Micaden’s Madness

by Mason, V. F.

  “It’s true. I used to love her, but she betrayed me.”

  He chuckles again, throws the cigarette in the snow, and turns around to go back to the club, but not before throwing over his shoulder, “Sometimes the thing we hate most is the only thing we truly love.”

  Island, United States

  August 2019

  Emerald

  Everything instantly goes silent the minute my body sinks into the water, and I hold my breath as much as I can while I fall deeper, and with all this stress, a bright bulb lights up in my head and brings the clarity I’ve sought for what feels like my whole life.

  When in fact it has only been seven years.

  All pain, agony, desperation, betrayal, and then more pain assault me with various flashbacks, and I gasp, forgetting where I am. Water immediately fills me and panic prickles at me, but then my legs start to move, along with my arms.

  I’m swimming! I’m swimming, because I know how to do it, and my brain is finally not afraid to do that.

  Emerald, the real Emerald with all her memories, is back and she wants to live.

  No, she deserves to live, and she won’t die after everything she had to live through.

  I swim and swim, finally reaching the top of the water. I break through the surface, gulping fresh air and coughing while still treading, my eyes stinging from it all.

  Wiping away the water from my face, I see Micaden leaning over the boat and hatred unlike anything sears through me.

  He threw me into the water knowing my fear and that I didn’t know how to swim. He wanted to kill me. What kind of man did he turn into?

  A psychopathic killer who never deserved all the devotion I gave him. He isn’t worth all the torture I experienced because of him either.

  On instinct, I start to swim away from the boat, not even thinking how pointless it is or how dangerous. The water is freezing, and there’s nothing but endless ocean in sight anyway. But I don’t want to go back on that boat with the man who delivered such a blow to my heart it makes everything that came before pale in comparison.

  But then I’m pulled back, and I murmur, “What the hell?” only to realize he’d wrapped a rope around my waist.

  Now comes anger too. “You fucking psycho! You wanted to pick up my body once I died there?” I shout, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings me closer and closer to him although I struggle, still trying to move in the opposite direction, but he’s strong.

  Isn’t this the story of my life? No matter how much I fight, someone always ends up being stronger.

  I lose balance because of the fight, and my face sinks into the water again, and I manage to swallow some before he pulls me out.

  And once again, I’m at his mercy.

  Micaden

  I drag her up, my palms burning from the rope that’s now smeared in blood, but I manage to get her on the deck while she coughs violently. “Emerald,” I say, removing her hair from her face so I can see her green eyes.

  However, they are not hazy and afraid. Instead, they are clear and furious.

  The punches come so unexpectedly it takes me a second to realize the uncomfortable sensation in my stomach is from her blows, and they are accompanied by loud screams in my face. “You sadistic serial killer!” Punch, punch, punch. They don’t really hurt me, but she’s getting worked up. “I hate you! You ruined my life.”

  “Let’s not be dramatic,” I tell her, and her eyes widen, while her jaw drops in shock.

  “You throw me into the water where I almost drown and then bring me back. Are you satisfied now? What happened? The madness died?” she questions, digging her fingers into me while the wind blows us, indicating a storm is coming soon, but neither of us pays attention to that.

  Instead, I allow her to pour her frustration onto me, because for the first time, she’s not meek and silent, and she reminds me of the girl I used to love.

  And that girl holds all the answers I need to end the madness once and for all. The water combined with fear must have brought back all the blank spots in her mind, blanks that never gave me peace, but I need them.

  I have to know what took place ten years ago, or I’ll go insane. That’s the only reason I threw her in the water. Something happened, something even my research never found.

  Only then, one of us is allowed to die. Not sooner, not later. “The madness is here,” I shout back, digging my fingers in my head. “Consumes me every day, doesn’t let me breathe without remembering you. I want it gone. And you finally have all the answers for me.”

  She laughs bitterly, bending forward, holding her stomach. “Indeed I do.” Then she leans closer, her breath fanning my lips as she whispers, hatred lacing each word, “Are you ready for the truth, Micaden?”

  “One of us is guilty and one of us is innocent.” A motto I’ve lived by all these years, seeking to find revenge for what has happened.

  “What happens when you’re the only one who is guilty?”

  “Impossible.”

  We stare at each other, icy blue eyes clashing with emerald green, and then she rasps, “Let me tell you a story, then. And you be the judge.”

  And she does.

  Only her story ruins my motto and everything I’ve lived by all this time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Seattle, United States

  September 2009

  Emerald

  The light breeze cools my heated skin while my white-as-a-ghost nightgown plasters against my body, snapping me back to the present. My hair falls down my spine, and somehow it brings laughter from within me.

  Brochan loved lacing his fingers through my silky strands, while he kissed me so tenderly.

  Tears slide down my cheeks, while I hold in the scream threatening to break out of my chest. I don’t need unwanted attention from anyone, especially the governess who has been attached to me for the last three months.

  Despite all the threats Dad dished out to me that day, he succumbed to my pleadings and didn’t admit me to the hospital. Instead, he locked me inside the house with eyes constantly watching me, making sure I ate and acted normal. While I had no desire to do those things, I tried following the rules, because it would have allowed me to someday escape and find Brochan.

