Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m overtired and angry and upset. I’m going to go home and rest, like you said. That’s a good idea. Thank you, Zack.”

  “You bet. Have a good nap.”

  She ignores Juliet, who is standing in the hall frowning at her phone, and steps into Mindy’s room for a second. Mindy’s eyes are wide, and the dog is lying next to her, ears cocked forward.

  “Everything okay with you and Dad?”

  “Of course it is. Sorry about that, sweetheart. I think my nerves are a bit frayed. I’m going to go home and take a nap, talk to your dad—” she winces as she says it, she can’t help it. God, she has to get it together “—and we’ll be back a little later. Okay? Is Zack nice? Do you like him?”

  “Yes, Mom, he is. Very nice. He’s going to get me some new books. I like Kat, too.” The smile is genuine now, and Lauren takes a deep breath.

  “Good. I’ll see you later. You hang tight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Yesterday was rough, I know.” Lauren kisses Mindy on the forehead and marches out.

  Her first instinct is a drink, but that isn’t going to solve anything. She gets into her car and spills her purse out onto the seat. She scrabbles through the mess, notebooks and tissues and wallet and phone. There it is, the bottle of antianxiety pills that Dr. Oliver kindly prescribed. She tosses one in her mouth, chases it with the dregs of a week-old bottle of water sitting in the car’s door.

  She has to think. She has to breathe. She has to look at all the angles here. She can’t lose Mindy. She just can’t. She knows Jasper is right about their legal ties to Mindy—no judge in the world will take their side once the truth comes out.

  She pulls out of the parking garage, not sure where she’s headed, consumed by memories.

  57

  UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL

  NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

  1993

  LIESEL

  Have you ever felt blood on your hands?

  I don’t mean this metaphorically. I mean it quite literally.

  I have. It is warm. Surprisingly silky, viscous, like a good lotion. Slippery, too, if there’s enough of it.

  There was a time when all I wanted was the fleeting sense of pain that came from seeing my flesh part. The blood that came out was luscious and red, and as it dripped into the bath, the pain went away. My pain went away. My control returned. My soul was filled.

  I know, it sounds quite wrong. No one in their right mind slices themselves open. Oh, but it feels so good. You don’t know how good until you try it.

  Letting the blood of another person doesn’t give the same sensation. It feels and smells wrong, like danger.

  * * *

  My arm hurts.

  The lights are so bright. I just want to crawl into a hole and die, but no one will let me. They keep up a constant patter of conversation, bland nothings meant to keep me awake and focused, while they clean and numb and stitch. It feels like hours, days, have passed before they deem me ready to talk to the resident shrink.

  He looks kind. He shuts the door behind him and sits on a stool with wheeled casters for feet. He watches me carefully, then spins around in a circle. I am whimsical, the spin says. I am to be trusted.

  I trust no one. If you’d experienced what I have, you wouldn’t, either.

  I merely blink at him, his short hair too black, his cologne too strong, his smile too wide.

  “Tough nut, eh. All righty then. Here’s the deal. Legally, since you tried to hurt yourself, we have to admit you to our psychiatric ward. Your mom tells me you’re supposed to be going to Middle Tennessee Mental Health tomorrow, but if you want, you can stay here. At least for the week. See if you think we will work for you.”

  I shrug. I truly don’t care what happens to me now.

  He touches my wrist carefully. “Why did you do this?”

  I shrug again.

  “You want me to think you don’t care, but I know you do. This was more than a cry for help. Trust me, I see it too much, young men and women who try to kill themselves, but they aren’t entirely serious. They think they are, but something holds them back. They don’t swallow enough pills, they don’t cut deep enough. Thankfully, they survive, and we treat them, and they find happiness and are so grateful that they failed. You, you were serious. If your sister hadn’t found you, you would be gone. I just wonder why? Why did you want to die so badly?”

  I look at the floor. “Don’t you know who I am?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Give me a break. You’ve seen the news. My chart. You know why.”

  He sits back and watches me. Finally, he speaks again, and his voice has changed.

  “Listen, Liesel. You’ve had a rough go of it. I won’t even begin to say otherwise. But trust me, you have so much to live for. You’re only sixteen. There is a life out there with your name on it, waiting to be claimed. You can be who you want. Live where you want. You don’t have to stay here and be the girl they talk about behind their hands. Another year and you can leave. Change your name. Go to Europe, eat chocolate every day, live on a mountaintop. Sail around the world. A year from now, you will have absolutely no limits on your life. You do not have to let this experience define you.”

  “I don’t think I have a choice. A man is dead. A horrible, terrible, awful man.” I can’t help myself, I begin to cry. I’ve tried to stay strong, but I am so fucked.

  “I can give you a choice. Will you give me a year?”

  He speaks such honeyed words.

  “I don’t even know you.”

  He sticks out his hand, which I don’t take. “Dr. John Freeman. I would be your therapist. I will personally work with you, design a program to get you back on your feet. And I swear to you, Liesel, I can get you through this. But you’re going to have to help, too.”

  “Whatever.”

