Before The Storm (3 page)

* * *

I stand on top of my bed and slowly pull away the ceiling tile to retrieve the journal I’ve spent the last ninety days terrified of losing. I feel around in the space above the ceiling careful to avoid the string of cobwebs and dust that’s growing in every different direction only to find it’s not there. I feel nothing. I pull my body up a little farther and try to see up inside of the vents.

“Looking for this?”

I jump, startled, and hit my head on the top of the tiles as I lower myself down.

“Ow!” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

Stephanie scoffs. “You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”

“What are you doing with that?” I ask, ignoring her sarcasm and pointing to my notebook that she’s holding in her hands.

She shrugs. “I hear you get to go home.”

“And that would explain why you have my notebook how?”

“Well,” she says as she walks across the room and slides her small body down onto the floor and sits Indian style. “How badly do you want to go home exactly?

Because I don’t see you going very far if I bring this to Mrs. Newington. I doubt the staff would be thrilled to learn you’ve been playing them for fools and secretly still dreaming about going home to your sick and twisted love affair you have going on with your brother.”

“STEP-brother,” I correct her.

She shutters at the thought like there’s no real difference. “Whatever.”

“Anyway,” I snap, kind of annoyed, “what does me leaving have to do with you having that notebook?”

“Like I said, you probably wouldn’t get to leave if I passed this around.”

Is she kidding? Why would she want me to stay here? She hates me. Who wants to be roommates with someone they hate? And then a terrible thought occurs to me. Does Stephanie hate me so much that she’d rather put up with me just so I would have to stay here and be miserable? Does she want to see me unhappy that badly? I don’t even talk to her.

“What did I ever do to you? Don’t you want me gone? I mean you hate having a roommate, remember?”

She laughs loudly. “Yeah, right. How long do you think that will last? It won’t be long until they bring some real loon in here. Did I ever tell you about the girl who ate her own toenails? Right in front of me too! She didn’t even try to hide it. I swear to God I thought she was going to start asking me if she could clip mine for a late night snack.”

Apparently Stephanie had this one roommate who liked to bite off her finger and toenails and then eat them. It was a very big scandal around here, or so I’ve been told.

Stephanie repeats the story at least a hundred times to anyone who’s willing to listen. I considered biting off my own toenails once or twice when I was really frustrated with her, just to freak her out. I could never bring myself to do it though. I mean, gross.

“Stephanie. Give me my fucking notebook.” I realize this is risky considering she has a lot of power over me at the moment, but I just found out that I’m getting out of what I consider a mental institution to go stay with an aunt that I subconsciously always knew about but really didn’t? See the whole thing makes no sense, even to me.

“No,” Stephanie says, unfazed by my outburst.

I make a fast dash for her, planning to take what she refuses to give me, but she quickly jumps back a few steps and swings the door to our room open, revealing the narrow hall in the old building.

“Come any closer and I scream for a nurse and hand this over as quickly as I took it from you.” I pause, trying to figure out if she’s bluffing or not. “I mean it Victoria, I’ll do it.” And she has that look in her eyes, that crazy look that tells me she isn’t messing around. I sigh and take a step back. She nods like I made the right choice and closes the door gently.

“Just relax, I’m not going to tell anyone, or give it to anyone for that matter,” she says to me, giving me a half smile. Something about the look on her face though warns me that there’s more to the situation than she’s telling me.

“Then what are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing,” she says, shrugging again. “As long as you do me a little favor.”

“A little favor?” I ask puzzled. What does she want me to do, smuggle some candy or something in here for her after I’m gone? No way am I becoming my ex-roommates little bitch once I get out of here. If I have it my way I’ll never set foot anywhere near this place again, this I know for sure.

“I need you to find my mom,” she blurts out suddenly.

She needs me to do what? What does she mean, find her mom? Is she kidnapped or something? Don’t the police usually handle situations like this?

