Hadrian's Wall (4 page)

I nodded. He paused, waiting for some
comment, I guess. I lowered my eyes, but said nothing. He pursed
his lips and leaned back in his chair.

“Did you have some flash of memory, anything
that could give us a clue about what happened to you before you
were hospitalized?”

“A flash? No, but I have dreams.”

“Yes, continue,” he encouraged me, seeming
genuinely interested. The way he looked at me was so gentle that it
disarmed me. I felt like the dam’s floodgates were almost ready to
burst—that I was about to do exactly what my reason was screaming
at me not to do.

“I’ve always had strange dreams...as real
and creative as they are scary, but lately, I’m having recurring
dreams. Sometimes I see a beast with glowing eyes that walks among
the trees. It seems to be an over-developed cat. Suddenly,
something throws me on the floor, which leaves me temporarily blind
and then someone takes me in his arms and puts me into an amazing
car...and then I wake up.” My reason kept screaming and my heart
seemed to leap into my mouth, but I ignored both and continued.

“On other occasions, I dream I’m in the
woods. There is one person there—a man wearing a robe that looks
like the clothing of the ancient Romans. There is a wall on the
horizon and a strange statue of a woman holding a strange symbol.”
I swallowed hard.

Dr. Barringer gave me a look that was
difficult to interpret. His lips parted slightly and he raised his
eyebrows, as if astonished. His expression was one of
understanding; that is, he understood that I was crazy...it could
only be that. My mouth went dry.

He tapped the cap of his pen softly against
the paper. “Did you have other dreams like these before?”

Hmm...I expected him to ask me more details
about what I’d just told him, but he didn’t. I knew I should stop
trying to anticipate what he might or might not ask; I should at
least give him a vote of confidence. After all, is that not what he
asked of me?

“Yes, I’ve had other weird dreams,” I
responded. “Most of them involve a big, dark bird that haunts me.
Well, not exactly a bird—it’s a thing that flies. It’s half man,
half monster, with a pair of eyes that are like two scarlet slits.”
I shuddered at the memory. “I always wake up when it’s just about
to catch me...except that lately, I haven’t dreamed about it.”

Silence. He said nothing. He seemed to
meditate about what I’d said, as his fingers absentmindedly twirled
his pen. “Did this happen only in New Hampshire?”

“Yes...and I...I saw the creature even when
I was awake.” I’m done! Now he’ll send me to an asylum.

Intrigued, he looked at me. “How so?”

I breathed deep and forcefully grasped the
armrests of my chair. I had trouble forcing the words out.

“When I was a child, I began to have what
the government’s psychiatrist described as a “hallucinatory
process.” I lived in an orphanage. It was one of the reasons why no
couple wanted to adopt me. They thought I was sick in the head—a
dangerous girl!” I grinned to hide the strong emotion that
triggered confidence. “I saw things that weren’t there. The most
common hallucination I had was the flying monster. Whenever he
appeared, I fainted.”

“Have you any idea when you began to see the
winged monster?” he asked quietly.

“I do. How could I forget?” I gave him a
rueful smile. “I began to see him on the day that my mother
abandoned me...the same day that my father died. Tragic, huh?”

Of course, he did not answer, so I
continued. “That’s why I lived in the orphanage. It was a
Presbyterian orphanage.” I was beginning to babble, something that
always happened when I was nervous. “The last director did not like
the term ‘orphanage.’ She said it was a thing of centuries past.
She preferred to call the place a ‘host home.’”

I raised my eyebrow in anticipation, but the
good doctor did not seem inclined to interrupt me, so I kept
talking and talking and talking. I must admit I felt a great relief
just because Dr. Barringer did not look at me with superiority or
censorship as I feared might happen.

“My experience with physicians and school
counselors during the period in which I lived at the orphanage was
not pleasant, but it taught me enough. I mean, some adults maybe
wanted to listen to me, but most really didn’t. Those who were
disposed to listen soon became distressed by not knowing how to
help me. The orphanage council pushed me into a medical evaluation
that declared me mentally incapable of learning and becoming
socialized. The doctor distorted everything I had told him in
confidence with a condescending tone and feigned understanding.
Because of him, I received special tutoring, sanctioned by the
government social workers, while other orphan children attended a
normal school in Groveton. Because of him, I lost the chance to
find an adoptive home.

