Authors: Lucia Adams
CHAPTER
39
Latches & Catches
The nurses called them restraints; Jared called them a reason to scream at night when everyone was asleep. No one on the sixth floor of St. Agnes’s Regional Hospital slept for the first four days he was there. On the fifth day, he changed. It might have been the medicine, or it might have been the dreams he started having about Hannah. It was almost as if he could see her as he stood below her in the dark field. The stars twinkled through the kaleidoscoping leaves of the trees, but he could still see Hannah—flying above him—her little black covered arms and legs stretched out as she soared.
“Why do you adore her, but not me?” asked Jared.
The doctor shifted in his seat. “Excuse me? Who are you talking about?”
Jared narrowed his eyes and looked at the doctor. “Sorry, haven’t you ever been lost in a thought? Now you know I’m not schizophrenic.”
“I never suspected you were. What diagnosis would you give yourself?” The doctor was calm. Jared liked this, but he would still play with him.
“Special interests with a dollop of wishful thinking and little bird shaped sprinkles on top made out of marzipan.”
“You have quite the imagination.”
“I’m bored. Get on with it…or, allow me. I am not, nor have I ever, experienced auditory or visual hallucinations. I’ve never experienced a manic episode; I do not have an extraordinary fascination with fire—although it is pretty; and you can’t categorize my thoughts as either suicidal or homicidal. That Bible all of you read—The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual—whatever I am, I’m not in there, so you can stop injecting me with the antipsychotics.”
“Jared, whether or not you think you’re beyond any diagnosis, I still have one for you.”
Jared laughed. “You’re all the same. Fucks like you give people like me a label so you can separate yourselves from us. The thing is, we’re all alike. The way I figure it is, the shit you got tucked away in your head could get you tied to this bed just as fast as mine did me.”
The doctor held his stare on Jared for a full minute before he scribbled on the chart. “I’m increasing your doses. I’ll keep you here for a few more days and see how it settles out for you. If I write an order to get the restraints off, do you think you can control your behavior?”
“Yeah, doc. I never was the violent type.” He smiled.
“Okay.” The doctor continued to write. “Anything else you want to talk about? The girl?”
“Nah, doc.” Jared let his head rock back on his pillow so he was staring ahead. “Are you going to send me back to Oakmont?”
Sighing loudly, he closed Jared’s chart. “I don’t foresee that. I don’t know what will come of your legal issues, but I’m willing to release you to the group home. In the meantime, I’ll get someone in here to untie you.” The doctor lightly tapped his chart on the bed as he stood and then walked out of the room.
*
As the doctor promised, Jared was no longer restrained. He took a shower and called his mother—he needed to see his lawyer before he was arraigned—he had plans which needed his immediate attention. The hospital’s patients had a different flavor to them. Jared watched the bony anorexic girls who were confined to wheel chairs so they’d conserve energy. They’d move two pushes forward and then sit, waiting for someone to take pity on them. No one did, and they sat in a still herd of dull hair and bumping wheel chairs.
Most of the people were there because of threatening suicide. Jared was bored with wrist stitches and horror stories about charcoal. These were the fluffs of the mental health system. Revealing in group therapy that he had grown up in the locked ward of a state hospital gave him more than credibility; it guaranteed that the other patients would fear him enough to leave him alone. Being criminally insane put you at the top of the mental health food chain. Even the nurses avoided Jared. The binder with his name on the spine was never on the shelf in the nurse’s glassed in office. Someone was always
curious
about him.
The day of his arraignment before the district magistrate, Jared woke up feeling lucky. The police arrived to t
ransport him, as his mother and his lawyer waited for him to arrive at the courthouse. It was simple enough—a few questions, the opening of Jared’s medical records, the setting of bond, and the case was passed onto the higher court system. Jared’s mother was more than able to post the bond with the collateral from her home. Had she been a gambling woman, she would have cashed out before the dealer had the best of her, but Jared was her son.
*
Jared returned to the group home two weeks after his arrest. It was long enough that the doctors considered him ‘safe’, but short enough that he was guaranteed his old room with his stuffed animal-fucking roommate and a quiet slide back into the chore rotation where he was, once again, scrubbing other people’s shit freckles off of the shared toilet.
