I’m sitting against the bookshelf, my knees pulled up, as I watch Dr. Sanders check Emily’s pupils. I called her immediately, once Emily—Ivy—passed out, not wanting to wait for an ambulance when she is just around the corner.
After a minute, she returns the flashlight to her lab coat.
“Dr. Sanders, please help me,” Ivy says, coming to.
“Everything will be okay.” She reaches out her hand to feel Ivy’s forehead. “Temp feels normal. Pupils equal, reactive to light. Tell me what happened, Brooks.”
Her eyes gaze to me. “Her friend called me a few days ago, and said she was acting strange. I went to check on her, and found her in the grass behind her house. She was passed out, disoriented. I was concerned, so I let her sleep. When she woke up, I took her to breakfast, and she drew something on a napkin—the pandas, just like the ones in the framed picture.” I point to both the sketches that are on the coffee table “We went to school together. She drew the one in the frame years ago … when we were kids. I didn’t connect the dots, but I knew something was strange about it. Eliza put it all together. We called the numbers listed as her parents in her phone, and neither are her parents. I called the nursing home her grandmother lives in, but that woman has no family. Emily claims she doesn’t know what we’re talking about, but … she has only been pretending to be Emily.” God, this is fucked up. This is so fucked up.
“I am Emily,” Ivy says. “I don’t know Ivy. I need to get in touch with my—”
“Oh, cut the shit, Em,” Eliza says.
“Ivy...” Dr. Sanders says. “Is that your name?”
She shakes her head. “No! No, I’m Emily! How many times do I have to say it?”
Dr. Sanders turns to me. “Do you mind if I have a few moments alone with her? To examine her?”
“Sure,” I say, standing, exhaustion washing over me. “You should get home,” I say to Eliza. “The show’s over.”
“Whatever.” She stands and waddles over to her purse. “I have to get back to my mom’s, anyway.”
I follow her out, and tiptoe back to the edge of the living room, out of view.
“Ivy … Emily...” Dr. Sanders says. “Do you remember what happened before you passed out at your house?”
“I remember arguing with Brooks in the morning, but that’s it. Then, I was in the yard, and he was spraying water over me, but it was nighttime.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s going on? I’m really getting scared. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“So, you truly remember nothing about that day?”
“No!” Emily shouts. “What does that have to do with what’s happening now?”
“Good. That’s really good.”
I waltz in the room again, my throat clearing to make my entrance known. “Why is that good?”
“Oh, it’s complicated medical jargon, but she needs to be committed,” Dr. Sanders says to me. “Right now.”
“Committed? That sounds a little extreme.”
Emily sits up straighter. “Wait, committed? What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean? I’m not the crazy one, you guys are! I’m EMILY! You’ll see!”
“Calm down,” Dr. Sanders says, taking out her cell from her coat and pressing buttons. “Yes, I have an emergency situation.”
“Hold on,” I say. “Can’t we talk about this first?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Brooks,” Dr. Sanders says, her hand covering the speaker. “She’s experiencing some type of psychotic episode, and she needs to be evaluated.” My heart beats rapidly as she uncovers the speaker and continues. “Yes, sorry. I have an unstable patient who needs to be placed on immediate psychiatric hold.”
Ivy gasps as Dr. Sanders recites my address, sobs spilling from her mouth as she tries to stand.
“Brooks, you need to hold her. She’s unwell. She’s a danger to herself.”
I step toward Ivy, my hand gripping her forearm, before I look back to Dr. Sanders. “What … what do you want me to do?”
“My dog,” Ivy cries. “Who will take care of my dog?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I tell her. “Lucy will be fine. We’re going to get you some help.”
“I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening.”
Her words muffle in my ears over the next few minutes as my pulse overpowers them, the gravity of the situation registering. Her meeting Eliza wasn’t random. She sought her out. Her dating Deacon was a well-calculated plan to … to what? Stay close to me? Every story, every answered question about her life was contrived.
“Brooks?” I hear my name, as if it is shouted underwater. “Brooks?” Dr. Sanders flashes a light in my eyes.
I shake my head, still holding Ivy’s arm, her sobs incessant. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I—I am trying to wrap my head around this.”
A knock sounds on the door, before Dr. Sanders skitters to it. Two male paramedics rush into the room, the smell of disinfectant on their clothes, my hand breaking away from her as they attempt to calm her with gloved hands.
They pelt questions at Dr. Sanders, my vision tunneled as they bring out a needle.
“No!” Ivy shouts, her greasy hair falling in strings around her face. “No, please! Brooks, tell them! You know who I am,” she wails, her face twisted with pain. “You know me! Tell them!”
A tear pools in my eye before I blink it away. The glint of the needle makes this situation too real as it approaches her arm. I turn around, my chest heaving as I say, “I do know her. Her name is Ivy. Ivy Hobbs.”