A week later, in the park, Timmy got his revenge. My brother was home sick with the mumps, but I was allowed out, alone. When I got there, Timmy was sitting on the monkey bars waiting for me. No one else was around.

  At first, I tried what he had done. Climbing the ladder, then running back and forth to find an opening but he blocked me. When I tried to swing across the bars, he stepped on my fingers. I dropped under the rungs and stood there, wondering how best to get him.

  When suddenly, something hot and soft hit the top of my head. Instinctively, I grabbed at my hair, my fingers slipping on the strands and coming away greased with his feces.

  My outrage was like cold water splashing over my park-heated body. I side-stepped out from under the rungs and looked up at Timmy. His white ass was still aiming down at me.

  I opened my mouth to call him a freak, but my words were calm and airy.

  “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

  My knees bent of their own accord, my thighs flexed and I flew up to grab the bars, pulling my body over the rusted rods like a gymnast. Without a sound, I landed beside Timmy before he could clap his asshole shut.

  I squeezed my eyes closed against the memory of the boy plummeting, head first to the ground. My mother’s scream as she came upon us is forever etched in my mind. As is the memory of how her scream brought me to my senses, and the realization that Timmy lay motionless, twisted in the hot dirt beneath me while I sat on his body and played with his disjointed neck.

  To this day, I don’t know why or how I did it. I only know the Timmy incident was why Mom was in the Homeward. She’d taken the blame for his murder, and I’d been free to suffer guilt and regret, alone.

  She was crazy anyway, so things had probably worked out for the best. At least she was getting the treatment she needed.

  The cab stopped at a light, and I opened my eyes to see where we were. There were only a few more blocks to go.

  The cab pulled up into the lane by the imposing Homeward gates. The driver turned around, putting his elbow on the back of his seat, and squinted his eyes at me as if seeing me for the first time.

  “Seven.” He held his hand out.

  I dug a ten out of my back pocket while the guy drummed his fingers. By the sour expression on his face, he knew he wasn’t going to get a tip. I waited for my three bucks. It was going right back into my college fund jar.

  Money exchanged, I had a moment of doubt, and stayed seated in the warm cab. The gates in front of us were lit up by the car’s lights.

  “I can take you back for another seven.” The driver turned and placed his hands on the wheel.

  I swallowed, thinking about his offer. I didn’t want to go in, but I couldn’t spend fourteen bucks on a wasted trip, either.

  Wrapping my hand around the door handle, I pulled and the door popped open. Stepping out into the cool air, I let the early morning crispness bite at me.

  The city was strangely quiet now. The never-ending traffic had disappeared and nobody in their right mind was wandering the streets. The taxi rolled back onto the deserted street, the engine idling with an irregular purr as the driver shifted gears and left me there.

  Blocking the way were two rigid walls of re-enforced iron spears that would surely stab a piece out of my ass if I tried to climb over.

  I faced the eight-foot-tall rods of iron that were welded three inches apart, and gave it the finger. It was a bold gate, not hiding its purpose in caging people, but it wasn’t going to keep me out.

  I had someone on the inside who had slipped me details for a late-night break-in.

  I slipped off to the left, following the rusty, spiked wall until it ended and the cheaper, less elaborate prison fence started. The chain links led the way into the brush growing along the Sanitorium’s property line.

  Here in the neglected boundary between the road and the Homeward grounds, the weeds grew with abandon. My boots pressed softly into the wet foliage, leaving no evidence as the leaf covered moss sprang back into shape behind me. The bottoms of my jeans became soaked by the dew.

  As the bushes grew denser, I used my hands to push aside the branches. Cold, wet leaves stuck to my face, and the unforgettable tickle of a spider web slipped across the bridge of my nose. I tried not to think about how many spiders might be getting caught in my hair, and pushed on.

  A sharp object pierced the skin on my hand. I screeched and pulled back my arms. Sucking on my finger, I felt the unmistakable bruised sting of a Buckthorn. The tang of my own blood set my stomach growling.

