Those Who Follow

by Garza, Michelle

  “My old Seventy-six!” he teased and held out a small jewelry box before her eyes.

  “It’s beautiful,” she kissed his cheek and smirked. “I thought you had ran out on me with a younger woman!” she winked and marveled at the anniversary gift her loving husband had brought.

  “Not in this life, darling!” he answered with a yellow-toothed grin.

  CHAPTER ONE

  OCTOBER, 1983

  Annemarie stood with her palm against the windowpane to feel the cold transferring through it from the rain pelting the other side. It kept her mind from the searing pain building in her lower back. Her stomach tightened until it felt as if she bore a forty-pound stone beneath her skin. Her abdomen distended and rolled. She let her hand fall to feel the writhing children in her womb—his children.

  A hand gripped her shoulder. “Let’s walk for a while. It will help you to progress faster,” Nurse Johnson spoke.

  The tone of her voice was usually flat and emotion-less when dealing with the young woman, but tonight a warmth crept into it, though it didn’t quite sound completely genuine, like the voice of someone attempting to manipulate an unruly child.

  A boom of thunder sent the patient fumbling in confusion as if she was waiting for something, her eyes searching the corners of the half-lit room that were obscured by darkness. Nurse Johnson figured that she must have been terrified to know that she would soon be giving birth to twins. It made the old woman cringe. She had witnessed quite a few pregnancies, but Annemarie’s had been arduous. She knew its end would undoubtedly be agony.

  Annemarie shifted away from Nurse Johnson’s grasp and brought her only hand up to touch her forehead, “Did you make it safe?”

  “Of course, come along now.”

  Annemarie looked down at her left wrist. The faint feeling of a ghost limb longed to reach over and rub the bruises away from being restrained, yet her right arm had been taken nine months earlier. The storm outside rattled the walls and brought with it thoughts of the stranger and the place he had taken her—that church in the middle of nowhere.

  The cold concrete beneath the soles of her bare feet agitated the cramps that had begun to tighten in her calf muscles, turning her toes up painfully. The contractions were steadily growing in ferocity and getting closer together. They exited the sitting area and turned up the long hallway leading to her room. The tile was yellowed under the hanging bulbs illuminating her path to what she knew would be her deathbed. Annemarie felt more like a death row inmate walking that last stretch before getting strapped in to ride the lightning and, strangely, she welcomed it.

  She ran her hand through the hair at the side of her head. It had been shorn close to her scalp after she entered Stillwater, but now it was long enough to grip a handful of it. Her stomach hardened once more and the sting of her auburn hair coming free in her palm didn’t take an ounce of the pain away. She trembled violently and cried out, wondering if her gut would just burst open, spilling the unnatural children of the stranger out on that piss-colored flooring.

  Nurse Johnson walked a few steps ahead of Annemarie and when the young woman stopped, her face white and teeth clenched, her only hand tearing free hair from the abused scalp beneath, the Nurse quickly made her way to her station just a few yards away to call for Dr. Laurence. She spoke in a hushed voice, watching as her patient’s nightgown became wet with blood and broken water.

  “It’s time. Annemarie is ready.”

  ****

  “How did she manage to get out?” Dr. Laurence asked as he hurried up the hall, rolling his sleeves up.

  “It was time, she needed to walk. I took her for a few passes around the ward.” Nurse Johnson answered, her voice once more flat and monotone. “You’re lucky she carried them to term.”

  The old battle axe had already prepared herself for what had to be done, it wasn’t the first time she had taken part in such a thing, yet she knew that when she was well into the autumn years of her life, all the ghosts of these moments would be the only visitors to come to her bedside to make her recount the mistakes she had made willingly.

  Anne was laid on her bed, the mattress thin and unforgiving to her aching back. They feared that tying her down to the bed would only hinder the birthing process, so they left the young woman unrestrained.

  Dr. Laurence looked to his nurse, her face now filled with anxiety, something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. They just wanted it all done and behind them, to be rid of the peculiar woman and the children in her growing belly. Nurse Johnson had purposefully only alerted Dr. Laurence, leaving their colleagues to man the other floors so that he had no one there to question his decisions, no one there to show mercy to the girl that had been nothing but heartache since she had been placed in their care.

  ****

  Sweat beaded at the scar tissue on Annemarie’s forehead, the number eighty-two visible in the sterile white light above them. She cried out as Nurse Johnson pulled her upper body forward to cram pillows behind her back.

  “Hush,” She scolded the tormented young woman.

  Annemarie wanted to claw the old woman’s face off when she snapped at her, as if giving birth to two demon children was no big deal. That’s all they could be, just like the monster who had put them in her. She knew in her heart she should have killed them sooner, but the doctor had kept her restrained so she couldn’t hurt herself or them. Anne had tried a few times, by punching herself in the stomach, swallowing pieces of broken drywall from her window sill. She had even tried throwing herself down the stairwell, but the old woman had caught her and dragged her back by the hair of her head.

