When Through Deep Waters

by Rachelle Dekker

  Stephanie reached into her coat pocket and removed an aged envelope. It was weathered from time. A deep line creased the center from being folded in half, and a tiny corner was torn away. Stephanie held the envelope tightly, shielding it from the wind as if it were treasure.

  “I’ve thought about sending this to you at least a hundred times, but it never quite felt right. I don’t know—maybe I was wrong to keep it from you all these years, but something in me says you’ll need it soon,” Stephanie said. She held the envelope out, and Alicen glanced down to see her name written in familiar cursive handwriting across the front. Grandma Joe’s cursive.

  Again her brain warned against what was happening. Her mind attempted to quash the rising thoughts that would take Alicen down the dark path to insanity, and her logic tried to keep the neatly hidden madness at bay. Alicen reached out and took the letter, her hand quivering.

  “She told me to give it to you when the time was right,” Stephanie said. “Of course, I don’t know exactly what she had in mind, and like I said, maybe it would have been better to send it before, but something always stopped me. Call it fate, if you believe in that sort of thing. But now you should have it.”

  “When did she give this to you?”

  “A couple weeks before she died. It was the strangest thing. I’m not sure why she entrusted it to me, but I promised to see that it got to you when you were older. Almost as if she knew she wouldn’t be around to give it to you herself.”

  “What does it say?” Alicen asked.

  “The message inside was meant just for you, so only you should know. Read it whenever you feel ready to.”

  Alicen kept her eyes on the letter for another long moment, Stephanie gracious enough to let her have it in silence, before she raised her eyes to see Mrs. Watson’s warm stare. Alicen nodded, understanding somehow that accepting this was important, and tucked the envelope into her own coat pocket.

  “I love you as if you were one of my own,” Stephanie said, tears now lining her eyes. “I always saw you as part of our family, and I always will. Your sparkle is what I miss most when you aren’t around. Your belief in things unseen. Don’t let them take that from you.”

  The two women stood still, gazing at one another and sharing an unspoken moment, before Stephanie smiled, pressed up onto her tiptoes, and placed a small kiss on the side of Alicen’s head.

  She came back into Alicen’s full view and gave her a nod. Alicen smiled and returned the gesture, as Stephanie retucked her arm through Alicen’s and started walking again.

  Stephanie let out a soft sigh and squeezed Alicen’s arm. “Well now,” she said, “I think we should head back for some lunch.”

  Alicen nodded, her mind still at war between old questions rising and new ones being created. “Yes,” she said. “Lunch sounds good.”

  20

  Alicen stood inside her room, the sun gone for the day, the night sky filling her window, the quiet of a sleeping house seeming to pulse as she held the letter in her hand. She hadn’t opened it yet. She wasn’t sure if she was going to.

  The rest of the afternoon’s events had moved by in a smog, clouded by her drugged state and haunted by the endless stream of questions fighting to seep through the cracks in her haze.

  Stephanie had stayed for most of the afternoon before deciding to drive back to Billings for the night. Betty had hovered closer than usual, specifically whenever Stephanie was close by, and Louise had tried to keep the tension light. All in all, by the time the sun had set, everyone was exhausted, and they’d decided to turn in early.

  Alicen had been standing here, in the shadowed space of her bedroom, for far longer than she’d intended. Each moment tossed a different thought her way, and then the next tossed it back.

  Open the letter.

  Don’t open the letter.

  Open the letter.

  Don’t open the letter.

  Her curiosity was dampened by her medication, as was her logic, so both were equally impaired, standing on opposite sides of a thin wall as Alicen tried to balance on its edge. To fall to the right or to the left was the only question now.

  Stephanie was holding on to this letter all these years, Alicen thought, because she didn’t feel like the timing was right. She’d told Alicen to open it whenever she was ready, but what if she didn’t know when that would be?

  It would be insane not to open it, right? Then again, would her grandmother’s words only raise more questions that the drugs would have to slaughter? Would reading them only draw her further toward complete insanity? Could she even trust what was written? Yet how could she not?

