Insanity (22 page)

I slap his beautiful, peaceful face. Once. Twice. Three times. Still nothing.

I rest my palm flat against his cheek. The warmth is fading from his skin, along with the color. He’s cold. Clammy. Like he’s just been put in the icebox so he doesn’t spoil.

“Why?” I scream at him. “Why did you do that?” Tears pour from my eyes. “Why?” I’m waiting for an answer that I know is never going to come.

My fingers flit over the gunshot wound on his chest. Right next to his heart. I wait, thinking that maybe it will still be beating. I’m in denial and I know it, but I can’t accept what just happened. I don’t think I ever will.

Reality drills through my skull and seeps into my brain.

There’s nothing. He’s really dead.

I hunch over his body, holding him as tight as I can to keep my arms from trembling. I cry into his stomach, and on top of the bitter scent of blood, I get a whiff of his musky cologne that lingers on his shirt. Then I lose it all over again.

I lift my eyes, rimmed in red, tears cascading down my pale cheeks and glimpse at the spot where Daddy was standing. He’s disappeared and he took his gun with him. Part of me is glad about this and another part of me is not. I’m glad because I’ve never had a bad temper, but after Daddy mentioning what he might have done to Mommy and then him killing Damien well, I’ve never wanted to murder him so bad in my entire life. Another part of me wishes he was still here, so I could snatch the shotgun from his grasp, shoot myself, and join Damien wherever he is because dying for the man I love sounds better than the painful reality called
hell
that I’m living right now.

I’m losing it. I’m losing it. I’m losing it
.

Time passes.

I’m not sure how much.

Maybe hours. Maybe minutes.

I’ve started hallucinating.

Yes
, my subconscious hisses. Why?

Because Damien is alive there. He’s not dead. He’s lying in my arms, smiling up at me a twinkle in his cool shades of blue. Then he’s playing with my hair, twisting a midnight colored tendril around the tip of his finger.

I blink and the beautiful fantasy is gone.

I keep telling myself it will return. I keep telling myself if I just wait it out, I’ll see him again.

My mind is playing tricks on me, but I tell myself that it’s okay. It’s okay that I pretend Damien is alive, lying next to me. It’s okay that I pretend he’s sleeping and that his chest is rising up and down. Anything is better than facing reality. Facing the truth. That he’s…that he’s…that he’s…

No. I shake my head and bury it in the crook of Damien’s neck. Don’t even think it. I can’t. If I do, I’ll fall apart all over again.

Someone calls the cops and Damien’s parents. I’m not sure who called them, nor do I care. Damien’s mother, Marlena, is hysterical. She yanks me from the floor by my shoulders and shakes me. I’ve tuned out the sound of her voice. I’m comatose, staring at the blood on the floor. And Damien’s body. Marlena slaps me across the face and tells me this is all my fault and that snaps me out of the trance-like state I was in. Pain sears in my cheek and I can feel blood and warmth rising to the surface. There’s probably a welt. I don’t care. I can’t react to it.

Damien’s father, Luke, pulls her away from me and she sobs into his chest.

It’s not until the paramedics arrive and they load Damien’s body into a black bag that reminds me of a bag that belongs in a trashcan, except it’s thicker, that I move from my spot. I hurl my body at one of the paramedics and knock him to the floor. “You can’t take him!” I scream, tears pooling in my eyes, a stabbing pain in my chest. “You can’t take him! We belong together!” I throw my body over the bag and scream hysterically. My chest vibrates with sobs. There are small streams of tears running down the bag. “No! No! No!” More tears. More pain. More screaming. “We were running away!” Hate burns in my eyes and I glare at Marlena. “We’re running away from you!” Marlena turns her head back into Luke’s chest, and she sobs harder than she was a minute ago. I think she blames herself for this happening more than me, but she’s the type of person who’d never admit to it.

It takes two paramedics, two cops, and one sedative to pry me away from Damien’s body. A police officer stays with me as they load Damien’s body into the back of the ambulance and the only reason I’m calm is because of the drugs in my system. More than anything I feel empty inside and I’ve convinced myself that my heart lies bleeding on the floor in my bedroom, drenched in Damien’s blood too.

An hour later, the remaining cops load me into the back of their car. “Are you okay, sweetie?” an older one with kind brown eyes and graying brown hair asks.

