Crying hysterically, Cindy ran her fingers through Jennifer’s wet, sticky hair. She pushed it back out of her face, and placed her fingers on her neck, feeling for a pulse. Weak, but there. She reached for the phone to dial 911.
***
It all happened so fast. Cindy tried convincing herself she wasn’t the cause of Jennifer’s suicide attempt. What had she said to her this morning? What clue did she miss? She tried to stay calm, but she couldn’t help pacing back and forth across the black and white tile of the hospital waiting room. Where was the doctor? Horrible thoughts ran through her mind. Why did she do this? she asked herself over and over.
She knew Jennifer was having a rough time from the loss of her friends, but the thought never occurred to her that she might try to take her own life. Praying she’d pull through the surgery, she took a seat in the waiting area. She looked at the clock every few minutes. The hour was quickly ticking away. Watching the doors for Steve to come rushing through at any moment, she jumped out of her chair, peering out the window to the parking lot. As she started panicking, he came storming in.
“What happened? Oh my God, Cindy, what happened?” Steve looked a mess, his carefully groomed hair tousled, his clothes disheveled.
He gripped Cindy’s arms as she stood in front of him. They locked eyes.
Trying to move her lips, she mumbled, “Sh…Sh…she cut her wrists.”
Steve’s face went pale. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair for the umpteenth time since the phone rang thirty minutes ago. Lifting his head to look at her, he mumbled, “They only told me on the phone she'd made a suicide attempt. How bad was she when you found her?”
“Bad, Steve. She might die.”
Steve stumbled and lost his balance. He found the nearest seat by the swinging doors, and held his weeping face in his trembling hands. “This is unreal, Cindy. I go to work for two freakin’ hours, and I get a disturbing phone call telling me my daughter tried to kill herself. When is this shit ever going to end? When is she ever going to be normal and stop this bullshit?”
Embarrassed he'd raised his voice for the entire floor to hear, Cindy placed her hand over his mouth and tried calming him.
“Do you have to swear with every breath you take? Do you think I like this any better than you do? No, I don't, but I have to deal with it day in and day out while you’re off at work. She's sick. Get it through your thick skull. This is serious, and despite what you think, it’s not going away overnight.”
Four hours later, the heavy doors swung open as the doctor swept into the room dressed head to toe in green surgical scrubs. They jumped to their feet when the doctor said, “Mr. and Mrs. Cravens? I’m Dr. Richards.” He held out his hand.
They stood next to each other with worry aging them by the minute. Together they chimed, “Yes, we are.”
Flipping through Jennifer's chart, he asked, “Can we sit down, please?”
“Yes, of course,” Steve replied.
“Before I say anything about the surgery, I want to ask if you have any idea why she would do this. What I’m trying to get at, and please, I’m not blaming you, but her cuts were deep and, in fact, it looked as if a pro did this. We had to restore the tendon structure but the damage was extensive. She may never have full use of either hand, and she'll need physical therapy for months,” he explained. “My main concern right now is getting Jennifer the help she needs. This hospital has a wonderful rehab program for suicidal teenagers.”
Cindy wrung her hands over the diagnosis. They both needed to understand Jennifer better, but she never allowed them into her private life. How would they know when she needed help? Cindy wondered again what clues she overlooked. “I don’t know why Jennifer would want to cut her wrists other than being the only one of her friends to survive the incident.”
The doctor’s face paled. “What incident would that be?”
Cindy glanced over at her husband. She wasn’t sure what to say.
Steve's voice cracked. “Y-you might have seen it on the news a few weeks back. She was one of the six girls who went missing on Halloween night. We found her four days later in a coma. We believe Jennifer is the sole survivor.”
Dr. Richards started writing in Jennifer’s chart. He didn’t look too pleased with what Steve had to say. “It's luck you found her when you did. A few more minutes and she wouldn't have made it. She's in stable but serious condition. She'll live.”
Cindy gasped. What caused her to race up those stairs with her heart in her throat? The voice in my ear, or was it my paranoia speaking? Someone or something spoke to me and told me to check on her. And now that I think about it, it sounded like Claire's voice. Impossible, she thought. Claire's dead.
“Please understand that your daughter has a serious illness. If I had to guess, I would say she tried this foolish act because of Survivor's Guilt,” the doctor said. “It's a common condition among survivors of trauma. I'm not a psychiatrist, but this little girl needs medication and psychotherapy to help with her depression. I recommend a minimum of 90 days commitment on the third floor.”
Cindy glanced over at Steve with a scowl on his face. He didn't appear confident in the doctor's diagnosis at all. He looked like death warmed over.
“The psych ward? Dr. Richards, with all due respect, Jennifer has amnesia, not depression. I don’t want my seventeen-year-old daughter drugged in some nut house because you think she has a mental defect. It’s absurd,” Steve, stated matter-of-factly. He exploded out of his chair, waving his arms. Dr. Richards recoiled briefly, before standing as well in defense. “That’s the problem with you doctors, you’re always ready to treat everything with dope. ‘You got a problem, I got a pill.’ Is that it Doctor? How do I know the drugs they put her on in the hospital didn't cause this? I know what’s wrong with my daughter, sir, and I think I’m able to handle her.”
