Something In the Water

Sascha was the first to find the fish. At least, she thought she must be. The sky outside was still a bruised purple, light gradually seeping through the horizon. No other patients had been in line at the nursing station when Sascha went for her morning meds. She did not know what time it was, only that she had been lying awake in the interminable darkness of her room for longer than she could stand it. Deciding to wander the halls instead, it was by coincidence rather than intention that Sascha was the first to arrive for her medication. The morning nurse had chirped merrily at her, some praise for being an early bird, and did not ask her to wag her tongue when she lifted it after swallowing.

The community room was empty, save for Sascha, and silent but for the gurgle and thrum of the fish tank. The active sounds contrasted with the dead fish, bloated and skimming the surface as they floated aimlessly, eyes unchanged and dull. Sascha did not know what kind of fish they were. She recalled her confusion during the guided orientation to Fairwoods on her first day (three days ago? Four days?) Sascha must have asked about the glass tank, because she remembered the staff member (Kaitlyn? Katie? Katherine?) responded kindly, “It’s acrylic glass, so it’s secure. But we’re also not a hospital, so you’ll notice that a few things here are different from what you’re used to.” True to Kaitlyn or Katherine’s word, patients, or “guests” at Fairwoods, could come and go from the building to wander the grounds. Guests were on their phones during free time, instead standing in line for touch tone phones bolted to walls. The television was a normal flat screen, not ensconced in reinforced plastic, and the remote migrated freely around the community room; no one had to beg permission to use it from a stoic nurse behind a desk. Staff (or RCs for “residential coaches”) wore T-shirts, jeans, and talked sometimes about coming straight to work from their college courses. Sascha could not remember their names, and the conversations around her might as well have been underwater, but faces were starting to become familiar.

Sascha was not certain how much time passed as she stood in the tank’s neon glow, hypnotized by the colorful, drifting fish corpses, before she became aware of the sticky pills still in the pocket of her pajama pants. Her reverie interrupted, she went to the single stall bathroom in the community room, making sure to run the sink after flushing.

“What the actual fuck?”

Sascha paused, the tap water still rushing. The same voice thundered, “Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.”

Almost immediately, Sascha heard multiple footsteps approaching from different directions, a flurry of low murmurs. The same voice that had cursed reverberated through the door again: “I just found them. That’s how many? One, two, five, fucking seven dead fish. And it stinks like bleach out here. What in the fuck?”

More murmurs. “Too early to say….we’ll have to wait until…understand that you’re freaked out now, and we’ll make sure to…”

“Are you kidding? This place is what’s freaking me out. Every one of those fish was fine, like totally fine, just last night. And you want us to sit in groups all day and just pretend like this is just a freak accident?” Sascha realized that the loud voice belonged to the boy (or man?) with half-green spiky hair and the eyebrow ring. Face jewelry was another thing guests were allowed to have. His name began with D.

“And don’t gaslight me about what I’m smelling. My goddamn eyes and nostrils are practically burning. Someone did this on purpose. You all need to do your fucking jobs, find out who it is, and deal with it.”

Sascha turned off the tap water and listened until the chorus of voices dispersed. An RC passed by the bathroom, speaking in rushed, hushed tones: “…incident in the community room, everyone is safe but we’ll probably need clinical support…” The voice faded into the distance, and Sasha peeked out of the bathroom. Two more staff, backs to her, were speaking quietly in front of the fish tank, walkie talkies out. Sasha slipped quietly and quickly down the hall in the opposite direction toward the dining hall.

Marta. It had to be Marta again.

* * *

Morning check-in group was moved from the community room to the movement room, where yoga group took place. News of the dead fish had rippled by now, and unease was palpable in the energy of the guests. People spun and twisted various fidget toys, and bounced their restless knees. One guest, another young man whose name Sascha could not recall, exclaimed “Ah!” at unpredictable times, to no one.

The RC leading the group was Kaitlyn, Katie, or Kathryn from Sascha’s first day. Attempting not to squint, Sascha peered at the lanyard around her neck, and simply saw the letters KT. “Shall we go around the circle and share how we’re doing, and one goal we have for ourselves today?”

