My Lost Daughter (39 page)

“This man was a monster,” he exclaimed. “I just don't understand this kind of brutality. Where does it come from? How could they violate a young woman like that? It's sickening, evil.”

“You haven't heard the whole story.” Chris looked at her in astonishment. “The attempted rape case we dismissed turned out to
be a homicide. The victim didn't show up for the preliminary hearing because Hernandez had killed her.”

“Listen to me,” he said, the wind howling now. “What you killed wasn't human. You'll probably think I'm a religious freak, but evil entities exist. They roam the earth looking for empty vessels like Bobby Hernandez and his gang buddies and then they use them to commit unbelievable acts against mankind. You and Shana were forced to make an enormous sacrifice for the benefit of the greater good. But God choose you, Lily. He chose you to go to battle for him. This was a great honor, don't you see? No one else other than God himself could have organized this, brought all the details together.”

“But Shana . . .”

“It may be hard to believe now,” Chris told her, having to shout over the wind, “but both you and Shana will be rewarded for the pain and degradation you suffered. It may not happen today or tomorrow, or even during your life here on earth, but God knows what you did and he won't forget.” He stopped and smiled at her. “I wouldn't kill anyone else, though. I believe it's highly unlikely that God would ask you to do something like this again.”

A sense of overwhelming relief washed over Lily. Someone finally knew the truth and understood. When Chris stood and pulled Lily into his arms, tears of joy streamed down her face. She visualized a lifetime of unsuccessful and many times psychologically damaging relationships floating out to sea with the ebbing tide. At last, she had found her soul mate. The sky opened and it began pouring but neither of them made a move to go inside. Side by side, they turned and faced the churning ocean, letting the rain wash over them.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 20
SAN FRANCISCO, CA

“Are you going to the dance tonight?” Alex asked Shana on the walk across the courtyard to lunch. “They hold it in the gym. Mostly it's for the juveniles, but sometimes we all go.”

“A dance?” she asked, incredulous. “They're really having a dance in this place?”

Alex arched one eyebrow and then the other, making funny faces to get her to laugh. Shana had been moping around all day, refusing to talk to anyone. She'd spent the afternoon watching television or nodding off.

“Get your ball gown out,” Alex quipped. “This is a big affair. I hear they bill your insurance ten grand.”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” Shana finally managed to smile, but it barely lifted one corner of her mouth. “Are you going?”

“Certainly,” he said. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

At lunch, Alex carried their trays to the table while Shana brought their two glasses of fruit punch, the napkins, and the silverware. She took her regular seat beside him. The chair where Norman generally sat was empty. Shana turned around and checked the food line to see if he was there, but she didn't see him. “Where's Norman?”

“He's in a session with his shrink,” Alex told her. “Norman's been talking about going home. He's voluntary, so he can leave anytime he wants.”

“I'm not sure if he's ready,” Shana said, her face etched with concern. “He seemed really depressed yesterday, almost hostile. I shouldn't have asked him about the fire.”

“He was fine,” Karen jumped in. “Norman's more than ready to leave. I've talked to him about the fire before and it didn't bother him. He was probably in pain today. I think he's going in for another operation.”

With the talk of the dance and the news that Shana and Norman would soon be discharged, May announced that she was scheduled for release the following week. No one said anything about Alex leaving, so Shana kept her mouth shut. “Do you have family here, May?”

“They all dead now.” She looked sad and then a few moments later, she perked up and smiled. “I've got me a job lined up in L.A. The company is called Dial-A-Psychic. They pay good money, too. Movie stars call in all the time. They say I can make up to fifty dollars an hour just chatting with lonely souls on the phone.”

Everyone chuckled at the thought of May as an L.A. Dial-A-Psychic. “Sounds like you're going into the entertainment business,” Shana told her. She forced herself to swallow a spoonful of rice. Lately, she'd almost completely lost her appetite. She assumed it had something to do with the medication.

“I'm not gonna cheat people. I'm gonna give them a real reading. I can do it over the phone. I've done it before.”

“Hey,” Shana said, “I'm not mocking you, May, not after what I've seen and heard. I'm probably going home to Ventura when I get out. It's not that far from Los Angeles. We'll have to keep in touch, maybe have lunch one day.”

A loud ting rang out as Alex dropped both his knife and fork on the table at the same time. “Excuse me,” he said, standing. “I need some fresh air.”

Shana attempted to ignore him and finish her lunch. She picked at her chicken until it was broken up into tiny pieces.

“Alex doesn't want you to leave,” Karen told her, turning her head to one side and muttering, “Shit, damn, suck.” She composed herself and then continued, “But he doesn't think you should stay in this area because of your boyfriend. He hurt you, didn't he? There are so many abusive men out there. It makes me glad I'm single.”

“Brett didn't hit me,” Shana said, wondering what Alex was telling them.

Karen and May stopped eating and stared at her with a look that said they didn't believe her. Shana went to find Alex. He was sitting in a chair in the courtyard smoking a cigarette. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

“Want a cigarette?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “The last thing I need is to get hooked on cigarettes again.”

Alex stuffed the pack back in his pocket, exhaling a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “What would it take for you to stay here?”

“You mean in the San Francisco area?”

“No,” Alex said, “I mean here at the hospital. What would it take for you to be happy here?”

Shana was shocked. “You mean permanently?” Something was seriously wrong. Why in God's name was he asking her such an insane question? She was counting the hours until her release, and Alex was asking if she could stay at Whitehall indefinitely.