Three days passed before
he had enough privileges restored so he was able to walk to Hannah’s house after day treatment without causing too much suspicion. He knew she was still at work, so he slid one of the many duplicates he had made of her house key into her front door lock. The familiarity was missing, and subsequent tries didn’t cause the comforting click he longed for. She had changed the locks.
Jared slipped through the alley to her back yard, quietly tugging on the handle to her back sliding door. It was locked. Skye eyed him curiously from the other side of the glass, her pink little tongue panting with anticipation of the door opening.
Soon enough Skye, soon enough.
Jared left Hannah’s house and walked home.
CHAPTER 40
Home
“Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?” Mrs. Oberlin peeked around the threshold of her door at Hannah. Mrs. Oberlin lived in the apartment to the right of Hannah’s.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Oberlin, I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh, well whatever you kids call them these days. That boy—he stopped by.”
Hannah’s heart fluttered; she had been hoping Matt would come to apologize. “When was he here?”
“Oh, about an hour ago. He’s nice looking; I always did like blonde men.”
Hannah tilted her head and her right cheek flinched under her eye. “What blonde man?”
“Your friend, the one you gave a key to. He stopped by, but his key didn’t work, so he left.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, of course I am! I saw him.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Oberlin. He’s not allowed here anymore. If you see him…next time, just stay inside and call the police, okay?”
Mrs. Oberlin looked frightened. “Why, I’ll do that if you think it’s best. Maybe you should get some mace to carry with you if he’s that much trouble.”
“Thank you, I think I will. I have to hurry now, but I appreciate you telling me.”
“Certainly, my dear.”
Hannah rush
ed to put the key in her lock and get inside. She let Skye out the back door, locking it behind her. Racing up the stairs, Hannah grabbed her large overnight bag from her closet. When she pulled it out, things fell on top of her, but she kicked them aside and began packing. Her mind raced with a list which she wrote as she went along: clothes, toothbrush, make-up, hair stuff, drugs, food for Skye, and extra shoes.
Skye
wore her leash since Hannah only had one good arm, and the two of them left her apartment quickly.
“Hannah!” Mrs. Oberlin was poking out of her doorway once more.
Hannah whirled around and saw her neighbor’s liver spotted arm extended.
“Take this with you. I have two. Maybe it will help you.”
Hannah reached for the item and took it. It was pepper spray. “Thank you, Mrs. Oberlin.”
“You’re welcome, dear. Are you going someplace where you won’t be alone?”
“Well, I’m going to my parents’ house. They’re away, so I will be by myself, but they live in New Florence, so at least I’ll be far away from here.”
Mrs. Oberlin smiled. “Be safe and I’ll watch over your place.”
“Thank you.” Hannah paused to sigh and smile genuinely before putting her bag and Skye into her car.
Donna’s house was always an option, but Bob had ruined that. Keeping secrets meant she was alone, so Hannah drove to her parents’ house. They had taken her little sister to Hershey Park for the long weekend. Being alone frightened her, but she took comfort in the distance between her and Jared.
Skye curled up on the seat beside her and she navigated the busy streets in town until she was on Haw’s Pike. For several miles, the road followed a deep gorge which cut through the Laurel Mountains. Summer was ending and a few trees dotted the mountainside with yellow and orange. Hannah rolled her window down so she could smell the forest. Stretching her arm out, she caught the breeze. Skye jumped on her lap and gingerly allowed his face to catch some of the wind current.
*
The house was eerily quiet. Usually old farm houses shifted and sighed occasionally. Hannah took her bag upstairs and unpacked it in her old bedroom. Lorri had taken over the small bathroom they shared. Hannah went in to find something to pull her hair back out of her eyes. Like most young girls, Lorri owned a lot of hair accessories. Hannah opted for brushing her hair into a ponytail, and then added one of Lorri’s pink ribbons around it.
In Hannah’s old bedroom closet were clothes her mother bought her that she’d never worn—colorful items that would leave her arms and legs bare. For the first time in years, Hannah wore a sleeveless
sundress without tights or a long shirt underneath. She felt naked, but the freedom exhilarated her.