  “Stop at the first draw of blood,” Patrick had said, when he’d given me the directions to break into the asylum.

  “Asshole.”

  According to Patrick, this was where I could get back to the fence, which was now completely hidden behind the seven-foot tall bushes surrounding me. I tried to see where one bush ended and another started, for that was where I had to go through, but it was dark and the bushes dense.

  I pulled my coat sleeves over my hands and used my elbows to force my way back into the thorny branches. The hard spikes screeched along the leather of my biker jacket.

  “Ouch!” A thorn jabbed my thigh through my jeans.

  I turned sideways, slipping against the least resistant branches, and then I was through to the other side of the Buckthorn. The branches gave way to a small clearing.

  Directly across from my knees, the fence was cut, right where Patrick had told me it would be.

  On the other side of the fence, I could see the groomed care of the gardens, clipped and trimmed by a caring gardener. On this side was wildness.

  I bent over and crawled hands first through the fence. It jingled with a metallic shake as I slipped my hips through. Standing up, I brushed my hands off, then put them under my armpits inside my jacket to warm them.

  I listened for signs of being discovered, but no alarms screamed, so I figured I was good to go. My respect for Patrick went up a notch.

  Looking around at the shaded mounds of garden shapes and the ribbon of grey road stretching out under the early-morning sky, I got my bearings. From here, it was a short jog to the building that housed my mother. I picked up the pace, releasing billowy clouds of white breaths as I ran along the winding road that led to Casbus’ building.

  The brick building had bars on the windows and a metal door, something I hadn’t considered when I started out. Patrick hadn’t told me which window to throw rocks at or where the hidden entrance was, if there even was one. I was going to have to use good old fashioned charm to get in.

  I pressed the after-hours button with my thumb, ignoring the sweat trickling down my ribs. In the grass behind me a cricket chirped. If they didn’t let me in, I would keep pressing, and the raw sound would rip through the quiet ward like a buzz-saw setting the loonies a’howlin.

  After my third push on the button, the metal locks released from the inside. I straightened and prepared to face the head nurse. The door swung inward, away from me.

  Mrs. Huds’ body was as thick as a tree trunk and shrouded in white, from her nurse’s cap to the white stockings above her boat-sized, white leather shoes. Her disapproving mouth was drawn so far down at the corners, the lines along the top of her upper lip were almost smoothed out. She squinted at me with blue, watery eyes surrounded by skin tags and tired bags.

  It took me about four seconds to cave. “Sorry,” was all I could manage.

  Her head jutted forward on her short, fat neck as she exclaimed, “You!”

  “Sorry,” I repeated, “But it’s an emergency.”

  “There is no such thing on my shift.” She spaced out the words as if I were an idiot.

  Behind her, an occasional voice wailed from the locked doors lining the dimly lit hall. I was seriously messing with her schedule.

  “I need to see the doctor.”

  “Absolutely not!” Her indignant stance was stretching her short neck to the limit.

  I stepped up to the bottom step, using my height to advantage.

  She started to pull the door shut, while saying, “You will come back at regular…”

  I shoved the door open wider, which pushed her back, giving me space to slip past. She made a grab for my shoulder, but missed as I twisted sideways, sucking in my gut.

  “Doctor Casbus won’t mind,” I hollered as I jogged down the hall.

  “Freeze!” Her harsh tone nailed me to the spot.

  Huds turned back to the door. Her thick, white-stocking calves bulged with muscles, as she pushed the heavy metal barrier shut.

  With a loud squeal of protest on the shiny waxed floors, Huds shoes turned to face me. I had a sudden urge to run, but reconsidered. Huds was the kind of nurse who would enjoy chasing someone down and jabbing a dull syringe into their ass.

  She yanked the bottom of her nurse’s uniform down over her wide hips and let loose a loud “harrumph!” Swinging her arms like an army marshal, she marched towards me.

