It Began With a Lie: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 1)

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  The kitchen was dark except for a faint light that outlined Aunt Charlie as she bustled about. The appliances looked like hunched shadows, ready to pounce the moment I turned my back. I licked my lips. My mouth was so dry, it felt like my tongue was cracking. I could feel the fear start to curl up in my stomach.

  “I don’t want tea,” I said.

  “You don’t know what you want,” she said, bringing the mugs over to the table. Even though I hadn’t been aware of moving, I found myself sitting in my usual chair across from my aunt.

  She slid the mug over to me. “Drink,” she said.

  I looked at the tea, but didn’t touch it. “Aren’t I still in the hospital?”

  She picked up her mug and blew on it. “Where else do you think you’d be?”

  “Then how did I get here? Did something happen with Chrissy? Is she sleepwalking?” I gripped the side of the table. Oh God, this would all be for nothing if everything I believed about Mad Martha and Nellie were true.

  “Chrissy is fine. For now.”

  I sucked in my breath. “That’s what Daniel said. What does that mean? For now?”

  She gestured toward the tea. “If you want to know, you have to drink.”

  I stared at the tea. It looked as black as ink. I looked back Aunt Charlie. She was watching me, her eyes as black as the tea.

  “Are you trying to poison me?”

  “I’m trying to help you,” she said. Her lips parted, showing a mouth full of white, pointed teeth—so white, especially in contrast to her red mouth.

  “I … I don’t trust you. You can’t be my Aunt Charlie.”

  “You have to trust someone, Becca.” She took a sip of tea and it started to dribble down her chin. Why did it suddenly look like blood in the dim light?

  “You’re a monster,” I said.

  Yes, it was blood running down her chin again, and dribbling onto the table. She smiled widely, showing rows and rows of sharp teeth, now stained red. “How can you be sure?”

  I tried to back away from the table, but found I couldn’t move. “I … just …” How on earth could I answer that? Because you look like a monster? All teeth and blood?

  She banged her mug on the table and leaned forward. “Who told you I was a monster? My sister? Your mother? And why did you believe it, all of these years?”

  “I … uh ...”

  “Do you really remember me as a monster?” She banged her hand on the table, rattling the mugs. “Do you?”

  I tore my gaze away to stare at the table. “No,” I said, my voice small.

  She leaned back in her chair. “You know what I think? I think you don’t have the slightest idea who the real monsters even are in your life. If you truly, truly believe that I’m a monster, then don’t drink the tea, and spend the rest of your life locked in a mental ward. But, if you believe I’m not …” she paused and nodded at the mug.

  I peered into the mug. The tea was so black, almost sludge-like. How could something that looked like tar possibly be good for me? But, then I caught a whiff—it smelled like honey and cinnamon and apples.

  My mouth watered. I wanted that tea.

  I glanced back up at Aunt Charlie. Her eyes were pools of black, her lips bright red. Blood stained her chin.

  There was no way I was going to drink that tea.

  She must have seen it in my face, because she sighed deeply. “It’s your choice, Becca. If you want to spend the rest of your life in a mental institution, that’s your choice. But …” she held up a finger that sported a very long, curved, and pointy fingernail. It almost looked like a claw. I found myself wondering how she was even able to make tea with that fingernail. “But, there’s one thing you should know. I can’t come back. This will be the last time you ever see me … if you don’t drink the tea.”

  “What do you mean you can’t come back?”

  She shrugged. “This is it. Your last chance. Things have moved even faster than I had anticipated, and I’ve run out of time. You have one more chance to drink the tea. One more chance to stop the madness you’re living in. One more chance to stop the real monsters from ruining your life. And, if you still refuse …” she let her voice trail off ominously.

  I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry. I could taste the fear in the back of my throat. “Then what?”

  She leaned forward and leveled those coal-black eyes on me. “You’re trapped in an institution. Until the day you die.”

  I wanted to back away, but again, I couldn’t move. I felt like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake about to strike. Actually, her eyes did look like snake eyes. Her tongue even darted out, a forked tongue, and licked the blood from her lips.

  I tore my eyes away and forced myself to look at that tea. Could I really drink it? Tea from a monster?

  I thought about how safe and loved I had always felt in her house. Was she really a monster? Or was she right—that I didn’t know who to trust? After all, my first husband cheated on me, and my second husband was trying to get me committed. Clearly, I wasn’t such a great judge of character.

  And, really, what did I have to lose? I was set to spend the rest of my life in a mental institute, as it was. Did it really matter one way or another?

  And, what if Aunt Charlie was right?

  I hadn’t drunk the tea and look where I ended up. How much worse could it get if I actually did drink it?

  Quickly, before I could change my mind, I lunged forward and grabbed the mug. It was heavier than I expected, and I spilled half of it as I brought it to my lips and drank deeply.

  It tasted as sweet as it smelled. Honey and clover and cinnamon. Of being sixteen again and having your life stretched out ahead of you, full of excitement and possibility.

  It tasted of hope.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Aunt Charlie nodding. “I knew you’d come through.” She looked like Aunt Charlie again—no more blood or teeth or black eyes.

