Jordan, of course, shared no opinion on this subject. On the medium-sized flat-screen television, the host was saying something about breaking news.
“Jordan, maybe we should—”
The girl raised a hand.
That gave Donna a start — this was a direct reaction. Rare from this patient...
On screen, a perfectly coiffed female reporter stood in what appeared to be a middle-class neighborhood, saying, “Valerie Demson for WCLE Channel Seven News, reporting from Strongsville, where last night tragedy struck. An anonymous 911 call brought police to a house down the street...” She gestured with the hand that was free of a microphone. “...just behind me... where they found a family inside their home... victims of homicide.”
“Jordan,” Donna said, “I’m going to have to turn the channel...”
The nurse in the glassed-in office had the remote, and Donna cast an eye in that direction, but the desk was empty.
The reporter was saying, “The murder victims were Arnold and Angela Sully and their teenage daughter, Brittany. Viewers may recall that Brittany Sully received national attention when she and another senior girl at Strongsville High went to the senior prom as dates. Police would not respond to speculation that a hate crime aspect may pertain to this tragedy.”
Donna rose to go switch off the television herself.
“We will follow this breaking story as it develops,” the reporter said. “This is Valerie Demson for WCLE Channel Seven News.”
After hitting the switch, Donna turned to see Jordan staring at her. Approaching the patient, the doctor said, “I’m sorry, Jordan. I know it must be difficult for you to hear about that kind of unpleasantness...”
The young woman continued to look at her, but not blank faced — wheels obviously turning behind those dark eyes... but what was Jordan Rivera thinking?
Raising her hand for silence was more direct communication than Jordan had made with anyone, with the possible exception of Kara, in a decade.
Donna sat next to Jordan again. “I’m sorry I didn’t get that turned off sooner.” Wheels were turning. “Obviously, there’s no way we can monitor everything that’s aired, and we don’t want to deny everyone the simple courtesy of being able to watch—”
Jordan’s head swiveled. Her eyes were narrow.
Donna reared back a little — the intensity of the woman’s gaze was like a door had been opened on a blast furnace.
Woman, she thought. Not girl. Woman...
“What do I have to do,” Jordan Rivera said evenly, in a low husky voice unknown to her stunned doctor, “to get the hell out of this place?”
Chapter Three
“You know what’s weird?” Kara McCormick said, grinning, running a hand nervously through her pink-and-blue bangs.
“No,” Jordan said. “What’s weird?”
“How your real voice sounds so much like the one I used to hear in my head.”
“You hear voices in your head?”
“No! I mean, the voice in my head I heard when you didn’t talk out loud.”
“You heard me when I wasn’t talking?”
“Kind of. That so hard to believe?”
“No. But then, Kara?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts.”
Kara bubbled with laughter while Jordan just smiled as her mental-ward inmate pal punched her lightly on the arm.
“Well, maybe so,” Kara managed through her laughter, “but you are fuckin’ nuts and a bitch.”
That made Jordan laugh, too, though not as raucously as Kara. Around the sunroom, other patients were staring at them.
Like the dayroom, the sunroom had chicken-wired windows. This smaller area, though, was as good as its name, streaming as it was with springtime rays, and serving as a literally sunny place for patients to meet with visitors.
Jordan and Kara sat on a secondhand sofa against the wall, while a few other patients were scattered at the room’s far end, most sitting at tables with relatives who were often anxiously providing most of the talking. Jordan wore a blue T-shirt and jeans, while Kara remained in the scrubs she’d adopted.
“I never thought of myself as a bitch,” Jordan said, still smiling a little. “I’m not sure I mind it.”
“Hey, it’s a pretty good trick for a deaf-mute.”
“Hey — I heard that. Who’s the bitchy one now?”
When she was with Kara, Jordan allowed herself to cut loose, a little, and flash the occasional smile — but only with Kara.
Of course, Jordan’s mom would have blanched at her language; but ten years in St. Dimpna’s, and making friends with Kara, had added more than a hint of salt to her vocabulary.
Kara’s laughter trailed off into a thoughtful silence. “You mind answering a question?”
“Try me.”
“What’s it like out there?”
Jordan thought about it. Yes, she was speaking again, but she still kept most everything to herself. Said no more than she had to, to anyone.
Anyone but Kara.
The therapy that had worked best for Jordan came not from any doctor, not even Donna Hurst. And it hadn’t been just the shock of that newscast that brought her out of her decade-long funk. Her return to the world, to herself, had begun when she had made a friend. Kara.
Who was saying, “I mean, not living here, that’s gotta be great. But it’s also gotta be...”
“Scary,” Jordan said.
Kara nodded, and said, very tentatively, “Because of... what happened to your family?”
“No. I’m not afraid of that son of a bitch.”
“Not afraid?”
“No. He can come back and have another shot at me anytime he likes.”
Kara was just looking at her. “Uh... honey. You never said that to Dr. Hurst, did you?”
“Hell no. You think I’d be living off campus if I did?”
They laughed again, not so raucously.
“Anyway,” Jordan said. “It hasn’t been so long since you were out there. You remember what it was like.”
“I remember. And I remember winding up in here, too.”
“Well, it’s not jail. You didn’t do anything.”
“If... if that killer isn’t what you’re afraid of... what is scary about it?”
Jordan shook her head. “Just being out there. Outside these walls.”
“I hate these walls.”
“Who doesn’t? But they do protect us.”
“True that.”
Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know if I’m smart enough to get by on my own.”
Kara drew back, a skeptical smile tickling her lips. “And I’m fucking nuts?”
This time Jordan didn’t laugh. “I’m serious.”
“So am I!” Kara said. “You’re as smart as anyone in this dump. And I include the docs.”
Giving her friend a sideways glance, Jordan arched a brow.
“Them and the nurses and everybody. Come on, girlfriend. You’re smart and you know it.”
“Yeah? I didn’t even finish high school.”
“You got your GED in here, didn’t you?”
“Whoopy do.”
Kara met Jordan’s eyes and held them. “Don’t try those moves on me. I’m not Hurst. You left here for a reason, right?”
Jordan managed a tiny nod.
“You wanted something more than this... this medicated cave we all hide in.”
“Fancy talk. Maybe you’re the smart one.”
“Bullshit. Get off your ass, girl! Go out there and fucking get it. Whatever it is you’re after. College, the right guy, a fat job, whatever.”