His insane, ear splitting laugh is behind me, and I turn around to see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom. I know I’m insane, and I know that he doesn’t really exist. But that doesn’t ever make him actually go away. Only medication can help me with that. May’s incessant barking cracks through the hallucination, and he wavers.
“If you want to stay here, then you have to step aside.” I speak calmly as I grab a towel and wrap it around my fingers. Tom chortles as he steps off to the side and into the main living area of the cabin. I can hear Anastasia’s footsteps, and I know that I have to tell her a semblance of the truth.
Three deep breaths later she’s finally standing in the doorway of my cabin, well, her father’s cabin. By the look on her face, she had no idea this little place even existed. I don’t say a word as her warm, blue eyes search the interior of the cabin. She skims over me as if she already knew I was here, and focuses on the desk with a laptop on it off to one wall. That was an addition of mine, not her father’s.
“So you live here.” It’s not a question, so I don’t answer her. Instead, I cinch the towel tighter around my hand and look at the floor. May’s barking has ceased, but she’s nowhere in sight. The poor dog probably wandered home, or she’s lying out at the bottom of the three steps that need to be ascended to come into the cabin.
“We need to talk. But first, I have to deal with my hand.” Anastasia finally looks down at the towel that’s starting to be soaked in blood, and I see her face blanch in the shadows. She bites her bottom lip as if she’s not sure if she can handle the situation, and then I see the moment that clarity overtakes her.
“What happened?” I admire the strength in her voice, and the way her shoulders square as she takes a few steps towards me.
“It’s not too horrendous, I just slipped, and my hand crashed through the bathroom mirror.” That sounded pretty lame even to me. Tom lets his head fall back as he laughs, and I try not to wince. I don’t want Anastasia to know about him yet.
“Right, well lets patch it up over at the kitchen sink, shall we?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer her. A tingling sensation shoots up my spine and rests at the base of my skull as she takes my hand. I keep a straight face as she leaves me standing over the sink to find some tweezers in the bathroom. Then she’s back, and she’s plucking tiny pieces of glass out of my hand.
“You’ve done this before?” I’m just trying to make conversation. Anything to distract me from the plinking noise as she puts the glass into a cup would be nice. Except for the sound of Tom’s boots scraping across the floor. He knows I hate that sound, and yet he finds the need to constantly do it.
“I haven’t, but judging by the way you left, I doubt you want to go see a doctor right now.” Her eyes can go from warm to icy in a heartbeat, and right now they’re making my own heart cover in frost.
“I’ll explain, please, just give me a chance to explain.” Her lips tighten as she stares at me and a crease forms between her brows. I want so much to be able to reach up and rub it away right now. And then Mr. D’Salvatore’s words come crashing down on me. Anastasia is off-limits.
The young woman finally nods as if she’s made a decision about me, and she goes back to squinting while she pulls out slivers of glass. My blood is dripping down into the small kitchen sink and running down the drain. I should get stitches, but I can do that myself. In fact, I could be taking the glass out myself. But the way her hand gently cradles mine and the feel of her warmth by my side has me waiting for her to pull the glass out on her own, painstakingly slowly.
“You’re a criminal, aren’t you?” My hand jerks overtop of hers and Anastasia looks up at me with a coy smile on her lips. Tom slams his fist down on the countertop beside me and leans into my face with a hiss.
“It’s too bad she’s wrong! Or is she, Jonah? Go on, tell her about her father!” Over the years, I’ve learned to keep Tom at bay while I’m in the presence of others, but it’s hard to ignore a screaming banshee. All the while that Tom is trying to distract me with talk of ripping off Anastasia shirt, the woman before me is trying to ask me something.
“Shut up!” I finally shout, pulling my hand away from Anastasia and gripping my head with both my hands. Sometimes squeezing tightly helps. I feel the blood from my knuckles dripping down the side of my face, and hear it plopping onto the wooden floor as if it’s amplified. My eyes squeeze shut as I try to draw in breaths slowly through my nose and let them out my mouth.
