Dirty Secrets

Part 38

While walking the corridor to the doctor's office, Lyla struggled to suppress the images of the devilish custodian.

Not real. Breathe. Not real. 

By the time she was seated in Dr. Haden's guest chair, Lyla's heart rate had decelerated. She skimmed her fingers across the tufted arms of the brightly-patterned chair, mesmerized by the red and blue flowers on serpentine vines. 

"Did you steal this chair from a museum?" she asked, tracing the threading of the seams.

The doctor smiled, carrying a manila folder with her seat. "How are you adjusting to living at home?" She opened the folder. 

"Fine."

"Have you found that you need to work harder at being happy than you thought you would?"

Without looking up she replied, "I'm not sure I know what that means."

"Sometimes we find that when patients begin their outpatient programs, they have an unrealistic expectation that all of their problems will be resolved by being back at home. They often express disappointment when that doesn't happen." 

"I like being home. I'm happy there." Lyla knew that the doctor wanted more. "I mean being with my dad again. Sleeping in my own bed. Feels good."

"I'm sure your dad's happy to have you back home."

Lyla nodded. Dr. Haden flipped through the pages of her notes, tapping the arm of her chair with her pen. Lyla braced herself.

Here comes the med talk.

"You know, Lyla, everybody wants to be happy."

"I know."

"And sometimes, that takes effort."

Lyla deflected eye contact. 

"Sometimes the work involves removing the things in our lives that prevent us from feeling good about ourselves. Do you know what I mean?"

"I guess."

"Often, the most difficult thing to do is to stop being so hard on ourselves. It's okay to feel confused and unsure about things. There are no easy answers." 

 Lyla folded her hands in her lap.

"It's okay if you don't have all the answers. You can't control everything in your life. None of us can. And that's okay. You need to accept that. It's okay."

So she's not gonna start up about the pills?

"You know, as we open up and dig deeper, we often discover that a lot of the pressure and judgment that we feel is coming from ourselves. The good news is that we have the tools to quiet those judgmental voices."

The whir of a floor-cleaning machine in the hallway grew louder. Doctor Haden leaned forward.

"I'd like you to work on not being so tough on yourself. On giving yourself a break. Can you do that?"

Lyla's nod lacked conviction.

"So." The doctor closed her folder. "Anything else you'd like to discuss? Any new feelings you'd like to talk about?"

She shook her head.

"Okay. Then I guess we should get you off to art therapy."

When Dr. Hayden opened the office door, Lyla was relieved to see that it was Randall, the ward's staff custodian running the machine across the glossy tile floor.

He turned off the polisher. "Was I bothering you?" he asked. "Noisy machine."

"We're finished," the doctor replied.  

"Careful. The floor might be a little slippery."

Dr. Haden presented a cordial smile and walked Lyla to the elevator. Lyla glanced over her shoulder when he powered the machine back on, relieved to verify that it was still Randall running the floor polisher.

"Do you exercise?" the doctor asked.

"I run."

"Have you run lately?" Dr. Hayden swiped her key card then pressed the call button.

"The weather's been suck-- not that great."

She nodded. "Exercise is a good stress reliever."

"Right."

"Helps you sleep better, too."

Moments later, the elevator doors jostled open. "Do you still smell the disinfectant?" She asked. "I don't smell it."

"Smells fine." Lyla entered the elevator.

"Petie is waiting for you down on two. Remember what we talked about. Don't be so hard on yourself. Work on that."

"I will" 

The doors slid closed and the overhead motor rumbled. The elevator car began its squeaky descent then suddenly seized with a bounce. Anxiety triggered Lyla's rapid pulse. 

"What the hell?" she mumbled. 

No movement.

"Hello?" Lyla banged on the doors. "Hey, I'm stuck in here," she called. "Doctor Hayden?"

No response.

She punched the buttons with the meaty pad of her fist. 

No mechanical reaction.

"Can anybody hear me?"

Nothing.

She glanced up, attracted by a muted metallic sound. A ceiling panel opened. Lyla squinted into the black elevator shaft. 

"Hello?... Petie?"

A pair of withered female legs dropped into the car, stopping just short of the floor. Lyla recoiled, burying her face in her shoulder. She opened her eyes to the horror of Clover hanging above her, her feet slowly swinging back and forth.

Lyla hammered the elevator wall. "Help!"

With a heavy THUMP, Clover landed on the elevator floor like a bulky pile of wet laundry, pulled her legs to her chest, and wailed into her bony gray knees. Her cries reverberated off the stainless steel walls. "Free me," she gasped between sobs. She extended her withered arm, a familiar piece of jewelry clenched in her skeletal hand.

"Help!" Ferociously, Lyla banged the doors with both fists. 

Clover rolled clumsily onto her hands and knees like a wind-up toy with deformed gears and began crawling across the floor toward Lyla.

Lyla fiercely jammed her fingers into the seam of the doors and strained with every ounce of strength she could summon. The instant the doors separated, she lunged out of the elevator, crashing into Petie, very nearly taking them both to the floor.

"Whoa! What's all the hollering?" He steadied himself by grasping the hysterical girl by her trembling arms. She ripped an arm free, pointing into the elevator, mouthing a string of jibberish. 

Clover had vanished.