“Can’t you call the police?” I say, glancing past her toward the door. All I can think about is how I really need to get out of here. I’m supposed to be on my way up to the main conference room right now to meet my aunt and sign my release papers.

“Why the hell would I call the police? She isn’t a missing person. She’s just missing from my life.”

“Oh.”

I suddenly realize what she’s saying and I feel my heart sink a little bit. I know what it’s like to not have a mom. The pain is the worst feeling in the world. The thing is, I don’t have a choice. My mom’s dead, gone from the world. I can’t imagine knowing your mom is somewhere out there and just not being able to have her. I feel badly for her for the first time since I’ve been here. I do, but still, I mean, what do I know about finding anyone? There’s like millions of people in the United States. She should totally write to a detective or something. Or, I know! She should write to that show “The Locator!” It’s about this guy who goes around reuniting people who haven’t seen one another in like years. Sometimes they never even met once in their whole lives. It’s super meaningful and motivational. Everyone always comes out of it very happy and changed for the better. That show would be perfect for Stephanie!

“Have you ever seen that one show, ‘The Locator?’” I ask her, getting a little excited now. “It’s about this guy, I think his name is Troy, and he goes around reuniting people with their loved ones!”

She looks at me like I’m a bug on the bottom of her shoe that she just stepped on and killed. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not going on some stupid fucking show. I’m having YOU find her.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about finding someone. I’m not a private detective,” I point out.

“Well,” she says, opening up my notebook and handing me an envelope, “I have a clue that will help you.”

I turn the envelope over, thinking maybe there’s a really thin piece of paper inside that I can’t make out from the outside, but there’s nothing. It’s completely empty.

“An empty envelope?” I ask her puzzled.

She rolls her eyes. “Not just ANY empty envelope. Look at the return address.”

I glance down at the envelope and squint to see the address, but it’s written so tiny and the envelope is so worn that it’s hard to make out.

“A P.O. box?” I ask her.

“That P.O. box belongs to my mother. I found it in my father’s things a while ago.

You find that P.O. box and you find my mother.”

What, is she on drugs or something? She expects me to be able to find her mother with this? An old P.O. box address? Those things are completely confidential. Plus, isn’t it against some huge government law or something? People are very, very particular about their mail. Not to mention this address is many states away and could be from years ago. I doubt her mother is still in the same place.

“If it’s that simple why haven’t you been able to track her down yourself?” I ask, eyeing my notebook. Maybe if I’m quick enough I can somehow grab it back from her.

Stephanie pulls my notebook closer to her chest as if she can read my mind.

“You’ll find her, and fast, or I’ll show this notebook to everyone and anyone who will listen.”

There’s a knock on the door of our room and Stephanie shoves the notebook up her shirt, not that it matters since the nurse on the other side only has eyes for me. “Come on Victoria, everyone’s been waiting for quite some time.”

I look back and forth from Stephanie to the nurse helplessly. I really do not want to be involved in whatever it is Stephanie has going on here. I mean she is clearly completely and totally out of her mind. But what choice do I have really? I need to get out of here.

“Well thanks for everything Stephanie,” I say, walking toward the nurse. “I’ll uh…be in touch.”

“Yes,” she says to the back of my head. “Hopefully within the next few weeks.”

She’s now giving me a time frame. My head immediately starts pounding as the nurse closes the door behind us. With everything else I have going on how am I supposed to track down some woman I know almost nothing about?

The stress of everything pilling up on my shoulders makes me a little dizzy. And just as I round the corner to the check out office, just as I’m regaining my balance and emotions, I start to lose it again.

Because standing right there as if it’s the most natural thing in the world is my father.

Chapter Four

He hasn’t changed much. Well, maybe he’s a little more built, like he’s been spending some time in the gym or something. He’s wearing a suit I’ve never seen before.

It looks like it could be Armani, maybe even Gucci. He would wear something so extravagant to see me getting out of a prison he put me into. He’s all about appearances.

