Beautifully Broken

by Sherry Soule

  “Yes. But if you can behave yourself,” Matheson said from the doorway, “I can have Nurse Gwen bring you something to eat and drink.”

  I licked my cracked lips. My tongue felt like sandpaper. Never been so thirsty in my life. “Yes, please,” I rasped. Thinking about food made my stomach grumble.

  He nodded and ducked from the room. Moments later, Nurse Gwen and a male orderly entered. Without uttering a word, she replaced the bloody gauze on my forehead with a fresh, square bandage.

  Ah, I like her.

  She aimed her stern face at the attendant and said, “Michael, make sure you watch her closely—this one’s a real hellcat. She’s trouble.” She bustled from the room.

  Hmm, maybe not.

  Michael folded his arms above his bulging middle. Nurse Gwen returned carrying a tray laden with oatmeal, milk, and an apple, and put it on my lap.

  After I’d devoured everything, I weakly smiled at her. “Thank you.”

  “The psychiatrist would like to have a session today. If you can conduct yourself properly.”

  “Alright…whatever.”

  “Good. Then please follow me,” Nurse Gwen said.

  I pulled the sheet back, swung my legs off the bed and followed her from the room into the barren hallway. We walked several corridors until we were buzzed into another wing of the hospital. Nurse Gwen led me into a fluorescent-lit room that contained a table and two chairs. I sat in a chair that faced a mirrored wall. Matheson stepped into the room a minute later, shutting the door behind him before taking a seat across from mine. He placed a folder stamped CONFIDENTIAL, a notebook, and a pen on the table. He propped up his elbows and templed his hands beneath his chin.

  “Shiloh Ravenwolf, reporting for sanity check.” My smile faded when I realized he wasn’t going to return it. “I promise to play along. Even stare at your ink blots if you let me go home.”

  “I’m glad you’ve agreed to cooperate.”

  “Yep, that’s me. Eager to oblige.” I traced a circle with my finger on the table.

  “Splendid. Shall we begin with your latest suicide attempt?”

  With my eyes downcast, I said, “That’s a super long story. Not terribly interesting.”

  “I don’t mind. Bore me.” He relaxed, folding his arms. “You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you, Shiloh?”

  “Actually, I do.” I refused to turn my head, staring at the table instead.

  “If you want to go home, this isn’t the way to go about it.”

  I looked at him and stiffened under his withering glare. “Fine. Whatever. I’m so over it. Decided to move on. All better. I promise.”

  “I need more to go on than that. Talk to me. Sooner you do, the sooner you can go home.”

  Squirming in my seat, I exhaled noisily. “Fine. Had a fight with my boyfriend…we were gonna break up, but it went badly. Real bad. I had this drama queen meltdown and…” I faltered, suddenly finding it hard to speak.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” He scanned his notes. “Now, I’d like to discuss the paranoid delusions you’ve been suffering from. Have you ever heard something no one else seems to hear? Maybe someone calling your name? Definitely heard it but no one else did?”

  I chewed on my lower lip. Not sure how to respond without someone putting a straightjacket on me. Over his shoulder, I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror.

  Oh. My. God.

  All my hair had been unevenly chopped off to a mere six to seven inches. It barely touched my shoulders. Matted and dirty. My eyes sunken and hollow. My face pale like a zombie.

  My long hair. Someone cut off all my effing hair!

  The instant my fingers touched it, I whimpered. Tears flooded my eyes. It would take years to grow back. All the breath left me like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

  He noticed my horrified expression and shuffled his papers. “Not sure what happened, but that’s how you arrived. Vanity is not a concern here. Getting you well is.”

  “My mother.” Tears came to my eyes, amplifying and distorting the image in the glass into a hazy blur. “She must’ve chopped off my hair as punishment. Her way of breaking a spirited horse.”

  “Are you a spirited horse?”

  “Well, I’m not a horse—you moron!” I screamed, touching the tuft of hair on my head. “I’m a girl. With feelings and a heart—two things you obviously don’t possess!”

