“I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve loved that I’ve had to watch leave or be buried six feet under. Then I got to a point where I realized I couldn’t do that to anyone anymore, so I let them be. I miss them. God do I miss them. You think a day goes by where I don’t want to see my only remaining child? My grandchildren? My great-grandchildren? I have one child left, and the others have been in the ground for years. I’ve watched three grandchildren and two great-grandchildren go to their graves before the age of ten! I have not seen my own child since she arrived at this house four weeks ago. I won’t even let her come into the room. I don’t know what I am capable of at this point, and I don’t want to find out.”
She was clearly getting upset. I felt I had definitely overstayed my welcome and pried into her business more than I should, but there was just one more thing I needed to know.
“Then why am I different?”
“Because I can’t hurt you.”
As I try to compute this information, she starts talking as if time were of the essence.
“Listen to me, I have left you something in my will. Journals. You must find them, read them. I hope that it will give insight to what is coming. I keep them in a trunk in the attic, there’re tons of books in that trunk so they will blend in. There will be a red one. That will be the one with the rules. Read everything. Protect them, Danielle,” she says with the sternest tone.
“Okay,” I said, not knowing how else to respond.
“There’s just one more thing I need you to do,” she said.
Grateful that this conversation was coming to an end I perked up, receptive to her last request. “Yes, Grandma Elizabeth, anything,” I say. She reached out her hand and I placed mine in hers.
“Don’t forget to control your emotions, they can manifest into the most dangerous things, and cause unspeakable damage,” she said, looking directly into my eyes.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I gave a slight nod. I attempted to extract my hand, but she tightened her grip. I was startled, but she continued staring at me. I started to panic for a second, then something extraordinary happened.
I felt something I had never experienced before; like a current coursing through my veins. It resembled a black hole of energy opening up inside me. All that passed through was pure energy. I began to feel elated, and a sense of relaxation flooded through me, a sense of pure joy. It was the best sensation I’d ever felt in my life. It was like every drug meant to make you feel good pulsing through every blood cell in my body. Nothing but pure euphoria. I was so lost in this feeling, I had forgotten to open my eyes. When I did, I saw my great-grandmother staring at me with an expression of contentment and hidden worry.
“Thank you,” she said and released my hand.
I remained sitting there. The sensation I’d had moments before, now seemed so far away. I studied Grandma Elizabeth. Years had caught up to her in moments. Wrinkles and scars she never had, all now clearly in evidence. She no longer looked at me. I pulled my hand from hers and rapidly stepped back. I looked back at her again, but there was nothing to see, nothing to hear or feel. She was dead.
* * *
“So you had a traumatic experience, watching your great-grandmother pass away. This was some sort of trigger.” Dr. Joy said, taking notes and nodding her head. I contemplated if she had been asleep the whole time I was talking.
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“You watching you great-grandmother die, caused a chain reaction of unusual behavior, and symptoms. It’s like from that day everything was downhill according to your file,” she replied, glancing at her notes as if she were reading them all at once.
“Uh, no, that’s not at all what happened. I mean, everything from that day was downhill, and perhaps the beginning, but I was not . . . you know what, I don’t feel like trying to explain this to you.” I said, stopping suddenly. I knew the more I tried to explain the crazier I would sound.
“Is it because the theory makes sense? Is that why you don’t wish to continue? It’s understandable that a thirteen-year-old, on their birthday at that, having to witness a family argument, the nonsensical last words of a close relative, and the death of that person, would result in permanent psychological damage.”
“Damage?” I laughed at her diagnosis.
“Yes, I would describe it as PTSD. You see when someone is subject to─” she began.
“I’m not stupid. I know what it means. I’m not saying your theory doesn’t make sense or is illogical, but sometimes in life, you have to abandon logic. If you brought me in here to label me with this or that for whatever bullshit to make yourself feel smarter, or that you’ve figured something out, guess what? You can go fuck yourself,” I countered, rising from my chair.
“Oh yeah, Dani? Guess I’d better just take this home then,” she shot back, patting my journal that lay on her desk, “It’s a quite entertaining work of fiction,” she lifted her eyebrows in a questioning fashion. I responded with a mild laugh.
By that point, I was emotionally drained, irritated, and had plenty of anger to project. So I did just that. Despite both hands being shackled together I stretched halfway across her desk and shoved everything I could reach onto the floor. Papers from various files floated in the air, the framed pictures crashed into the wall, glass shattered and scattered in shards across the floor.
“Backup now, Dr. Joy’s Office,” she said quickly into her phone. A mild tremor was evident in her voice. I didn’t know who or what the pictures were of; I didn’t care. I just hoped they were of something important. Two staff members rushed through the door to aid the doctor. They immediately subdued me. I offered no resistance; this didn’t stop them from drugging me.
“How would you feel if someone tried to convince you that everything you know is a lie?” I asked. The staff paused momentarily, maybe to offer the doctor an opportunity to respond. She refused to look at me. I saw a glimpse of pain behind her eyes.