It was dusk and before the house would be totally encapsulated in the night, Hannah checked all of the doors and windows to make sure they were locked. She had rarely ever been alone in her parents’ house while she was growing up. If both of her parents left, she was usually stuck babysitti
ng Lorri. She looked at photos of her little sister hanging in the foyer. Her school pictures were cute—with her dark hair and bright eyes. She always seemed so happy, and Hannah wondered how two daughters could take such different paths in life. It was unlikely that Lorri secretly hurt herself—Hannah watched for the signs or the scars, but neither appeared. If it had to be one of them, she was glad it was her. She loved her sister.
Skye’s toenails clicked on the hardwood floors as
she followed Hannah around. She seemed comfortable at the house, but she also had adjusted to Hannah’s home as well, and she now knew it wasn’t his first. Lorri loved Skye so much; Hannah often considered allowing her to have the dog. The house and yard at her parents’ home was so much larger, and Lorri enjoyed combing the dog’s long fur. Hannah liked Skye, but wanted to shed as many things about the past month and a half as she could. Jared had been a mistake, as had Matt. Whatever feelings she had for Matt were starting to fade away. She realized they were deep rooted, but she wanted to plant flowers in her mental garden instead of razor blades and dysfunction.
Healing inside was harder than it was on the outside. Maybe that is why she tried to replace her inner pain with outer pain. She hadn’t been to therapy with Iris in weeks, but she knew she needed to go back. Iris could help her. So far, it had only been Hannah talking, but it was helping her to become comfortable. In time, she could see herself giving Iris the questions and answers she needed to help her unravel the mess she had become.
Her scars meant a lot of different things. Hannah used to be able to look at a scar and remember why she created it. Now, there were so many, she wasn’t able to. Also, she had reopened dozens so that they were more like a collection of short stories rather than a single sad vignette. At times, it was easier to live in the shadows of her head, but what she really wanted to do was feel the heat of the sun on her skin. Hannah still had hope, and it hadn’t yet been bled from her like a lamb, so she would search for whatever would make her right.
CHAPTER 41
Paws
The earth had been overturned. It was a bird’s grave—shallow with a mixture of dirt and the duff composite of the forest floor. If Hannah did not fly, she would have her place in the belly of the ground. The recent rains had left the soil soft and velvety. Along the edge of the forest and the cemetery, lavender was blooming in soft purple plumes. Jared picked some and lined the bottom of the grave. Surely, if her body would not take flight, it might have been because of her broken wing and she deserved a proper grave. Jared was pleased. He left the spade propped against an oak tree and walked back to the house where Hannah had grown up.
A growl rumbled in his stomach. Jared hadn’t thought he’d be executing h
is plan that night, but fate intervened and instead of walking back to the group home, he hovered nearby to catch a glance of Hannah. Overhearing the conversation between her and the old woman neighbor meant the time was right—he had to seize the opportunity.
Hannah might have had a heightened awareness of the danger which waited for her, but with all the lights illuminating the home, Jared could easily observe her as she moved from room to room
, her black clothes discarded for a little summer dress. He sat on top of the picnic table and dusted the dirt and leaves from his socks as he waited.
Hannah stared at the television, her legs pulled up under her, and a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Even though her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, stray strands kept falling in her face. Jared longed to be sitting next to her, brushing the hair back, holding her hand, and laughing at the movie. Choices were like quarters slipped into bubble gum machines—lost when you cranked the handle. Hannah was locked inside of her parents’ house
like a little bird in a glowing glass cage, and Jared was on the picnic bench, watching her for a reason.
She should have loved me.
He saw her outstretched wing click the remote control.
And her little broken wing—so sad. But even birds with broken wings can fly.
