Letting Go

by Carrie Lange

  More serious infractions, such as talking back, sneaking food out of the cafeteria, or talking after lights out, got them ‘chair’. The wooden chairs sat beside the red squares. Chair was an all-day affair. They ate in chair, did their school work in chair, stared at the wall in chair, fell asleep in chair.

  Boredom. Discomfort. Hatred as bright and red as the squares taped to the floor.

  The most serious crimes, such as spitting, screaming, hitting, eating too little, crying too much, led to the one punishment they all dreaded the most.

  ‘Room’.

  The quiet room was more of a cell, than a room. Small. Grey. Cold. Devoid of all but a dirty bare mattress on the floor in one corner and a portable toilet in another. There were no windows to the outside, but there was one small window in the door. It was up too high for Anne to see out, although her jailors could see in.

  She spent days at a time in room, the flickering fluorescent light seared into her eyes, even when they were closed.

  Anne learned early on why it was called the quiet room. The first time she went in there, for refusing to eat, she was not quiet at all. They rolled in a gurney and strapped her down with padded, leather restraints on her ankles and wrists. Before they strapped her down, they made her take her clothes off and put on a hospital gown and a diaper.

  After that, Anne was always very quiet in the quiet room.

  It was during her time spent in room that her long forgotten friend returned to her. The friend that no one else saw when she was a child. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, smiling at her. Heard him whispering in the hum of the fluorescent lighting overhead, beckoning to her.

  Perhaps she was crazy, after all.

  Isolation. Hallucination. Hatred as directionless as the voice that whispered to her.

  Square. Chair. Room. Broken punishments for broken children.

  There was only one door that the children could open. It led outside to ‘the cage’. On the third floor, the children had no access to the ground for recreation. They had a small, concrete roof top surrounded by a tall fence that curved inward at the top so they couldn’t climb over.

  It was the most desolate place Anne had ever been to. More so even, than the barren quiet room, because this was their only freedom, their place to be happy. And to dream of escape.

  Anne attempted it once. As she was led past the elevator, someone stepped out. Just as the doors were closing, she dashed in. The doors closed with a shudder and Anne let out a whoop. Where she would go did not matter. She was free. She pushed the round button labeled ‘L’, but nothing happened. She slammed her finger into the L over and over.

  Nothing.

  The door opened and the irritated face of her jailor scowled at her. Then he smiled and raised his hand. “You need a key to make it work, girlie.”

  The keys jingled as he shook them, a merry, joyful sound which gnashed and bit into her wholly joyless senses.

  Five days in room. Flickering lights. Furtive whispering. Silence. Hatred which scorched her soul deeper than the flickering light scorched her eyes.

  After five days, a shower. The water in the shower room had only one temperature. Hot. Anne learned to lather up as soon as the water came on, icy as it was. Then try desperately to rinse off before the water heated up. In the end, showering became a cat and mouse game of rinse as much soap off as possible before her skin burned. Back off. Cool down. Go in again for another attempt. Skin was always red and tender after shower time.

  Ten months Anne spent at Larue Carter. She was not healed, but she was tamed.

  When they released her, she was afraid.

  Afraid of the sky and the grass and all the open space that she found around her.

  And when she realized that what she wanted more than anything else in the world was to go back to Larue Carter, she cried. But not in front of anyone who could see her. And not in front of her invisible friend, because he had left her once again.

  She hardened her heart, hung her head down, and began trudging. Her march. And slowly, over time, the memory of the place faded to near non-existence.

  Until the day she visited Dan in the hospital psychiatric ward. The memories came back with such force, that she felt them in her body. The fear, the insanity, the isolation and hatred. Panic tore through her with animalistic power. She could only control the raw instinct to run, through sheer force of will.

  When she left the ward, her trembling body gave out, and she slumped heavily on the floor in the bathroom of the hospital lobby.

  She would talk to Dan when he got out. Apologize and tell him her story. She would pour her heart out to him, and he to her. Finally, someone would understand. Together, they would both heal.

