Hadrian's Wall

by Felicia Jensen

  “Okay, Melissa!” Dr. Barringer closed the door behind him. “Call me Adam, if you like. Please sit down.”

  Although the chair was ultra-comfortable, I sat more rigidly than my brace compelled me to sit. I think I even forgot to breathe for a few seconds. I fixed my eyes on the glass top of his desk, facing the window, not daring to admire the beautiful view of the garden that he most likely had given the angle of the building. I knew I should not let down my guard given the relaxed atmosphere of his office.

  The doctor seemed to be reading everything that was on my mind because he gently smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Melissa. You have my word that whatever we talk about will not leave this room. I’m not here to make assessments or judgments. My only objective is to help you.”

  He leaned against a shelf filled with books, his arms crossed in front of him in a casual manner. His gesture drew my attention to the wall beside him where there were some framed diplomas. Smiling, he continued. “That is, if you will let me help you. Let me put it this way. If you will not label me an executioner, I will not label you crazy. How about that? Do we have a deal?”

  I had to laugh. He laughed too and when he did his brown eyes flashed strangely bright. Suddenly, I saw the picture of a boy in his face—someone strangely familiar, which evoked feelings of complicity and affection. I felt the need to be protective of the child whose image flashed across his face and quickly disappeared. Suddenly, I was not scared anymore, but my sense of reason continued to issue warnings. It was dangerous to let myself form impressions that only my emotions were recognizing.

  The doctor did not sit down right away; instead, he moved to a small table, carefully arranged with a plate of cookies, a small sugar bowl, cups, spoons, napkins, and two thermos carafes—one black, one red.

  “Would you like coffee?” he offered, showing me the black pot. “A cookie?”

  I refused both and watched as he poured coffee from the red pot.

  He finally sat down behind his desk, sipping his coffee for a few seconds before removing my examination reports from the file folder on the table.

  “I hear you’re having nightmares...” Dangerous theme. He noticed my embarrassment, but continued. “Dr. Talbot mentioned that you cannot remember anything about what happened between the time you left Dailey’s Crossing and your arrival in Hadrian’s Wall.”

  I nodded. He paused, waiting for some comment, I guess. I lowered my eyes, but said nothing. He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.

  “Did you have some flash of memory, anything that could give us a clue about what happened to you before you were hospitalized?”

  “A flash? No, but I have dreams.”

  “Yes, continue,” he encouraged me, seeming genuinely interested. The way he looked at me was so gentle that it disarmed me. I felt like the dam’s floodgates were almost ready to burst—that I was about to do exactly what my reason was screaming at me not to do.

  “I’ve always had strange dreams...as real and creative as they are scary, but lately, I’m having recurring dreams. Sometimes I see a beast with glowing eyes that walks among the trees. It seems to be an over-developed cat. Suddenly, something throws me on the floor, which leaves me temporarily blind and then someone takes me in his arms and puts me into an amazing car...and then I wake up.” My reason kept screaming and my heart seemed to leap into my mouth, but I ignored both and continued.

  “On other occasions, I dream I’m in the woods. There is one person there—a man wearing a robe that looks like the clothing of the ancient Romans. There is a wall on the horizon and a strange statue of a woman holding a strange symbol.” I swallowed hard.

  Dr. Barringer gave me a look that was difficult to interpret. His lips parted slightly and he raised his eyebrows, as if astonished. His expression was one of understanding; that is, he understood that I was crazy...it could only be that. My mouth went dry.

  He tapped the cap of his pen softly against the paper. “Did you have other dreams like these before?”

  Hmm...I expected him to ask me more details about what I’d just told him, but he didn’t. I knew I should stop trying to anticipate what he might or might not ask; I should at least give him a vote of confidence. After all, is that not what he asked of me?

  “Yes, I’ve had other weird dreams,” I responded. “Most of them involve a big, dark bird that haunts me. Well, not exactly a bird—it’s a thing that flies. It’s half man, half monster, with a pair of eyes that are like two scarlet slits.” I shuddered at the memory. “I always wake up when it’s just about to catch me...except that lately, I haven’t dreamed about it.”

  Silence. He said nothing. He seemed to meditate about what I’d said, as his fingers absentmindedly twirled his pen. “Did this happen only in New Hampshire?”

  “Yes...and I...I saw the creature even when I was awake.” I’m done! Now he’ll send me to an asylum.

  Intrigued, he looked at me. “How so?”

  I breathed deep and forcefully grasped the armrests of my chair. I had trouble forcing the words out.

  “When I was a child, I began to have what the government’s psychiatrist described as a “hallucinatory process.” I lived in an orphanage. It was one of the reasons why no couple wanted to adopt me. They thought I was sick in the head—a dangerous girl!” I grinned to hide the strong emotion that triggered confidence. “I saw things that weren’t there. The most common hallucination I had was the flying monster. Whenever he appeared, I fainted.”

  “Have you any idea when you began to see the winged monster?” he asked quietly.

  “I do. How could I forget?” I gave him a rueful smile. “I began to see him on the day that my mother abandoned me...the same day that my father died. Tragic, huh?”

