Truth

by Brittany Chapman

  “Through here,” a distant voice called. I looked up to see a Latino man in white scrubs holding a door open.

  It wasn't a police station, juvenile center, or any hospital I had ever seen. A one story, sprawling building surrounded us.

  I dug my bare heels into the asphalt as I was dragged to the door. Another officer picked up my raw feet by the ankles.

  Sympathy flashed in his face. “You're ok now, you're safe. You're going to get help here.”

  I shook my head. I couldn't find my voice through the fear. I tried to tell him that he had it wrong but he shushed me.

  I was carried down a long white hall, through door after door that needed a special key card. I was pushed down unceremoniously into a chair in an odd waiting area. A glass room stood behind me. The police officers stood on either side of me. I lifted my head to take in my surroundings.

  There were doors around the large waiting room. People moved in the open rooms as I searched for an escape. In front of me was a long hallway filled with more rooms. Laughter assaulted me through another open doorway. A pretty black lady sat at a desk in the hall and watched something I couldn’t see.

  “This way,” a small elderly woman with dyed brown hair and gold glasses motioned for me to follow her. One of the police officers pushed me out of the chair and I stumbled forward. Fibers of the carpet stuck to my bare, bleeding feet as I followed, feeling the officers behind me.

  She led me down the hall and I glanced into the room that the lady at the desk observed. It was a large room with a television set, chairs, and people sitting at round tables talking or coloring with crayons. Halloween decorations littered the wall. A white board announced the holiday as today.

  We stopped in front of the last door on the left. The squat woman stood back and gestured for me to enter. I glanced back, my heart pounding. The longer I was there, the harder it would be to escape. One of the officers nudged me and I staggered into the room with three beds, a bathroom counter, and a radiator.

  Someone removed my cuffs as I stared at the barred window. The black lady came into the room with a hospital gown, socks, a toothbrush, and other toiletries. I pulled my hands in front of me, rubbing my swollen wrists.

  “My name is Lucia. I need you to step into the bathroom and put this on.” She handed me the gown. “Leave the door open and throw out your clothes.” The policemen shuffled out of the room, giving the ladies gentlemanly nods.

  I did as I was told, trying not to cry as they made me turn to show them my naked body. Curiosity sparked in their eyes as they took in my bruises and the bandage around my chest. They forced me to remove it and saw the long gash. Lucia had to turn away.

  When she turned back she kept her eyes directly on mine, “What did you do?”

  I didn't know how to answer. All I could do was shrug into the hospital gown and stare at my feet. They had me urinate in a small cup and checked my hair and mouth for anything hidden. There wasn’t a shred of dignity left in my being by the time they were done with me..

  They led me back toward the waiting area. I sat at the table in the corner of the room as a doctor came in. The elderly lady tied my arm with a strap of rubber as the doctor stood over me, cleaning my still bleeding head and numbed it to restitch it.

  He had a needle in my head, sewing me up like a rag doll, while a nurse drew blood from the crook of my arm. I watched as three vials were pulled from my body. I was exhausted. My brain couldn't handle anymore.

  Lucia appeared with a suitcase. I recognized it as one of my own from my parents house. She carried it back to my room. I stood to her but a hand pushed me back in the chair.

  A tall, elderly man took the seat of the nurse who hurried away with my blood. He cleared his throat and opened a folder, pulling his clipboard into his lap. “I am Dr. Burnt, I will be your psychiatrist while you are here with us.”

  I blinked at him, trying to focus on his words. “How long will I be here?”

  “As long as it takes.” He scribbled onto his clipboard.

  My heart clenched at his unfeeling tone. “Where am I?”

  He peered at me as if surprised by my question. “You're in a rehabilitation facility.”

  “I'm not an addict.”

  “No, but your mental stability is questionable right now, which is reason enough for you to be rehabilitated. Would you like to tell me about the day you were kidnapped?”

  I was tired of hearing that word. “I wasn't kidnapped. I left.”

  He scribbled away in his clipboard. He had expected my reaction. He mouthed the words ‘Stockholm syndrome’.

  I wanted to kick him, run away, and fight my way out of there. I wanted to know where William was and if he was ok. I controlled myself, somehow. I knew what the phrase ‘as long as it takes’ meant- as long as I obey.

  As long as I was their dancing monkey I would be ‘rehabilitated’ and could leave. “What do you want to hear?” I asked him bluntly.

  “Honesty,” he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me like he believed it.

  “Ok,” I started. “Honestly, I want to get out of this place.”

  “Then let's hope you recover quickly. You’re covered in injuries. What happened?”

  I didn't know what to tell him. If I told him about being attacked by the brothers then William would have another item on a list of wrongdoings. I also thought about how I couldn't mention Reese or even Dizzy. “I got mugged.”

  “When?”

  I recounted the days a few times. I couldn't be right. Had it been five days? “Sunday night,” I told him softly. That day alone felt like it lasted five.

  He asked questions about where I had been, who had been with me, and what the mugger looked like.

  “I was taking a walk in the area. I was alone.”

  He knitted his brows. “Your kidnapper must have trusted you to let you leave by yourself and expect you to come back.” The disbelief in his voice made my thoughts tumble.

