by Lisa Ladew
Chapter 11
Cora sat waiting in a bile-green plastic chair in the hallway of the psych ward, dismayed that she knew the routine already. At least they’d removed her bindings, let her walk around. But would they let her out? Did the doctors think she was sane? Or not?
The clock on the wall clicked toward noon, which meant her forty-eight hours were almost up.
A woman shuffled in front of her, heading toward her room, grey hair covering her face, her arms and hands bent and curled into her body. She didn’t speak.
Others did, though. Behind Cora in the ‘recreation room,’ twelve or so women sat quietly watching Real Housewives of Atlanta. Although an occasional cackle or scream made Cora jump, the nurses and doctors walking through the halls didn’t even seem to notice.
“Hamilton.” The nurse in the intake cage called Coralie’s name in a weary tone. Cora shot to her feet and shuffled over. Her muscles still screamed from the exertion of two days ago, and her face was killing her.
The nurse pushed a wrapped bundle through the little window at Cora. “Go in the bathroom and change. Your ride is here.”
Cora snatched up her clothes. She wasn’t going to argue, although she’d been told nothing, and couldn’t imagine who had come to get her.
Putting on her own clothes was a surreal experience. The bright colors and flowing fabrics of her blouse and batik skirt made her feel too loud and conspicuous, like if they noticed her, they would realize they were making a mistake. Fully dressed, she ran back out to the intake cage, which hulked next to the double doors that signified freedom. The nurse held up a finger, while she buzzed the doors open. Two male security guards stood on either side, their arms folded, their gazes bored but hostile.
The double doors opened to reveal four people on the other side. No one Cora knew. A nurse and an older couple were standing alongside a younger woman in a wheelchair. She was wearing an unkempt pastel hospital-issue gown that hung off shoulders so firm with muscles Cora was startled. This woman looked like she belonged in a bodybuilding competition, not curled into a wheelchair, trying to make her body disappear from view. Her eyes were haunted and weary, with dark circles underneath. Cora’s heart went out to her.
The older woman patted the one in the wheelchair. Her daughter? “Now don’t you worry, Jinelle. They’re gonna take real good care of you and I’ll visit every day. Come on, let’s get you settled in your room.”
Jinelle looked practically catatonic. Not even her eyes moved as they pushed her through the doors and down the hallway. But seconds after the door to her room closed Cora heard yelling. The commotion sent two more nurses rushing down the hall to help. As they opened the door a hoarse female voice screeched, the words hard to make out. Something about bankers and blood and license and registration.
Cora turned back to the nurse, her mouth dry. Her turn? She smiled when the nurse waved her over, then spoke the words that popped in her brain. “Every nurse here deserves a month’s vacation on a tropical island with their own personal servants.”
That got her a surprised hint of a smile. “Amen and pass the daiquiris.” She shook herself and her voice went cold. “Your outtake starts now. Dr. Momeyer is right through that door.”
Cora had only seen the psychiatrist on staff once in her observational stay. He was a short man with black, plastic rimmed glasses and a full but meticulously-trimmed beard. He stood and waved her back outside his cramped office when she entered. “Ms. Hamilton, excellent. Walk with me.” He stepped into the hall, file in hand, his face stony. “Clean bill of health. I’ve signed your paperwork; you’re free to go. You’ll get a court date in the mail for your charges.”
Cora hurried to keep up with his long strides away from the door. “I don’t understand. I mean, I’m glad I’m cleared, but I tried to kill that guy and I don’t know why. You never told me what was wrong with me.”
Dr. Momeyer waved off her concerns. “You went into a fugue state. It happens in times of stress. Your tox report was clean, you aren’t insane, so we have no reason to hold you.”
The days had given Cora a distance from her anger, making it hazy, hard to remember. “But I’m not under any great stress, except for my tenure hearing. What if it happens again? What if I’m in the middle of a class and I attack a student?”