  Of course, he did not answer, so I continued. “That’s why I lived in the orphanage. It was a Presbyterian orphanage.” I was beginning to babble, something that always happened when I was nervous. “The last director did not like the term ‘orphanage.’ She said it was a thing of centuries past. She preferred to call the place a ‘host home.’”

  I raised my eyebrow in anticipation, but the good doctor did not seem inclined to interrupt me, so I kept talking and talking and talking. I must admit I felt a great relief just because Dr. Barringer did not look at me with superiority or censorship as I feared might happen.

  “My experience with physicians and school counselors during the period in which I lived at the orphanage was not pleasant, but it taught me enough. I mean, some adults maybe wanted to listen to me, but most really didn’t. Those who were disposed to listen soon became distressed by not knowing how to help me. The orphanage council pushed me into a medical evaluation that declared me mentally incapable of learning and becoming socialized. The doctor distorted everything I had told him in confidence with a condescending tone and feigned understanding. Because of him, I received special tutoring, sanctioned by the government social workers, while other orphan children attended a normal school in Groveton. Because of him, I lost the chance to find an adoptive home.

  “That’s how I learned to hide my feelings and hallucinations. That’s also how I learned to shut me inside myself. I pushed people away so they couldn’t hurt me. Thanks to Reverend Merritt, another medical evaluation was done and it was decided that I was able to attend school. I was a teenager by the time I finally got to Groveton High School.

  “It was a difficult time for me. I wanted to be accepted by the other children, but I was ridiculed. No one in the regular class wanted anything to do with me. Because they were in possession of my medical records, the teachers treated me like a disabled student—limited and emotionally unstable. By the way, there were students lying in wait to humiliate me between classes or after school. I had always dreamed of living with other children and being treated as normal, but instead my school life was a living hell; so to avoid more problems, the school placed me in a class of trouble students.”

  What had Dr. Adam Barringer done in that first sess
ion that led me to open secret doors? Certainly, his brown eyes emanated friendliness and helped me feel more confident. Perhaps the fact that he was so young and relaxed is what it made it easier. He was different than other doctors I’d known. When he delved into my interests, my desires, and above all—my fears, he was able to do what no other in his profession had done or was interested in doing so far.

  * * *

  At our meetings, held twice weekly from then on, I don’t know why, but I started to feel a little lighter. Perhaps it was because I was sharing my anxieties with someone who apparently did not judge me or simply because he was there to hear me. The truth is that the frequency of my nightmares had decreased and they’d become less distressing.

  However, while the psychiatrist’s meetings afforded me comfort, the financial aspects of my stay in the hospital left me increasingly uneasy. I had at my disposal a “professional listener” that had to cost something, not to mention an extended hospital stay, the examinations, and 24-hour care. I did not want to know about the cost, especially because I had no health plan that would cover even part of the treatment.

  Right! My grades were mediocre and I was limited because of my mental problems, but I read a lot, I watched television, I used the Internet and did a lot of searching on it when the Internet was available at the orphanage. Therefore, I believed I knew how “the system” worked—the value of things for both poor and rich people, especially after I watched that movie with Denzel Washington—John Q. I tried talking about my worries with Dr. Talbot and Dr. Barringer, but they would not let me express my concerns. They emphasized that I only needed to worry about my recovery and I should forget about trying to figure it out.

  However, things were becoming complicated, particularly when I was told that I would be transferred to a new place—the ward on the second floor—because I needed a more tranquil environment, somewhere much less busy than where I was now.

  Since my admission to the hospital, I’d been housed in the “observation ward” where teams of nurses and residents circulated all the time. They were responsible for carrying out the treatment prescribed by supervising doctors. It would be nice to get away from all that excitement and above all, I would avoid the possibility of meeting Asia “No-Last-Name” again. On the other hand, I would lose the chance to see Adrian again. It made me feel sad.

  * * *

  When the nurse pushed my wheelchair into my new room, I was stunned. It had a private bathroom and all the “perqs” that I could have imagined. There was a mini-living room with a sofa and a coffee table, a folding table attached to the wall for preparing meals, a networked computer and cable television connected to a zillion channels. I had no idea how to use all the buttons on the remote control!

  Oh my! This is the private ward? How long I will I have to peel potatoes, wash dishes, wax floors, and clean toilets to pay for all this?

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, another event occurred, negatively impacting the progress I’d making. Upon returning to my room after my visit with Dr. Barringer, I found my old suitcase sitting on the couch. It was a shocking to come face-to-face with an object that connected me to the past. It made me shiver and sweat at the same time.

  I looked at without the courage to open it. The faded stickers pasted on it, depicting a time when I still had mother and father, failed to reassure me. Instead, my heart beat faster every moment that I hesitated and it seemed I could not get enough air into my lungs. I knew the exact moment when my crisis began. Although I tried breathing slowly to combat the dizziness, the room spun faster and faster.

  Beyond the window, I saw the familiar shadow—noisily beating its wings. He had not visited for me some time, but here he was. At that moment, Dr. Talbot entered the room. Whatever he wanted to say or do was forgotten when he realized what was going on. He remained calm as he pressed the emergency button hanging from a cord attached to the wall and then came to me and began to measure my pulse.

