He limped into the carport and crumpled onto the concrete. His lungs burned, but not as brightly as his self-hatred.
What had he done?
His mother’s words rolled over and over in his mind.
Killed your sister.
Dangerous.
Hospital.
Dangerous.
He clawed up to his feet and staggered toward the house. He jerked open the kitchen door, left unlocked in the panic to find Tasha, and walked to the craft cupboard his mother kept. Containers of pink glitter and googly eyes wobbled as he opened the cabinet and searched through countless piles of construction paper and foam cut-outs. Squished in between an ancient bottle of glue and a spool of blue ribbon hung a bag of plastic zip ties. Liam fished out a handful before he dropped to the floor and leaned back against the washing machine.
The cool metal on his neck soothed him. Ready for his task, he started at his ankles, wrapping a zip tie around them and tightening it as much as he could. He nodded his head in satisfaction and worked his way up his legs until the zip ties no longer fit. Though his fingers cramped with the effort, he held his hands together and wound a zip tie around his wrists. Then he brought his wrists to his mouth, bit down on the zip tie, and yanked at it until it pulled taut.
Now, his family was safe.
He, on the other hand, became sitting bait for the demons that lived in his mind.
“You’re one pathetic bastard. One little mishap and you go and tie yourself up?” Joshua hunched over him and kicked at his ankles with steel-toed boots. “Really, Liam, don’t be so dramatic.”
He concentrated on the linoleum’s repeating concentric design, but Joshua remained. The quick strike of a match followed by the scent of cigarettes confirmed his fears. “Please don’t,” he pleaded.
“Are you going to quit being an idiot and cut yourself out of this self-created prison?” Joshua asked.
“You know I can’t.” Liam tried to sway away from Joshua but had done too thorough a job with the zip ties.
“Then I’m forced to punish you. You know the consequences for this type of behavior. It’s completely unacceptable.”
The burning started on the right side of Liam’s neck. The cigarette seared into his skin, sizzling as it met flesh. He howled, but Joshua didn’t stop. No, Joshua worked a slow line down his neck and arm, not moving from one burn to the next until a circular welt surfaced on his skin. Joshua licked his lips as he ground the burning tobacco into Liam’s thumb and halted his torture only when a growl sounded from the kitchen doorway.
Joshua worked his jaw and strained his arms against his leather jacket. “One of these days that cat won’t be here to help you. I can out-wait him. I’m never leaving you.” He disappeared as RP dove for him.
The cat skidded across the kitchen and landed with a thump against Liam. He twitched his whiskers and climbed into Liam’s lap to sit guard against any further unpleasant interactions. The one thing the furry bastard couldn’t do was stop Liam’s self-loathing.
Joshua was right.
He wasn’t good. He never had been, and he never would be.
saac had spent the drive home from the hospital mentally preparing for a number of different scenarios with Liam. None of them readied him for what he saw now.
Slumped on the floor, Liam sat in a puddle of urine. Red welts from zip ties striped his legs, and the bright pink of raw skin encircled his wrists like a macabre bracelet. RP sat on his lap, flicking his tail in irritation.
“How’s Tasha?” were the first words Liam said. His medicine must’ve kicked in. Still far from sane, maybe he could see lucidity on the horizon now.
“They’re running tests but think she’ll make a full recovery. She’ll stay in the hospital overnight for observation.” Isaac rubbed sweaty palms on his shorts and resisted the urge to cross the room and strangle his stepson.
“I have to be gone when she comes home,” Liam said.
What he didn’t know was he would never, ever live under the same roof with his sister again. Isaac would make sure of that.
“You’re willing to go to the clinic now?”
He nodded.
Anger and relief flooded Isaac in equal measures. If only Liam had agreed to admission earlier, Tasha would be in bed sleeping and not at the hospital being examined for brain damage. Isaac knew he shouldn’t hold him responsible for sins committed while in the throes of a psychotic break, but the distance between shouldn’t and would had closed considerably in the past few hours.
“We need to clean you up,” Isaac said.
Liam smacked his lips. “No, let’s go with the flow and row.”