  During this time, he gave me several documents to sign, which had to do with trust funds. I barely understood the legal jargon, only that I wouldn’t be getting the money, because they were disappointed with me.

  As if I need anything. I live only by the hope of running away and seeing my Viking.

  The smell of lavender and roses in the garden overpower my senses, and I close my eyes, imagining myself lying down on the grass, gazing at the stars while Brochan’s finger slowly runs from my collarbone to my stomach and dipping into the belly button, tickling my skin.

  I giggle when memories calm my heartbeat but then snap my eyes back open as a sob escapes me.

  Will this kind of happiness be possible again?

  “I love you, Emerald,” he whispers against my ear as we slowly dance to the music, while the stars shine brightly above us. The only audible sounds in the distance are the waves and boats signaling as they come home. “Never forget that.”

  Glancing down for the last time, I shake my head and climb up from the windowsill. Sitting on the rooftop for hours has been my secret for weeks now, but I don’t want my parents, or anyone else for that matter, catching me.

  They’ll use it as an excuse to push more medications into me, even though I never take them, too afraid of their effect on my body.

  Movement in my room catches my attention as a shadow is cast by the bedside lamp I left on.

  My brows furrow, and I want to inspect it, but strong arms push me forward, and I don’t have enough time to see the face of the intruder, because I plummet to the ground while my scream of agony echoes through the night.

  ***Six Months Later***

  March 2010

  “Doctor, will she ever walk again?” Mom asks desperately, w
hile I hear Dad pace back and forth.

  Doctor Keith ignores her question, continuing to gently touch my legs and feet, while asking me every time, “Do you feel this?” I shake my head, too afraid to hear his answer.

  He frowns and then clicks on his penlight and shines the light into my eyes. “Look to the side, left and right, then up.” Following his instructions, I wonder what change he wants to see, considering the light doesn’t even bother my eyes.

  I only see shadows and dark colors.

  His fingers softly brush my forehead and then dig into my neck, to check the bumps and bruises there. Once done with that, he squeezes my hands in reassurance, and I know things will get bad.

  He always does it before delivering bad news.

  Keith straightens, removes his gloves by the sound of elastic snapping, and then answers my parents. “It’s too early to make any judgments.”

  “Early?” Dad asks furiously. “She has been in this hospital for the last six months!” He comes closer to Keith and pokes his finger into his chest, judging by their shadows. “All you keep saying is that it’s too early. It’s fucking not when you can’t even help my child!” My heart aches when I detect hurt and fear in his voice. For a man as controlling as him, this situation with me must seem unreasonable and beyond his reach.

  Dad is a fixer, but no one will probably fix me again.

  Keith exhales heavily. “Can I speak to you two outside?”

  A whimper of distress escapes my mouth. I can’t handle one more lie in my life.

  Mom picks up my hand, enveloping it in hers, and through it gives me her warmth. “Better tells us here, while she’s with us.”

  “She fell from the third floor onto the grass. The concussion resulted in swelling in the brain, so we had to put her in a coma from which she unfortunately didn’t wake from for three months. Broken ribs, legs, hands. It’s a wonder she survived,” he says, the scratching sound of pen on paper reaching my ears, so he probably writes in his notepad about my progress again. “Only since she’s woken up have we noticed there’s something wrong with her vision. While I have hopes she will walk again, I don’t think she’ll ever be able to see properly. I’m sorry,” he tells them with regret in his voice.

  Dad’s words send chills down my spine as Mom slides her hands from under mine. “How could you have done it? Because of that boy, you were ready to commit suicide!”

  “No, it’s not true. Someone pushed me—” He doesn’t let me finish; instead, he roars and I hear glass shatterering against the wall.

  And everything goes to hell.

  New York, New York

  October 2010

  Strong hands hold me on both sides, but I still my movements, dragging myself back, although it’s useless against their power.

  Cries come from all the rooms we pass in the never-ending gray hallways, with metal doors that have only one small window open.

  “Please, no. Take me home. Mom! Dad!” I shout for my parents, even though they left me here several minutes ago, after Elijah assured them he would take care of me in the best of ways.

  “You will get help here,” one of the men says, but I shake my head, wanting to get away,

  but I can’t. No amount of pleading and begging helped me; my parents admitted me here the minute Doctor Keith discharged me.

  To their delight, I walked, but they feared I’d do some other shit, as they called it, even though I told them to look for the person who really committed the crime.

  However, all my pleading fell on deaf ears, and they brought me to this hell, promising to take me back the minute I get better. How can anyone get better in this place?

  Finally, they stop next to a heavy door and unlock it, throwing me inside. I land painfully, groaning since my body is still sore from all the physical therapy I’ve endured.

  I quickly get up, studying the room. It has only one bed, a sink, and a toilet on the side. Everything is rusty except the walls, which are gray.

  What is this? This isn’t the room in the brochure Elijah showed my parents. He sang praises about his medical establishment, the one Dad finally gave him a donation of a million dollars for.

