One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest by Lori Avocato Page B

pill—”
    â€œGoddammit.”
    â€œOn that we agree.”
    He merely gave me a Jagger look and said, “I’m not even going to ask who Barbie is.”
    Good, I thought to myself. He didn’t need to notice that the head nurse/nun looked like a real doll (especially since I’d heard my niece say Barbie and Ken were splitsville). Damn. I was becoming jealous of a doll or a nun—take your pick. Either way, it was pathetic. “Look, I know you didn’t want me medicated, least I hope you didn’t.”
    He merely looked at me.
    â€œOkay. Okay. So you didn’t, but when I’m in the position of a patient, I don’t have much room to argue.”
    â€œWhy the hell didn’t you stick it under your tongue until she left, and then spit it out?”
    I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” I rolled farther back.
    He leaned forward. “You all right? You don’t look all right.”
    â€œI’m flattered. But what I wanted to tell you about was my drug-induced trip.” I proceeded to tell him about the rain forest and finished with, “So I really can’t be certain someone was in my room.” Nor am I sure there are toads—or are they frogs?—in the rain forest.
    â€œDid you . . . When your mind cleared, did you check your drawers to see if anything was disturbed?” He tapped his foot on the edge of the exam table’s step.
    Why hadn’t I thought to do that? I watched his foot a second longer then looked up. “Of course. You know, Jagger, I’m not allowed many personal belongings around here. So it didn’t take much to scan what I had to see if it was touched.” I ran my hand across my nose to make sure it hadn’t grown. I was getting damn good, and much quicker on the uptake, with this lying stuff.
    Jagger stood and walked toward me. He hooked his foot on the wheel of my chair and spun me toward him.
    â€œHey! Watch out!”
    â€œYou need to work on credible lying, Sherlock. Go back and check. It’s late tonight, so I’ll see you on rounds tomorrow.” Then, while I was paralyzed in stunned silence, he touched my cheek and said, “Watch your back.” His finger ran slowly down my skin.
    At least I convinced myself that it had . . . in a very sensual sort of way.
    Now I really wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.
    I mumbled inside my head all the way back to my room. Dr. Dick had called Spike to escort me and gave him a reminder to keep his hands off me unless absolutely necessary. I figured my idea of absolutely necessary and Spike’s version weren’t even on the same wavelength. Nevertheless, I made it back to my room unscathed, and as soon as he left, I hurried to my drawers.
    â€œShit,” I muttered when I opened them to find my undies scattered about.
    I always folded my undies.
    Someone actually had been there. Because even on drugs, no way could I be this messy.
    Sleep didn’t come easily, once I’d confirmed the suspicion that someone had invaded my space. Why me though? Who would suspect me of not being a real patient? Was that really what someone supposed? Or was it a coincidence? Or had a real patient done it due to their mental health issues, and was I—or at least my undies—an innocent bystander? Whatever the reason, someone had violated my undergarments, and that didn’t sit right with me.
    But who?
    I’d pondered that thought over and over during the night, which had led to my not being able to sleep. I came up with a suspect list though. I wrote it on the paper I’d brought there, and rewrote it over and over. It was a short list, unfortunately. Novitiate Lalli was on the top of it—mainly out of principle and the fact that I plain didn’t like her. The figure could have been her size, I rationalized. And, maybe she was in on the fraud. That way she might know I really