Beloved Evangeline (A Dark Paranormal Urban Fantasy Trilogy for Grown-ups - Book 1)

by W. C. Anderson

  I glared at him.

  “Looks like a fighter,” the orderly whispered into his radio.

  As I eyed Mr. Fernwood with increasing annoyance, I was tackled from behind. Back up had finally arrived, apparently, and though this was just a guess, I’m thinking I was again deemed an “imminent” danger to myself.

  Mr. Fernwood only shook his head in amusement.

  I was finding him less and less charming. It occurred to me that he was exactly the kind of help I would receive, a patronizing, less-than-helpful, antagonistic troublemaker. Completely worthless.

  27.

  The next few days were, as Mr. Fernwood had predicted, quite trying, not to mention unpleasant. An endless stream of questions were thrust upon me, much the same as I’d already endured. The orderly was called in to verify that I had actually spoken, but of course, I was refusing to do it again. Call me stubborn if you will, but I can’t be bothered to speak to those who don’t bother to listen.

  I could not be left alone during that time, for my own safety, and for the first 48 hours, I was given the strait jacket treatment. After the first 48 hours, I was kept in the strait jacket due to my nonresponsive state. For two straight days, I begged and pleaded with Mr. Fernwood for help, for us to leave early, to loosen the jacket, for him to do anything. Stifled, and sometimes un-stifled laughter, was his only response.

  By the end of the second day, that cackle really grated on my nerves.

  I don’t know that I have an unlimited supply of hope within me, and I fear that, after awhile, my supply may run dry. I had gone without any hope for so many years—I just don’t know how well I’m equipped to replenish it now. If I were alone, I might’ve enjoyed a quiet cry, but Mr. Fernwood was still here. I didn’t want him to see. I really hate this feeling of being a helpless female. There’s no way I’m going to add crying to helplessness in this scenario.

  Mr. Fernwood seemed to sense my depression and gradually, over the course of a few days, his behavior toward me seemed to change.

  One morning, a particularly nasty attendant was assigned to me. I’d seen him in the rec room once or twice before, but given my state of mind at that time, I hadn’t had the wherewithal to give it my full attention. But he certainly had my full attention now. There was just something... creepy about him. The way he was looking at me now sent a chill down my spine.

  “How’s the jacket treatin’ ya, sugar?” He smiled a heart-chillingly leery smile at me as he set down my breakfast tray. He was a middle-aged, pot-bellied man with receding hair, and he seemed to enjoy having such complete power over a helpless, incapacitated woman.

  “Great. I did this to myself on purpose just because I’ve always wanted to wear one of these,” I replied sarcastically. I would not give him the satisfaction of thinking me helpless.

  He put his hand on my knee, “You can speak! I’m so glad. Gives us the chance to get to know each other better,” he lifted a spoonful of oatmeal and waited for me to open my mouth.

  Apparently, any witticisms would be completed wasted on.... I glanced down at his nametag, Harold, it said.

  “I don’t eat oatmeal,” I said defiantly.

  He set down the spoon and let out a sigh, “No? That’s a shame. But I’ve got your assignment for the whole rest of the day. I asked for a double shift today when I saw I’d finally be assigned to your room. So I’ll be back at lunch, and then dinner. Maybe you’ll be hungry by then.”

  I clenched my jaw as he got up and began walking out of the room.

  Mr. Fernwood appeared suddenly and winked at me. He snuck up behind the exiting orderly and gave him a profound shove. The portly man flew forward into the wall, missing the actual doorway by inches.

  I had had the exact thought not two seconds before it happened.

  Harold staggered to his feet, turning to me, his forehead red and bleeding.

  “That’s a shame... looks like you missed the door there. But that’s alright. Since you’ve got me for the whole day, we’ll just go ahead and keep trying ‘til we get it right.”

  He stumbled through the doorway and fled, eyeing me the entire way down the hall.

  “Fantastic! You were fantastic,” Mr. Fernwood beamed at me.

  “I didn’t do anything? And next time, by the way, I don’t need your help.”

  Mr. Fernwood ignored me.

  “If they send that guy back in here, I just don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from ripping out his still beating heart.” He shook his head casually, as if he were contemplating something as commonplace as whether or not to squeeze in dessert after a large meal.

  I eyed him curiously. At times it was difficult to know if he was being serious or not.

  “In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go ahead and take care of that right now.”

  “What? You can’t just go around killing people,” I protested, but Mr. Fernwood had turned his back to me and was making his way out the door.

  “Just like that—your first impulse is to murder him? Really?”

  He paused just outside my door, but didn’t turn around to face me, “You’re a sweet kid, but I don’t think you comprehend some things too well. The man does not deserve to go on breathing. That oatmeal was drugged. He’s one of those sickos what has their way with incapacitated dames, and I ain’t got the stomach for that. Especially... when...” his voice trailed off and he began to walk away.

