Page 5 of Cry Madness
As the song ends, I remind myself that I can’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, I have to step out and confront this situation head-on. My legs feel numb, almost weightless. My hands still grasp the steering wheel, holding on tight as I breathe in the lingering scent of Alice’s citrusy perfume. I’ve never shed a tear, not once in my eighteen years. Even at the age of six, when my parents died and I first experienced true loneliness, I never shed a tear. But now, tears are forming, stinging my eyes, and as I blink them away, I gather the strength to pull myself out of thecar. Heavy, cold raindrops begin to pummel me as I walk across the lot toward Grimm County Medical Center.
This morning brought a rare chill to Wonderland. Just before the rain began, I stole a few quiet moments up on Devil’s Ridge. Standing at the edge of the cliff, I gazed out over Jabberwocky Bay, watching the white-capped waves crash against the rugged rocks below. In that difficult moment with Pearl Jam’s “Black” playing in the car, I truly couldn’t imagine living in a world without Alice. I suppose I shouldn’t be too angry with her, but I can’t help feeling betrayed. I’d never leave her, and yet she was ready to leave me trapped in an existence where I’d spend the rest of my life mourning her.
Fuck that.
Without my marvelous and magnificent Alice Knightly, I would only be half a person. I would be reduced to half a soul, with a blackened heart resting in my chest.
But she’s alive. She’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive. That truth guides my steps forward across the lot. A soft clap of thunder echoes around me, and as I confidently stride through the automatic double glass entrance doors, I’m greeted by the lively buzz of activity in the hospital’s lobby. Anxious sweat prompts me to remove my black leather top hat, allowing my hand to sweep through my damp, mahogany hair, smoothing the shaggy strands away from my face. I firmly place the treasured hat back on, keeping my head down and eyes up as I gracefully attempt to blend in with the crowd.
The keyword here is ‘try’ because, unfortunately, I always seem to stand out like a sore thumb.
It took me a long time to accept—and embrace—myuniqueness. My unconventional fashion choicesoften attract unwelcome attention, but I am who I am, and I’ve given up pretending I’m something else. Something less…odd. Doesn’t help that I’m also over six feet tall and built like a brick shithouse, so I don’t even try to blend in because that’s a wasted effort.
The receptionist’s glare falls right on me. “Young man,” she calls out. “You, over there. Come here, please.” The older woman snaps her fingers, causing a muscle to clench in my jaw because here we fucking go. The scowl on her wrinkled face says it all, even though I didn’t do anything wrong other than enter this bleak building. She points to the guest book lying open on her pristine desk. “You can’t be wandering around. Everyone needs to check in.”
As I approach her desk, I suppress a reflexive “fuck off” and maintain a sickeningly serene expression. The grumpy-looking warden of Grimm County Medical glares up at me, as if I’ve already committed a sin. “I’m not wandering around. I’m visiting a friend.”
Her expression is all sorts of suspicious—and it vexes me.Immensely. Does she think I’m here to rob the place or something?
She taps the book with her bony index finger. “Name, first and last.” She glances over her shoulder at the round analog clock on the wall behind her and says, “Time is ten forty-five. And add who you’re visiting.” She holds out her hand, palm up, and wiggles her fingers expectantly. “I need your ID.”
With a quiet, disgruntled sigh, I fish my wallet out of my back pocket and slap the small, laminated rectangular card in her upturned hand. “Having a pleasant day so far?”
She ignores my question as she examines my driver’s license. Then she watches me jot down the information on the empty line in her precious book. She spins the book around to read what I wrote, flicks her gaze at the computer, and thrusts my IDat me. Her scowl morphs into a grimace. “Alice Knightly?” she asks as if I didn’t just write Alice’s name as bold as you please.
“That’s right,” I confirm as I tuck my ID away and shove the wallet back in my pocket. “Problem?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
My heart drops, my blood turns icy, and my mouth feels sand-filled. “What sort of problem?”
Please don’t make her be dead. Please, God, no. Please, please, please?—
“I’m sorry, but you’re blocked from visitation.”
Say what now?
What bullshit is this?
My blood turns into icicles in my veins as my heart falls to my feet. My mouth suddenly feels like it’s filled with sand, and yet I, somehow, can still manage to say, “I was told she’s allowed visitors.”
Helen takes a deep breath, and her ample bosom rises and falls, stretching the fabric of her plain blue scrubs. She casts a glance over my shoulder at the guard standing watch near the entrance, likely anticipating that I might create a scene. But I certainly won’t, because one important lesson I’ve learned from Roman McQueen—one he practically instilled in me since childhood—is that a person can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar. “Visitors are encouraged, just not you.”
Ouch, that hurts.
While I don’t want to make a big stink, I’m certainly capable of issuing a subtle threat. When I lean in close, placing my palms gently on her desk, I ensure my words are meant just for her. “Look, Helen, you understand how influential Roman McQueen is, right?” At her reluctant nod, I go on. “Until a year ago, I was one of his wards. Now, I work for him. My role in hisorganizationbrings certain benefits. It’s vital for you to listencarefully to this part because I need to see Alice Knightly, and I’m sincerely trying to follow the rules and do this the right way. Please don’t be the one who makes this situation difficult. I’d hate to have to call Mr. McQueen because when I do, people tend to lose more than just their jobs.” Her mouth opens in surprise before quickly closing again. My big, playful grin stands out against her furious expression as I lightly tap on the top of her computer. “Now, I need you to print me out one of those lovely visitor tags. You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Nodding, Helen glares at me as she types away. Once my visitor’s tag finishes printing, she hands it to me. “Ms. Knightly is on the second floor. Psychiatric ward. Room 205.”
Psychiatric ward.
Fuck me.
With a nod, I accept the grudgingly offered sticker. I slap it onto my gray T-shirt before tipping my hat. “Much appreciated, Helen.”
She mumbles something under her breath that sounds an awful lot like, “Fuck you,” but I ignore it because my mind swiftly fixates on one thing and one thing only—getting to Alice.
I weave through the bustling lobby, heading toward the stairs and taking two at a time with a hectic blend of determination and apprehension. The truth is, though, I’m not ready to see Alice lying in a hospital bed in the psychiatric ward. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around what happened, what she went through that brought her to this point. It all feels so profoundly…wrong… And as I reach the top landing, I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a tragic situation that, for once, I can’t help her navigate out of. But I muster my courage as I march down the hallway, doing my best to hide the ache in my heart.