September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (45 page)

“I slipped.” I tell her, because it’s
the easiest explanation. She watches me get back to my feet and dry
off.

“You better start eating. I can make
you, you know.” Avery calls after me as I’m taken to the dressing
area.

Last Friday I finished telling my
story to the review board. I assumed that today, Monday, I’d be
returning to Canyon View. Instead, I’ve been summoned back to that
damned room. I don’t know what the hell they want from me. I’ve got
nothing left.

Lunchtime means macaroni and cheese
floating down the toilet. My stomach is constantly pinched, but I
like thinking of Avery holding her abdomen and complaining about
the cramps. When they come to remove my lunch tray, two guards step
in and shackle me. I’m quiet and docile as they lead me back to the
interview room that feels like a second cell these days.

Tight Bun Tara and Quiet Darren are
sitting at the table with Mister Brandon and one other man. New Guy
is sitting in a middle chair between the two familiar faces
opposite my usual spot.

On the table, there’s a small paper
cup containing my afternoon medication. I am seated, and take the
pills with the provided cup of apple juice, like a good little
nut-job, while everyone watches. I hold my mouth open and wiggle my
tongue around to show that I’ve swallowed all of them.

“Good afternoon, Miss Patel,” the
stranger between Tara and Darren says a little too brightly, “I’m
Doctor Schumacher.” He is thin, with white hair and gold-rimmed
glasses with lenses too thick for the frames.

As I play with the cuffs on my chair,
I ask, “What kind of doctor?” even though I already
know.

“I am a psychiatrist, appointed by the
state to oversee in your reevaluation.”

“Of course you are. Why would the
state bother talking to my doctors? I’ve only been seeing them for
the last six years. It’s much smarter to get a new guy to ask the
same damned questions.”

Tara turns her head to hide a
smile.

“And you’re a little late.” I add,
“I’ve already told my story.”

“I know. I’ve been supervising from in
there.” He points behind him at the mirrored window. “I also have
specified reports from your doctors at Canyon View, which are very
telling.”

I nod, trying not to roll my
eyes.

“I’ve requested your presence this
morning to answer a few more questions. Once we’re satisfied, we’ll
officially conclude this reevaluation.”

Now he’s got my attention.

He holds up his hand, throwing out a
peace sign. “Two things. First, I’d like you elaborate, if you
will, on the presence of Deanna Midler at the motel room that
night.”

“O-kay,” the word comes out
slowly.

“You’ve been vigilant throughout this
evaluation, stating several times that the events of that night
were your perception at the time, and not necessarily factual. I am
curious to know, Miss Patel, what are the facts, as you see them?
Anything you contribute to help us understand your state of mind
would be of great help.”

“I don’t remember much beyond what I
told you. I can’t even remember your name and you just told me five
seconds ago.”

He tilts his head. “Doctor Schumacher,
like shoe maker—one who makes shoes.”

I sigh and shake my head. He’s using
that rhyming trick to help me remember. He has been
listening.

“I thought I saw Deanna there, in the
room with me that night,” I confess, “But I was only trying to
comfort myself. I know, now, that she wasn’t.”

“What did you learn that made you
change your mind?”

“The dreams I have—those
repressed memories. The videos, too, of me behaving . . . like the
other
person
.” I
shrug. “I’ve been wrong about so much stuff, it just seemed
reasonable that maybe I was wrong about talking to Deanna that
night, too.”

“Would you say you weighed the facts
you were presented with?”

Thinking for a minute, I nod. “Yeah,
that’s what I did.”

“The facts are: Deanna Midler used the
information Mister Haddon provided on your whereabouts to lead the
police to you. She was present, but never entered the motel room as
you previously thought. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

He smiles, not much but just enough to
soften his face. “I believe that information, facts, are the most
important part of the decision making process. Would you
agree?”

“I guess. But you have to follow your
heart, too.”

He leans down, scribbling in the file
in front of him. “I also want to ask about your references to the
second victim, Mister Jacob Haddon.”

All the muscles in my body constrict
at the sound of his name. This doctor’s going to fucking argue with
me. I know it. He’s just like the rest. He’s going to tell me I’m
lying.

“Throughout this process, you have
repeatedly referred to Mister Haddon’s state of health after the
confrontation as being deceased and ‘magically’ opening his eyes to
ask for help.”

“. . . Yeah.” A lump rises
in my throat as I look around the room at the other three faces
studying me. I’m the only one ruffled by the turn of
conversation.
Was this their plan all
along?

“You believe that to be
fact?”

“It was my imagination. I said that.”
The protuberance rises, sharpening like the pointed beak of a crow
pecking at my esophagus.

“Are you aware, Miss Patel, that Jacob
Haddon was, in fact, alive at that time?”

“
I heard that before.” In
the time it takes me to say four words, the pecking crow in my
throat has multiplied to a flock. Whirling inside me, the birds are
a violent chorus of long beaks and giant beating wings, fighting,
trying to climb up and out of my mouth.

“Are you also aware of the fact that
he is still living, to this day?”

This is where I stop listening.
“That’s. A. Lie.” Three pecks slicing through my tongue.

“I assure you, it is a fact. Jacob
Haddon is alive, Miss Patel. The fact is you did not kill him, no
matter what your heart tells you. If you had, you wouldn’t be here.
We would never consider transferring a murderer to moderate
security.” Doctor Schumacher has a pen in his shirt pocket. I wish
my hands were free so I could jamb it in my ear.

