Rachel Vincent - With All My Soul

I almost laughed out loud.

“Do you want to take a break and calm down?” the nurse asked.

I stepped past the last room before Emma’s and caught a glimpse of a large girl in her late teens sitting cross-legged on her bed. As I watched, she pulled her legs up to her chest and covered both ears with her hands, shaking her head slowly. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

“I am calm!” Em insisted from the next room. “I just don’t need to be here!”

“You’ve been here before, Lydia. Do you remember leaving? Can you tell me how you...left us? The doors were locked, and no one saw you leave your room, much less the ward.”

Em’s shadow stopped moving and merged with the counselor’s to form one dark blur on the floor of the hall. “For the last time, I’m not Lydia! And if you’d just take a closer look at me, I think you could see that for yourself.”

The counselor’s shadow shifted and stood straighter. “I’m looking. And you look just like Lydia. Exactly like her. How is that possible if you’re not her?”

“I don’t know!” Shadow Em threw her arms into the air. “Maybe I’m her doppelgänger. No, wait, she’s my doppelgänger. She has to be, because I’m older, and it’s not like I just woke up in this body....” Her voice faded into dismay when she realized what she’d said. But then she pushed on with renewed determination and volume. “Because that would be strange and completely impossible to prove. So I’ve totally looked like this my whole life, and I don’t...actually...know how old your Lydia is, but I bet anything she’s at least two years younger than I am. Because Lydia sounds like the name a fifteen-year-old would have.” Her shadow nodded emphatically. “That’s definitely the name of someone who can’t yet drive. And I bet she didn’t have brown eyes. I bet hers were, like, blue, or something. And if her eyes were blue and mine are brown, then I can’t be this Lydia, right? Which means I’m right, and you’re wrong, and also I think you might actually be the crazy one.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud. So I tiptoed closer, sneaking out of habit, though no one could see or hear me. The corner of her room came into sight, but at first all I could see was an open doorway leading to a small bathroom, which I knew from experience would hold nothing at all. Residents had to check out a shower kit every time they wanted to bathe, then return it after each use.

“Oh!” Em shrieked, and I actually jumped, startled. “Also, I probably don’t sound like this Lydia either, do I? I mean, my voice might, but not my speech pattern and vocabulary. She probably didn’t talk much at all, did she? And obviously I talk all the time. I love to talk. Unlike this hypothetical mental patient who stole my face.”

One step closer, and I could see the counselor from behind. She was a slim woman with dark hair, wearing a cream-colored blouse and a navy pencil skirt, ending just above her knees. She held something close to her chest, and with one more step I could identify the edge of a file folder, no doubt containing Emma’s—Lydia’s—file.

“Lydia—”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not Lydia, and I just proved it.”

“Okay.” The counselor nodded and flipped a page in her file. “It does say here that you—that Lydia —has brown eyes, and I remember that y—that she rarely spoke. So let’s table the issue of your identity until someone with more information at hand can sort that out. For now, let’s talk about the issue that brought you here. The report from the emergency room says your school nurse sedated you because you were ‘inconsolable and incomprehensible.’ Do you remember that?”

“No.” Em started pacing again, and I caught just a glimpse of her as she walked away, still wearing the jeans and blouse she’d had on that morning when we’d left for school. Her shoes were the same, too, except that now her sneakers were missing their laces, as per Lakeside policy. That way the residents can’t string a bunch of shoelaces together and try to hang themselves. Or one another.

“The last thing I remember is getting sleepy in third period, then there’s nothing until I woke up in the E.R. And honestly, I kinda wish I was still asleep, ’cause this shit is the stuff of nightmares. ” Em paused, and though I couldn’t see her face, I realized what she must be thinking just a second before she confirmed it. “Sabine, is this you?” Emma shouted, her arms thrown out at her sides. “Are you doing this? Cut it out, or I swear I will kill you! ”

That time I did groan, but no one heard me. That one outburst from Em had undone all the progress she’d made in convincing the counselor that she was neither Lydia nor crazy.

“Who’s Sabine?” The counselor pulled out the desk chair and sat, and suddenly I had a clear view of Emma. And as soon as I saw her, I realized that the feisty, fast-thinking Em who’d just tried to talk her way out of the mental ward was gone. This Em looked...distracted. Distraught.

“She’s a friend, kind of.” Em stared at the window, showing me her profile, and her hand slid into her hair and pulled on it, a gesture I’d never seen her use, and that she didn’t even seem aware of. “But only because she’d be so much scarier as an enemy. I need to get out of here. You have to let me out of here now! ”

I was so distracted by how upset she was suddenly that it took me a second to realize what she’d said. She’d gotten sleepy in third period, and she didn’t remember anything that had happened after that. Had she fallen asleep? Had she been possessed when she’d freaked out at school?

“So, you don’t remember the ambulance? Or—”

“I don’t remember any of it, okay?” Em’s hand tightened around a handful of her hair and pulled so hard I winced. I had to get her out of there, but I couldn’t do anything until the counselor left. “I already told you that. I don’t know anything except that I’m not supposed to be here, so just shut the hell up!”

A high-pitched whining sound came from the room next door, and I retraced my steps until I could see the girl sitting on her bed, now rocking back and forth, clutching two handfuls of her own hair. Just like Emma.

And that’s when I understood. Em was syphoning this girl’s...whatever she was feeling too much of. Fear, maybe. Or panic. Or massive discomfort with...everything?

“This report says you didn’t know who you are,” the counselor continued. “You told your teacher you weren’t—” she glanced at the papers again “—Emily Cavanaugh. And now you’re telling us that you’re not Lydia. Would it be accurate to say that you’re still not sure who you are?”

“Do any of us really know who we are?” Em asked as I stepped into her doorway, and this time she was facing me. I didn’t realize she could see me—evidently I wanted her to—until her gaze focused on me. Her eyes widened, and she gasped out loud.

“Sorry!” I said, my voice audible to only her. “Pretend you don’t see me.” But, of course, it was too late for that. My interruption had made her look even crazier.

The counselor twisted and looked right through me, then turned back to Emma. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Em shrugged, visibly struggling to keep her focus on the counselor. She let go of her hair, obviously surprised to find herself clutching it, and closed her eyes. “I thought I saw something, but it was nothing.”

The counselor started to scribble something on her file, and Em’s eyes flew open. “Don’t write that down! I’m not seeing things. I said I thought I saw something, but I was wrong. I’m not crazy. ” She tugged on the hem of her shirt, one of mine, which was a little baggy on her.