What is this fuss about?”
I gaped at the mirror. “Mirror,” I said. “Look.”
“Your voice is back, honey!” Loretta said as she turned to look at the mirror and my eyes followed hers.
Nothing was there. Opening the door had stirred up the steam and made the letters disappear. Condensation dripped down the surface, but the writing had vanished. Loretta reached out to wipe the fog away.
“No, wait. Don’t you see it? Someone wrote a message on the mirror. They wrote that I should have died.”
I thought I could make out a faint trace of the letters, but it could also just have been water droplets. Loretta peered at the mirror, shook her head, and wiped it with a cloth.
“You’re on some pretty heavy narcotics and one of the side effects can be—”
“Not a side effect. It was there. Words.” I was crying now in frustration. “A threat.”
“But sweetheart, no one came in or out of here while I was gone.”
I stared at her. “Must have.”
“I was just outside the door. Your room is empty.”
I focused on the steamed-up mirror. Was I going crazy? Had I hallucinated the words?
The only other option was—
“Loretta,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, kitten?” She was filling the plastic tub she’d gone to get with water, but she looked at me over her shoulder. Her expression was open and honest and kind and I knew, with every bone in my body, that she wouldn’t have done anything to mess with me.
“Nothing. I just—you’re sure no one could have snuck in while you stepped out? I can’t believe I just imagined it.”
“Don’t feel bad, kitten,” she said. “Nearly everyone sees something odd when they’re on as much medicine as you are.” She dipped a cloth into the basin of hot water. “Was one patient in here, swore he saw a rainbow donkey piñata hanging just above his bed like one he had at a birthday party as a child.”
She shifted my weight. “And a little girl was convinced that fuzzy mice were running around her bed. Her mother said she’d been asking for a pet mouse for ages. Best I can imagine is that the hallucinations come from something buried in your mind, maybe a wish.”
“I don’t wish I was dead.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. But it did get you talking again. Maybe you were just looking for the right trigger to get your words back.”
Maybe she was right. After all, not being able to talk had turned out to be temporary like she said.
By the time she was done bathing me, I’d stopped shaking and nearly accepted the fact that I must have hallucinated the message. I mean, if no one had come in or out of my room, let alone the bathroom, wish or no wish, it had to have been in my head.
Which meant no one wanted me dead. No one hated me. I’d made it all up.
“Your mother will be happy that you can speak again, no matter what caused it.”
My mother. She’d be thrilled with a new sign of my return to “normal,” but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t like the hallucination part.
“Is there any way we could keep this from her? I mean since it was just something I made up and not a real threat? I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” I cleared my throat. It felt raw—I guessed from the breathing tube that had been down it.
“How about I’ll tell Dr. Connolly what happened and let him decide about telling your parents, how’s that?”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get you dressed,” she said, deftly sliding my arms into a new hospital gown, this one white and green. She pushed me in front of the mirror as she combed my hair out.
“What do you think?”
My first thought was, At least I still have my hair. David loved my hair. Maybe it was that, or maybe because the swelling had started to go down in my face or because I was prepared from the time before, but this time looking at my reflection, I was more fascinated than horrified. The white grid of the tiles framed my face—black eye, hash marks on the cheek, fat lip—as
I gaped at the mirror. “Mirror,” I said. “Look.”
“Your voice is back, honey!” Loretta said as she turned to look at the mirror and my eyes followed hers.
Nothing was there. Opening the door had stirred up the steam and made the letters disappear. Condensation dripped down the surface, but the writing had vanished. Loretta reached out to wipe the fog away.
“No, wait. Don’t you see it? Someone wrote a message on the mirror. They wrote that I should have died.”
I thought I could make out a faint trace of the letters, but it could also just have been water droplets. Loretta peered at the mirror, shook her head, and wiped it with a cloth.
“You’re on some pretty heavy narcotics and one of the side effects can be—”
“Not a side effect. It was there. Words.” I was crying now in frustration. “A threat.”
“But sweetheart, no one came in or out of here while I was gone.”
I stared at her. “Must have.”
“I was just outside the door. Your room is empty.”
I focused on the steamed-up mirror. Was I going crazy? Had I hallucinated the words?
The only other option was—
“Loretta,” I said, trying to sound casual.
“Yes, kitten?” She was filling the plastic tub she’d gone to get with water, but she looked at me over her shoulder. Her expression was open and honest and kind and I knew, with every bone in my body, that she wouldn’t have done anything to mess with me.
“Nothing. I just—you’re sure no one could have snuck in while you stepped out? I can’t believe I just imagined it.”
“Don’t feel bad, kitten,” she said. “Nearly everyone sees something odd when they’re on as much medicine as you are.” She dipped a cloth into the basin of hot water. “Was one patient in here, swore he saw a rainbow donkey piñata hanging just above his bed like one he had at a birthday party as a child.”
She shifted my weight. “And a little girl was convinced that fuzzy mice were running around her bed. Her mother said she’d been asking for a pet mouse for ages. Best I can imagine is that the hallucinations come from something buried in your mind, maybe a wish.”
“I don’t wish I was dead.”
“No, I suppose you don’t. But it did get you talking again. Maybe you were just looking for the right trigger to get your words back.”
Maybe she was right. After all, not being able to talk had turned out to be temporary like she said.
By the time she was done bathing me, I’d stopped shaking and nearly accepted the fact that I must have hallucinated the message. I mean, if no one had come in or out of my room, let alone the bathroom, wish or no wish, it had to have been in my head.
Which meant no one wanted me dead. No one hated me. I’d made it all up.
“Your mother will be happy that you can speak again, no matter what caused it.”
My mother. She’d be thrilled with a new sign of my return to “normal,” but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t like the hallucination part.
“Is there any way we could keep this from her? I mean since it was just something I made up and not a real threat? I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” I cleared my throat. It felt raw—I guessed from the breathing tube that had been down it.
“How about I’ll tell Dr. Connolly what happened and let him decide about telling your parents, how’s that?”
“Thank you.”
“Now let’s get you dressed,” she said, deftly sliding my arms into a new hospital gown, this one white and green. She pushed me in front of the mirror as she combed my hair out.
“What do you think?”
My first thought was, At least I still have my hair. David loved my hair. Maybe it was that, or maybe because the swelling had started to go down in my face or because I was prepared from the time before, but this time looking at my reflection, I was more fascinated than horrified. The white grid of the tiles framed my face—black eye, hash marks on the cheek, fat lip—as
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