The Leverager

by C. L Masonite

  “Please go back to your room while I go and check on patient 104,” the nurse replied sternly.

  “You’re wasting time, I already know she isn’t in there!” I protested, banging my fist against the wall in desperation. “We need to look for her!”

  “Go back to your room…now,” the nurse ordered. “And you know violence is not allowed. Do it again and we’ll have to strap you down.”

  “I’m sorry but you’re not hearing me. I need to help you look for her.”

  “You shouldn’t even be out here in the halls,” the nurse admonished as she grabbed my left arm and began dragging me to my room. I tried to resist but she was too strong. Panic began to set in from being touched, but the panic of Katia missing was greater. The need to find her eclipsed all my other terror. “I’ll do what I said and first check for myself if patient 104 is in her room. If she isn’t then I will alert the right people to search for her. You need to go back to your room and let me do my job. This better not be some distraction that you’ve cooked up so that you can both escape.”

  “It’s not, I promise!” I yelled as she pushed me inside my room, and locked the door before I could swing it back open. Hearing her footsteps fading as she walked in the direction of Katia’s room, I ran to the hole in the wall and peeked in.

  My breath whooshed out of me in stark relief as I saw the nurse walk in Katia’s room then put her finger on her comm. “Patient 104 is not in her room,” she spoke into it clinically, “patient 98, Emerson Monsoon, reported her missing. Please confirm once she’s found.”

  “Affirmative,” a crackled voice replied.

  I slid down the wall thankful others would be searching for her. She’d probably kick my ass once they found her, but I’d happily take listening to her complain to me if they found her safe. I was useless locked in my room, but with others on the lookout for her there was a greater chance she would be found a lot quicker than I would be able to find her on my own.

  “SIX HUNDRED AND one . . . Six hundred and two . . . Six hundred and three . . .” I counted robotically out loud. That made roughly about ten minutes and now seven seconds since I had last heard the nurse send out the alert that Katia was missing. It was also forty minutes and now eight seconds since I had last seen her.

  “Six hundred and four . . .”

  My gaze latched onto my opening door, and I paused in my counting, hoping it would be Katia who walked through it.

  “Emerson, could you come with me?” Doctor Fleur asked. I tamped down my disappointment and got up.

  “Did you find her?” I shot at her.

  “Follow me,” Doctor Fleur demanded.

  “Are you taking me to her?” I replied with eagerness, following close behind her.

  Doctor Fleur continued to take the lead, remaining stoically poised, and opened another door that she gestured for me to pass through. I stepped past it, and as I walked deeper into the room I saw a man seated at a sterile, metal table.

  “Thank you for bringing her here, Doctor Fleur,” he delivered with cold execution. “Miss Monsoon, please take a seat,” he commanded, pointing at the chair directly opposite him.

  I sat down quickly, wanting answers.

  “Who are you?” Are you here about Katia?” I questioned, looking him in the eyes, unflinchingly.

  “Nurse Johnson said that you were the one who alerted Katia missing. What made you check on her?”

  “My room is next to hers, I heard her crying so I went and checked on her. She was having a nightmare so I woke her up. She was scared and distraught but when I told her I would stay with her she said she wanted to be alone,” I responded.

  “And so you left her,” Mr. Unknown retorted, scathingly.

  “Yes, I did. I decided to respect her right to privacy. I had every intention of checking on her again, and I did thirty minutes later,” I replied, defensively. I didn’t like where his line of questioning was going.

  “A lot can happen in thirty minutes, like a girl going missing. We checked everywhere and couldn’t find her,” he commented. “When you went to check on her the second time did you see the note laying on the floor?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything, I was too worried about where she’d gone. What does it say? Did she say where she went? She wouldn’t leave without me,” I denied hotheadedly. I needed to use the anger; otherwise I’d allow the panic to consume me.

  “Emerson, she didn’t,” Doctor Fleur interjected, her calm façade beginning to crack as she squeezed her neck anxiously.

