What is Love? (34 page)

After sitting for
what seemed an eternity and reading three celebrity magazines, Sam looked up as
Jonathan walked toward her. His face looked drawn and expressionless. Dr.
Sutton followed him, placing his cold, bony hand on Sam’s arm. “Mrs. Horvath,
will you please return to my office.”

Sam rose and allowed
Dr. Sutton to escort her to his office, with Jonathan trailing behind.

“Mrs. Horvath, we’ve
discussed the various options and have decided to provide you with a certain
level of protection.”

“Great. That’s
perfect.”

“We will need to do
a deeper assessment at the hospital, but for now, we just want to do an overall
health screening.”

“Health screening?
But I’m not sick right now.”

“Yes, but we need to
determine where you are now, in regard to your health.”

“Oh, in case they
try something, and my health changes.” Sam nodded in agreement. “That’s
actually pretty clever, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes. Here are some
forms for you to consent to my recommendation for treatment and protection.”
Dr. Sutton slid a stack of papers spotted with colored labels for signing.
“Shall I go over the forms in detail?” he asked.

Sam sat, flipping
through the stack for a moment. “Oh no, I know I need this.” Sam reached for
the pen.

“This is a legally
binding contract that should be reviewed before signing. You need to be
comfortable with the content.”

“It’s for
twenty-four-hour protection? I would be protected by someone at all times and
made to feel safe?”

“Correct.” Dr.
Sutton nodded.

“And Johnny, you
read it?” Sam turned to Jonathan.

“Yes, but it means
you would be at a hospital, supervised at all times and would limit your
ability to just come and go. It’s actually more than you need, in fact, I
wouldn’t—”

“That’s fine. I want
this. I trust you will do your best for me, Dr. Sutton.” Sam squinted at the
forms, but refused to pull out her ugly reading glasses. She flipped to the
signature flags, and started signing the forms.

“Ellen.” Jonathan
grabbed the pen from her hand and pushed the papers aside. “You don’t need to
do this if you would just forget about all this danger nonsense. I honestly
think we should go home and think—”

“That’s exactly why
I must do it!” She pulled the pen from his grip. “There is danger and I want to
feel safe again. I don’t feel safe at home. No offence, but I don’t trust
anyone. Now, give me those papers!” Sam pulled the stack in front of her and
began signing frantically, not pausing to read anything. “You just want to
ignore my problem—well, not this time.”

Jonathan stepped
aside as Dr. Sutton co-signed the papers, then he handed the pen to Jonathan.
“Ellen, I don’t want this for you, I think it’s better if—”

“Damn it, Johnny!
I’m in desperate need of help and you can’t stop me,” Sam held the pen before
Jonathan. “So sign it!” She pointed to the contract. He reluctantly grabbed the
pen and began signing. When he finished, Dr. Sutton took the forms and placed
them in his file.

He looked at Sam.
“Good. Now, Mrs. Horvath, let’s go and get you set for your health screening
and assessments.”

“Yes, right away.”

“I won’t be joining
you, Ellen,” Jonathan said, his eyes downcast as he kissed her. “I’ll have
Maria
 …
uh, Carlos, send your
things here.”

“Yes, I’ll put a
list together of what I’ll need. Who knows how long I may be here.”

“See you soon,
dear,” Jonathan said, turning to leave. “Dr. Sutton, take good care of her.”

“Bye, Johnny,” Sam
called out as Dr. Sutton escorted her down the corridor to the hospital. “Where
are we going first?” Sam asked with a smile.

“To a very safe and
secure place,” Dr. Sutton mumbled.

***

“Jonathan, I didn’t
want to tell you this, but I had another encounter with Ellen last week,” Ellen
said, as she lay on the bed, staring at Solid Gold dancers gyrating to the
latest hit on the small TV sitting on top of her dresser. “She accused me of
being her again. It was bizarre.”

“She’s gone mad, I
tell you.”

Ellen chose her
words carefully. “Do you still think it’s best to continue to pretend that
everything is okay—that you aren’t leaving?”

“I don’t know
anymore. Every time I think she’s finally better, that maybe I should stay—she
goes off and does something crazy.”

Ellen froze at his
words—
I should stay. I should stay! What is he talking about? Where would
that leave me? Broke? Alone again? That evil soul has seduced you again.
She wanted to reach into the phone and shake some sense into him. “Perhaps she
won’t be so crazy if you were gone. Maybe she needs to know it’s time to move
on, to accept things.”

“You haven’t heard
the latest,” Jonathan said. “If it weren’t so damn idiotic, I’d howl.”

