Dead Sound

You knew this was going to be hard, I reminded myself as I stood outside the main entrance of Capitol Hill General. Remember what you practiced. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I took a few slow, deep breaths as the other employees bustled into the hospital. They formed a mélange of scrubs, suits, and everything in between—all people who helped other people.

Unlike me. Shame stung me like a jellyfish brushing past, a reminder of how badly I needed to get back to work and out of my head. Patting my palms dry on my peacoat, I clutched the cross-body strap of my messenger bag and forced my feet to move, one in front of the other, through the doors and into the cavernous, pristine lobby.

“Can I help you?” The security guard at the reception desk appeared pleasant but harried. Her face was new to me. I guessed a few things had changed in a month.

“Yes, hi,” I said, presenting my ID card. “Neve Keane. I’m returning to work. I was told to check in here first.”

“Coming back on Labor Day? That’s dedication.” She tapped away on her keyboard, then looked up and smiled. “You’re good to go.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her it had nothing to do with dedication. Occupational Health said I should come back on the holiday because it was likely to be a slow day, and I could ease back in. I joined the river of people heading toward the elevator bay.

Once inside the crowded space, my throat tightened as the elevator rose toward the fourth floor. When the doors opened, I pushed my shoulders back, trying to appear more confident than I felt as I walked down the hallway to Unit 4, our general inpatient psychiatry unit. Holding my ID card up to the reader, I heard a soft beep and the click of the metallic lock.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the dayroom. It was an open space, golden with autumn sunlight thanks to an entire wall of safety windows. Off in the distance, the sharp gray tip of the Washington Monument pierced the sky. A cluster of craft tables was set up near the wall. The middle of the room was cleared for exercise classes, and on the far side, a collection of armchairs and couches surrounded a large-screen TV recessed into the wall. I was greeted by the hum of fluorescent lights and the sharp scent of industrial-strength cleaning products. A few nurses were at their station, preparing morning meds. Overall, a typical morning at Capitol Hill General. The familiarity was comforting, and my anxiety began to ebb.

I did notice that more people than usual seemed to be out and about. It wasn’t visiting hours yet, so I knew they must all be patients.

Maybe yoga class just ended, I thought, forcing myself to make eye contact, nod, and smile. But as I made my way across the room, some of the patients began to encircle me.

Don’t be paranoid. None of their faces looked familiar, which meant they were new there and probably just curious about a stranger on the unit. I kept smiling and walked a little faster. But by the time I reached the center of the dayroom, the ring around me had tightened. I spun around and watched, bewildered, as more circles of patients formed behind the first, all facing me.

I was sure I’d fallen into some kind of horror movie dream sequence when the whole group suddenly sank to their knees, then prostrated themselves on the ground like a phalanx of worshippers.

What the hell? Slowly, I turned around, my ears filled with the ba-boom, ba-boom of blood pounding through my veins. Is there something about my appearance? But a quick scan reassured me that there weren’t any religious symbols or awe-inspiring objects anywhere on my person.

This can’t really be happening… can it? Was I imagining things, maybe having some sort of panic-induced hallucination?

Half of my brain felt like it was swimming in molasses, too slow-motion to process the scene. The other half was speared by white-hot terror. I was alone and surrounded. Anything could happen, as I knew all too well.

The knife scars on my abdomen began to tingle and burn. I slid my hands down to cover them, even though I knew I wouldn’t have a hope of protecting myself if the crowd decided to attack. I tried to call out for help, but my mouth had gone dry.

Then the patients began to chant—a murmur at first, then more of a moan. It sounded like they were repeating something over and over, but I couldn’t quite make it out. Well, I had no intention of sticking around to decipher what they were saying. I forced myself to swallow.

“Somebody!” I squawked.

Fortunately, the nurses had noticed what was happening and were already in motion. That proved I wasn’t hallucinating after all—a confirmation that was both reassuring and alarming. Even as fear sent waves of heat through my body, some deeper part of me sensed that these patients didn’t mean me any harm. But I’d gotten stabbed because my instincts had failed me, and I wasn’t about to trust them again anytime soon.

“Hang on, Neve. Security’s on their way!” Ayesha, one of the senior nurse managers, shouted as more staff came to help.

I almost collapsed with relief when I saw Mike’s sizable frame barreling toward me. He hitched up the legs of his scrubs and tiptoed his way through the clot of people, miraculously avoiding stepping on anyone. As he closed in on me, he patted his shoulder. “I’ll carry you out!”

I nodded, even though I had never been carried anywhere in my adult life.

Mike took one final step toward me and, in a smooth motion, leaned down and hoisted me over his shoulder. As my torso flipped upside down, my hair fell over my face like a long brown curtain. Desperate to see what was happening, I half lifted my head, gripping Mike’s shirt with one hand and pushing the hair away from my eyes with the other.