  “Oh my God, what have they done?” I murmur, as panic slowly settles, but a different kind. That awful man doesn’t do anything without a reason, and if he lied to them, it means he has different plans for me.

  The guard points at the bed. “There’s a dress. Put it on.” I follow the direction of his finger and blink while repulsion rushes through me.

  It’s not a hospital gown but a red strapless dress, reminding me a lot of the one I wore on my fifteenth birthday. Elijah even complimented how well it went with my eye color and that I truly grew up to be beautiful.

  Oh, no.

  Before I can question them, the door closes, as one of the men says, “He’ll be here soon.” I jump on the bed, get under the covers, and pray for the first time in my life, hoping this is all just a nightmare and I’ll wake up in my comfortable bed at home. And maybe if I pretend to sleep… all the monsters will go away.

  Finally, sleep takes me as the screams from the hallway continue to come.

  * * *

  Someone pulls at my hair, and my eyes open as I cry out in pain, but it doesn’t stop the man. “You fucking bitch,” he spits, dragging me to the floor, and I see Elijah looming above me, although he reminds me nothing of the well-put-together man he always presented to my parents.

  No, instead, he’s wearing jeans, a loose shirt, boots with a few sharp edges that are dangerously close to my knees… and a leather belt with a huge metal buckle dangling from his hand. “I told you to put on the dress, didn’t I?” he asks, right before kicking me in the stomach. I groan as the sharp edges dig into my skin so painfully I need a moment to catch my breath. “Disobedient little whore!” he shouts, and then hits me with the belt, and I scoot back, finding the strength to stand and dart to the door to scream for help.

  Elijah is a madman! “Please, somebody help me! Please!” As I bang on the door, a swift hit to my back comes, the belt buckle connecting with my skin. I stifle a groan. He grabs me by the hair again and slams my forehead against the wall, sending a spiral of dizziness through me. “If I tell you to do something, you fucking listen.”

  “Let go of me,” I shout, tasting blood on my tongue, probably dripping from my forehead. He lets go with a snarl and I land on the floor once again. “You’re a monster. My parents will come and save me.” I always knew he was a perv, but I just didn’t realize how truly sick he was.

  His sadistic laughter fills the space, chilling me to my bones. “Really? You think they will?”

  “They’ll see bruises and—”

  “I’ll tell them you tried to harm yourself. They’ll believe me, Emerald,” he says to me, and I hold my forehead, not wanting to believe him.

  They’ll be on my side this time. I’m their daughter, their only child. I never lied to them with the exception of seeing Brochan. They’ll believe me. “It was you who pushed me from the roof?” Elijah came to our house frequently during that time, demanding to see me, but I always refused. There’s no other explanation.

  He puffs up his chest proudly. “Of course it was me. Who else, darling? Your parents thought you were all right and didn’t want to admit you here. I knew with all this”—he sweeps his hand up and down—“they would. The rest is history.”

  “I could have died,” I whisper, the initial shock wearing off while understanding settles. I will all my knowledge of psychology to come back, so I can place him in the right box and know how to deal with him.

  He is sick and has set his sights on me; this explains why he always craved my attention. The obsessive man who wants a victim. But not just anyone, oh no. He probably has enough victims here who he can harm and no one will even lift a brow.

  He wants one who doesn’t want him, so he can enjoy breaking her.

  Elijah kneels in front of me, palming my face, and I struggle in the hold, but he
squeezes his hands so hard I feel like he might break my cheekbones. “You would have lived for me of course. You are my woman, Emerald. Only mine.”

  “I’m not.”

  He doesn’t listen though, like he’s in a haze, and then he continues to love watching all the pain he inflicts on me. “All this is for your own good. You were stubborn, ready to run away with that boy. I couldn’t allow it. Never. You will stay here now.”

  “You are disgusting,” I whisper, but he just leans closer, probably wanting to kiss me. I spit on his face, which earns me a harsh slap to my cheek. He puts so much power into it my head snaps to the side from the impact. “You will learn how to be obedient. And then you will be mine. Only then you will see the light of day.”

  He stands up, leaving me there while I’m chilled to my bones at the prospect of being at his mercy.

  My parents come and visit in a few days and believe his every lie. They sign papers that allow him to give me medication, and that’s his style from then on.

  He inflicts as much pain as he wants and then has a doctor put me back together. And every time I beg my parents to take me away, they only shake their heads and listen to Elijah.

  But my hope continues to live that someday they’ll want their child back, even if by that point I’ll have no tender feelings left for them.

  I block away all emotions, because it might truly turn me insane.

  Until the day my hope dies forever when Elijah informs me they died in car accident and left him as my guardian until I turn twenty-one, which also allows him to make all my medical decisions.

  Then my life truly turns to hell.

  New York, New York

  August 2012

  Hugging my knees, I rock back and forth while the bed scrunches with each move, the sound grating on my nerves. But I can’t do anything about it.

  Water drips into the sink, drop by drop, reminding me that I haven’t had anything to drink for hours now, and I lick my dry lips, pushing through the dizziness in my head.