I don’t answer him. I’m staring at my house through the mirror above the dash, replaying everything that just happened in my mind. Damien’s face swirls around behind my eyes. The widened, stunned look in his sapphire eyes imbeds itself in my brain. It was the moment he realized he’d been shot. His face fades away, now all I see is his lips. His full pouty lips and the last words he’d ever have on the tip of his tongue, “I love you.”

Those words are no one else’s.

They belong to me.

Forever.

Always.

No matter where he is now.

And I can’t help but have a morbid thought during that second, about how badly I want to come back to the house I grew up in, douse it in gasoline, strike a match, chuck it at the porch, and watch with a sadistic smile as the house burns to the ground.

Now there’s pain again. The sedative can’t take this kind of pain away. It doesn’t matter how much drugs they give me, I know this. No amount of drugs can ever take away the pain that accompanies a broken heart.

~ ~ ~

On the way to the police station, something comes over the radio, “The suspect has been caught. He had the murder weapon in his possession.”

Daddy.

I hope they either fry him or lock him away for the rest of his life. I hope they make him understand the meaning of the word pain.

For Mommy.

And for Damien.

The police sit me down in a small, square room and try to question me. I tell them what I can about the tragedy that just occurred, but I’m not sure if I’m much help. I can’t keep my voice from trembling. I can’t keep the tears from falling. I can’t keep myself from bringing my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, gripping onto my hair, and screaming at the top of my lungs. The officer questioning me looks at me like I’m crazy.

Who knows?

Maybe I am.

The cop questioning me leaves for a while. When he comes back he grips me by the arm and helps me out of my chair. “Where are we going?” My voice quivers.

“We’re taking you away from here.”

“Away from here?” I repeat in a melancholy state.

“Yes.” I don’t meet the officer’s eyes, but he has a kind tone in his voice. “We’re sending you somewhere where you’ll be able to get better.”

I laugh. “Get better?” We turn a corner and the white blurs in my eyes from the walls of confined corridor. “Get better?” I laugh harder. It’s almost uncontrollable. The kind of laugh a person laughs when they’ve truly lost their mind.

There’s a worried look on the cop’s face and he looks away from me as we continue walking. These people are morons. I know they’re only trying to help, but they are still morons.

Because only I seem to be the one that sees things clearly.

I’m never going to get better.

Chapter 30

~NOW~

All of the painful memories come flooding back.

My eyes snap open. I gape at Dr. Watson. My lips turn down into a scowl. Everything hits me all at once. Damien, Daddy, Mommy, and him, Dr. Watson. He’s known about my past the whole time. He had to have. Of course. The bastard has my file.

Why would he do this? How could he do this? Why would he want me to remember something so devastating and horrifying? Who calls this sadistic torture a treatment method?

I stand slowly, knees trembling, my heart in flames, and my fists clenched at my sides.

“Adelaide?” Dr. Watson’s eyes are on me. He looks confused. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

“No!” I hiss, moving closer.

Dr. Watson stands and towers over me. But I’m not afraid of him. I think that the rage boiling in my bloodstream is making me fearless. “How could you?” I seethe. “How could you do this to me? It’s sick!” I scream, tears flooding my eyes. “It’s evil and sick!”

Dr. Watson raises his hands. “Calm down, Addy.” He’s trying to reason with me. Calm me down. But it’s not going to work this time. Not now. Not anymore.

“I hate you! I hate you!” I’m surprised by how high and shrill my voice is. “You’re an evil, evil man!”

“Adelaide!” Dr. Watson yells. “You don’t understand!”

“Don’t understand, what?” I probe him with a snarky tone. “Tell me, Dr. Watson. What is it that I don’t understand?” I’ve never seen Dr. Watson look so lost or confused. Maybe I should show my out of control side more often if I want to get some answers out of him.

“It’s complicated.”

His vagueness is what makes me lose the last bolt that has been keeping my mind together. With trembling fingers, balled up fists, strained breaths, and a clenched jaw, I scream. I shake my head. Go wild. Go crazy. I’m like a savage, barreling into, Dr. Watson and knocking him back on his desk. He stares up at me, wide-eyed, arms up in the air, trying to restrain me as I reach for his neck. The overwhelming urge to crush his windpipe is the only thing I can think about.