I suddenly want to cry. It takes everything inside of me not to break down right then and there in the middle of the entranceway. I want to scream, and yell, and ask him how he could do this to me. I want an answer to all of the questions that have been running through my mind for the past three months. Seeing him is the closest I’ve come to receiving those answers.

It’s Dr. Morgan and Mrs. Newington who stop me from doing anything I might later regret. They’re standing behind my father, studying me carefully. If they expect me to have a nervous breakdown, they don’t show it. Dr. Morgan is the only one who really knows anything about my relationship with my father, and even what she knows is not the full truth. She knows our relationship is strained, but I think she blames it mostly on my mother’s death. And to be honest, at first, I did the same thing. But after having this time to think about it, I really can’t imagine that this is the main issue with my dad’s and my situation. I mean, what kind of father sends his daughter away to a teenage psych facility in the middle of the night? This isn’t the plot of a badly written short story or something. It’s my life, as hard as that is to believe.

His eyes show no emotion, but I burn mine into his anyway, trying to communicate with him without speaking just how much pain I feel in my heart for him. I doubt it works since the icy frost in his gaze doesn’t soften at all.

“Victoria,” he says, looking me up and down.

“What Dad, no hug?” It’s the first time I’ve lost control of my emotions in what feels like so long. But I don’t regret it. The words slip out almost without my permission, but they’re out there nonetheless.

Mrs. Newington raises her eyebrows as Dr. Morgan clears her throat uncomfortably. My dad glances at the two of them and then in one swift motion moves toward me, wrapping one arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him.

The hug is stiff and he smells like Gucci and freshly brewed coffee. It’s obviously just for show and doesn’t make me feel any better. If anything it makes me feel worse than I did before.

“Well, let’s get started shall we?” Dr. Morgan says happily. She turns on her heels and walks into a small office toward the back of the hallway.

It’s so tiny inside that I feel like it should be some sort of storage closet instead of an office. There’s a small desk and two chairs on either side, a few filing cabinets in the corners of the room, and a number of flowerpots scattered about as if they were an after thought.

The first thing I notice about my aunt is her hair. It’s bright blonde. The kind of blonde most people can only accomplish with a bottle of bleach. Her complexion is pale, almost as if the thought of stepping out into the sun is too much for her skin to bear. The blue of her eyes makes me feel like I can see the ocean through her gaze. The pure ocean, when it’s clear and blue and sparking. She’s absolutely beautiful and it’s hard to believe something so beautiful would want something like me under the same roof as her. Good thing she didn’t know what I looked like before she got here, she might have turned and ran for her life at the sight of me.

She opens her mouth to speak and I notice right away that her teeth are perfectly shaped. A perfect shade of white, they sparkle almost as much as her eyes.

“Victoria,” she says, moving her little body over to me as if she’s gliding on a cloud of perfection. “Oh, you’re just beautiful. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”

She pulls me close to her. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream, and her body like an old scent of Chanel my mom used to wear when she was going somewhere fancy. I feel more comfortable in her arms than I did in my own father’s. It all feels so surreal and raw to me that I’m not sure how to process it.

I want to tell her I don’t remember seeing her when I was a baby. I want to tell her that up until a few hours ago I didn’t even know she existed. But somehow I feel like now isn’t the time for that conversation. At least I know she’s my actual aunt and not here for some other girl. My father’s presence proves that point.

She pulls away and places her hands in mine, looking me up and down. “You’re just perfect.”

She’s clearly delusional. I’m the worst possible version of myself. I know this because this morning when I looked in the mirror in our bedroom I said aloud to myself,

“You’ve become the worst possible version of yourself.”

My hair hasn’t been kept up at all. It’s stringy and much too long to be considered healthy. My complexion is pale, and the bags under my eyes heavy. My sleeping situation has not improved since I’ve been here. I’m careful not to mention this to anyone though, the last thing I need is for them to make me take medication for a sleeping disorder. Not to mention my weight is down, and not in a good way. The food served here is all-natural and all-disgusting. I don’t look like I’ve been off someplace these past ninety days getting healthy. I look like I’ve been off getting tortured.

