by Mark Butler
They must have gone on without her, intent to place the charges themselves. Amelia remembered the best place that she had told them was the staircase in the middle of the school, on the first floor. Instead of going back inside, she circled the outside of the school, running. Behind her, Azel followed, his pulse racing.
They were not there yet. Where could they have gone? Amelia wondered if they were still gathering their materials somewhere, or perhaps they were starting in the art wing, near the eastern supporting structures? Without hesitation, Amelia took off at a sprint, ready to save the school. Azel watched her move frantically, unpredictably. A few teachers noticed the girl as well, dashing through the halls, with the inexperienced security guard hot on her trail. With a healthy sense of concern and even stronger sense of curiosity, some teachers began to follow.
They were not in the art wing. Amelia's mind was racing. Where the hell were they? Had she been set up? She turned to leave, ready to search the entire school, top to bottom, when she ran into Azel.
“Whoa, whoa...Can I help you ma'am?” Azel held up his hands in the universal gesture for 'Stop'.
“No, move!” Amelia tried to bull past him. But Azel was a grown man, and he held his ground. “They're going to blow up the school!”
“Who?” Azel's heart felt like it dropped in his chest, landing in the pit of his stomach.
“Elbert, Nelson...We don't have time for this!” she shouted again. Tke mad look in her eyes was contagious, almost convincing. Azel felt a sense of dread, like the walls would come crashing down at anytime.
“Look, who's gonna blow up the school?” he tried to sound calm.
“What's going on here?” a male teacher in his latter years came out of his art class.
“We're sorry sir. This girl...”
“Amelia” she snapped, upset at being delayed, but powerless to get around the guard.
“Yea, Amelia thinks someone is going to blow up the school”
“Oh my God...I'm calling the cops” he whipped out his cell phone and dialed three numbers. His conversation with the dispatcher distracted Azel, giving Amelia her chance. She ran.
“Hey, stop!” Azel yelled, bounding towards Amelia. He saw her up ahead, going right towards a small group of staff. She turned down a side hall and burst out of an emergency exit. Azel ignored the questions of the teachers as he followed her.
They were all going to die! She could only save herself. Amelia sprinted through the parking lot, dodging cars and people. Then she saw the sirens, two cop cars, blocking the exits. She gave up, collapsed to her knees, and cried. She hugged her legs to her body and gently knocked her head against the concrete. When Azel reached her, he was uncertain of what to do. He stood over her awkwardly, ready to grab her if she bolted again. A uniform approached them.
“Ma'am? Ma'am!” the old cop yelled.
“For God's sakes...” a middle aged female officer approached, “get up sweetheart, stop hitting your head...That's right, get up. We're gonna take care of you” she acted as a crutch for Amelia, leading her to the back of her cruiser. Azel's nightmare was over, and strangely, it was the best he had felt since starting his job. After giving his report to the officers, he walked back to the school with a swagger in his step; a hero.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Steve and Catina met her at the station. They tried to explain that she was mentally ill, that she was getting psychotherapy and was not a domestic terrorist, intent on Jihad. They pleaded and begged for her to be released into their custody. She did not need to stay a night in jail. She had not committed any crimes, they argued, except maybe disturbing the peace. The officers didn't care. They had limited resources, they had homicides and robberies to deal with, not emotionally distraught teenage girls whose delirium had created a media circus at the local high school. Classes were canceled, parents showed up and took their kids home, there must be some punishment, the officers said, some retribution. Teary-eyed, Catina pulled out the only trick left in her sleeve; she phoned Dr. Ailez.
He arrived an hour later. The doctor ignored the McCree's and the beat cops, walking right into the chief's office. After ten minutes, he re-emerged, with a tired smile on his face, like he had won the war, but it hadn't come cheaply. Dr. Ailez would be accepting the chief's disturbed daughter as a referral.
“Amelia will be taken to Westward Psychiatric Facility. She will be there under my authority as her doctor and her freedom will be at my discretion” he offered.
“No. She has committed no crimes, you can't lock her up” Catina said.
“The alternative is that I file a petition with the Chief Justice. There will be an expensive, lengthy legal battle while Amelia's mind continues to deteriorate. Ms. McCree, your daughter's health is my priority, not her freedom. She desperately needs treatment, not the freedom to have another incident like today. You know I'm right” he said plainly, offering neither hope nor condemnation. Only reality. He watched Catina's shoulders sag away from her ears, her forehead wrinkles smoothed out, her fists unclenched. Catina essentially deflated, leaving only Steve.
“What are the conditions at the psych hospital?” he asked.
“You know as well as I do. Locked unit, monitored meals. Everything in her world will be censored and filtered, giving us an opportunity to isolate her triggers. She will have sessions with me at least three times a week. She may continue her education, of course” the Dr. said, speaking to Steven not as the parent of a sick girl, but as doctor to doctor. Steven knew he was right. His instinctual protectiveness subsided.
