A Kiss for Emily (Emily Stokes Series)

by J. P. Galuska

  “Emily—” Sam called out, but his voice was the wrong pitch.

  Confused, as if I’d been struck by lightning myself, I peered around the loft. I was all alone.

  “Emily—” the voice repeated. The echoing sounds of footsteps trailed through the house. “Emmy? I’m home.”

  Another intense blaze of lightning flashed, leaving white streaks in my eyesight; a voice called out to me, but it was unrecognizable. Nothing made sense. My eyes, ears, and brain could not be trusted. They were all playing tricks on me.

  The voice called out a fourth time, finally sounding familiar. Mother! My mother is home for my appointment with Dr. Lui!

  Her voice rang painfully in my ears. I shut my eyes tight, as if it would magically mute the chaos roaring in my head. I dug my nails into the chair cushions, scared to let go.

  What is happening to me?

  As her footsteps grew close, my stomach churned, turning on a heat that swarmed my entire body. Within the heat was fear that squeezed tight around my throat like a murderous villain shutting off my air supply. Time seemed to stand still as I heard her footsteps echo up the stairwell, one slow step after another.

  “Here you are, Honey.”

  The touch of her hand on my shoulder made me jump out of my chair, ready to defend myself.

  “Emily! For heaven’s sake. What is wrong?”

  In a desperate attempt to pull myself together, I took in a deep breath but it merely forced its way back out as a quivering sob. I sucked in more air, and somehow managed to hold it in. I could not admit to her what had just happened. Doing so would force me to admit it to myself. My brain raced for something to say, but everything I could think of sounded psychotic. I envisioned microscopic amoebas scurrying around my brain. I let the air out; this time, the exhale was more controlled. I knew what I had to ask.

  “Did you see Sam leave?”

  She gave me a worried look. “No. Was he here?”

  I gave her a pathetic smile. “I didn’t think so.” I was beginning to think he was never here.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She took my hand and led me down the steps. We walked into the sunroom and sat on the brand new love seat. Thick sheets of rain clouded the large glass windows.

  “Quite a storm we’re having, huh?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “About Sam…”

  The muscles in my back turned rigid. “What about him?”

  Folding her hands in her lap, Mom looked at me with a tight lipped smile. Then the smile disappeared. “I received a phone call from your friend, Clair, this morning.”

  I could tell from her voice that she was concerned. But why would Clair call my mother? Mom must have meant to say Alex. Clair must have decided to do something about Alex, so she called my mom, the probation officer.

  “Among other things, she said that you and your friends drove out to meet Sam today.”

  Anxiety wrapped a band around my chest and it hurt to breathe. Staring at Mom, I had no idea what to say. I swallowed hard.

  “She said that you couldn’t find Sam’s house.”

  My ears turned hot. Clair called my mother, about me? Clair was more worried about me than Alex?

  Enraged, I yelled, “Does she think I’m nuts, too?”

  “Nobody thinks you’re nuts, Emily, but people are worried,” she said calmly.

  “I knew it! Who else thinks I’m cracked?”

  “Stop calling yourself names. It doesn’t help by overreacting.”

  “Overreacting?!” I yelled even louder, “I’m not the one calling other people’s mothers and interfering in other people’s business just because they get lost!”

  “Dad tried to find it too, Honey.”

  My mind flashed back to the white truck that drove past us this morning. It had been my father’s truck! “Now you have Dad in on it, too?”

  Mom gave me a frustrated look. “There is no farm, Emily.” She paused for a moment. “The only farm that has ever been there burned down in 1936.”

  The room became as quiet as death. I sat still, thinking of all the crazy things that I had been experiencing. Had I been imagining the whole thing, Sam and all? After all, he was no longer here.

  Was my mind truly capable of creating an entire fantasy out of the skeletal remains of an old shack? Did my mind create all the beautiful wild flowers, the barn, the steel windmill, and little vegetable garden? Mom sat next to me, quiet and patient. I leaned back, crossing my arms across my chest and continued to sit, and think.