He spun around and gingerly danced his way back through the throng. Visibly dismayed, the patients rose to follow. But Ayesha had already opened the partition between the dayroom and the staff wing, clearing the way for Mike to carry me through.

As the partition closed behind us, Mike carefully lowered me to the ground. Holding me by the shoulders, he looked me over. “Are you okay?”

I had no idea what “okay” meant in that context, so I decided to go with “uninjured.” “Yeah, I think so. My God, thank you.” Mike looked pretty shaken himself. We were always prepared for the unexpected, but surprises on our unit usually fell into particular categories. What we’d just witnessed was way outside the norm. “How about you? Are you okay?”

Before he could answer, a group of security guards rushed down the hall toward us, barking, “Stand back!” We plastered ourselves against the wall. As the guards flowed into the dayroom, I could hear more chanting, volume rising.

We’re safe, I reassured myself, but my body didn’t believe it yet. Unable to get enough air into my lungs, I gasped like a fish yanked from the water.

Mike frowned down at me. “I’m good. You don’t look okay, though. Oh, man!” His eyes widened as he glanced down at my abdomen. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” I managed. “I’m totally healed up.”

Of course Mike knew about the stabbing. Everyone on Unit 4 knew. It wasn’t the kind of thing that escaped one’s attention—a therapist rushed to the emergency room on a gurney, her patient sedated and put in restraints.

Now that I was back at work, though, I could not fall apart. Not in front of a coworker, not while I was trying to demonstrate how fully recovered I was. To distract myself and keep the panic at bay, I focused on Mike. I reached up and patted his hands, which still held my shoulders. “I think I can stand on my own now, thanks. I feel bad, though, Mike. You always seem to get stuck handling these kinds of situations.”

“My wife calls it ‘the curse of the male nurse.’” He smiled as he released me, watching to be sure I was steady on my feet. “I don’t mind, really. Gave me a chance to use some of my old college football moves.”

I appreciated that Mike was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile back—not when shouts still penetrated the partition. We stepped over and peered through the security windows. The guards and staff were struggling to manage the situation as the patients held their hands aloft and continued to chant. To my relief, there were no sounds of real distress.

We fell into an awkward silence, and my head began to feel like the sky before a storm—dark, rumbling, and opaque. “Do you have any idea what that was in there?”

Mike shrugged. “No, but we’re coming off a weird weekend. I mean, weirder than usual. And it wasn’t even a full moon. Maybe I should walk you to your office.” He pointed at my hands.

I looked down. They were shaking. I grabbed the strap of my bag and squeezed. “Yeah, maybe. Thanks. But hang on a sec.” With my pulse no longer deafening me, it was easier to make out what the patients were chanting. “What are they saying?” I whispered, half afraid to hear the answer.

“Something like ‘neh-vi-yah?’ Ayesha said it’s a brand of beauty products.”

“Oh. Well, yeah.” A shudder tumbled through me. “But it’s also my name.”

“What is?”

“Neviah. Neviah Keane.”

Mike gawked, his hands dropping to his sides. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

“Damn. Well, if I’d known that, I would have told someone to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“I should let Rosanna explain. We have to go see her anyway.” Mike shot me a sideways grin. “Welcome back, by the way.”

“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Thanks.”

We walked through the staff wing to our manager’s office. Rosanna wasn’t there, but her laptop was, as well as a mug of steaming coffee. She’d be back soon. We sat in the armchairs across from her desk and waited. The office was an organized jumble of objects accumulated over years of work, with multiple layers of folders, notebooks, and assorted papers covering every flat surface. In one corner of the room, a group of flowering plants flourished under a grow light.

Rosanna burst through the door, then started when she saw us. “There you are!” With her striking brown eyes, crisp black bob, and red cat’s-eye glasses, she was hard to miss. Although she was five feet tall and petite, she had an imposing presence. While she could usually be found bustling around the unit with an air of relaxed efficiency, at that moment, she appeared as taut as a bowstring. “Are you both okay?”

I managed a nod.

“Neve says she is,” Mike said. “I’m fine.”

“Thank goodness. What happened out there?”

“Just the same thing that’s been happening all weekend,” Mike said, “but with a twist.”

“A twist? Do I want to know?”

He hooked his thumb in my direction. “Meet Neviah.”

Rosanna gaped. “The hand lotion?”

“The one and only,” Mike replied.

“It’s my given name,” I muttered.

“What? Neve is short for… Neviah? How did I not know this?” Rosanna perched on the love seat to get a closer look at me, her expression tight with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Mike rescued me before anything could happen. Not that I think anything would have happened, I just….” Unsure how to finish that sentence, I shrugged.

“Yeah, it didn’t look like they wanted to—” Mike stopped and cleared his throat. “I mean, it seemed more like they were worshipping her or something.” He gave Rosanna a quick play-by-play.

