by J. L. Brooks
I shared the events leading up to my recovery, and the challenges I continued to face. He was proud of me for seeking help and not feeling like a victim after the accident. While enjoying the delicious meal, I could see Kai’s natural inclination to teach as he pointed out certain cooking techniques used to achieve the flavors. The painstaking process of cooking French cuisine was truly an art, and the food was to be savored. I would catch him staring at me a little longer than normal, and rather than being uncomfortable, I found a comfort in being free to be vulnerable. I mentioned the church, and asked if he wanted to join me.
He looked up over his bite of truffade . . . as if I needed to even ask. After finishing the evening with traditional croquembouche and cognac, we set off into the lights of romantic Paris, with Christopher as our shadow. The Cathedral looked more beautiful than ever, and I decided to share my dream with him. Upon entering the doors of the church, I was amazed at what my mind captured when I wasn’t really paying attention, and could only fathom what details it was absorbing with intentional thought.
I stepped in front of the altar and laughed wistfully. “This is where I stood when I asked God for help, because I knew he was the only one that could save me. It was two weeks later that I met you.”
Kai had been gently rubbing my back as I reflected upon the moment and started to weep. I turned my body to face his, and he reached behind my head and kissed me passionately. The bitter taste of tears was washed away by the sweetness of the caramel that remained on his tongue. Kai was breathing new life into me, invigorating every sense. He broke away and reached for my hand, pulling me toward the candlelight sanctuary. He pulled out his wallet, removed an American twenty dollar bill, and shrugged. He shoved the money into the donation box, then grabbed two sticks and handed one to me.
Before igniting the end, he bowed his head in prayer and spoke. “God, I thank you for saving Stella’s life, and allowing her to be in mine. I thank you for this moment, and any more you can spare in the future. Thank you for also saving my life, and giving me a second chance when I didn’t see one. In your precious name I pray, amen.”
I wasn’t able to stop the tears of joy or hide the smile on my face as he lit the small candle. Reaching out, I used his flame to light my own. I leaned against him, and watched as they flickered brightly. With his arm rested on my shoulder, we stood in quiet contemplation. He squeezed my shoulder, and nuzzled his chin across my head to break the silence.
“You said in your dream you shoved a few candles in your pocket in case you needed them, but one was all you needed to get out. I think what it was trying to show you was that, yes, you can get through your life alone. But the thing about candles, is that one can only brighten so much darkness, and the more that are joined together, the farther you can see. You were never meant to live in the dark, and you knew that. I think you need more lights in your life.”
I smiled and poked his side. “Is that way of saying I should hang around you more?”
He laughed and poked back. “You know what I mean. But hey, if you take it like that, I certainly won’t argue.”
I looked into his eyes, and they were full of mischief, as well as light. I gave a flirtatious glance, and it was the only invitation he needed to claim my lips as his own. As if by divine appointment, the church bells chimed and Kai stared at me with utter devotion. How could it be that this man who I knew so little about was able to penetrate my very soul with just a look?
“It wasn’t just the accident that God intended to use to save me, was it?” I asked softly.
Using the pad of this thumb to trace my lips, I felt myself starting to fall for him rapidly. I closed my eyes and leaned into his palm, willing myself to let go of any fear.
I felt him cradle the other side of my head and turn to whisper so quietly only I could hear, “For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
As Kai stepped back, I looked at him in wonder. He extended his hand for me to hold, and asked me the question I so longed to hear. “Are you ready?”
The choices you make will dictate the life you lead,
to thine own self be true.
~ William Shakespeare
“Dr. Moreau, you have to understand this is an extraordinary request. Hazel Rodgers has been a ward of the state for over twenty-five years, and now you are asking us to release her into your care. If at any time your arrangement failed to provide Ms. Rodgers all of the care she is currently receiving, we would have no way of readmitting her into our system. This places us in a very precarious position, where we may encounter future accusations of neglect. I am not quite sure we can take that kind of risk. We acknowledge the progress she has made during your time here, but we are only looking out for her best interest.”
I sat forward in my seat and smiled broadly. I knew exactly what kind of argument they would come at me with, and I was ready to respond, but held back to enjoy this moment. For the past nine months, I had researched every possible option of removing Hazel from the New York State mental facility, and had found only one loophole that no one could argue with. Due to the lengthy policies and procedures for acclimating a patient who has been deemed mentally fit to reenter society, my window of opportunity was closing rapidly. Not only had I accepted a new position as a psychology professor several states away, but Hazel was terminally ill and only had months to live. I cared for all of my patients, but she, in particular, made her presence known, and I refused to let her die alone, pretending she was insane.
And that was my loophole. Hazel Rodgers was not mentally incompetent. Quite the opposite, actually. She was brilliant. I noticed particular habits that were inconsistent with the behavior of textbook neurological illnesses. While reviewing her charts, I noted that her hysterical outbursts and erratic behavior only occurred just before her evaluations. Her history was very limited, which unfortunately was common with patients cared for within the system. Hazel Rodgers had a story, and I felt compelled to find out what it was.
