The Devil in Silver

The other three patients in the lounge were women. Three women at three different tables, leafing through stacks of magazines and newspapers. Their lips moved as they scanned the pages.

“Study hall?” Pepper asked.

One of the women, with long reddish hair pulled up into a bun, looked at Pepper, then back down at her copy of Outside magazine.

Pepper swayed there a moment. The vibe of the lounge, of New Hyde, seemed so much more peaceful at night. Not just lower volume, but also more thoughtful. Look at all these people reading. The lounge seemed like a library now.

Pepper hovered another minute before the redhead looked at him and said, “You don’t belong here.”

Pepper looked over his shoulder, as if she must’ve been addressing someone else.

The women at the other tables—one Chinese, the other Jewish—finally looked at Pepper. The guy sitting under the television even turned around in his chair.

The redhead said, “We hear you’re not like us.”

Pepper felt completely exposed and he crossed his arms.

“I didn’t say that,” he pleaded.

But just as quickly they ignored him again. The point had been made. Pepper shuffled out of the television lounge as quickly as he could, wondering if he looked as red as his face felt. He was a pariah on a psych unit. He couldn’t imagine a lower state.

He reached the nurses’ station again, staff members working inside. He heard one of them yawn in there. They were tired and preoccupied. Without another thought, Pepper turned right. He crossed the threshold of Northwest 4 without losing a step.

He marched toward the stainless-steel door.

The window in the silver door remained as dark as it had been that afternoon. He wanted to what? Touch it? Open it? He didn’t know yet. As Pepper moved closer to it, the air itself felt warmer.

Pepper moved even closer. In lieu of a plan, he focused on the tangible details ahead. The silver door had a handle. The silver door had two locks. Now his face felt as if he’d walked through a cloud of steam. Moist. Sweaty. He smelled something new. Like the dirt of a freshly dug grave. At this point Pepper couldn’t stop himself. He felt that pinch again, a grip closed around him. Was he walking toward the silver door, or being pulled?

“What the fuck!”

Pepper only registered those words after he’d been grabbed. The orderly on duty yoked Pepper from behind. Pepper reached out and, because his arms were so long, his fingertips grasped the door handle, just for a moment. The metal was so hot it burned his fingers.

The orderly, a big man, too, dragged Pepper backward down Northwest 4. Away from the stainless-steel door. “We got rules!” the orderly shouted in Pepper’s ear. “You got no business in this hallway! You leave that door be!”

The farther they moved from the silver door, the less heat Pepper felt against his skin. The scent of fresh dirt dissipated and was replaced by that stale, hospitalized anti-smell again.

And the farther Pepper moved backward down Northwest 4, the greater his relief. His heart thrummed in his rib cage. Deep breaths expanded his lungs. He felt like he’d just missed being hit by a car, like the orderly had saved him. Without quite meaning to, Pepper laughed with gratitude.

The nurse appeared and she had the needle.

She remained silent, assessing Pepper, the wild affect on his face. His laughter didn’t help his case. She watched him with displeasure.

The nurse, the orderly, and Pepper moved past the nurses’ station and down Northwest 2. The doors of other patients’ rooms creaked open. The trio of nurse, orderly, and unruly patient blasted into Pepper’s room.

The orderly shook Pepper as if they were fighting, but Pepper wasn’t resisting. Au contraire, mon minimum-wage frère. Pepper felt a relief that he didn’t fully understand, and gratitude. He’d been about to do something very stupid. He felt sure of that now. And this orderly had saved him. Thank you! That’s what he was trying to say. But Pepper couldn’t explain. The only sounds coming out of his mouth were laughter and deep gulping coughs as he tried to take in air and talk. He seemed like a maniac.