Obscurity

Chapter 45: Checkmate

Alma

Sierra's snores engulf the room. They bounce off the walls. I'm not quite sure how she can sleep through the noise, but she does. I give up on trying to close my eyes to get some rest. Sitting up, my attention is fixed on the window. I go over to it and look outside. Standing by the window, I watch the goings-on down below. Nothing exciting is happening. It's just something to do. I like how I can see for miles out into the world. It's calming.

The warmth of the afternoon sun radiates on my face. I stand in the pocket of mild heat and fix my gaze out onto the white puffy clouds scattered across the sky. The bright blue of the sky is contrasted by the large white blotches of clouds. It's beautiful. It reminds me of a time I wasn't trapped inside this place. I think when I get out of here; I will not take long walks outside for granted ever again.

I feel much more relaxed than I did earlier. Whatever that medicine was, its working. My shoulders aren't as hunched, and I feel like I can breathe. My heart isn't racing, and I haven't thought about Chris for a while. I almost feel like I'm floating. I welcome the new feeling because I was so worried this morning and this medication has provided a release for all that tension. I let out a long breath and close my eyes.

My silent reverie is broken by two loud knocks on the door. I open my eyes and train them on the doorway. Chris is standing there but surprisingly, dread doesn't envelope me. I just stand there looking at him, my brows raised in question.

"Would you mind coming to my office for a moment?" he asks. There isn't a hint of anger or malice to his tone. It surprises me, but it doesn't startle me like it might have an hour ago. Before taking that pill.

"Sure." I say. I glance over at Sierra's sleeping form as I pass her bed to follow Chris out to his office. She didn't so much as budge when he knocked on the door.

We walk down the hallway and as we turn to go into his office, I see Nick and Spencer sitting at a table talking. They both stop and look our way we enter the office.

Chris closes the door behind me, "Have a seat." He says as he crosses the room and takes his own. I oblige and ease myself down into the chair opposite his desk.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you here or what this is about." He starts. "I was hoping to speak to you about this." He says as he holds up the peach colored 1840 form I filled out for Dr. Summers yesterday. My signature is scrawled across the bottom of it. My breath catches in my throat, and I instantly feel like vomiting.

His tone is level, and he doesn't seem worried or upset about the form but I feel like I might just fall over and die. My heart is racing but not nearly as fast as I imagine it is. My brain is trying to process this new development but try as it might, it won't rush and race like usual. It feels a lot like my mind is trying to slog through deep mud and it keeps getting stuck. I can't even think of something to say to Chris in response to his inquiring eyes. My mind can't wrap around the fact that he isn't yelling or unhinged like he usually would be in this situation. I challenged his authority by signing that sheet of paper but it's almost like he isn't really bothered by it. Maybe I did make a mistake in signing that form.

Dr. Summers assured me Chris would never see the paper but here he is, holding the form up, showing me the paper like it's some sort of trophy. He's even wearing an odd smirk. The kind of calculated grin a chess player might wear right before he calls checkmate.

I just stare at him. I have no words. What can I say? He breaks the silence that hangs heavy between us.

"Alma, I'm very disappointed in you." He smooths the paper down on his desk. I simply sit there, still too shocked to reply.

"I took you for a smart girl," he clears his throat, "Er, woman." He corrects himself. My mind is still slogging, bogged down. My jaw is slack and I watch him as he shakes his head.

"This report is incomplete, at best. At worst, it implicates me as an offender of the worst kind." He folds his hands on the desk. "It alleges that I'm an abusive person. And it alleges that I abuse patients. That's the worst kind of abuse. The abuse of someone you have charge over. Someone in your care."

I clear the lump from my throat and shift in my seat. I still have no words. I'm caught red handed, there's nothing I can say. He isn't yelling or being aggressive so, while I'm overtaken by worry, I don't see an urgency in responding to him. It's probably because of that pill I took earlier. The thought crosses my mind that perhaps Chris waited to confront me about all of this until after he'd administered my anxiety medication.

He casually runs his hand through his hair as he looks over the form. I wonder if this is all for dramatic effect because surely he read over the form as soon as he had his hands on it. He couldn't possibly be reading it for the first time. My mind starts to grow impatient. I sit still and wait for him to speak again.

He clears his throat and looks up at me through his glasses. "What do you suggest we do about this report?" he asks. He wants an answer and my mind scrambles through the fog and slog to come up with a response. He watches me intently. I wonder, for a moment, if he can see how tangled my mind is right now through looking into my eyes. I wonder if he can tell I'm out of it. Clearly my silence isn't doing me any good, so I search for words. Words that could possibly neutralize this situation. I come up short.

"I imagine you're trying to think of some excuse to explain away this form." He pauses and lets out a sigh. "There's no way to explain it away. Fortunately, for you, this form is void." He says as he rips the peach colored paper in half, and then in half again. Repeating the process until the paper is nothing but confetti strewn across the top of his desk. His calm calculated demeanor worries me more than when he usually bellows or screams. Being as calm as he is, shakes me to my core.

I watch in disbelief as he cleans up the small pieces of peach colored paper, my jaw practically in my lap. I reach up to my face and rub it in frustration. All of the stress, all of the worry about telling on Chris for acting inappropriately was all for nothing. I agreed to sign the form for nothing. Now my tormentor holds the remnants of my temporary bravery in his hands and is dropping into a wastebasket. I cover my face with my hands.

He laughs, "Alma, the next time you feel the need to try to ruin someone's career, please feel free to stop and think about this moment. We'll use it as a learning experience, you and I."

I look up at him. He sits at the desk arms folded comfortably across his chest and he's grinning at me. He has the look of a someone that knows they are untouchable. I should have known better than to sign that form. My mind starts to pick up speed, the slog not so ensnaring anymore. I wonder what the repercussions will be for this situation. What punishment will I have to endure?

"I trust you understand your folly here?" He asks, the air of superiority in his voice unnerves me. I nod my head, still unable to formulate words in my defense.

"Good. I trust you know your way out of my office." He nods toward the door. I take that as an opportunity to get up and get out of this small room. As I go to stand, he speaks up again.

"Let's not have an issue like this again, Alma. If we do in fact find ourselves in this situation again, I cannot promise I'll be so understanding." He admonishes me as I reach for the doorknob. I nod and whip open the door. As I walk away from his office, he appears in the doorway and calls down the hallway after me, "Thanks for your time, Alma."

I race for my room, not running but not walking either. When I reach the safety of our room, I nearly run right into Sierra. She's on her way out as I'm rushing in. I don't stop and rush by her and jump into my bed and begin to sob.

"Is everything okay?" Sierra asks apprehensively.