  Matheson wore an oily smile. Not the most successful look for a psychiatrist for teens. “Whatever you’ve been going through, we can help. We treated your aunt at this facility many years ago. Many mental illnesses are hereditary: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. We need to figure out what’s causing the psychotic episodes. These breaks in reality.”

  “It’s not what you think.” I moaned and kept gaping over his shoulder at the frightened stranger in the mirror staring back at me.

  “I want you to understand, Shiloh, we aren’t the enemy here. I hope we won’t have any more acts of defiance from you.”

  I hung my head, tears trickling off my chin unto the table. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, let’s continue. Do you hear voices?”

  “Hmm, define voices.”

  He grunted. “Voices in your head. Have you seen anything anyone else didn’t see? Something you were certain was there, but no one else could see it?”

  I bit my lip. My stomach pitching. “I…I’ve heard things in the shadows. Whispering. Seen things moving in the darkness.”

  “During intake, your mother mentioned you’ve had an irrational fear of the dark since childhood. What do you think causes this fear? Does your house make strange noises at night? Do you watch too many horror movies?”

  “I don’t watch scary movies. Real life is scary enough.”

  “My point is, some people have vivid imaginations and can make the smallest things seem real and terrifying. Like a house settling at night can sound like someone breaking in. When you’re in bed, shadows on the walls can seem to move, but it’s only a passing car’s headlights reflecting in your room.” He rearranged his notes. “Would you like to know my opinion?”

  No. I don’t give a crap what your dang opinion is.

  “Sure. Illuminate me. Please.”

  “You’re suffering from psychosis brought on by stress and sleep deprivation. Once that occurs, you can’t discern what is real and what is not. You manifest a response. For instance, people with suicidal tendencies in this condition will hurt themselves, because they believe what they dream is real. They believe someone is trying to kill them. Your self-inflicted wounds are consistent with this fantasy…and you did attempt suicide when you were younger.”

  I slouched unto the metal chair. That memory vague and dim. I don’t even remember why I did it. A shadow had been there, coaxing and murmuring in an archaic language. Esael? I had blacked out and when I came to, blood covered the bathroom floor. A razorblade rested in my hand. I’d somehow managed to slit my left wrist. My only reminder, the jagged scar on my arm.

  My mark…

  His voice disrupted my internal babble. “Shiloh? Can you tell me what happened?”

  I wiped my runny nose on the sleeve of my hideous cotton gown. “I know how this sounds—like I’m cracked in the head. But I didn’t mean to hurt myself. I swear! Not that time or this time. Someone tried to kill me…maybe a demon.”

  Shut up, Shiloh! You wanna spend the rest of your life in here?

  “A what?”

  “I—I said…uh, maybe treason. Yeah. I trusted people. Well, certain people, and they betrayed me.”

  “Uh-huh.” He jotted something on the pad.

  “You know, I’m not the only one who had a freaky accident at Ravenhurst. There were others.” My fingers turned on themselves in my lap. “Teenagers murdered. Kids just vanishing. Those were way weird—supernatural.”

  He gave me a skeptical look. “Ah, yes, I recall reading about those incidents in the paper. But surely you realize those were merely unfor
tunate mishaps and not supernatural acts.”

  “How can you be sure?” He bobbed his head as if confirming something, and I rushed on. “There are respected paranormal investigators proving the existence of the supernatural every day. So why is it difficult to believe in something just because you can’t see or touch it? It’s like having faith in God, you can’t see Him or touch Him, but He’s there.”

  The psychiatrist actually grinned. “Excellent point, Shiloh. However, what’s happening to you is manifested by an imbalance of brain chemistry. Hallucinations can enhance the ultimate escape from your dark reality.”

  No way. I knew what happened was real. Paranormals were real. Haunted houses were real. I didn’t care if this guy believed me or not. Because I was perfectly normal. Even though normal people don’t usually commune with the supernatural, still I was normal enough.

  Except…you’re the girl who hears whispering in the shadows, sees ghosts and scary demons. You believe you have magical powers and your ancestors are witches. Ah, hell, that does sound psychotic.

  Yep, Shiloh Ravenwolf, you’re certifiably insane.