  I backed away until I was across from her desk and braced myself for what was coming. She walked right past me and took a seat behind it. I stepped cautiously up to the front of the desk and stood in my customary spot.

  On the wooden top of her desk, a silver lamp lit the pages of a registration book. Beside it was a skein of yarn and two knitting needles.

  “Making a scarf?” I asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

  She never took her eyes from mine as her Clorox dry hand squeezed up the yarn and needles and dropped them into a drawer out of sight.

  I gulped.

  “Doctor Casbus does not see patients at this time of night.”

  “I get that, but I’m not a patient...”

  “What exactly would you term yourself as?” She stared me down.

  I dropped my eyes to her desk. She had me there. I chewed on my mouth and thought up a new approach. “Listen…”

  “No. You stop talking.” She flipped a page of the registration book and pointed a square-tipped finger at the first block on the page. “At eight a.m., I will inform Doctor Casbus you are here. He will decide whether he wishes to see you or not.”

  I was not going to sit under her evil eye for the next three and a half hours. No damn way. I pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, and made a loud “clop” sound. Then, I looked away as if she bored me.

  Down the long empty hall, only every other fluorescent tile was lit. One light was flickering, creating its own shadows as it flashed and died randomly.

  “Doctor Casbus!” My voice slammed the far walls of the hall and echoed back to us.

  Huds stood up and glared, “You will shut…”

  “Doctor Casbus!”

  “Doctor! Doctor!” A high-pitched woman’s voice screeched from one of the rooms.

  I hoped my mother couldn’t hear me.

  Huds jumped up and the wheels on her chair skittered across the tiles. I took off running in the direction of Casbus’ office.

  “Doctor!” I ran faster. “Doctor—”

  Doctor Casbus appeared from around the corner directly in front of me. I locked up my knees and dug in my biker boots to stop before hitting him.

  He grasped for me, but I stopped just short of his touch.

  “Rachel.”

  The sound of his voice always stirred up mixed feelings. A combination of excitement and disgust. I expect it was the role he played. He was both my mother’s helper and her jailer.

  Huds caught up to us, her enormous boobs heaving with the exertion of chasing me. “I tried to stop her…”

  I scooted out of her reach, moving just slightly behind the doctor’s tall, lanky form in his long, white coat. Skid marks from my boots created a black trail on the floor leading back to her desk.

  The doctor’s monotone voice stopped her forward movement. “That’s fine, Mrs. Huds. I will take it from here.”

  Not one to give up easily, she lifted her chin and pushed her chest out. “I can escort her out immediately, if…”

  “That will not be necessary.” He looked down his sharp pinched nose at her. A moan filtered down the hall. “But do endeavor to calm the guests.”

  I listened carefully, trying to figure out if it was my mother’s cry.

  Casbus turned to me, blocking my view of the hallway. His Adam’s apple stretched the papery skin out from his neck. I quickly lifted my eyes to avoid looking at it. The wire rim of his twisted glasses sat obediently upon his nose. They were smudged, the glass foggy white. I tried to find his eyes behind the glass.

  “Follow me, please.”

  His long strides made short work of the distance to his office. I followed, as if leashed to his hand, but then, hesitated on the threshold of his domain. I always paused here. He was used to it. He called it “avoidance dilly-dallying” because what happened behind that door was often difficult for me to face.

  “Step inside,” he commanded, and I obeyed.

  Across the room, the leather couch lounged confidently. I didn’t take my eyes from it, while Casbus shut the dark paneled door behind me.

  “You seem agitated, Rachel.”

  I could hear him moving, the starch in his white coat rasping.

  “I am.”

  His voice was closer. “What has distressed you?”

  A tug at the back of my neck and my jacket slid off. My shoulders tingled as my skin waited for his cold touch.

  “Things have been happening.”

