“Where were you? Where was so much more important?” I asked. She began shifting in her chair again.
“I fell in love with someone,” she said.
“Are you kidding me? See, I knew, I knew it was something completely selfish. You are a real piece of work. I want to leave.”
I started to stand up, struggling with my shackles.
“I’m not saying that I never made any mistakes, Danielle, but I am here now to make things right—“
“I’m ready!” I began shouting, knowing no one was likely to hear me.
“Danielle, please sit down,” she said, frustrated.
“Hello! Anyone?” I kept yelling as I made my way toward the door.
“Stop, Danielle, come over here for a second,” she said, struggling to maintain her wavering composure.
“We’re done in here!” I said, beginning to bang on the door.
“She’s dying,” Joyce shouted at me.
I stopped my banging immediately and jerked my head back toward her. My heart plummeted. I sensed she was telling the truth, but couldn’t let myself believe it, because of all the lies I’d already lived through with her.
“Who is?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Peyton . . . Danielle, I don’t have a lot of time . . .” she said with tears beginning to stream down her face.
“What happened, I don’t understand,” I was confused.
“Years ago when Peyton was still young, only thirteen, she was diagnosed with cancer. She was sick all the time. I quit my job and returned home to take care of her. I took her to doctor after doctor, we tried everything, every treatment, every medicine, every hospital. Sometimes it seemed as though something would work, then she would relapse. This went on for years. Eventually, we moved to find a place closer to the best medical care in the state. Every day was a battle, every day was harder than the day before. It is so hard being a parent, and having to watch your child suffer day in and day out, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to help them. There’s nothing you can do to make the pain go away, to make them feel better . . . There’s nothing you can do to save them.
“One day Peyton insisted she wanted to leave the house and see the new town we had moved to. She didn’t care what anyone thought of how she looked, or how sick she would be the entire time. She had lost most of her hair, weighed just under ninety pounds, her complexion pale, and the features of her face were sunken. She said she just missed seeing the world. So I looked in the paper and saw there was a football game at the high school. It seems dumb now to take her among so many people, but we went. We arrived at the end of the third quarter, so there wasn’t much time left. The stands were packed, and there was nowhere to sit. She was mostly confined to a wheelchair at that time. I remember getting nervous trying to figure out where she could sit. Then this family sitting in the front row volunteered to make room for us. I remember in my mind counting down the seconds till I could get her out of there and get her back home to a safe place.”
“Do you like football?” the girl next to her asked.
“Me?” Peyton looked at her, confused. Ever overprotective, I leaned over slightly to eavesdrop.
“Yeah, you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve never really watched a game,” she said.
“No? Wow, you must not be from around here,” the girl said with a laugh.
“No, we’re new to town,” Peyton said. I found it unusual to see her engage in conversation with anyone other than myself or her father. It was like watching your child start school for the first time and seeing them interact with other children.
“Well, the best part of this game is the food, nachos to be specific,” the girl said, “Cause our football team sucks.”
Peyton laughed at this, it was the first time I had seen her laugh in ages. I felt my throat begin to get dry.
“Want one?” the girl asked, offering her portion in front of her.
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“Not just one?” she urged with a smile.
“Okay, maybe just one,” Peyton said, making a selection. It was nearly impossible to get Peyton to eat anything ever, so I was mildly jealous that this girl made it seem so easy.
“Good, right?” the girl asked.
They talked the entire twenty minutes or so we were there. When the game was almost over, I insisted that we leave early to not get stuck trying to get through the crowd. I tried to pull Peyton’s wheelchair out, but one of the bag straps was hung up on the bleachers. The girl she had been talking to reached down and untangled it and pulled the chair forward.
“There we go,” she said with a cheerful smile. Peyton stretched across and brushed her wrist with her hand. Their eyes locked for what seemed to be forever. They looked into each other’s eyes, appearing to be searching for something. I became nervous at this unusual interaction between two strangers.
“Thank you,” Peyton said to the girl.
“Yeah of course . . .” the girl said, and we left.
The next morning Peyton woke me up early before the sun had even come up.
“What is it!?” I asked in alarm, still half asleep.
“I need to go to the doctor,” she said. I woke up instantly and looked at her. All I could think was that taking her out probably made her sick.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, Mom. I’m not sick anymore,” she said with a smile on her face.
“Oh, honey . . .” I said, with deep sadness in my voice.
“Mom, I know it, I’m better,” she insisted.
I remember an urge to argue with her and not wanting to give her false hope, but I was so worn down that if she had hope, then I was willing to take that chance. I made an appointment with her doctor, and then four more doctors.
She was right, it wasn’t completely gone, but she was in remission.
After her story was over, Joyce surveyed me across her desk. “Your hair was much longer then,” she said, smiling at me.
“I remember how sick I got right after that,” I answered, thinking back, “I never knew why. I didn’t even recognize her . . . or you.”
