Torri sighed.
“Is this because of that picture of mine that Tanya ruined by drawing a noose on it?”
“Don’t know.” Mazy shrugged. “I just know you’re not supposed to be alone. Sorry,” she added again. She rubbed her bare arms and then blew on her hands. “It’s kind of chilly—are you going to spend the whole rec hour out here? We have lots of room in the gym,” she added hopefully.
Feeling defeated, Torri followed her back inside. There was nowhere she could be alone now—no place she could go for solitude. It made her feel hopeless and depressed.
It’s a good thing I don’t have a noose like the one Tanya drew, she thought. I might do away with myself just to get out of this place!
Then she felt shocked as she realized what she was thinking. Had she really just been contemplating suicide? Were things really so bad that she wanted to end herself?
They’re pretty bad, Torri admitted to herself. But I don’t want to give up—not yet.
Though she didn’t see how in the world anything was ever going to get better.
After lunch—lukewarm spaghetti, soggy garlic bread, and a limp lettuce salad with gloopy, bright orange thousand island dressing—she had Art Therapy again. But when she went to get another canvas and the pastels, the therapist on duty stopped her.
“Dr. Burrows thinks it’s better if you stick to more structured art, Ms. Morrison,” she said, taking away the canvas and pastel chalks and handing Torri an adult coloring book instead.
“But…but I love art,” Torri protested. “It’s the only thing keeping me sane in here!”
“Now, now—nobody said anything about your sanity, dear,” the therapist said firmly. “Dr. Burrows just thinks that you’ll feel more comfortable coloring inside the lines.” She nodded at the coloring book with its pages and pages of black and white images, just waiting to be filled in.
Torri took it and sat at a table with a box of crayons, much too soft and blunt to fill in the tiny, intricate patterns. Color inside the lines—they wanted her to color inside the lines. Hell, the whole world wanted her to color inside the lines but she couldn’t. She was different—she knew things—things that everyone else thought were crazy. And there was no one to listen—no one to believe. No one…
The Art Therapy room suddenly disappeared and she was watching the vast black Fathership speeding towards Earth. They were coming—the aliens were coming—and Torri was the only one who knew it. But if she tried to tell them, they’d just pump her full of drugs and call her crazy. They—
“Ms. Morrison? Ms. Morrison, wake up!”
Someone was shaking her gently. It was Mazy again, with a look of concern on her face.
“What?” Torri blinked. “What happened?”
“I’m afraid you blanked out for a while. Art Therapy is over. Can you get over to the Group Therapy room on your own or do you need some help?”
“I…I’ll be fine.” Torri licked her lips, which felt dry. “I’m okay.”
“All right then.” Mazy nodded and left.
Torri blinked again and looked around. Had she lost a whole hour this time? She must have—she had sat down at the table right at the beginning of Art Therapy and now it was over.
She looked down at the adult coloring book to see if she’d done anything at all before the fugue state came on her. Her hand was covering the page she’d been about to start working on, but when she lifted it, she saw something that made her breath catch in her throat.
Slashed across the black and white pattern in bright red crayon were the words, They Are Coming!
Torri bit her lip. Oh God, if Dr. Burrows got hold of this, she would never hear the end of it! Making sure no one was looking, she quickly tore the page out of the book, folded it several times, and shoved it into the pocket of her sweater.
Then she stood up on shaky legs and somehow made her way to the Group Therapy room.
Nine
At St. Elizabeth’s, the monotony never ended. But today there was something new in Group Therapy. Or rather, there was someone new.
As Torri entered, sneaking in last and looking for a free seat in the circle of chairs, her eyes caught on a new patient.
Though he was sitting down, she could tell the new patient was quite tall. He looked to be between thirty and thirty-five and he had extremely black hair—so black it almost seemed to have blue highlights, Torri thought. His eyes were a deep, piercing blue and his features were rugged but handsome. Dark stubble covered his strong jaw and he stared straight ahead with his large, capable looking hands folded quietly in his lap.
Torri had the strangest feeling she had seen him somewhere before. Not in person but on TV. Was he an actor she’d seen in one of the many mindless sitcoms they watched here during free time in the Patient Lounge? He certainly looked like he could be an actor. With that little cleft in his chin and that sensual mouth, not to mention his broad shoulders and muscular body, he looked like someone who might get cast in a superhero movie.
It wasn’t until she was seated and the Group Therapist said,
“And now, I’d like to introduce a new friend. This is Vic,” that Torri realized where she’d seen him before—though not until her ex-roommate spoke up.
“Hey!” Tanya blurted, staring at the new patient. “Ain’t you that guy that tried to kill the President?”
With a shock, Torri realized her ex-roommate was right. It had been on the news, just a few weeks ago—a man—this man—had suddenly appeared in the Oval Office. The Secret Service had no idea how he had gotten in—he had simply materialized, as it were, right in front of the Resolute Desk. He had raised his hands to show that he was unarmed and said clearly, “Mr. President, I come in peace…”
And then he had simply stopped talking, according to the reporter. His eyes had gone blank and he hadn’t even tried to resist when the President’s Secret Service tackled him to the ground.
“Hey, why is he in here?” Tanya demanded of the therapist. “He’s dangerous, ain’t he? If he tried to kill the President, who says he won’t try to kill us? He oughta be locked up over with the violent offenders!”
“Now, Tanya,” the therapist said, frowning. “Vic here never harmed anyone and he didn’t have any kind of weapons on him during his, uh, visit to the President. He has been judged non-violent by several court-appointed therapists and the judge has ordered him to come and stay with us for a while. All right?”
Tanya crossed her arms over her chest and muttered something about “assassins on the loose,” but mostly shut up after that.
Honestly, Torri didn’t know why her ex-roommate felt so threatened. Though the new patient was big and muscular, he didn’t show any signs of becoming aggressive. Indeed, he barely talked at all. All he said was, “I am Vic,” when the therapist asked everyone to introduce themselves. Other than that, he was completely silent and only stared out the window with a far-away look in his deep blue eyes.
Torri tried not to stare at the new patient, but she found her eyes drawn back to him again and again. Who was he, really, and why had he been trying to get to the President? Also, how had he managed to get through the Secret Service with no weapons? What was his purpose?