In addition to feigning a mental illness, she was also not who she claimed to be. Her name was, in fact, Rosemarie De Laroux. She was born in 1942 in Biloxi, Mississippi, and was the only child of Geraldine and Robert De Laroux. Robert passed of a heart attack just after her birth, and Geraldine fell into a depression and died three years later. Robert’s sister stepped in to care for her, and like her brother, suffered a heart attack, leaving Rosemarie alone at seventeen. She became employed by the aristocratic Collins family in Savannah, Georgia, as first a maid, and then a nanny.
Rosemarie cared for the Collins children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren up until the family went away for their annual holiday ski trip. The winter weather had been particularly rough, and the small private plane crashed killing everyone aboard. In a flash, her own life was over as well. Not only had everyone she ever loved passed, but she was now forced to fend for herself. Beyond the archives I was able to discover, nothing more was ever said about Rosemarie De Laroux. It was only by chance that I stayed late last Christmas and found her sitting alone by a window with tears running down her face, while watching a family with young children leaving the hospital. No one came to visit Rosemarie the entire twenty-seven years she was a patient. She had written a letter once; it was labeled “return to sender,” and rather than being discarded, it was placed in the large manila folder with her patient number scribbled across the top.
The letter was addressed to Charles Collins, the cousin of Beau Collins, who was the last grandson. To someone unaware of the family history, it would seem innocuous, but to a man who treated Rosemarie with such indifference after the accident and cut her off completely, it was a poignant reminder that it is important to trust those in your inner circle. Rosemarie bore witness to all kinds of family scandals, and not once did she tarnish the Collins family name. Her sense of loyalty was deeper than her hatred, even if it meant enduring hell. She only let her true feelings slip once, in a
letter that I hoped would be the key to her freedom. That Christmas, I sat next to her and asked what was wrong. Proud and stiff lipped, she just shook her head.
Taking a chance, I nonchalantly asked, “Do they remind you of the Collins’?”
Her body stiffened and the tears stopped. Pursing her lips, she appeared as if she wanted to respond, and the long-forgotten devotion surfaced. She played her part well, even when caught off guard. Her eyes took on a clarity I had not seen before, and I knew in that moment I had reached her. Not pressing the issue, I went to the nurse’s station to grab a handful of cookies, and placed them in a napkin on her pillow.
I walked back over to her, bent down, and whispered in her ear, “The orderly will be doing the nightly rounds here soon, and I suggest you check your room before he does.”
I hoped that the sweets would be a sign of my silence, but only time would tell how much she would trust me, and why she didn’t want to leave. I had been wrong in her willingness to be vulnerable, but it worked in my favor. I had to perform diagnostics and record data to provide to the hospital in order to prove my case. At first, it was just to establish her competency and get her the help she truly needed. After her cancer diagnosis, it became so much more.
Sitting at the directors meeting, I opened my laptop, and started presenting slides of my research. The placebos, the trials. She passed all of them with flying colors. When told she had an evaluation coming up, like clockwork, she went berserk. After close to three decades, I was amazed no one noticed the pattern. She was written off as a lifer, and only now, when the state was forced to reckon with how she had been treated, were they diligent. They were truthful in that they couldn’t afford the negative press, because it would mean reform, and the system prefers as little change as possible. I knew they would say no.
The only way Rosemarie would be allowed to leave, was by facing her worst fears and being honest. I wasn’t allowed to tell her why I wanted to take her with me, or it would be considered coercion. I knew she had post-traumatic stress disorder, and this was her way of coping. Locked away from everyone and everything, nothing could hurt her. And she had been hurt; to what degree, only she knew. Hazel Rodgers had a long rap sheet of offenses that were obviously to get arrested, as she never harmed anyone or damaged property. It was always disorderly conduct, or resisting arrest. Once she was in jail, she was calm because she was off the streets and safe. It did not matter to her that she was surrounded by criminals, because when you pretend you have lost your mind, it can often be the most intimidating label of all.
After presenting my case, I waited for more resistance. I even provided numbers of how much money they had spent taking care of someone who was not actually receiving the proper treatment. If a rebuttal came, I would then threaten. I was no longer bound to the institution, and presenting my facts to the Surgeon General would certainly not bode well. Yes, I would go there for her, but I didn’t have to.
Jack, the board director, took off his glasses and set them on the table while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Moreau, you certainly know what you are doing. My vote is to release her into your care, after she provides an admission statement, is made aware of her rights and understands she is leaving this facility voluntarily. You cannot be present when this happens, but we will inform her that you will be her power of attorney. Hopefully she will get the hint.”
I let out a sigh of relief, thanked the board, and started to gather my things. Each of the men circled the large oval table and shook my hand, wishing me good luck. Earlier in the day, I was given an award of excellence and a parting fruit basket. Even they had a sense of humor sometimes. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, thinking about how much this mattered to me. It was her choice to stay, and I still wasn’t sure if she trusted me enough to leave. When turning the lights out in my office, I looked around one last time and said goodbye to the patients one by one. When I reached Rosemarie’s room, I knocked gently. She was sitting on the bed and staring at the wall.