  Static whispers buzzed inside her ears, and dread filled her stomach. No, she thought, this can’t keep happening. Her head filled with cotton, and she tried to focus on the room around her. The bed, the side table, the floor—things she knew for certain were actually there. But it was too late.

  Alicen. A familiar whisper that had been blotted out by the drugs swirled around her head. Don’t you hear us?

  No, Alicen thought, not again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as the voices increased.

  Don’t you want to know?

  Yes, Alicen thought. “No,” she said out loud.

  “It’s all right to be afraid,” a small voice said.

  Alicen opened her eyes and saw Evie standing across the room. Her mind swam. She shouldn’t be hearing her. She shouldn’t be seeing her.

  “I don’t want to be afraid,” Alicen whispered. “I want to be better.”

  “And do you feel better?” Evie asked.

  No, she thought. “Yes,” she said.

  Silence filled the room between them, Alicen too numb to move and Evie just staring in return.

  “There’s another way,” Evie said.

  “There is only one way,” Alicen replied, thinking back to her conversation with Victoria. “People just like to think there’s more than that.”

  “But I can show you another way.”

  “No.” Alicen shook her head and swallowed hard. “No, this is the way. The right way.”

  Evie looked as though she might say more, but Alicen was finished. This shouldn’t be happening. She must need another dose of her meds. She stepped through the dark of her bedroom and reached for the orange bottle on her bedside table.

  “Alicen,” Evie softly cooed.

  “No!” Alicen spun, bottle in hand. “Acceptance. That is what I need. To get a grip, to act like an adult.” Blood pumping wildly through her veins, Alicen twisted off the lid and dropped two pills into her hand. It shook, and without another thought, she popped them into her mouth. “Leave me alone,” she said, turning her gaze back to the imaginary child.

  “Your vision is cloudy,” Evie said.

  “Get out,” Alicen said through clenched teeth.

  “Shadows are only shadows.”

  “Get out.”

  “You are the light of the world.”

  “Get out!” Alicen yelled.

  She hadn’t even realized how loud her voice had gotten until she heard soft thudding outside her door. The knob turned, drawing Alicen’s attention, and Betty pushed through, rubbing her tired eyes.

  “Alicen?” she said, blinking hazily at the light shining from the room’s lamps. “Is everything all right?”

  Alicen inhaled and looked over to see Evie was gone. Vanished as quickly as she’d appeared. Alicen turned back to her mother to answer, but Betty was already walking across the room, her eyes glued to the letter in Alicen’s hand.

  “What is that?” Betty asked.

  Panic erupted in Alicen’s chest, and she tucked the letter into the back pocket of her jeans. “Nothing,” she said. “Just something Stephanie gave me.”

  “Stephanie? I know that handwriting, and that is not hers,” Betty said. Her face had paled, and her voice quivered.

  “It’s nothing, Mom.”

  Betty dropped her eyes to slits for a moment, then swallowed and held out her hand. “
Give it to me.”

  “What?” Alicen asked, taken aback. “No.”

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good for you currently. Give it to me, Alicen.”

  Alicen emitted a shocked little laugh. Her mother couldn’t just barge into her room and demand things that didn’t belong to her. Alicen wasn’t a teenager. “No,” she said.

  “Honey, I am doing this for your own good.”

  “I am a grown woman; you can’t just come in here—”

  “A grown woman who was just talking to herself!” Betty snapped.

  Alicen felt the impact of truth like a punch to the gut.

  “Whatever my mother wrote on those pages, tucked into that envelope, will only be more madness. You are sick enough already; you can’t afford to have more delusional garbage stuffed into your head. Now give me the letter!”

  Alicen felt like the wind had been knocked out of her; she couldn’t get a proper breath. Betty was right, even if it stung. Even if the delivery was cruel and painful, Betty was right. Alicen had gone nearly a week without a single delusion, and then the second this letter showed up, it all came back. How much further would it take her?