“Where do we sign up?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Amelia, how are you feeling today?” his voice was soothing, hypnotic.
“Fine” she mumbled, “but is this really necessary?” She was referring to the strait-jacket that Dr. Ailez had ordered. She lay on the firm sofa in his office at the hospital, unable to get comfortable. She knew hundreds, if not thousands of people had sat where she sat now; psychos, schizo's and all around nut cases. She was not honored to join their ranks.
“You attacked me last session. You called me 'Nelson” he replied.
“Nelson was behind you! I had to get him” she answered. They had been through this before. Amelia's first session had been one of sheer denial, where she questioned the sanity of everyone in the State. Her second session had been more productive, though she had gotten a wild look in her eyes half-way through and swung a lamp at Dr. Ailez's head, calling him 'Nelson'. Now, she sat in his freezing office, her mind betraying her at every turn. She saw them. Nelson was in the corner, smirking. Jennie and Elbert were making out on Dr. Ailez's desk. Evidently, Elbert was not willing to wait for Amelia's prudeness to wear off. Lisa sat with the doctor, giving Amelia a deep gaze of false concern. She ignored them all, content to stare out the window, watching the heavy rain wash the city clean.
“Amelia, are they here right now?”
“Yes”
“Do you find it strange that you are the only person who can see them?”
“Yes”
“Tell me about them”
And so it went. Amelia described them all in great detail. As she got to each character, they stood up, curious of what she was saying about them. The doctor ignored them, instead alternating between staring at Amelia and scribbling furiously in his notepad. She described Nelson's sadism, Jennie's sluttiness, Elbert's suggestiveness and Lisa's unpredictability. She described seeing them in the park, Nelson attacking Stewie. She described Jennie in the park with Dan.
“Who's Dan?”
“Jennie's one-time boyfriend. He's gone now”
“To where?”
“She never told me, and I never asked”
The doctor kept writing at Mach three, his hand unable to keep up with his thoughts.
“Amelia, I believe tomorrow we'll meet again. Have a good night.” he signaled for the orderly waiting outside of his door to come in, and Amelia was escorted back to her living quarters.
“Amelia, what is your earliest memory?” Dr. Ailez asked the following day.
It was a good question, she thought. She had often tried to bring her earliest memories back to surface, willing them to yield details about her parents. But those memories were shipwrecked in the sea of her subconscious, impossible to drag from the murky depths.
“I don't know. When I was three, I saw a boy eating cheap, greasy macaroni noodles from a blue plastic bowl. The macaroni got all over his face, his hands, under his nails. I remember that vividly. I started remembering everything I saw a few months after that, I think” she stated, surprising herself.
“Amelia, I know who your parents were. Do you want to hear about them?”
“Is it worth knowing?”
“Yes”
“Tell me, then” Amelia's pace quickened and she felt an involuntary tightening of her body parts that were touching the couch, as if she was clinging to a life-raft.
“Your father was a physicist. He was named John Gannerson, a simple man who loved gravity, motion and numbers. When he was twenty-four, he left his poor family in Berlin, intent on using his natural intellect to make money in America. He succeeded, and I doubt there was ever a man who lived with more intelligence coupled with humility”
Amelia listened, her eyes wide.
“Your father had difficulty adjusting to life in America. He learned English phenomenally quickly, and he loved his work. But he was not a sociable man, and he was very lonely. After three years here, he met a young woman named Amelia, your mother”
She felt the tears roll down her cheeks, but she didn't wipe them away.
“Amelia was a brilliant woman in her own right. She understood money, people and most importantly of all, your father. She had been a middle-classed girl from New York, who was bored with the machismo and posturing of city men. When she met your scholarly, refined father, she fell head over heels in love. Within a year, they were married. Less than two years after that, they were pregnant with a boy, who was named John”
She had a brother! Where was he now?
“John was an unusual boy. He was bright, charming and personable. Everybody loved him. But he had a strange side, as well. He liked to hurt animals, start fires. He never returned your parents love, only used them for his own devices. When he was sixteen, he ran away. Your mother blamed herself, your father, he blamed God. The sad truth was that your brother was a psychopath, not of his own choosing, of course, but those were the cards he was dealt. He didn't feel love, compassion or empathy. Only greed, lust and anger. A year after he ran away he killed six women in a span of two months in Northern California, and is currently serving a life sentence in San Quentin Prison” the Dr. said matter-of-factly. He was there to relate fact, not opinion.
Amelia's emotion had turned to anger, as Dr. Ailez had expected.
“Your parents were heartbroken for their lost son. Though in there late thirties, they decided to have another child, and they did, whom they named Amelia. But Amelia's birth was difficult on her aging mother's body, and she lost a lot of blood birthing you. She developed postpartum psychosis. She suffered mania, bouts of deep depression and severe paranoia. She tried to kill her only daughter when the girl was only three months old. But John saved her from the knife at the last minute, suffering a fatal stab wound to his neck in the process. Your mother then killed herself, and you were placed in a foster home. Your parents identities were ordered to be concealed from you at all costs. The orphanages were not informed, nor were your adoptive parents informed, per my instructions” he finished, letting his whole body droop deeply, like he had finally removed a great burden from his back, only to discover that it had permanently crippled him.