  Anne had been forced to watch herself change, watch them grow inside of her, beneath her skin like an infestation of some horrendous parasite. She was relieved when the doctor told her the children would go directly into the adoption program, yet she wondered if God would be angry with her for unleashing such vermin into the world—the spawn of the wanderer who drove the black car.

  Dr. Laurence wheeled in a cart laden with the necessities of delivering the children. Atop it sat two cardboard boxes lined with towels. He ran his hand up between Anne’s legs and nodded.

  “She’s almost there.”

  Annemarie gasped with each contraction, holding her breath against the terrible pain that tore through her insides. They’re trying to kill me… like he tried.

  An ammonia smell assaulted her nostrils, bringing bile up the back of her throat. Nurse Johnson gripped Anne’s hand in her calloused palm, coaching her to push the young ones free of the birth canal. Anne felt a tearing. Hot agony erupted between her legs.

  “It’s not safe here! He’s going to find me!” Annemarie screamed. “I can feel his eyes on me!”

  “NO ONE IS HERE, ANNEMARIE!” Nurse Johnson said. “PUSH! GET IT DONE!”

  Annemarie tried to buck and kick, yet her body would not heed her outburst.

  “I can see a head. PUSH!” Dr. Laurence said.

  She did as she was told. Her body was no longer her own. It hadn’t been for nine months. All Annemarie wanted was to free herself of the scourge that was now fighting to break free, hoping the feeling of the stranger’s hands on her would leave with his cursed seed. She pushed again, feeling something sliding out of her torn body.

  Doctor Laurence lifted the child, coated in blood and white mucous, it appeared foreign though its slick hair was the same color as her own. The doctor cleared its throat and it screamed… it deafened Anne, pierced her skull between her eyes like a quick stab of an ice pick. He placed the baby in one of the boxes and returned to tend to Anne as she struggled to recover from hearing the young one’s voice. It invaded her mind and left her feeling like her head would surely split in two.

  The second child came after only minutes of reprieve, exhausting her to the point of losing consciousness. Its cries felt like a hammer battering against her brain.

  Annemarie prayed that death would claim her then, and it didn’t take long to oblige her. Nurse Johnson whe
eled the crying babies from the room as Dr. Laurence stepped away, leaving Annemarie to bleed out in her bed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MAY 2014

  “I am a poor, wayfaring stranger,

  traveling through this world alone . . .”

  “You refuse to bathe?” he asked, looking down at the notepad in his lap. “Why?”

  “We’ve gone over this before. I can feel someone touching me,” Casey answered.

  “Touching you?”

  “Not sexually, if that’s what you’re askin’,” she said. “It’s like someone puttin’ their arms around me.”

  Dr. Greenburg halted her there to jot down her response before continuing.

  “You’ve told administration you hear voices. Do you still hear them after three weeks of being here?”

  “It’s not voices, it’s a single voice. And yes, I do.”

  “And what does it say, does it tell you to do things? Did it tell you to harm your brother?”

  “He’s not my blood brother, he reminds me of that all the time. She sings, sometimes she talks but it’s all garbled, I can’t understand it.”

  “What does she sing?” Dr. Greenburg asked. “Wayfaring Stranger.” Casey answered.

  “Does the voice ever tell you to hurt yourself?” He asked, his eyes falling on the scars on her wrists.

  “No, I’ve only started hearing it recently, I just told you I can’t understand what it’s sayin’. These were from a long time ago, when I was a teenager.” She pulled the sleeves of her shirt down to avert his gaze.

  “How do you know it’s a female voice if it’s indecipherable?” He asked, already knowing her response.

  “Because,” She paused, feeling the dread of being labeled insane swelling up in her stomach, “I see her sometimes too.”

  His pen went to work, feverishly dictating her answer.

  “In the mirror, she stands right behind me.”

  “Can she see you?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “She just stands behind you”

  Casey nodded. “And behind her is no longer my room.”

  “What do you see behind her?”

  “There’s an old church.”

  “What does she look like?”

  That question—she had been waiting for it.

  “She looks just like me, but she’s got a bleeding cut on her forehead.”

  “Could it be that it’s a past memory?” Dr. Greenburg asked. “Something you’ve repressed?”

  “I’ve never left Colorado, and she is standing in front of a church, in a desert. No, it’s not me, or anything from my life.”

  “So these visions of another woman—”

  “Another me…”

  “Another you?”

  “Yes.” Casey said.

  “What do you think is trying to be communicated to you through this other you?” He asked.

  “I have no idea. Sometimes I wish she would leave me alone, but I think she’s been here my whole life. Her eyes are filled with hurt and hopelessness… and I feel like… I don’t know…”

  “Like what?”

  “So hopeless too.” She answered honestly.

  “Well, we are here to help you with that.” He grinned.

  Something in her gut told her there was nothing he could do for her at all, but she nodded and returned his smile half-heartedly.