  “Wait! Don’t you understand by now that I can’t bear for any more people to die because of me, no matter how bad?” My breathing was becoming increasing rapid and shallow. “You’ve read enough of my thoughts, you must know that that’s true.” My hands had begun trembling. Mr. Fernwood paused uncertainly, and I knew then that he could be persuaded.

  I gripped my hands to steady myself. “Anyway, I have an idea.” I smiled mischievously after him.

  At that, Mr. Fernwood finally turned to face me. His face broke into a devilish grin as he read my calculating thoughts.

  “Let’s at least toss this stuff, though,” Mr. Fernwood gestured toward the oatmeal once we’d finished perfecting our little plan.

  “No, we need that. I have to eat it,” I said once again—this time with annoyance.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Yes, Mr. Fernwood. I must ingest it for this to be believable,” I was growing tired of going over and over this.

  “No, no,” Mr. Fernwood shook his head, “I got a better idea.” He was gone in flash, before I’d had even the slightest opportunity to protest, with the pain medication from my accident.

  I sighed. “Fine. Give me the pills.”

  Mr. Fernwood gave me the pills and administered the apple juice.

  “Now you need to help me out of the strait jacket—like you should’ve done days ago.”

  Mr. Fernwood made a face, but loosened the buckles at the back. My arms slackened slightly at the sides, but he didn’t finish removing the jacket to give me use of my hands.

  “Can you please take the rest of it off?” I gestured in exasperation with my hands still inside the ridiculously long sleeves.

  “I can’t,” Mr. Fernwood broke out in laughter, “You... just look so cute right now...” He couldn’t contain his laughter and could barely speak.

  I waved my arms more animatedly in frustration, “Take it off!”

  Mr. Fernwood doubled over with laughter, “Stop it,” he choked, “You gotta stop it, now,” He continued laughing.

  My arms dangled helplessly and my eyes closed. Apparently, I just had to wait it out. While I was waiting, I began to feel really warm and unsteady.

  “Here, sit down now,” Mr. Fernwood ushered me to a chair, “I’m sorry about that. Sometimes, when I get really tickled, there’s just no stopping it.”

  “Understood,” I said while leaning back in the chair. I felt nauseated. I’d forgotten I hadn’t eaten anything before swallowing the pills.

  “Sorry, kiddo. We gotta leave it on you a bit longer
, though. And get the stage all set.”

  Ten minutes later I was in bed, strait jacket loosened a bit, hospital gown pulled down slightly, exposing my collarbone suggestively, and I was mildly impaired. Mr. Vaughn had gone downstairs to sign in the visitor log as my great uncle Felix, who in reality was like, 93, but no one else need know that.

  I heard Mr. Fernwood shouting down the hallway, “If my little niece has been harmed in anyway, you’ll be paying for it dearly.”

  A hospital administrator walked in. In her early sixties, she had sternness implying we better not be wasting her time. “What exactly is going on here... your chart says you were to be restrained...”

  “I don’t feel so good...” at least my speech was slurred convincingly, “That nurse guy came in to loosen my jacket off or something, so I’d be more comfortable, I think he said?” My eyelids drooped.

  “He said he asked for a double shift just so he could spend the whole day. I don’t feel so good. My uncle told me not to eat the oatmeal. He went to go get the doctor lady.” I closed my eyes, too groggy to continue.

  I woke the following morning, with Mr. Fernwood sitting in the chair beside me. “You did it, alright,” he said, “They took the oatmeal and tested it... carted away that guy in cuffs right after that.” He smirked, apparently impressed at my acting abilities. “You gave quite a performance, up til the time you passed out.” Then again, maybe he was just amused by me.

  “Well, we should probably start preparing for the big day... you ready?”

  “To get out of here, are you kidding? Whatever we need to do, let’s do it.”

  We spent the better part of my last few days in preparation for, and rehearsal of, my escape. At the end of the final day I was exhausted, but completely incapable of falling asleep the entire night. I tossed and turned restlessly, my mind racing. It wasn’t the getting out that was making me anxious, it was the part that came after that that had me worried. This was going to be a dangerous undertaking, but it had to be done. Confrontation was inevitable, but still, I couldn’t help wishing there was some other way.

  What were my chances in all of this, realistically? From what I could tell, not great. Maybe that was the real reason I couldn’t fall asleep—contemplating the idea of knowingly, and willingly, surrendering myself to death. Even normal people would be worried about that, too, right? Come to think of it, in retrospect, up to this point, my entire life suddenly seemed rather unfair. I was stuck dealing with some really complicated, basically unsolvable problems. Why was this my lot, worrying about my own death at what should be the peak of my life? I should be worried about my career… when to have children and how many….

  I curled up into a ball on my bed, hugging my pillow tightly, and lay awake all night.

  28.

  Mr. Fernwood winked. I held my breath and.... jumped.