  “What do you mean? But you said she’s not in any of the rooms; that you couldn’t find her,” I said with confusion.

  “This is the note we found in her room,” he returned, sliding over a creased note that was bagged. “Read it out loud,” he asserted with fire in his eyes.

  I gulped then tore my eyes from his. My vision became blurred as I spoke the written words, “I’m sorry I br–broke my promise, Emerson, please f–forgive me.”

  “There’s no easy way to say this . . . Emerson, she committed suicide, she jumped off the roof,” he hissed.

  “No, no, you’re lying. NO!” I yelled, banging my hands on the table, the pain replacing the empty ache in my heart.

  “Why was she upset? Did you know she was going to do this? Her body is lying broken outside,” he barked.

  “That’s enough,” Doctor Fleur broke in.

  I turned to her, needing her to verify it. I didn’t know him, but I knew her. She wouldn’t lie to me. “Is it . . .” I paused to swallow the bile in my throat, “Is it true?” I got out, my chest heaving with the effort.

  She looked at me with pity and I closed my eyes as she delivered the words that I knew were coming, “Yes, yes, it is Emerson, I’m so sorry.” She laid a hand on mine, trying to comfort me, but the skin contact triggered me and I fell backwards, out of the chair, landing on the cold, hard ground.

  Like Katia before, I curled into a ball unthinking as my body began convulsing, shutting down on me.

  “You pushed her too hard,” I heard Doctor Fleur spit out.

  “I was just doing my job,” he fired back arrogantly.

  “You’re meant to serve and protect,” Doctor Fleur replied sarcastically as she bent down and felt my pulse. “Her pulse is all over the damn place, call in the nurses, she needs to be sedated before she hurts herself.”

  “On it,” he shot back, and I heard his footsteps leave the room.

  “I’m sorry, Emerson, I didn’t mean to touch you, I forgot,” Doctor Fleur said as her touch left me.

  “Hold her down,” another person shouted.

  My gown was lifted and I winced as I felt the needle enter in the exact same place the other one had. The injection spread through my body freezing my muscles, rushing through my bloodstream, and as my neurons slowed I welcomed the oblivion.

  “WHY IS SHE still not awake? It’s been forty-eight hours. Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” I heard my dad ask.

  “The meds should be out of her system by now. She’s not awake because she doesn’t want to be,” I heard Doctor Fleur reply.

  “Can’t we make her wake up?” Cressida sniped.

  My eyes closed and I drifted back to sleep . . .

  “The coroner has confirmed what we assumed. Katia committed suicide. They are holding her funeral later today,” Doctor Fleur advised.

  “It’s a shame that Emerson isn’t in a fit state to attend. I think she would have liked to,” my dad said morosely.

  “I’m going,” I murmured croakily, fighting the weight of sleep that was trying to pull me under.

  “Emerson, how are you feeling?” Doctor Fleur questioned.

  “I’m feeling well enough to go to Katia’s funeral. There’s nothing that you can say or do to stop me from going,” I said, pulling the blankets off my body and gingerly sitting up.

  “What do you think, Doctor Fleur?” Dad said turning to her.

  “Well, physically, I don’t think she’s up to it, but m
entally I think she would benefit from saying goodbye to her friend,” Doctor Fleur recommended.

  “Thank you,” I said softly. “How far away is the funeral?”

  “It’s about a two-hour drive from here, and it’s being held at eleven. It’s at the Hallstone Cemetery, close to the orphanage where she lived. There’s no church service, the caretaker of the orphanage said that she had tried to get a priest to conduct one but couldn’t because it’s against religion to have a service or burial for someone who has . . .” she paused awkwardly.

  “For someone who has committed suicide,” I completed, the words feeling wrong. Katia had always been filled with such strength and courage that it still didn’t make sense that she would take her own life. It was my . . . No! I couldn’t deal with it right now. I couldn’t fall apart. I didn’t get to wallow in misery and break down.

  “Honey,” my mother began in a voice as soft as gossamer wings.

