2019-07-21 - Psych Hold

Rebecca was brought to the hospital last night, after the police had secured the murder scene at her apartment in Bayside. She was in shock, covered in her sister’s blood, but otherwise seemed unharmed in the physical sense. Mentally, however, she’s been dazed and unfocused, often falling into staring at nothing for long periods. They put her under a 48-hour psych hold, not long after she called several people to let them know what happened: parents, brother, boss, friend.

She’s lying in bed, in the pajamas Vyv brought for her at least, rather than a hospital gown. She looks pale, with hollow dark circles under eyes that have a vacant quality to them. They have her hooked up to a saline IV, just to make sure she stays stable and doesn’t tip back over into shock.

Voices from just outside her room: a nurse, and a familiar gravelly voice with a up-and-down Yiddish cadence. They discuss something for a minute, then Itzhak knocks lightly, leaning around the doorframe. "Hey," he says, quietly, his eyebrows up at maximum height. "You up for a visit?" He has a paper bag with twine handles, and his fiddle case.

Rebecca slowly turns her head towards the door, and her eyes focus on the face, taking a moment to place it. “Itzhak,” she says hoarsely. Her throat is dry, she’s not been drinking much in the way of fluids, for fear of throwing them up. She nods a little at his question, folding her hands on top of the bedsheet. “I have nowhere else to be,” she admits with a grim expression.

Itzhak comes on in, boots near-silent on the linoleum. Funny, when he can be awkward about almost everything, he's not awkward about this. He just pulls up a chair and looks Rebecca over. "Jesus, Bex," he says, voice low. "Fuckin' awful."

Rebecca looks at him with so much pain in her pale eyes, that it’s almost palpable. “I haven’t told these people the truth, because they’d never let me out of here if they did,” she whispers to him, reaching out a trembling hand to clutch one of his. "Don't go anywhere near the Bayside Apartments. If you know anyone there, get them out, do you hear me?" she hisses.

Itzhak's hazel eyes widen. "I...dunno that I do. Only you?" He curls long, calloused fingers around Rebecca's--his hands are warm. "Okay. I'll..." he'll what? He'll what, exactly? "I'll figure something out."

At least he doesn't tell her to calm down. He sorta figures that'd be a dick move. She has every right to her terror. Impulsively, Itzhak presses her knuckles to his lips. He's unshaven, it's bristly. "Don't talk about it here," he murmurs, almost inaudible. "When you get out."

Then, in a more normal tone, "I brought you some stuff." He reaches into the paper bag, but lets Bex keep one hand.

Rebecca clenches his hand like it’s a lifeline. There are tears welling in her eyes. “My parents told me not to come here. I shouldn’t have let Kelly come visit. I should have listened to them,” she rasps out. There is an edge of panic in her voice, like she is barely hanging on by her fingernails to sanity. There is no doubt this is why she’s under that hold here.

Itzhak grips Bex's hand hard, by instinct. If he was freaking out, that's what would comfort him: strong pressure. Also by instinct, he comes back up and leans into her, something that if he thought about it he'd get flustered over. He doesn't, though. This is the act of an older brother trying to soothe a grieving little sister. "Hey, hey. Nothin' about this was your fault." His other hand slips beneath her head to cradle her. "I promise. I swear. It wasn't your fault."

“It might be,” Rebecca whispers with wide eyes. “We went to the other side. The gas explosion. We brought something back. Maybe we’re being punished. There was so much blood, Itzhak. So much. Too much. She bled out under my hands. I tried to stop it, but it was too much, too late.”

That does give Itzhak pause.

They brought something back?

A sensation like cold sweat slips down his spine. He swallows, and tips his forehead against Bex's. Way too intimate for gaming buddies. His skin has that heated scent from being out in the sun, and his whiskers smell male.

"We'll take care of it. Okay? Your job right now is to rest and get better. I can't do anything without my pocket Ana."

Rebecca trembles uncontrollably. She is clearly sedated in some manner, but even still, the panic seeps through every pore like a sour miasma of fear and desperation. Her skin is clammy and her hands feel damp. She is deeply afraid and deeply horrified at whatever she witnessed. “There was nothing there,” she whispers. I couldn’t see or hear it. But I felt it. It, whatever it was, it tried to cut me too and failed.”

Plan A, get Bex not to talk about the crazy horrible thing: failure.

