Few Are Angels

by Inger Iversen

  It was my fault that I was still experiencing hallucinations. I refused to take the pills because the side effects were just as bad as the hallucinations. I hadn’t taken the pills for the last few weeks of my stay at Ocean Trace, and though the doctor prescribed a lower dosage before I’d left, I still wasn’t interested in taking them. They gave me the same symptoms I had before a vision, and sometimes I’d black out. I just didn't think they were worth it.

  Chapter 8

  * * *

  Five Weeks Earlier

  * * *

  The clock ticks away the minutes of our session. I sit on the hard, pale blue sofa. The naked, stark white walls feel more like a hospital room than an office. I assume the room and furniture’s light color scheme are meant to be calming, but they do little to force away the hallucinations that swim in my head. Usually, there is always someone in here with me—the good doc himself or Nurse Laura with pills or sometimes a needle. I haven’t yet had to endure the needle. I’m getting better at pretending that I don’t see things or hear voices anymore. Too many times, a seemingly sane person comes in this room and leaves comatose because of Laura and her needle. I refuse to be one of those people.

  Normally, I am quiet and follow the rules for fear that my three-week stint here will again be extended. My stay is court-mandated, but it was originally only to be seventy-two hours, then I was supposed to go stay with my parents’ best friends in Virginia. But the doc said I was “still using delusions and voices in my head as a coping method for my parents’ death.” This isn’t true. But what can I tell a man who spent ten years in college learning that anything a “mental patient” says is a “coping method,” and that a pill or a needle in the arm is the best way to fix it? He doesn’t see what I see, and he can’t feel what I feel during the hallucinations. I watch the deaths of others, including my own. I even watch myself die—once in a fire and another time by the hands of a man the size of a linebacker.

  I stay seated and repeat everything the doctor wants me to say. “Yes, it was all in my head. Yes, seeing myself die in a hallucination was how I coped with the fact that my parents were gone and I was still alive.” This is my only way out of here, but once I am out, will I be able to hold it together? Or will I end up back in this pitiful blue chair in this sad white room?

  Dr. Lithe knocks lightly on the door before he opens it and slithers into the office. I find it highly annoying that he knocked at all. This is his office, after all. I keep my face a mask and swallow the fear that this balding, fifty-year-old man instills in me. He sits in his chair across from me and smiles. The chair groans in protest against his weight. His smiles mean anything from disappointment to approval—I learned this the hard way. I suppose he’s not too horrible a person. The hallucinations are what keeps me here, not some scheme the doctor created. I can’t blame the doctor for doing what he thinks is best. He’s seen me at my worst, and his decision to keep me here longer is justified. He seems to genuinely care about my transition from the institution to the Carltons’, or maybe he wants to think he has cured me, whether I am better or not. We sit in silence and I wait for the bad news.

  Dr. Lithe clears his throat and shuffles through his papers. “Well, Ella,” he starts, and I nearly jump out of my seat. I am entranced by his ability to make me feel uncomfortable even when he is silent. “No need for that, young lady. Calm down. I know you’re nervous about my evaluation, but I assure you that you will be leaving next Tuesday.”

  I’m not sure how to feel. I desperately want to leave, but I worry about how I will adjust.

  He continues to speak, but I ignore him.

  I hear nothing after his promise of freedom next Tuesday. This is what I want, to leave this place, but I’m still nervous about staying with my mother and father’s best friends in Northern Virginia. After my parents’ death, and my breakdown at school, the Carltons offered to let me live with them until I was ready to return to college or live on my own.

  “We just need to go over a few things before you go. I want to make sure that you understand that this is sort of a trial run.” Dr. Lithe looks at me over the rim of his glasses. He waits for me to get upset so that he can go into his big speech about how recovery takes time, and how I need to be around people who love me, but also have a regimen that includes him. Basically, he wants me to endure weekly calls, monthly visits, and to continue taking that horrible medicine I’ve been taking here. I didn't plan on doing any of it, but the words “trial run” stick with me. Maybe I would give in a bit if it meant leaving Ocean Trace and never returning.