The patronizing frown that accompanied his next words made Cora want to shove those Millennial-wannabe glasses right down his scruffy throat. “Then you probably won’t get tenure. Anyway, I don’t think you need to worry about that. You haven’t had any symptoms since you arrived.” Momeyer stopped and turned to face Cora, an indulgent expression on his face. “We only treat sick people here.”
Cora stared in disbelief as he started down the hallway again, but pointed her in the opposite direction, back the way they’d come. “The nurses will have numbers for some therapists. Be sure to make an appointment.”
Then he turned the corner and was gone. Cora stared after him, her mouth working soundlessly. She was sick. She’d tried to kill someone…
***
Twenty minutes later Cora made it out the doors to freedom. Unceremoniously dumped straight into the waiting room, blinking, looking around for her aforementioned ride.
“Lynessa,” she groaned in relief when she saw her friend. Her best friend, waiting with a sympathetic smile on her face and a cup of coffee in each hand.
Lynessa worked at Shady Pines as an assistant registrar, otherwise known as The Ones Who Keep Shit Running. She had strawberry-blonde hair, wore no makeup, and always braided her hair so she didn’t have to brush it. Cora’d never been so comfortable with anyone in her life as she was with Lynessa, even if the woman did have an ass that made Cora want to tie her down and force-feed her pork rinds just to even the playing field. Girlfriend could do a hundred squats without once crying for her mama.
Concern shone from Lynessa’s eyes, deep and genuine, then she winced when Cora got close. “Oh my god, Cora. I knew you must have had a good reason for standing me up Thursday, but girl, this is beyond messed up. I’ve been worried about you ever since they called me. Are you okay? Who the fuck gave you those black eyes?”
Embarrassingly close to tears, Cora nodded as she shuffled into her friend’s arms for a long hug.
Cora hadn’t had a steady boyfriend in over two years and she had made sure to move hours away from her parents as soon as she finished her undergrad degree. It made sense that Lynessa had been on her emergency contact forms at work, but that meant work knew already. Oh man, she was probably already fired. Homeless was next.
She gratefully accepted what comfort Lynessa offered, hugging her around the coffee cups and trying not to touch Lynessa with her poor face. “I’m a latté better now.” Some people ate when they got flustered. Cora made up horrible puns.
Lynessa groaned, but Cora couldn’t even smile. Her whole body felt heavy, like she’d been filled with cement from toes to nose. Maybe she’d had an infarction. Cora didn’t know what that was, exactly, but it sounded the way she felt.
Lynessa turned and aimed them both for the exit, her arm tightening around Cora’s shoulder as they walked. “Come on, babe. I’m springing you from this joint.”
They didn’t speak until they were out of the hospital and inside Lynessa’s sporty white Subaru. Lynessa broke the silence “You want to go to your car or home?”
Cora considered. She would get her car later, didn’t want to see the college until she could handle it. “Home.”
Lynessa took the next turn. “The cops called work Friday, and so did the hospital, but I took both calls and gave them my personal number. No one else should know.”
Cora slumped in her seat, taking a sip of lukewarm coffee as she contemplated how much she appreciated her friend. But would Lynessa’s efforts be enough? “Thank you.”
Nessa shrugged it off. “You would have done the same. Anyway, what the hell happened? Word around campus is you went rogue and tried to stab a visitor with a pen?”<
br />
Coralie had been over the incident in her mind a thousand times but was no closer to making sense of it than she had been in the moments afterwards. “That pretty much covers it. Except he wasn’t just a visitor, he was a city councilman.”
Nessa slammed the stick into fifth gear and merged between two trucks with only feet to spare. One laid on his horn and Nessa laughed, blowing a kiss. “Why, though? What’d he do?”
Cora shrugged, holding on to her coffee for dear life. Why did the seatbelts in Nessa’s car never feel snug enough? “Nothing at all. Never saw the guy before in my life.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You just saw the guy and, boom?”
Cora took a moment to remember the sensations. “I felt something before I even saw him. Like, I wouldn’t have looked over but something pulled me. You know what I mean?”
