2
It was a beautiful September day, too beautiful to spend in the confines of a mental institution, especially one housing people who had committed evil and illegal acts, although I was surprised at how perfectly the grounds were kept. Men were mowing the grass and trimming hedges as if it were some wealthy person’s estate. There were flower beds with a mixture of red, white, and pink evenly spaced along the front and pretty maple and oak trees with redwood benches beneath some of them. From the road, no one could recognize what this place was. Even the sign announcing it as we drove up the long approach to the stark L-shaped, three-story white stucco building was written in small letters, more like a whisper voiced by someone embarrassed or ashamed.
The windows on the second and third floors were smaller than those on the first. I imagined one of them to be Haylee’s room, but there were no bars. In fact, other than the guard at the entrance, there was nothing dramatic to indicate that the people inside were kept there against their will. No walls or high fences surrounded the property and certainly no barbed wire.
I was still thinking prison. My father hadn’t told me much about the place. He didn’t like talking about his visits here, and I had stopped asking, but a part of me was hoping at least to see it as austere, cold, and ugly. I wanted Haylee to be unhappy from the day she had been brought here. I wanted her to immediately see something that would tell her she was a person not welcome in society and that there would be no rewards for what she had done. This was supposed to be where people were sent when they were wrong, whether they could help it or not.
I was disappointed when we drove up, imagining the first day Haylee was brought here. She hadn’t cringed at the sight of it; that was for sure. Knowing her so well, I thought she had probably smiled, laughing inside at how successful she had been in convincing a judge she wasn’t really responsible for what she had done.
Off to the right, I saw a tall man in a light blue short-sleeved shirt and dark slacks talking to a teenage boy dressed in a black T-shirt with some rock-band insignia in bright green letters around a stark-white skull. He wore jeans and a pair of white running shoes. The man had his right hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked like a coach talking to a member of his team. The boy was nodding his head and listening. He was obviously not an employee.
This answered one of my first questions. The inmates or patients—I wasn’t sure what to call them—weren’t wearing uniforms. It was another disappointment. I knew how much Haylee would have hated that, and I’d been looking forward to seeing her in something drab, something that clearly identified her as a prisoner and not a visitor, and something especially unfeminine.
At least, there was a guard in a dark blue uniform with a large silver badge at the booth you had to pass in order to enter the parking lot. He looked up from a magazine he was reading and waited for my father to lower his car window and hand him his driver’s license. The guard nodded like he recognized him. Nevertheless, he copied my father’s information on a clipboard and handed the license back to him. Then he nodded at me. My father had told me to make sure I brought my driver’s license, too. I dug it out of my purse quickly and handed it to my father, who handed it to the guard. The man looked at my picture and at me, pausing a moment like someone suspicious, and then wrote the information on the clipboard.
How much did he really know about us? I wondered. Had he ever seen Haylee? Did he think my father had somehow gotten permission to take Haylee out for a while and was now returning her? Perhaps he didn’t know or see any of the inmates or patients here. If he was able to see Haylee, I was sure he’d be amazed at how alike we looked, just as most strangers were when they first confronted the two of us, and maybe he’d wonder why one of us had ended up here.
My father gave me my license and drove into the parking lot. I could sense from how tight his jaw was and the stiff way he held himself that he hated being here, detested it, in fact. He had his shoulders hoisted like someone anticipating a blow. After he shut off the engine, he sat for a moment, his teeth clenched, and I was thinking he might be changing his mind.
“Okay, here’s how this is going to work,” he began, sitting there and looking forward as if he were reciting. “There is a lobby much like a hospital lobby. We’re going to sign you in there, too, and then we’ll wait for Haylee’s doctor, Dr. Laura Alexander, to come for you. She will take you to her office and talk to you for a while. She’s going to want to feel comfortable about your visit with Haylee. I’m not sure if she’ll let me go with you to her office.”
“She’s going to want to feel comfortable about my visit? Why does she have to feel comfortable about it?”
“Maybe comfortable is the wrong word. I mean she has to be sure she’s doing the right thing in allowing the visit. She knows what Haylee has done to you. Ordinarily, people who have been victimized by the people in there, injured in some way or another, don’t visit them, even when they are members of the same family. Dr. Alexander doesn’t want anything unpleasant to happen here that might disturb Haylee.”