  “No, not whatever. You were only sentenced to a year of psychiatric inpatient treatment because of your actions. A year may seem like a lifetime when you’re sixteen, but trust me, it’s not. But here you are instead, because last night, you gave up. Will you tell me why?”

  Why? For a thousand reasons, and none. I shake my head. The pain is still too intense. Words won’t do it justice.

  He touches my wrist again. “You have to promise me you aren’t going to try this again.”

  My voice is so soft I can barely hear myself. “What if I can’t stand it anymore? What if I can’t take it? The stares, the snickers. What I did. I can’t stop thinking about it. How it felt. The blood...there was something...good about it. I don’t want to be here. I want to leave.”

  My voice is building to a wail. Tears come unbidden. I am trapped. Trapped, like a bird. In a cage. I will never fly free again.

  “You can’t leave, honey. It’s either upstairs here, with me and some pretty interesting characters, or it’s MTMHI. Those folks out there are lifers. Most are never getting out. Trust me when I say this is the better gig.”

  “My sentence says I have to go to that hospital.”

  “Let me work on it. My friend upstairs is a cool chick. She knows Judge Gilbert. We already have a call in. I swear I can help you if you let me. Help you find a reason to live.”

  “Do you have to use my real name?”

  “We do, hon. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  After that, I don’t fight them. They do their intake tests—blood, urine, weight, height. The nurse helps me dress in some shapeless cotton things, looks at me knowingly. Dr. Freeman comes back in. Now he is kind, soft-spoken.

  “Liesel. Are you aware that you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s the father?”

  I stare at him, defiant, until he says, “Oh,” with a sad little sigh that makes me want to scream. “We’ll let the judge know.”

  “She already
does. That’s why I got the sentence I did.”

  “We’ll talk about your options tomorrow, then. Once you’re settled.”

  At this, I laugh. “I have no options. I keep telling you this, but you won’t listen.”

  * * *

  When they take me to the psychiatric ward, I walk meekly, head down, hands clasped in front of me. The lidocaine hasn’t worn off entirely, my wrist and arm are still numb, wrapped in bandages from palm to elbow.

  They lead me to a private intake room. A nurse takes my vitals again, logs my weight, gives me a pill. “It will help you sleep.”

  I take it, though it’s morning. Sleep sounds good right now. I want to sleep forever.

  They walk me down the long, white hall. The room has two beds. It is empty.

  They’re talking, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

  The room is spinning, and not in a good way.

  It’s the pill. It makes me feel strange, disembodied, like I’m not touching my skin even though I’m inside of it.

  They leave me alone. A girl comes in. She has dark hair. She is staring at me. She leaves, and I hear arguing down the hall, then she returns. She walks around me like a wolf circling prey, and I’m helpless to do anything to stop her. She snaps her fingers under my face, and I am tempted to bite them off, but I can’t move. I hear her taking apart my bag, but I just stare, stare, stare out the window.

  I know I need to stand up for myself. For once, I need to try to own the situation. She is waiting, I can feel it. She wants me to talk to her. So I do. I spit out the words because my tongue is numb and dry.

  “Touch my things again, and I’ll kill you.”

  “Right.” The disdain in her tone pisses me off. I manage to turn and look at her, really seeing her for the first time. She is pretty. Long black hair, eyes like sapphires. There must be something in my face because she startles and backs off. Good.

  I look back to the parking lot.

  Welcome to the next year of your life, Liesel.

  I fucking hate this.

  I hate being locked in this ward.

  I hate this stupid roommate. I can tell how nervous I make her. Even now, she is staring as if she expects me to leap across the bed and rip out her throat.

  I hate the people, the smells, the indignity of being here. The lidocaine is wearing off; the bandage itches, my arm feels like it’s on fire.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I slam my fists into the bed, again, and again, the rage building inside me, boiling over into a scream, and the frightened roommate gets the nurses. They give me a stinging shot, and as I drift away again, I have one last thought before everything shatters around me.

  It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault he died.

  58

  VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL

  CURRENT DAY

  Mindy lowers the bed as far as it will go, scoots down, and puts her head on Kat’s flank. The dog’s coat is so silky. She is a great pillow. Kat is sound asleep, snoring a little, and Mindy loves the feeling of the soft fur beneath her ear rising and falling as the dog breathes.

  She is supposed to be taking a nap herself, though she is wide awake; she can’t bear to fall asleep anymore. It is the curse of the cancer—she is scared that every time she closes her eyes, it might be the last. After yesterday’s awful stomach bug, she definitely slept for a while, so she is awake enough.

  Her eyes slitted, she looks at the new presence in her life. Zack Armstrong is sitting with his hands on his knees, staring at her. He is handsome. He is nice. She feels a weird connection because she can see the places where she looks like him. Her own eyes are staring at her, which is downright creepy, but comforting, too.

  She is having a hard time wrapping her head around all of this. First, she’s adopted, then she’s the child of a murdered woman, now her biological dad is here and might be a match to save her life.

  And her mother has lied to her. Flat. Out. Lied.

  V.

  Mindy is not stupid. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to tie the two strange situations together. She finds letters from a teenager, the mysterious V. Then she finds out her biological mother is named Vivian. The odds that these two people are not one and the same, and are tied to her mother, are ludicrous.

