Awakened

by K. G. Duncan

  A.B.: Well bless their hearts. Ain’t that reassuring. The police are so helpful.

  Kinsey: A.B., I want to make it clear: I don’t think the police are your enemy here. You are a twelve-year old girl caught in a very unfortunate situation. If anything, they want to find out the truth of your situation. The truth, A.B., which is nothing for you to be ashamed of.

  A.B.: Shame ain’t even close to how I feel about it, Joanna.

  Kinsey: All right, then, you tell me. Let’s start with Henry. You seem to have quite a bit of hostility directed at him. Has he ever harmed or mistreated you in any way?

  A.B.: (Silence.)

  Kinsey: Okay, let’s go back to something else. (Papers turning.) I know you said earlier that you didn’t want to talk about your true mother. Your biological mother.

  A.B.: Momma Bea is the only mother I’ve ever had.

  Kinsey: Yes, you’ve said so before. But why won’t you talk about your biological mother, A.B.? This is not the first time this has come up. (Pause.) If I am to understand you and help you, A.B., maybe we can start talking about that now. The sheriff seems to think that there is a connection between Beatriz, Henry, and your birth mother. Do you know anything about that? About your birth mother before you were born?

  A.B.: Still not going to talk about her. And I don’t want to talk about not talking about her either.

  Kinsey: Okay. That leaves us exactly where, then?

  A.B.: I think this session is over, Doctor Kinsey. Joanna.

  39 Days Earlier: May 24, 2022

  The guard came with a breakfast tray and plopped it down. She barked out Abby’s name and led Abby away. Apparently, breakfast was for Heloise only. Abby glanced back into the cell, just in time to see Heloise give a small wave of her hand before the door clanged shut between them. Abby lingered for a moment before the guard nudged her along. Abby knew without knowing exactly how that she would meet with Heloise and Lizzy again. There was now an inseverable connection between them. A cord of light and love that would tie them together forever.

  Abby closed her eyes and smiled as the guard led her away. Heloise and Lizzy would forevermore be just a thought away.

  The guard, a middle-aged African-American woman with the name “Deputy Tamika Thompson” on her badge, tried her best to remain stoically indifferent as she escorted Abby down the hall. At the guard’s touch, Abby sensed a wave of images from the guard. The Fold was eager to open to her newfound awareness. Almost effortlessly, Abby shut it down before it could really begin. There was something there with the guard, a mother of three who spent a lot of time baking with her young children, and who had spent time when she was a child baking in the kitchen with her mother, and so it went on… A family legacy and tradition.

  Mmm. Pecan pie.

  Abby shut it down with barely a thought. A solid clamp that sealed off every memory, every pathway, every wrinkle in the Fold. Even one as tempting as pecan pie. Nothing was there. There was blessed silence, blessed normalcy as they walked down the hallway, the sound of their feet slapping the linoleum floor bouncing off the light green industrial walls of the government building. Abby’s smile widened, happy at the discovery of her “shut off valve.” The flood was there, oh yes, but she was no longer powerless as it threatened to overwhelm her.

  She was gaining control. She was learning how to tap it only when she wanted to, and more importantly, to untap it when she didn’t want it.

  The guard had led her into a small office and motioned for her to sit at the small table in the center of the room. A few minutes later, she came back with a plate full of cookies and brownies and a glass of milk.

  “Cookies,” Abby said and smiled up at the guard. “I bet you make really good cookies, Deputy Thompson, if you put your mind to it.”

  Caught by surprise, the guard smiled, transforming her stern demeanor to another woman—well, the same woman, but one who didn’t wear a uniform at home—the woman who was a mother and a daughter and a bit of a goofball who was quick to laughter and a witty comeback. The one who loved her children with the brightness of a billion suns. All of this Abby knew in an instant.

  The woman continued to smile, and she paused before she left. “Why, yes. In fact, yes I do!” She said, beaming as she exited the room.

  “I’m gonna try them! Some day!” Abby shouted at the closed door, and she smiled contentedly as she helped herself to the entire plate of cookies.