  “No,” I said as I went to the cabinet and took out my only pair of pants, shoes, and top that I had here.

  “I just want to be here for you,” she continued on more bravely.

  “No,” I repeated.

  “No? That’s all I get!” she cried dramatically, her hands going to her hips. Looking at her my brows creased as I tried to place what she was trying to act like, and then it hit me…she was trying to act like she was my mum. But she wasn’t, at least not in all the ways that it meant to be a mum.

  “Cressie, let it go, she’s grieving,” my dad cajoled.

  “Fine,” she said, her hands moving to put back the only strand of hair out of place.

  “I don’t want her to come with us to the funeral either,” I asserted.

  “I will be coming,” Mother protested, her finger pointing down at the ground in emphasis.

  “No, you won’t be. Katia’s funeral isn’t about you or me. It’s about what Katia would have wanted, and I know she wouldn’t want you to be there. Also, I don’t need your support. I’ve done just well without it for the past twelve years of my life,” I said scornfully.

  Her mouth fell open in shock. I had been tolerant of her being around but I had never shown any distaste for her presence. I quickly retreated to the bathroom door and closed it just in time to muffle her anticipated explosion. I could hear my dad trying to calm her down, but I didn’t care.

  My eyes watered in pain as I bent my arm backwards to undo the ties at the back of my hospital gown, but I persisted not wanting anyone to touch me, let alone be close enough to touch. I threw off my pair of slippers and slipped on the pants and top. If I wanted to make it in time for the funeral I had to leave now. I sat down on the cover of the toilet seat needing some time—just a quick moment to collect myself.

  “Emerson, if we’re going to be there on time we need to leave now,” my dad called through the door.

  “I’m coming out now,” I replied, wiping my sweaty hands on the towel next to the toilet.

  Opening the door, I found myself face to face with him.

  “Ready?” he asked. With relief I saw that neither Doctor Fleur nor my mother were in the room.

  “No, but let’s go,” I urged.

  “DO YOU NEED me to come with you?” Dad asked awkwardly as he brought the car to a halt.

  My hand paused on the car door handle as my eyes latched on the freshly dug grave where Katia would be laid to rest. There were only two people waiting beside it: a gravedigger and an older lady who must be the caretaker Katia used to talk to me about with such affection. I was scared to get out and face the reality of Katia’s death, but seeing her caretaker there gave me that extra boost of strength.

  “Thanks, Dad, but I think I need to do this myself.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait inside here then,” he said with barely disguised relief.

  I nodded then exited, taking a deep breath as I walked and stopped beside the other two. “I don’t know how this is supposed to go because I’ve never been to a funeral before, but since we haven’t met I should probably introduce myself. I’m Emerson, I met Katia at Zaston Institution, we were roommates,” I blurted out.

  The woman’s sad eyes warmed in an effort to make me feel comfortable. A beautiful smile bloomed, soothing my nerves. If I was an orphan and I saw that smile I would immediately think everything was going to be okay.

  “I’ve been to too many, sad to say. Don’t worry, Emerson, there’s never a right way to say goodbye. I’m Dahlia, Katia’s caretaker. Katia came to me as a little baby all alone in the world, yet somehow she was the happiest baby I’d ever seen. I would have adopted her but I couldn’t choose one child over another. All of the children at the orphanage are my children.”

  Those words echoed in my mind, drawing me into a long-lost memory …

  “I need some drugs,” Katia whimpered, her whole body shaking from withdrawal symptoms. From the other side of the room my own body shook for the same reason.

  “No, you don’t need it,” I replied through chattering teeth. “We have to fight through this, we’ve become powerless because of the drugs. It’s easy to be completely numb to everything, but in order for us to get out of here and to get better we need to become independent from the drugs. We need to take back our own lives and this is the first step. You can’t give up, Katia, I won’t let you,” I swore.

  “Damn, I never thought I would ever meet a person more stubborn them me,” she threw back at me half angry, half teasing. In the next minute, she glanced longingly at the door; while she scratched agitatedly at her skin, hunger clearly portrayed on her face.

