Misunderstood

by Jay Sherfey

  Rachel stood at a second story bedroom window looking out. She turned when she heard the clicking. She saw the gap between the inner and outer walls of the house around the window.

  “Rachel,” said a voice cajoling, soothing. She ignored it.

  Large ant-like bugs crawled between the walls, causing the clicking. She watched them move around and over each other, disgusted by their presence. Then she turned around and on the other side of her unmade bed a woman stood. She wore a white night gown. Her brown hair flowed over her shoulders. She looked sad.

  “I can’t help you with them.” She shook her head. “It is all too much.”

  “Rachel” the calm voice called again. Rachel, more curious than frightened, moved away from the window where she could see the bugs in the wall.

  “Go away,” she yelled to the voice. “Just go away.” The tapping grew louder. Bugs came out and covered the walls on the inside of her room. She began to fear what was happening.

  “You know I won’t,” insisted the voice.

  Rachel froze where she was; the bugs skittered about the room. The woman disappeared. Something else entered the room; something she feared.

  “Help me, Rachel. Only you can help me.” The voice was sad, disappointed. It whispered from behind.

  “I don’t want to help you.” Rachel spun around and cried, fearing to move. The bugs were everywhere, crawling out of the walls. Like disembodied hands, they scrambled like five legged spiders. They tapped along every surface. She cringed. The hand spiders brushed her bare legs repeatedly. As time passed they gathered at her feet, as if they waited for a signal.

  “Rachel! Defend yourself!” Jason called out, forgetting his primary mission. He had to do something to help.

  “How?” she cried. “He’s too strong, too big.”

  “With this.” In the middle of the room appeared a golden sword. It hung in mid-air. “Take it! Defend yourself!”

  Rachel stared at it.

  “Take the sword.”

  Jason moved and unsheathing the weapon. He placed it in her hand. Rachel saw only the sword come to her on its own. “Defend yourself!”

  Rachel grasped the hilt. The spider-hands made their move. They dropped from the ceiling and landed on her. They crawled up her legs.

  “Get off,” Her voice was weak. She swung the sword half heartedly at one of the spider-hands and knocked it away. It fell on its back, flipped over, and came back. “No!” Rachel called louder, feeling stronger. She swung hard and knocked another across the room. She grasped the sword in both hands and began to hack at the hands. She drove them off her body.

  “No you don’t. You won’t hurt me again,…”

  Rachel awoke. She sat up startled and breathless. Jason shot across the rug and slammed his head against the opposite wall. He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his skull, shocked by the force that threw him out of Rachel’s dream. He sensed her waking thoughts through his headache. Her nightmare faded. She collapsed on her pillow.

  “Oh, somebody,” she sobbed, forlorn. “Somebody help me.” Jason felt her desperate call but remained frozen in fear where he hit the wall. If only he knew how to make her feel better or go back to sleep. Instead he quietly stole away. What had he done? How had he got thrown across the floor?

  At the tool shed threshold with Suzy, Jason shook off his guilt feelings associated with Rachel. He set aside his notebook, curious about what Suzy wanted. He waited.

  “Looks like Rachel got over being mad…but I wanted to know, to ask…” She turned to the shed wall and, nervous, kicked the side boards.

  “Rachel never knew I was in her head.” Jason felt defensive. “She got mad for no reason ’cause I asked her about her parents at lunch, if you will recall.”

  “But!” Suzy yelled annoyed. Jason missed her point. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Ask me what?” Jason felt a sudden gust of wind blow through the backyard. The first drops of the promised storm tapped on the ground.

  “Why you never tried to, ya know… read me?” Her eyes met his.

  “I never needed to Suzy.” Jason sat up straighter and pulled up his knees. “You never caused me any problems. In fact you have been my one true friend in this house. Yeah, you worked me to death with the exercises, but I trust you.” He smiled. She did not return it.