“What now?” Ellen
asked, but she could well imagine the complete nonsense this vixen had come up
with—yet another desperate ploy for attention.

“She thinks—no—she
believes, that someone is trying to kill her.”

“What?”

“Yes. She knows the
food poisoning last week was intentional. She fired Maria—”

“Maria? No. She
couldn’t. She’s family.”

“Yes, she is—was.
That’s what I don’t understand. She even thinks you’re behind it all.”

“Me? Why would I?”

“Well, not you
specifically. It’s—now don’t get all upset—it’s your mother and Bob.”

“No? … Bob?
Who—?”

“You know, your
mom’s drug dealer boyfriend, who’s now back in jail.”

“Oh
 …
yes,
Bob
. But that’s crazy.
That’s a lie. My mother—she would never
 …”
Ellen shuddered at the word
mother
. She had avoided any more phone calls
from
her
—that strange woman with her melodrama. No surprise that her
daughter would be capable of thinking that about her mother. But in a strange
twist of irony, it’s actually their daughter they’d be killing, making this
entirely too bizarre to comprehend. “And just why do they want to kill her?”

“To ensure that our
marriage goes ahead as planned. Apparently they want my money.”

“She must be trying
to deceive you, pulling a big drama just to get you to stay.”

“Nope, it’s real to
her. She even went to the police—and hired a bodyguard.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Yes, and she hired
a private investigator.”

“What for?” Ellen
felt jumpy as her heart beat faster. “I mean, what could he do?”
This is
horrible, Sam might try to prove we aren’t who we appear to be and cause all
kinds of trouble. Life with Jonathan would be lost for good.
“She really
has gone mad. What can you do?”

She heard his groan
through the receiver. “I brought her to Dr. Sutton’s office. He listened to
her, and frankly, the more she spoke, the crazier she sounded. It’s hard to
watch her fall apart like this.”

Ellen smiled at the
irony—Sam’s own greed biting her back. “What did the doctor say?”

“He thinks she’s
suffering from delusional paranoia and possibly the start of schizophrenia. He
has her booked for a stay at the psych ward to observe her for a while.”

“She agreed to
that?”

“Yes,” Jonathan
sighed. “Poor thing. If this weren’t so damn sad, it would be hilarious. Dr.
Sutton said he would provide complete protection. She signed up for treatment
as fast as the ink could flow.”

Yes
, Ellen
thought,
poor little idiot has only herself to blame
. Ellen imagined
herself trapped in that horrible place.
What if we somehow switched back?
What then?
Suddenly, this was a disaster. “She’s locked up? Jonathan, how
could you?”

“It’s just
temporary, until she calms down. She’s a total wreck. I’m having a difficult
time with all this. Damn it all. I didn’t want to do it and tried my best to
talk her out of it, but she insisted—and Dr. Sutton insisted. She imagines
these crazy things.”

Ellen tried to make
sense of everything. “How are Brianna and Brandon taking this?”

“Hard, very hard in
fact. First the suicide attempt, then the crazy surgery and makeover crap and
now this—it’s as if they have lost her—hell, I feel I’ve lost her.”

Ellen sat, quietly
absorbed in thoughts of her poor children and what pain they must be going
through. Her heart felt heavy as she imagined them visiting their mother in a
mental hospital. “Wouldn’t the best solution for everyone be for us to be
together right away?”

“Now? I don’t think
that is a good idea.”

“It is. That way,
there’s no chance of this so-called
hit
. Isn’t the whole point of the
hit to get rid of me—um, her, to ensure we are together?”

“Well, she’s safe
now and Dr. Sutton can work on setting her mind straight. There’s no danger,
right? I mean, you haven’t done anything, right?”

“You’re accusing
me
?”
Ellen lashed out. “Jonathan, I could never. And my family
 …
they would never.” Ellen’s nose
tingled as she lied. “I can’t believe you’d even think that of me.”

“Sorry, no, I don’t.
I already lied to Dr. Sutton and told him that you swore to me you don’t know
anything about this and that you never warned her or whatever it is she thinks
might have taken place.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m just so frustrated with
all of it.”

“There is a solution
right in front of you. You just can’t see it. If she’s that concerned, and it
sounds like she is, ask her if she thinks you should start seeing me to call
off the hit.”

Jonathan laughed.
“Hell, I’ll try anything to end this insanity.”

“So, I’ll see you?”

“I’ll call soon.
Let’s just take it easy for now.”

“Of course,
whatever’s best,” she conceded. All this waiting was getting tiresome and
frustrating. “I miss you,” she whispered, trying her best to inject sexiness
into her voice.