  Sam, or whatever I was hallucinating was right. I wasn’t crazy, I was completely insane! Real people don’t blow up.

  “Well then.” I slapped my hands on my knees. “I guess we better not be late for my doctor’s appointment.”

  Sitting in the passenger’s seat of Mom’s car, I focused on her tight grip around the steering wheel. “Are you worried for me?”

  She looked over at me briefly, then returned her eyes to the road. “No. I am hopeful.”

  “Why would you be hopeful?”

  “Because there are things such as antibiotics, and the practice of bloodletting was retired many years ago.”

  “Gosh, Mom.”

  She flashed a quick grin and patted my thigh. “Keeping a sense of humor is the best medicine anyone can prescribe.” Her hand returned to the wheel. “Life sucks sometimes. You need to learn how to roll with the punches.”

  “How do you cope?” I asked.

  “Hmmm, first I sulk. Then I count my blessings. Remember Job? He lost everything. His children, his health, his home, but his faith never wavered. God blessed him for that and restored all that was lost.”

  “What about his children?”

  “Job went on to have more children.”

  “So if I died, you’d just have another one to replace me?”

  “No, silly. I would miss you terribly, but I would also look forward to seeing you again in Heaven. Besides, you’re not dying!”

  I had to pause and digest this information. “Why did Job suffer?” I finally asked.

  “God used Job to be an example for us. We can be assured that God is in control and He knows of our good and bad times.” Mom turned and smiled my way. “Even times like this.”

  Times like this. Times like when I visit farms that no longer exist? Times like when the guy inside my house explodes into a one hundred mile an hour wind gust?

  I continued to question God’s plan for me when Mom pulled into a parking spot in front of the clinic. It no longer looked like a place of healing. Its large stern exterior was perfectly symmetrical in shape. Judging. With great condemnation.

  As she put the car into park, intense nausea gurgled up deep from within. Swallowing hard, I put my hand on the car handle and pushed the door open. Waiting for me at the front of the car, Mom held out her hand for me to grab. Her hand was moist.

  “At least the rain has stopped,” I said.

  As we walked to the entrance, I spotted Dad’s white truck already parked nearby.

  “Dad’s here.”

  “Yes.”

  A band squeezed tight around my chest. Fear and the impulse to run gripped my body. I would run! As fast as I could! Until I was somewhere safe, but where? I frantically looked around the parking lot; maybe I could grab a pole and refuse to let go. A disturbing low laugh welled up from my stomach as I pictured the evening news: Crazy Girl Holds Self Hostage at Clinic.

  Mom looked at me with alarm in her eyes.

  For a brief instant, I wished I could trade places with Job—at least he was sane!

  I could no longer breathe. I choked on the air. Mother gave my hand a firm squeeze.

  “I’m scared, Mom.”

  “Relax. It’s going to be okay.”

  But I didn’t believe it. Amoebas or not, knowing that I had lost control of my mind was more than I could handle. I was not like Job. My feet turned into heavy cement blocks. I started shak
ing. I leaned over and my stomach heaved. As the contents from my stomach splattered over the asphalt, I overheard my mother talking on her cell.

  “John, come outside. We need help.”

  Still bent over, I looked up to see my father and two men dressed in scrubs walking quickly towards me. My vision was blurred from tears forced out from throwing up. Spit stuck to my lip and hung there like some disgusting drunk.

  The men drew close. A surge of panic hit my body. I flung my arms wildly and pushed hard at anything in my way. Mom went flying backwards. As I was making a run for it, strong hands grabbed my arms and became tighter as I struggled to get away.

  “No! Please no! Let me go!” I yelled and begged, flailing my arms and kicking my legs as hard as I could.

  “Careful Smitty! She’s like a wild cat,” a man’s voice hollered.

  “A wild cat! That’s my daughter,” Dad yelled back. “Don’t hurt her!”

  Hands continued to grip my arms, neck, and back. Strange faces appeared all around me. Heavy bodies forced me to the ground, crushing me into compliance. People chattered all at once, but in the madness, I heard a new voice.

