Chapter 4
The El was nearly empty, rush-hour riders going in the opposite direction. I grabbed a seat at the back of the car and flipped open my history book, but after reading the same sentence about James Madison for the third time, I gave up and looked out the window instead. Houses, shops, and streets slid by, faster and faster as we accelerated toward the city. Dusk had fallen and everything was tinged with the crisp, bluish hue of winter, harsher than I remembered it being at home. Jack would be at basketball practice now. Sometimes afterwards he’d come to my apartment or find me in the library, wrapping his freshly showered body around me from behind, wet hair teasing my ear, his cheek scratchy against mine.
I wondered what he did these days.
I knew his phone would be tucked in his backpack, hanging in the locker room, but I texted anyway, the connection making it feel like a small part of him was here, keeping me company: “freezing today, but going to chicago anyway. how r u?”
Twenty minutes later—far too soon—I was there.
I trotted the block to Vauxhall Hospital, slowing only as I slipped into the warmth of the lobby and that too-familiar hospital smell. I wound through the maze of corridors and stairwells, stopping at the swinging doors of Demetria’s ward to mentally rehearse the lines Petra had coached me on: I was a friend from school, Demetria and I sat next to each other in history class.
“They won’t ask you to prove it and unless Demetria refuses to see you, you’ll get in,” Petra had said. “We like to encourage patients to interact with familiar faces from the outside world.”
“But what if she does? Refuse, I mean?”
Petra shrugged. “Then you leave. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She’s been pretty unresponsive to just about everything from what I heard.” Petra paused, then added, “If you see you’re upsetting her, though, you’ve gotta get a nurse involved. Especially since we’re on ground that’s a little shaky, ethically speaking. After all, you’re not a school friend or a familiar face.”
Petra was silent and I could almost see her rethinking this plan. I jumped in before she could change her mind.
“I’ll be careful. Really, Petra, I promise. And if she gets worked up, I’ll get someone.”
“I trust you, Cass, which is the only reason I’m going along with this,” she said, still hesitant. “The more I think about it, the less kosher it seems, but I think you’re sensitive to the situation. And visiting this girl might do you and her some good. An unfamiliar face might actually be more help.” She shook her finger at me, only half teasing. “But I’m counting on you to do the right thing if you see it’s not.”
So it was with all that in mind that I approached the nurses’ station, worried I’d be tossed out on my butt before I even got to see her. But the nurse gave me only a cursory glance, inspected my bookbag, had me fill out the visitor log, and checked my ID.
I was in.
Demetria Kansokis was sitting on a scratchy-looking sofa, the TV blaring from its shelf overhead. They were never down low, Petra said. Safety reasons. Demetria was staring past it anyway, her dark hair long like mine, hanging in thick, scraggly waves. It looked like she might have showered last week. I didn’t blame her, though. Who knew what she’d seen that brought her here.
My heart beat faster as I approached, a nervous rhythm that felt almost visible. I wasn’t sure what to say and didn’t know what I wanted more: for her to admit she was Fate or have no idea what I was talking about.
There were three other patients on the sofas and chairs nearby. One of them looked up at me expectantly.
“Nurse?” he said.
“Um, no.” I was wearing a gray jersey dress and every person I’d seen in the hospital so far was head-to-toe white. But crazy people have their own reality. Actually, I think that’s the definition of crazy.
“Do you have my medication?”
“I’m not a nurse.”
“You look like a nurse.”
No. I don’t. Not even a little bit. “Well, I’m not. I’m just visiting.”
“Do you have my medication?”
“No.”
He turned back to the TV and I glanced at Demetria. She and the other two patients seemed like they hadn’t even heard our conversation. As if they weren’t even in the same room with us, really. Maybe they’d had his medication.
As I slid into a chair, her eyes flicked in my direction, then immediately returned to a spot left of the TV.
“Demetria?”
No response.
“Are you Demetria Kansokis?”
Still nothing. I glanced around the room again, feeling stupid and uncomfortable, but no one was paying any attention to me. Even the nurse by the door was more interested in her magazine. Resolutely, I turned back to the girl.
“My name’s Cassie. Cassandra Renfield. That’s my father’s last name,” I added. “My mother’s was Dinakis.” I waited to see if that made any impression, but it was as if I were invisible. And inaudible.
“I thought you might like some company,” I said.
“She can’t hear you,” Medicine Man offered without looking at me.
“I think she can.”
“Nuh-uh.”
I ignored him. “I know you can hear me,” I told her. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I just thought if you did want to … you know, talk to someone who’s not part of the hospital or anything …” I trailed off, realizing this was ridiculous. Petra said she hadn’t been talking in her sessions. Why on earth would she talk to me? But I didn’t know what else to do.
“I just moved here a couple months ago, after my grandmother died,” I said, thinking it might have helped to have rehearsed this part more and the nurses’-station part less. “My parents died a long time ago, so Nan was my only real family. I miss her a lot and thought being somewhere different might help.”
Demetria shifted slightly in her seat, but still didn’t speak. Or even look at me.
“I don’t know a lot of people here,” I rambled on. “I’ve made a few friends, but I’d really hoped to meet some other Greeks. Nan never told me much about our people and I was kind of hoping to learn. There’s a bunch of Greek kids at my school, but I’m not sure how to, you know, get in with them.”
“Why don’t you offer them some peanuts?”
Great idea, Medicine Man. I’ll get right on that. “I’m not sure they like peanuts,” I said out loud.