Several moments passed before a thin, almost elven-looking guest with short hair and a soft voice, raised their hand. “I’m feeling scared and would like to ask about the fish.”

One of the counselors, seated on the opposite side of the group circle from the RC, spoke up. “Thank you for naming that, Ariel. We understand that this was an unpleasant shock that is causing a lot of distress for the milieu today. It’s important to name that the rest of the day may pose some challenges for both guests and staff alike. I wonder if anyone is open to exploring some coping skills that might help us get through this?”

The silence was sepulchral, save for the spinning of one or two rotating fidgets. A bearded man raised his hand and said, “Going on walks.”

“Thank you Jeffrey. Going on walks is a way we can regulate our minds and bodies. What else?”

“Oh, come on,” the half-green-haired boy exclaimed. Sitting across the room from Sascha, he glowered at the therapist. “This is horseshit. It’s obvious you guys are doing whatever you can to keep us distracted so you can hide whatever the fuck actually happened to keep up appearances. We’re not stupid, you know, and it’s not like news doesn’t travel in this place.”

The therapist, a young and pale man with a bun and glasses, tented his fingers and nodded somberly. She could not remember his name, but when he spoke, he addressed the boy.

“Well Dane, I’m glad you shared that with us this morning. While this situation is ongoing, our coping skills are what we lean on to restore a sense of regulation and safety. We don’t know what happened to the fish yet, and until we do, all we have are the internal tools we’re cultivated and the resources we have on hand. Would anyone else feel comfortable speaking to what is going on for them this morning?”

Dane sighed loudly and muttered under his breath as he gathered a daily planner and folder from under his chair, and strode toward the door. Doors at Fairwoods did not slam, instead shutting with a slow, cushioned hiss. Dane was followed in quick succession by a dark haired girl in a hoodie, then by KT.

Bun Man spoke again. “Shall we rewind just a little by starting again with a breathing exercise, everyone? Let’s start by planting both feet firmly on the ground if you don’t have them there already.”

Sascha felt the world submerge beneath her feet and did not come to until the rest of the guests rose to their feet to break for the next round of groups.

***

Meals were different at Fairwoods. Hospitals gave you a sheet of paper in the morning, sometimes in the evening, and you checked the boxes for the things you wanted on your tray when meals where wheeled in by cart the next day. At Fairwoods, meals were served cafeteria-style. Guests could also serve themselves from a salad bar, like a buffet restaurant, and add their own condiments. Cups were plastic but plates were ceramic, and they ate with real silverware.

The late autumn day was bright, breezy, and unseasonably warm by the lunch hour, and Sascha arrived early to slide into one of the unoccupied tables outside. The kitchen staff had served her minestrone soup and bread. The aroma of the broth carried her miles away and years ago in a moment, to a kitchen—Aunt Ingrid’s—with brown curtains and a steaming crockpot on the counter.

Sascha shuddered and pushed the soup to the far corner of her tray before the memory of Marta inevitably intruded into Aunt Ingrid’s kitchen, ruining everything all over again. Bread would have to do for now.

As Sascha began to open a tin-foiled pat of butter, Dane the green-haired boy, the dark-haired hoodie girl, and two other guests settled at a neighboring table. None acknowledged Sascha’s presence. While their tones were conspiratorial, the guests did not lower their voices as they spoke.

“So, this stays here,” said a guest in a pageboy hat and large, metallic ear gauges. “I overheard the meeting in the RC office this morning, and they’re definitely not going to be announcing this. So if it gets out, they’ll probably figure out those sound machines in the halls aren’t worth a crap.”

The dark haired girl laughed ruefully. “You’d think some of that $30k a month our parents pay for would go towards some better soundproofing.”

“Like, better staffing too. One of the overnight RCs up and walked out two nights ago, and another just got shit-canned this morning.”

“Get out. Who?”

“That Greg guy. The really tall one who works the weekend shifts.”

“Good riddance,” said the dark haired girl. “Guy managed to low-key creep me out while also being power-tripping asshole.”