  It wasn’t long before “the Doctor” came in to introduce herself. An attractive woman of vaguely Scandinavian and Celtic ancestry, she was in her mid-forties but with the skin and hair of someone still in her twenties. Abby had never met Dr. Joanna Kinsey before, but she knew all of this instantly—her name, her age, her dietary preferences, and the fact that she took extraordinary care of herself, both physically and mentally (which was a secret source of vanity). She was very proud and confident of her acumen and insights that her clinical practice of psychiatry regularly afforded her. She was able to stretch and run them like a thoroughbred horse every day—Kinsey’s image, not her own. She had a penchant for ancient folklore and mythology. She delighted at the hint of patchouli in the air. She had a rarely admitted indulgence in Gilbert and Sullivan light operas, old Cary Grant movies, as well as wild mushrooms and rare truffles: worth every penny.

  Wait a second! Gilbert and Sullivan? What the heck is that? Another discovery. Abby could not only tap into other people’s memories and possibilities, but she had access to their wisdom and knowledge, too. It was all there, laid out for her, hiding in plain sight. Especially to someone like Dr. Kinsey, whom Abby knew immediately would be a large figure in her life. She almost felt like slapping her forehead for not recognizing this earlier. She also felt just the slightest pang of guilt: She was beginning to understand the repercussions of Stump’s warning about privacy and other people’s minds. It wasn’t ethical or remotely polite to poach thoughts, memories, and feelings from other people’s minds, at least not without permission.

  So, all of this came to her in a moment. As Dr. Kinsey came in holding a thick file and smiled brightly. Abby nearly choked on the last cookie on her plate. What was stunning to Abby was the fact that Dr. Kinsey’s soul-fire, her personal aura, was among the brightest she had ever seen. She was an astral intergalactic force. Brighter than Stump’s, maybe even rivaling Granny Jane’s or Fina Lee’s. And she didn’t even know this about herself. How charming!

  Abby returned her smile as the doctor extended her hand.

  “Joanna Kinsey,” the doctor introduced herself. “I’m a doctor, a psychiatrist to be precise. I’m here to take you out of this place. Is that all right?”

  Abby took her hand and intentionally clamped down her “shut off valve.” She had decided in the moment just before not to intrude into anyone’s mind unless she was invited, or it was a necessity for her immediate survival.

  “Absolutely,” Abby said. “I’m not sure I’m completely adjusted to the need to ring a bell every time I want to relieve myself. It’s not exactly normal now, is it?”

  Kinsey laughed, and squeezed Abby’s hand appreciatively. “No, I suppose it isn’t at that.” She replied. “Rather dehumanizing, actually. What shall I call you? This name here on your file has rather too many syllables in it, Ms. Rubideaux. I don’t know quite what to make of it.”

  She was delightful. And right there, even with her valve firmly in place, Abby felt a strong confirmation that Dr Joanna Kinsey was going to play an integral role in her immediate life, and perhaps even throughout all of her future lives in the Fold.

  Yes. Most definitely!

  “A.B.,” Abby answered. “Like the letters in the alphabet. Or Abby, if that’s easier. Most folks call me Abby.”

  “Which do you prefer?” The doctor asked as she held the door open and beckoned for Abby to follow.

  “A.B., I guess.” Abby grinned as she swept by and
the doctor fell into step beside her. “No one has ever really asked me that before.”

  “A.B. it is, then!” The doctor said as they walked down the hall and out into the sunshine and streaky clouds of a crisp late-summer morning, just after a rain in the city of New Orleans.

  They walked across a driveway into a parking lot. A young man in blue jeans and a light brown suede leather jacket hopped out of a black sedan and opened up the backseat door.

  Kinsey spoke first, “A.B., this is Michael. My driver extraordinaire. Michael, A.B..”

  “Howdy!” Michael greeted them, smiled and brushed his curly brown hair out of his puppy-brown eyes. He opened the door wider and beckoned them inside. Abby thought he was absolutely beautiful.