  Chapter 30

  Dan and Tar had been listening as Anne told Sean her story. It looked as if something had finally impressed Tar. “Did she tell you she had been in a mental institution?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I didn’t really believe her.”

  “Why not?”

  Dan sighed and shrugged. “Frankly, it just seemed kind of…I don’t know…unbelievable. I thought maybe she was just trying to ‘one up’ me. God, I was such an idiot.”

  Anne had been so agitated, visiting him on the psych ward. She could barely sit still in her seat, her eyes flitting around the room. He had been devastated when she told him she wouldn’t be visiting him. Why is she trying to make this about her somehow?

  She came and got him a week later when they released him. She apologized for her behavior, and told him briefly about her attempted suicide and incarceration. “You know, Dan, you can talk to me. I’ve been there. I understand.”

  “It’s not like that,” he had said flippantly. “I didn’t want to die. I told you, I don’t know what happened. I just snapped.”

  Never able to admit it, not even to himself. He had wanted to die. And no, he had not been glad to be alive. He was mad as hell at himself for failing to get the job done.

  She couldn’t possibly understand. He was supposed to be the strong one. Hadn’t he been the one who had rescued her? Was he now supposed to just reveal himself as the weak minded, fragile thing that he was?

  Dan wished he had believed her. Wished he had listened to her. Wished it had been him she poured her heart out to, and not this other man, who clearly loved her. Maybe Sean loved her more than Dan had. Or perhaps it was just that Sean loved her better.

  And besides, wasn’t it really the other way around that first night? Who had really rescued who? If it hadn’t been for Anne, taking a chance on some fat guy’s wine, he would have been dead long before.

  Anne had saved him once, and she had tried to pour her heart out to him, but he had made it all about himself. What a self-centered little shit I was.

  Even now, Dan realized, he was a selfish bastard. So wrapped up in his own little tragedy that he never noticed the needs of others.

  He looked over at Tar, once again realizing about how very little he knew of him. Why was Tar here? Did he have his own personal story of tragedy? “Tar...what about you?”

  Tar stood by the bookshelf, studying it closely. Volumes of hardbound books filled the bottom two shelves, ‘Dungeons & Dragons’ printed on them in shiny silver and gold embossed foil. On the top shelves were dozens of painted, miniature metal figures of monsters, heroes, and a few dragons.

  Tar’s head leaned to one side, and he had a quizzical look on his face, as if he were just about to figure something out that had been puzzling him.

  Dan smiled, and walked over to him, his question momentarily forgotten.

  Tar pointed to the bookshelf. “A game?”

  “Yes.”

  Tar picked up a small, orc-ish looking figure and studied it. “Are people who play this game, more likely to commit suicide?”

  “No, Tar. It’s just a dumb stereotype they’ve been given, I’m not even sure why. I guess because a lot of them are … different.”

/>   “Did you play this game?”

  “No.” Dan chuckled. “But Anne did.”