“What? Disturb Haylee? She’s worrying about disturbing Haylee?”
“You’ll have to understand that her first concern is for Haylee and not you, Kaylee. You’re not her patient; Haylee is. From what I’ve gathered from talking to her about this, I think she’s agreed to your visit because she wants some confirmation that Haylee is truthfully regretful or moving clearly in that direction.”
I smiled. “Haylee could convince anyone of anything if she thought it would help her or make her feel better about something.”
“Dr. Alexander is an experienced psychiatrist, Kaylee. She’s been practicing for more than fifteen years.”
“Haylee’s been practicing for nearly seventeen,” I said.
“If you think she can successfully lie right to your face and anyone else’s, why do you want to see her?” he snapped back at me.
“It’ll be different now,” I told him confidently. “I have better lenses on my eyes. And I know her better than any doctor ever could.”
He thought a moment and then nodded. “I bet you do; lenses better than mine, for sure. Okay. Let’s go,” he said, and opened his door.
I followed him to the front entrance. He hesitated just a little before he opened it. I was sure he was still struggling with the fear that he was doing me more harm than good by permitting me to see Haylee. But it was foolish to think, even to hope, that she and I would never see each other again. Better that this happened sooner rather than later, I thought, and I believed he reluctantly thought so, too.
Inside, there was another uniformed guard waiting near a metal detector. It buzzed when my father passed through, and the guard moved a wand over him and inspected his keys and his money clip. Nothing buzzed on me. He nodded for us to continue entering.
My father was right. It was like a typical hospital lobby, with a shiny light brown tile floor, some rust-colored leather or imitation leather settees, and a few chairs and side tables with magazine racks on both sides. There was even a table with a coffee machine and cups. The one thing that struck me as different were the walls—bare, no paintings, nothing. Straight ahead of us was a glass enclosure with a window that was slid open. Another man in a blue uniform similar to those of the other guards was behind the desk. On his right was a woman in the same uniform working on a computer. They both looked at us curiously. I had the feeling they didn’t get many visitors who were otherwise not professionally involved with the patients.
“I’m Mason Fitzgerald,” my father said immediately. “And this is my daughter, Kaylee. Dr. Alexander is waiting to see us.”
The uniformed receptionist looked at some papers on his desk and then nodded at the clipboard on the counter in front of us. We had to sign in again, and again we were asked for our licenses. The guard copied down the numbers. I couldn’t miss seeing the video camera on us. If anything finally convinced me that I was in a secured institution, it was all this care and observation and double-checking of those who visited.
“I’ll let Dr. Alexander know you’re here,” he said, handing us visitor passes and nodding toward the settees.
My father indicated that I should stick on the pass just above my right breast. It was plain white, with the date and time and the prominent word VISITOR, with a tracking bar and some numbers.
We sat, neither of us saying anything. I was impressed with the stillness. I had all sorts of frightening images in mind, most from movies that took place in such places. I imagined mentally disturbed inmates screaming, guards yelling, and some elevator music playing. The quiet was more disturbing, however. I felt myself fidgeting, shifting in my seat, and twirling some strands of the wig I wore over my too-short hair. It was something Haylee often did as well when she was nervous, fingering her hair. It was practically the only way I could tell that she ever was nervous.
My eyes wandered toward the magazines. I was going to reach for one but stopped. I thought I’d feel like I was waiting to see the dentist, and I wouldn’t comprehend anything I read anyway. I forced myself to sit still and stare ahead. The guard at the metal detector watched us for a few moments and then walked over to the window and began talking to the seated guard. Haylee was behind those walls somewhere. I could feel my heartbeat quickening from the moment we had entered, and it had yet to settle down.
“Dr. Alexander will be out soon,” my father said, sensing my discomfort. “She strikes me as a very efficient person who hates to waste her time or anyone else’s.”
I nodded, but now that I was here and what I was about to do was imminent, a part of me wanted to get up and run out. How had we come to this, my mother’s precious, perfect twins? How do you know someone almost as well as you’ve known yourself all your life and suddenly realize she’s betrayed you so dramatically that any love or affection you cherished between you was popped and gone as quickly as a soap bubble?
