Angel Over My Shoulder (8 page)

Once she got to the jail, she was ushered into a small room with a detective that looked at her as if she was just another face in a long line of faces that he’d seen today, yesterday and for years and years before.

She was finally told her charges and she couldn’t believe what she heard; forgery, elder abuse, fraud, identity theft, simple theft, possession of stolen property and illegally dispensing prescribed medications.

Her mind flashed back to the frightening memory of herself strapped and screaming in a mental ward and she kept her cool.

Leslie spent hours explaining that her grandmother had given her permission to use both the checks and ATM cards. She had never abused her grandma; someone had stolen all of her grandma’s drugs from the house the day of the funeral, and last of all her uncle was making up these allegations in order to get revenge for telling everyone about her abuse.

Leslie was released without need of bail but told that she would have to appear in court in ninety days. As she rode the bus home she didn’t know if she should be happy or sad. She had bypassed a trip to the mental institution but had to face charges all because of her uncle’s revenge plot.

It was weak, even the detective said it was; more of an inconvenience. She had to keep focusing on the point that it would have gone worse had she not been prepared.

By the time Leslie got home she was sick, tired, angry and emotionally whipped. It was after midnight and the locksmith had come and gone so she was forced to spend the night in a home that she felt was unsecured. She locked all of the windows and doors with plans to nail them shut for the night.

She made herself a quick dinner of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and an Arnold Palmer. While other kids drank Kool-aid, Leslie had grown up on a mixture of lemonade and iced tea; something her grandmother made on a daily basis.

After eating she knew that there was lots to do, search for a lawyer, clean up the dishes, nail the doors and windows shut; but all she wanted to do was to fall into bed and dream of Angel. Yawning, she went to the bathroom and ran a hot shower. She wanted the filth of the jail off of her before she lay down in bed. As she scrubbed herself under the hot spray, she was simply too overcome with fatigue to continue. She rinsed quickly and stumbled into her bedroom, yawning repeatedly.

“Damn…” She was getting sick. She could feel her muscles heavy like when she had the flu. Leslie pulled on shorts and a t-shirt then climbed into bed. Her eyes were gritty and felt sore. She yawned a last time and fell into a troubled, yet deep sleep.

Angel was standing over her bed when her eyes opened. She was dreaming. Thank god he was here! She jumped up and then wavered on her feet. Angel grabbed her before she could fall back down.

“I have the flu I think.” With a smile she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Angel! We changed it! Whatever you did, when you changed me, it changed what happened!”

Angel pulled back. He stared at her so closely that she could see his blue eyes flitting back and forth from one of her eyes to the other.

He shook his head. “No, we didn’t stop it. It’s happening now.”

A jolt ran through her. Leslie closed her eyes; a feeling of sickness suddenly overcoming her. She felt herself falling back onto her bed and this time there were no hands to stop her. When she could open her eyes again she saw that Angel had disappeared. Her bedroom was now filled with strange images that she couldn’t make sense of. Sometimes she thought that she was asleep and at other times she felt that she was awake but in a strange place. There was a sound, steady and rhythmic. Eventually it caused her to drag open her eyes.

She wasn’t in her bedroom.

Leslie tried to open her mouth and call out. She felt as if she was under water, swimming her way up to the surface. Everything moved slowly; she reacted slowly and when she called out, no words came forth. There was a tube in her mouth, snaking down her throat. She blinked her eyes and tried to focus.

She was in a room and on her right was a door with several doctors milling about. She reached up to take the tube from her mouth but her hand wouldn’t move. She tried to focus and saw that she was strapped down. Panic began to envelope her and because of it she had difficult time breathing.