  It all adds up to something terrible. And her mother lied to her, she knows it.

  She can’t think about it anymore. It’s exhausting. Mindy wants everything to be over, to be healed, out of the damn itchy cast, to ski, to feel the wind on her face and have control over her body again.

  Dying in increments is a seriously lame way to go.

  It is hard on the whole family, too. As angry as she is at her mom—strange how every time she thinks or says the word a new face floats into position—she also hates seeing her stressed and upset, her dad—there it is again, this is going to be so hard!—angry and quiet. He is the family jokester, the fun one, and Mindy doesn’t think she’s seen him smile without regret for weeks. Mom and Dad, Vivian and Zack. She assigns the names to the faces mentally, reminds herself who raised her. No more dual meanings with the parental names. There’s Dad, and there’s Biodad. Zack.

  Zack is best. She likes the name. That’s what she’ll call him. That’s what feels right.

  She hears a commotion in the hallway, opens her eyes fully. Zack is looking toward the door. Dr. Oliver rushes into Mindy’s room with a huge grin on his face.

  “Folks, we are a go! Mr. Armstrong, you’re a damn fine match to our girl, here. Let’s get you both prepped and ready to start your individual treatments. I’m sorry to say, missy, that dog’s not going to be allowed to visit. We’re going to move you to a sterile room for the next couple of days, because the treatment you’re getting is going to kill off everything, including what’s left of your immune system.”

  “Is it going to hurt her?” Zack asks, and Mindy gives him a grin.

  “It all hurts. But I’m tough. I can handle it. Can you? Aunt J said you don’t like needles.”

  Zack shrugs. “Not my favorite thing, no, but if you’re going to be all sorts of brave, I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  She beams at him.

  “You better get over the fear, Mr. Armstrong, cause it’s needle city for the next couple days,” Oliver says. “Where’s your mom, Mindy?”

  “She took off. Dad, too. Aunt J is talking to the cops that are coming to interview us. It’s just me and Zack. He pulled the Mindy-sitting straw.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to proceed without them. Let’s shake a leg here. I’ll find someone to take the dog.”

  “I’ll find Juliet,” Zack says. “She’s nearby.”

  Mindy looks over at him, curious. There is something possessive about the way he says her aunt’s name. Juliet is his ally; she gets that. But Juliet is also cute, and single. And Zack is handsome, and single. What a perfect match they’d make. But then, would Juliet stop being her aunt and technically become her stepmom?

  Mindy lets the joy of that idea fill her. She is going to live. She just knows it.

  She hugs Zack again before he leaves. She thinks she can get used to having extra parental units around, considering.

  59

  Juliet comes back upstairs for the dog, and Zack and Mindy are taken to their respective sterile areas. Things are moving so quickly, Zack almost doesn’t know what to think. The doctors are firing questions at him about drug interactions, allergies, taking a full history while getting him ready. He passes with flying colors—he’s thankfully been very healthy his whole life and taken no medications outside of some Zyrtec for seasonal allergies, which he is currently not on.

  They start the IV while he looks away, thinking of his daughter’s beautiful face. If she can suck it up and handle all the needles, so can he. They are doubling the normal dosages of the c
ell-building drug, getting it into him fast, and warn him it might feel like he has the flu, aches and pains and headaches. He already feels crappy from the altitude. He can’t imagine this will make him any worse. They are going to give him the extra dosage morning and evening for two days, and then they’ll take the stem cells from his blood over a marathon eight-hour session. He tries not to think about what it will be like to have an iron spike in his arm for eight hours, reminding himself again that Mindy is a trooper, and if she can handle it, so can he.

  After the first round of the drug, they encourage him to lie down for a few minutes in case it makes him too dizzy to walk. Juliet is allowed in to see him.

  “For a tough guy, you really are a wimp. Half the time I see you, you’re horizontal on the ground.”

  “You want to get shot up with this blood-building crap?”

  “All right, true confession time. I’m not a big fan of needles, either.”

  “The great and powerful Juliet, DNA expert, CBI tough girl, has a weakness?”

  She cocks her head to match the angle of his and winds Kat’s lead around her wrist. “Tell anyone, and I’ll make sure you never see the dog again.”

  “Threats, is it? You just try to keep Kat away. She’s Super Dog. She’ll find me no matter where I am.”

  Juliet rights herself, grinning. “The Nashville folks are on their way. My boss is giving them a lift up the mountain. He’ll help them with the case from here on out.”

  “You won’t be working on it?”

  “I’m a DNA wonk, remember? I’m not an investigator. Besides, I’m personally involved, so I have to recuse myself. Company rules. I’m part of the investigation now. It’s my sister who bought a hot baby.”

  “How much do you know about Lauren back then? You said you just found out about Mindy yourself, along with Jasper. Why would she keep this from you in the first place? You’re her sister.”

  Juliet looks away, out to the parking lot, and up the mountain. “We’ve never been close. All I know for sure is in the summer of 2000, she miscarried but let everyone believe she was still pregnant. I’m rather upset with her for not telling me. I mean, I’m her sister. If anyone should have been filled in on all of the stuff happening, it’s me.”