“Yeah, well he also sucks at his job because apparently, the last straw was him leaving the storage closet unlocked.” The guest with the pageboy hat lowered their voice further. “That’s where they store the bleach.”

The fourth resident, a slightly older woman with elaborate arm tattoos, let out a long and slow whistle. Silence settled over the table for several moments, pausing time until the green-haired guest named Dane broke it.

“Fuckin’ called it,” Dane said without looking up, tearing his bread into two pieces. “Maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought you had to be to wind up here.”

“Or maybe it’s just that someone else here is a little crazier than you,” said pageboy cap.

Sascha made sure to cover her face with her hair as she collected her tray, the conversation behind her fading to white noise. She thought she could feel their eyes on her back.

***

Bun Man’s office was non-descript, but brightly lit through large windows (acrylic as well, Sascha assumed). Save for a framed diploma and a potted philodendron, the office was bereft of personal effects. A mantle clock ticked softly at his desk. Sascha squinted at the diploma and read that it was made out to Andrew Goldbaum.

Bun Man—Andrew, she presumed—took a seat in the round blue chair facing Sascha’s place on a loveseat, a small table separating them.

“Well, first off, welcome, and I’m excited for our first full session together,” he said. “Before we get into it, what name would you prefer that I use for you today?”

Sascha felt the wind escape from her chest, as though a hundred butterflies were flying through her ribcage. “Um. Sascha,” she said, her tone cautious.

Andrew closed his eyes and nodded. “I see. Well thank you, Sascha. How have you been settling in to life at Fairwoods?”

“Fine, I guess.” Sascha kept her gaze on the window, fixated on grassy knolls and stick-like trees. “It’s been hard to sleep.”

“I hear that. The first few nights here can be challenging for new guests.” Andrew paused, and continued when Sascha did not fill the silence. “Was sleep a struggle for you in the hospital, too?”

Sascha turned her eyes to Andrew, scanning his expression. Finding only curiosity for the moment, she said, “Sometimes. A little, maybe. I was on more meds.” Then, to the floor, she said, “I…know I was there for a long time. But there’s a lot I don’t remember.”

“Three months is a long time. What do you remember from before that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, specifically, I’m wondering what life was like leading up to the hospital. If you’re open to sharing. Where were you living?”

“My aunt’s. Aunt Ingrid. And Uncle Thomas, and their daughter. My cousin, Marta.”

“And how long have you lived with them?”

Sascha lowered her gaze again. “Seven years. I tried college for a few months. It didn’t work out. But when I moved back….thing were never good with Marta and me. Some things happened.”

Andrew nodded. Sascha braced for him to ask about Marta, but instead, he asked, “Can you talk to me a little about how you came to stay with your aunt and uncle?”

Blood was pounding in her ears now. “It….my mother. She died. She killed herself.”

The curious expression on Andrew’s face furrowed slightly, otherwise remained unchanged. “I understand also that you were the one who found her,” he said. His voice was quieter now, and kind.

Her pulse was twice as fast as the ticking mantle clock; she counted twenty pulses before deciding to speak again. “I was in seventh grade. I got home early that day. She was on the floor, but still alive. Couldn’t speak. Just gasps.” Sascha looked down to see that she had been tapping her foot, unsure of when that had started. “I called 911 but couldn’t tell them what was wrong at first. They told me to look around, to see if there was anything she ate, anything she might have taken. That’s when I found the note, for me. And the bleach.”

For the first time since this morning, she saw Andrew’s expression change. His eyes widened. “What a horrific discovery that must have been. For any age. And especially for a 13 year old.”

Only the mantel clock spoke for the next minute (or five?) Sascha did not feel horror, could not feel anything. Perhaps this was what horror actually felt like. She saw the fish again, drifting serenely, smelled the same acrid chemical scent.

“Sascha, what’s coming up for you right now?”

Startled out of her reverie, Sascha’s eyes snapped toward Andrew the Bun Man. It was time to be honest. “I know who did it. The fish. I don’t know how, but I know who killed them.” Honesty wouldn’t take her back in time to save her mother, but maybe, for once, she could know what it was like to do the right thing.

