Dirty Secrets

Part 46

Monday morning, as Lyla ambled along the walkway, she didn't see Packer among the staff and visitors traversing in and out through the hospital entrance. At nearly six and a half feet tall, he literally stood out in a crowd but not today. When she tromped into the atrium, she expected to find him at the wall of windows. She glanced down the hallway toward the east wing where a current of patients flowed toward the security guard. No Packer.

She texted: You forget to charge your phone again?

No response.

If his phone died, he's probably still sleeping.

She weaved through the crowded atrium to the hallway. After Maisie signed in at the security desk, Lyla scrawled her signature, then handed her phone to Charles. She didn't anticipate Dr. Haden waiting for her in the hallway.

"I'd like to speak with you for a moment," she said, a forced smile on her face. 

She led Lyla into the first unoccupied space and flipped the light switch. As the overhead neon lights illuminated the art therapy room, Lyla became aware of the artwork affixed to the walls, several with twisted faces that stared at her with wild eyes and gaping mouths.

Dr. Haden closed the door. "Why don't you have a seat?" she said, apprehension tightening her cottony voice.

Lyla sensed it. "What's going on?"

She sat beside Lyla. "I wasn't sure if you'd heard." She cleared her throat. "About Oliver."

"Who?"

"Oliver Packer."

His first name is Oliver?

"He was involved in a serious car accident Saturday evening. Very serious."

Lyla's voice cracked when she asked, "Very serious?"

"We were informed this morning that Oliver remains in critical condition."

Lyla's hand went to her mouth, her stomach churned.

"I know that you two were close," the doctor said, tilting her head back to look Lyla in the eye.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "Why did you say were? Like he's gone."

The doctor momentarily broke eye contact.

"Where is he?" Lyla asked. "Which hospital?"

"Saint Clair. But visitors aren't permitted."

She bolted from her seat toward the door.

"Lyla. Lyla, where are you going?"

Dr. Haden caught up with her in the hallway, tears streaming down the girl's red face.

"You can't go to the hospital."

The floor felt like a long shiny, wobbly skateboard. Lyla's knees buckled. When her shoulder struck the wall she regained her footing. The doctor took her arm.

"I'm good," Lyla croaked. "I'm okay."

"Come on. Let's go up to my office," she said in a soothing voice. "We'll get you a drink of water." 

Shaniece peeled away from a group of girls walking past when she noticed Lyla. "You alright?"

"She just needs a moment," the doctor responded.

At the sight of her devastated friend, emotional contagion brought tears to Shaniece's eyes.

"Go on to class," Dr. Haden said.

Lyla turned toward the wall, her body shaking.

"Hey, girl," Shaniece's voice wavered. "I got you. You know that."

When Lyla managed a nod, Shaniece blinked her watery eyes then joined her fellow patients en route to their morning session.

The doctor leaned in. "Let's go up to my office. Shall we?" 

"Just wanna go home." Lyla wiped her streaked cheeks with her sleeve.

"You'll need a parent or guardian to come and get you. I can't release you on your own."

'Kay. I'll text my dad." 

"Wait here for me," the doctor said, opening the door to the art therapy room. "I'll get your phone."

Lyla stepped inside, then sat down, dabbing her runny nose. She glanced at the drawings and paintings. Monstrous expressions of pain on grotesque, demonic faces stared back. She lowered her head, diverting her eyes. Anxiously, she tapped her foot.

How long does it take her to get my damn phone?

She rubbed her hands together to warm the fingertips that had gone cold. On the floor beside her chair, she noticed a small lump of something wet, something melting. A short distance away she discovered another clump and another. She reached down and touched it. Snow. Melting snow.

A gravelly voice said, "Why you always doing this shit?"

Her head snapped up. There stood the janitor, coal-black eyes sunken in his gray face, the toes of his boots covered in snow.

"This didn't have to happen." He shook his head slowly. "Wear the ring."

Lyla launched herself from the chair, toppling the chair beside her, then crashing to the ground.

"You did this." He sneered.

She scrambled to her feet, through the door, and scurried out to the security desk.

"What happened?" Dr. Haden eyed the frantic girl.

"Don't wanna sit in there all by myself."

"Okay. Calm yourself. Take some deep breaths."

"Can't. My nose is all stuffed up. Can I have my phone?"

The security guard handed the phone to Lyla and unexpectedly offered a box of tissues. "Here you go," he said.

"Thanks." She blotted her runny nose with a shaking hand.

"Take a couple."

Lyla yanked another tissue from the box then powered on her phone, stepping away from the desk when Natalie approached. She eyed Lyla, glanced at Dr. Haden, signed in, then trudged down the hallway.

Lyla messaged Darcy.

Hey. Text me, k?

A moment later, she received Darcy's text.

What?

Tell U later.

"My dad," she lied to Doctor Haden. "Said he'll be leaving in a few minutes."

The doctor checked her wristwatch. "I have a meeting. Can she wait here until her father comes for her?"

"Sure thing." Charles nodded.

"You sure you're alright?" Dr. Haden asked.

"Just wanna go home." Lyla plopped down in one of the waiting area chairs and blew her nose. She searched for schedules for buses that go to St. Clair Hospital.

She messaged Darcy.

Text me in a couple minutes.

There was no reason to go to the hospital, she wouldn't be permitted to see him anyway. So, what's the point? Her decision wasn't driven by logic. Emotion had a firm grip on the controls.

Lyla and Packer's relationship was unconventional. She'd become so accustomed to being manipulated that initially, she was suspicious of his intentions. Unlike any other guy she'd ever known he had the confidence to be vulnerable, honest, and open. In short order, Packer had managed to alter her perception of him as "some guy I know from in-patient" to boyfriend candidate. She needed to be near him, even if she couldn't see him. She owed him. This was one thousand percent her fault. Ouroboros.

She was roused from her reverie by Darcy's text. It was a meme, a pic of a chihuahua with squinty eyes captioned: That face you make when your best friend is up to something.

Lyla stood and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"My dad's here." She didn't wait for a response from Charles. She jogged down the hall.