Leslie tried again to call out for help but felt as if she would choke instead on the tube that was running down her throat. She tried kicking, maybe she could catch someone’s attention but her feet wouldn’t move. Leslie began panting as her eyes bulged; she couldn’t’ breathe, she couldn’t move…

An attendant glanced over and saw her struggling. He hurried into the room with a pleasant smile on his face. “You’re awake. Sorry about that hon, let’s get this out of your mouth.” She tried to gulp down air but couldn’t, tried to speak, but couldn’t. The man picked up a remote, pressed a button and the bed began to rise. He seemed to be moving so slow when she was gulping down small snatches of air and suffocating!

“It’s ok. We’ll have this out of you in no time.” He sat down on the side of the bed and Leslie felt sweat pour down her face. He gripped the tube. “Cough for me.” She gagged for him and then out came the tube in a stream of slime. She gulped in air and collapsed back against the pillow.

“Sorry about that. We try not to ever let you wake up with the tube in. As a matter of fact, we hope that you don’t remember having a breathing tube.” She pulled against the restraints and the man moved to undo them. “That’s so that you don’t rip the tube out. Its reflex, everyone tries to do it.”

She opened her mouth to speak and her voice came out cracked, her throat was sore. “Wh-why am I here?” He smiled carefully.

“You’re doctor will be in shortly, I’m just a nurse’s aide.” The man gave her hand a gentle pat. This is not the first time you’ve had your stomach pumped. I think you know the routine, IV first and then liquid diet for 24 hours.” Stomach pumped? She gave the man a questioning look. He picked up the remote. “Press this button if you need anything.” He left the room and Leslie lay in bed confused and tired. Despite her resolution to stay awake for a doctor, her eyes began to droop and soon she was sleeping.

The next time that she awoke, Leslie was in a very familiar room. It always made her feel faint when reality and her dreams collided. She looked down at her arms but they weren’t restrained. Her memory felt fuzzy…why was she here? She remembered the remote’s call button and pressed it. As she waited for someone to come, Leslie tentatively climbed out of bed. The IV was still in her arm and she considered pulling it out and running away. But no…she wouldn’t panic. She looked around the small, familiar room that she had seen in her dreams so many months before. No flowers…

Glenn hadn’t sent her flowers…what did that mean? Was it significant? She wasn’t restrained either. Things weren’t the same…

“Hi, I’m Jen; I’m your nurse for the next….six hours, 12 minutes.” Leslie spun and saw a hefty woman wearing white pants and a colorful hospital staff shirt. “Do you need to go to the restroom? I can help you.”

“Why am I here?” Her voice sounded like she had a bad case of laryngitis and her hand moved reflexively to her throat.

“You don’t remember?” The nurse tilted her head and Leslie knew that the look was fake. This woman had no intentions of telling her why she was here. “Well your doctor will be here shortly and I’m sure we’ll get some answers for you then.”

Leslie gave her a disgusted look. She knew, she had files…and months ago Leslie might have demanded answers and caused a scene. Now…the fear of her vision kept her docile. The woman led her to the restroom and then got her settled back into bed.

“I’d like to leave.” She said after careful thought.

“Oh.” The nurse gave her an uneasy look. “You can’t, hon. You’re on 72 hour hold.”

It was three hours before her doctor would appear. He was a small man of Middle Eastern descent.

“Hello. I am Dr. Budev.” He didn’t offer to shake her hand but he did have a pleasant smile on his face.

I am a bug under a magnifying glass, she thought. She figured that they’d only had her for about 20 hours. They could only have her for fifty more…

“Dr. Budev,” she gave him a grim look. “No one will tell me why I’m here.”

He sat down in a chair that was next to her bed. “Miss Wilke did you try to commit suicide?”

Now she did look at him in surprise. “What?!”

“There was quite a bit of Fentanyl in your system…a lethal dose.”

“Fentanyl! That’s the drugs that my grandmother used to take!” She was shaking her head. “Someone stole that a long time ago, at my grandmother’s funeral. I know it was my Uncle!”