  “Let me in!” he ordered.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  HONESTY HURTS

  “TAKE THESE THINGS OFF ME!” I yanked my arms against the tethers that restrained me to the hospital bed. I was being forced into submission from my outburst. Other people dressed in hospital garb paid little attention to me.

  “Emily, dear.” Mom reached out and stroked the top of my head. “You need to stay calm.”

  Her words stung like venom.

  “Calm? You’re not the one tied up, traitor!” I hated her more than anything. “You knew they were going to do this, didn’t you?”

  “Hold on there,” Dad said, walking in the room. “The straps will come off, if you promise to chill out.”

  I studied Dad’s face, then I looked over at Mom. She nodded. I flopped my head back against the pillow. “Fine.”

  Mom gave Dad a look and he proceeded to untie the restraint.

  A staff member came up to Dad with his mouth open like he was ready to speak.

  “Back off, Chum,” Dad spoke in his gruffest voice.

  I gently shook my freed wrist.

  “Is that better?” Dad asked. His voice was low and even.

  “Yeah.” I looked around the room, which was really a partitioned segment of a larger area divided by fabric suspended from the ceiling. People dressed in scrubs pretended not to listen.

  Dad looked at Mom a second time. He proceeded to free my other arm.

  “We came here for an appointment with Dr. Lui.” Mom’s tone was quite serious. “If you’re ready, I think it best to continue with that plan, don’t you?”

  I arched my brow, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess I’m okay with that.”

  Mom left through a split in the curtain, only to reenter a few minutes later with a woman and a man on either side.

  “Emily,” Dr. Lui greeted me by name. She had been caring for me since I was three. “Let’s try and figure out what is going on with you.” Her tone was friendly and upbeat. “Your parents have told me some things about your symptoms and situation; however, my colleague and I would like to get the information directly from you.”

  I managed a fake smile for Dr. Lui. Eyeing the man next to her, I already knew I didn’t like him. He wore an expression that suggested he was superior to everyone else in the room. The longer I looked at him, the more I disliked him, and regarded his nose too small for his face.

  “Why is the patient not restrained?” he asked. His tone of voice was critical, and maybe even sounding a bit disappointed.

  “This is Dr. Kendall. He is one of our staff psychiatrists,” Dr. Lui stated, a bit uneasily.

  The man cleared his throat at his introduction, then pushed his nose higher into the air.

  I saw Dad send a look to Mom. I got the feeling they didn’t like him, either.

  “Restraints are no longer necessary, Dr. Kendall. Emily simply panicked, that’s all,” Dr. Lui continued.

  Kendall scrunched his face like he already disapproved about something. “So tell me, what brings you here today?”

  Focusing on Dr. Lui, I told them about slipping and hitting my head on the rocks in the creek. Also about the lack of hand-eye coordination that seemed unusual for me. Elaborating on the walks with Sam, I disclosed the strange sensation that I could taste him, and how some things seemed to appear when I was with him.

  “Things seemed to appear?” Dr. Kendall echoed, his voice taking on new vibrancy.

  “Well, not really appear, more like not remembering them to be there in the first place.”

  “These experiences are limited to the times you are with Sam, am I understanding that correctly?” Dr. Kendall asked.

  “At first, yes. Then today, the taste occurred at the coffee shop while I was with my friends…but, I guess I was talking about him.”

  Dr. Kendall jotted something in his notebook. “I hear that you have basically withdrawn from most of your friendships.”

  “I moved to a new town. Today was the first day I’d seen them since being in Silver Lake.”

  “Tell me your feelings about that, the move,” he said.

  “At first I was devastated! I didn’t know how to handle saying goodbye to my social life, my senior year.” Did he just smile?

  “It sounds traumatic.” Kendall’s words came off coldhearted. “Did the news of moving produce any dreams about being rescued or saved?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your history involves a horrific auto accident involving your grandparents. They both died and you nearly lost your foot. As a four year old child, you claimed that a fireman rescued you; however, firefighters never arrived on the scene. Only the police.”