She turned to look at me, shrugged her shoulders, and looked away. “What’chu doing here, doc? Ain’t you supposed to be gone by now?” she asked in her southern drawl.
I stood in the doorway, knowing I had to watch my words. “I wouldn’t leave you like that. You know better.”
She still refused to look at me, and stoic as ever, she hid her feelings in a vault. If not for my intense study, I wouldn’t think twice about the way she tapped her foot in counts of four when she was upset, or breathed only through her nose, causing it to whistle ever so slightly.
I smacked the door and said, “Okay then,” and started to walk away slowly.
Two steps out, I heard her yell angrily, “Ain’t you even gonna say goodbye, doc?”
I walked backward, reached into my coat pocket, and pulled out a small napkin with several butter cookies decorated with sugar crystals. I set it on the pillow, and willed her to understand the message.
“That’s up to you,” I whispered.
She quickly snapped up the cookies and tucked them away in her lap. I knew I couldn’t stay long, and I shouldn’t have done it, but sometimes the rules have to be broken. No one but she knew the meaning behind the gesture, and I hoped it was enough. Looking into my eyes and knowing something was amiss, she slipped one of the cookies into her mouth, and nodded her head while the tapping of her foot stopped. While leaving the room, I could feel the crushing of the sterile facility, and was grateful I would be able to start making a difference soon. In a world where everyone is so quick to pop a pill and quiet a symptom, the root causes continue to fester and create an even bigger snowball of dis-ease in the body. Simply changing the diets of the patients to include adequate vitamins and minerals, improved behavior. But for the most part, my hands were tied, and I was forced to work within the confinement of the regulations.
I left the hospital and took a deep breath. This had to work.
The hours moved by slowly, and the hotel room became claustrophobic. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got the call on whether or not I would be bringing Rosemarie with me. With the house sold, and the family already moved, I was alone in my thoughts and growing restless. I didn’t like to drink to calm my nerves, but there was no other alternative.
The elevator ride to the small bar was quick, and a young server smiled while setting a cocktail napkin before me. “Can I get you something?” she asked cordially.
“A bourbon, neat please. Make it a double,” I replied.
The amber liquid went down in a fiery gulp, and I raised the glass, asking for another. This time I sipped, as my stomach warmed and nerves calmed a bit. An hour passed, and I took one last swallow before settling the tab and leaving to take a shower. I had to try sleeping, because it was a long journey. In and out of consciousness I drifted, while waiting for the phone to ring.
At 9:14, I got the call. “Moreau, she’s all yours,” Jack said in defeat.
I raced to my truck and made the ten-minute drive in less than five. Placing my hands on the wheel, I forced myself to breathe and hide the smile. I couldn’t appear too enthusiastic, or even get my hopes up until we crossed state lines. I went through the security check, emptied my pockets, and walked slowly to the discharge unit. Rosemarie was sitting in the lobby with two guards and a paper bag with her belongings, her foot tapping at a faster pace. Jack was there, and he handed me the clipboard with her papers, and a large file envelope with all of her information. A few signatures and a hand shake later, I walked over to Rosemarie and extended my arm to give her balance.
She did not question where we were going. Despite her attempts to appear placid, I could feel her body shake as we walked down the long hallway. A guard opened the door, and the sunlight hit our faces, causing us to reach up and cover our eyes. Rosemarie gasped as we crossed the lot, and I opened the door for her and helped her into the cab.
“What’s this all about doc?” she asked nervously.
The hidden smile broke free, and I could see it ref
lecting in her eyes. “I have somewhere to take you. It’s going to be a long ride, so I need to know if you are comfortable.”
She looked around the cab and raised her brows. “If this be all you got, I guess it will work.”
I closed the door and hopped into the driver’s seat. I adjusted the temperature, and winked while hitting the seat warmer button.
A few moments later, she wiggled in her seat and laughed. “Now ain’t this something! My ass is on fire!”
I reached out to turn it off, and she smacked my hand away. “I didn’t tell you I don’t like it. Just leave it be.”
Raising my hands in defeat, I chuckled. “Yes ma’am.”
The weather held as we traveled through the Catskills and down Interstate seventy-seven. We stopped in Harrisburg Pennsylvania, and pulled into an Amish family restaurant for lunch.
Rosemarie looked at the menu, unsure of what she was allowed to do, so I encouraged her first act of freedom. “You can have whatever you want. Even if you don’t eat it all. This is only the beginning, so you better make it good,” I joked.
She gave me a stern look, and ordered the fried catfish and a slice of pecan pie. As we waited for the food to arrive, she tilted her head and folded her hands in front of her. “So, doc, you gonna let me in on this or what?”
I was happy she was eager to know, and I wanted to tell her everything, but I wanted it to be a surprise as well. “Rosemarie—can I call you that, or do you prefer Hazel?” I asked.