“Well, just a few last minute things to tie up here,” Dr. Morgan says, walking around to the other side of the desk and taking a seat in the chair that’s waiting for her.

“Now, I think we’ve covered a lot in our sessions already Victoria, but you do understand what’s required of you when you get home, correct?”

“Yes,” I say, looking down at my hands that are still tightly bound with my aunt’s. She doesn’t seem like she has any desire to let go any time soon.

“Well,” Mrs. Newington says in a cold tone, “I think a verbal reflection of those requirements would be a wise decision, just to make sure there is no confusion.”

“I agree,” my father adds.

Of course he agrees. I’m sure he and Mrs. Newington would be best friends in their everyday life.

“Very well,” Dr. Morgan says not missing a beat. “Victoria, you will continue to see a therapist recommended by the staff here. You will maintain the commitment to get back into your normal routine, including maintaining a high grade point average and getting involved with at least one after-school club. You will attend group therapy sessions dealing with how to cope with losing someone close to you at least once a month. And above all, you will maintain a healthy and family-oriented relationship with your stepbrother Nathan.”

As she says each word aloud Mrs. Newington nods along with her as if to say yes, oh yes, and definitely yes.

“Do you understand Victoria?” Dr. Morgan asks me.

Mrs. Newington, who was just a moment ago nodding along with Dr. Morgan, suddenly stops when she realizes what’s being said. “Excuse me, but surely that is not all,” she says, looking nervously at my father.

“Well, if there’s anything you’d like to add at this time…,” Dr. Morgan trails off.

“I would just like to say that during the end of this process Victoria’s father and I have been in very close communication.”

Wow, no wonder she hated me so much. A little time with my father is all it would take for anyone to think the absolute worst of me. I knew Dr. Morgan had been in touch with Missy here and there but I had no idea my father was involved in anything going on with my therapy.

“And I want Victoria to understand something very important to her recovery process,” Mrs. Newington says, turning her attention to me slowly. I feel my aunt’s hand grasp mine tighter as Mrs. Newington’s intense and evil eyes look me up and down. To my surprise, I find myself not feeling uncomfortable with my aunt’s contact, but almost protected in a way. “Her parents are okay with her coming home now,” Mrs. Newington continues. “They have thought about this all very carefully and agreed to take our recommendations into account. However, they also have the power to revoke this decision at any time. You are still a minor Victoria, which according to state law forbids you from making certain life-altering decisions for the next year and a half.”

Hearing the words aloud sounds like such a long time to me. Having to live a year and a half of my life in fear of getting sent back here? It’s a thought that would be scary to anyone, a thought that I fear will be haunting me somewhere in the back of my mind every second of every day for a very long time.

“Any type of inappropriate contact with her brother will result in exactly that happening,” my dad says, speaking for the first time since we stepped into the room.

Stepbrother, I think to myself, wanting to rip the hair out of my scalp.

Stepbrother! Why the fuck does everyone keep using the word brother like I’m committing some type of incest?!

“She knows that, don’t you Victoria?” my aunt says, looking at me as if she’s my best friend in the world and not someone I just met five minutes ago. It kind of makes me wonder exactly what they told the staff here about our previous relationship.

“Yes, I know that,” I respond. “I’ve learned a lot here and I’m positive it won’t be an issue.”

“Also,” my dad says, looking a little nervous for the first time since I’ve seen him,

“no one knows where she has been the past three months. Not the school, not her friends, no one. They all think she was going through a tough time and just needed to get away for a while. That she’s been with her Aunt Jenna here, figuring herself out.”

“And it’s in the child’s best interest to keep it that way,” Mrs. Newington says.

“No use in airing out anyone’s dirty laundry all over town.”

“Exactly,” my dad says sternly. “Now if there’s nothing else, I have a late lunch with a client.”