  Even as she drew the envelope out of her pocket, she could hear the children’s whispers telling her not to let it go. Don’t, Alicen. She ignored them because she needed to get better.

  As soon as the letter was within sight, Betty snatched it with fury, her eyes sparkling with tears, and ripped it clean down the middle.

  “Mom,” Alicen said.

  “Enough of this,” Betty said, holding the letter up in front of her. “I will not let this woman poison you anymore. You’re my daughter. . . .” Tears stifled Betty’s words, and she swallowed to gain control of her emotions before continuing. “You’re my daughter, and I will do whatever it takes to see you get better.”

  Alicen watched, still shocked by the events of the last few moments, as Betty stuffed the torn pieces of the letter into her robe pocket and walked toward the door. She stepped into the hallway, then reached back and placed her hand on the doorknob.

  “Make sure you take your meds, honey,” Betty said, trying to sound a bit softer. “And try to get some sleep.” She pulled the door shut and left Alicen alone, frozen in place.

  Alicen heard Grandma Joe and her mother coming back inside, and she raced to throw her little body behind the living room couch. She’d been trying to eavesdrop on the conversation on the back porch without being caught, and if they saw her now, they’d know for sure what she’d been up to. Adults always knew these things.

  Alicen crouched low, yanked her knees into her chest, and waited. Footsteps echoed across the wood kitchen floor as the two women moved toward the living room.

  “Mom, we are not done talking about this,” Betty said. Alicen would recognize the scowl in that tone anywhere.

  “I think maybe we are, honey,” Grandma Joe said, her voice much calmer, as it always was when they fought. They had been doing a lot of fighting lately. As Alicen understood it, Mom wanted to move Grandma Joe to another place. A place where people could take care of her, because Mom thought Grandma Joe’s mind was sick. And according to Mom, it was only going to get worse. But Grandma Joe didn’t want to go. She didn’t even think she was sick.

  She told Alicen not to believe everything the world said. That most of the time they got it wrong. Alicen wanted to believe Grandma Joe more than anything; she wanted to believe her most favorite person wasn’t sick. But it was hard to argue with the entire world. The world was big and loud, and Alicen was just a little girl.

  “Don’t you understand what this is doing to you?” Betty said.

  “Saving me from myself,” Grandma Joe replied.

  “Not this again.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Betty huffed angrily, and Alicen focused on making sure she wasn’t breathing too loudly. She’d be in such trouble with her mom if they found her out.

  “So becoming a raving lunatic is saving you? You can’t actually believe that, and you certainly can’t ask me to believe it,” Betty said, her tone hushed but full of fury.

  “I’m not asking you to do anything, Betty; I’m telling you I won’t go to that place. That’s all,” Grandma Joe said. She continued to keep her tone controlled, but Alicen noticed the way it wavered. It made an uncomfortable ball of nerves form in her gut. She started to wish she hadn’t stolen away behind the couch.

  “Can’t you see how twisted your mind has become because of this disease?”

  “This ‘disease’ that everyone likes to continuously remind me I have has only helped me see the world more clearly. The beauty. The truth. It has shown me the light.”

  “Josephine . . .” Betty tried.

  “The eye is the lamp of the body; when it is clear, the whole body is filled with light. My perception is clear,” Grandma Joe said, her voice rising in volume. “It isn’t me who doesn’t see; it’s you!”

  Alicen gulped and then clenched her hand over her mouth to keep the sound sealed inside. She’d never heard her grandmother sound like that before. It made the nervous ball grow, and she tried to shrink even farther behind the couch. This was bad.

  “After what happened on Sunday—” Betty said.

  “I was trying to help them see,” Grandma Joe said. “I was trying to remind them of the love they have forgotten.”

  “You disrupted the service. The pastor banned you from church, Mom!”

  “He just doesn’t see yet; I think he will, though.”

  “We have been over this. You’re not a prophet, not seeing angels in the backyard, not walking with the Holy Spirit through the grocery store, not speaking to Jesus in your dreams. You’re just sick!”

