Severed: A Novella
Page 9
I haven’t seen Josie in six months—since she came with me to give the painting to Azley. The moment I told her everything I knew, she drove me to precinct, painting in hand. I sat down and gave an official statement and the detectives took it from there.
I think about calling her. I don’t especially want to talk, but the idea of sitting in The Living Room again is oddly comforting.
Mom shifts in her seat and turns to me. Ugh, she’s going to do it. She’s going to tell me she’s proud of me, but I guess she feels she has to. It’s a Mom Thing or something. I turn to her and get ready for the inevitable speech.
“You did great today, Rory,” she says, looking into the backseat at the godforsaken painting, and then back to me. “After these long months, I’m sure it wasn’t easy to go back in there where…” She changes trajectory. “Where the detective had been so hard on you. I just…wanted to say—”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I haven’t forgotten it’s there, sitting in the backseat like it’s nothing. It’s not just a painting. It’s a reminder that I stepped in, tried to help, and almost got two of us killed. At least they’ll do prison time, and it may have been the conclusion everyone else was looking for, but as long as I have a reminder, it won’t really be over for me.
“I was thinking…we should celebrate tonight. Do something fun,” I suggest.
“That’s a great idea!” Then she goes into a whirlwind of making plans and thinking through them aloud. “It’s a good night for a bonfire. I could ask the neighbors if they want to come over. And of course, your father,” she says begrudgingly.
“No, that’s okay. It can just be us,” I say as we climb out of the car. Something shifts I me, and I know what happens next. “Actually, give me a minute. There’s something I’ve got to do.”
“Sure,” she says with understandable caution. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, kissing her on the cheek as I take the car keys from her hand. “Cue up Friends for us. I’ll be home in an hour.”
* * *
I push open the doorway and find her sitting at her old, green desk. Does this lady ever sleep?
“I thought you might still be here.”
“Rory, good to see you! It’s almost nine o’clock.” Josie looks up from her laptop screen and smiles as I enter. “Did you bribe the maintenance man?”
“No amount of money would get Daryl to like me again. That guy cleaned up my puke more times than I can count.”
I walk into the Living Room and look around. I think I’ll miss this place. I glance back toward Josie as she eyes the thing I’m carrying. Her smile drops.
“The grand jury hearing went well. I saw it all play out on the news. Police never keep me in the loop.” She’s trying her hand at small talk, but she gives up. “What are you still doing with that, Rory?”
I shrug and pull the canvas out from behind my back. Its once pristine form now splattered with a mess of colors and shapes—the information my brain spat out. It’s a monstrous mess, but also something amazing. It put two people behind bars and saved a girl’s life. It reversed an irreversible disability.
“I thought the police would keep it, but they said it doesn’t exactly count as evidence, so…here I am.” I look her in the eyes for the first time since arriving, and she stares back through a veil of clouded eyes. Of all the people in the world, she’s the only one who knows how hard this is, and I don’t even mind her pity. “I can’t keep it, Josie.”
“I know.” She steps out from behind her desk.
I think she’s coming to take the painting from me, but instead she hugs me, and I begin to cry a little. This time, I don’t try to hide the tears, or wipe them away, or feel ashamed for being sad and angry all at once. I just lean into her and try to catch my breath.
When I stand upright again, Josie has the painting in her hands. She pulled another wizardly trick and took it without me having to ask her to.
“Don’t tell the others, but you were always my favorite.” She gives an exaggerated wink. It does the trick, and I laugh, wiping the snot from my face.
I run my hand along the armrest of the chair and smirk.
Josie rolls her eyes. “I’m putting that on your bill.”
It’s an old joke she uses often, but suddenly we both realize it will be the last time she uses it. As if both deciding separately and together, we know I won’t come back.
She’s holding my painting in such a way that I only see the backside of the canvas. It’s blank. Fresh. Innocuous. It can’t hurt me anymore, and I’m guessing this is exactly why she holds it the way she does—as if to tell me I’m safe again.
“I never said thanks,” I tell her.
I turn and walk through the door for the last time, not looking back at the pain, the sorrow, or the triumph.
About the Author
H.G. Reed currently lives in Macon, Georgia with her husband and their grumpy puppy. She earned her M.Ed. in Professional Counseling from the University of Georgia in 2013, and practices therapy at Middle Georgia State University. She is forever indebted to the field of psychology for giving her endless material and teaching her to listen.
She enjoys a good cup of coffee, eating like a teenage boy (if you can get it at the state fair, she loves it), and going on day hikes and outdoor adventures to stretch her legs.
Visit her on Goodreads and Amazon to leave a review! Follow her on Twitter (@hg_reed_) for updates and news on her latest projects.
www.hgreed.com
A NOTE FROM the AUTHOR
This novella tackled many issues that I feel deserve a note here. I wanted to bring in the conversation about campus assaults and interpersonal dating violence. Dating violence is a real threat to young men and women, and it often goes unnoticed or underreported because. I wish I’d had more time to tell Rose’s story, but I liked leaving it a little open-ended. So often we don’t see the resolution of these types of crimes, so I wanted Rory to feel as we all do when there’s not always a happy ending.
For more information on dating violence and for resources, support, and ways to get help for yourself or a loved one, please visit www.thesafespace.org. You can also call The National Teen Dating Abuse Hotline at 866-331-9474 or the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-779-SAFE (7233).
There were a few artistic liberties taken with cognitive neuroscience that inspired this story, but I wanted to keep Rory’s experience as factual as I could. The intricacies of split-brain syndrome are fascinating, but much too vast to cover in a single novella. I started wring with the intention of publishing a short story. Ha! That quickly got out of hand…
Corpus callosotomies were first performed in the 1940s and gained more attention in the 1980s. They’re still performed today, though rare. The patient outcomes are much more severe than what Rory experienced, and often patients notice a sudden change in personality, irrational decision making, and a “split personality” where a part of the body may act without the person’s consent. For Rory, it was about balancing this complication with the real dilemma of a missing girl, and how he overcame one side effect of his surgery.
For more information on split brain syndrome and other neurological conditions, visit www.psychologytoday.com. Thank you for reading!
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