  Tar looked at her. She had a large, round sucker in her mouth which stained her lips bright red, and she had her face pressed up against the window air conditioner. Eyes closed, the air flowed over her face and swept her long hair back in a yellow flurry.

  ~~~~~

  Every subtle sensation that Anne’s skin perceived was a tingling effervescence of euphoria. The cool air rushing past her face was a silky caress that cascaded over her body. Her mouth was dry and her jaw sore. Sean told her to suck on the candy, and not to clench her jaw, but one by one she cracked the suckers he gave her until she thought her teeth would crack as well.

  Sean laughed and ran his fingers lightly down her forearm, sending a stream of tiny, tickling shivers racing up her spine. “Now you know why it’s called Ecstasy, eh? It takes some getting used to. Stop biting down so hard.”

  He took her by the hand, and led her over to the couch. “Anne...”

  He had a pained look on his face, and seemed to be struggling for words, which was not like the Sean she knew. “What is it, Sean?”

  “Anne. I just want to tell you…” He shook his head, perhaps dismissing an unwanted thought. “I just want to tell you I’m sorry that I can’t do anything for you. And I’m sorry you have to go through this. But no matter what, I’ll be here for you, okay?”

  He had to go to work in the morning, but Ecstasy had a short half-life, and left no hang over. Nevertheless, he had to get some sleep. He let her have his bed, while he took the couch.

  “You’re not sleeping with your gun anymore?” she asked casually, as he tucked her under the covers like a small child. She was looking at the bedside table where he had always kept his gun, fully loaded.

  Sean wrinkled his brow, and looked at her like she was crazy. “Pshhh. Yeah, right.” He leaned over and pulled the sleek black pistol from under the bed.

  Sean held it up, and it was briefly silhouetted against the light from the lamp behind him. An amber halo surrounded it, and she almost thought she heard a choir of angels softly in the background “Ahhhhh”.

  It was an instant, perfect moment. A snap shot of understanding. ‘The Answer’ on a flash card, suddenly before her, and then disappearing just as suddenly back under the bed.

  Anne smiled.

  Sean gave her another swig of orange juice laced with GHB to help her get to sleep, then turned the light off and closed the door.

  Chapter 31

  Dan saw the gun. Then he saw Anne smile. “Oh crap.”

  Rale had been all but forgotten that night, but he would not leave her. He stepped forward now and sat next to her on the bed, for he had seen that flash card as well.

  “Tar!” Dan shouted.

  “I’m standing right here, you don’t need to shout.”

  “Did you see that?”

  “See what? The gun?”

  Hysteria rose within Dan and he flung his hands toward the bed. “Yes! The gun!”

  Tar held his hands out and shrugged. “I saw it. So? What about it?”

  “Well…I mean…what are we gonna do about it?”

  Tar shook his head, his hands still up in the air. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Rale looked at them curiously.

  Dan’s fear and anger boiled up within him, his protective instincts for her kicking into high gear. He glared at Rale with what he hoped was bone chilling intimidation. Leave her alone!”

  Rale only looked at him. His eyes had a certain kind of quiet passion that overwhelmed Dan. It burned at something deep inside and hurt him. Finally, Dan looked away.

  Tar put a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Relax. He can’t do anything to her. He can’t pick up that gun any more than you can.”

  Dan twisted away from Tar, brushing his hand off his shoulder. “But you don’t know that! He’s more powerful than either of us! She can see him! She can talk to him! How can he do that, Tar? How can he be more powerful than you?”

  “Calm down––” Tar tried to say, but Dan was unstoppable now.

  He took a step toward Rale. “Get away from her, damn you! Leave her alone!”

  Rale stood up, and looked so pointedly at Dan that he flinched. Rale’s eyes smoldered with such heat, that Dan wilted. This spirit was the embodiment of pain and suffering, and now Dan had his full and undivided attention.

  Dan tried to tear his eyes away, tried to step back, but he was paralyzed. Fear coursed through his veins, icy quicksilver raising goose bumps along the back of his neck and arms.

  The sensation of breathing had been fading away from him over the past weeks. Now, as Rale moved closer to him, he felt like he was suffocating. Something crushed him, causing his head to bow and his shoulders to hunch - the weight of his fear.

  Rale stood beside him.

  My God, Dan thought, is he going to touch me?

  Rale’s hand reached out.

  Dan knew Rale couldn’t kill him. Maybe he could do something worse. This is it. Can he take my soul? Does he destroy souls?

  That might be best. Maybe Rale would consume his soul, destroy what remained of him.