  I chewed my lip, trying not to snivel. “Right before I hit my head, I kinda freaked out. That’s it. I mean, everyone freaks out sometimes. Except I didn’t imagine someone pushing me. Someone, an actual real” —I made quotation marks in the air with my fingers— “person shoved me.”

  “So you claim—”

  “This is stupid! I’m fine and I wanna go home.” I pushed back the chair dramatically, placing my palms flat on the table to lean into his face. “I need to speak to my father. Lives could be in danger!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Matheson kept his expression stern. “I highly doubt that. I think that’s enough for today. We’ll pick up tomorrow. Let’s give that antipsychotic time to take effect.” With his paperwork under one arm, he strode to the door and hit the buzzer.

  Nurse Gwen accompanied me to my room, where I insisted on staying, even forgoing lunch or dinner. They brought a pill—some sort of antipsychotic, but I couldn’t remember the name.

  The next day Nurse Gwen took me for another session with the psychiatrist. This time he brought along a portable tape recorder and switched it on after taking his seat. “How are we today, Shiloh? Better?”

  “Yeah. But I’m kinda fuzzy from all the drugs you’ve been pumping into me.”

  “Do you recall why you’re here?”

  “Because you guys won’t let me leave.”

  Matheson shifted in his seat, scanning his notes. “Now tell me why you believe Ravenhurst Manor is haunted.”

  I tugged on the hem of my horrible, thin gown. “Who told you that? Of course it’s not. Just a big spooky house. I guess I’ve watched too many episodes of Supernatural.”

  “So you’re telling me that the Donovan’s mansion isn’t haunted? Shadows don’t haunt you?”

  “Nope.” I shrugged. “Honest. Everyone here’s a crazy person. Except me. Zero-crazy.”

  “Glad to see you’ve retained your sense of humor, Shiloh. But you need to be serious or I can’t help you.”

  “Sheesh, I am.”

  He sighed. “Alright, let’s move on, shall we?” He loosened his tie. “Describe the voices you’ve been hearing. What do they say to you?”

  “C’mon, Doc, everybody talks to themselves. Doesn’t mean anything,” I said, but that only brought a smirk to his pompous face. “I know it sounds like I had a breakdown, but I didn’t.”

  He jotted this down. “So you’re not experiencing any form of paranoia? You haven’t been hallucinating?”

  Ugh, he’s getting on my nerves. Why do shrinks answer questions with questions?

  I pulled on a thread and my hem unraveled. “Nope. Not me.”

  “Well…good. I hope you’re finally starting to realize there aren’t any nefarious plots against you.” He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “The meds must be working. All right, let’s chat again tomorrow. I strongly suggest going to the rec room and socializing rather than hanging out in your room all day.”

  Ohhh, goody.

  Matheson gathered his belongings and marched out the door. Nurse Gwen returned to escort me to my room. Before closing the door, she asked if I wanted anything to help me sleep.

  “No, thank you. The nightmares will come.”

  She offered me a sad smile. “Everybody has inner demons to contend with. Some are discernible and some are not.”

  “Gotta say I’m with you on that.”

  Leaving me with her words of wisdom, she shut the door and bolted the lock.

  I pulled the thin blanket over my head. Worries orbited my head until it ached. Is Dad worried about me? Did Trent agree to put me here? What did Jillian tell everyone? Why hasn’t anyone come to see me? One disturbing question remained. Who wanted me dead? Besides Esael.

  The days started to blend and blur together. A week passed. I learned the routine. Breakfast in the cafeteria at seven a.m. Then the patients lined up to take meds and wait for a counseling session with one of the shrinks, next came lunch. After that, the girls could spend the rest of the afternoon in the recreation room. Girls played checkers, board games, or did various crafts while others read books or watched TV. At three o’clock, we gathered for roll call. Five was dinnertime and bedtime nine o’clock.

  Tired of hiding in my room, I decided to get out of my rut and interact. After breakfast, with my chin to my chest, I walked into the rec room and sat at an empty card table littered with dominos. Nobody said hello. Teenage girls of various ages, backgrounds and races were seated about the room. A catatonic began head banging. One girl sat alone, her head shaved and her eyes glassy. Scars crossed each wrist.

  Please God, don’t let me end up like that.

