can never disappear when there’s still unfinished business, unfinished justice, and unfinished time.
The Staircase
Time and time again, love gets in the way. It is the classic tale. Two star-crossed lovers separated by class or circumstance or whatever else Shakespeare says in Midsummer Night’s Dream. Love never works out, and mortals are fools when it comes to the emotion. I should know; I have experienced the sorrows of an impossible love myself in a time so different than now.
Redwood itself has its fair share of romance tales for the ages as well. There are, of course, the romance stories within the staff. Some work out. Some fail. Some simply result in lustful romps in various supply closets in the damp, screechy facility. Nonetheless, one love story that took place a decade ago has stood the test of time, has become as legendary as the bard’s greatest tales. It is the story of Phillip and Queenie—and it started and ended right in the halls of Redwood.
There is something about forbidden love that draws the human heart in. So when Phillip took over as head nurse of floor four and a young, vibrant blonde with a penchant for suicidal tendencies moved into the first room, he was hooked. Redwood certainly bends the rules, but romance between staff and patients is forbidden. Needlessly so, for the most part. Most staff members do not eye the residents of Redwood with anything but pity or eventual disgust after too many years of cleaning up messes and dealing with madness in its sometimes-ugly forms.
Queenie was different. So was Phillip. He had lost his family in a terrible car accident two years before coming to Redwood. Lonely and desperate to feel something, he found that something in the blue eyes of the woman who sometimes heard voices, who often tried to kill herself, and who liked to tell everyone that in a previous life, she was actually royalty. Hence the name—her real name has since been forgotten.
It was perhaps a harmless flirtation at first. Phillip was guarded, but Queenie was open and vivacious despite her proclivity for slitting her own wrists. She was a walking paradox—a woman who both hated life so desperately but also was full of it. She was the enigma that Phillip could not reject.
It started with a few harmless tokens. The staff noticed, but they turned their heads. A lot goes on in the walls, and there are worse things at Redwood than a few stolen kisses. At least that is what they convinced themselves. They even assured themselves it might be good for Queenie. It might be good for Phillip.
But rumors kept spreading, and Phillip was getting distracted. Suddenly, he started requesting information about Queenie’s treatments. He started asking questions about the experimental drugs, the shock treatment therapies, the questionable tactics. He started, in short, to see through the façade Redwood is adept at upholding.
And that made certain protectors of the realm of Redwood angry. Terribly angry. There is nothing more dangerous than an age-old institution protected by money, time, and the fact that it is forgotten by so many. Sheltered in a way.
One fateful night, when Phillip was walking down the stairwell—some say it was the night he was planning to escape with Queenie—a tragic accident happened. While the male nurse was preparing to move a resident to another floor, he tripped and fell down the stairs. His neck cracked, and he died of a terrible head wound. So sad. Yet no newspapers picked up the story. In fact, no funeral was held. No services took place. No one other than the staff uttered his name.
Queenie never recovered from the disappearance of Phillip. She was told, of course, that he had taken another job. To protect her. It did not do anything of the sort. After depression seeped in, she grew violent. Anna had to move her to the top floor, where, after a period of time, she was moved to another facility that could be of a greater help.
No one talks about the star-crossed lovers, except to pass down the legend of their tale. In truth, it is one of the lesser discussed stories of Redwood. After all, what excitement is there in a story of an accidental death on the stairs and a mad woman who no longer lives in Redwood?
Still, there are whispers, as there always are. Whispers that it was not truly an accident. Whispers that a grown man would not break his neck that way from a simple fall on the stairs. And whispers that Queenie’s new facility was, of course, nothing of the sort.
But perhaps it is all just
