Treasure
Seventy-Two-Hour Hold

Treasure lay motionless in the big machine, her mind trying desperately to figure out how things had gone so wrong so quickly. The game played in her head over and over; the foul, the talking, the pain in her head, then nothing. Nothing until she woke up in handcuffs on the field.

“I’m going crazy,” she thought to herself.

“You’re not crazy, I’m with you,” the voice said. She felt the sharp pain in her head and shook it from side to side as her eyes closed.

“Treasure, you need to stop moving, the scan doesn’t work if you move,” a voice said over the intercom. The pain subsided, and she stopped. The machine started to hum again, and she went back to her thoughts.

What happened wasn’t her. She wouldn’t do that, not what she said they did, but the taste of blood in her mouth and the looks of her teammates told her differently. The voice was the one who had told her to teach her respect, but this was too much. If she wouldn’t do it, and the voice made her, maybe she really was going crazy.

She tried to relax as the machine did its work; the more she moved, the longer it would take. The doctors had to find out what was wrong with her and fix it!

It seemed like forever before she was moved out of the machine and wheeled to a room. She saw the words “Psychiatric Ward, Authorized Personnel Only” on the sign as they entered, and she was taken to a room with no windows and padding on the walls. A metal sink, a toilet and a bed were the only things in the room. The orderlies removed her from the gurney and sat her in the bed with her wrists attached to the rails. “What’s going on,” she asked timidly as they finished up.

“You’re getting the help you need,” a doctor in a white coat said from the doorway. “I’m Doctor Thompson, and I’d like to talk to you about what happened today.” He was older, probably in his fifties, with stringy grey hair that reminded her of Einstein and thick glasses.

“Where are my parents?”

“They are with the other doctors right now. Mike, remove her restraints and wait outside please.” Treasure picked up on his hesitation, these people were afraid of a fourteen-year-old girl.

Of course, given what they said she did, maybe they were right to be afraid of her.

The man unbuckled the restraints and walked to the door. “I’ll be watching,” he said seriously, then closed the door. There was no chair, so the doctor sat at the end of the bed as she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The room must have been soundproofed, because Treasure could barely hear anything outside the room. Only their heartbeats and breathing could be heard, hers was rapid and she was sweating. “How is Denise?”

“The girl you attacked?” Rea nodded, looking down at her hands. “She’s recovering from surgery. She will live, but she will always bear the scars.”

Rea started to cry. She’d hurt someone bad, she had ruined her life over nothing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t want to… God, I don’t know what happened!”

“Why don’t you tell me about the game,” he said. And she did. She told him about the play, and how angry she was to be pulled down by the hair. How she thanked her for the goal and goaded her about being demoted to junior varsity because she couldn’t stop her. How Denise told her she wasn’t wanted. Then she told him about the voice in her head that told her to teach Denise some respect, and the pain that came with it. How she blacked out, and woke up horrified at what she had done.

“Have you heard this voice before?”

She nodded. “The first time was in September of last year. I was walking home, and there was a pain in my head; I fell to the sidewalk, screaming in pain. It told me to prepare, then it and the pain were gone.” He wrote in his pad. “It was two months before it came again, then it started happening monthly. Since August, it’s been happening once a week.”

“What does it say?”

“It tells me not to listen when I hear other people say mean things about me. It tells me to be strong, to prepare. That I am better than them. This last time it told me I wasn’t crazy, that she was with me.”

“Last time? Before the attack?”

“No, during my MRI. I was trying to remember what happened, and I was telling myself if people looked at me like I was crazy, maybe I am. She told me I wasn’t, but the pain was still there.” She unloaded everything she had been keeping back from her parents and friends; all her insecurities, her anger at the comments she would hear, the rejection she still felt over how she was abandoned. When she was done talking, hours must have passed because the doctor had filled up his notebook.

There was a knock at the door, and the orderly came in with a tray. Chicken nuggets, barbecue sauce, fries and a milk. “Sorry Doc, but the kitchen is closing, and she hasn’t eaten yet.” Her stomach growled, making her realize just how hungry she was.

“That’s fine, we need to stop for the night.” He got up and patted her hand. “We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some sleep, all right Treasure?”

She looked at him with wide eyes. “I’m not going home?”

He shook his head. “We need to keep you under observation, you hit your head pretty hard.” He looked at the orderly. “Let her eat, I don’t think we need the restraints tonight,” he said.

“Yes Doc,” the man said as they left her alone.

Alone with her thoughts, and the voice in her head.

Dawn was a wreck by the time the psychiatrist finally met with them at nearly ten o’clock that night. It had been five hours since they had seen their daughter, and the police had left after being assured she was being placed on psychiatric hold. “How is our baby,” Mark asked as he motioned them into his office and gestured for them to sit on the chairs.