  “Katia, look at me,” I begged. “Take your mind off the drugs, tell me something happy,” I urged.

  “I’m an orphan, I grew up lonely and starved of affection, I have no happy memories,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Katia,” I reprimanded.

  “Fine, but only because I don’t want to think about downing another drug. It was when I was six years old, the very first day of kindergarten, when I realized that my living situation wasn’t normal. I didn’t have a mother or father and the other children I lived with weren’t my actual family.”

  “You’re making me want to take another drug because of how depressing this is!”

  “Shut up, the good part is coming. I refused to get dressed for my second day of school, pretending to be sick of course to avoid having to talk about it. Dahlia came in and checked on me and when she saw that I wasn’t the least bit sick she asked me what was wrong. I said to her, I have no mum, dad, brother, or sister like all the other kids, why am I different, why doesn’t anyone want me, is there something wrong with me?”

  “Dahlia laughed, and said, ‘yes, Katia, you are different but it’s not because nobody wants you or there’s something wrong with you. You’re special. Unlike other kids, you get to choose your family, anyone in the world that you want can be your family; all you have to do is ask.’ I looked at her with confusion thinking it couldn’t be that easy, and why hadn’t I asked before? When I asked her if she would be my mum, she said, ‘Katia, from the very first moment you stepped into this orphanage you became my child and I have loved you ever since like a mum loves her daughter.’ From that moment on I never felt alone because she’s always been there for me,” Katia smiled and it was the first and only true smile I’d seen in all the time I had been with her.

  My mind flicked back to the present and I smiled. “Even though you never took the formal step to adopt her, that didn’t matter in her mind. I remember her telling me about how she asked you to be her mum. For all intents and purposes she loved you like a daughter loves a mum. Thank you for showing her love and how to love, because without her I never would have gotten out of my depression. She made me a better person, and that’s because you made her one of the best people I will ever meet on this Earth.”

  “Thank you,” Dahlia sobbed. “Katia may be gone, but in this lonely, grief stricken moment she’s given me you. Those words mean everything to me. I’ve felt so guilty because
I never went and saw her while she was at the institution. She told me she didn’t want me to see her in her ‘messed up’ condition and that I needed to stay and take care of the children. I shouldn’t have listened to her. God, I wish I didn’t . . .” she broke off miserably.

  She wasn’t the only one guilty of listening to Katia when she shouldn’t have.

  “Please, Dahlia, you have to know that Katia didn’t hurt herself because you didn’t go to see her,” I soothed. “She wouldn’t want you to beat yourself up like this. Katia was self-sacrificing and selfless in the best and worst of ways. She would have been angry and probably would have refused to see you if you had gone against what she wanted,” I murmured consolingly.

  Dahlia laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes, “You’re probably right, she was always stubborn to the bone. I love you, Katia, and I always will,” Dahlia professed as she placed a single yellow lily on Katia’s casket.

  I picked up another lily and placed it beside Dahlia’s. Touching the mahogany casket that held her body, I smiled brokenly, whispering my goodbye, “I’ll miss you, Katia, always and forever. Now you can be as free and as wild as you truly deserve to be.”

  DAHLIA AND I stayed until the gravedigger lowered Katia’s casket to the bottom of the grave and began to shovel dirt on top. We parted as two souls irrevocably touched and broken by the same beautiful, departed soul that now lived high above us in the sky.

  I got back into the car, feeling empty and lost.

  “You haven’t cried yet,” my dad said as he drove us back. “Should I be worried?”

  He didn’t get it. I couldn’t . . . I didn’t have the right to cry. I should have stayed with her. I never should have listened to what she wanted. It was my fault that she was gone . . . that she had thrown herself off the roof rather than come to me. I may have been able to stop her … I wasn’t there when she had needed me most and now she was gone . . . forever.

  “This isn’t the way back to the hospital,” I noted, trying to change the topic.