“Jonah?” It’s not Tom talking to me anymore. Anastasia is standing by the entrance to the cabin with May pressed to the back of her legs. The dog’s hairs are standing on end, and her eyes are glued to mine.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out gruff and hoarse as if I’ve been screaming for a long time. The blood on my knuckles has dried, and there are tears streaking down my face. Tom’s retreated to a corner of the cabin with his arms crossed over his chest, and he has one foot on the wall as he leans against it. The situation is too much for me, and I manage to close my eyes before the floor comes up to meet my face.
It’s dark, and the air has become a little cooler. I feel something furry next to me, and I’m lying on something soft. My toes wiggle first as I realize that I’m no longer wearing shoes, and my right hand feels unusually heavy. It’s my right eye that opens first to peer at the white bandages on my hand. I look like the beginnings of a mummy in the faint light.
“May,” I whisper when I roll over and see that it’s the German Shepherd lying next to me. Her tail thumps uncontrollably on the bed as I try to sit up. My left hand has a few scrapes on it, but nothing that won’t heal in a few days. I reach over to the small lamp on my nightstand and flick it on. The interior of the cabin is illuminated in the soft light, and there is no sign of Anastasia. But Tom sits idly in one of the kitchen table chairs with his chin on his fist.
“It took you long enough. Man you’re a pussy!” The groan that erupts from me has May whimpering. I know that Tom is not real. I’ve known he isn’t real for the past three years, but the bastard still won’t go away. When I look up to say something harsh to him, I see that there is a bottle sitting on my kitchen counter.
Ignoring Tom’s continuous insults, I manage to stand up with a little help from May. My footfalls are unsteady and loud as I stumble to the countertop and pick up the pill bottle. It’s the prescription from my bathroom, and there’s a note underneath it. The bottle is full. I pick up the note, and I have to read it three times for it to sink in.
We need to talk. Tonight at seven if you’re feeling better. Take your meds first. ~ Anastasia
She’s signed her name in a flourish, and she’s forgotten to cross the ‘t’. Before I can help myself, I bring the piece of paper up to my face and smell it. If only I were normal, but I’m not. Tom reminds me of that by trying to snatch the note from me over my shoulder. I keep it out of his reach and pocket it. Then I pick up the pill bottle and twist the cap off. Tom inhales sharply through his teeth as if the motion physically hurts him. As I’m filling a glass with water, Tom tries to sway my resolve.
“If you take that pill, I won’t tell you what happened the night of D’Salvatore’s murder!” He tries to knock the pill from my hand, but I manage to get it into my mouth and swallow the water. It’s going to take another half an hour for the medication to work, but eventually Tom will be nothing but a whisper. He never really goes away, but he can be gagged for the time being with medication.
“D’Salvatore is dead. Nothing you tell me is going to change that.” This time I throw my head back and laugh at Tom’s enraged expression.
“Not even if I told you that maybe you’re the one who did it?” My skin grows cold all over as I immediately clamp my mouth shut and stop laughing. It is a possibility that I forgot to take my medication and something awful happened with D’Salvatore. But if that were the case, wouldn’t Tom be badgering me about it now? Wait, isn’t that what he’s doing?
“Am I?” I ask him, an
d he shrugs one shoulder with insolence. I screw my face up into a silent snarl, but that never fazes Tom.
“I can help you figure that out. You need me Jonah! It’s always been you and me. We’re the only friends either one of us has.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as Tom sits down on the kitchen table. One foot is dangling as the other rests on one of the chairs.
“You’re not my friend!” My deep, growling voice sounds foreign to me. I glance at the pill bottle and wonder if I should be taking more than one. Maybe if I just took one more…
“Whether I’m your friend or not, I can help you!” He’s starting to shimmer and fade from my vision, and I’m beginning to feel foggy again. But this is a different haze. It’s the haze of the medication starting to take over, and Tom is starting to disappear. His emotions will still be there for me to tap into, but I won’t be able to see him. And he’ll only grace me with his ugly voice when I’m highly stressed.