  Screaming as I fell, I hit the ground with such an enormous wallop that I thought for sure both my legs had been crushed. I had an awareness of being on the ground, but the pain of the landing had stolen my breath. The force of that initial fall jarred my head so badly it felt as though my teeth had shattered. I could do nothing but remain still, dark spots obscuring my vision as I felt myself drifting away. My final thought, filled with sadness, was that I’d been gravely wrong about Mr. Fernwood.

  The next thing I was aware of was someone tugging on my arm. I batted the someone away and shakily stood myself up. I was unsteady on my feet, but held up well enough.

  “I’ve sure seen better landings, but I guess that wasn’t so bad for a beginner.”

  I tried to fuss at Mr. Fernwood, but all I could say was, “My. Head,” as I reached for my throbbing cranium.

  “Ah, you’re gonna be fine. Look, not a scratch on you. We gotta be going after all that racket you just made....”

  “I thought you were gonna, I mean going to, take care of things. I landed just as hard as if I’d jumped from a ten-story window, which I did, because you told me to!!”

  “But you didn’t need my help, honey. You coulda done this by yourself all this time. I just gave you a little push, that’s all. Aren’t you feeling a tad better already?”

  I was. Quite a bit better actually. The ache in my head was already less acute, and I was able to walk.

  I tested that walk by walking away from Mr. Fernwood.

  “Hold on, honey, I knew you wasn’t gonna be hurt really bad. I woulda helped you if I could...”

  I turned to see his face, trying to discern if this was true.

  “Nobody else has survived drinking that poison you drank.” He patted my shoulder gently. “Do you get what that means?”

  “I can’t seem to die. And I can’t go in sunlight…”

  “You think that makes you a vampire? Were you bitten by one of them blood-sucking parasites when my back was turned? Do you thirst for blood?”

  “Well, no…”

  “I gave you credit for being a little brighter than that. Your aversion to sunlight, pet, has to do with your brush with the darkness—on the other side. It leaves a mark that can’t be unmade.”

  I couldn’t seem to find any words.

  “Here, I swiped your clothes for you. Can’t stand to see you demeaned in them hospital clothes any longer.”

  I took my beloved jeans, sweater, and boots from him. They seemed like the most wonderful treasures on earth. Mr. Fernwood turned his back as I shimmied into my jeans and pulled on the sweater.

  “I sure hope to see you again someday, under better circumstances,” he whispered in a suddenly more natural-sounding voice.

  I was just zipping up my last boot, about to ask what he was talking about, when Mr. Fernwood shook his head, turning to me more gently, “The creature that was down there, in the place that you went, it even touched you didn’t it?”

  I nodded, reaching for my chest automatically.

  “Don’t worry, the side effects of that will lessen a bit over time.”

  “Lessen?”

  Mr. Fernwood eyed me sympathetically, “They’ll always be with you to some degree. And I am sorry for you. It’s not without difficulty that you’ll have to manage yourself from now on. But I think you’ll find that, eventually, you’ll be able to tolerate the sunlight again, a little bit a time. Like in small type doses. Sunglasses—I recommend them highly. I gotta wear them myself whenever I’m outside.”

  “So that’s where you’re from? The place where I went…?”

  “I told you never to ask me that!” His eyes were extremely wide, unnaturally so. His face twisted, distorted, ever so slightly, but even this slight change made his appearance completely different. For the first time since our meeting, I was fully aware that he was frightening, dangerous even. He immediately realized his mistake; his face resumed its normal appearance, but it was too late. The damage could not be undone. He seemed for the first time to be what he probably had been all along; I’d just been too preoccupied, or depressed, depending on your perspective, to notice. He was a wolf in disguise, or more appropriately, a monster.

  I took a few tentative steps backward, away from the evil glint shining, clearly now, in Mr. Fernwood’s eyes.

  “I know what you’re thinking, cowgirl. Don’t even think about it.”

  Ignoring him, I continued my retreat. He could not be trusted. My initial instinct had been right—he had been luring me to my death when we first met. Now he would finish the job out here where there were no witnesses.

  “That’s not true—let me explain.”

  I said nothing. There was nothing left to talk about. As I kept stepping backwards, I succumbed to a sudden impulse to turn on my heel and run. I ran at top speed, marveling as the wilderness seemed to blur passed me. I had no idea where I was going—it mattered little as long as it took me far away from him.

  Out of nowhere, the ground underneath me simply disappeared. Tumbling, flipping, and skidding, I rolled down into an enormous ravine, before landing, arms outstretched, in a puddle of mud near a st
ream at the bottom.

  Once I’d mostly caught my breath, I slung mud from my hands and righted myself. Mercifully, the mud got only my hands and cuffs, missing most of my sweater and jeans.

  The ravine was rather impressive. More impressive still was that my limbs were intact. The fall had to have been more than 300 feet down through trees and brambles. A few bruises and small scrapes, probably, but that was it. It was a phenomenal feeling. Maybe I was invincible. The only problem seemed to be with my breathing. I just couldn’t seem to catch my breath.