Dr. Watson grunts while I continue shrieking like a banshee, clawing at his face as he grips onto my wrists. “How could you? How could you do this, Dr. Watson?” Tears flood my eyes, blinding me and I have to blink several times for my vision to become more clear. “I thought you wanted to help me!”

“I do, Addy,” he pleads and there’s a desperate look in his honey eyes. “That’s all I’ve wanted.” And I think I hear him add, “You’re all I’ve wanted.”

I’m still irrational, and angry, and now not only has Dr. Watson, broken my heart, my mind, and my soul, but he’s broken my trust too. Now, I’m not only in agonizing pain, but the betrayed feeling that’s surging through me is beginning to fuck with my emotions.

He starts to gain the upper hand in our struggle as Dr. Morrow and Marjorie dash through the door. “Son of a bitch, Elijah!” Dr. Morrow shakes his head, wraps an arm around my waist, and tugs. “Alright! Alright!” Dr. Morrow glances over his shoulder at, Marjorie. “Go grab a sedative. We’re doing things my way, now.” Marjorie nods and is out the door in a flash.

Marjorie returns and doesn’t waste any time. She stabs me in the thigh with the needle, hard. I try to fight off the effects of the drugs like I have so many times before. Dr. Watson and Dr. Morrow are arguing, but their words are blurry and I can’t understand what they’re saying. The bright lights of the office are starting to dim. My flailing limbs are no longer flailing, now somewhere in between flopping and flicking like a fish out of water on a wooden dock.

I’m starting to lose my fight with the drugs. They’re overpowering me. Clouding everything. The room spins. Faces fade in and out of focus. The sweet, sweet sedative is seeping into my bloodstream.

There’s a voice in my head screaming,
fight it, fight it, fight it
!

Don’t let them poison you!

Don’t let them make you forget!

But it’s not my voice that I hear screaming in my head.

It’s Damien’s. He’s reaching out to me. From where I don’t know.

And just before I close my eyes, I think I see him.

Then everything goes black.

~ ~ ~

When I open my eyes, there’s a squeaking noise tickling my ear drums. Dim flickering lights hang above my head and pass by quickly. The walls surrounding me are made of cement. And there’s a damp, musky scent permeating the air.

I feel like I’m floating.

Then I realize I’m moving. I’m being pushed down a darkened hallway on a gurney. I try to sit up, but I can’t. And when I gaze down at my body, I notice three wide brown belts strapped across my chest.
Oh no.
Panic penetrates the walls of my stomach and I’ve seen someone strapped into a gurney just like this.
Cynthia.
Right before she was taken down to…

Oh no! They’re taking me to the basement! Or I might already be there.

Cackles trail down the narrow hall and as I look to my left, I notice cells with metal bars. Suzette’s arms hang through the bars and she’s repeatedly tapping her head against the metal. Against her cage. Her laughter, soft and eerie, with a sing-song ring to it. As I’m wheeled by her, she lifts a crooked finger and points at me. Fear latches onto my spine and refuses to let go. I swallow hard, but my throat is raw and dry from all of my previous screaming.

I’m wheeled down the hall further and several more cells come into view. Most are empty, but in the very last one Cynthia lies on her cot, in a burial like position, her eyes centered on the ceiling. “Cynthia,” I whisper and try getting her attention.

It doesn’t work.

Cynthia’s gone.

Another lost victim of the asylum and its screwed up methods of treatment.

The gurney slows when it comes to a set of swinging double doors. Whoever is pushing me, maneuvers the gurney around, entering the double doors with their back to it. They push me into a corner of the room, next to a machine with a whole bunch of different buttons, knobs, and climbing meters. I see a headband-like instrument and have to turn my head. Vomit inches its way up my throat and my lungs constrict. Electroshock therapy. They’re going to give me electroshock therapy!

I need to get out of here.

Twisting, I grind against the leather straps, trying to loosen them. The thick leather bites into my flesh and begins to burn lines into my skin. But I can’t give up. I refuse to give up. Still twisting and thrusting my hips upward, I try wiggling. I try moving my feet. It’s not working. Looking down, my eyes sweep over the length of my body again and I catch a glimpse of the restraints wound tightly around my heels. The restraints are chained to the gurney. Sobs leave my throat when the sudden reality hits me.