  “I’m not speaking with Jesus in my dreams; I’m speaking with him every day. He is my brother, my friend, my teacher.”

  “Mom—”

  “I thought I knew who I was before. I thought I understood the world, but I was still a prisoner to self.”

  “Stop, Mom.”

  “He showed me who I am, made my sight clear. He set me free from the condemnation of this reality.”

  Betty let out a long, frustrated breath as a beat of silence lingered. “I could force you, you know,” Betty said.

  Alicen knew that low, angry tone well. This was very, very bad.

  “I could say you were a danger to yourself and others. To Alicen. Because you know what, Mom? I’m not convinced you aren’t. I want to be, but I’m not! And I have to protect my daughter.”

  “How could you think I would ever hurt her?” Grandma Joe asked, pain overshadowing any anger there might have been.

  “You think reality is different than it actually is. You see and talk to figments of your mind’s invention. You believe you are on a holy mission that doesn’t exist, and you refuse to get help! What am I supposed to think?”

  “I love that girl more than anything, and the way she believes—”

  “I don’t want her to believe in fantasies. I want her to believe in what’s real. In what will give her a good life!”

  “A good life according to whom? You? This world? And what good does that do her?”

  “The world is cruel and unkind, Josephine; it will judge her for believing in things that aren’t real.”

  “So you would rather she believe she is limited!”

  “She is limited.”

  “She is the light of the world! Don’t you want her to know that shadows are only shadows?”

  “Oh please,” Betty scoffed.

  Tears filled Alicen’s eyes. She wished they would just stop yelling at one another. She wanted to jump out from behind the couch and distract them from fighting, but fear of her mother’s wrath kept her hidden.

  “Alicen is special, Betty,” Grandma Joe said.

  Betty huffed. “Not this again; not today.”

  “She is, honey.”

  “Yeah, well, all grandmothers think their grandchildren are special; that doesn’t make it true
,” Betty said.

  Alicen, came a familiar whisper. Alicen, can you hear us? Alicen closed her eyes and listened to the voices carefully, just like Grandma Joe had taught her. Alicen, it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.

  “Her ability to believe in what isn’t always seen is overwhelming. I’ve seen it in her when we talk about Jesus,” Grandma Joe said.

  “I wish you could hear how insane you sound,” Betty said.

  The whispers reached out to Alicen again, her eyes still shut, her heart wishing to see more than what was around her. To see like Grandma Joe saw.

  “She’s called to the power of Christ’s perfect love. She’s connected with the only thing that can change the world,” Grandma Joe said.

  “Stop it,” Betty said.

  “You couldn’t strip her of that if you tried,” Grandma Joe continued.

  “Stop, Mom,” Betty said.

  “It will always be a part of her. Jesus said—”

  “Stop it, Josephine. Stop!”

  Alicen heard Grandma Joe sniff and the crack in her last string of words. She was crying. Alicen’s heart felt like it was breaking. It’s okay, Alicen, the small, comforting voices sang. Don’t be afraid.

  “I should have shown you better,” Grandma Joe said, her words laced with sorrow. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it all sooner. I’m sorry you’re in such pain.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me,” Betty shot back. “I understand the way the world works, and yes, pain is just part of it. But I use that pain to fuel me, to remind me of what the world is capable of.”

  “What about what you are capable of? Who you really are? Holding on to your pain only makes you a slave to it,” Grandma Joe said.

  “Pain is pain, Mom; it just is, and you deal with it. That’s what I’m trying to do, and you are making it impossible!”

  “There’s another way, honey—” Grandma Joe started.

  But Betty was finished. “No, Josephine! There is only one way. Your delusions are making you believe in things that aren’t possible. Walking on water, moving mountains, prophets and spirit children. None of that is real.” Betty paused and took a sharp breath. Her tone softened. “You’re really sick, Mom.” Alicen could hear the crack in her mother’s voice and thought she might be crying too.