  Kinsey and Abby sat in the back for the ride, which Dr. Kinsey assured her would be a relatively short one.

  “We can talk more freely when we reach my facility,” Kinsey began. “But let’s get to know each other a bit, okay?”

  Abby almost blurted out that she already knew virtually everything she possibly could about Dr. Kinsey—and then some things that Kinsey couldn’t possibly even know about herself—things that hadn’t happened yet or might not ever happen.

  “Okay,” Abby settled on a single-word response somewhat reluctantly.

  “How do you feel today, A.B.?” Dr. Kinsey asked, and several beats went by before she added. “You were the victim of a fairly traumatic assault, A.B.. It’s completely understandable if you’d rather not talk right now.”

  Abby was surprised. “Assault? You mean back there with Lizzy? Aw, she didn’t mean nothing by that. No harm, no foul.”

  “That’s not supported by the video, A.B.. We have the entire incident recorded, with some audio. She attacked you. Threatened to carve your eyeballs out. Your other cellmate was genuinely frightened. And believe me, she doesn’t frighten easily.”

  Abby didn’t know how to respond to all of that. How could she explain that everything was going to be all right when others thought it was so bad?

  Always speak truth from your heart.

  Now, that might have been the dragon rumbling deep inside, or maybe it was the voice of Stump? Abby wasn’t sure and felt a small tingling of panic well up, like she was back where she was days ago—overwhelmed and distinctly not in control.

  She was trying to still her rising stress when she realized that Dr. Kinsey was speaking again.

  “…Right? I mean it’s okay to feel like you can brush it off, or even try to cover up what happened because you fear there may be repercussions.” And here, the doctor paused to clasp Abby’s arm. “But I want you to know that that girl will never get close to you again.”

  Always speak truth from your heart.

  Abby took a deep breath, found her resolve and turned to face the doctor.

  “Listen,” she began, “it ain’t like that. It ain’t like that at all. Lizzy was a little mixed up back there… and… and well, she’s been mixed up for quite a while, I guess. Her brain ain’t quite right cuz of all the drugs she been snortin’ and smokin’ and lord knows what all. But I want to tell you. None of that is her fault. Not really. She’s got a light inside of her that will burn bright someday. Brighter than all of us, maybe. She just needed a place to hide… to… to convince herself that she could be strong. And who can blame her for her…” She paused to search for the right word. “Bravado,” she finally said, pleased with herself. “But she’ll find her way. We had a little talk. That’s all. She’s gonna be just fine.”

  Abby finished and smiled at Doctor Kinsey, whose left eyebrow had arched dramatically and who was staring so intently at Abby that all these little crinkles had popped out in the middle of her forehead like a tiny puckering mouth.

  “Really,” Abby chortled. “You just need to trust me on this one. She’ll be fine.”

  “I see,” Kinsey responded. “Maybe she will at that.” Then they both leaned back and rode in silence for the next several minutes. Abby was fiddling with her gold cross necklace, which they had taken away from her at the facility, but Dr. Kinsey had given it back to her along with her backpack that had 47 cents in the outside pocket, a bruised banana in the main compartment along with her sweater from the day her class had all gone to the WWII museum. It seemed like years ago.

  She glanced up at the rear-view mirror and discovered that their driver, Michael, was smiling at her. They made eye contact then both looked away, embarrassed.

  “Just drive, Michael,” said Dr Kinsey, who apparently didn’t miss much.

  Michael replied, “Yes, ma’am,” still smiling.

  After another moment, Dr. Kinsey turned to Abby and said very quietly, “Michael is amused because it’s a very rare thing for him to see me at a loss for words.” She winked and chuckled.

  “Well, thank you for that kernel of truth contained in your jest, doctor.” Abby said matter-of-factly. “I think we are going to like each other very much, indeed.”

  “Indeed?” The doctor’s left eyebrow shot up again and Abby giggled. The doctor appraised her for a few more moments before continuing. “Well, Ms. Rubideaux. The world is full of surprises. There are things about you that no file could ever contain.”

  She held up her manilla folder and they both laughed.