  I dropped the mug on the table, wiped my mouth, and started to scream. Fire burned inside me, starting in my stomach and shooting out through my throat. The pain was intense. I fell, writhing, to the ground.

  “You lied to me,” I gasped. From a great height, I could see Aunt Charlie peer down at me, her face a little sad.

  “Truth has a price,” she said quietly. “I wish you didn’t have to pay it.”

  I could feel the fire raging out of control inside me. I opened my mouth, expecting flames and smoke to come pouring out … and woke up gasping in the hospital bed.

  I sat up, blinking in the dim light, trying to get my bearings. What just happened? Why did I drink that tea? Was Chrissy safe?

  I rubbed my chest. I could still feel the burning, but it was slowly dying down. My hands shaking, I reached over to find the water pitcher, almost knocking it and the glass to the ground in my haste.

  My hands trembled so much, the water sloshed as I poured a glass and brought it to my lips to drink. It was so cool … so good. I drank it greedily, and it spilled down my chin. It reminded me of the blood on Aunt Charlie’s chin and I shivered, but I didn’t stop drinking.

  I poured myself a second glass and drank that too. And then I realized I was absolutely starving. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt hunger. Or, for that matter, the last time I ate more than a few bites to satisfy the nurses. Would I even make it to breakfast? Could I call down to the kitchen and get something sent up right then?

  My eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, and I realized there was still a covered dinner tray in my room. Why was it still there? They always collected the trays after meal time. Nevertheless, I swung my legs out of bed and pulled it toward me. Spaghetti and meatballs. Garlic bread. Salad. Broccoli. Brownie.

  Surprisingly, it was still somewhat warm. I picked up a fork and ate every bite, even the limp, lukewarm broccoli.

  I
was finishing the last few bites when I realized that for the first time in a long time, I felt clear. Normal. Like myself. The drugs they had me on made me feel strange and disconnected. Like I was in a bubble. I hated that feeling, but I had been so discouraged and depressed, I couldn’t even muster up the energy to fight it.

  But, now I felt fresh and clean. Like the drugs had been flushed from my system.

  Or, thinking of the post-tea fire in my body, maybe they had been burned up.

  Of course, the tea wasn’t real. It was part of my dreams.

  Right?

  Along with the tea burning up the drugs, it had also burned off the clouds of confusion that had muddled my thinking for so long. Suddenly, everything was crystal-clear to me.

  I wasn’t crazy. I had never been crazy.

  But, that didn’t mean there wasn’t something evil living in my house.

  I finished eating and got back in bed. I lay on my back, feeling the cell phone press against my head, and began to plan.

  It was high time for me and Stefan to have a heart-to-heart.

  Chapter 38

  I paused by the entrance to the common area to give myself a chance to survey the scene and plot my next move.

  Not only had I eaten that morning again, but I had also showered, and was dressed in a clean gown. The grandmotherly nurse was on duty, and she had been ecstatic to see the change in me as she changed my bed sheets. I had pretended to take my meds, but spat them out as soon as the nurse left the room. She barely looked at me after she handed me the cup and the water, so it was easier to pull off than I had expected.

  My next move was to figure out my escape plan. The problem: I had no idea what to do. I didn’t know where my clothes were—a quick search of my room revealed nothing in the way of personal effects. How could I have nothing there? I had arrived with clothes, didn’t I? So where did they go?

  It was almost like I no longer existed. I wasn’t Rebecca or Becca—but something in between. An insubstantial ghost.

  I didn’t like it.

  The common area had about a dozen or so patients milling about, supervised by two nurses. A large console television was set up against one end of a room. Four people watched the Weather Channel, their eyes blank and staring, from faded blue couches. An overweight, balding, middle-aged man paced next to the window. A teenage boy crouched against the wall, his head in his hand, his black hair greasy and matted. Another three people sat at various round tables, attempting to do some sort of art project.

  Although the last thing I felt like doing was art, I headed for one of the empty tables. Large sheets of drawing paper, along with a variety of colored pens, markers, and paints were scattered across the surface. One half-finished painting was in front of one of the chairs. I took the seat next to it, glancing at it. A distorted face was shoved in what looked like a box. I quickly looked away.

  I pulled an empty piece of paper toward me and stared at it. Should I draw something? What? Maybe I could just sit, staring at the paper. No one would think that was weird—I was in a mental ward, after all. Maybe it would even be expected, with the drugs they (thought) they had me on.

  Someone sat down in the seat next to me, the one with the disturbing painting in front of it. I glanced at her without raising my head. She wore a gown like I had on. Definitely a patient.

  “You’re new here.”

  She said it factually, like she was commenting on the weather. She was young, with long, blonde hair hanging straight down her back like a waterfall. Her eyes were a clear sky-blue, framed with thick lashes. With her high cheekbones and full lips, she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

  “I am,” I said.

  She nodded, reaching for a paintbrush and plastic set of watercolor paints, the kind made for children. “I can tell,” she said.

  “How long have you been here?”

  She shrugged, dipping her brush in the water. “We’re all here for as long as we need to be.”

