hallucinating and behaving like he did tonight it’s because he’s off his meds,” I explain. “Though his reaction tonight is a little different from his usual. Danny typically has auditory hallucinations, the classic schizophrenic voices in his head. To my knowledge he’s never had a visual hallucination before, so that’s new. Right Allie?”
She nods, looking worried, and chewing on the side of her thumb the same way her brother had earlier.
“Allie has assured me that she’s been checking his pill dispenser every day to make sure the meds are being taken,” I go on. “And ever since they changed Danny’s meds a few months ago, he’s been good about taking them. He tended to stop them before because they made him feel so dead and leaden, but he says the new ones don’t do that.”
“Just because the pills are no longer in the slots in the pill dispenser doesn’t mean he’s actually taking them,” Dr. Finnegan says. “He might be removing them from the dispenser and flushing them down the toilet. Do you watch him swallow the pills?” she asks Allie.
Allie is staring off into space, her mind clearly elsewhere, and she doesn’t answer. Dr. Finnegan looks at me over Allie’s head and arches her brows.
“Allie,” I say, nudging her with my arm. “Dr. Finnegan asked you if you watch Danny actually swallow the pills each day.”
Allie blinks several times rapidly and stares at first me, then the doctor. “Sorry,” she says. “And no, I don’t watch him swallow them. I leave for work earlier than him so I’m not there to supervise him. Besides, he doesn’t like it when I treat him like a child. I do ask him every day and he’s said he has. He’s not a very good liar and I can usually tell when he’s trying to put one over on me.”
“Maybe he isn’t lying,” Dr. Finnegan suggests. “Maybe he thinks he has taken the pills. If he’s imagining ghosts and people getting murdered, it’s not much of a leap to think that he might be imagining that he takes his pills.”
Allie frowns and looks like she’s about to say something, but then she bites it back. Her eyes go to the floor.
Dr. Finnegan watches her with a concerned expression. “Do we need to look at placement somewhere for Danny?” she asks softly. “Even if it’s only temporary. Perhaps it’s not wise for him to be at your house right now.”
Allie bristles. “No, I want him home with me. Joel is there to help now and I’ll be extra vigilant about his medications and make sure—” Music fills the air, and Allie pulls her cell phone out of her purse. I realize it’s a ring tone and recognize the tune as Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.” Allie says, “Sorry, I have to take this call. It’s the funeral home and I’m on call tonight.”
She hops up and hurries off down an adjacent hallway, her phone to her ear. Dr. Finnegan and I look at one another for a second, and then we both burst out laughing. Once we have ourselves under control again, she says, “Let me know what she finally decides to do. We can let him sleep here for now and reassess in a little while if she needs to leave for a call.”
I thank her and wait for Allie’s return. Standing at one end of the desk, I shove my hands into the pockets of my bomber-style jacket—a special police-issue item that Chief Hanson gifted me with on my first day—and feel something round and fuzzy. Puzzled, I pull it out and see that it’s a kiwi. I must have grabbed one from the bowl on the table at Allie’s house, though I have no memory of doing so.
This isn’t the first time this has happened to me. Throughout my adult years I’ve discovered odd pocketed food items from time to time with no memory of how they got in there. My shrinks have said it’s a manifestation of my obsessive-compulsive disorder brought about by the lack of control I felt over my own life while growing up. That’s because I grew up in the foster system after my mother was murdered, and in several of the homes I stayed in there were certain items and privileges that were reserved for the “natural” kids only and not allowed to us fosters. Food treats often fell into that category. If a foster kid did manage to secure a special food treat, it might get stolen by one of the other kids or confiscated by the adults in the home. As a result, I developed a habit of hoarding and hiding food to protect and preserve it.
I can’t blame the foster system for all my quirks. My mother raised me for my first seven years, what the experts consider to be the formative years, but given the fact that my mother was a prostitute and my father was a mystery man who remains unidentified—assuming my mother even knew who he was—I’m guessing my chances at any normal development were slim to none.
I see Allie approaching and shove the fruit back into my pocket, embarrassed and ashamed. Allie has a chagrined look on her face and for a moment I’m afraid she knows I’ve copped a piece of her fruit.
“That was a work call,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “I need to pick up a body. But the good news is it’s a patient here at the hospital up on the floor.”
“Then you don’t have far to go.”
“Except I can’t very well pick her up in my personal car. I need to go to the funeral home and grab one of the hearses.” She sighs, frowns, and stares at Danny, who looks quite peaceful in his sleep—for now.
“Dr. Finnegan said he can stay here and sleep off the medication they gave him,” I tell her. “Why don’t you go take care of your work detail and then check back with Dr. Finnegan when you’re done. I think she’d be amenable to letting Danny go home with you if he seems okay when he wakes up.”
She gives me a meager smile, and her phone, which she is holding in her hand, goes off again, a different ring tone this time. Allie’s smile falters and I see hesitation in her expression as she stares at the face of the phone. Finally, with a look of resolve, she answers it.
“Hey, Joel,” she says, turning away from me, her voice low.
I listen as she explains to Joel what is going on, stating simply that Danny is doing better with some medication the ER doctor has given him. After telling him she needs to go out on a call, she listens for a long time, then says, “I love you, too,” and disconnects the call.
“Everything okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Joel is learning... and adapting. He’s been a lifesaver, so eager to help and all, but I don’t think he fully realized how difficult things can get. That’s why I agreed to let him move in with us. I figured if we’re ever going to tie the knot, he needs to know exactly what he’s getting into. He’s embraced it all without hesitation, but I’m reluctant to let him take on too much too soon. I don’t want to scare him off. Having him here has been such a help and relief for me.”
“I didn’t realize you were dating anyone. How long have you known him?”
“About a year. We hit it off right away and he proposed just a few weeks ago.”
I see Devo standing over by the nurse’s desk, and he gives me a questioning look as he points at his watch. “I need to go back out with the police officer,” I tell Allie. “Danny will be fine here. The ER staff knows him well, and they’ll take care of him until you get back. Are you okay with that?”
She nods without hesitation. “We’ve been down this road before.” She pauses and frowns. “Though the fact that Danny’s having visual hallucinations, and not just hearing his usual voices, worries me. They’ve been quite bizarre, more than just the ghost thing.” She shoots me a worried look and I know she wants me to ask for