  His hands landed on my shoulders with the fluid grace of doves. I turned my head to the side and looked down at the blue veins standing up under his grey, liver-spotted skin.

  “What things?” he asked.

  The doves slipped, sliding down the outside of my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps behind.

  “Things…”

  His thumbs bumped over my elbows, then slid even further down, his fingers hooking around my wrists for a fraction of a pause, before letting go.

  Then he was moving past me, walking toward that couch.

  I was restrained by the leftover sensation of his hands.

  “Come, Rachel.”

  Suddenly, the couch was inviting. I wanted to lie down on it. Just for a moment. I moved forward toward Casbus. He watched me, until I was a few steps from him. Then he lifted his stethoscope holding it out like he was bearing a cross at an exorcism.

  “Open your blouse, Rachel,” he commanded. “I wish to check your heart.”

  CHAPTER 12: SENTINELS AND WATCHMEN

  ~

  THE GREY STUCCO CEILING CAME into focus above me. I shifted, and the leather couch groaned under my weight.

  “Do you understand, Rachel?”

  Casbus was staring out the window, his hands clenched behind his back. His steel-grey hair matched the metal inner frame. Outside the glass, the colours of dawn were streaking across the sky.

  On other visits, when I’d ‘come to’ like this, I’d just answer “yes” and leave as soon as I could. But this time, I needed to truly understand what it was we had been discussing. I swung my feet to the floor and sat up.

  “Actually…” I shifted to clear the tight feeling in my chest. “If you could just explain what is happening, Doctor.”

  Casbus turned around and fixed me with a silent stare. When he stood like that, stock still, he reminded me of a chameleon on a branch, seconds before its thick, sticky tongue would rocket from its mouth and slap some unsuspecting prey.

  He pulled in his chin until his grey skin folded under his jaw.

  “What you have been experiencing are typical reactions to the profundity of your psychological exploration.”

  I ran the sentence over in mind, trying to wring out the meaning.

  “So, our sessions are making me crazy?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. You have much childhood pain, and we are stirring it to the forefront.” Casbus walked slowly to his desk, each step ending in a slight hesitation as if he would lean back instead of stepping forward. “Your mother was very cruel to you, and until we have discovered everything you have suffered, you will not heal.”

  “But…”

  “Your brain is still withholding events, Rachel. Things have happened that your mind is not ready to accept.” He put his hand on the back of his chair.

  “So, that’s why… everything… last night?” I asked.

  “Precisely.” He pulled the chair out and sat at the desk. His hand lifted the corner of a paper and he appeared to look under it. “All is a result of your psychosis.”

  “So, let me get this straight.” Even though he’d given his signal our session was over, I held up my hand for more time.

  “You’re saying the voice on the telephone, the gruesome visions, whatever was in my apartment last night, was all just my imagination?”

  He didn’t look surprised as I ran through the list of events from the night before, so I figured I must have been sharing with him earlier.

  “That’s right. You mustn’t make the same mistake your mother has made. This has nothing to do with religion, and everything to do with science.”

  “Science?”

  I wanted to believe him, I wanted to feel relieved that it was all in my head. But, why had Lennox acted so afraid of me in the Albion? And what had he meant when he’d said to Angus, “If ye dorn’t turn ‘er, ye could end th’ curse forever”? And where had the cassette tape come from?

  “Did I tell you about the cassette tape?”

  The Doctor’s hatchet nose rose, “Cassette?”

  A knock came at the door, and Casbus bid the knocker to enter. I quickly finger-combed the back of my hair.

  “Ahhh, Patrick.”

  My mother’s nurse filled the door frame. He was a big man, and he looked even bigger in his green, cotton scrubs. He’d shaved his head since I’d last seen him, and his dome shone a rich, chocolate brown. He didn’t acknowledge my presence as he handed Casbus a bottle of pills.

  “Thank you.” Casbus checked the contents, wrote something down on the paper in front of him, while Patrick stood at his side, waiting.

 

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