Andrew’s glasses glinted, making the expression on his face even harder to make sense of than before. After a pause, he said, “I’m listening. Tell me more.”

The numbness gave way to trembling. Sascha sipped air. “My cousin, Marta. I know how that sounds. Like I said, I don’t know how she did it, but she hates me, wants me to stay away. She never wanted me in her space, and didn’t want to share my aunt or uncle. It was always bad at home, but it was hell when I moved back from university, when she thought I was gone for good. She was furious with all of us, and one day, she put poison in the food. My aunt’s crockpot, the soup she was making. Cleaning supplies.” Sascha stopped, closed her eyes. Felt her heartbeat pulse behind them, now, somehow. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”

“Take your time.”

Eyes still closed, Sascha could have been floating. After a moment, she said, “Aunt Ingrid started taking heart medication not long after I moved in. They were in capsules, so you could open them, put them back together if you were careful. Marta filled them full of Comet.” The touch of powdered bleach had been a deliberate and personalized choice of weapon, but Sascha did not add this. She knew this was unbelievable enough. And both her aunt and her uncle had agreed. “Aunt Ingrid figured out the soup wasn’t right immediately. That’s when Marta spoke up, told them it was me. Told them about the pills. She even stole my journal, wrote about it in my handwriting. Showed them.”

Andrew nodded, furrowed his brow. “And how did your aunt and uncle respond?”

Sascha dropped her head and shook it slowly. “After getting kicked out of university, it wasn’t a good look for me. I told them it wasn’t true, knew better than to accuse Marta. They were so upset, they didn’t even care that she stole my journal, so I didn’t tell them that Marta forged the confession, either. Just that I didn’t write or do any of that. They sent me to the hospital and I haven’t heard from them since. Only Marta…”

“And when was that?”

“She called the hospital, on the patient line. I don’t know how she got the number. It was a few days before I came here…she told me she wasn’t done. That she would do whatever it took to make sure I never came home to ruin her life again. And never to forget that.”

Andrew continued nodding and exhaled what sounded like a hum before speaking.

“Thank for sharing all of that with me, Sascha. It took a lot of courage to open up like that, and I can’t begin to imagine how betrayed, how much fear you must carry from that experience. Are you open to me sharing some information about what happened to the fish tank that might remove some of that for you?

Sascha looked at him and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Those fish were killed by a careless error, not by malice. When staff inspected the tank, they discovered it was left unplugged from the evening before, when a staff member was cleaning and forgot to replace it. The temperature in the water dropped overnight, and they did not survive.”

“What about the cleaning cabinet? I overheard it was left unlocked.”

Andrew shook his head. “Pure coincidence, along with the strong chemical odor, although I know how odd that sounds. Of course, that’s an oversight we take seriously, and have since taken measures to correct. But there’s no evidence all at to suggest that the fish’s water supply was tainted.”

Again, the ticking filled the room. Andrew, who seemed to just now take notice of it, glanced toward the clock. “I don’t want to pivot too quickly, but I do see that our time is running low. May I ask how you’re doing with your medication changes? Any discomfort, any side effects?”

“It’s fine.”

***

A knock with a new face appeared at Sascha’s door that evening, round, rosy and smiling, a lanyard around the RC’s neck declaring “Brittany”. A relief from the towering glare of the overnight RC the guests had called Greg, which Sascha expected she would not have to see again.

The cheery face belonging to Brittany said, “Hi! Just doing checks. It’s nice to meet you!” She glanced at a clipboard in her hand. “Marta?”

She stared at Brittany, unblinking. “Sascha.”

The face belonging to Brittany frowned and looked back at the clipboard, as she flipped a page. The tension between her brows melted suddenly and her eyes stretched wide. “Oh! Oh yes. My mistake, I was looking at the chart for…another guest.” Her smile was like elastic. “Pleased to meet you, Sascha. I’ll be doing my next round in a couple of hours, but I’ll try not to wake you. Sweet dreams!”

The door shut behind her with Fairwoods’ token shush of air, and Sascha turned out the lights, trying not to drown in the darkness.