The skin on the back of Isaac’s neck crawled. So maybe the horizon stayed distant. Liam didn’t realize he sat in his own filth. He also still strung together a chain of nonsensical rhyming words―what the doctors referred to as “word salad.” The symptom unsettled him, to say the least.
Isaac reached for a pair of scissors.
“No! I have to stay tied!” Liam sat up straight and waved his bound hands in the air. “I’ll hurt somebody.”
Thick panic choked his stepson’s voice. As much as he wanted to hate Liam, and sometimes did, he couldn’t help but sympathize with the man. He was Allison’s son. Hidden underneath all the psychosis existed a good person. But that good person had retreated far, far below the surface.
“I can’t carry you out to the car. We need to untie you.”
Saliva dribbled from the corners of Liam’s mouth as he babbled unintelligible sounds.
Isaac had preferred word salad. He held up the shears and met his stepson’s terrified gaze. The whites of Liam’s eyes eclipsed the cornflower blue of his irises.
“I won’t hurt you.” No matter how much I want to. “I’m here to help you,” Isaac said.
Liam blinked. He shook his head at some internal debate, then held up his wrists.
Relieved Liam had consented to his help, he side-stepped the fetid pool of urine and cut the zip ties on his stepson’s legs and wrist.
Freed from his self-induced prison, Liam stared at Isaac. A beefy type of muscular, he greatly resembled his father. If he set his mind to it, he’d mow down whomever stood in his path. Despite recent events, though, he didn’t tend toward violence. He specialized in unpredictability.
At least that’s what Isaac told himself.
Stiff from the extended period of time he’d spent tied up, Liam struggled to stand. He swatted away Isaac’s offered hand of help, scooped RP into his arms, and walked forward, slow and halting, like a zombie out of some horror show. Somehow, the cat purred and leaned his head into Liam’s armpit. Another aberrant piece of behavior in a day chock full of them.
Eyes locked on his stepson, Isaac walked backward out of the kitchen. “After we get you changed, we’ll leave for the hospital.”
“You have to tie me up, in a cup like a pup rup.” Liam rubbed his raw wrists together.
He’d likely break dozens of laws if he zip tied his stepson, but he doubted any of the legislatures creating said laws had dealt with this particular dilemma. He worried more about trampling his own moral code. No matter what Liam had done, he deserved to be treated with dignity. How to balance dignity and safety turned out to be a challenging proposition, especially when the deepest, darkest part of his soul would like to make Liam suffer.
“All right.” He grimaced. “But you have to change first.”
His younger self would be ashamed. Twenty-year-old Isaac would’ve known how to handle Liam with compassion and confidence. But then, twenty-year-old Isaac wouldn’t be reeling from the near death of his daughter.
After a walk nearly as long as the Bataan Death March, the two made it to Liam’s room. Humid air wafted through the torn screen. The anger coursing through Isaac’s veins morphed into a dark and seething undercurrent of permanent resentment.
With a heavy-handed tug, he slid open the dresser drawer. He threw a fresh pair of boxers and shorts onto the bed. Liam tottered tow
ard it and placed the cat down next to the clean clothes. In normal circumstances, he’d never invade Liam’s privacy and watch him change. But today’s ordeal deviated so far from normal the only rules he’d abide by were the ones leaving both of them alive. Isaac stepped out of the room but remained in the doorway.
After Liam changed, he retrieved a handful of zip ties from the pocket of his soiled shorts. He left the dirty clothes on the ground, stepping on them as he made his way to Isaac.
“Tie me. Now.” He held out the zip ties.
Against his better wisdom, Isaac placed the zip tie on Liam’s wrists and pulled it closed. To avoid further chafing Liam’s skin, he left it loose.
“Tighter,” Liam said.
The teeth of the zip tie bit into Liam’s skin by the time Isaac released it.
Liam’s shoulders relaxed. “Let’s go.” He pushed past Isaac and walked with purpose to the front door.
Glad Allison wasn’t here to see her son’s self-flagellation, Isaac followed. Wanting to hurt Liam for what he’d done to Tasha was one thing; having him enlist you in his self-punishment was quite another.
