Speaking in Tongues

her blouse. “I saw the Judge and his wife and you and the rest of the Colliers.I didn’t talk about it the way you did but I wanted a family too. But then things happened . . . You know.”
    “I lost my temper. I don’t . . . You’re right. Those kids back there . . . it was probably just gossip.”
    But his words were flaccid. And, of course, they came far too late. The damage had been done. He wondered if they’d separate now and never speak to each other again. He supposed that would happen. He supposed that it would have to.
    And oddly, he realized how much the idea upset him. No, it terrified him; he had no idea why.
    A long moment passed.
    Bett spoke first. He was surprised to hear her say, in a calm, reasoned voice, “Maybe it’s true, Tate—what you heard about her. Maybe it is. And maybe part of it’s my fault. But you know, people change. They can. They really can.”
    They continued on in silence. Bett closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest.
    What a man hears, he may doubt.
    What he sees, he may possibly doubt.
    “Bett? I am sorry.”
    What he does . . .
    “Bett?”
    But she didn’t answer.

Chapter Fifteen
    She decided she was safest here, in her cell.
    If the father—Aaron Matthews—had wanted to kill her he could have done so easily. He didn’t have to stash her away here, he didn’t have to buy all the food. No, no, she had this funny sense that though he kidnapped her he didn’t want to hurt her.
    But the son . . . He was the threat. She needed protection from him. She’d stay here locked in Crazy Megan’s padded cell until she figured out how to escape.
    She opened one of the files she’d taken from Peter’s room. In the dim light she scanned the pages, trying to find something that might help her. Maybe the hospital was near a town. Were there photos or brochures of the hospital and grounds? Maybe she could find a map. If she started a fire, people might see the smoke. Or maybe she’d find ventilation shafts or emergency exits.
    She remembered a padlocked door marked Basement down one of the corridors nearby. If she could break the lock on the door, were there exits down there she might get through? She flipped through the documents, looking for a picture or photo of thehospital—trying to find basement windows or doors she might climb out of.
    Damn, that’s smart, says an impressed Crazy Megan.
    Shhhh . . .
    Megan happened to glance at the papers on the top of the pile.
    . . . patient Victoria Skelling, 37, paranoid schizophrenic, was found dead in her room at 0620 hours, April 23. COD was asphyxia, from inhalation of mattress fibers. County police (see annexed report) investigated and declared the death suicide. It appeared patient Skelling gnawed through the canvas ducking of her mattress and pulled out wads of stuffing. She inhaled approximately ten ounces of this material, which lodged in her throat. The patient had been on Thorazine and Haldol, delusions were minimal. Orderlies described her in “good spirits” for much of the morning of her death but after spending the day on the grounds with a group of other patients she grew increasingly depressed and agitated. She complained that rats were coming to get her. They were going to chew her breasts off (earlier delusions and certain dreams centered around poisoned breast milk and suckling). She calmed again at dinnertime and spent the evening in the TV room. She was extremely upset when she went to bed and orderlies considered using restraints. She was given an extra dose of Haldol and locked into herroom at 2200 hours. She said. “It’s time to take care of the rats. They win, they win.” She was found the next morning dead . . .
    Gross, both Megan and C.M. think simultaneously.
    She flipped through more pages.
    . . . Patient Matthews (No. 97–4335) was the last person to see her alive and he reported that she seemed “all spooky.”
    So Aaron Matthews’s son, Peter, had been hospitalized here. And after the hospital was closed his father brought him back. Why, she couldn’t guess. Maybe he felt at home here. Maybe his father broke him out of the hospital for the criminally insane to have him nearby.
    She flipped through another report and learned that someone else had committed suicide.
    . . . The body of Patient Garber (No. 78–7547) was found behind the main building. The police and coroner had determined that he had swallowed a garden hose and turned the