Ellen hung up,
ignoring the feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She sat, staring at
the TV on her dresser. A cat was playing with a mouse, batting it around like a
beach ball, tormenting it without mercy before, finally, devouring it. She
jumped to her feet and shut the TV off, slamming the button with her fist. She
should be happy having Sam safely tucked away, knowing she was losing both her
mind and Jonathan in the process. Yet right now, she felt unsure of where any
of this was headed—and who would ultimately be the victor?

***

Sam sat on the edge
of the hard, plastic-covered mattress that made an irritating crinkle sound
every time she moved, like rubber pants on a baby. She surveyed her new room.
The cut flowers in the plastic vase were pretty and the furnishings were
certainly nice enough, but somehow, it was still an uncomfortable room. Sterile
and lifeless. The clock ticked in unison with her heart. Only two days in and
being here was worse than anything she had imagined.

Wherever she was,
she definitely did not fit in. Not only was she unable to close her door
permanently and subjected to the continuous moans and cries of the truly insane
patients, but the nurses expected her to follow the rules as if she were one.
The nurses were nice, but they treated her as if she was an
actual
patient. Didn’t they understand this was just a cover to protect her? Hadn’t
all this been explained to them? Another wail cried out. She certainly wasn’t a
patient nor would she pretend to be one.

She glanced up at
the clock above her door—almost dinner now. Her stomach turned as she imagined
the horrific faces awaiting her in the cafeteria—the gross, the pathetic and
the sad. Most of the patients mumbled to themselves and slobbered food
everywhere, a completely revolting experience.

She needed to get
out. Jonathan was wrong—bodyguards and a detective were the best solution. Yes,
she was safe here, but she had no idea how boring it would be and that she
couldn’t do anything. Nothing to do and no one to talk to. Who could she call?
She had left a message for Johnny but he was away until Wednesday. She prayed
he would hurry and call her back—and more importantly, get her out of here.
What had she gotten herself into?

After several days
more days of torture, Sam realized she had to take control and stop all this
nonsense, find a better way to feel safe. Jonathan and Dr. Sutton were
convinced nothing more needed to be done, that as long as she was in here she
was safe. Well, she may be safe but she was completely bored. She tried to make
conversation with a few of the women. What a mistake. They spoke nonsense. Then
they completely ignored her, like they had something better to do.
Unbelievable.
The best thing to do, she decided, was to stay in her room and ignore everyone.

Now all was quiet,
except for the ticking clock and the distant cries. If she could get the hit
cancelled, she could return home. She could go shopping, have parties, better
parties, find new friends, perhaps take a trip to Europe—she had always wanted
to see Paris and London.

She walked out into
the hallway and put coins into the phone, then dialed the number. After several
rings, someone answered. “Hi Mom, it's Sam.”

“Sammy. I haven't
heard from you in ages.”

The sound of the
familiar voice caused her heart to flicker. “Mom, it’s so good—”

“You sound funny.”

“I
 …
I have a cold.” Sam tried to alter
her voice as she crushed a foil candy wrapper next to the receiver. “Did Bob
ever get that hit started?”

“Hit? What are you
talking about?”

“You
know
.
The night he joked about his
friend
 …
the one who does those favors
 …”

Silence. “The one
who could fix things for us.”

Silence. A voice
came over asking for more change. Sam dropped more money in. “Mom? You there?”

“Oh, I'm here all
right and I hear just fine, too. You aren't Sammy, are you?”

“Yes. Mom, it's me.”

“Calling from a pay
phone? Hell, I don't have to tell you anything. I don't know who you are, but
you're not my Sammy, that's for sure.”

“Mom! Believe me.
Something happened. I can't explain.”

“I'm not
interested.”

“Just stop the hit
Mom, That's all. Stop the hit.”

“What hit? You're
crazy, you are.”

Sam tried to think
of another way. “You'll help your daughter if you stop the hit.”

“Ohhh, so now you
aren't Sammy?”

Sam's frustration
rose. “You don't believe I am anyway—”

“I have nothing to
say. Leave me alone.”

Sam tried to call
back. No answer. “Damn it!” she yelled, as she slammed the phone back in its
cradle. How could she reach her? How could she stop it? She thought of writing
but her handwriting was so different from hers now, a dead giveaway. Typing.
Yes, a typed letter would work. She could scare them into stopping, pretend she
was aware of the whole plot and warn them to stop it before
 …
Sam shuddered at the thought as she
walked the long hallway, back to her dreary little room.

***

Hours passed and Sam
waited until the night nurse, Margo, started her shift. She went up to the desk
and chatted for a few minutes, then asked to use the word processor to send a
formal letter to her banker. Margo agreed, even providing paper and privacy, as
she had to do her rounds. Thank God for Margo, the only decent nurse of the
bunch.