  A moment later, the car pulled up next to a complex of reddish-brown brick buildings. A sign on the wall said “Adolescent Behavioral Health Unit” with an address below it that read: 935 Calhoun Street.

  “Welcome to the Children’s Hospital of New Orleans Northshore Center!” Dr. Kinsey announced as the car came to a stop. They parked and got out of the car, Michael obligingly hustling around the back to hold her door open, still smiling.

  Irrepressibly cute!

  Abby stretched her legs and looked around. There were magnolia trees in bloom lining the other side of the street. The buildings themselves looked something like dilapidated factories from the last century, but they were still more appealing than the juvenile detention center she had just come from.

  “Not much to look at, I know.” Michael said in a mellifluous baritone.

  “No, I guess not!” Kinsey said brightly. “Still, we call it home. Most of us refer to it as “CHNOLA.” This is the Calhoun complex—part of the Northshore Center. It will be your home for a while until we can straighten out your family situation.”

  Family. A rush of thoughts filled her head. Where was Momma Bea? Was she doing all right? Olivia. Was she in trouble, too? Even that old skinflint, Henry. And Stump. She tried not to think about Stump.

  It seemed that her whole world had been turned upside down and inside out. She reached out with her dragon senses, trying to probe the Fold, but it seemed the distance was just too great, or maybe she just didn’t know how to get there and connect. She would try again later.

  “Well,” Abby said, shaking off her uneasiness and looking at the building in front of her. A breeze stirred in the Magnolia trees above her, somewhere nearby a martin bird chirped. A sign that there was at least a glimmer of something hopeful. She sighed, and stated flatly, “It’s better than sleeping in a hedge next to a smelly old dumpster.”

  And with that they walked across the small plaza garden and entered the hospital. The martin was still chirping, Abby imagined the bird was speaking some bird language she couldn’t quite understand. As they went through the front door, Abby glanced to her left at a wide, four-paned window. There were iron bars bolted across the face of glass—Like a cage, Abby thought.

  Behind the bars, three children’s faces stared back at her, listless and indifferent to her passing. Their round faces were colorless and pale, like the sky reflected off the glass above them. The martin chirped again, and Abby felt a slow shiver creep down her spine.

  Be strong, little sister.

  Not even the rain has such small hands.

  —e. e. cummings

&
nbsp; Somewhere in North America, 10,610 B.C.C. (or thereabouts)

  Abby brushed her fingers along the giant fern fronds that flourished in the dappled light of the forest floor. The canopy above was thick, and the sounds of birds were everywhere. She walked easily, her bare feet brushing the ground without a sound.

  A flash of white up ahead. The woman she knew as Granny Jane moved along the same path. Her white robe was easy to track through the dense green forest. She walked without fear. She walked with sureness and purpose. She was, in fact, humming, and Abby could catch snatches of the melody as it rippled in and out of ear shot—some trick of the forest, or maybe the wind. Abby knew that song—it was at once familiar yet strange. She closed her eyes. She could not quite place it, and it haunted her.

  When Abby opened her eyes, the old woman had disappeared. Abby froze and intently watched the spot where she had last seen her. A single fern moved. All others were still around it. Without taking her eyes of the swaying frond, Abby hastened her steps and quickly arrived at the fern.

  Nothing. The forest was still. She could not hear the humming tune. Only a few birds chirped above. Abby glanced down at the forest floor. The path she had been following was thick with pine needles and the moist mulch of decaying leaves. There were no tracks and the path seemed to have ended.

  A brief moment of panic flooded through Abby’s mind, which she quickly quelled by closing her eyes and taking a long, deep breath. Bo M’ba Nesh had taught her about the meditative and restorative powers of the breath.

  Be still, little monkey. Breathe.

  With the stillness, her awareness and perception sharpened. There were two birds perched above. A slight breeze rustled through the forest canopy. The scent of pine after a recent rain layered over the earthy scents of wet forest floor, decay, and fungi. Below everything, her own breathing anchored her, slow and steady. She sunk her toes into the ground where a patch of sun had warmed it.