Beloved Evangeline (31 page)

“
Nice
. Okay. Down to brass
tacks
here. Two weeks from Friday, is what?”

“
Is that, like, a riddle or something? I’m on hardcore medication, so word games at the moment...”

He laughed, “No, you silly girl. Your birthday, is it still coming up a few weeks from Friday, or what?”

How did he know my birthday? And was he going to end every sentence with that, or what?

“
How did you know...”

“
It’s alright. I heard your answer the first time... in your
mind.”
He pointed his index finger to his temple with his palm turned outward, with the drawn out word still lingering in the air. “Look, it’s like this, just think of something, the first thing, that pops into your mind, and I’ll guess it for you, alright? We’ll just get this outta the way right here.”

Nothing was popping into my sad, empty head.
How depressing
. I don’t think I’m interesting enough to be talking with this man.

He was laughing again. “Now that’s what I like to hear! I
am
very interesting and a little exciting, am I not? And don’t you worry princess, you’re plenty interesting. Just because you’re a little down at dis precise moment, that don’t mean nothin’. This kinda thing—it happens.” He shrugged. “Life is like that sometimes, am I right? You just gotta figure a way to pull yourself through... sort out what’s really important. Tell you what, we’re gonna get through this sweetheart, me and you. I can’t stand to see you like this,” he frowned, “So, we’re gonna be outta here on your birthday, alright?” He put his fist to my chin gently. “Me and you, we can outwit these bozos, am I right? Did they even listen to one word you had to say? And they call themselves
doctors
. That kinda behavior just don’t sit right with me. Besides... how smart can they be?” He grinned devilishly.

The excitement at the mere possibility of escape filled me with a peculiar mania. Dampening my excitement, however, was the reality that the process itself seemed impossible. How exactly would we be getting out of here?

“
Leave that to me, sweetheart, alright?” He turned suddenly, “Oh, we gotta move now. Those idiots, they’re coming back this way...”

Just as he said that, I was assaulted by an ugly thought. Several people had killed themselves in this very room. Maybe they did it on their own, or maybe they had help getting to that point...

“
Ha! That is, I don’t know... I’m speechless! Such a great compliment you’ve just given me,” he sniffed and wiped his eye somewhat theatrically, “Ah, you’re killin’ me sweetheart. My heart, is literally breaking...” He clutched his hand to his heart. “Alright... I’ll stay with you, to put your mind at ease, but you gotta do exactly what I say, ya hear?”

What the...? But I found myself nodding, anyway. After all, what was the worst he could ask?

“
I’m glad you asked me dat, cowgirl. Da main thing is that you don’t talk to or interact with me while other people are around, ya got it? They can’t see me less I want ‘em to, okay? And we don’t need ‘em seeing me just yet...”

Where could this man have come from? What was his name?

His expression turned serious. “My name, I can give you... Mister Josiah Harland Fernwood, what else?” He shrugged and looked mildly offended, but again, only for a moment. “The other thing—you cannot ask me for this, or you’ll land us both in a lot of trouble, alright?”

“
Well, now I have to ask. I mean, you can’t just say something like that...”

Mr. Fernwood held a finger to his lips and inclined his head to the doorway.

“
We found her... she’s in the back hallway... talking to herself, looks like,” One of the orderlies was standing in the doorway, talking into a radio, “Oh, and there’s blood—lots of it.”

“
Sweetheart, I did warn you. Now there’s gonna be some consequences. I’ll stay but you gotta keep quiet from now on.” Mr. Fernwood raised his eyebrows and held a finger to his lips.

“
Johnson 3, everything okay?” The orderly was moving closer, trying to keep me distracted first.

Yeah, apparently there are two other Johnsons here, so I’m known by the security guys as Johnson 3. I know it seems a little offensive at first, but they have to do something to keep from getting too attached, I guess. Understandable considering the success rate here is less than not so good.

I watched and waited for the orderly to show some sign of acknowledgment of Mr. Fernwood’s presence, but none came. Of course he didn’t notice Mr. Fernwood. Why would he? I was still less than convinced of his existence myself.

“
Hey, I know this must look... bad, “ I raised my bloodied hands apologetically, “but it was an accident. I’m feeling much better now...” I tried to reason with him, but of course, I realized that any explanation or rationalization would, to him, sound exactly like what any truly crazy person would say.

“
Sure, hon, I know. Lots of accidents happen ‘round here. It’s all good. We’re just gonna get you cleaned up and take ya to see the doc, okay? You’ll be feeling all better in no time, I promise.” His words and tone were very soothing. He’d apparently had lots of practice pacifying the insane.

I could feel myself about to do something very stupid, but I just couldn’t help myself. I turned to Mr. Fernwood, “Couldn’t we please just leave now? Don’t you want to spare me any unnecessary humiliation?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “That’s just not the way these things work, sweetheart. I really can’t take you ‘til All Hallows Eve. That’s just the way it’s gotta be. Anyways, I did warn you.
Twice
. Now you behave yourself this time and it’ll make things easier-probably.”

I glared at him.

“
Looks like a fighter,” the orderly whispered into his radio.