  “If your episodes return, I will have to recommend to the judge that you come back.”

  I am sure he thinks he has cured me, but if I regress, he will pull me back here in a New York minute. I swear to myself that no matter what, I am not coming back here—no matter what.

  Chapter 9

  * * *

  I opened my eyes, surprised that I’d shut them. Blinking rapidly, my vision cleared and I stood to stretch my legs, placed my cell on the charger, then went to the kitchen to make lunch. My stomach growled embarrassingly loudly, and I was glad I was alone. I made a grilled cheese and took out the ground beef for dinner. I nibbled my food and wondered what my few friends in Virginia Beach were doing. Most likely, they were getting ready for Thanksgiving break with their families or friends.

  I went back upstairs to check my emails. There were only seven unread messages in my inbox. The rest were either spam or coupons. The first email was from one of the offices at school stating that my online classes were cancelled, and I needed to get in touch with Financial Services for my refund. The second was from my family estate lawyer, Mr. Spruill. It said that he’d spoken with my new “guardians” about my family’s estate. He left his number and his office hours and asked me to get in touch with him. Four were from friends saying they missed me and that I needed to turn on my cell phone. The final message came from an unknown sender. Normally, I wouldn’t read emails where the sender wasn’t someone I knew, but the message had my full name—Eloise Ivy Monroe—in the subject line. I clicked and read the message.

  “Do Not Remember For Anyone”

  I couldn't think of who would send me such an odd message, and I didn't recognize the sender’s email address: JV@Council.com. I brushed it off as a joke or some sort of spam since the user used my whole name, something no one close to me would do.

  I needed to tackle my cell phone. I picked it up and looked at the screen for the first time in months—eleven missed calls and twenty-two texts. I wasn’t even close to being in the mood to deal with them, so I put it aside once again and promised myself I would handle it later.

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway surprised me. It was early in the day, and I wasn’t sure who it could be. My heart skipped a beat as I thought back to Kale and his story of an intruder. I grabbed my cell and ran downstairs to peek out through the curtain. A long gray car sat in the driveway, and a man emerged from the vehicle. Luckily, it wasn’t the tall blond from the previous night, but a short, balding man, red-faced from the cold. I waited for him to knock on the door before I opened it.

  Chapter 10

  * * *

  Knope’s Grocery

  * * *

  “Miss Monroe?” The stranger’s voice was high and nasally.

  I opened the door enough to peek through, holding my cell tight in my other hand in case I needed it.

  The man held up his hands as if to say he meant no harm. “Oh, I’m sorry. Hasn’t Sarah called you yet?”

  “No, she hasn’t. Are you here to see her or me?”

  He smiled, a genuine smile, not like the ones I was used to, and my cold disposition warmed a bit. “I’m here to see you. Sarah told me that you would be staying here, and she wanted you to have something for you to fill your days with.” He shivered. “Uh, Miss Monroe, it’s awfully cold out here. Do you think we could talk inside?”

  I moved aside and opened the door more so that he c
ould enter. He went into the living room and sat down. He seemed comfortable, like he’d been to the house many times.

  “I am in need of a part-time stockperson and cashier in my store. One of my girls just stopped showing up.”

  I nodded, though I had no clue which store in the small town was his. There were only eight, and from the looks of him, I could eliminate all but two.

  “I’m Mr. Knope,” he continued, reaching out to shake my hand. His hands were cold, and I felt sorry for not asking him in sooner. “Sarah mentioned that you may not want to be cooped up in this house during the day, so I offered to hire you. If you’re interested, that is.” He straightened his shirt and rubbed his hands together.

  I knew Sarah had set this up because she felt guilty about leaving me in the house alone all day. I really didn’t want to do it, but I figured it would be better than sitting with nothing to do all day.

  “You would have the weekends off, and you would only work three days a week for four or five hours. I’d pay eight bucks an hour. That’s almost a dollar more than my regular workers get,” he said enthusiastically. The bonuses he added were nice, but I had already decided to take the job. I didn't have anything better to do during the day. There wasn’t anything else I had to do throughout the day.