Of course, there were many things Haylee had done to me in the past that were irritating, if not outright painful, such as trying to steal a boyfriend or driving away my friends because she was jealous of my friendship with them or knew they didn’t like her. Even though we were taught to share and be fair with each other all our lives, I would have to admit she forced me to do the things she wanted far more than she did anything I wanted. Maybe it was my fault for being so forgiving. Maybe I should have listened more closely to the adage “If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”
Haylee would be the first to say that if someone was fooled by someone else, it was her own fault. She loved that “buyer beware” idea and often excused students who hurt other students. “It’s her fault for being too trusting,” she would tell me, speaking of the victim. “I don’t feel sorry for her.”
Why didn’t I listen to the subtle warnings she was giving me about herself and me?
Shouldn’t I have seen it coming? We breathed the same air, ate the same food, and heard the same things almost every day of our lives. People were amazed at how we moved together, pausing and turning simultaneously. Only conjoined twins were more simpatico. Yet I hadn’t detected the biggest deception of all. Despite the fact that I hated agreeing with her about anything, especially now, I had to admit that I was more angry at myself for being stupid than I was angry at her.
Dr. Alexander stepped into the lobby. I heard the clicking of her heels on the tile floors just before she appeared. She was wearing an ankle-length light green skirt and matching blouse. In her high heels, she looked more than six feet tall. I wasn’t surprised that my father hadn’t mentioned she was African American. Neither of my parents ever showed any prejudice. My father had some very clever and accomplished African American men in his company and one of them, Al Daniels, used to play tennis at our home.
Dr. Alexander’s striking ebony eyes immediately fixed on me as she approached. I felt like a target in someone’s gun sights. She walked with a runway model’s poise. My first thought now was how Mother would definitely compliment her on her posture and say, “There, that’s how I want you to walk.”
The doctor’s demeanor reflected the self-confidence and efficiency my father claimed she had. His reminder that Haylee, not I, was her patient resonated. I felt immediately that she wasn’t at all interested in making me feel comfortable or welcome. She didn’t exhibit any sensitivity to how this visit was difficult for me. Instead, her eyes were full of stern, suspicious questions. We stood, and she offered me her hand. She barely glanced at my father. Only now, when I was confronting her, did it strike me that of course she’d have to be on guard against me wanting to do Haylee harm. She was visually frisking me for signs of anger and vengeance.
“I’m Dr. Alexander,” she said. She looked at my father but held my hand. “I have seen other monozygotic twins, but I must say, these two girls are remarkable.” She let go of my hand. “Kaylee, I’m happy to meet you.”
There wasn’t much feeling behind that. It was more like scientific curiosity. Her voice was a little deeper than I’d expected and even, I thought, had a slightly foreign accent, perhaps Caribbean.
“Thank you,” I said, sounding just as mechanical.
“We’ll go to my office for a chat first. Mr. Fitzgerald,” she added, nodding and giving him permission to come along.
I hesitated. “My sister knows I’m coming?”
“She knows,” Dr. Alexander replied, then led us through the lobby and to a long hallway. “My office is right down here on the right.”
I remained a step or two behind them. When she turned to speak to me, there was no polite smile on her face, and those eyes didn’t warm. Whether it was her intention or not, she was very intimidating. If I had come here to do my sister any real harm, meeting Dr. Alexander would have given me second thoughts, if it didn’t send me into a quick retreat immediately.
The first thing I thought of when we entered her office was that this probably was where Haylee came for her sessions. There were two pictures on the walls, one a seascape and the other a view of a lavender field with mountains on the horizon. They were both prints, pretty but not in any way extraordinary. Her desk was a light wood, like some school desk, with not much on it besides a long notepad, a closed laptop, and a receptacle for paper clips and pens. I saw no pictures of family anywhere. I didn’t even see the usual plaques doctors and dentists keep on their walls to reveal their degrees and schools. There was no sense of her. Actually, it appeared to be an office anyone could share. Maybe it was.
The window behind the desk faced the rear of the building, where there was nothing more than grass, some rolling hills, and patches of woods. There was very little activity to distract a patient in counseling. To the right of the desk and angled to face it was a soft black-cushioned settee, and to the left of the desk were shelves with binders organized by date. On one of the shelves was a small clock in a wooden cabinet that looked like a cheap souvenir clock bought at some store for tourists in Switzerland.