As I eyed Mr. Fernwood with increasing annoyance, I was tackled from behind. Back up had finally arrived, apparently, and though this was just a guess, I’m thinking I was again deemed an “imminent” danger to myself.

Mr. Fernwood only shook his head in amusement.

I was finding him less and less charming. It occurred to me that he was exactly the kind of help I
would
receive, a patronizing, less-than-helpful, antagonistic troublemaker. Completely worthless.

27.

The next few days were, as Mr. Fernwood had predicted, quite trying, not to mention unpleasant. An endless stream of questions were thrust upon me, much the same as I’d already endured. The orderly was called in to verify that I had actually spoken, but of course, I was refusing to do it again. Call me stubborn if you will, but I can’t be bothered to speak to those who don’t bother to listen.

I could not be left alone during that time, for my own safety, and for the first 48 hours, I was given the strait jacket treatment. After the first 48 hours, I was kept in the strait jacket due to my nonresponsive state. For two straight days, I begged and pleaded with Mr. Fernwood for help, for us to leave early, to loosen the jacket, for him to do anything. Stifled, and sometimes un-stifled laughter, was his only response.

By the end of the second day, that cackle really grated on my nerves.

I don’t know that I have an unlimited supply of hope within me, and I fear that, after awhile, my supply may run dry. I had gone without any hope for so many years—I just don’t know how well I’m equipped to replenish it now. If I were alone, I might’ve enjoyed a quiet cry, but Mr. Fernwood was still here. I didn’t want him to see. I really hate this feeling of being a helpless female. There’s no way I’m going to add crying to helplessness in this scenario.

Mr. Fernwood seemed to sense my depression and gradually, over the course of a few days, his behavior toward me seemed to change.

One morning, a particularly nasty attendant was assigned to me. I’d seen him in the rec room once or twice before, but given my state of mind at that time, I hadn’t had the wherewithal to give it my full attention. But he certainly had my full attention now. There was just something...
creepy
about him. The way he was looking at me now sent a chill down my spine.

“
How’s the jacket treatin’ ya, sugar?” He smiled a heart-chillingly leery smile at me as he set down my breakfast tray. He was a middle-aged, pot-bellied man with receding hair, and he seemed to enjoy having such complete power over a helpless, incapacitated woman.

“
Great. I did this to myself on purpose just because I’ve always wanted to wear one of these,” I replied sarcastically. I would not give him the satisfaction of thinking me helpless.

He put his hand on my knee, “You
can
speak! I’m so glad. Gives us the chance to get to know each other better,” he lifted a spoonful of oatmeal and waited for me to open my mouth.

Apparently, any witticisms would be completed wasted on.... I glanced down at his nametag, Harold, it said.

“
I don’t eat oatmeal,” I said defiantly.

He set down the spoon and let out a sigh, “No? That’s a shame. But I’ve got your assignment for the whole rest of the day. I asked for a double shift today when I saw I’d finally be assigned to
your
room. So I’ll be back at lunch, and then dinner. Maybe you’ll be hungry by then.”

I clenched my jaw as he got up and began walking out of the room.

Mr. Fernwood appeared suddenly and winked at me. He snuck up behind the exiting orderly and gave him a profound shove. The portly man flew forward into the wall, missing the actual doorway by inches.

I had had the exact thought not two seconds before it happened.

Harold staggered to his feet, turning to me, his forehead red and bleeding.

“
That’s a shame... looks like you missed the door there. But that’s alright. Since you’ve got me for the whole day, we’ll just go ahead and keep trying ‘til we get it right.”

He stumbled through the doorway and fled, eyeing me the entire way down the hall.

“
Fantastic! You were
fantastic
,” Mr. Fernwood beamed at me.

“
I didn’t do anything? And next time, by the way, I don’t need your help.”

Mr. Fernwood ignored me.

“
If they send that guy back in here, I just don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from ripping out his still beating heart.” He shook his head casually, as if he were contemplating something as commonplace as whether or not to squeeze in dessert after a large meal.

I eyed him curiously. At times it was difficult to know if he was being serious or not.

“
In fact, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just go ahead and take care of that right now.”

“
What
? You can’t just go around killing people,” I protested, but Mr. Fernwood had turned his back to me and was making his way out the door.

“
Just like that—your first impulse is to murder him?
Really
?”

He paused just outside my door, but didn’t turn around to face me, “You’re a sweet kid, but I don’t think you comprehend some things too well. The man does not deserve to go on breathing. That oatmeal was drugged. He’s one of those sickos what has their way with incapacitated dames, and I ain’t got the stomach for that. Especially... when...” his voice trailed off and he began to walk away.

“
Wait! Don’t
you
understand by now that I can’t bear for any more people to die because of me, no matter how bad?” My breathing was becoming increasing rapid and shallow. “You’ve read enough of my thoughts, you must know that that’s true.” My hands had begun trembling. Mr. Fernwood paused uncertainly, and I knew then that he could be persuaded.

I gripped my hands to steady myself. “Anyway, I have an idea.” I smiled mischievously after him.

At that, Mr. Fernwood finally turned to face me. His face broke into a devilish grin as he read my calculating thoughts.

“
Let’s at least toss this stuff, though,” Mr. Fernwood gestured toward the oatmeal once we’d finished perfecting our little plan.