“Oh, but she recognized you,” Joyce said, “I remember when you guys reunited after the ‘accident,’ she called me so excited that she had met up with you again. She told me she would never tell you about the first time you met. I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t even think twice about it. I had spent so many years taking care of her, and everything else, that when she got better all I wanted was to reclaim my life that I had put on hold for so long. It was selfish.”
“And now?” I said.
“She relapsed, a couple months before you came here. She knew something was wrong. She called me one night to tell me she’d been to the doctor, and they had run some tests and they had come back positive. I sent for her to live with me again so that I could take care of her.”
In descending dread, I suddenly realized the horrible mistake I had made.
“She wasn’t pregnant?” I asked.
“No.”
“I felt something growing inside her,” I began to shake.
“It was the disease, Dani,” she said with an expression of sympathy on her face.
The room seemed to spin around me. What had I done? Abel, I had been so mad at him, for no reason. I put my face in my hands trying to steady my thoughts. Never had I felt regret the way I did at this moment. The palm reader had said Abel’s unborn child’s life would depend on him being there for someone. She had implanted that thought in my head. Everything else she had predicted was right. Had I entrusted my life and the lives of others in myth?
“Oh, my God,” I whispered. I had never tried to justify what I had done to Abel, but this made it so much worse.
“Danielle, are you okay?” Joyce asked.
“No, I don’t feel so good.”
“Danielle, I know this is immense, but I need your help today. We’re running out of time
.”
“What do you mean?”
“Peyton is running out of time. They gave her three weeks . . . that was five weeks ago.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Save her.” Two simple words loaded with significance.
“I can’t . . .” I argued.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I’ve tried, remember we’ve been through this.”
“You can,” she asserted. She removed the wrap that was around her arm to reveal the skin into which she had plunged the knife.
There was nothing.
“You can,” she repeated.
“How is that possible?” I asked, “Why couldn’t I do it before?”
“I’ve studied your case very closely, I’ve listened to what you’ve said, and I’ve done my research. The reason you cannot access any of your abilities is because of the medicine. When I first started seeing you, I replaced your medication with placebos to get all of it out of your system. That’s why your pills looked different, that’s why it seemed they weren’t working. That’s why I made you get rid of that sedative.”
“But why would that make a difference?” I asked.
“Your ability seems to be a manifestation of your emotions. The medications we give you inhibit extreme emotions, whether that be anger or happiness, you can produce some, but no extreme form of one or the other. That’s why you feel you are a danger to people when you don’t take them, because . . . you are. I need you to access the deepest emotions you have.”
“Even if I could help, I could never get to her, wherever she is.”
“That doesn’t matter, you won’t be here much longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m removing you from this place . . . tonight,” she said, “With all the ‘issues’ you and I have had as of late you, wouldn’t believe how hard it was to get approval from the top authority for your release.”
“My . . . release?” I repeated, overwhelmed. I couldn’t even begin to imagine this day, those words. Now, the thought of going out into the world with no preparation was nothing short of terrifying. Joyce recognized the distress on my face.
“Dani, calm down, once you leave here I can’t give you anything to ease the anxiety, I need you fully aware, fully alert,” she said.
I shook my head, unable to grasp fully the implication of her words.
“It has to be tonight.”
“What’s the plan?”
Chapter Sixteen: The One that Won’t Let Go
Joyce had obviously been working on this plan since day one. She had approved a scheme for me to be removed from the institution under the care of a guardian. Since the last thing she wanted was to involve my family, she paid some guy to impersonate my father, arranging for him to ‘take me home.’ He would then deliver me to her, and she would take me to Peyton.
All I could think about was actually being able to see Peyton again. What if I couldn’t help her? What if I couldn’t leave? What if they suspected something? What would she look like? Would I be able to recognize her? I thought about what Joyce’s plans were for me after I had achieved what she wanted, or if I couldn’t accomplish what she wanted.
When they collected me from my room to leave, I was sitting at the end of my bed. I had all my things packed up in a small bag ready to go. It amazed me, how I had got along with so little to entertain or distract me over the years. I had never planned for this day to come. I wondered what life outside this place would be like. It was a scary thought.
The door opened. “Danielle, your fathers’ here,” someone said.
I looked up, astonished. Then, remembered it was only someone pretending to be him. Not actually him. I wondered if I would ever find my family once I was out of here, what would I say to them? How would I explain . . . anything?
I rose to my feet and walked out of the door. Was I leaving this room behind forever?
“It’s normal to be nervous,” one of the people accompanying me said.
“I don’t even know why anyone would think letting her out of here is a good idea,” the other scoffed.
“Shut up!” the first person said, “Ignore him.”
I did. In fact, nothing either of them was saying registered.
“Danielle,” a man waved, this must be him.