Haylee would feel uncomfortable here, I thought, because I did, and not simply because it was a psychiatrist’s office. It was too austere. She’d hate the view and hate that there was so little to distract her. Maybe she’d look down and count floor tiles. I remembered how she could frustrate our school guidance counselor, Ms. Lothrop, with her clear disinterest, interrupting her constantly with questions about her family pictures and her plaques.
Dr. Alexander sat behind her desk and nodded at the settee. “Please,” she said.
My father waited for me to sit and then sat himself.
“What do you hope to accomplish with this visit today?” Dr. Alexander asked me immediately. It sounded more like a demand, almost an accusation. Someone cruder would have asked, “Why did you come here? What do you want? Why can’t you leave her alone and let her get well? Why the hell are you interfering?” She leaned forward in anticipation of my reply.
“I’m not going to start yelling at her or anything,” I said.
She stared, obviously waiting for another, fuller answer. I glanced at my father. He looked just as interested in my response as Dr. Alexander might be.
“Nothing my sister has done to me was as bad as this, of course,” I began, “but I always felt, hoped, that she was sorry for what she did. I don’t think she hates me, and I don’t want to hate her for the rest of my life, either. I thought we still might share that idea.”
I didn’t see a smile on her face as much as I saw a glint of approval in her eyes, even a little appreciation. She resembled how one of my teachers would look if I had grasped a particularly difficult problem or concept well, something he or she had taken great pains to explain. She gave my father a slight nod, confirming, I imagined, that what he had told her about me was correct.
“Very well. I’m going to take you to a sort of interview room. It’s just a room with a metal table and two chairs,” she said. “You can be alone with your sister, but I will be watching and listening to the two of you. Only me,” she added, raising her eyebrows, I thought, for my father’s benefit as much as mine.
“Through one of those one-way mirror windows?”
“Yes,” she said, finally giving me a real smile. “I’m sure you appreciate why.”
“Do you consider my sister dangerous?”
Her smile flew off her face like a frightened bird leaping off a branch. “I don’t answer questions about your sister asked by anyone but official personnel,” she said. “But if I considered her dangerous, I certainly wouldn’t allow the visit.”
“Has my sister been in that room before?” I asked, ignoring her indignation.
“Why?”
“Because she’d realize what the mirror really was. She might not be honest. She would know she had an audience. My sister always likes an audience. More than I do,” I quickly added before she could ask.
All my life, whenever anything was said about one of us, whoever heard it always asked if either Haylee or I felt the same way, happy or unhappy about it. We knew Mother wanted us to say yes, but she wasn’t with me now, and even if she were, I wouldn’t say yes. I didn’t think I ever would again, even if it was true.
Dr. Alexander thought a moment and sat back like she was reconsidering the wisdom of my seeing Haylee. “What are your feelings right now?” she asked. “Now that you’re here and about to do this.”
Since I had brought up Haylee’s dishonesty, I wondered just how honest I should be. At the moment, this felt like another security scan. If I didn’t answer correctly, I’d be turned around and marched right out and off the grounds.
“A mixture of fear, anger, and curiosity,” I replied. “I’m nervous about seeing her. Maybe once I do, I’ll just turn around and walk out. Maybe I’ll start crying. I don’t know. That’s why I came, to see what my reaction to her would be and her reaction to me. Someday we have to meet, and I thought, why not now? Enough time has passed for me. I hope it has for her as well.”
Does she stare at Haylee like this after she answers one of her questions? I wondered. I didn’t look away or down.
Because of the long pause, I thought that just as I expected, she was going to tell us she had changed her mind, but instead, she rose.
“You are free to remain here, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she told my father. “The session your daughters will have together will be for fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you,” my father said. He nodded to me, and I stood. Then he reached for my hand. It was just a gentle squeeze, a little assurance that he was right here for me.
“This way,” Dr. Alexander said, and she opened her office door.
We walked down the hallway. It was still much quieter than I had expected. It was a long, immaculate hallway with coffee-white tiled floors similar to the ones in her office and gray walls that resembled steel. I could see windowless double doors at the far end and thought we’d be passing through them, but she suddenly paused at a door on our right. She turned to me, and although she didn’t smile, she spoke in a softer tone.