Leaning back in the plastic lawn chair until the front legs came off the ground, he flicked his cigarette ashes into the grass. “When you think about it, Whitehall isn't that bad. You get three meals a day and a roof over your head. They clean your room, wash your clothes, and keep people you don't want to see from hounding you. When you get right down to it, what does a person really need in life? Do we really
need
all these cars, houses, clothes, and other possessions? You want a computer, we can get you one. You want books. Write down the names and the staff will get them for free from the library. Do you really need to own so many things, store so many things, maintain so many things? The economy is a disaster. We've destroyed the planet. We're running out of oil, and more importantly, water.” He paused, taking another puff of his cigarette and then extinguishing it. “Now that Morrow has raised your level, we can take walks in the courtyard every evening.” He laughed. “And don't forget, no one can bust you for using drugs.”

“Funny,” Shana said, wondering if he was serious or merely seeking an interesting conversation. “There's no freedom to come and go here, to make your own decisions, to develop a lasting relationship, or simply do something other than sit around all day. Life isn't just three meals a day and someone to hang out with. Sure, the world isn't always a pleasant place. That's what makes life challenging, though, the struggle to overcome all the various obstacles. And you're forgetting responsibility. What if everyone decided to abandon their jobs and disappear? Who would deliver the newspapers, stock the shelves with groceries, grow our food, and educate our children? What about doctors? What if all the doctors decided to drop out of society?”

“I didn't ask for a speech,” Alex said, “just an answer to a hypothetical question.”

Listening to herself, Shana realized how much she had grown in the short time she'd been at Whitehall. What had she been thinking? She'd never been a quitter. Brett's grades were lower than hers, so it was understandable why he was so anxious about getting his degree and passing the law exam. The situation was directly opposite to what Brett had told her. He had dragged her down, caused her to panic. When you were intimate with someone, you took on their problems and concerns.

Shana believed she'd held up her end of the conversation, but Alex was evidently seeking a more precise answer. “There're too many rules and regulations here. The staff has too much power over the patients.”

“And there aren't rules in the outside world?” Alex argued. “What about the law?”

“I'll give you that point. The rules at Whitehall are similar to laws. The problem is there are no courts or judges. Whitehall isn't a democracy. It's a dictatorship, a fancy prison.”

Alex was persistent. “There's no pressure, no need to compete and excel. Here there's no failure, no rejection, no deadlines to meet. Three months at Whitehall would be comparable to three years on the outside. Stay here and ten years from today, you'll look about the same as you do today.”

They stopped speaking as the doors to the cafeteria opened and patients started coming out. “I know this is only a philosophical conversation, Alex,” Shana remarked, “but I could never remain here at Whitehall. I've decided to finish school and get my law degree.”

“You think you'll ever be important in the overall scheme of things? Trust me, you're nothing. The only value you possess rests in what good you can contribute to humanity. What can a lawyer do?” Alex stood and slipped in with the group headed for the main building.

Shana remained there until everyone had gone inside. He was wrong. If she got her law degree, she might be able to close down
unscrupulous hospitals like Whitehall, or help people like Karen who suffered from a rare illness and couldn't get medicine because there wasn't enough profit in it for greedy drug manufacturers. Another alternative was to get a government job, perhaps even work her way into politics. She realized she had to bring in some kind of income, but material possessions had never mattered to her. Maybe she could become an advocate for the mentally ill. The possibilities were endless.

Now that everyone had returned to the main wing of the hospital, Shana saw George walking toward her. “False alarm,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “I'm not going over the wall today, George. You can call off the dogs.”

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 20
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Inside the great room, Milton was walking and Karen and May were the only members of their group at their customary table. “Look,” Karen said, holding her hands in front of her. “Aren't they great? May painted my nails gold with green tips. For the dance, you know.”

Every time Shana looked at Karen, she tried to imagine what she would look like with a different hairstyle and makeup. People always wanted what they couldn't have. She'd never liked her own red hair but Karen's was a more brilliant shade. A vision of Karen appeared in her mind—a different Karen. “Have you got any makeup, May? Alex gave me a few things, but . . .”

“May has everything, baby doll,” she said, opening up a large metal case where she kept all her nail polish. “You name it, I got it. I got a bunch of stuff the lady who was in my room before me left behind.” She chuckled. “Some of it's a little light for me, if you know what I mean, but it would probably look real nice on you or Karen.”

Mimicking Arnold Schwarzenegger, Shana said, “I'll be back.” She went to her room to collect some of the makeup Alex had
given her. Michaela was in the same position she'd been in the last time Shana had seen her, turned on her side with her face toward the wall. Sometimes the woman was in the room, and at other times, the bed was empty. Shana never saw her in the cafeteria, and never saw a tray or any traces of food in the room. As she opened the drawer in her nightstand where she'd placed the makeup and the other toiletries Alex had given her, the bed creaked and Michaela got up and walked to the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

Shana grabbed the bottle of cologne Alex had given her from the top of the nightstand. Before she had time to spray the room with it, she heard the toilet flush and darted out of the room.

“It walks,” she told Karen and May, tilting her head in the direction of her room. “Heaven help us if it starts talking.”

“Poor Michaela,” May said, her lyrical voice dropping to a masculine level. “This life isn't for her, you see. Next life will be better.”

“I shouldn't have made such an insensitive remark.”

“It's all right,” Karen told her, clapping her hands. “What are we going to do?”

Shana dumped all the cosmetics onto the table, along with the hairbrush. “We're going to play dress up,” she said. “My first victim will be . . . let's see . . . Karen. My second sense tells me it must be Karen. Are you game?”

“Sure.”

Shana pulled out a chair and gestured for Karen to take a seat. She started with foundation, covering almost all of Karen's freckles. She then added blush, eye shadow, lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara. The difference was dramatic. Shana then told Karen to bend over, and brushed all of her hair to the top of her head. “Rubber band, please,” she said to May, extending her hand like a surgeon in an operating room. May rummaged around in her metal case and handed her an elastic hair tie. Once she had secured Karen's hair on top of her head, she pulled a few strands down around her face.