  I bit my tongue and tried not to glare at him. I understood what he was doing. He was trying to dehumanize William as some ruthless villain who had brainwashed me but I was already getting fucking tired of the kidnapping comments.

  The truth wouldn't be believable. However, lies could be questioned but never proven.

  “Who attacked you?” He repeated.

  “I don't know.”

  “How many were there? What did they look like?”

  I thought for a moment and decided to steer him away from any possibility of it being the brothers. “There was one white guy. He was short, round, and had a long, tangled, brown beard.”

  I didn't know if I was convincing but he jotted down more notes. “One last question. When was the last time you took your medication? I spoke with your father and he informed me that you have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”

  “The night before I left." His lips tightened with impatience at my choice of words.

  He clucked his tongue and peered at me for a moment, as though trying to dissect my thoughts and personality in one moment. “I have a report stating that you were arrested about nine months ago.” I gave him a short nod before he asked, “Would you tell me what happened the night you were arrested?”

  I looked him over. I didn’t trust his practiced expression of patience and the tone that said he cared. However, I had a feeling he already knew what had happened. As a minor my records were not public, but my mother or father was sure to have filled him in on their own version of the details.

  His filmy blue eyes barely blinked. The question was a test. I wanted him to trust me and believe me when I argued against what he had heard about William. It was my one opportunity to make him see that I didn’t need him or his facility.

  “I was at a party,” I began, the memory fogged by more recent and important ones. “I was with Belle, my best friend. She had a tendency of sleeping with guys who were in relationships. That night she came out of a room with some random guy and his girlfriend saw them to
gether. She started beating up Belle. I came out of the bathroom to find her on the floor, and the girl still on top of her. She had my friend by the hair and was banging her head on the hard wooden floor. So, I took out my pocket knife and stabbed the girlfriend in the back. A few times.”

  Any other day I would have laughed at Dr. Burnt’s expression of shock. He quickly rearranged his face into something more professional before asking, “what would you have done differently in that situation now?”

  I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t have done anything different. I wanted to tell him that even though Belle was sent to Maine to live with her father after the incident, to protect her from me, I still would have defended her. That’s what one should do when they see someone they love in trouble.

  However, I needed to seem like a reasonable, logical person that could be listened to. “I would have called the police,” I tried to keep my voice even and rid myself of the image of the brute that had abused William.

  Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he scribbled away as if excited. He waved his hand over his shoulder and Lucia came towards us. He set his clipboard aside. I glanced at it, trying to read it upside down as he said, “You can go clean yourself up and change. Then join everybody in the community room. I will meet with you tomorrow.”

  He stood and Lucia helped me out of the chair. She led me to my room and pointed to my suitcase opened on the bed. The sight of it made me think of the matching one hidden under the stoop of the home I was torn from.

  “Your father sent some clothes and toiletries for you. I had to go through everything, including this,” she handed me a handwritten letter. “You have to leave the door to the bedroom open at all times so take your clean clothes with you into the bathroom.”

  She turned to leave but hesitated. She leaned close, her whisper barely audible, “the best way to get through this is to fake it until you make it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Her lips curved. “You'll figure it out.”

  I turned toward the bed at the far end of the room, not sure if I even wanted anything from my parents. I caught my reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was distorted a touch from the plastic-like glass, but I could see why everyone stared at me like I was bat shit crazy.

  I was covered in dried blood. I could barely see my face or the color of my hair. I looked down to see my arms, hands, and even my legs were streaked with flaking brown.

  My teeth dug into my lips as my heart squeezed. I blinked at the tears fogging my vision. It was all I had of him with me, as sick as I knew it to be.

  “What's wrong?”

  I turned in confusion at the childlike voice. A girl who looked about twelve years old with platinum blond, short curly hair and large black gauges in her ears stood in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” I asked, ignoring her question.

  “My name’s Abby, this is my bed,” she pointed to the one by the door.

  “How old are you?” I didn’t mean to sound rude but didn’t understand why a child would be in a rehabilitation center.

  “I'm seventeen.” Her tiny giggle was so pristine and sweet I couldn't help but to stare at her. “You should get cleaned up. We have group therapy before dinner.”

  “I'm not hungry.” My stomach turned at the thought of food.

  “They make you eat. You have to at least pretend. Is that all from you?” she gestured to the blood coating my skin. I shook my head. “But some of it is?” My eyes narrowed. She was too curious about the gory details. “Which is from you and which is from somebody else?”

  A low hiss escaped my teeth. She smiled and patted me on the back before whispering, “if you don't know which part is theirs, then what's the point in keeping it?”

  Curiosity piqued as I watched her dance toward the bed with my suitcase. She pushed the letter out of the way and lifted a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. My fingers skimmed the soft cotton of the clothes he held out.

  Mother never bought me anything comfortable, but the tags were still on every article of clothing. I shifted the clothes in the case. I couldn’t remember if I had ever owned sweatpants. In the bottom was a pair of sneakers. The laces were removed and replaced with zip ties.

  “Go shower,” she prompted softly.