“I want you to know that I do feel sorry about what happened to you, Kaylee. However, I have learned a great deal about your family and what you both have endured, so I feel sorry for your sister, too. You understand?”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t want to share any sympathy with Haylee, but I did understand.
“She’s not here yet. I will have her brought. Don’t expect to see a monster,” she added. “She’s just as frightened about this visit as you are.”
I couldn’t imagine it, but I kept myself from smirking with skepticism. Remain as impassive as you can, I told myself. You’re being scrutinized almost as much as your sister.
“Okay,” Dr. Alexander said when I didn’t say anything, and she opened the door.
The room was as simple as she had described, with its metal table and chairs. However, the chairs had black cushions. There was nothing on the table. The floor was covered with the same large tiles that were in the hallway and her office. There was recessed lighting from above and a telephone on the wall that I imagined was for emergencies. I went to the chair on the other side of the table and sat. The one-way mirror window was to my left. I glanced at it and saw myself sitting there.
This morning when I woke up and got dressed, I had taken a long time to choose what to wear and how to do my makeup. Recently, my father had taken me shopping, and I had bought a new dress, which I was wearing today. When I was looking at the new fashions for the season, I couldn’t help but think the way Haylee would. She was always pushing me to get something sexier. Since Mother wouldn’t buy either of us anything the other didn’t like or want, even when we were teenagers, I usually agreed with Haylee’s choices. Otherwise, she’d be so unhappy and I would feel so terrible that neither of us could be satisfied with what was purchased for us. It was better to go along with Haylee’s selections.
When I had taken this dress off the rack, my father was standing behind me. He stepped forward as I held it up, and he shook his head.
“What?”
“There’s not much to it,” he said, and I laughed. Those words would have clinched the choice for Haylee.
He felt the material and shrugged. “I could fold it up and put it in a business envelope.”
“I’ll try it on,” I told him, and went into the dressing room.
The dress was a kaleidoscope print, in poly-blend stretch knit with a cap-sleeved bodice. It had a deep V neckline. Thanks to Haylee, I had just the right bra for it. The multicolor print was in shades of pink, teal, blue, and yellow. It fit me like a second skin. The banded waist topped a bodycon skirt that I thought was flattering, if not revealing, the way it traced every muscle in my hips and buttocks. The hem of the skirt was a good six inches above my knees. It was truly a Haylee dress.
When I stepped out of the dressing room, my father’s eyes flew wide open. He shook his head, a slight but fearful smile on his face. “I’m sure you need some sort of license to wear that,” he said.
I turned to see myself from every angle as I considered myself in the mirror. I surely felt like Haylee would feel, I thought. The dress was exciting on me, and I was happy I had gained back all the weight I had lost in Anthony Cabot’s dungeon basement apartment. There was no question; the dress possessed me. I could hear Haylee beside me whispering, Say you want this. Say it because I want it.
“I like it, Daddy.”
“Whatever,” he said. “What do I know about clothes for teenage girls today?”
Afterward, he bought me a pair of black suede platform heels to go with it. I knew just the earrings and bracelet I’d wear with it, too.
When I looked at the dress this morning, I envisioned Haylee seeing me in it. The very sight of me looking so healthy and sexy would be a vengeful blow to her ego. She was probably expecting to see a meek, terribly wounded person who could be nothing but ultra-conservative with her fashions now. Sexually abused girls would be terrified of lustful looks. But I wasn’t, and that would surely drive home how bad a situation she was in because of her own actions.
I couldn’t imagine they would let Haylee have makeup, so I put mine on a little heavier than usual. My hair had grown about two inches since my rescue, which was not enough, of course. My father had bought me three wigs by now, all in my natural hair color but in three different styles and cuts. The one I chose today was the shortest. I wondered if Haylee would realize it was a wig, and if she did, would she dare ask why I was wearing one? I’d tell her, I vowed. I’d tell her every detail about that.
“You’re wearing that to the institution?” my father had asked when I descended the stairway in the morning.
“I’m not going to look like a victim, Daddy,” I said. I saw the glint in his eyes. He knew what I was up to, and at that moment, he was happy about my choice and my reason for it.
But it was a moment he would regret later.
Maybe we all would.