Lynessa gave Cora her deepest side-eye and shrugged awkwardly. Cora didn’t know if that meant yes or no.
Cora covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I don’t know why I did it. I remember hunting through my purse for something to stab him with at the same time I was hoping someone would stop me. It doesn’t make any damn sense.”
Lynessa didn’t say anything for a few moments. “You missed a meet for it.”
Shit. She hadn’t even thought about that. While in the psych ward, her life had somehow been whittled down to only two things. Freedom versus imprisonment. “Who won?”
Lynessa rolled her eyes as she merged onto the highway and floored the gas pedal. “Same people who always win when we’re not around: the Whitakers.”
Cora and Lynessa had been a parkour duo for a few years now, taking part in casual meets anywhere in driving distance. What had started as a fun way to stay fit had become an active passion for them both. It was the second reason that Lynessa was her bestie.
The momentum of the vehicle Nessa was manhandling pressed Cora against the seat. She didn’t fight it. Twenty minutes later they were outside her house, the sight of the riotous cottage garden lifting her spirits as it always did. Her friend cut the engine. “I’m coming in.”
Ordinarily Cora would be fine with her friend’s brashness, but this time she wasn’t. She wanted to be alone.
Nessa reached to the backseat and brought forth a long package. “I knew you wouldn’t want to go to your car so I got this out of it.”
She’d been trying to cheer Cora up, and Cora appreciated it. It wouldn’t work though. She frowned.
Lynessa cajoled her. She knew Cora had a tendency to wallow and needed help not to do it or she would get depressed. Her eyes twinkled as she elbowed Cora. “You’ve known what’s inside this for days, and you never even texted me. You owe me.”
Cora smirked. “Okay, bring your big bully ass inside.”
Lynessa nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Chapter 12
They entered Cora’s small home, which looked no different for having been empty for three days. Cora sighed “One of these days I’m going to give up on men and get a dog. At least that way someone will notice when I come home after seventy-two hours on the psych ward.”
Lynessa fake-pouted. “Aw, but you have Mina and Lucy to keep you company.”
They crossed to the fishbowl on the table where the goldfish swam in endless circles. Cora pinched some food and sprinkled it on top of the water, her friend making her feel better. She wouldn’t have believed it. “But they don’t get me, you know? They just stare at me blankly.” She dropped her voice and stared out the window. “Like my parents used to do.”
Lynessa put a hand on her arm. “Oh no. I wasn’t thinking. Should I have called your parents?”
Cora screwed up her face in disbelief. “I don’t talk to them any more than they do to each other. You did fine.”
Lynessa gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded and held up the box. “Artifact time, then.”
She set it on dining room table, pushing away books to make room, and dove in. “What was Thorn like? Hot?”
Cora sank into a chair, trying to remember the details that had been obscured by her crisis. “He took off before I got there. A waitress gave it to me.”
Lynessa slid the curved shape out and set it on the table. “Fucker, he’s weird as shit.”
Cora snorted. “And rude.”
Lynessa found the note and held it up. “Ooh, what does it say?”
Cora snatched the heavy linen stationery from her friend’s hand. “I didn’t read it.” She ripped it open and quickly read the words in Thorn’s familiar hand.
Lynessa read over her shoulder, then took the note and held it to her face. “Fuck him! He does this shit on purpose. He knows I love witch stuff, and he knows you’ll show me anything he sends you. I bet he made this shit up. Anything to imply anonymous women in historical art were witches who should’ve been strung up.”
Cora plucked the note back and re-read silently, agreeing. Thorne was easy to dislike, but easy to be curious about, too. Every time she thought she had a handle on him, her feelings changed.
Dear Coralie [and Lynessa, if I know you ladies at all],
My most sincere hope is that by now we have met, this piece has changed hands and its legend shared in person. However, should the fates conspire against us, or should you desire a copy for your records, I have included it here as well.
Please find herein the mammoth tusk carving we discussed and for which payment was received in full. Included are authentication papers so you may rest assured the ivory is legal and cruelty-free.