  “Whaddya staring at Claudia for?”

  I looked into a pair of butterscotch eyes set deep into a round face. “I didn’t mean to stare. What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

  Crud. Me and my big mouth. We’d been told we weren’t allowed to ask about anyone else’s condition. Damn, I was breaking the rules. Again.

  The girl, Asian and slender, wearing a white razorback tank and pj bottoms, waved an arm. “Shock therapy.”

  My mouth fell open.

  The girl laughed. “Nah, she’s just whacked. But then again, we all are.” She smiled, straddling the metal chair. She rested her elbows on the top rail and studied me for a minute. “You look like you might last.”

  “How long?” I whispered.

  “Have I been here? Three months. Where you from?” Her clumsily cut bangs swung above the thin brows and cat-shaped eyes.

  “Whispering Pines. You?” I hunched over the card table.

  “Castro Valley.” She bent her head. “Why you here?”

  “Matheson’s leaning towards psychosis…hallucinations brought on by sleep deprivation. Impulsive actions, self-damaging behavior, and an amazingly pessimistic attitude.”

  “Yeah? Join the friggin’ club.” The girl burst into a harsh, barking laugh. She fiddled with the dominos on the table. Her fingernails short and chewed. Talking to this girl made my heart ache for Ariana. I needed a friend.

  “I’m Lei,” she said.

  “Shiloh.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Lei stacked the dominos into rows.

  “What’s your story?”

  Lei slouched, unblinking. “I started a fire that burned down my house. It was an accident…sort of.” She slapped the table with her hand and the dominos jumped. “Nobody cares whether I rot in here or not.”

  “When my dad finds out what happened to me, he’ll take me home.”

  “Sure,” Lei said, looking away.

  I had been allowed to brush my teeth, take a shower, and wash my hair under the keen supervision of Nurse Gwen, except I wasn’t permitted the use of a razor. I did get a fresh pair of underwear and another ugly green gown to wear. At least I smelled a whole lot better, even if I was getting hairy.

 
She legs crossed her legs. “What time are your sessions?”

  “Ten-thirty.”

  “Mine are right after yours. Does Amazon lady walk you over?”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what we nicknamed the old sourpuss. Y’know, Nurse Gwen.” Running her fingers like a comb through her straight raven hair, she winked.

  I smiled. “Yeah, I get it.” A notion occurred to me. “Lei, do you remember Madison Donovan? She might’ve been a patient here.”

  Lei leaned on her elbows and fiddled with the dominoes scattered on the table. “Yeah. In a different ward, though. Long-term. Institutionalized care kind of stuff. She was here before this hot-o-licious dude whisked her away.”

  “Did anyone else come to visit her?”

  She looked thoughtful. “Hmm…yeah, yeah, several times this lady came.”

  “What did she look like?” I picked at a loose seam on my gown.

  “Umm, not tall, kinda tiny, with short blondish hair. She looked like a movie star.”

  No denying the truth. Madison had to be Jillian’s daughter. But why hadn’t my parents told me about her sooner?

  Lei touched my arm. “You look freaked.”

  I didn’t answer. My mouth dried as I gazed out the bay windows, hungering for my grandmother’s hugs, the stench of Dad’s pipe, my pink bunny slippers, my friends…and even Trent.

  The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the bay windows, lining one side of the open space. In the distance railroad tracks looped around the hillside. The bland walls were vacant. In the corners, the shadows congregated, murmuring, “Shiloh. Shiloh. Shiloh.”

  “You have a boyfriend?” Lei asked.

  “No. Did you hear screaming last night?” I hugged myself. “I can’t sleep. I miss my bed and it’s so dang cold…and the screaming.”

  “I know,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  The loudspeaker announced dinnertime and everyone walked toward the cafeteria. I shuffled along in my cloth slippers, grabbing a plastic tray off the stack and getting in line behind Lei. The charred stench of over-cooked food wafted from the kitchen. A lady with a nametag that read Mental Health Technician slopped meatloaf and mashed potatoes on our trays. We sat at a nearby table, and I picked at my cold food. Finally, a nurse declared dinner was over and everyone returned to their rooms for the night.