“She’s resting,” he said. “We aren’t giving her any sedatives due to her head injury, but we are monitoring her on camera and checking on her every few hours.” Dawn started to cry, leaning into his arms. “I spent several hours with her, and her symptoms are classic. Did you know she has been having sudden-onset headaches accompanied by voices in her head for over a year now?”

Mark shook his head. “She never said anything about voices, but she did complain about migraines a few times.”

“I told her to lie down in a quiet room and quit drinking so much Mountain Dew,” Dawn said. “It was only a couple times, though.”

“The last few months have been far more frequent. The episodes seem to be triggered by teasing or bullying. The voice today told her to teach her respect right before she had her psychotic break. The violent outburst is rare, but the rest is textbook schizophrenia.” The doctor leaned forward, trying to comfort them. "Now that we know what we are dealing with, we can get her the help she needs. There have been many advances in treatment recently, and we can find the one that works best for her."

“She’s a schizophrenic?”

“That is my diagnosis. What happened today was another episode, followed by a psychotic break. The violent outburst she had occurred while her mind was in a dissociative state. Her normal mind doesn’t remember a thing, it’s like another side took over. A violent side.”

“Oh Jesus,” Mark said. “Can it be cured?”

“We don’t talk about cures with this, we talk about control,” he said. “She needs to be monitored as we put her on a drug regimen that will help control the symptoms. She also needs intensive counseling, she has a lot of guilt right now and that has to be dealt with. I would like you to commit her for a seventy-two-hour psychiatric evaluation so we have time to start all this.”

Mark looked at his wife, who was desperate for her to get help as she was. “All right, we’ll sign,” he said. “Can we see her?”

“I’m afraid not. She’s already resting, and we don’t know what triggers might occur with your presence.” He slid over the form for Mark to sign. “It’s late, go home and get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow at five to update you on her progress.”

He led them to the door. “I need you to be strong for her, she’s going to be confused and there still is the criminal matter to contend with. Use this time to get a lawyer for her and let us give her the treatment she needs.”

“Thanks Doc,” Mark said as they shook hands before they walked out the door.

Back in the padded room, sleep would not come to Rea. The images of waking up on the soccer field as a bloodied Denise was loaded into the ambulance was constantly appearing in her head, and in between was only the shocked and horrified faces of her friends. It didn’t help that every hour a nurse would come in to take her vitals, monitoring for effects of her concussion.

She watched the door close as the nurse exited again, leaving her alone in a padded room in the psych ward. Nothing would ever be the same, she realized as tears ran down her face. No matter what she did or how sorry she was, people would always look at her with a mix of fear and disgust. Their faces haunted her, none more than seeing her best friend looking at her that way.

Even her parents must be regretting taking her in right now.

”It’s all your fault,” she told herself in her head. “There’s something wrong with me, that is why my parents abandoned me. They knew I would be a monster, that I was dangerous.”

She didn’t expect the voice to respond, but it did, and she bit back a scream as the pain split her brain in half. “You and I are one. Quit fighting me and let me help,” the voice implored.

“Never, I never want to hear you again,” she said before she started screaming in pain, screaming for help. The voice pushed for her to listen, and she pushed back even harder to shut it up. The battle caused the pain in her head to increase, and she struggled against it before the blackness came.

“Looks like observation three is in trouble,” the nurse said from her monitoring station at the main desk. Pressing an all-call button for the floor, the orderlies and available staff gathered around. They could hear the thumping against the padded door, and Doctor Thompson went to draw a sedative as they quickly went over the entry plan. Gathering outside the door, they waited until Rea had thrown her shoulder into the door before they opened it and rushed inside.

The bed had been trashed, and manic eyes greeted them as the fourteen-year-old girl stood bruised and bloody before them. They moved as they had practiced, one orderly diving and grabbing her legs while two others went for her arms. She fought and bit until the nurse was able to fit the muzzle over her face, and the Doctor injected her with a strong sedative. She said nothing, just growling and fighting until she fell limp to the floor. “Everyone all right,” Doc Thompson asked.

“She bit me,” one of the orderlies said as he looked at his forearm. Blood was dripping down his arm, and he was quickly taken by a nurse to have it cleaned. She was lifted and placed back on the bed, this time the straps were used to hold her down and the muzzle was left in place.

The Doctor checked her vitals and examined her for injuries. She would be in pain for a while, both shoulders were already showing bruising from trying to get out, and patches of hair were missing from where she tore it out. He covered her with a sheet, then sighed as he walked out the door to update his notes.

She was worse than he thought, and if he didn’t find the right drug therapy for her soon, she was going to hurt someone again.

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