When she’s finally gone, I put my back to the counter in the kitchenette area and slide down to the floor. The medication makes Tom disappear, but the side effects are not always pleasant. Right now I’m feeling groggy, and very agreeable. If someone told me to jump off a bridge, I might not hesitate. That happens if I’ve been off the medication for a long time, which means that I probably didn’t take this for a few weeks, and that’s why I ended up in someone’s front yard nude. I had a breakdown.
A clock on the wall ticks the minutes by as I try to get the dizziness to subside. When it’s finally manageable about half an hour later, it’s half past seven at night. I pinch the bridge of my nose to get the dizziness to stay at bay as I try to stand. My back scrapes against the wood of the cabinets, but I manage to get to a standing position.
Anastasia deserves an explanation. And now that I’ve had the medication I can remember some of the events that led up to her father’s death. Unfortunately, I can’t remember who did it, or whether or not I’m not a suspect. Shoving down that thought, I go to the bathroom to clean up the glass. My brow furrows when I stare at the new mirror hanging on the wall, and the broken glass in the trash can.
I’ll have to tell her thanks, and does this mean I can stay?
The sun is still high in the sky as I exit the cabin. I put my hands up and squint in the bright light, a side effect of the medication. I stumble along the narrow path that leads down to the house. By the time I get there, the sun is almost set, and my feet are sore. I look down and curse. I forgot shoes.
Running a hand through my hair, I try to remember if I even cleaned myself up. I probably look like a madman, and at the thought I begin to laugh. I’m laughing hysterically as I lean against a tree when May comes bounding up to the edge of the woods. She snuffles at my jeans and licks my toes, causing me to giggle even more. I forgot to put a shirt back on, so when I slide down the tree it scratches my back. I welcome the pain because it makes me stop smiling.
“You can give the psychotic guy meds, but he’s still psychotic.” I grab May by the ears gently and ruffle them as I ramble. It will take a few weeks for all the symptoms to dull. My case is severe; therefore, I’ll never be quite right. But in a few weeks I’ll be able to handle life a lot more than I can right now.
“You’re late.” A shadow falls over me as Anastasia’s body blocks the setting sun’s rays. A coolness washes over me, and I can’t help the smile that dances across my face. I shield my eyes with my hand and squint up at her.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her like a sap. I can’t see her face, but I swear I just saw the hint of a smile.
“You didn’t take your medication, did you?” A small hand reaches out to me, and I take it gratefully. I try to school my face into reasonable, but just the effort has me grimacing.
“I did, it just takes a few weeks to get the crazy to dampen.” I watch as May bounds down the grassy field towards the farmhouse that I used to occupy from morning to sunset every day. Anastasia’s cool hand stays in mine as she takes me down the grassy slope towards that home, and suddenly a morose sadness overcomes me. I won’t be seeing D’Salvatore in this house anymore.
“Tell me how you came to be living in a cabin on my father’s property.” It’s not a question, but a quiet demand. We’re almost to the house, and suddenly I don’t want to go inside. It makes me feel as if this is all too real. An overwhelming feeling of stress floods through me and I start to feel Tom surfacing.
“Do you mind if we stay on the porch?” I ask quickly with a bit of a bite to my tone. The dog is waiting patiently for the two humans to finally make it to the porch. She has a dour look in her eyes, and Anastasia opens up the creaking door to let the poor thing into the cool house. I feel the cool air wash over me as I sit down on the steps. I worded it like a request, but I’m not going into that house. If I do, Tom will surface.
“I’ll get us some iced tea. Uh, don’t go anywhere alright?” I’m not facing her, so I roll my eyes, and then I just nod. The scrapes on my back sting and I’m pretty sure there might be a thorn in my toe. I lean over and stare at the steps as another wave of dizziness clouds my vision. I’m not sure that caffeine and sugar will help me right now, but I’m not going to turn down something to wet my lips.