  A feeling of relief and peace eased through Dan’s spirit. Yes, he could give himself to Rale. Rale would take it all away. Dan closed his eyes and waited.

  “Damn it!” Tar’s shout jarred Dan out of his stupor.

  He opened his eyes. Tar held Rale’s wrist, Rale’s fingers inches away from Dan’s face. Tar glared at Dan. “Why do you always give up so easily?” Tar turned to Rale and released his wrist. “What are you doing here, Rale?”

  Rale smiled at Tar, but there was no mirth in his smile, only sadness.

  “My old friend…Tar.” Rale said the name, as if it were an accusation and Dan saw a flicker of movement around the muscles of Tar’s eyes. “I would ask the same of you. What are you doing here? Still? Don’t you ever grow tired of these pathetic souls?”

  “Do you grow tired of them...old...friend.” Tar replied softly.

  Rale dropped his voice to a whisper. “Yes, Tar, I do grow tired. I want to leave.” Their eyes were locked to each other.

  Tar’s voice grew strong and commanding. “There is nothing here for you.”

  Rale closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head slightly. “Oh, you are quite mistaken. This one still has much of the world in him. I can feel a heart beating and lungs breathing. And I can feel the sting of tears in his eyes.”

  He turned back to Dan again and slowly began to circle him. Dan closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to remain calm. But Rale’s shadow touched Dan’s spirit. As Rale moved and whispered to him, Dan remembered the first time he had seen the darkness, circling Anne, testing for weaknesses. Is that what Rale was doing now? Searching for a weakness?

  Rale’s voice was soothing. It enchanted him. “I know what you’re feeling, Dan. You feel a heavy weight on your chest. Your heart is racing, it’s pounding. You can’t breathe, but all you’re doing is breathing. You are helpless. You can help neither yourself, nor her. You threw your life away. For what? Oblivion? But there is no oblivion, is there? Now you know the truth - there is no escape.”

  Rale stopped in front of Dan. “What do you want from me?”

  Dan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can you take me away from all of this?”

  And then Dan saw something he did not expect.

  He saw compassion in Rale’s eyes.

  Rale reached out and almost touched Dan’s face. But he stopped and glanced over at Tar.

  Tar shook his head ever so slightly.

  Dan saw the muscles of his jaw clench,

  his lips tighten,

  an unspoken command given.

  Rale sighed, and looked back at Dan, his eyes momentarily hollow. “I think Tar would miss you,” he said, lowering his hand.

  Rale turned and started walking away.

  “Wait!” Dan shouted.

  Rale turned back, a bemused
look on his face. “Wait? What would you have me wait for?”

  “Were you with me when I was dying?”

  “No, I wasn’t with you. Do I seem familiar to you? Perhaps you think my hand was on that gun alongside your own?”

  Dan had thought about that moment many times. He reached up and ran his hand down his cheek, remembering the silky caress on his face and the voice whispering in his ear.

  “Someone was there with me…I heard a voice. It told me to let go.”

  Rale nodded. “I too, have heard that voice. But only in my dreams.”

  Chapter 32

  Rale had not always been as he was now. He had been a man once, and not a particularly bad man either. He was a man who did the best he could, but sometimes that’s not enough.

  Yes, he had felt things like joy and even love, but he also caused great pain and suffering.

  And death.

  Rale never set out to hurt anyone, but sometimes, that’s not enough either.

  After his own death, Rale searched for forgiveness. What he found was a barrier, like a stone wall, placed around him. Upon this barrier, he flung his spirit until there was almost nothing left except the sin that would not be forgiven.

  Some spirits, like Tar, don’t want to move on. They hold onto something, and won’t let go.

  Other spirits, like Rale, want to move on but something holds onto them and won’t let go.

  Despair, Tar named him, and Despair he was. It consumed him and darkened his spirit until finally he lost hope of ever being free of that mortal abode.

  Sometimes he dreamed of white shores and a voice that called his name, his real name. That voice told him to let go, to stop searching for the forgiveness which he longed for. The white shores gleamed in the distance, and the light that reached him seared away his shadows and sins.

  But he was a creature of darkness now and would recoil from the light.

  The shackles that bound Rale were forged in the fires of his sin. The cruel master of his guilt hammered it around Rale’s spirit and held fast to the chain.

  Apart from both the pure energy of Creation, and the Earth which is full of the energy of life, Rale gravitated toward that which reflected the nature of his spirit.