As they neared the foyer, Liam panted and ducked away from some unseen danger. He moaned in pain and shook his head. Isaac reached past him and opened the door.
Terrorized by some hallucination, Liam raced outside and huddled by the Hyundai. He held his bound hands over his eyes and remained stationary until Isaac pulled out his keys and unlocked the car, after which he slid into the backseat and curled into a fetal position.
Isaac sat down and started the long drive to the psychiatric facility in Tallahassee, trying his best not to think about exposing his back to Liam. It would be a long two hours.
white sign with “Rose Smith Clinic” spelled out in red letters loomed above the psychiatric facility, a square, innocuous building surrounded by pink impatiens and palm trees. Behind it, the evening sun shot crimson hues through the atmosphere. Isaac darted a look back at Liam.
His stepson leaned against the Hyundai’s cheap gray upholstery and stared ahead with glazed eyes. He hadn’t said a word since entering the car.
“Are you ready?” Isaac asked.
No answer.
He mentally braced himself for a possible physical confrontation, exited the car, and opened the backseat. Liam didn’t move. From his pocket, Isaac retrieved the scissors he’d brought and cut the zip tie, saying a silent prayer of thanks he hadn’t needed to use the shears for protection.
“It’s time to go,” he said.
Liam sat as lifeless as a wax sculpture. A hamburger wrapper skittered across the vacant parking lot and settled at Isaac’s feet, leaving a smudge of grease on his big toe. He waited, attempting to match the stillness of the moment. The next few steps were critical. Liam’s treatment would work best if he initiated it. Isaac wouldn’t risk inadvertently changing his stepson’s mind about seeking help by rushing him. He could wait as long as Liam liked. Hopefully.
A gust of warmth slammed against him. Though he’d had the AC on full blast in the car, the scorching temperature seemed to emanate from its interior, like the Hyundai had become a sauna in the ten seconds since he’d turned off the ignition. Liam arched his back like an invisible force stabbed his kidney and gagged. He grasped the headrest in front of him, leaned forward, and trembled.
“Help,” he whispered.
Isaac tensed and leaned down. “Let’s do this together.” He reached into the car and grabbed him under his shoulders.
With a slight nod, Liam slumped over. Isaac breathed through his mouth to avoid the worst of his stepson’s stench, dug his heels into the ground, and pulled backward. Like a cork out of a bottle, Liam popped out of the car, collapsed on top of him, and knocked out his breath. Temporarily immobile, his heart raced when Liam scrambled up and sprinted down the sidewalk. He rolled to the side and tried to yell “Stop!” but it came out a whimper.
The overwhelming heat vanished, instantly replaced with the typical Floridian late afternoon mugginess. In shock, he watched as Liam ran into the clinic, not away from it. Automatic double doors wheezed open with a pneumatic whoosh as Liam hopped under them. He dashed inside and left Isaac alone in the parking lot.
Dazed, he leaned his head against the warm concrete. A sense of gratitude washed over him. Liam had done it. He’d walked into the clinic on his own volition.
Glittery shards of glass from a long ago broken bottle scraped his elbows as he pushed up and followed his stepson.
Cool yet stagnant air greeted him upon passing through the clinic’s threshold, and the overwhelming scent of antiseptic cleanser stung his eyes. Liam stood at the front desk, staring blankly at the attendant.
Isaac joined him. “Liam wants to be admitted to the hospital. He’s in the midst of a psychotic break.”
The receptionist, an angular white woman who wore Winnie-the-Pooh nursing scrubs and oversized wire-rimmed glasses, squinted at Isaac. She took a drawn-out look at the milky-pale Liam, and then dragged her gaze to the dark-skinned Isaac, looking him up and down. The only traits the two shared were looking disheveled and reeking of urine and vomit. Liam’s red hair was matted and unkempt while Isaac still wore his night undershirt and shorts, wrinkled and salt stained from his dash in the sea.
“What happened to your head?” the receptionist asked Liam.
Isaac’s stomach plunged.