  I wanted to bite at her, to chew up her soft voice and spit it out bleeding. But her innocence and empathy pulled at me.

  “They’ll think you’re healthy if you do healthy things.”

  My heart hammered. She was in the same position, same place. I gave her an appreciative nod, my voice stuck as I took the clothes.

  “The hot water lasts no more than twenty minutes,” Abby called as I closed the bathroom door.

  I sat in the dimly lit, tiny room on the toilet. I pulled my breath deep, forcing myself to not cry again. I had to believe William was ok.

  I realized that every time someone mentioned my parents it always pertained to Father. Father had brought the suitcase. Father had talked to the doctor. Father had written the letter.

  Mother loved William, and she blamed me for everything. Maybe she was at his side using her money and power to help him.

  I didn't actually have faith in the scenario but kept trying to imagine it until it felt possible.

  I turned on the water and stepped into the narrow stall. The water swirled around my feet, dark and foamy. I remembered what Lucia had told me. ‘Fake it until you make it.’

  I steeled myself, knowing what I would have to do. I had to pretend that William kidnapped me but didn't think I could. I had to pretend to be happy to be free, even though I was caged and degraded.

  Chapter 27- Trailing

  I forced myself down the hall and to the community room. Fake it. A dozen boys and a dozen girls mingled together. Everyone glanced my way but seemed used to new people and didn’t stare long.

  I sat with the quiet group in front of the television. No one looked my way as I settled into a chair and pretended to be enthralled by a yogurt commercial.

  “You were on the news.”

  I turned to the boy beside me, unsure if it was him who had spoken. His hair was buzzed short and his eyes were glued to the screen.

  “Excuse me?”

  His gaze switched to me for a second. “The news. You-were-on-the-news.” He spoke deliberately slow, trying to insult me. I huffed and I turned away.

  It was like magic. Blue and white lit up the screen. A pretty female anchor announced the breaking headline. My heart sank when I realized she was standing in front of my Memphis home.

  The door was busted open. I watched myself being dragged out of the house, my whole body drenched in William’s blood.

  William was being pulled up in the doorway. I flinched as his head lolled onto his shoulder. Crimson flowed steadily from his wound, darkening his jeans. I bit down on a whimper as the officer punched him in his wound.

  “Did you see that?” I hadn’t noticed Abby down the row. She jumped up and pointed to the house. “That's abuse. That man should be arrested.”

  Lucia rushed into the room, “what's going on?” Her eyes fell on the television.

  I turned and witnessed William crumble to the ground. My hands clutched over my chest, trying to keep my heart from shredding.

  The newscaster answered my prayers. “William Hugh Chainbers is now in custody at a Methodist hospital. He is stabilized and police are standing by to question him.”

  A sob of relief choked from my lungs.

  The television went black as Lucia pulled the plug. The whole room lifted in a roar, wanting the television back on. I looked around to see that everyone had been paying attention.

  Abby ducked under her chair, curling into a ball. She was the smart one of the group, I realized. We were in a room full of angry, unstable teenagers.

  A chair toppled as a young man with shaggy, brown hair fell over. He scrambled up with a bleeding lip. “You fucking bit me?”

  He backed away as a boy with sandy hair stoo
d hunched in the middle of the room, glaring around. The biter started to bark like a dog at his audience. The little elderly nurse with the mean face rushed in with two large men in white scrubs behind her.

  The biter tried to fight them off. They pinned his arms as the nurse pushed a syringe into the side of his neck. He slumped and was swept from the room as we all gaped.

  “Where are they taking him?” I asked the boy sitting beside me. He didn’t seem to have noticed the abnormal behavior.

  “The south side, probably. Or the silent room.” He shrugged without looking at me.

  “What does that even mean?” Frustration made the blood pump through my brain too hard. I had no idea where I was. I was surrounded by crazy people and wanted to escape. I didn't know if I was back in Kentucky, still in Memphis, or somewhere in between.

  He finally looked at me. His eyes were brown with a tint of green and there was a large mole under his eye. “South side is where they take the ones that are going to be here a while, the difficult cases. They usually end up in the adult ward.”

  I swallowed hard, wondering if it was my fate. “What about the silent room?” I didn't know if I wanted the answer.

  “It's a cement room with a mat. They put you in there to scream, throw a fit, whatever you need. You have to be pretty bad to go there and have to stay in there for at least twenty four hours for observation.”

  Were we in a prison? “How do you know all of this?”

  He shrugged again and turned away. “This is Lakeview. You come once, you’re destined to come back eventually. We aren’t the type of people who are good at being good.”

  I didn't know what to ask next. I didn't want a possibly psychotic person to hate me so I simply introduced myself. “My name’s Ruth.”

  “Not interested. I have a girlfriend back home.”

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “A name is not flirting. Besides, you saw the news, you know where I’ve been and who I've been with.”

  He glanced at me suspiciously. “My name's John.”

  I stared at him as the irony numbed me.

  ✷✴✷

  I tried to keep calm through the evening. I followed Abby's directions to stand in line like a sheep, walk the halls and wait for the food I was told to eat, and sit with the girls at the long benched table on the other side of the room from the boys.