Also know I was sure to discover as much as I could about the legend conveyed by this particular piece. I was relayed the last pieces of the story after the piece had already been wrapped and boxed, a scant hour before I was to leave my office and begin my journey! It is my hope that once you see it you will be as satisfied with the piece as I imagined you’d be.
Your carving depicts the Legend of the Eastern’s Witch, as told to me over a very poor phone connection by a man living on the remote Izu Shoto islands. I shall do my best to convey it clearly.
The story begins on the thin end of the tusk, where we see the Pale Wanderer crawling up the foothills, nearly dead from starvation.
Cora stopped reading and eyed the carving with the care she hadn’t been able to take back when she’d never been arrested before. Argh. She pushed the thought away and refocused.
The sculpture was smooth on the convex underside and carved on the concave. On the thinner end, as Thorn described, a figure’s upper half appeared out of the ivory. Only about an inch long but with exacting detail, she saw skin-and-bones hands, scraggly hair and a long, pointed face. He certainly appeared to be malnourished.
His hands clung to miniaturized mountain peaks, a field of them between him and the cozy homes of a mountain village. Cora continued reading.
The traveler made his way to a village in the mountains, where from the next scene we can see he was well-fed by the residents, sleeping peacefully amongst the houses in the light of the moon.
But this village had been claimed by a jealous witch, and she was angered that the spoils she considered to be her rightful tribute had been spent on a lowly, starving beggar. She sought to punish the Pale Wanderer for his presumption. In the dark of night she had her companion, a black wolf, chase him out of the village so that he got lost in the rice fields that were cut into the mountainsides.
Cora looked again at the carved mammoth tusk, her eyes tracking the tale up its length, from the scene of the sated traveler to the pale figure now standing up to his knees in the midst of a field of grain. The sculpture was so intricate that she could see each thin blade of grass, the fat grains of rice set to burst from their tips. A look of abject fear covered the pale figure’s upturned face.
At one corner of the field a carving of a wolf prowled low, lacquered in black, with clever eyes of purple stone inset into the ivory. At the opposite corner a womanly figure lurked, shrouded in indigo robes.
Knowing he was cornered, the Pale Wanderer gathered as much rice as he could and made a sacrifice to the gods, begging that his life be spared so that he may speak of their glory. But as he was prostrate, the witch and her familiar struck him down; a great sin in the eyes of his gods.
They retaliated, burning the witch’s precious village and exiling her and her wolf familiar. They wandered the wilds for eternity, finding no home, with only each other for warmth.
Lynessa sighed dramatically as she pointed out the witch and her wolf. “They don’t seem all that upset about it to me.”
The black wolf and indigo woman were curled together at the thickest part of the tusk, their spines curving to form a perfect circle and their limbs tucked inside. Both had eyes of the same purple stone as the wolf had had before, and they were gazing into each other, nose to muzzle.
Lynessa was right. The peace that radiated from their touching faces was realistic enough to make Cora envious. She frowned at the thought. But that’s what good art did, right? Fucked with you?
Cora shook her head and tossed the letter from Thorn on the table. The piece was weird and seemed to amplify her disquiet from the last few days, her confusion and pain, in a new way.
She scanned the images on the tusk again, her eyes drawn to the word below the woman, carved into the tusk. It had called her attention in the diner, too. Swytch.
Lynessa ran her finger over it. “Swytch. I’ve never seen that before. A variation of witch?”
“Maybe,” Cora breathed as something fell into place for her. She shook her head. Insane. Had to be.
She pushed the mammoth tusk across the table to her friend. “This is yours. You’re supposed to have it.”
Lynessa didn’t argue, like Cora had thought she would. Instead she pulled the tusk close and stared at it, then whispered heavily, “I feel it, too. It’s mine.”
Cora stared at her friend for a long time, working up the courage to ask her a question. Trying to ignore the feeling of… something coming. “Lynessa, do you ever… have nightmares? About… vampires… or witches?”