Dr Budev consulted a folder. “Mr. Monty Wilke. Yes, he called the police.” He looked at her. “It’s what saved your life. Had he not called them we would not have gotten to you in time.” Her eyes wanted to pop from her head.

“He was the one that poisoned me!”

“What do you mean?” He asked carefully.

“My Uncle molested me when I was a kid.” Dr. Budev opened his folder again.

“I see. And how long did this last?”

Leslie sank back into her bed and scowled. “Dr. Budev…am I here because you think I tried to commit suicide, or because you think I’m crazy?”

He closed the folder. “When the hospital suspects suicide then you can be held for an evaluation. In your case you have exhibited some other symptoms that concerned your Uncle-” Her mouth gaped opened.

“Um, concerned my Uncle; the child molester?!”

“Yes, he told us about those allegations.” Dr. Budev watched her closely. “Leslie, your Uncle believes that you may have been exhibiting symptoms of paranoia.”

So many things rushed to her mind but she bit them back. “I see.”

“You have experienced a childhood trauma with the loss of your parents which may have brought on post traumatic stress disorder; which would be the reason for your muteness. Then add to that a history of drug and alcohol abuse and self mutilation, and we have the ingredients for mental illness. In the past you’ve been hospitalized for an overdose. You are also a cutter.” His eyes scanned her face, taking in her scars.

She met his eyes with an unwavering stare.

“Your Uncle believes that your recent arrest may have put you over the edge.”

She glared at the doctor. “Would you like me to tell you what really happened, Dr. Budev?”

“Please.” He crossed his legs and continued to watch her as if she were a semi-interesting show on television.

“My parents died when I was five and it took me a long time to want to talk. My Uncle took advantage of that until I finally had to begin talking in order to threaten to tell on him! I felt like a…shell after my parents died. And after what he did to me, I felt less than that. So for a long time I tried to find something…anything to make me feel. So yeah, I turned to drugs and I cut.” She felt her eyes sting as she dredged up these memories. She touched the scar on her brow. “I used to wear many piercings, but I pulled those out the very next day after my grandmother died. I guess it was a way to punish myself, or to feel something, but it was also a way for me to reject what I used to be. I haven’t cut since. You can look at my scars…their all old. And as far as drug use…I don’t even take allergy medicine. I’m clean. My Uncle poisoned me, and I know that with every fiber of my being!”

“Why do you think that he would do that, Leslie?”

She felt herself panic. His calm demeanor seemed to indicate that he didn’t believe her…

“Because after my grandmother’s funeral my Uncle tried to take the house that she had left me in her will and I finally did what I should have done long ago. I told. I screamed it out to everyone there.”

Dr. Budev consulted his folder. “Yes. There were several accounts of what appeared to be a minor mental breakdown after your grandmother’s funeral, where you made everyone leave your home.”

“Dr. Budev you have a folder of things that happened, told by my Uncle-”

“No, not just your Uncle, others present after the funeral have spoken about the events of that day.” He closed the folder. “Leslie, why do you think your Uncle poisoned you?”

“This is insane…how would he know that I was going to commit suicide? Would I really call him if he had just had me arrested?! He poisoned me!” She felt tears build up in her eyes. “Don’t you get it?! Because I told on him! He said I ruined his life…He came to the house! He let himself in, and that’s probably when he poisoned something…the Arnold Palmer!”

“The what?” His calm demeanor was maddening.

“The drink. There is lemonade and iced tea mixed together in my fridge. I drank it that night and began feeling sick. If you send someone to the house then it can be investigated! My Uncle is just doing this because I told on him!”

“You told on him at your grandmother’s funeral…over a year ago?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Leslie, your Uncle says that you have made up these allegations. It’s your Uncle’s belief that you are suffering from paranoia.”

“I can’t believe you’ll put me in the mental ward because the man I accused of molesting me says that I’m paranoid!”

“That’s not the reason you’re here. You’re here for attempted suicide and…because you have exhibited symptoms of serious mental illness-”