The Veil

Chapter 2 The White Room

The drug-induced haze is her bubble, creating a space for her mind to leave the white room. Even now, she is not there, she is sitting in a park; she can taste the salt in the air and the smell of pine trees fills her nose. She leans into the old wooden bench, turned silver from years in the sea air, to watch the seagulls soaring overhead. The thin white cotton pants and tee shirt offer no protection from the cold. Her toes curl in the dew-covered grass. She longs to be one of those birds. The longing brings the pain; in a sudden flash, it cuts through her dream world. Pain rips her from the peacefulness of the lulling sea. The smell of salt air is replaced with burning hair. A silent scream fills the space between here and there, and once again, she is in the white room. 

Her mind and body are on fire, Amelia blinks the dream and pain from her eyes, forcing her white world to come back into focus: white walls, white clothes, white skin, and worst of all the blinding white light. She wonders if there is any color but white in this world. Amelia looks up at the man above her; she sees the fine lines etching his face. 

Amy where were you, a moment ago? 

She looks up from the floor, he is standing there, a white jacket hanging about his legs like wings. Is he an angel or a devil?

Her lips c***k as she licks the taste of the sea off of them.

Nowhere doctor. I was just dreaming, about the beach again. Amelia looks up at Dr. White, he is as white as the world he has created for her. 

Amy, I thought you had come to terms with your diagnosis. Schizophrenia is a chronic and severe brain disorder, and these hallucinations are merely one of the positive symptoms that you are suffering. If you continue to hide them from me, I will be unable to provide you with the correct course of treatment. I thought you wanted to get better.

Amelia looks up at her doctor, wondering if she will ever get the chance to leave this white room. The world outside the hospital: that is what seems like a delusion. Doctor White, I want to get better and go back to my life. But I do not know-how.

Of course, you do not know-how. That is why I’m here, to help you. Now follow me, it’s clear that the anti-psychotics are not going to be enough today. The doctor spins on his heel, the white coat flapping out around him.

Amelia thinks briefly maybe he is an angel.  She pushes to her feet, stumbling a couple of steps; her hand reaches out for support. Stepping from the padded floor of her room, a shiver of electricity runs through her body.  She knows it is caused by more than the coldness of the white granite floor, her mind grasps at facts the heart cannot understand.  

The halls of the hospital are a maze she has begun to memorize, but still unknown to her is what is behind all of the doors that dot the facility. She is only allowed into three rooms: her room, the treatment room, and the doctor’s office. She has heard the screams of others and rustling behind closed doors as she walks the hall from her room to treatment.  She wonders who else is here. Amelia pauses, staring at one door, her mind drifts past the barrier, she glimpses a woman beyond, like snow white awaiting her prince’s kiss, dark hair pools around her lifeless form. Her thought is broken as Doctor White watches her like a specimen under a microscope. Drawn back into the white hall, Amelia falls into step behind Doctor White.

Amy, what are you thinking about right now?

I am wondering who else is here and if I can talk to them. 

Amy, you can’t worry about others. You have to focus on yourself. 

Sighing, Amy responds, Yes doctor.  

As they turn the corner, her heart stops at the sight of the medical suites.

Doctor White, do I have to do this? Every time I do these treatments, I feel like I am dying. 

Doctor White just looks at her intently. She bows her head, and he turns to continue down the white hall, towards the white door, with one word etched in a white plaque--Treatment.

 Amy, I would never let you die. I am just trying to find the best course of treatment for your condition. You knew that this was a highly experimental program when you signed on. The treatment and test are the best way to fine-tune your medications. Or do you want to go back to the way you used to be?

Amelia nods in agreement, the way she used to be, lost between her realities never knowing if the person she spoke to was real or not: no, she did not want that. But Amelia slows her pace trying to give herself some time. Maybe she can get out of it, just for today. She knows better, the treatment room is inevitable on the days she dreams of her other worlds. Sighing, she resigns herself to what lays ahead. As the door swings open, she briefly contemplates what he would do, if she ran back to her room. Amelia pushes the idea away, knowing that punishment for such a transgression would be worse than the treatment. 