  “Okay, that sounds good,” I said, trying to add cheerfulness to my voice.

  “Great. Can you start next week?” I must not have hidden my surprise fast enough, because he asked, “Is that too soon?” He seemed genuinely concerned that I was going to change my mind.

  I smiled reassuringly and lied through my teeth. “No, that’s fine. What store, and what day do I start?”

  He smiled. “It’s Knope’s Grocery. Come in on Monday at noon. Oh, and wear khakis. I will give you a navy shirt on Monday, and Mia will be there to train you.”

  We shook hands again, and he thanked me for my help on his way out. I wondered why the last girl had quit. The job couldn't be that bad, and getting out of the house would do me good.

  ***

  Later that night as I got ready for bed, Sarah came into my room to talk about my new job. My head was hurting, and my stomach felt queasy. I was about to have another vision, and I hoped that she would make the conversation quick.

  “Ella, it’s only a ten-minute walk to the Town Center.”

  Cedar was a small town, and everything was within walking distance. I didn’t have my car, but we planned to pick it up after the holidays. Sarah thought that it would be a good idea if I walked to work and got rides home from Mr. Knope. “And we bought you that new snow gear, so I think it will be okay for now,” she added confidently.

  I didn’t care either way, as long as we got my car back soon. A few weeks of walking would do me some good. I’d gained a few pounds in the last months from sitting around doing nothing all day. “Okay, that’s good, I guess.”

  Sarah left, and I paced the floor, hoping that deep breathing would help. I shook my head to rid myself of the fog that crept into my sight, but that didn't help, either. The last thing I remembered was making my way to the bed so that I wouldn’t crack my skull open on the hardwood floor.

  I open my eyes in a small room with a makeshift bed and a chair in the corner. I walk to the bed and take a seat. The bed is soft, and every now and then a feather comes loose and floats carelessly in the air. On the pillow, a dull yellow piece of parchment paper catches my attention, and I pick it up.

  Hélène

  Je renverrai sous peu Mon amour.

  J'apporterai l'eau et plus d'approvisionnements, bientôt nous serons libres du prince foncé I la jurons à vous!

  Votre coeur et âme Kale

  I only took one year of French in high school, but I can still translate the note from Kale. He is going for more supplies and will return soon. My heart flutters. My body heats at the thought of his touch. I know that this is the Kale that I met last night, but in this hallucination, he is someone I love and who loves me. He writes that he is my heart and love, and reading those words makes my heart melt and flow through my body—fast and hard—like blood through my veins. When will he arrive? Will he have the same icy tone with this Hélène as he does with me? I need to figure out who this Hélène woman is, and why I am reading her letter. My confusion causes conflict with the waves of joy I feel from Hélène as we dance around this small room, dreaming of Kale.

  I accept that this is a hallucination of Hélène, and that she and I are the same person here. My eagerness for Kale grows as we spin and turn, full of happiness and anticipation. I can feel the soft cotton as it hugs Hélène’s figure tightly. The cool dirt floor nestles between my toes as I dig them into the earth for balance, and I can smell the warm smell of baking bread in the room above us. Normally, I fight the vision, because the longer they last, the longer the after-effects and sickness remain. Now, I fight to stay in the vision because I want to see Kale. In my heart, I know that he will greet Hélène with a kiss, and I want to feel his cool lips against my own.

  As Hélène and I settle down, she makes her way to a bucket against the wall. She cleans her face, hands, and feet, and I wonder in what year this vision takes place. There is neither running water, nor a proper kitchen in which to cook. I decide to settle into Hélène’s mind and wait for Kale to return, but I am rocked with sudden dread, and it is Hélène’s fear, not my own. It’s powerful enough to demand all of my attention. The sounds of several footsteps trample above our head, and Hélène moves to the door incredibly fast to check the locks. She runs to the back of the room, and I can feel her growing sense of terror as though it is choking me. I do all I can to hold onto this vision. Muffled words and fearful voices rumble above our head. Hélène knows what is going on—the Dark Prince’s men have come for her. Hélène looks around the room for a weapon, but finds nothing.

