NUMB - Judy Colella (good beach reads txt) 📗

I can wait?”

She nodded at something behind him. “We don’t really have a reception area, just private lounges on the wards where the patients are. And…according to the records, no one is allowed to see, um, your brother.”

“Why the ‘um,’ if I may ask?”

“Yes. Well, he asked us never to use his name, and if anyone came in asking for him, to say there was no here called, uh, by that name.”

“Sounds like getting a wrong number. So why did you tell me?”

“Honestly? You freaked me out and I forgot. Not very professional of me, was it.” She shrugged and her mouth twisted into something not happy.

“I understand. But I’m also glad you did. Forget, I mean. I wasn’t really sure he was here.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! I am going to be in so much trouble…”

“No you aren’t. I won’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Hmm. That’s nice of you, but I can’t lie if I’m asked how you knew you were in the right place. Anyway, as I was saying, there’s no reception area, but you may wait over there – the chairs by the wall. I’m sorry. It’s the best I can offer.”

“Don’t apologize. It isn’t like I made an appointment.” Another smile, this one aimed at making her feel a little better, and he went to the chair on the end, laying his coat on the one beside it.

Several people came and went through the small lobby where he waited. The building itself was huge, if what he saw from the outside was any indication. In fact, it seemed to be several buildings clustered together on a wide hill, lawns surrounding it that were probably peaceful and lovely during the warmer months. The interior was austere, but not unpleasant. Despite a lack of fancy furniture, paintings and plants – the usual fare in special care facilities these days – Bluebird Foundation didn’t feel institutional, either. Simple. Bright and airy. Efficient. Nice. Probably what his brother needed and nothing more.

One man, a doctor, according to his nametag, paused and stared at Jax for a moment. He seemed about to say something, but did not, moving on again. A couple of other people did subtle double-takes, and that was all the attention he got. It did make him almost laugh, though.

When he glanced at his watch, he saw that nearly twenty minutes had passed since his conversation with the woman behind the desk, and he stood. At almost the same time, she looked up and smiled, beckoning him forward.

“The doctor is back in his office; I sent him a message. As soon as I hear from him, I’ll let you – oh. Never mind.” A chime from the computer had drawn her attention back to the screen. She peered closer, reading. “Okay. He’ll meet you out here, he says.”

Jax decided to remain standing, and picked up his coat. Either the doctor would agree to speak with him or he wouldn’t. Either way, he’d need to take the garment with him. He began to pace, but when he caught the receptionist watching him, he stopped, feeling strangely self-conscious. He couldn’t have said why, though – because he was in a mental hospital?

“Mr. Kinsley?”

Jax turned and was treated to that same startled look. Ignoring this, he checked the identification tag on the man’s lab coat and nodded, extending a hand. “Thanks for seeing me. I’m Jax Kinsley.”

“Of course.” They shook hands. “I’m curious,” said the doctor, who Jax now knew from the tag was Charles Rufino, Doctor of Psychiatry. “What made you come here?”

Unlike the receptionist, the doctor hadn’t admitted outright that Jett was there. Jax shrugged. “I know how my brother thinks. And like him, I’m a mathematician, so I used some simple formulae and algorithms as applied to the process of elimination, and everything pointed to this hospital.”

“I see. Very well. Why don’t we go to my office – I have some things to tell you that might take a while, if that’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“True. This way. Would you like some coffee, or soda, perhaps?”

“Coffee would be great.”

They stopped on the way at a pleasant kitchen that looked more like it belonged in someone’s house than in a hospital. It was equipped with one of the new coffee-makers that produced single servings of the beverage using small plastic cups of various flavored coffees.

As Jax was adding milk and sugar to his cup, the doctor opened the refrigerator and removed a large pitcher marked “Ice Tea – Sweetened” and poured himself a glass.

When they continued down the corridor from the kitchen, Jax became aware of many sounds – voices, machines, the hum of lots of electronics. The voices were what interested him the most, since many of them were loud despite being muffled by distance and the walls. Shouts, shouted words, a few shrieks. He suspected that all such facilities through the ages had resonated with various decibel levels of the same or similar noises.

Dr. Rufino’s office was large and bright, the walls a soothing shade of grey-blue, the large bookcase against one wall painted creamy white to match the crown moldings. His birds-eye maple desk looked ancient but well-preserved, and on the hardwood floor, a Persian carpet with pretty designs in blue, beige, pale green and ecru. All five chairs and a small sofa were of leather, including the one behind the desk where the doctor sat.

“What can you tell me?” asked Jax when they were settled.

“All right. According to our Statement of Confidentiality, I would never be able to answer that, or to have even given any indication that your brother is here. However, part of our Promise of Quality – another document we present to all patients and their families – compels me to overstep that first one. Something tells me you might be able to break through where the rest of us have failed.”

“Break through? Through what?”