Jared’s time had run out. It was tonight or never. They were coming for him, and they would find him. Going back to Oakmont was inevitable, but this time it would be the adult ward and the games would be very different. The only option he had was to fulfill his dream and fall back into a system which punished people like him. He was convinced that sometime in the future, the systematic imprisonment of the mentally ill would be seen for what it was—an easy solution for a society which didn’t have answers and were too frightened to explore all of the possibilities. Life may have failed Hannah, but so did the system. She spoke freely about all of the psychiatrist she had seen in her life. They knew about her cutting, yet they responded with phrases such as “manipulative”, “attention seeking”, and “childish behavior”. Not one had simply taught her how to say ‘no’.
The sun had nearly set and Jared retrieved a machete from the wall of the garage. It had been hanging there the day he and Hannah rode the bikes, and he had a use for it now. Sitting outside of the house, so close to her, he marveled at how she did not notice him watching her, but the earth had drank up most of the sun’s rays and the orange-ish hue left scattering the scene was disappearing. The last thing to do was to wait. In the meantime, Jared focused on Hannah and her little oddities through the glass windows.
Time wasn’t predictable, but humans and animals were. Eventually Skye began running in circles, jumping, and barking. Hannah leaned forward to place the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She stretched her arms upward, and stood up. Jared did the same—standing and following on the outside as she walked through the house. She opened the door a crack to allow Skye outside. Once the door closed, Jared stepped from the shadow and approached Skye, who was squatting in the grass. As soon as the dog was done, Jared whispered her name and Skye came to him. He scooped her up and walked into the shadows.
The dog trembled in his hands, as though it knew its time as a dog was coming to an end, just as its time as a lamb was about to begin. Jared stroked the animal’s soft fur as he grabbed her skull in his palm and twisted until he heard a crack.
Skye was limp in his hands, yet Jared continued to pet the dog until he laid her body at the base of a tree. Hannah was in the kitchen, opening the cupboards when Jared removed the cover from the box mounted to the corner of the house and cut the phone wires.
Returning to where he had left Skye’s dead body, Jared pulled the dog into a small burp of light from one of the house windows and looked into its empty eyes, and then held the dog near his face and whispered into its fur.
It was time. Jared used the paws of the lif
eless dog to scratch at the rear door and then ducked into the shadows. Hannah opened the door, but when Skye did not come inside, she closed the door. Jared watched as she returned to the kitchen, pulling items in the refrigerator. Staying in the shadows, he ran to the front door and scratched as well. Hannah set a bowl of grapes on the kitchen counter and walked around to the front door, opening it.
“Skye. Skye!” She sighed loudly. “Don’t make me come out and find you…stupid dog!”
Through the oval glass door pane, Jared could see Hannah as she stood in the foyer by the front door and slipped her shoes on. Jared used the paws to scratch once again. She flung the door open and there stood Jared, a machete in one hand, and a dead Pomeranian in the other.
“Hello, my little bird.”
Hannah paled. Her attempt to slam the door shut failed as Jared’s foot returned the swing with a powerful kick. Hannah ran into the kitchen, her arms out at her sides as she bolted from the room. She grabbed the cordless phone, pressed the on button, and held it to her ear. She dropped the phone and ran out the back door. Jared followed.
The clouds had rearranged in the sky, uncovering a bright, nearly full moon. The darkness, which had cooperated with Jared’s plan, was now unforgiving for Hannah’s fleeing escape. Jared stayed close behind Hannah as she ran down the main road. He was too near for her to dash to one of the neighbor’s homes; surely she thought he’d slaughter her as she waited for them to answer their door, so she ran.
Not a particularly fast runner, her feet kept finding pot holes which threw off her balance. Jared learned from her footing and did not make the same mistakes. He could hear Hannah crying and suddenly, his medication-induced erectile dysfunction lifted, and he found it difficult to run with such an engorged cock.
It was almost too easy to close in on her. He never knew how slow she ran. His hand stretched out, as he considered touching her hair, but he stopped as he raised the machete above his head. With the blade pointed away from her, he brought the unsharpened side of the weapon down across the back of her knee quickly.
Hannah fell. Her palms pressed down into the dirt and her head hung as a string of spit inched from her lips. Jared stopped because she stopped. The purpose in striking her was to slow her down. He did not follow her as she got up and commenced running, although now she did so with an obvious limp. They had come to the edge of the cemetery, and Jared knew where she was going.