“The patient might have sustained a mild injury, be sure she is treated before returning her to her quarters,” She said, attempting to appear in control.
“Doctor, are you all right? Should we call the supervisor? He could file a report, and— mm” one of them suggested.
“No. I’m fine. Give her another shot. I don’t think the first one did the trick.”
Chapter Two: Hard Times and White Lies
After the passing of my great-grandmother, nothing unusual happened. I was so scared they would surge into the room pointing fingers and asking what I had done. No, everyone seemed just fine with her death; well, all except her daughter, but what would you expect? Weeks turned into months, and the memory of the event began to recede into a dark hole in my mind. It was like everything that someone would never forget quickly becomes hidden in the deepest crevices of my mind and seems almost to never have happened. It’s as if my mind knows what I do not wish to think about and quickly goes to work trying to erase it from my memory. My uncle was talking to the family again, and everyone was getting along just fine. In fact, tonight he was coming over to talk to my dad about something important. It must be, because my family has tried to distract me and my brother from being around when he arrives.
I was worried about my family. My dad had a really good job, but he was laid off shortly after my great-grandmother died. He was stressed out and short-tempered for weeks and I didn’t understand why he hadn’t gotten another job yet; I didn’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to hire him. I just watched him becoming more depressed every day. My dad and mom had been fighting a lot, and normally they never fight. The food we were eating; the clothes we had been wearing; everything was starting to feel different. My Uncle said he could help us out. I was just worried about what he meant by that.
He arrived at our small, three-bedroom, wooden home in the evening, saying friendly hellos to everyone, including me. It’s amazing how not only him but my entire family can make believe that nothing is wrong. I took my brother into his room
and sat with him till he fell asleep then cracked the door open to hear if there really is something good coming our way. Since my last eavesdropping incident, I had learned to be a bit more careful. From my brother’s room, I could hear them clearly, chatting away in our kitchen. It sounds as if Uncle Christian started drinking hours ago. Finally, when I was on the verge of dozing off, they broached the real substance of their conversation.
“Still haven’t found work, Alex?” Christian asked.
“Uh . . . no, nothing yet. I actually have an interview next week. It’s part-time work but—” my dad starts to explain.
“Part-time? You’re too good for that Alex. No, you need real money,” he said.
“Yeah, you’re telling me, but the jobs just aren’t there, ha ha, it’s ridiculous,” Dad replied with despair in his voice.
“How far behind are you?”
“We have two months before we can’t afford to stay here anymore,” my dad said. I felt my stomach lurch; I had no idea things were so bad. We wouldn’t have our house? Where would we live?
“We’re going to figure it out,” my mom asserted, but she couldn’t disguise the doubt in her voice.
“And the will?” Christian asked. “I’m guessing we didn’t get the payout we were expecting.”
“No, I haven’t even looked at it for a month. She split everything evenly per family. I was really depending on something from it. We’re set up to get about $10,000. Besides that, there’s some sort of trust with over half of her money, which no one knows anything about, and no one can access.”
“Ten thousand? Are you fucking kidding me? You spend all the time raising the favorite, and all she can come up with is ten thousand. Ha ha, that woman sure was a crazy old bitch. How far will the ten thousand get you?”
“My original estimate included that ten thousand. We’re just so far out of our means, going from what I used to make to making nothing,” my dad replied. The room fell quiet. I leaned closer to the door to hear what they might say next.
“What if we could change that?” Christian’s voice extinguished the silence. “Would you be interested?”
“Short of breaking the law, I’d do just about anything,” my dad said with a mild laugh.
“What if you had to bend the law, but you wouldn’t have anything to worry about for a very long time?”
“Christian, we’re not going to do anything illegal, just to get caught up with our bills, what if we go to jail?” my mother said hopelessly. “We have kids.” There may have been a tinge of curiosity in her tone, but clearly, my parents were angered by what Christian was inferring.
“I’m trying to help you. You want this kind of life for your kids?”
“What do you expect from us, Christian?”
“Are you even feeding your kids three meals a day, ‘cause if I’m not mistaken, they sure are losing some weight,” Christian shot back, with false concern.
“How dare you . . .” my mother said, the disgust in her voice was something I’d never heard before when she spoke to her brother.
“What’s your plan?” my dad asked, his voice completely calm. Silence returned.
“Alex . . . you’re not serious,” my mother challenged, dumbfounded.
“We’ve tried everything. I am not going to lose my house and my family because I can’t find a job! I’m one step away from robbing a bank to put food on the table, and if there’s an easier way, then I want to at least know about it.”
“Here’s the deal,” Christian ventured. “Grandmother Elizabeth’s available worth is over two-and-a-half million dollars. Now I’m not suggesting we go rob a bank. I’m just saying we take what is rightfully ours. You said she split up the money evenly right? All we have to do is change it to say she left half for you, and the other half to the rest of the family.”
“How could we possibly do that? We’re four months into probate, and nothing’s been done,” my father pointed out.
“Exactly, no one has seen the will,” said Christian.
