For In Every Dawn Sleeps Darkness
By Angelle M. Chandler
Chapter 8
Notes – Part II
Palo Alto Medical Center
Notice of Transfer
Patient Name: Christine Daae'
Sex: Female
Date of Birth: September 11, 1990
Next of Kin: Unknown
Physician: Dr. Regina Kim
Admitting Diagnosis: Trauma-induced catatonia (handwritten notation: "Fire; smoke inhalation; possible suicidal ideation. Jumper?")
Reason for Transfer: Increased suicidal ideation and aggressive/violent behavior (self)
Physician's Notes: (handwritten) Pt. recovered from catatonic state one week ago. Spoke lucidly. Marked memory loss, 'blank spots'. Pt. well-oriented to surroundings, nourished self of own accord. Calm demeanor, except when probed for details surrounding "Glassman incident". This morning when asked, could not provide name or address of any living person to take charge of her if released (as seemed likely). Pt. became uncomfortable, nervous – topic dropped. Left pt. in her room unattended for an hour before bedtime (pt. prefers not to attend common room). Staff alerted by alarm in pt.'s room. Shards of broken glass everywhere. Pt. had smashed all mirrors, both in her room and adjoining lavatory. Weapon used was bare hands. Pt. sustained minor lacerations to the soft tissues of both hands, one of which required sutures. Pt. appeared calm at discovery, though weeping. Held out hands for assistance, and willingly surrendered herself. Pt. received 3 mg Haloperidol for sedation, had hand sutured, and was returned to bed awaiting psychological assessment. Soft restraints.
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Physician Recommendation: Pt. is to be transferred to the 8th floor (locked ward – violent and dangerous). Isolation; restraints at all times. No reflective surfaces!! Though sedated with Haloperidol, pt. experienced recurrence of mania and 'fight or flight' behavior triggered by an orderly's withdrawing the window curtains this P.M., showing pt's reflection in the window glass. Pt. dosage raised to 5 mg. Haloperidol t.i.d., or as needed.
Transfer effected 3:14 A.M. January 14, 2007
Physician Initials: RGK.
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"Well, Filipa. Lost your little songbird, huh?" Reg propped the long-handled mop against the cleaning cart and leaned against it, the handle bowing slightly with his weight. The petite nurse shot him a look that by all rights should have crisped the hair from his arms, and then returned to stripping the empty bed. The bottom sheet bore dark maroon spots that could only have been blood. Filipa balled up the thin cotton, hiding them, and stuffed the whole mess roughly into the small hamper at her side.
"Go back to work." Her voice was low, uncharacteristically devoid of the usual bantering humor that marked her friendship with the orderly. "Isn't it time for you to go home?" She grabbed the pillow and began ripping the case from it, turning her back to the doorway, but not quickly enough to hide the tear that snaked down her cheek. She brushed it brusquely away.
"Aw, Filipa. Hey, I'm sorry." Reg leaned the mop more securely against the wall and came into the dim room. Filipa didn't turn, even when he was right behind her, one large hand timidly patting at the white shoulder of her starched uniform. "I'm sorry," he repeated. Filipa stiffened. He was about to pull away, embarrassed, when the little nurse spun around and crumpled against him, sobbing into his chest. Awkwardly, he raised his arms to wrap around her, patting at first, then simply holding her as she wept.
"Damn it, Reg." Filipa's words were muffled by the front of Reg's shirt, and her continuing tears. Reg leaned his head down a bit to hear her better. "Damn it all. Just – just damn it!" One of Filipa's strong little fists pounded Reg in the ribs. He grunted, but wisely chose to let her get it out of her system. She sobbed harder. Reg patted again at her shoulders. You be ruinin' my new white shirt, Filipa-baby, but hell if I gonna say anythin' 'bout it now. Think I'm batshit crazy? He waited for her to taper off, and for the inevitable 'Madre mia' asking forgiveness from Mary for the profanity, when Filipa let loose a string of Spanish invectives that made him blush – and he didn't even speak Spanish. Finally, nearly choking on her tears, she shoved herself roughly away from him and crossed the room to the window, scrubbing both hands over her wet, red eyes. Reg watched her, and was about to speak when a nasal voice intruded.
"Everything all right in here? Filipa?" Ascott, the head nurse on the floor, poked her narrow nose in the door. "She fine," Reg responded and reached to pull the door closed. Ascott's hand stopped it, her gaze moving from Filipa to Reg and back again, unconvinced. "Filipa? You sure?" The younger nurse nodded and snuffled something like an affirmative. "She just need a minute. Christ, can't anybody even talk aroun' here without getting the third degree? 'Scuse us. Please." Ascott reluctantly removed her arm, and Reg shut the door in her face. Comically surprised, her eyes gaped in through the narrow window and then she moved on down the hallway.