  “Will you try now? I think it’s important.” Jason stood up and considered her. After a moment he waved her into the shed.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea…” Jason shook his head worried. “But go ahead and lie down on the cot.” He pointed to his bed with the comforter balled up at the foot. “Close your eyes. You won’t go to sleep.” Suzy did as instructed.

  Jason sat on the floor next to her cross-legged. He concentrated and met a strong block to his entry. Suzy’s mind, unlike Rachel’s which tossed him out after an easy entry, would not let him in.

  “I want you to picture something. It can be anything. Just get a good solid view of it in your mind.” Jason tried again. His own face came to him in a flash. Eating spaghetti on the back porch streamed by. It occurred to him to ride their good times together. He sensed that he made it passed the barrier. As her memories of him faded, like a curtain sweeping closed, total darkness enveloped her mind.

  Jason waited. A path would present itself. He would not force anything as he had with Rachel. A spotlight on a round, four legged, wooden table appeared. The sound of cards shuffling echoed about the space.

  “You don’t belong here,” spoke a woman who sat at the table. She studied the rows of cards laid out before her. She wore a white summer dress.

  “I was invited.” Jason walked over to the table. She moved a queen of hearts to the king of hearts.

  “Well, this is as far as you go.” She looked up. Even without make-up Jason thought she was attractive. She resembled Suzy, especially around the eyes.

  “You’re her mother?” He pulled out a chair and sat directly across from her. She smiled but did not answer. “What game are you playing?”

  “A version of solitaire.” She placed her hands on the table either side of the cards and scanned the columns. She shook her head. “No winner here.” She looked up and winked. Gathering the cards, she shuffled and asked, “How do you stand it?” She placed the deck in front of her with her palms down on either side.

  “What do you mean?” Jason looked her in the eye. “Oh,” he suddenly understood, “you mean the voices and stuff.”

  “I never could.” Sadness came to her eyes. “Never found a way.”

  “I worked a long time to get it quiet in here.” Jason tapped his forefinger against his temple. A kitchen in hues of gray started to appear. Transparent at first, it became more opaque.

  The woman picked up the cards and smiled slyly.

  “Do you feel lucky?” She shuffled. Her hands changed. She now had bright red nail polish that matched her lipstick. Her dress morphed into a fancy, black sleeveless gown.

  “I am not sure what you mean?” Jason smiled at her. His fingers drummed the table.

  “Are you willing to bet something of value to win something of greater value? Do you feel lucky?” Her eyes flashed her challenge.

  “Why are you here?” asked Jason. He ignored her question. He placed both hands flat on the table.

  “Is that what you want?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “To bet?” asked Jason not sure what he was doing. Nervous, his fingers drummed louder. “Yes.”

  “Fine. If I lose, you find out why I am here. If I win,” she blew him a kiss, “I get to be with you and learn how you did it.” The cards shuffled with a sudden intensity. “Is it a bet?”

  “OK.” Jason decided to play it out. Suzy watched from somewhere, and he believed she would not hurt him. The white metal kitchen cabinets, the counters, and appliances solidified around them.

  “One card down.” She dealt. “Four cards up.” Jason showed three kings and the two of diamonds. Her cards sho
wed three aces and a Jack of Hearts. Smiling, she looked at him confident in her hole card.

  “What wins?” asked Jason.

  She picked up her hole card; then flipped it onto her face-up cards. The Jack of Spades slid into place with the other jack. “Full boat.” Without hesitation Jason turned over his down card. He did not look at it. His eyes never left hers.

  “We have a winner!” she yelled. She stood up and walked to a door that was not there before. As she passed the counter, she picked up something and left the room. The door slammed behind her. Jason looked down and saw the fourth king.

  The shot from the gun she pulled from behind the white blender startled him. He sat paralyzed, as he had with Rachel, not knowing what to do. He sensed the launch out of her mind coming.

  For Pete’s sake, not again.

  * * *

  The morning storm gave way to a sunny afternoon. Jason sat at the kitchen table; his head rested on his folded arms. A blinding headache paralyzed him. It was noon only a few hours since Jason and Suzy found the bullet holes and casings. Jason’s hand flat on the table gently hid the chipped piece of wood from the shed. He ignored Lydia when she entered the kitchen. He wondered what happened to Suzy.