  “Là où est elle?” demands a strong voice. He wants to know where Hélène is, and she knows well that the questioned person will comply to save their own life. We hear a muffled reply followed by the sounds of booted feet closing in on us. I feel her terror change to sorrow as the door bursts open, leaving nothing but splinters in its wake. I feel a sense of calm wash over Hélène, not completely curing her fear, but still giving her a bit of peace. I wonder why she doesn’t run or scream for help when they burst into the room. She stands there and cries, and I know she isn’t crying because of her impending capture and death, but for the man she knows will not return to her.

  ***

  When I awoke, my head was pounding, and my face was wet with tears. The feeling of despair hadn’t completely left me, but I was able to gather myself enough to make it to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and nearly collapsed from shock. My green eyes looked as if they swam in a river of blood, and I was paler than I’d ever been. I peeked out of the bathroom and listened for movement downstairs. I could hear Lea and Sarah stirring in the kitchen downstairs, and I hoped that Sarah wouldn’t feel the need to come to my room.

  I returned to the bathroom and splashed hot water on my face in an attempt to bring back some color to my cheeks. I looked like a ghost—a sick ghost on her last legs. The vision had taken so much from me, and the only reason I could think of was that I held on to it tighter instead of letting go as I felt it slipping away. I hadn’t seen Kale in the vision, but I had a feeling that something horrible had happened to him and that it was my fault. Guilt pulled at my guts and tore through my stomach, causing me to heave into the toilet. My head felt as if it was going to explode from the pressure that built behind my eyes, and I fell to the floor.

  Sarah called that she and Lea were leaving. The front door shut, and I heard her car head down the road. Hopefully, Eric had already left because I wouldn’t have the strength to explain if he found me on the floor. It was warm in the room, but my body shook violently, and I couldn’t control it. My tears spilled as I lay there, trying to gain some sort of control long enough to get my pills from the medicine cabinet. I had sworn that I would never take t
hem unless forced, but in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to choke down the entire bottle and sleep until the pain was gone.

  I heard a loud noise that seemed to shake the whole house. I couldn’t tell where it came from, and I didn’t care. Feet pounded the steps, and I knew by the sound that only one person was coming. The person burst into the room down the hall. I should have been afraid, but as the noise grew closer, the pain in my head felt as though it was ripping me to pieces. I silently begged myself to get up and get the pills, but it was too late.

  As he stood over me, I tried to move away from him, but my back hit the bathtub. With that sudden movement, I had used all of the energy I had left. My hands fell limp to the floor.

  “My pills,” I whispered. I could no longer hear myself speak, nor could I see the intruder, but I felt his hands as he lifted me. My last conscious thought was that Eric had found me, and I was going back to Ocean Trace. Then, a familiar scent of winter frost and Dove soap sent waves of calm through me.

  Chapter 11

  * * *

  “It saddens me to see what you have become. Your power is fueled by your rage and hate. You have become like the very ones you once thought to protect us from, and now they come for us. May god protect us.” — Illiana Laurent

  * * *

  The snow was deep, and the air so cold that he felt the wind’s sharp teeth pierce his skin. In the distance, someone was burning wood. The scent was strong and familiar. It reminded him of his home so long ago with Illiana and Agnes. He couldn't afford to be disrupted by their memory. At one point, his actions had been for their survival. The need for bloodshed and vengeance once weighed heavy on his mind. He hadn’t intended to become the monster they’d claimed him to be, but now he prided himself on the names they called him. His personal favorite was the Dark Prince. He was not royalty, but his name would never be forgotten, nor could he forget the reason he’d become the man he was today. His men, through his connection to the Arc, had traced her to a state on the east coast. Their bond had grown stronger because of her visions, which had become longer and fiercer. It pleased and excited him to know how close they were to finding her exact location. It wouldn’t be much longer.