For a long moment there was quiet, only broken by the soft sounds of Filipa wiping her face and taking slowly-decreasing breaths. "If you'd rather be alone…" Reg half turned to go. "No. Wait." Filipa faced him, the fire in her eyes beginning to fade back to their normal kind mocha. Reg stood, his arms dangling at his sides, head cocked to one side. "I'm sorry about your shirt, Reg. You must let me have it cleaned." He blinked at her in disbelief. "All that garbage comin' out your mouth, and you worried about my shirt?" He snorted. "Shouldn't you be saying ten 'hail Marys' or somethin'?"
Filipa shook her head. "That's only if you've done something wrong. And I meant every word of that." She frowned again, hands clenching, and Reg feared a repeat performance, but she pulled herself back together. "They had no right, Reg. None! She was doing so much better, she was awake, she was aware, and they – they just barge in here asking questions no one should ask of her!" She turned back to the window, seeing something other than the early-morning sunrise. Reg waited while she paced up and down the length of the room, staring out through the glass. "How could they be so stupid?" She raised her hands, fingers spread wide. "That child was an orphan – all they had to do was check her school records to find that out. She had no one – no one!" She turned back, crisp white skirt swishing against white-stockinged legs, and crossed back. "And then to ask her who she had in the world! Who she had! Madre mia, how could they be so cruel?"
She seemed to be waiting for an answer. Reg raised his shoulders. "I don't see what's so 'cruel' about it, Filipa," he began reasonably; "Everybody got somebody, don't they?" Filipa strode forward, one finger jabbing Reg in the chest. "All that little girl had in the world was the de Chagny boy, Reg! That's all!" Reg fell back in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Filipa clutched her forehead. "The de Chagny boy, the de Chagny boy!" she repeated, her voice rising. "The one that burned to death in the fire!" Reg's eyes widened. Filipa's eyes went again to the window. "Small wonder she can't bear the reflection. She's completely alone."
Filipa seemed to shrink slightly as she wound down at last. Reg shook his head mutely; he'd forgotten about the only fatality of the tragedy that had brought Christine into their care. Likely the doctors had forgotten, too, as awful as that possibility was. "Filipa," he ventured, "Probably it was just a mistake, that's all, and – "
"A mistake," she repeated dully, sinking onto the edge of the accusingly bare mattress. "A mistake they made, and now my poor belleza is up on the 8th floor, with no one to look after her, to make her eat her breakfast and say her name…" She heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, only now seeming to realize that her hands were clenched into tight fists. She opened them, flexing the fingers to work the tight muscles. Filipa's sorrowful eyes rose to Reg's face. "I really am sorry about your shirt," she said again. "If you give it to me, I'll iron it for you. It's the least I can do." He shook his head. "Nah, Filipa-baby. I gonna keep it just the way it is, as a souvenir. I always knew you need me around for somethin'." His cheery tone was only a little bit forced. She returned a grateful half smile as she stood and walked towards the door. "You do that, Reg. Maybe someday I'll do something for you." She leaned on the bar to push the heavy door into the hallway. Ascott's surprised bird-face floated in the opening before Filipa pushed past her. "Filipa, are you leaving the floor?" Filipa never paused. "Smoke break." She reached the end of the hall and punched the button for the elevator. Alcott frowned. "But you don't smoke!" "I know that," Filipa called back. The door slid open with a 'ding!' and Filipa stepped inside. "Then where are you going," Ascott fumed. Filipa stuffed a key from the ring at her belt into the lockbox on the elevator wall and the door began to slide shut. "Eighth floor," she called out before they shut with a firm metallic sound. "I'm going to visit my belleza."
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Through eyes blurred with tears, she watched the thin figure in the tiny room. Her view was cross-hatched with chicken-wire diamonds – of course, the window was safety glass, for the same reason that the walls and floor were padded with soft rubber. This was isolation, where the most violent and disturbed patients spent their days securely wrapped in canvas straitjackets, shrieking and bouncing off the walls. Her poor Christine surely didn't belong here! Not shrieking, not throwing herself against the impassive walls, the girl simply knelt on the dingy white floor, rocking herself back and forth. Her eyes were closed, her lips moving in a constant litany too soft to carry through the door. Filipa turned away, closing her eyes tightly as tears rose within them again.
Raoul.
Raoul, I'm sorry.
Raoul, I'm so sorry.
Forgive me.
Please forgive me.
Raoul, please forgive me if you can.
If you can.
Raoul.
Raoul, I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
Raoul,
I loved you, Raoul.
I never meant for this to happen.
I never meant for this.
I never meant it.
I never meant it, Raoul.
I never meant it, Raoul.
Forgive me.
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AMC
27 January, 2007
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Thank you again for reading. Please leave a review if you like -- as always, I'm very interested to see what people think of this very untraditional telling of the story of Christine and her Phantom. It's meant to be different, and to push the envelope, challenging many people's views of the tragic story. I hope those that have made it this far are enjoying the journey, and the gentle unfolding of the tale. Cheers!