As she sat typing
the letter, Sam realized how absurd the whole thing was. She was asking her mom
to stop a hit on the woman she hated so much. Why? She wracked her brain trying
to make the tone sound forceful.

Hi Mom,

It’s Sam.
Something has happened. Something very scary. I can’t explain in person because
they are watching me, but they are onto you. Remember when we were at the
wedding? The police know all about the hit we talked and joked about. If
anything happens to Mrs. Horvath, the police already know it was you and Bob. I
didn’t tell them anything, but they know all the same. STOP IT!!! You have to
stop it!!!. It would be DISASTROUS if anything happened, believe me. If you
love me as much as I think you do, you will DO EVERYTHING IN YOUR POWER to stop
the hit. And you TELL BOB I’LL KILL HIM if he doesn’t put a stop to it!!!!

Hope you are
hanging tough. Hi to Benny.

Love and hugs,

Sammy XOXO

Sam printed several
copies of the letter. She would send one to Rory and Benny as well. Anything to
stop this dangerous hit. As the printer head clacked back and forth across the
pages, she realized with much regret, she should have done this sooner. She
also should have sent a bunch of money to her mom and Benny. Why hadn’t she? Oh,
right, too busy feeling sorry for herself. When she gets out of here, she’ll do
it. She’ll do a whole bunch of things
 …
when she gets out.

***

Jonathan stood
beside the desk reading while Dr. Sutton leaned back in his chair. He had
called Jonathan in to see the letters and discuss Ellen’s progress.

By the words in the
letter and the names on the envelope, it was clear what needed to happen.
Jonathan shook his head, a feeling of anguish rose within him as he handed the
letters back to Dr. Sutton. He stood, wondering if anything else could be done
to help her, any other method. He also asked himself how he let this happen. A
big part of him felt guilt and shame that all this happened because he hadn’t
done his job—he should have left her a long time ago.

Jonathan sat in the
grey leather chair opposite Dr. Sutton. “How did she send these out?”

“She used the
typewriter in the office, the night nurse granted her access. The stamps we
suspect she found in the desk. She tossed the letters into the outgoing mail and
they were about to be sent when Bridgette recognized the names Miller and
Chasen. When she casually asked Ellen about them, her overreaction brought the
entire situation into question. We don’t usually place restrictions on
patients’ mailings unless circumstances call for it.”

“I’m glad you
contacted me.”

“I thought it best
for you to read them and decide if you wish to have them sent.”

“Absolutely not.
They’re absurd.” Jonathan slammed the armrest several times with his fist.
“Frankly, I find the whole thing embarrassing. What’s even more troubling is
that these aren’t the only letters she’s tried to send.”

Dr. Sutton raised
his eyebrows, his eyes widened in a bewildered stare. “Oh?”

“Her friend Patty
gave me the exact same letters. It appears Ellen asked her to mail the letters
after she was caught trying to mail them from here. Patty didn’t know what to
do—loyalty only goes so far when you are—well, unstable. She wanted to do what
would be in Ellen’s best interest. Thankfully, she contacted me instead of
mailing the damn things.”

“Well, I feel
limited contact with others would help.”

“What is really
troubling is that she is so dammed adamant about this hit nonsense and thinking
that she really is Sam Miller. I’ve never known her to be so
 …
well, so volatile and
 …”

“Delusional?”

“Yes. She may have
had her emotional fits, but nothing like this. I swear I don’t know her anymore
 …
I don’t know who that woman in
there is.”

Dr. Sutton nodded.
“I’m quite concerned. Her situation is far more serious than I first diagnosed.
It was a very good thing you brought her here for observation. She needs severe
restrictions, limits set on her access to the outside—at least for an extended
period of time. We need to have better control of her.”

Dr. Sutton sat in
silence for several minutes, rubbing his chin and looking toward his bookshelf.
“My concern is not only her irrational behavior and explosive anger, but also
her various threats to others, which pose a serious risk—there’s no telling
what she’s capable of, given all her talk of killings and revenge and her
distrust of you and anyone she feels threatened by—all her unsubstantiated
suspicions. We need to manage these crises and try different medications, and I
feel it’s best to have her here, in the hospital, closely monitored until we
can see the impact of any new medication. It may take quite some time. You need
to accept this.”

Jonathan sat back
and ran his hands through his silvered hair. “I never expected this. Honest to
God, I never imagined I would have to do this to her. I don’t want to do this,
lock her up and
 …”
He couldn’t
finish the sentence, couldn’t admit his wife was now insane.