Cindy slid down in the seat, covering her face with her hands. She wanted to hide in a hole. Steve had no right to this irrational outburst. The doctor was only trying to help.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Cravens. Please, give it some thought before you deny your daughter medical treatment,” he said. “There are alternative treatments available. Without intervention, these neglected suicidal kids wind up succeeding in taking their life.”
“I don't neglect my daughter, Dr. Richards. She has everything she needs.”
Steve became hysterical. Cindy glared at both of the men standing in front of her, puzzled and scared all at once. Her brow furrowed as she thought about her daughter dying. Before she’d let that happen, she’d make sure Jennifer received the care she needed, regardless of Steve.
“Dr. Richards,” Cindy interrupted, stepping between them. “You have my word. Jennifer will go through counseling before we take her home,” she said and then glared over at her husband. “She's already on antidepressants. Obviously, it’s not the answer. We'll not neglect our child.”
Steve didn’t take her rebellion lightly. He whirled and faced the wall, arms crossed, lips held in a tight line.
The doctor shook her hand, nodded at Steve's back, and vanished into the bowels of the surgical suite. She grabbed Steve's arm to point out the nurse wanting to show them the way to the recovery room. As they walked through the corridor, Cindy tried holding Steve’s hand, but he yanked away, refusing her comfort. The anger on his face was obvious. She knew he’d fight to the end to keep his daughter out of a mental hospital. Cindy was beginning to believe that's where she belonged.
***
Jennifer lay sedated with thick white bandages clear to her elbows. She resembled Snow-White awaiting her prince's kiss, except for the wires and tubes keeping her alive. They sat on a sofa in Jennifer's semi-private room, a shroud of curtains cutting the room in half. Feeling a false sense of privacy, Cindy turned to her husband.
“Steve, wake up and smell the coffee. She’s mentally ill and we’ve got to stop ignoring this and do something about it before it’s too late—before s
he kills herself.”
Steve broke down and sobbed. He laid his head on his wife’s shoulder. “You’re right. She can't survive without professional help. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said wiping the tears from his eyes. “It's so embarrassing to have a daughter in a mental hospital. What will my boss think?”
It dawned on Cindy; her husband wasn’t strong enough emotionally to withstand public humiliation. As a prominent businessperson image was everything to him. It was bad enough the day the neighbors turned on Jennifer; now she'd look like some crazy serial killer they put away. It was too much for Steve to bear, Cindy realized.
Now with her husband and daughter enfeebled, Cindy had to figure out how to fix this on her own. Typical, she thought. I somehow manage to have to do everything. Seeing Jennifer hooked to the monitor with IV's in each arm and a tube down her throat was so troubling, so disturbing; her mind felt like Jello. And to think she did this right under Cindy's nose. Leaning into Steve, Cindy buried her face into his neck. She couldn’t bear to look at her beloved daughter this way.
They lingered over Jennifer's bedside until exhaustion sent them home. Steve reached down, grabbed a hold of Jennifer's hand, and brushed it against his face. He whispered how much he loved her, how sorry he was, and that he’d be there for her. He promised her they'd be back soon. Bending down close to Jennifer’s face, he gave her a gentle peck on her cheek. Cindy's eyes brimmed with tears at her husband's tender display.
“We may even sell the house and move,” Steve said with a wink to his wife.
Cindy smiled inwardly at his try at humor. It warmed her heart. With his arm around her, they walked out of the room toward the parking garage.
***
Claire settled to the ground in front of the iron gates of the cemetery. She rattled the bars of the rusted gates, checking to see if they'd magically open for her. They didn't. The padlock secured thick chains weaving in and out through the bars, but it wasn't the chains excluding her from the cemetery. She couldn't fly over or through the strength of the force field keeping her out. It shimmered in the early morning sunlight, like a giant bubble stretching to the horizon.
Trapped in the real world, she had to find a way in to Maddie Ann’s domain. Her blood began to boil. Why couldn't she let go of it? What happened was history. She needed to move forward and try to accept her current existence. There was no tomorrow, and no yesterday. Only today. With one last symbolic shake of the iron gates, she slid down slowly, pressing her back against the bars and staring out toward the dirt road.
Claire needed to think. It had been a close call with Jennifer this morning. If she hadn't managed to whisper in Cindy's ear, Jennifer would be dead now and her soul the property of those black creatures. Damn that Maddie Ann and her mind control. She knew Jennifer, and Jennifer would never kill herself if not for Maddie Ann's influence. Relieved she was able to intervene and Jennifer was safely in the hospital where she couldn't hurt herself again, her thoughts turned to her own existence. What should she do now?