  “You slept in huh?” Lydia stood over Jason. “That’s from your shrink.” She slid an opened envelope across the table. “I kept the original, but you can have the copy. When you leave us, you can have the original back.” Lydia left the kitchen without another word.

  Jason kept his eyes closed; he sat up. He willed the pain to go away. It did not, but he squinted anyway to locate the envelope and pulled out the sheet of shiny paper. The official looking, black and white document stated that this was the birth certificate of Jason Anthony Sutter born October 12th, 1949 to Robert Joshua and Elizabeth Claudia Sutter. He stared at it a long time, whispered their names, but their faces never came. Because of his work with his psychiatrist, Doctor Lipton, this was not a shock. His sudden despair and tears surprised him.

  Chapter 8

  Jason sat in Dr. Lipton’s waiting room weeks earlier for his regular appointment. Russ’s Fantastic Four comic book lay open in his lap on top of his notebook. Last week went well. He impressed his teacher with a bit of writing. Jason kept the paper with “outstanding” written across the top.

  Jason wrote this quickly after he stole the ability to write from another student. For a scary time the other student controlled his hand and Jason could not get it back. He finally regained control and scribbled the first thing that came to mind. He finished, as papers were collected. Mrs. Needham’s positive reaction to his honesty surprised him. Maybe honesty worked best, he thought. He wondered if it would have worked with Rachel Sunday night.

  “Let’s see,” said Dr. Lipton. He brought Jason from the waiting room and sat him down. “You’ve had a week or so at school which you seemed to have survived fairly well. You have impressed your teacher. Mrs. Needham, is it?” He pulled his pipe from the jar on his desk and started to fill it. “So, tell me what you think about your time in the classroom.”

  “I had to read something I wrote in front of the class.” Jason sat on his hands. He always felt nervous with Dr. Lipton.

  “This I believe,” he handed Jason a piece of paper.

  “Yes,” said Jason. He took it in his right hand and scanned the page. “This is it. How did you get it?” Jason wasn’t sure he liked this intrusion.

  “When you have a patient on significant medications, it is important to keep up with his day-to-day activities. I made a few phone calls. Mrs. Needham mailed me this copy. I must admit, aside from being a very honest statement, it is unusual for someone with your diagnosis. The drug you take would make this very difficult. You are a mystery, Mr. Sutter.” He reached over and took back the paper. He sat back and crossed his legs.

  “I just wrote what was in my head. It wasn’t any big deal,” said Jason, shrugging his shoulders. He worried about where Dr. Lipton headed.

  “ ‘I do not hope for much this summer. If I make a few friends…’ This is very good Jason.” Lipton looked up at Jason. “It shows an awareness and recognition of what we all need. Nothing grandiose. Nothing paranoid. Do you know what I mean by paranoid?” He uncrossed his legs and sat forward, studying his patient.

  “Frank, my foster father, used that word once when talking to me.” Jason stared blankly. He remembered his first venture outside of the house to the grocery store. “No. I didn’t know what he meant.”

  “You don’t write about people coming after you or trying to get you.” The doctor tapped the paper he still held in his left hand with the mouthpiece of his pipe.

  “Well I did have a problem with the school’s bully.” Jason, jumpy, shifted in his seat.

  “Does the bully have a name?” Lipton looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

  “Arthur Dresden.” Jason tapped the floor with his feet.

  “Can he be seen by other people? Does he bully other children?”

  “Yes.” Jason worried about messing up the deal with Frank and Lydia and folded his arms across his chest. These questions better not cause Doctor Lipton to question the need for the medication.

  “That is not paranoia. That, my boy, is reality. I have been told you handled the situation to your advantage, but no one can tell me exactly how. Can you help me?” The doctor sat back in his chair, placed Jason’s writing on his desk, and picked up his lighter.