Dr. Sutton stood and
walked over to a tall lateral file cabinet. He pulled the drawer open and
searched for a file, read through the pages and set it on his desk. Sitting in
the chair next to Jonathan, he said, “It’s for her. You are doing what is best
for her. She is a danger to herself and now, quite possibly a danger to others.
In truth, there is no alternative.”

Jonathan sighed. “How
did this happen? I don’t understand. She was normal—irritating at times—but
normal. I can’t understand how someone can suddenly lose their mind. Shouldn’t
there have been some signs before?”

“The brain is an
amazing organ. Its resilience is remarkable
 …
however, it can sustain damage in many unknown ways. We are just
beginning to understand the complexities of mental illness. Multiple personality
disorder can appear as emotional dysregulation, exhibiting instability in
moods, interpersonal relationships, self-image, paranoia and other behaviors
like depression and impulsivity.”

“She certainly has
the paranoia, and the impulsiveness.”

“While any of these
on their own are often manageable with medication and psychotherapy, and not
requiring hospitalization, we find that when a combination of many of these
symptoms is present, and includes suicidal behavior, threats to others or
self-harm, hospitalization is
always
required. Why these occur is the
subject of much research, but quite often, when analyzed, we find an underlying
repression or trauma that was never addressed.”

“I can’t believe
news of divorce could have been that traumatic. Everyone gets divorced.”

“That could be a
small part of it, combined with chemical imbalances from the overdose and the
resultant coma. Her brain may have suffered selective neural damage that is
beyond our ability to diagnose. This could conceivably set the stage for
serious mental illness. But no one truly knows why, or how it arrives. We only
know to recognize it once it is established, and then it is managed through
medication and therapy, and understanding.”

“My God, you think
this is permanent?”

“No. But quite
honestly, I don’t know. Given the unusual circumstances of her failed suicide
and resultant coma, a chemical gateway could be switching on or blocked
completely and switched off. In time, her body may repair itself.”

“How long? How long
until you know?”

Dr. Sutton shrugged.
“Years. Decades. Who knows? I wish I could say, but I have no idea. We will do
everything in our power to medicate her and make her comfortable.”

“And safe.” Jonathan
added.

“Yes, very safe and
secure.” Dr. Sutton stood and went to his desk and grabbed a file.

“I knew something
was unusual when she stopped going to church and distanced herself from her
children,” Jonathan said, letting out a long breath. “That was the first clue.
I should have realized it then. And with all her bizarre behavior—her drinking
and cursing, acting like a twenty-year-old and changing her clothes, the house,
her body, everything. Even alienating her friends, the compulsive spending, the
crazy mood swings, I mean, believing you are someone else—this should have been
so obvious to me
 …”

“It’s not your
fault.”

“That doesn’t make
this any easier.”

Dr. Sutton slid the
contract toward Jonathan. He read the entire contract, asking questions where
necessary. He bit his lower lip as he picked up the pen and began signing the
pages.

When he finished, he
pushed the documents toward Dr. Sutton and sat back in the chair, fully aware
of his duplicity. He had signed away any chance Ellen had to free herself. But
she needed it—what if the unthinkable happened again? His children would never
forgive him. And what if she acted on her violent threats? She certainly was
out of her mind and the longer he denied it, the guiltier he was of neglecting
to provide what she needed, and right now, she needed protection from herself.
She needed to be looked after and supervised by professionals. He was free now.
A free man. He should be happy. This was what he wanted, after all, to be free
of her.

He stood to shake
Dr. Sutton’s hand and felt a tugging at his heart. It wasn’t easy to give up—it
wasn’t in his nature. A part of him truly wanted Ellen better, he just wasn’t
sure why.

***

Sam sat staring at
Brianna’s face, unsure how to behave, how to be her mom. She had no clue how to
act toward a daughter, especially this one, sitting across from her and judging
everything she said. As they sat in her private room, she tried her best to
think about what to talk about but the truth was, she knew nothing about either
of them. Why had she never asked Johnny anything about his kids?

“Have I been a good
parent?” Sam asked after a long silence. “The truth.”

“You don't want the
truth.”

“You're right. I
want to believe that I was a great mom, that I put your needs ahead of my own,
that I loved you unconditionally, that I did everything I could to protect you
 …
that I supported you
 …”
Sam realized she was referring to
her own mom. When she looked up, she saw Brianna was crying. Sam watched
Brianna’s blubbering, unable to speak. Finally, she rose to get a tissue and
handed it to Brianna. “What did I say? I didn't mean to make you cry.”