“That’s how I learned to hide my feelings
and hallucinations. That’s also how I learned to shut me inside
myself. I pushed people away so they couldn’t hurt me. Thanks to
Reverend Merritt, another medical evaluation was done and it was
decided that I was able to attend school. I was a teenager by the
time I finally got to Groveton High School.

“It was a difficult time for me. I wanted to
be accepted by the other children, but I was ridiculed. No one in
the regular class wanted anything to do with me. Because they were
in possession of my medical records, the teachers treated me like a
disabled student—limited and emotionally unstable. By the way,
there were students lying in wait to humiliate me between classes
or after school. I had always dreamed of living with other children
and being treated as normal, but instead my school life was a
living hell; so to avoid more problems, the school placed me in a
class of trouble students.”

What had Dr. Adam Barringer done in that
first session that led me to open secret doors? Certainly, his
brown eyes emanated friendliness and helped me feel more confident.
Perhaps the fact that he was so young and relaxed is what it made
it easier. He was different than other doctors I’d known. When he
delved into my interests, my desires, and above all—my fears, he
was able to do what no other in his profession had done or was
interested in doing so far.

* * *

At our meetings, held twice weekly from then
on, I don’t know why, but I started to feel a little lighter.
Perhaps it was because I was sharing my anxieties with someone who
apparently did not judge me or simply because he was there to hear
me. The truth is that the frequency of my nightmares had decreased
and they’d become less distressing.

However, while the psychiatrist’s meetings
afforded me comfort, the financial aspects of my stay in the
hospital left me increasingly uneasy. I had at my disposal a
“professional listener” that had to cost something, not to mention
an extended hospital stay, the examinations, and 24-hour care. I
did not want to know about the cost, especially because I had no
health plan that would cover even part of the treatment.

Right! My grades were mediocre and I was
limited because of my mental problems, but I read a lot, I watched
television, I used the Internet and did a lot of searching on it
when the Internet was available at the orphanage. Therefore, I
believed I knew how “the system” worked—the value of things for
both poor and rich people, especially after I watched that movie
with Denzel Washington—John Q. I tried talking about my worries
with Dr. Talbot and Dr. Barringer, but they would not let me
express my concerns. They emphasized that I only needed to worry
about my recovery and I should forget about trying to figure it
out.

However, things were becoming complicated,
particularly when I was told that I would be transferred to a new
place—the ward on the second floor—because I needed a more tranquil
environment, somewhere much less busy than where I was now.

Since my admission to the hospital, I’d been
housed in the “observation ward” where teams of nurses and
residents circulated all the time. They were responsible for
carrying out the treatment prescribed by supervising doctors. It
would be nice to get away from all that excitement and above all, I
would avoid the possibility of meeting Asia “No-Last-Name” again.
On the other hand, I would lose the chance to see Adrian again. It
made me feel sad.

* * *

When the nurse pushed my wheelchair into my
new room, I was stunned. It had a private bathroom and all the
“perqs” that I could have imagined. There was a mini-living room
with a sofa and a coffee table, a folding table attached to the
wall for preparing meals, a networked computer and cable television
connected to a zillion channels. I had no idea how to use all the
buttons on the remote control!

Oh my! This is the private ward? How long I
will I have to peel potatoes, wash dishes, wax floors, and clean
toilets to pay for all this?

Just when I thought things couldn’t get
worse, another event occurred, negatively impacting the progress
I’d making. Upon returning to my room after my visit with Dr.
Barringer, I found my old suitcase sitting on the couch. It was a
shocking to come face-to-face with an object that connected me to
the past. It made me shiver and sweat at the same time.