The doctor shifted and sighed. “When he got here, Jett was clearly at the end of his tether, so to speak. He didn’t tell us what was troubling him, only that there was an excellent chance he would try and end his life if he didn’t get help. He gave us a hand-written statement – said he’d written it in the taxi on his way here – which contained specific instructions for his care.”

“Aren’t you supposed to determine that?”

“Normally, yes, if the patient is remanded here by law enforcement, his doctor, ordered to remain here by court order, or is brought in by relatives and against the patient’s will because he or she is incapable of acting in his or her own interests. Jett, on the other hand, came in voluntarily and paid us enough to keep him here indefinitely.” He took a sip of his tea, eyes narrowing. “Before you say it was this last thing that made us decide to accept him on his own terms, I must explain that our funding comes more from outside sources than from the patients. However, with no doctor’s referral or recommendation to give us an idea of how long a course of treatment he would need, an up-front amount was required, something I believe he must have read on our website.”

Jax nodded – sounded like the kind of logical behavior he would have expected from his brother. “All right. So what were these specific instructions?”

Dr. Rufino opened a side drawer in his desk and drew out a sheet of legal-pad paper, which he handed across the desk. “As you’ll see, it’s brief but quite clear.”

Jett’s familiar neat printing covered the page, and as he read, Jax began to see how extensive his brother’s pain was, and realized that the true purpose of his coming here was to be able to block out reality – completely. “Wow.” He scowled. “Damn. You can’t even call him by his name?”

“That is correct.”

“Huh. No conversation with him about anything outside this hospital, either. He – you do know what happened, yes?”

“About his wife? Yes, of course. I believe anyone with a television or radio knows, and that’s the only clue we had about his condition.”

“Did you also know how much he despises being pitied?”

“No, Mr. Kinsley. You see, I interviewed him at length when he first arrived, but we only discussed those terms.” He nodded toward the ledger paper. “I thought to get into other aspects of his life and personality later on. In the meantime, I prescribed a course of medication, which I sent to the front desk to be typed out and given to Jett when he was ready to be brought to his room. I admit I didn’t anticipate how deep his despair had gone, and by the time an orderly was called to accompany him upstairs, he was functional, but unresponsive. He had shut down almost completely.”

“Almost.”

The doctor nodded, shifting again, and began to look worried. “I – he was put in a private room like he’d asked, given hospital clothing which he changed into by himself, I’m told, but after he’d been alone for less than an hour, he became self-destructive. He didn’t try to kill himself, but…”

Jax sat straighter, brows drawing together – he didn’t like the direction in which this narrative sounded like it was heading. “What did he do, Dr. Rufino?”

“There are heating and water pipes running through all the rooms and are located in a corner to be out of the way. Jett – he punched and kicked them several times, ran into them, and in the process, broke both hands, one foot, and badly dislocated both shoulders. The most upsetting thing is that he wanted to be hurt and even tore out the morphine drip we put him on after operating on the broken bones and resetting his shoulders. So, er, we had to strap him down, and because every time we released him he tried to hurt himself further, we’ve had to keep him restrained this entire time, or at least until a few days ago, when the casts were removed from his hands. He’s too weak to do anything now.” He took a deep breath and look away. “I’m afraid his present appearance will be shocking to you.” He returned his gaze to Jax. “I’m sorry.”

“What about his foot?”

“What?”

“Can he walk?”

“He can barely move. And yes, we took the cast off his foot this morning.”

“I’d like to see him now.”

“Uh, there’s another thing. He hasn’t spoken a word since that first day. All he does is yell and scream. He has terrible nightmares, too. I’m afraid his voice is ruined. In time, perhaps, his throat can heal some. But at the moment, when he does make any kind of sound, like a moan or sobbing, his voice is hardly even there.”

“Well!” Jax got up. “At least you were able to keep him alive. That’s one thing on the list that you’ve managed to handle right.”

“I do believe we’ve also met his other criteria, Mr. Kinsley. There was nothing we could do about the rest, despite our best efforts.”

“Uh-huh. And keeping him strapped to a bed for what – almost three months? Was that part of your ‘best efforts’?”

“Have you forgotten how strong he was when he first got here?”

“Yeah, well, not any more, right?”

“Mr. Kinsley, please! We aren’t God!”

“No, you aren’t. Where is he?”

“Perhaps you should calm down before I take you to see him.”

Perhaps I should tear your stupid head off! He made himself take several deep breaths in an effort to talk himself off the ledge. He knew how stubborn Jett was, and under normal conditions, Jax would not only have understood the doctor’s position, but been sympathetic. He pointed out to himself that since he’d been completely unprepared to hear that his brother had been seriously injured, he was probably over-reacting out of raw, emotional devastation. The very idea of his highly capable and almost physically perfect brother being too weak to get out of bed made him feel sick. And how bad had the breaks been? Would Jett