  Doesn’t he want to listen to my heart too?

  His words pounded in my ears. “Breathe, Melissa. You’ll be fine. He glanced at the door a second before it was flung open by two male nurses who entered pushing a gurney.

  I must have missed something because suddenly I realized I was already on the gurney with my face covered by an oxygen mask. I vaguely noticed the IV tubing held between the nurse’s fingers guiding the colorless liquid into my arm.

  The malaise worsened as my vision became blurred with tiny dots that seemed to increase in size as we entered the elevator where the gurney was brought to a halt facing a tall, narrow window. At the very moment before the elevator doors slid closed, my vision cleared and I saw the shadow watching me with its glowing eyes, its wings beating slowly.

  “Don’t let him kill me!” I screamed, desperately pointing at the window.

  All three men looked in the direction where I pointed. “There’s nothing out there, Melissa,” said Dr. Talbot in a neutral tone.

  I tried to jump from the gurney, but the nurses held me down. Dr. Talbot grabbed my free arm and applied something. The sting was quite painful. I could not stop shaking. The last coherent thought I had was about the idiocy of trying to jump from a gurney inside a cramped elevator. Actually, it was not a coherent thought at all.

  * * *

  “Bringing her things was a bad idea,” said a deep voice which sounded very familiar to me.

  It’s him!

  “Maybe, maybe not,” said another, more perfunctory voice. “The functioning of human mind is a fascinating mystery. We will have to deal with the events as they are emerging, but one thing is real—she cannot remain unknowing indefinitely. Even though we try to protect her, there will come a day when she’ll remember.”

  It took me a few seconds to recognize Dr. Barringer’s voice. Was I dreaming? I felt so groggy.

  “She’s not prepared for this.”

  “For what...facing her fears? Because that’s exactly what we’re talking about here, isn’t it?” Dr. Barringer’s tone was sarcastic. “I don’t agree with you. I think she must confront the truth to overcome her trauma. There are risks, of course, but we can no longer dodge them.”

  “Are you insinuating that I don’t want her to recover?” There was a slight change in the first man’s voice, denoting his annoyance.

  “No, I think you want the best of both worlds,” the other person acknowledged contritely, “but that’s impossible.”

  “The triggers of her hallucinations seem to be very complex.”

  I heard another voice interacting with them—perhaps it was Dr. Talbot. “I’m researching all the pathologies that can fit Melissa’s symptoms, but I cannot reach a fully satisfactory diagnosis. Knowing the facts, we can understand the source of the winged monster hallucination, but in neuro-vegetative terms, I need your opinion. Do you think we should...”

  “She’s awake,” interrupted the first man’s voice, with a trace of annoyance.

  How does he know? I made no noise.

  The doctors kept quiet. I heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the carpet and figured that they’d approached my bed. I could no longer postpone the inevitable, so with a loud sigh, I opened my eyes just to prove to myself that I was back in the private room.

  Adrian stood at the head of my bed, while the other two remained farther away. Even through the shaded lenses of his glasses, I could see that he looked worried. Unexpectedly, he grasped my wrist. His touch made my heart race. I felt surprised... and strangely attracted to him—at first because his hand was very cold, but then because an electric current seemed to pass from his cold hand into my arm, dominating my senses. That’s when I noticed that he was not wearing gloves. I don’t understand how a simple touch could produce such tingling, but I think that’s what was happening. I felt very strange.

  I think he realized what was happening or maybe the shock hit him the same way, because he quickly let me go; however, instead of leaving, he slowly turned towards me as if compelle
d by some unseen force. The expression on his face was one of extreme concentration. His eyes bored into me.

  A sudden tension took hold of my muscles, as if those hypnotic eyes were radiating imminent danger, for lack of a better word. I had the impression that danger was part of his nature.

  I’m definitely going crazy! My sighting of the winged creature proves it.

  “How do you feel now, Melissa Baker?” Adrian asked in a whisper, his lips just inches from my face. His breath tickled my cheek.

  Hearing his voice say my name was like a balm, soothing away all my bad feelings, like something I hadn’t understood had been put in the wrong place, but now everything was in the right place. Regardless of any hidden nature, the essence of that voice was benign—I knew could trust him.

  “Sick,” I answered.

  Suddenly, I felt tired. My whole body ached as if I’d been beaten; however, my ribs were surprisingly intact. I ran my hand across my forehead and noticed I was sweaty and stinky. Yuck! Why did Adrian always appear when I looked my worst? It’s not fair!

  Adrian frowned. Oh great! Overall, I was an aberration. I probably should be included in a scientific compendium so that my case could be presented at medical conferences around the country...perhaps around the world! I giggled. What a way to become famous!

  Although he was probably confused about my inappropriate humor, Adrian smiled. “What?” he asked, pulling my blanket up to my chin in a protective gesture.

  He had the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. For a moment I had trouble thinking coherently. What came next I could only attribute to my brain short-circuiting.