Saint John of God Mental Hospital, Room 115, Ireland
~Three Years Later~
“Tell us how it felt when ye killed them? Why did ye do it?”
I gnawed on the inside of my lip. Any other question was fine; every other proddin’ fuckin question they asked, but when they brought me parents into it it was hard to stay calm, ya know? The families I’d been passed to once thems thought me sane enough to be around normal people; whatever the fuck that meant.
But it be this question, the one they thought to ask whenever I came in for checkups. The current family I was with were scared of me, naturally, offered that I come in for yet another check up. Was it my fault? Maybe. Am not what the files say about me, but they seem to think so. Thinkin’ me to be some Children of the Corn sort of shit. One lady even assumed that I was possessed, kept her kids away from me, funny right?
My thought process stopped and I glanced up to both Payton and Martha. Both here with me for one of my psychological evaluations. They claim it’s a monthly thing. But I know damn well it’s because those people don’t want me in their house anymore. “Yea?”
Martha gave me a warm smile that would make a US Navy Seal melt. It was admirable really. This was a woman that I’d beaten, bit, punched, knocked over, screamed at and here she was trying to be nice to me. Someone give this lady a raise already. Payton however gave me a hard stare like normal so I decided to ignore her question and looked to Martha. “Answer the question please,” she claims gently.
“Out of every other fuckin’ question me answered, ya gotta keep goin’ back to that one, aye? Really? Whats the gain in it? Didn’t kill em; wont answer.”
Payton growled out a sigh. Her hands moving over her forehead in aggravation. Martha placed a hand on her forearm to calm her than looked back to me. “The Hold family is concerned.”
“Oh really?!” I called, pushing my feet from the under the desk and launching myself back in the swivel chair I was in. (They upgraded me chairs, ain’t it great?) “What bloody else is new? Don’ see why ya bother with the families. They never work out anyway. How many has it been now. Two hundred? Three?”
“Twenty-Six Alice, and five ye actually gave reason to be scared of them. We admitted ye stable two years ago so that you can try to find a family an’ yer throwin’ them all away! Ye sent one of the children to the ER! Several were harmed!”
“The fucker put glue on me.”
“He was three.”
Payton was about to have an aneurysm from the looks of it until Martha stepped in once more. “Point is is that they don’t think you’re ready to be with them. Or any family for that instance, but they want to try with you. They say when you aren’t scary you are a delight to be around. They love how much you read!”
I tiptoed on the ground to make my chair face them fully again and I leaned forward to pull myself to the desk once more. “Martha, lass, has it ever occurred to ya that I don’ want another family? That I just want me sister?” I cocked an eyebrow and leaned my head to the side, eyeing Martha’s sudden haunted expression as she stared down at her hands on the table. “Ever think of that?”
“Your sister is dead, Alice.” Payton spoke. “The sooner ye grasp that, the sooner perhaps ye’ll stop seeing these delusions and claiming a false reason that yer here.” Payton pulled up the folder that executed my life on it. Or this assumed life they inked out for me. “Schizophrenia, chronic anger, socipathic, these all tie to ye not admitting to what ye’ve done!” Payton’s voice rose and slowly so did she out of her chair. Cue the angry Irish-woman. She pointed at me with a bony pale finger as she continued. “Don’t ye understand?! All of these health problems are a manifestation of what ye play out to be in yer head. Yer believing yer own lies! It’s what we’ve been tellin’ ye fer years an’ ye never listen. Yer socipathic fer killin’ yer parents. From that ye came up with a story of evil dogs killin’ em. Black men in cloaks takin’ yer sister and that there are monsters huntin’ ye. Than from that yer chronically angry because ye won’ believe yerself that ye killed them an’ won’t suck it up.” Payton was hovering over my chair now. Hovering over me. Dictating my space and my life. I felt the burn of tears at the back of my throat while I stared up at her. My nose burned and I was constantly swallowing a lump in my throat. Here I was at 12 and they still didn’t believe a word I said. I was crazy. It’s all I would ever be to them.
“Get away from me.” I finally growled at her. Don’t let them see that they got to me. I wasn’t crying because they didn’t attempt to believe me. But because I realize that they never will. I needed to get out of here. No one was going to ever help me find my sister. “Just let me go home, I don’ need any of ya then. Am findin’ her meself if none of ya care enough to.”
“News flash, my dear,” Payton went on with her pointless monologuing. My sadness was quickly channeling into the boiling rage that sat behind my skin. I tried to warn her to get away, I really did. Payton continued, “unless ye admit to it ye will never be normal enough to ever leave this place!”
“Payton…” Martha warns. Knowing the look in my eye all too well. Her hand was already hovering over the call button
“Don’ call me dear.” Bracing myself for the pain to come took a deep breath and jerked my head forward. A noticeable CRACK! went through the air when my forehead connected with Payton’s nose. Next would be Martha screaming out names and the door jarring open as two security guards came rushing in. Familiar, ain’t it? Like, what? Five years ago? But honestly, it’s better this way. I’m out the room with my two favorite pals to shove me in a room for an hour and send me home to my ‘family’. Sadly I’d never see these lovely faces again. Or Dr. Gillies or Martha. Because I decided one one thing…
You can never trust anyone to help you. You’re better off alone. No one will ever believe you and no one will attempt to understand the way you see things. You are your only friend.
You may think this as some heroic ending right? What did all these wind down to, aye? I’ll tell ya, it’s the beginning of me story. What set me off to finally change my fate.. And it did.