“Good Lord,” Rosanna said. “Neve, don’t move. I’m getting you some water. Mike, Ayesha might need you….”

“On my way. Glad you’re okay, Neve.”

“Thanks again, Mike,” I called as they took off in different directions.

Once I was alone, the room began to spin. I felt like I’d swallowed a muscle relaxant and an antihistamine with a shot of tequila. The spinning slowed when Rosanna came back and pressed a cool glass into my hand. I drank deeply. “Thanks.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “You’re positive you’re okay?”

I just nodded again, fearful that if I answered that question, my emotions would leak out.

“You look pale.”

“I know you haven’t seen me in a while, but I always look pale.”

“I was being polite. You look like death warmed over. Are you sure you were medically cleared?”

I forced a laugh. My trauma surgeon, Dr. Mohinder, had approved my return to work, but only marginally. Physically, I was okay, but she worried about my recurring panic attacks. I’d convinced her that sitting at home was only making things worse. “You’re itching to take my vitals, I can tell. Do you ever stop being a nurse?”

“Please, you know the answer to that.” She smiled, but only for a second. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of that out there. What a ‘welcome back.’”

“It’s hardly your fault.”

“I’m not so sure. I should have told you to stay home for another day or two at least.”

“Why? What’s going on out there?”

“We’re still figuring it out.” Rosanna slid her fingers under her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Saturday morning, the group of people you encountered in the dayroom staged a sit-in in the emergency room, demanding admission to Unit 4. They all reported having the same delusion—apocalyptic stuff. At first, the ER docs thought maybe they’d all done drugs at the same rave or were members of a cult. But their tox screens were negative, and they claimed they’d never met each other before—adults, all different ages and backgrounds. A handful have mental health histories, but no inpatient stays.”

I had seen a lot of strange things over the years, but I’d never even heard of anything like that happening. “Why here? Why Unit 4?”

“Apparently it’s part of their shared delusion. They wanted to come to our unit and speak to someone named Neviah—you, evidently.” She cocked an eyebrow at me. “As you can imagine, that part of the delusion seemed a lot more bizarre when we thought they were talking about a brand of moisturizer.”

“I guess so.” My brain whirred and smoked, trying to process this information. “It seems like a big group, though. How many are there?”

“Twenty-eight in total—so yes, they’re taking up almost the entire unit. We thought it best to keep them isolated from the other patients until we figure out what we’re dealing with. Fortunately, with the school year beginning, the adolescent unit all but cleared out on Friday, so we were able to move our regular patients down there. It’s just as well, since our unit seems to be transforming into some sort of commune-slash-conference center.”

“What do you mean?”

Rosanna closed her eyes, nodding. “Not in a bad way, it’s just…. There’s been a lot of meditating, and they’ve been having discussion groups, mainly about spirituality. Not that I’m complaining. The general mood has been positive, and overall, things were pretty peaceful until you rolled in.”

Avoiding her pointed gaze, I flicked an invisible piece of lint off my sleeve.

“At any rate,” she continued, “they’re all here voluntarily, so they can leave anytime they like, but so far, they’ve chosen to stay. We’re certainly eager to keep them here until we figure out what’s at the root of their shared delusion.”

“What’s it about, exactly?”

“The basic gist is they believe—” She rubbed her eyes. “—Dr. Rodwell is the incarnation of evil.”

“What?” I guffawed. “Oh come on. You’re sure this isn’t some kind of prank?”

“No prank. And yes, I know how it sounds. Not only that, but they believe he’s going to usher in the apocalypse.”

“Dr. Rodwell?” Our head of psychiatry was about the most harmless, non-evil person I could imagine. Mild-mannered, polite, kind…. He was a vegan, for God’s sake. “Has he treated any of these people before? I mean, do they have any connection with him, some reason to be angry, hold a grudge?”

“None we can find. The whole thing is unprecedented,” she said with the borderline equanimity of someone who dealt with strange situations on a regular basis. “They’re not exhibiting any other psychiatric symptoms, so we don’t have any formal diagnoses yet. No new meds have been ordered, just whatever they were taking when they got here. They’ve just persistently been requesting to speak to Neviah—you, I mean—because you are, and I quote, ‘a weapon of righteousness sent by God’ to stop Dr. Rodwell.”

“A what?” That made even less sense, by my reckoning. After all, I was agnostic at best. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Why would they think the ‘Neviah’ they’re looking for is me? I mean, I know it’s not a common name, but DC is a big city, and I’ve always gone by Neve. How did they even recognize me when I walked in?”

“No idea. Wish I did. Don’t worry, though. We’ll figure this out. We always do, don’t we? And at least since they think you’re some sort of world savior and want your help.” Rosanna shifted uncomfortably. “What I mean is I doubt they’re a safety concern.”