I walked up to him. He was tall, like my dad with light skin, more facial hair than my father, but they had their similarities. I don’t know what it was about him, but when I saw him, I hugged him as if he was my father. Thankfully, he hugged me back.
“Well, we’re all set to go,” he said.
We left the place, I climbed into his car, and he drove away. Anxiety began to build in me with every mile we covered. I now knew what Joyce had meant about getting Peyton back to a place where it was safe when she was ill. It meant a place where you could control what happened around you. Even driving in the car made me nervous. I had forgotten how fast they seem to go. I remembered driving to my brother’s baseball game with Peyton, it eased my mind a little.
“You alright?” the man said, breaking the silence.
“Yeah.”
“I normally don’t do things like this, breaking the law you know,” he said nervously.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, I’m just saying, that I know what I’m doing isn’t exactly legal, but I owed Joyce a favor,” he laughed nervously.
“A favor?” I asked.
“Yeah . . .” he said.
“Why?”
“My wife she um . . . we were very young when we got married. And in her early twenties, she developed a severe mental illness. I didn’t have insurance or anything. Our lives were chaos for years and years. I tried to get her help, but it was just so expensive and the care that I could afford was terrible and didn’t help her. A couple of years ago we met Joyce, and she took an unusual interest in her case. She’s worked very hard to help my wife. The improvements were unbelievable. Before she was in and out of institutions monthly. Now, it’s been a year and four months since she’s been in a hospital. She’s not perfect, but she’s the person I remember. The person I fell in love with,” he said.
“Your wife . . . What did she have?”
“Joyce says it’s a kind of schizophrenia,” he replied.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, sometimes she would claim to see, hear, and experience the most out of this world things. Her descriptions were so vivid. To be honest, at times I actually believed her,” he said with an embarrassed laugh.
“Interesting,” I drifted away into my thoughts.
* * *
When we finally reached our destination, it turned out to be a hospital. He parked alongside another car and opened the door.
“I hope she finds what she’s looking for,” he said, giving me a broad smile as I alighted from the car.
“Thank you,” I said, closing the door.
The car next to his was Joyce’s, I assumed. It looked as if it cost tens of thousands of dollars. She lowered the window a little to let me know it was her. I rounded the car to the passenger side and got in beside her.
She sat quietly at first.
“This is it,” she said, “She’s in there. I’m counting on you, Dani.”
“No pressure,” I said.
“You can do this. Just as you did before,” she said.
“And if I can’t?” I held her gaze.
“That’s not going to happen.” She looked at me with an expression telling me it wasn’t an option. This made me even more nervous, considering the last time I consciously used my gift, I had killed someone. Maybe that was all it was good for.
“Let’s go,” I said, wanting to get it done with.
As we entered the hospital, Joyce coached me with every step we took about what to say, how to act, who I was. I tried hard to pay attention, but could focus on nothing. My nerves were getting the best of me. I crossed my arms, so no one would notice how much I was s
haking.
“Now, when you see her she’ll be hooked up to a ventilator. She is heavily medicated, so she probably won’t know that you’re there,” she said.
“Wait, what do you mean?” I asked.
“She’s not coherent. She hasn’t been responsive to anything or anyone in almost a week. It’s like she’s already gone,” she said. She took my hand as if in an involuntary reflex. Without pausing to think, I returned her grip. I felt my hand shake in hers and began to sweat out of nervousness. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Joyce, I didn’t think you would make it in time, but I’m glad you did. Who’s this?” a nurse asked, assessing suspiciously.
“This is her cousin on her father’s side, they were very close,” she explained.
“We prefer to only have immediate family at this time,” she pointed out.
“She’s going to die, either way, people need to say goodbye,” Joyce said fiercely.
The nurse just nodded and walked away.
“Ready?” she asked, facing a room that I assumed was Peyton’s.
I wasn’t sure if I gave any affirmative response, but I entered the room. Joyce followed me.
As I did so, I felt my legs get weak beneath me. It was her. When I saw her I was reminded more of our forgotten meeting more than any other time. She looked so fragile, nearly lifeless. She was nothing but bones. All her features were hollow, her eyes’ closed. Her head was wrapped. I imagined this was to cover her lack of hair or sores. She looked like a completely different person.
As I approached her, I clutched the side of the bed to steady myself.
“It’s a difficult sight, I know,” Joyce said from behind me.
“I should never have left her,” I said, fighting back the first tears of pain I had felt in years, “This would have never happened.”
“Get it all out this time, Danielle, I don’t ever want this disease to come back.”
“I’m scared,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I know you, you won’t hurt her. This is your job,” she said.
I nodded and returned my gaze to Peyton.
I reached down slowly and grasped Peyton’s hand. It was so small, so cold. I pulled my hand back and looked at Joyce. What did she expect from me?
Manifesting Shadow, #1 Page 21
