Always Watching

She said the words to the room as though she’d forgotten I was there and was just reassuring herself.
    “Who are you afraid is going to find you?”
    “I want them to leave us alone, but they just keep calling and calling.” She picked at her cuticles as she spoke, tearing at a small piece of flesh.
    “Is someone bothering you?” Her file hadn’t said anything about paranoia or hallucinations, but psychosis is sometimes possible with severe depression, which Heather was clearly suffering from. But if she was also having problems with some people in her life, we needed to know about it.
    She started to worry the bandage with her teeth again.
    I said, “This is a safe environment—it’s a place for you to get better. We can bar anyone you don’t want to visit, and there’s a security guard on the floor at all times. No one can get to you.” If there was a real threat, I wanted to make sure Heather felt secure enough to tell me what was going on. If it was just paranoia, she still needed to feel protected, so we could begin to treat her.
    “I’m not going back.” The last part was said as though she was warning herself. “They can’t make me.”
    “Who can’t make you?”
    She forced her eyes open, met mine with a flash of confused alarm. I could see her wondering what she’d just told me. Fear, and something else, something I couldn’t name yet, rolled off her body in thick waves, pressing into me. I fought the sudden urge to step back.
    “I need to see Daniel.” Her head lolled forward, and her chin dropped onto her chest. “I’m so tired.”
    “Why don’t you get some rest while I talk to your husband.”
    She curled up under the blue blanket in the fetal position, her face to the wall, shaking even though the room was warm.
    Her voice now barely a whisper, she said, “He sees everything. ”
    I paused at the door. “Who sees everything, Heather?”
    She just pulled the blanket over her face.
    *   *   *
    When I walked into the visiting area, a tall man with dark hair leaped to his feet. Even unshaven, with shadows under his eyes and a rumpled dress shirt hanging outside faded jeans, Daniel was an attractive man. He was probably in his mid-forties, judging by the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, but I had a feeling he was one of those men who grow even more handsome with age. Their child would have been lovely. I felt a wave of sorrow for them.
    He strode toward me, a brown leather bomber jacket hanging over his arm and a knapsack hooked over his shoulder.
    “How is she? Is she asking for me?” His voice cracked on the last word.
    “Let’s go where we can talk privately, Mr. Simeon.” I led him down the hallway toward one of the interview rooms, skirting the janitor mopping the floor. I frowned when I noticed that the utility room behind him was unlocked and gaping, and made a mental note to mention it to the nurses.
    “Call me Daniel, please. Can you tell me if she’s all right?”
    “I’d say yes, considering. She’s having a hard time, but we’re doing everything in our power to help her. This is the best place for her right now.”
    “There was so much blood.…”
    I felt bad for him, knowing what he was probably thinking: What if I’d come home ten minutes later? Why didn’t I see the signs? Families seem to fall into two categories: those that blame themselves and those that blame the patient. But they always need to blame someone.
    “It must have been very upsetting to find her like that,” I said. “Is there anyone you can talk to? I’d be happy to suggest someone.”
    A quick shake of his head. “I’m okay. I just want Heather to be safe.”
    I thought about what Heather had just told me. Was someone harassing her? Or was his fear just related to what she had done?
    “That’s what we want too.” I unlocked the heavy metal door to the interview room and waved Daniel into a chair.
    He sat across from me. People might think that the ward would be decorated in soothing colors, a warm, nurturing environment, but the chairs, mismatched shades of pink, blue, and puce, have been there since the seventies. The desk was laminate, the edges cracked and peeling. A wood shelf stood against one wall with a few lonely books stacked haphazardly. Even the waiting area where he’d been sitting for so many hours was just a few chairs by the elevators. It’s an old hospital. But the funding isn’t there, and this isn’t meant to be a holiday.
    “Did she tell