The feeling in his gut didn’t improve when Liam flipped his wrists toward the receptionist and revealed his raw skin.
“He tied himself up after endangering his sister,” Isaac explained.
“I see. And who are you?” the receptionist said. She looked down her nose at Isaac.
“His stepfather.”
It was about to get real.
“Stepfather. Right.” She sniffed. “And why are you the one transporting him?”
Isaac ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He didn’t have the time or patience for this bullshit. “Because his mother is with his sister, who almost drowned last night thanks to one of Liam’s delusions. Liam also hit his mother recently, so I didn’t feel comfortable with the two being alone.”
“Seems like an awful lot of violence,” the receptionist said. Her eyebrows arched so high they disappeared beneath her bangs.
“You think? Your astute powers of observation are incredible. Must be why you’re entrusted with such an important desk job.”
The receptionist reared her head back in offense like she was the one who had a right to be angry.
Liam responded to the tension in the air by banging on an invisible wall. “Dangerous, strangerous, contagious!” he yelled.
“How old is your stepson?” A look of disapproval soured the receptionist’s pinched face.
“Twenty-five.”
She pushed forward a stack of papers. “Take a seat and complete this paperwork. I must remind you that because your stepson is an adult, we will not be allowed to discuss his health with you.”
If the night had left even a trace of humor in his bones, Isaac would’ve laughed at the irony of filling out the very paperwork he wouldn’t later be allowed to see.
A middle-aged woman stood up and relocated to the other side of the waiting room when Liam scuttled over to the corner next to her and crouched down, batting at the air in self-defense. Isaac chose a seat facing his stepson, careful to keep his peripheral vision on him as he filled out the myriad of questionnaires. When he completed the reams of paperwork, he dumped them on the front desk.
The receptionist didn’t meet his eyes but took the pile from him. She closed the shatterproof glass window separating her from the waiting room and disappeared from view.
Whatever or whoever haunted Liam continued to torture him, causing him to groan and shout on occasion. Isaac brought out his phone and texted Allison.
“At the clinic. Waiting to be admitted,” he wrote. “How’s Tasha?”
Allison texted, “Tasha is well. All tests confirm she didn’t sustain any
neurological damage. She’s resting now by my side.”
Thank you, Lord.
Isaac lifted his chin to the heavens and closed his eyes. The adrenaline sustaining him for the past day drained away, replaced by an exhaustion so deep it seemed to burrow into the marrow of his bones.
The phone’s screen dimmed to black. Then:
“How’s it gone with Liam? Were you able to get him there without a struggle?”
Isaac’s hand tightened over his phone. The two had fought over him bringing Liam to the hospital. Her rebuttal still rang in his ears. “I don’t trust your judgment. Your decision to keep Liam home just about cost Tasha her life,” she’d said. She’d wanted to call Security Forces and have Liam hauled away. “Don’t make the situation worse than it already is.”
But he’d avoided calling the police expressly to mitigate potential risks. Allison would never fully understand the dangers her son faced every time he had an interaction with the police. Nor, for that matter, could she truly comprehend how it put his own life as a black man at risk. He couldn’t protect his family from every danger (especially when it came to his stepson), but he sure as hell wouldn’t invite more of it into his home. In one of his least-stellar husband moves, he hadn’t waited for her agreement and had instead left after stating his intention to drive Liam to the clinic.
Furthermore, if Liam reentered a psychiatric facility on his own recognizance, it would likely prolong his probation, but an involuntary commitment would negate it. His stepson couldn’t continue to live with them, but he shouldn’t be jailed for the next ten years, either. He needed help, not imprisonment.
One day, Isaac may face the same decision with Tasha. She’d remember how her parents handled her brother’s condition and expect the same treatment. He wouldn’t make her fearful of the future.
“He came willingly. No issues,” Isaac texted.
He’d tell her about the self-injury later. She had enough to deal with.
The next three hours crawled by without incident. Finally, the white metal door by the front desk whisked open.
“Liam Murphy?” a male nurse called. Light blue scrubs hung loosely over his muscular frame.
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