Anna swore the best workers were put on nights because it was, by far, the easiest shift. It was a reward, she’d assured. Most patients mercifully slept, except for the extremely disturbed. Redwood was quieter, more manageable at night.
“Except for the random occurrence,” Anna said, shrugging.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it seemed ominous. Of course, Redwood was already harrowing by daylight. How much worse could it get?
Anna had given me more freedom Monday. I apparently had put in enough time to learn the ins and outs of the place. In truth, my medical background made the job fairly easy to pick up. The standards at Redwood were much lower than my last hospital job, the routines much less perfect. Rules were bent, and record keeping wasn’t up to par with what I was used to. I found myself with more time to think, to breathe, to talk to the other staff. I even found myself growing used to the groanings and churnings of Redwood, from the screechy doors to the screaming patients. It was odd what you could get used to, even in a short amount of time. I made my way through a few patient check-ins on the fourth floor, filling in for a nurse who had called in sick. Then, I ambled up to the top floor, where Anna sat at the front desk.
“There you are, newbie. How goes it?” she asked, chewing some gum loudly as she swiveled in the desk chair. “Ready for rounds up here?”
In the A and B wing on the top floor, two were required for most rooms as a safety precaution. Of course, as Anna had told me, this rule was also frequently bent because of staff shortages. I was glad that night, there were two of us. She chatted on about her weekend with Brad, her husband, and the trip to the lake. I nodded, peeking in windows as Anna took notes. Overall, the floor was dull. Quiet. No one really stirred, which was fine by me. Most were sleeping, either naturally or I suspected thanks to some medication strategically dispensed late at night. We got to 5B, though, and Anna audibly inhaled. Tension marked her features, which made me shrivel up a bit, too.
“Let’s see what he’s up to tonight,” she murmured, actually performing the sign of the cross as a joke—maybe. “Tina does weekend shifts, and she said last night was wild.”
“How so?” I asked, transferring my weight to my other foot. I needed to know what to expect.
“Said he was having one of his spells. He gets violent sometimes. Smashing his fists, screaming about blue and red. Imaginary friends or something, who knows.”
“What’s his story?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself.
Anna sighed. “Same as many of them. Traumatic past. PTSD from Iraq, from what we’ve diagnosed. No one close to really take care of him, no family. A mind just falls into a trench sometimes. When you’re all alone like that and something awful happens.”
I squeezed my fingers tight and bit my lip, listening intently as she continued on.
“Apparently, a year or so after he got back from Iraq, they found him in his front lawn, a gun in his hands. Neighbors called the police on him. He was crying, marching around the lawn in front of his place arguing with several people. Except there was no one there, of course. He was shouting that little blue and little red needed to go away, and all sorts of nonsensical things. He actually started shooting at the air. Long story short, he never got set straight. After someone who served with him in Iraq footed the bill, he ended up here where he could be treated. You see how well that’s worked. We’ve tried various therapies, but none of it has worked. It’s a shame, too. He’s one of the younger ones.”
I walked up to the door now, saddened by the story. Sometimes it just takes one trauma to set your life on a completely different path. I pressed my face slowly to the window in the door, feeling odd peeking in on him during his sleep. But when I put my face up to the window, I jumped backward, a sinking feeling of terror grappling with my heart.
“Jesus,” I screamed, my heart pounding. For when I put my head to the window, he was there, one wild gray eye pointed at me. I hadn’t been expecting him to be awake. It was as if he were waiting.
A pounding on the door started slowly, rhythmically.
“Come in. They’re waiting. They need you. They need you.” His voice was breathy and labored as if he were breathing through a straw.
“Oh, shit. He’s awake. Let’s hope there isn’t a replay of last night. I don’t want to have to subdue him. He’s stronger than he looks, trust me.”
“What do we do?” I asked, afraid to peek back in the window.
Anna shrugged. “For now, we walk away. Let him tire himself out. It’s not like he can really do too much damage. Last night, apparently he made some lovely paintings with excrement on the walls, though. Let’s hope that doesn’t replay. It’s mostly just frustrating because if his yelling wakes up 4B, then we’re doomed.”
A shriek like a wild hyena echoed in 5B and cut straight through me. The pounding and yelling continued.
“Jessica. He needs you. Please. Make him stop.”
“What’s he mean?” I asked, Anna already walking away, accustomed to it all.
“Who knows. Listen, you can’t read into it. He’s crazy. The mind plays evil tricks. Come on. It’ll be okay.”
I bit my lip again, feeling an odd pull to him. Maybe it was just fascination, morbid attachment. I wanted to stay and watch, but a piece of me also wanted to run far, far away.
We continued our rounds on the wing, not really doing too much. There’s not a lot a person can