“No.” Another beak pecking.

“According to your records, the
numerous psychiatrists and physicians who’ve examined you these
last six and one-half years all state the same: you have deluded
yourself with guilt. You think that Mister Haddon was murdered by
your alternate personality, Avery.” His dark eyes flicker behind
the coke-bottle lenses. “The facts are: Mister Haddon did sustain
life threatening injuries that night. He endured forty-seven stab
wounds in total, from which he has since recovered. He still
suffers mild to moderate nerve damage, but he is alive.”

My head shakes continuously. Fiercely.
Like my neck is made of rubber. “No. Jake’s dead.”

“Miss Patel, I have given you the
facts, not perception. One piece of evidence to those facts are
that he attended your sentencing.”

“No! He’s dead!” My eyes
clamp shut. “You are lying! Liars! Fucking liars!” My fingers dig
into the woolen fiber of the chair, shaking, tingling.
Fucking liars.
“Jake.
Died! If he was alive, he would be here! He’d do whatever he had to
do to get to me. He loved me; he would never leave me when I needed
him! He promised!”

I’m panting, trying to block the fuzzy
image creeping into my psyche, thanks to Doctor Shithead. “I wasn’t
even at my sentencing. How would I know if a dead man was
there?”

“He is not dead. He was present at
your sentencing, and so were you.”

My eyes pop open wide.
“What?”

“I’m sure if you try to remember, Miss
Patel—”

“I don’t believe you!” I’m
shaking my head, but the image won’t fade. It’s even clearer now,
just like he’s in the room with me. It’s a lifeless portrait, a
barely healing and still bleeding man who’s too quiet. It looks
like Jake in the corner behind Doctor Schumacher, but it’s
not
my
Jake
sitting there with empty hands, it’s just what my mind wants to
see. A projection.

It’s true that my life would be much
easier of Jake were alive, but he’s not.

He’s not.

I felt the life slip from his body. I
held him when his spirit departed. I felt him die and I died right
along with him.

“He didn’t make music. He didn’t sign
a record deal. He never made it to California.” I say to the
conjured image. Realizing that I’m speaking to something no one
else can see, I clamp my mouth shut.

“Miss Patel, what makes you think
Mister Haddon never went to California?” Quiet Darren
asks.

“My first lawyer had a copy of Max’s
deposition before the Grand Jury. He left his briefcase open on the
table when he came to talk strategy. I only read the top page, but
it told me enough.

“Max said, and I quote, ‘she killed my
best friend. He isn’t going to California to sign a record deal. He
can’t even play guitar anymore. She ruined Jake at the best time of
his life.’”

I sit forward, making my point. “If
Jake were breathing, he would be making music.”

“It’s now or never for
me.”

My Jake is gone off to a better
place.

I don’t know if heaven exists, or if
the next life or whatever is just another plane, but wherever that
place is, getting there means leaving here and never coming back.
So I will find my way to him. He’s waiting for me. I know it deep
down. Bone deep.

I know it.

“Take some time to weigh the facts and
reconsider, Miss Patel.” The white haired doctor softly
instructs.

“Can I go back to Canyon View,
now?”

5
1

—Angel

The first song Jake ever
wrote was called
Hall Of
Fire
. He said it helped him deal with a
lot of the issues he had with his dad leaving his mom. I always
liked it. It sounded very upbeat, very punk rock. Analog Controller
only ever played it at band practice, though. That early tune comes
back to me now, strong and loud.

I move to the far side of my cell,
take up residence in the furthest corner, imagining I’m still
seventeen, back inside Analog’s rehearsal space, sitting on top of
that broken amp, and staring. Singing along as Jake stares down at
the notebook with the lyrics. He’s strumming his guitar, crooning
into the microphone.

Take hold of everything.
We’re gonna make a brand new start.

Give away everything. All
I’ll ever want is in your heart.

You say, “Kick the cat and
feed the dog.”

Let’s go walking down the
hall.

Don’t you ever let me
go—

If you do, don’t tell me
so.

Grab hold of everything.
Follow me to our brand new start.

I’m keeping everything.
We’ve all got to play our part.

I kicked the cat and fed
the dog

Kept you moving down the
hall

Said you’d never let me
go—

Though you never told me
so.

We’re gonna make
it—

We’re gonna make it, after
all

(Don’t let me
fall)

Taken for everything. So
much for a brand new start.

You ruined everything,
including me and your own heart.

I kicked your cat and fed
your dog

And I’m burning down your
hall

I hope you never let me
go—

But won’t ever tell you
so.

I am finally getting
old—

Drinking Sherry (growing
mold)

This life is not what I
was sold

We didn’t make
it—

We didn’t make it, after
all

(You made me
fall)

I should have held him tighter, kept
him closer. I never should have went to sleep that night. I should
have fought my migraine. Now, everything has turned out like the
song.

This life is not what I was
sold.
I ruined everything.

We didn’t make it, Jake.

I made you fall and I’m so, so
sorry.

Closing my eyes, I will my
hearts message to reach his spirit, wherever it is:
I love you, Jake, and I will continue to love you
with every fiber of myself, with every heartbeat, and every inch of
my soul for the rest of my life and beyond. I promise, I’ll never
let you fall again.

I’ll be leaving this place
soon. And I’ll find you when I get there.

Limp cries echo in my empty chamber as
my heart beats in my hollow chest. His song is over and nothing
remains but ash.