  “I stood up to him,” said Jason. He gave a brief description of what happened but left out most of what Arthur Dresden had told him on that stormy day in the school lunchroom. He ended with, “Dresden slipped trying to punch me and fell over backwards.”

  “That’s all?” Lipton stopped in mid-light, the lighter turned to the side, the flame pointing skyward.

  “That’s it.” Jason smiled, unconvincingly.

  “I have dealt with bullies a few times.” The doctor finished lighting his tobacco. He took the pipe out of his mouth and leaned forward in his chair. “I have never known one to slip and not come back up angrier and more violent to save face. I have seen them knocked down whereupon they get up and run away. You didn’t knock him down?” The look on his face told Jason that the doctor had trouble believing his story.

  “No.” Jason stared at him.

  “Well, I now have another mystery to solve.” His eyes smiled like he knew something, and it amused him. Beneath his smile, he worried. Mysteries about a patient’s behavior bothered him. He sensed he would get no further today, and let the subject drop.

  Jason kept quiet. The silence stretched. Lipton finally put the pipe between his lips and sat back. “Made any new friends?” Jason told the doctor about Suzy and Russ. “Good. Good.” He paused and set the pipe in its stand at the corner of his desk. “Is that a subject notebook from school or your journal?” Lipton pointed at the notebook in Jason’s lap.

  “I write about private stuff.” Jason clutched it tighter.

  “Can I have a look at it?” asked Lipton calmly. Jason froze. He couldn’t let him see it. The doctor read the fear and followed, “Maybe when you trust me better.”

  “OK,” said Jason relieved. “I’ll do that.”

  “Now, I need your help.” He gathered his notes and scanned the pages. “Your teacher reports that you are doing very well. No outbursts. No loss of control. No falling asleep during class. No dull affect. But Frank and Lydia have left messages for me saying that you have improved only marginally. Why are you having a problem at home?”

  “It’s not really home, is it?” Thinking quickly, he added, “They both have a way of getting me all angry and stuff. I don’t remember much about those times.”

  “I see. Well maybe in time, we can help you remember.” Dr. Lipton turned back to his desk and reached for a different file. “I have some news for you.” He rifled through the stack of papers and found the one he wanted. “I have a line on one of your parents. Your mother to be specific. She has been treated in a mental institution in
upstate New York.”

  Stunned, Jason did not know what to say. “Where exactly?” he blurted.

  “Elizabeth Sutter is in,” Lipton sat back and searched the paper, “a state institution in or near Poughkeepsie, New York. Must be Hudson River State.” The doctor leaned forward and handed over the paper. Jason read the page and discovered his mother’s name. When Lipton observed Jason’s eyes water, he nodded. He made a note concerning this normal behavior in his notepad. Jason quickly wiped his eyes and smiled; he handed back the page.

  “I will,” followed Lipton, “keep looking into your family situation. Try to get some records, if possible. I have a few friends up that way. You try to remember better what happens in your foster home and I’ll keep digging. That sound like something you can do?”

  Jason nodded. “It’s…It’s a deal,” he choked but smiled.

  “Now,” continued Dr. Lipton, “what can you tell me about the other children in the house and how you relate to them?”

  Jason talked about the laundry and the problems with the kids, but always in the back of his mind he heard the doctor’s voice, “I also have a line on one of your parents.” His mother lived.

  * * *

  Back in the kitchen, Jason caressed the bullet chipped sliver blasted from the tool shed. He clung to the copy of his birth certificate intent on saving it in his notebook. As an afterthought, he turned over the envelope. It was addressed to him at 49 Hickory Lane, Franklin Chase, Pennsylvania. In all of the time he lived in the house, it never occurred to him to question where in the world he might be.

  “Good morning, Jason,” said Frank. He grinned. He held a broom with a blue handle and a copper colored dust pan. “You were up and about last night.” This was not a guess but a statement of fact.

  “What makes you think that?” Jason felt nauseous. He folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. He prayed Frank would be quick. His head hurt worse and he was desperate to get back to his cot to wait out the pain.