Plan B, get Bex to rest: also failure.

Plan C, get Bex to tell him something he can do something about: ENGAGE.

"What did you bring back?" Itzhak whispers, eyes closed, fingers curling into Rebecca's hair. He holds her other hand pressed against his chest. "Tell me. What was it?"

“Bones,” Rebecca whispers. “A box of bones. They wanted us to bring them back and bury them. They were so sad. But when we crossed back with them, they turned terrible, and we brought them somewhere to be burned instead.” She grimaces. “But Mrs. Lewis was killed too, and she wasn’t there. She had nothing to do with it.”

"You wanted to help. It's not your fault the thing was a liar." Itzhak draws back a little, so he can see Bex better. He keeps petting her hair, which in other circumstances might be weird, but here is all about how desperately he wants to comfort her.

It seems like the bones got over the border in order to wreak havoc. He grimaces, too. "Where's the box?"

“Gone. It should have been incinerated with the bones if the person we gave them to did their job but,” Rebecca looks worried. “I think she was hurt too, and someone in her family killed. The coroner, her brother died,” she murmurs tiredly. Her eyes are having trouble staying focused on his face. Whatever she is on is good stuff.

"So there's nothing left of what you brought back?" Itzhak knows Bex isn't in great shape for answering questions, but it does seem to be calming her. "It's all destroyed?"

"I don't know. We couldn't stay to watch. Plausible deniability. There were others with us. My boss, the librarian I remember." Rebecca moves her free hand to rub her forehead and winces at the IV in it.

"Okay." Itzhak sits back, gently catches at Rebecca's IV hand. "Careful, you got the IV." He lets her move her hand, though.

Should he try distracting her? Well, why not, it can't hurt.

"You know," he says, still holding her other hand, "I got you something a little while ago, didn't get around to giving it to you." He pulls a sweatshirt out of the bag and holds it out so Bex can see it. Thick, soft, and oversized, it has Ana's icon on it, with 'Night night.' below. "My sister has to spend a lot of time in hospitals, she's always cold, so I thought, yannow. Maybe you could use it."

Rebecca’s eyes widen as they focus on the gift, and she looks truly touched. “My sister didn’t even know I played. No one did really, except you. Had to maintain my image and all that,” she murmurs. She curls her fingers into the shirt and squeezes Itzhak’s hand. “Thank you. It’s nice to know I have a Reinhart looking out for me.”

"Everybody should know you play. There ain't nothing wrong with it, and you're good at it. Image shmimage. Be you." Itzhak squeezes Bex's hand. He quirks his eyebrows at her and smiles a little. "I brought a couple books if you want me to read to you. Brought my violin if you want to listen. Or we could just watch the World Stage highlights clips again."

Rebecca looks curious at the offer. “What did you bring to read. It might help me sleep, hearing your voice. I’m supposed to be sleeping but I’m so scared to. I worry I’ll wake up in that place, or worse,” she whispers.

"Well, let's see," as if Itzhak doesn't know perfectly well what he brought. He pulls out the books. "Got The Last Unicorn, The Neverending Story, The Hobbit...those are all ones I loved when I was a kid. And Neuromancer. I also loved that when I was a kid."

He remains calm as Bex whispers her fears. Calm, calm. Things are scary, but not right here, not right now. Right now he's standing between her and her nightmares.

Rebecca smiles tiredly. “The Last Unicorn. I loved that one so much when I was a little girl. Can you read me that one?” she asks, as if he’d ever say no to that.

Itzhak smiles back at her. "You got it." He puts everything else away, tucks the thick warm sweatshirt around Bex. Then he settles back in the chair, sets reading glasses on his prominent schnozz, and opens the old, well-loved book.

"The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of seafoam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she moved like a shadow on the sea."

As the story is read, Rebecca slowly, but surely, drifts off to restless sleep. It's badly needed, and her expression smooths at rest, and reveals a more innocent beauty than is normally visible through the mask of cool professionalism. In sleep, she loses the weight of the world around her, if only for a little while.

Itzhak keeps reading quietly, long legs stretched out and boots crossed at the ankle. He goes for ten or fifteen minutes, to make damn sure Bex is drifted off. Then he sets the book down and just watches her. When the nurse comes in, she's pleased to see Rebecca sleeping. She offers Itzhak a blanket, which he accepts, and he dozes off in the chair shortly thereafter.