She decided to focus on finding her grandpa and rescuing him. He was in there somewhere, trying to stay clear of the black souls, and that consumed her with worry. After warnings of not communicating with her parents, she went against the rules and found herself locked out. She fought her friend and lost her life as well as all hope of getting back there. Did Grandpa watch her body die? Was she buried in there now, in one of those foul graves? Do ghosts even bury their dead, or was she lying in the wrecked old house, rotting away? It was too much to ponder. She wasn't looking forward to a confrontation with her grandpa. She didn't know how she'd explain what she did—and why. Yet a part of her longed to see him again, feel his loving arms around her. He's all she had left.
***
White bandages snuggled Jennifer’s wrists like evening gloves, as she lay there immobilized by the soft restraints at her arms and ankles. She dozed, half sedated with pain medication. Someone coughed and her eyes popped open, fully alert. She turned her head toward the source of the noise, noticing a child in a bed to the left of her. She couldn’t have been any older than seven or eight and cute as a button. Her cinnamon-colored hair had beautiful blonde highlights and the freckles across her nose reminded her of Claire when they were that age.
“Hello, my name is Jennifer. What’s yours?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the tube they'd removed thirty minutes ago.
The child ducked her eyes and smiled back at her, managing to say, “My name is Amanda, but my friends call me Mandy.”
Jennifer loved children. She wanted to have dozens of her own someday. Glad to have the distraction, Jennifer begged to know all about Mandy and where she was from. Jennifer couldn't see anything physically wrong with the child, and wondered what kept her in bed. “So, why are you in the hospital?” Jennifer asked, hoping she wasn't being too nosy.
“I remember riding with my mommy, and then suddenly our car was hanging upside down. I bumped my head and the doctor said I have to have a kitty take pictures of my brain.”
Jennifer should leave well enough alone, but she giggled at the child's vernacular. “You mean you have to have a CAT scan? I’m sorry to hear that, but you know what, I've had them, and they don't hurt. It's a big noisy machine you lie down in.”
“Can you find my mommy?” Mandy asked. “I don’t know where she is and my daddy keeps telling me she is perfect now but she had to go live with Grandma in Heaven.”
“I’m sure your mommy is here somewhere, darlin'.”
By the puzzled look on the little girl’s face, she didn’t understand what Jennifer meant.
“If she is here, why doesn’t she want to see me, then? I look and look for her, but I can’t see her. I want to go to this Heaven place and get her.”
Trying to explain death was not an easy task for Jennifer, despite her recent experience with the subject matter. She didn’t know how to put it in a way Amanda would understand, but it was too late to back out now.
“Well, honey, sometimes people have to go live in a different place. We can’t see them even though we want to, but they are there no matter what. For instance, your mommy lives in you, your memories, and in your heart. When you laugh, she is laughing with you. And when you’re sad, she is sad too.”
Jennifer needed to listen to her own advice. Lying back against her pillow, Mandy looked as though she was in deep thought.
“So, you mean I won’t see my mommy again, but only in my thoughts?”
“It's like electricity, dear. We can't see it, but we know it's there. She can hear you and see you, but the veil keeps you from seeing her. Talk to her, honey. And talk to your daddy, too. You'll feel better.”
Jennifer had bitten off more than she could chew. It wasn’t easy understanding why your loved ones go away forever, and trying to explain to someone so young was even harder. She turned the conversation around to more upbeat topics.
“So what do you think of the new rollercoaster they put in the park? Have you ridden it yet?”
It’d been awhile since, Jennifer spent time with little kids, and finding subjects to talk about with Mandy was harder than she thought. She figured she liked playing with dolls like she did at her age, so they chatted about the newest Barbie Malibu mansion, creating elaborate schemes Barbie might find herself in. Being able to talk to Mandy rekindled the memories she had with her friends when they were eight and innocent.
***
Cindy hurried to get back to the hospital to check on Jennifer’s progress. Steve scrambled around throwing a change of clothes and some toiletries in a bag for them to take to the hospital. As Cindy opened the door to the garage to load the car, she heard the front doorbell ring. She turned and raced across the kitchen, calling “Hold on, I’m coming.”
Barb stood in the doorway looking half-demented. Not pleased at all that she had the nerve to show her face here, Cindy stepped outside on the porch, unwilling to invite her into their home after the way she treated Jennifer. Knowing wh
at happened the last time she’d seen her, Cindy wasn’t sure what went unsaid.
“I’m not here to place blame or to start an argument, but something happened you need to know about,” Barb said, and the smell of her boozy breath was enough to knock Cindy back a step.
Whatever it was, Cindy knew it wasn’t important enough to keep her daughter waiting. “Look, Barbara, we were about to leave, and I don’t have time to discuss anything with you, so if you don’t mind, I wish you’d leave.”
Turning away from her, she started back inside the house when a hand grabbed her by the arm. By the urgency in her voice, it was obvious the woman had lost her mind.
“Cindy, please wait—I know this is going to sound crazy, but the other day…Claire came to me and Mike.”
Appalled at her comment, Cindy lashed out and slapped Barb's face—hard. “Is this a sick joke, you drunken old sot? You are wasting my time. My daughter is lying near death in a hospital, and you tell me Claire came home?” She wasn’t buying any of it. She knew Barb had a tendency of lying just to attract someone’s attention, unlike her sweet daughter.
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