As they enter the room, it is filled with the usual people, all dressed in white. Oh, how she hates the color. In the center of the room is her chair. Taking her seat, the new nurse walks over and straps her wrists and ankles in place, then inserts the IV into her hand catheter. As the substance from the IV, swinging overhead, hits her bloodstream, the room spins, and she begins to forget what is coming. A man, one of the other doctors, comes and places small electrodes on her forehead; a set of censors take their place on her chest, arms, and legs. Dr. White silences the room. The lights dim.

Now Amy, I want you to go back to the bench, in the park, overlooking the ocean. Remember the smell of the pine trees and the taste of the salt on your tongue. Are you there?

Amelia tries to do what the doctor asks, but she is still in the room; its cold whiteness is all she can see. Her voice quakes as she responds to the doctor.

That world does not exist. It is just my imagination. I am still here.

Dr. White takes a calming breath.

Now, Amy, you need to do what I tell you. This is the only way to measure the depth of your delusions and map the location of the brain from which they originate. If I can figure out exactly what part of the brain is active during your hallucinatory state then I can target your treatment more precisely. Also by volunteering to enter your delusions you can prove to yourself they are not real, allowing you the ability to better differentiate between delusion and reality.  

Confused but wanting this over with, she begins to let her mind wander to the bench, the beach, and the sea. Her heart does not want to let them into that world, it breaks at the thought she even told Dr. White about it in the first place. She has let him into so many of her worlds, exposing them to his probing and intrusions. It has become the one place she can escape, from him, from her mother, even from herself when the need arose. No, she will take him to a different world. As she makes up her mind, her vision begins to blur, the veil pulled over her eyes. Past which, there is nothing. 

Doctor, I am not at my beach. I cannot find it.

She sees the shadow of one of her best-known worlds a place she has gone since childhood.

I am in the forest again. The sun is setting here, making the sky burn. The searing pain course through her body, punishment for her failure.   

Amy, I told you to take us to the beach. We have explored this world numerous times. You know it is in your imagination. Anger tinges his voice like a razor cutting across the space between them.  

Amy, you are not really there, are you, Dear? The nurse's voice coos into her mind.

Amelia knows better than to lie, but she does not want to push through the veil. Considering her own desires, she pauses for a second floating in the space between this world and the next. The veil is in view, which is normal. She always sees it. But this space between her worlds, she feels warm, like she has been wrapped in a down comforter. She wonders why she always does what the Doctor asks of her. Thinking of life outside these white walls, and the space between her worlds, she realizes she wants to live in the world again, and for that to happen, she must do what Doctor White asks. She must push through. The tips of her fingers touch the veil. Instantly they feel a flame. Without another pause, she steps into the veil, and in that instant, she is like a witch on a pyre engulfed in flames; death, a heartbeat away, but just before she bursts into flame, she is in the forests.

Doctor White watches, the diagnostic equipment attached to Amy wail its concern as Amy fades, her form becoming incorporeal. In a flash of light, she ebbs to a silver outline. As this happens the EKG and EEG go off the chart. Her heart rate is above any acceptable limits. Dr. White calls out to Amy, trying to maintain a connection to her and his reality. The air in the medical suite is filled with static electricity, like that instance before lightning strikes. The staff shuffles their feet, busying themselves with the task of monitoring Amy. Dr. White calls out.

Amy are you in the woods? 

The silence fills the room, the time delay is palpable, and finally, the answer comes. Amy’s response sounds like she is talking on a string phone, arising out of the space where her body should be. 

Yes, Doctor, I am here.   

The staff let out a collective sigh of relief. The connection has not been broken. Straightening, Dr. White begins his inquisition of Amy; his voice is tinged in frustration at another lost opportunity. 

Why couldn't Amy just do what she is told? But all of the subjects seem to have one trait in common, stubbornness.  Unnerved by her continual refusal to do even the simplest of things he proceeds with the treatment; making a note of her continual defiance. His one thought is, what will it take to break Amy.