  I didn’t know what to say. “I was four years old. I must have been confused.”

  “Tell me about Alex.”

  “He’s a boy I used to know.”

  “Others described him as more than that.” Dr. Kendall turned to face my father. “Is your daughter sexually active?”

  Dr. Lui’s jaw dropped.

  Dad turned a little pale and said nothing.

  “Herpes encephalitis can produce the type of hallucination your daughter is describing. Maybe we should screen for STDs.”

  The words the doctor spoke made my head spin. Was herpes encephalitis what Mozart died from and did he just accuse me of having sex with Alex?

  “No, Dr. Kendall,” Mom said with an irritated sigh. “I’m sure we don’t have to worry about STDs.”

  “Ahh, the ever-trusting parent, Mrs. Stokes.” After a brief smile, he continued with his line of questioning. “Did you like to partake in any known chemical substances—legal or otherwise—while pregnant?

  “Certainly not!” Mom snapped.

  “Any instances of bi-polar, depression, schizophrenia, or other mental illness in the family?” His voice gradually increased in pitch.

  Mom seemed unprepared for that question. She looked over at my father and he shook his head. “There is not,” she answered.

  “Dr. Kendall, if I may,” Dr. Lui spoke up.

  Kendall turned to face Dr. Lui directly. “Schizophrenia can occur without a previous family history. There is evidence of social withdrawal and clear signs of delusions and olfactory hallucinations. Additionally, this may not even be the only time she’s had breaks with reality. The early childhood dream could very well have been the primary break…as a reaction to great stress.” He spoke to Dr. Lui as if she were his student.

  Ignoring the rest of us in the room, he continued with his diagnosis. “Needless to say, it’s obvious the patient viewed the move as a tremendous stressor…thus creating a magical land to help deal with it.” Dr. Kendall’s face almost beamed. “A prescription of Seroquel should control the hallucinations and delusions.”

  “Are you suggesting schizophrenia?” Mom gasped. “What about depression?
Bizarre things can occur when people are depressed.”

  Kendall’s mouth flipped into a tangled snarl. “Teenagers commit suicide over broken hearts, not develop reactive psychosis!”

  “Dr. Kendall!” Mom regained her professional composure. “I am quite certain you are jumping to conclusions without thoroughly evaluating my daughter’s condition or symptoms. I hardly believe that a medication like Seroquel is in order.”

  The lines in Kendall’s face went flat. “Would you prefer Thorazine?”

  Dr. Lui opened her mouth to speak, only to be silenced by the palm of Dr. Kendall’s hand in front of her face.

  “Mrs. Stokes,” Kendall began, quite condescendingly. “I’m sure it must be very stressful watching your daughter suffer like this.” He looked my way, and then returned his gaze towards my mother. “But we all know that the farm doesn’t exist!”

  “Get this jackass out of here!” Dad’s face turned crimson red.

  “No need for temper, Mr. Stokes.” Then Kendall turned to Mom. “We can run all the tests you like, but the facts won’t change.” With a spiteful sneer, he slipped his pen in his pocket, spun around, and strode out the door with his chin held high.

  “Elizabeth, John, and dear, sweet Emily.” Dr. Lui’s expression was one of astonishment. “I am embarrassed by my colleague’s behavior.”

  “Never in my life—” Dad’s skin color slowly returned to normal. “What rock did he crawl out from?”

  “He’s new,” Dr. Lui offered as some kind of apology, then turned toward me. “I am so sorry! I asked him to join me in hopes he could help, not create hysteria.” She waved her hand in the air erratically to emphasize the drama.

  I didn’t know what to say or do. Stupid jerk. Staring at the gray wall, a question popped into my head. “Can I go home now?”

  “We would like to keep you here overnight, just to be on the safe side,” Dr. Lui replied. “The lab tech should be here shortly to draw some blood. Despite some previous rash statements, I believe we have several different options to rule out before we make any firm diagnosis.”