  ****

  John had told her she was crazy, that his mother had picked her up like a stray puppy from the adoption agency. Catherine had confirmed it on her death bed. Her whole life Casey had never felt connected to any of them... that she had never known herself at all. John hadn’t provoked her just to get her sent away. It was to keep her from his mother’s will. Casey sighed, if she had just stayed away from the funeral she wouldn’t have found herself in a mental institution. She only went to bid Catherine farewell, the old woman deserved it after raising Casey, but John’s mouth needed a good slap to silence his self-righteous ranting. All Casey could think was how she could be home, in her apartment alone… listening to her other-self sing.

  The burden of knowing that her blood mother had died in an institution was something that had gnawed at her daily. Paranoia had taken root in her, causing her the terrible anxiety of wondering if she was losing her mind. She had been checked into Whispering Creek Mental Health Facility after the police heard her begging her other-self to be quiet when they came to question her about “assaulting” her brother.

  Casey had admitted to seeing the woman in the mirror to another psychologist, but she had been passed on to Dr. Greenburg for more in-depth care. It was only her second session with him and already she didn’t like him. He seemed like a liar like all the rest, only looking to force handfuls of pills down her throat to keep her a functioning member of society, something she honestly never wanted to be.

  ****

  “I don’t want to be a medicated zombie,” she spoke.

  “Don’t look at it that way,” Javier said as he changed the lightbulb above her bed.

  “How should I look at it?” Casey asked.

  “Look at it like you’re on a journey and the reward is finding yourself and the happiness within,” he answered.

  “You don’t talk like the rest of these people,” Casey said.

  “I don’t think the same way as most of them either,” he answered.

  He descended his ladder and pushed the bed back into place. She sat watching him. He could see how exhausted she was.

  “You’re going to feel whole again,” he said.

  Casey smiled. Her eyes watered. “Thank you.”

  Javier left her there to finish his work, hoping his words were the truth.

  ****

  Night crawled down the walls of Whispering Creek, dragging storm clouds along with it. Lightning intermittently lit the thick windows, casting shadow puppets of the world beyond across the walls, the leafy hands of the trees taunting those who weren’t free enough to sway in the storm with them but instead were locked away within those claustrophobic brick walls.

  Casey waited, knowing the screams would rage through the night as the storm passed over. The other patients—those fighting their own imaginary demons—always flung themselves against their room doors during bad weather. No one dared to call them cells, not in front of the patients, though Casey knew that’s exactly what they were.

  Some of the patients were restrained with thick straps attached to their bedsides when they acted out. Casey tried to keep quiet, she didn’t want to be tied down again, but with each flash beyond her window a slow song began to form in her mind.

  ****

  “Storms and full moons always make them go crazy,” Alicia said.

  “Crazier,” Cameron corrected her, then snickered.

  “Smoke break’s nearly over. Are you ready to go back in?” she asked.

  “I guess. I’m never ready to go in but it pays the bills,” he answered in his mischievous way.

  “Only seven more hours,” she sighed, then flicked her cigarette out into the rain beyond the overhang.

  They passed through the exit door. He kicked the heavy wooden doorstop back out onto the sidewalk and pulled it closed. Cameron pushed his hand against the door to be sure it was secured. then turned back to Alicia. “Are you ready to rumble?”

  She rolled her eyes and left him staring after her. She made sure to walk with that certain strut she knew he liked to watch.

  “Let me know if you need a lift home!” he called after her.

  Alicia made her way to the top floor, hoping the ward nurse wouldn’t complain that she smelled like cigarettes again. The screams seemed to blend in now. They used to startle her, but after two years of working there, she had become accustomed to them. Often, when she was alone, the silence of her house was nearly too quiet, causing her ears to strain for the slightest little sounds.

  “Benchman is really going at it tonight,” the ward nurse, Jackie, said. “He just won�
��t stop… think it’s time for Cameron to come strap him in.”

  Alicia felt her gut knot. Martin Benchman was by far their most violent patient. She always felt nervous when her boyfriend was called up to restrain him.

  “Call for Javier too, just in case we need some extra muscle,” Jackie told Alicia who lifted a walkie-talkie to her mouth.

  ****

  Martin was in rare form, pacing his room, flipping the bed on its side with no signs of exerting himself. He wasn’t a large man—his form was the opposite in fact—but his strength was nearly insurmountable when in the midst of a delusional episode. He was also legally blind so it made their approach a little easier.

  Cameron unlocked the door and stepped in softly, trying not to appear like a threatening blob in Martin’s hazy vision. Javier followed behind him, readying himself for one of Martin’s attacks. Jackie waited, a syringe of sedative filled and ready.

  “Mr. Benchman, everything is alright,” Cameron spoke. “It’s me, Cameron, and Javier is with me.”

  “NO!” Martin screamed. “LEAVE ME BE!”

  “What’s troubling you, my friend?” Javier asked.