  Well. That wasn’t terribly helpful. I looked back at the array of drawing utensils in front of me and selected a blue-colored pencil.

  “Who decides how long we need to be here?”

  She shrugged again. “Depends.”

  Okay then. Tentatively, I drew a line on the piece of paper. It felt awkward and uncomfortable. God, the hospital was the last place I wanted to be when I tried to rediscover my inner artist. Why did I sit down with all this art paraphernalia in front of me, when I could have been mindlessly staring at the Weather Channel?

  “Have you ever noticed how busy it is here during the day?” she asked. I glanced at her, but she was hunched over, focused on her painting.

  I drew another line. “I guess.”

  She nodded, as if to herself. “Yes, very busy during the day. Lots of people going in and out. How can anyone keep track of all the people going in and out? Not like at night. At night, it’s very quiet. Everyone sleeps. Or should be sleeping.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her, or whether she even required an answer. I continued my drawing. It was starting to resemble a bird. “That’s true.”

  She sat back and studied her painting. “Yes, daytime is definitely busier. People can get lost during the day. Much easier than at night.”

  I had no idea where she was going with what she was saying, so I continued to focus on my bird. It was looking a little deranged. Man, I really seemed to have lost the touch.

  The girl stood up and wandered away. She reminded me a waif, lost and alone in a strange and cruel place. I made a few more half-hearted attempts to fix my bird before idly glancing at the girl’s painting.

  I gasped, my pencil dropping from my hand.

  Below the box with the head, jagged, red and black letters read, “The evil that was done.”

  I quickly twisted around, looking for her, but I didn’t see her anywhere. Where could she have gone? Did she wander away to her room?

  I got up to try and follow her, when it suddenly hit me who she reminded me of. Jessica. She reminded me of Jessica.

  ***

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  Mia and Daphne were both in my room, door closed. After the Jessica waif had disappeared, I had frantically started searching the room and the hallways, when one of the nurses stopped me. “Are you okay, dear?”

  “There was a patient, a girl, painting next to me. Did you see her?”

  The nurse frowned. She was tall and very thin with a hooked, beak-like nose. “I don’t remember anyone sitting next to you, but I wasn’t in the room the whole time. Why don’t we sit down?”

  “No, I …” I tried to argue, but the nurse had a firm grip on my arm and led me to a chair. I wanted to protest, but at the last moment tightly closed my mouth. The last thing I wanted was more drugs pumped into me, and if I made too much of a fuss, I suspected the nurses would be all too happy to give me a shot.

  “Should I get you some water?” she asked, once I was safely seated. I nodded. She studied me for a moment, probably to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere, before walking away.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself and looked around. The chair I was sitting in had a view of the hallway, so I craned my neck to see if I could catch a glimpse of the Jessica waif wandering down the hallway, but there was no one who looked even remotely like her.

  “Here you go, dear.” The nurse was back, handing me a cup of water. I took it and obediently drank, my eyes never leaving the hallway. A bearded male patient was arguing with a nurse, getting more and more agitated, until she finally signaled to a couple of male orderlies to quiet him. A little further down, a couple of doctors went about their rounds. A janitor swished a broom across the hallway. Nurses went in and out of rooms. A family in street clothes walked next to an older woman as she slowly paced down the hall.

  The Jessica waif was
right; it was pretty busy. At the far end of the hall, two people finished signing in and waved at the orderly behind the glass. He barely glanced at them as he pushed a button to unlock the door. One was holding a large plastic pot of flowers and struggled a bit getting through the door. The orderly ignored them.

  How easy would it be to leave, I wondered? Especially if you were wearing street clothes. And were part of a group.

  An older, grey-haired woman wearing cream pants and a short-sleeved, blue-striped shirt approached the door. The orderly glanced up and pushed the clipboard at her. She signed out.

  The agitated patient in the hallway suddenly turned violent, yelling and lashing out. The orderly guarding the door looked up, completely fixated on the scene, ignoring the woman trying to get out. She pushed the clipboard at him. Again, without looking at it, he pushed the button to let her out.

  I started to smile. Could it really be that simple?

  “Sometimes simple is best,” I said to Daphne. “Too complicated can also mean too many things can go wrong.”

  “Completely agree,” Mia said, rubbing her hands gleefully. She looked excited. Daphne looked skeptical.

  “You honestly think all you need to do is put on some street clothes and they’ll let you walk out of here?” Daphne asked.

  I shrugged. “Why not? It’s not a prison. It’s an understaffed holding wing at a regular hospital. From what I can tell, that locked door exists to help keep the patients contained, so they don’t run amok in the rest of the hospital. Not everyone is here against their will like I am. It seems to me most of the people are here voluntarily, and they designed this place with that in mind.”

  “Doesn’t that mean they’re watching you even more?” Daphne asked.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t noticed. Of course, I didn’t leave my room until today, and I’ve been careful to move slowly, like I’m still drugged up. Honestly? I think they’ve forgotten I’m here against my will.”

  Mia flopped down on the bed next to me. “And besides, she has us here to help create a distraction to make sure it works.”