I looked at without the courage to open it.
The faded stickers pasted on it, depicting a time when I still
had mother and father, failed to reassure me. Instead, my heart
beat faster every moment that I hesitated and it seemed I could not
get enough air into my lungs. I knew the exact moment when my
crisis began. Although I tried breathing slowly to combat the
dizziness, the room spun faster and faster.

Beyond the window, I saw the familiar
shadow—noisily beating its wings. He had not visited for me some
time, but here he was. At that moment, Dr. Talbot entered the
room. Whatever he wanted to say or do was forgotten when he
realized what was going on. He remained calm as he pressed the
emergency button hanging from a cord attached to the wall and then
came to me and began to measure my pulse.

Doesn’t he want to listen to my heart
too?

His words pounded in my ears. “Breathe,
Melissa. You’ll be fine. He glanced at the door a second before it
was flung open by two male nurses who entered pushing a gurney.

I must have missed something because
suddenly I realized I was already on the gurney with my face
covered by an oxygen mask. I vaguely noticed the IV tubing held
between the nurse’s fingers guiding the colorless liquid into my
arm.

The malaise worsened as my vision became
blurred with tiny dots that seemed to increase in size as we
entered the elevator where the gurney was brought to a halt facing
a tall, narrow window. At the very moment before the elevator doors
slid closed, my vision cleared and I saw the shadow watching me
with its glowing eyes, its wings beating slowly.

“Don’t let him kill me!” I screamed,
desperately pointing at the window.

All three men looked in the direction where
I pointed. “There’s nothing out there, Melissa,” said Dr. Talbot in
a neutral tone.

I tried to jump from the gurney, but the
nurses held me down. Dr. Talbot grabbed my free arm and applied
something. The sting was quite painful. I could not stop shaking.
The last coherent thought I had was about the idiocy of trying to
jump from a gurney inside a cramped elevator. Actually, it was not
a coherent thought at all.

* * *

“Bringing her things was a bad idea,” said a
deep voice which sounded very familiar to me.

It’s him!

“Maybe, maybe not,” said another, more
perfunctory voice. “The functioning of human mind is a fascinating
mystery. We will have to deal with the events as they are emerging,
but one thing is real—she cannot remain unknowing indefinitely.
Even though we try to protect her, there will come a day when
she’ll remember.”

It took me a few seconds to recognize Dr.
Barringer’s voice. Was I dreaming? I felt so groggy.

“She’s not prepared for this.”

“For what...facing her fears? Because that’s
exactly what we’re talking about here, isn’t it?” Dr. Barringer’s
tone was sarcastic. “I don’t agree with you. I think she must
confront the truth to overcome her trauma. There are risks, of
course, but we can no longer dodge them.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t want her
to recover?” There was a slight change in the first man’s voice,
denoting his annoyance.

“No, I think you want the best of both
worlds,” the other person acknowledged contritely, “but that’s
impossible.”

“The triggers of her hallucinations seem to
be very complex.”

I heard another voice interacting with
them—perhaps it was Dr. Talbot. “I’m researching all the
pathologies that can fit Melissa’s symptoms, but I cannot reach a
fully satisfactory diagnosis. Knowing the facts, we can understand
the source of the winged monster hallucination, but in
neuro-vegetative terms, I need your opinion. Do you think we
should...”

“She’s awake,” interrupted the first man’s
voice, with a trace of annoyance.

How does he know? I made no noise.

The doctors kept quiet. I heard the muffled
sound of footsteps on the carpet and figured that they’d approached
my bed. I could no longer postpone the inevitable, so with a loud
sigh, I opened my eyes just to prove to myself that I was back in
the private room.

Adrian stood at the head of
my bed, while the other two remained farther away. Even through the
shaded lenses of his glasses, I could see that he looked worried.
Unexpectedly, he grasped my wrist. His touch made my heart race. I
felt surprised... and strangely attracted to him—at first because
his hand was very cold, but then because an electric current seemed
to pass from his cold hand into my arm, dominating my
senses.
That’s when I noticed that he was
not wearing gloves. I don’t understand how a simple touch could
produce such tingling, but I think that’s what was happening. I
felt very strange.