Anastasia returns with two tall glasses of iced tea with a slice of lemon floating in both. She hands me mine and sits down next to me on the porch. I would expect her to be a little afraid of me, but she’s acting as cordial as any host to a normal person. The tea is exceptionally cold and tooth achingly sweet, so I put it down on the board next to me and swallow a few times. Anastasia takes notice and laughs at me as she puts her hand up to cover her smile.
“I like it sweet.” She admits to me while she downs a quarter of her own glass. I grimace at the way she downs the sticky, syrupy drink and wonder if she’ll be bouncing to the moon and back soon. And I thought I was insane.
“Tell me what the pharmacist told you.” I’m sure that good old Henry Walt had something to say about Anastasia D’Salvatore picking up my medication. It was very well known that her father didn’t want her to know that I was here. She didn’t visit often, so it wasn’t hard to keep a secret.
“He told me that if you were going to kill me, you would have already. He also said it might take a while for the medication to start working again. And judging by how late the prescription was being refilled, you’ve been off your meds for about a month now. He also warned me that you can be unpredictable with your behavior and that just because you don’t want me dead, you’re hallucination might. So his reassurances were not very reassuring, but I made myself suck it up and come home anyway.” She downs the rest of her tea, and glances at mine. Is she a caffeine addict?
“I wouldn’t say Tom wants you dead, but that’s all I’m going to say on that matter.” I wait for further questioning, but Anastasia is staring out at the field and the long driveway.
“My father must have trusted you very much to allow you to stay on his property. He told me on the phone he had a farmhand that was working for him, but he never mentioned the fact that you’re certifiable. I want to know why.” I expected her to ask me if I actually killed him, but maybe she figures I wouldn’t answer honestly even if I had. I take another sip of the tea just to give myself time to gather my thoughts. How do I explain this one to her without giving secrets her father didn’t want her to know away?
“Your father and my mother were close. They were best friends, and my mother was my overseer for a while. That is until she got cancer. Long story short, before she died she asked your father if he would look out for me. Technically I am allowed to live on my own if I take my medication. The state has some pretty lenient rules for people like me because there’s just not enough room in the psych wards for everyone. And now that they’re privately run, people who cannot afford to go there just don’t. My mother let me go off my medication for six years so that I could come to terms with what was reality and what was not. It was working, but your father was nervous about letting me further that
self-education. So I went back on the medication because I needed a place to stay, and I respected your father.” That’s as close to the truth as she’s going to get from me.
I’m not going to tell her about the fact that my mother slept with her father on several occasions over the years, and D’Salvatore was like a father to me. I’m not sure how Anastasia would feel about not knowing about her father’s personal life when I do.
“So you were here when he died.” She’s running a finger along the rim of her empty glass thoughtfully as she glances at me. I see the question in her eyes, and feel guilt rip through me. What if I am the one who killed her father?
Suddenly anger shoots through me, and I know it’s not my own. Yet it’s still difficult to control, so I grab the glass of tea off the porch to have something to grip. Tom’s voice reverberates through my mind: I can help you! Trying to stuff him down is like trying to win at whack a mole.
“I don’t remember that.” I tell her honestly and immediately take another gulp of the tea. It’s warm now that it’s been sitting outside for such a prolonged period of time.
“What do you remember that led up to that night?” I quirk an eyebrow at the lack of emotion in her voice, but when I look at her face she’s like an open book. Anastasia is eager for answers, and I’m the closest person she can get a hold of that might have them.
You could take advantage of that. Tom whispers in the back of my mind.
I will not take advantage of D’Salvatore’s daughter in any way. I reiterate to him my earlier sentiments about his thoughts. Apparently my inner dialogue with Tom has not gone unmissed by Anastasia. She’s staring at me with a mix of shock and curiosity on her face.
“So even when you’re on your medication he still talks to you?” I feel like I’m in an interrogation or worse. Maybe she views me as some kind of science experiment, and this time it’s my own anger that has me gripping the glass.
“Yes, even when I’m on my medication he doesn’t totally leave. When I’m stressed out I hear him.” I hope she gets the point that this conversation is stressing me out. Yet she plows on relentlessly.
My Kind Of Crazy Page 3