Amelia sat in shock, unable to process some much information. She needed more details. More information. Her mind was suddenly a log-jam, a bottleneck of questions and assumptions. As her mind overflowed, a pain developed in her skull. It was not a sharp, stabbing pain, but rather a dull constriction, like a rope was being tightened around her head, slowly squeezing the knowledge from her. She felt nauseous, dry-mouthed. Her hallucinations intensified. Ellis was in the room, Dan joined the ranks. She saw them in different colors and brightnesses, flashing like holograms. They made noises, yelling, only to fade out slowly, then come back screaming like banshees. She wanted to clutch her head and die, but her strait-jacket held her in place. She saw Dr. Ailez's concerned face, she saw the needle in his hands, then she was taken into blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When she woke up, her mind was clear, her body fine. She was alone with her psychiatrist.
“What's wrong with me?” she tried to say, though the words came out in a moaning, sickly voice that she didn't recognize.
“I'm glad you asked. You have Post Traumatic Stress Induced Psychosis with secondary hallucinations. Your condition was exacerbated by your aptitude” he paused for dramatic effect, “Jennie represented you. She was everything that you thought was expected of you in this world. Nelson represented someone very real, Jared Ellis, your abuser. Your mind kept him around because you thought you deserved his belittling. Elbert represented what your intellect believed it deserved, though you thwarted it at every turn. Lisa represented your childhood friends, the needy ones who held you on a pedestal. Dan represented the unknown, the male mystique, if you will”
“Why would my brain do all this?”
“It's quite simple, really. Your brain is a high-performance race car driving in a school zone. Problem was, the race car had engine problems, flat tires and an inexperienced driver” he said, hoping she understood the analogy.
“What happens to me now?”
“You have been diagnosed, but not treated. You will be sent to the State Facility in the country. I will still see you, though less frequently. You will be on medications. After a time, with improvement, you will be released”
“Why can't I stay here?”
“This is a short-term facility. They don't have the resources or ability to care for you. You may not believe that you need such attention, but it is my belief that you do”
“And the McCree's, will they still visit me? Are we still a family?”
“That is for them and you to decide” with that, he signaled for the orderly to take Amelia back to her room.
Final Chapter
“Counselor Ellis?”
“That's my name” he said. The voice sent chills down Amelia's spine. It was him, she couldn't believe it. He was housed in the cell directly across from hers. He looked much older and much thinner than she remembered. His hair was long and unkempt. The silver wisps hung down in front of his face, giving the appearance that he was looking at her from behind grey, wavy prison bars. Despite the differences, she would never forget those eyes. They had not changed; the glaring, black eyes of a hungry predator.
“You don't remember me, do you?”
“Why the hell would I?”
“You raped me. You beat me. You ruined my life. I can't believe they housed us next to each other”
“I don't know what the hell you're talking about. I was convicted for molesting only three girls, and none of them are your age. The rest of those allegations were unproven” he said, his voice tinged with humor, like he had succeeded in court because the prosecutors hadn't seen the reason to call every single girl, every victim in to testify. Three had been enough to shut him away forever.
“You should be in a State Prison, getting the same treatment that you dealt to the orphans in your care”
“You're probably right, only thing is, they want to test me. They give me psychological evaluations every other day. They scan my brain. They experiment on me. All in all, life ain't half bad” he laughed, his victory laugh over the justice system, over retribution's harsh lash.
Amelia knew it could be true. They needed to know what made a man like him tick, what caused him to become a monster. They had to figure out hi
s underlying problems, his rotten roots, to prevent someone with those same problems from running an orphanage in the future, or a hospital. Amelia started to cry for the injustice in the world, for her hallucinations fading in exchange for her real-life nightmare.
“I hate you! You'll burn in hell you monster!” she screamed, causing the orderly who brought lunch to jump back in surprise. What the hell had he done? He had been working this wing for the last twenty years, the wing they called “Loopy Lane.” Only the most far-gone, delusional patients were housed here. Despite his years of experience, the patients could still shake him to the core and their shrieks could make his skin crawl. He dropped the girl's lunch in the air-lock, then walked away, his tuneless whistle bouncing off the cavernous black stones of “Loopy Lane.” He turned one last time to look at the sad girl in the lonely holding cell, screaming at her imaginary antagonists.
THE END
BE SURE TO CHECK OUT THESE OTHER GREAT TITLES FROM MD BUTLER! AVAILABLE ON KINDLE AND AMAZON.COM!
“Teaching Bobby”
“The Zombie Hunter, volume 1”