Dad laughed. “Ha ha, yeah, except her lawyer.”
“I know,” Christian replied.
“Wait, what is it you’re not telling me?” my father began.
“Her lawyer has a copy of the will I’m proposing, and he is willing to verify and enforce it. All we need is your cooperation.”
“What’s in it for him?” my father asked.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Christian replied. My father laughed with surprise.
“And the big question is,” my father continued, “what’s in it for you?”
The silence was palpable. In my mind’s eye, I could see them glaring at each other.
“Five hundred thousand dollars and I want the deed to the house,” he answered eventually.
“The only person left out of the will getting the most. How ironic,” my mother said under her breath.
“Listen, we don’t have any other choice!” Christian’s voice rose.
“Any option is better than that!” my mother shouted back.
“When have I not taken care of you?! I’ve always been the one you turn to. Why are you acting like you can’t trust me?” my uncle responded in an injured tone. “You’re starting to sound like Grandma Elizabeth. I knew one day she’d turn you against me. You used to be on my side.”
My mother made no further comment.
“Stop. Stop yelling at each other. The way I see it is, either we do this or we’re out on the streets. Even if I got a job today, we wouldn’t get our life back for a very long time. I can’t live like that, and I won’t let my family live through that either. I’m in,” my father affirmed.
“Alex . . .” my mother whispered hopelessly.
“We need the money, and we need it now.” Everyone could hear the desperation in my father’s voice.
Lost in my thoughts, I missed the conclusion of the conversation. The words exchanged and decisions reached that night would change our lives forever.
* * *
Surprisingly enough, Christian’s plan worked perfectly. There were no setbacks, no questions, no one even second guessed Grandma Elizabeth’s new will. The family was amazed that I didn’t get everything, and it seemed no one even noticed that we gave Christian 50% of what we had as well as the house. He sold the house quickly and indulged in many things that money could buy. It definitely financed his drinking habit.
Our lives also changed. Things got better, my dad found a job, food was back on the table, and we even moved into a different house. It was closer to Christian’s new house. Everything was looking up for my family. I had been so furious that they would consider not fulfilling my great-grandmother’s wishes, but we reached a point when I breathed a sigh of relief because they didn’t.
Chapter Three: Fragile
I stared at the clock on the wall, waiting for the minute hand to reach the twelve so that I would be taken for my counseling session. I found this unusual. Something I’d ignored or dreaded for so long was now the thing I’d become increasingly impatient to start. I’d been dressed and rehearsed what I would say a dozen times already. I’d even dedicated a little extra time to getting ready. My escort arrived before it was even time and I was relieved to leave a couple of minutes early. A couple of minutes out of my room was a couple more minutes with the doctor and a couple more minutes with my journal.
I was shackled hands and feet, this time metal not cloth, and was walked to her office by the staff. The doctor hadn’t yet arrived, so I sat in the room, fidgeting impatiently, waiting for her. When she finally appeared, she had the same confident yet exhausted air about her. She didn’t greet me right away, pausing to shuffle her papers. I knew she was only pretending to find her place in our notes. I had no doubt that she anticipated our visits as much as I did. However, she showed considerably more restraint than I.
“So, where were we?” she said, at last breaking the silence.
“I think you were just about to tell me about your weekend,” I replied i
n a tone of sarcasm. This resulted in a brief expression of worry, which she erased after noticing the smirk on my face. She examined me closely; I could sense her analyzing me. Her demeanor returned to something more businesslike, and she seemed to have a multitude of questions.
“No, we were talking about the will, and your special talent, remember?” she said impassively.
“Oh, of course. Sorry, I’m just so crazy I forget things sometimes, remember?”
She glanced up at me with a face that said, ‘I wish I could sedate you right now.’ I laughed a little, wondering if she could really think things of that sort in her profession.
“Now,” she walked around to my side of the desk, “what can you tell me about this passage here?” She pointed at words that I had compelled myself to forget forever. I didn’t even remember writing them. I immediately become reclusive in my thoughts, thinking but unable to voice. I knew she had read this passage already and became aware we had reached our first impasse; there was no way I could share something like this with someone like her. She was so perfect, so precise. And judgmental.
“No, not that one. It’s irrelevant, we can just skip it. The really interesting part—“
“I want to know about this,” she said assertively. She paused as if faced with a brick wall. I knew there was no way around this portion of the story, yet I’d have done anything to avoid it. She knelt next to me and stared into my eyes while I did everything possible to avoid direct eye contact. It was bizarre having her in such a position next to me. I didn’t understand why this would mean anything to her.
“I can’t. Not to you,” I told her the truth.
“Me?” she asked, “why not?”
It was something that could not be explained by mere words. It was the first expression of self-doubt I had perceived from her. Suddenly, I didn’t want to talk at all, despite having looked forward to this meeting for days. Now, I just wanted to be back in my room. With frustration evident in her voice, the doctor began resorting to reason and logic, and anything else she considered useful, as I began to tune her out while steadying my mind.
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