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She thought about Mr. Rochester’s wife in Jane Eyre, sneaking into Jane’s room and destroying her things, setting the house on fire. Becky was a madwoman, and the Mercers had tried to hide her away just like Mr. Rochester had hidden his wife. Now, it seemed, she was getting revenge on all of them.
I break everything I touch, Becky had said to me at the canyon.
“Girly all alone in the hallway?” asked a creaking voice. Just a few feet away stood the leering man from the social room, the one who had winked at her. His stringy hair fell heavily into his face, and the white T-shirt he wore was blotched with stains. He grinned, revealing yellowed and chipped teeth, and started toward her.
Emma looked around frantically to see if anyone had noticed him, but the orderlies and nurses were in a froth of activity, running down the hall or yelling into the phone at the nurses’ station. Emma shook her head mutely. He chuckled and stepped close to her. A ripe smell rolled off him. Up close she could see his eyes were almost black. They glittered malevolently.
“Girly shouldn’t be alone in a place like this. She’s too sweet. She gets everyone all excited.”
Emma’s back was to the wall. His breath was hot and rancid on her face as he leaned toward her. She turned her face to the side, squeezing her eyes shut. She could picture him, his face coming closer and closer toward hers with those horrible teeth bared …
“Mr. Silva, please step back. Ms. Mercer needs some space to breathe.”
She opened her eyes to see Mr. Silva wobbling in front of her, looking up the hall to where two people had come in off the elevator. Nisha Banerjee strode purposefully toward them, followed by her father. Dr. Banerjee’s white lab coat fluttered behind him like a cape as he hurried down the hall. Mr. Silva took a step back, looking abashed.
“I was helping,” he mumbled.
Dr. Banerjee gently propelled him up the hallway toward the TV room. “We have the situation under control now, thank you. Go back to your room, please.”
Nisha rushed over to Emma. Her eyes were wide, her uniform rumpled. A stray wisp of hair had fallen down her cheek. She looked like she’d been running. “I heard the commotion and went to get Dad. You okay?”
Emma nodded mutely. She swallowed, fighting to keep the hot tears just behind her eyes from spilling down her cheeks.
Dr. Banerjee turned to the girls. “Nisha, can you please go and page Sutton’s father? He should be in orthopedics.”
Nisha gave Emma another searching look, then stood back up and walked briskly away.
Dr. Banerjee held out a hand to help her to her feet. All around, Emma could still hear the shrieking of the patients, the quick steps of nurses in rubber soles. A walkie-talkie crackled. A nurse held the receiver a few feet away. Her face was pale as she stared at the device.
“I repeat, we can’t find her anywhere,” said the voice on the other end. “We’ve called the cops.”
“This one has been a problem before,” said the nurse. “Tell them to be careful.”
Emma looked at Dr. Banerjee. “Will they find her? She hasn’t gotten out, has she?”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Let’s go somewhere quiet to wait for your father, okay?”
Weak-limbed and shaking, Emma followed Nisha’s father into a conference room around a corner. Dr. Banerjee guided Emma to a vinyl love seat under a window. “Would you like some tea? Or a glass of water?” Emma just shook her head. Then he pulled a wooden chair from the conference table and sat across from her. Beneath his lab coat, which was spotless, she could see that he wore a rumpled oxford shirt with a coffee stain on the breast pocket. She wondered how many household chores he forgot to do—or just didn’t feel like doing—now that his wife was gone.
“Your father has told me a little of your family situation,” he said softly. “For therapeutic purposes, of course. So that I can understand what Becky is going through. I’m very sorry that you had to see your mother like this.”
Emma nodded, glancing at the clock. Becky had been gone for five minutes. “She didn’t leave the hospital, did she?” she asked again. “You have the place on lockdown, right?”
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mr. Mercer limped in, looking terrified. He made a beeline for Emma and took her hands. “My God, Sutton. Did she hurt you?”
“No. I’m okay,” she whispered.
He hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry.” Then he turned to Dr. Banerjee. “What could have triggered this? Sutton? Something else?”
Dr. Banerjee twisted his mouth awkwardly. “Well, I cannot violate doctor-patient confidentiality, but sometimes patients like Becky are at their most high risk just after making an important breakthrough. We have made excellent progress in our sessions in a short amount of time. She seems to be carrying a lot of guilt for something she deeply regrets. I believe Ms. Mercer might have brought on some of that extreme emotional distress by her visit tonight.”
“Guilt?” Mr. Mercer frowned. “For what?”
Dr. Banerjee shook his head. “That I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Ted.”
“But you’re saying she was doing better? That she was making some kind of progress?” Mr. Mercer seemed confused. “Then why would she … escape? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I did this,” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper. Both men looked at her. She looked down at her lap so she wouldn’t have to meet their eyes. “I made her angry. I set her off.”