“Of course, of course,” Dr. Morgan says, placing a stack of forms on the desk, “I just need all of you to read these over carefully and then sign them.”

I force my body to lean over and pretend to look at the forms. I find myself picking up a pen and scribbling my signature on them effortlessly.

My mind is going insane, replaying something my father said over and over again. No one knows where I’ve been. No one. I believe he probably didn’t tell Angelina, since he hasn’t liked her for as long as I can remember, but surely Nathan must know.

Nathan has to know. There’s no way they could keep something like this from him. No way, right?

* * *

My aunt Jenna’s apartment is exactly like her, well put together. The first thing I notice when I step through the door is the smell, strawberry with a hint of vanilla. I immediately search the entranceway for candles, but see nothing. It’s almost as if the aroma is coming out of nowhere.

The entranceway and living room are basic, nothing flashy. The colors represent a light brown theme and the walls are completely bare. The couch is a large sectional that takes up most of the room, with a large flat screen T.V. plastered against the wall on the other side of the room.

“I haven’t really gotten around to decorating,” My Aunt Jenna says as if she’s reading my mind, “but let me show you around.”

I follow her small frame into the large kitchen that’s off the living room. It’s much bigger than the one at my dad’s house, which I didn’t think was possible. The same brown color scheme that appears in the living room is plastered on the walls in the kitchen as well. It has all the latest appliances, and a large island in the middle of the room with high stools surrounding it. Against the wall, in one of the corners, is a large table. It makes me wonder why one woman needs so much space.

“Um,” I say, curious in spite of myself, “I’m not trying to be rude, but this isn’t exactly a normal apartment.”

“What do you mean normal?” she asks, looking at me like maybe there’s some type of double meaning coming from what I’m saying, which of course there isn’t.

“Well, it’s a whole floor,” I say slowly. “There are no other apartments on the floor.” I say, stating the obvious. And it’s true. The elevator opens up right into the entranceway of my Aunt’s apartment. It has it’s own floor.

“Oh that,” she says, looking relieved. “Well that’s because it’s a suite.”

“A suite?”

“Yes, didn’t your father tell you? This is a hotel.”

A hotel? Really? This is what my spiritual leaders think is the best environment for me to be coming home to? Someone who doesn’t even have a home? Someone who spends all her time in some hotel? Not to mention it doesn’t seem like a normal hotel to me. I saw no sign on the way into the building, no one sitting at a desk waiting to check us in, no one waiting to clean our room or make our bed.

“How come no one greeted us? How come there’s no reception desk?”

My Aunt Jenna looks at me for a second and then bursts out laughing. “Oh, I get it. You’re joking, because no hotel would have reception at a back entrance. I get it, you’re funny. Now let me show you where your room is.” She then takes off down a small hallway to the left of the kitchen before I can say another word.

“You are just going to love it here, I know it. It’s perfect, elegant, but not in an over-the-top way, you know?” I can hear her voice fade as she gets further and further down the hall, so I hurry to catch up with her. “Don’t you just love it?” she says, stopping in the hallway in front of a door, leaving me just enough room to squeeze past her to get into the room before her.

And the strange thing is, I instantly do love it. The walls are a light sky blue with a soft gold trim. The bed is huge, bigger than my one back home, with a light blue canopy carefully draped over the top. The tables next to each side of the bed have candles spread about and a glass alarm clock on one of them. There’s a plasma T.V. directly across from the bed that practically covers the whole wall, along with a white vanity set on the other side of the room with a matching white dresser right next to it. The whole thing is so simple, yet perfect. I love it instantly.

“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.

“Isn’t it?” She asks loudly as if she hears me perfectly. “I just knew you’d love it.”

I want to ask her how she knew, how she could even begin to guess that I would love it considering she’s never met me before a day in her life. There’s so much I want to know, so much I want to say, but the truth is that I’m not comfortable enough to ask yet.