A chat window pops up.
John: That happen often? Mom hitting you?
Madison: No. She was really upset. Thought I was going to join your Church.
John: That's really not okay.
Madison: I'm fine. Most of the time Mom just ignores me.
John: Sounds lonely.
Madison: It's not so bad. Thanks for caring, but I think it's all good.
John: Okay, well, you know where to find me.
Madison: I've gotta get back to work.
John: Talk to you later. Love you.
He logs off before I can agonize about saying it back.
That evening, when Mom comes in from the shed, she doesn't look at me. Just puts her cup in the sink and starts for her room.
I'm seated at the kitchen table. “Mom,” I say, “I told Carson I wasn't interested.”
“Fine.”
“So can we talk?”
She doesn't even glance at me. “There's nothing to talk about. I'm tired. I've had a busy day.” She goes into her bedroom, shuts the door, and then I hear the metallic click of her pressing in the lock.
Things are back to normal.
As I walk home from work on Saturday, I see Alex filling up his sedan at Jacksons. He doesn't even look up at first, until I slow down and stop. When he does look up, he gives me his usual, neutral, unblinking stare.
“Psycho can be short for psychopath or psychotic,” I say. Then I shut my mouth. Random, I think. Be quiet, Madison.
One blink, and no expression change.
“So is your mom...”
“She's psychotic.”
“Oh.”
“She's a schizophrenic.”
“So, does she, like, hallucinate?”
“Yeah.”
I nod. Well, all right, I think. What a lovely conversation. “How is she doing?”
He looks me up and down and then in the eye, then shrugs.
“Have you seen her lately?”
Wrong thing to say. He yanks the fuel nozzle out with more force than necessary and slams it down on the pump. Watch this, I can hear my brother saying. He does that with the gas pump, imagine what he might do to your face. Assuming my face was ever within arm's reach. I push that thought away.
Alex takes a few deep breaths and flips his hair back from his face. “I can't.”
“You're not allowed?”
“No, I can't. I just can't.”
“Where is she?”
“A ways. Ninety minute drive.”
“You ever been-”
“I can't do it, okay?” He whirls around and glares at me.
“No, hey, relax. I'm not trying to push you. I'm just asking.”
He looks down at his feet. “I don't even know what medications she's on, or what else they might be doing to treat her.”
“Can't you find out?”
“I don't have guardianship of her, so I'm not privy to her records without her permission, but she's kind of mentally ill, so you know, that doesn't work.”
“Have you talked to her, even? On the phone?”
“Yeah. She just cries.” He sets his jaw and folds his arms.
I glance at my phone. It's four in the afternoon. “How late do visiting hours at the hospital go today?”
“'Till seven.”
I look at him, with his military jacket and hostile stance, at the way he looks at the ground as if embarrassed to admit to me that there's something he can't do. “Want me to come with you?”
He looks at me and lifts an eyebrow at that.
I take a moment to think about what I just said. My brother, if he were here, would be screaming, “Madison, this is not your problem. Run away!”
An image of Grace, Alex's mother, pops into my mind. I think of how disoriented she seemed, wandering around town. Now the thought of her in a place with dozens of other people like her and no contact with her son makes my heart ache for her.
And then there's Alex, clearly distraught, and clearly feeling helpless.
I wait.
“Would you?” he says.
Before I can digest the thought fully, I march myself over to the passenger side door of his car and open it. “Let's go.”
The first thing I notice about Alex's car is that it reeks of sandalwood and Tiger Balm, smells I associate with older, Asian people. The second thing is that the passenger side seat has a pile of what look like toys out of McDonald's Happy Meals still in their cellophane wrappers. Aside from the toys, the car's spotless, its beige leather upholstery looks like it just came off the lot. A carved jade figure dangles from a knotted red string hooked over the rearview mirror.
Alex opens the driver's side door and reaches over to scoop the toys off the seat and dump them in the back. “Sorry,” he says. “My mom's.”
I sit down and buckle myself in. “Just so we're clear,” I say, “if I show up dead in a ditch somewhere, my brother will kill you. Skin you alive.”
“I'm not like that.” He gets in the driver's seat and shuts his door. For a moment he stares at the steering wheel, his jaw working. Then he turns to me and says, “Madison, listen. Thank you, but you don't have to do this.”
“Would your mom get to see you if I don't?”
No ready answer.
“Okay, let's go.”
He looks at me a moment longer, then starts the engine and reaches down to shift gears, his hand coming within inches of my knee. We pull out of the gas station, onto Wilkstone, and head left. We're going south.
“You know the way?” I ask.
“Yeah, it's easy.”
Now I wonder what's the bigger danger, getting attacked by Alex or getting lost with Alex? I pull out my phone and tap a text to my brother: Don't be mad. I'm going with the senior class psycho to see his mother in a mental hospital.
The phone rings ten seconds later. I press the ignore button.
But that doesn't work. My phone rings again.
Alex glances at me, as if curious why I'm not answering.
I put the phone to my ear. “H-”
“Okay, what?”
“Yeah, so now you know.” I keep my language vague. Saying stuff like, “Yeah, I know he's a total psycho but really it should all be fine, I'm just calling to let you know in case I disappear,” seems like a bad idea with Alex sitting right next to me.
“How did you-”
“Listen, I'll call you later-”
“Whoa, wait a minute. Hang on. Where are you now and where are you going?”
I look over at Alex. “Where are we going?”
Alex tugs a card out of the breast pocket of his jacket and hands it to me. It's a doctor's business card. I read the address off to John. “We're about ninety minutes away.”
“You will call me when you get there.”
“No.”
“Or I will call you. Your choice.”
“Give me a break.”
“And you will call me when you leave, and you will call me when you get home or else I will call Carson Montrose-”
“Hey.”
“-and Jean-Pierre's mother and everyone else in town who has a listed phone number to tell them that Alex might have kidnapped you. Get them out to find you, and if I don't hear from you before tomorrow, I will call the police.”
“Overreact much?”
“Honestly? No. My sister just texted me that she got in the car with a psycho to visit a mental hospital.”
“See if I ever tell you anything again.”
“You know I'm just doing this because I care. I love you. Call me.”
“I'm not gonna do that.”
“I'll talk to you in ninety minutes. Love you.”
“You are such a jerk.”
“Black Bear says stay safe.”
“Please...”
But he's done with his lecture, so we sign off.
“Your mom?” Alex asks.
“My brother.”
“He read you the Riot Act?”
“
Yes.”
Alex looks sidelong at me. “He's a good brother.”
“You think I should be scared of you?”
He looks me up and down and in the eye, then returns his attention to the road.
That sends a chill down my spine. “Okay, I'm scared now.”
“I won't hurt you.”
I curl up and tuck my feet under myself. This, I can tell, will be a very long ride. “I didn't tell him you bashed a police car.”
“Yeah, well, that's why he isn't here with a gun to my head.”
“You think he should be?”
“I get it. The guy is protective. He loves you. Obviously.” Alex rolls down his window so that he can look out as we get on the freeway. Wind roars into the car, tugging at strands of my hair. With his hand on the gear shift, he hits the accelerator. As we slot our way into traffic, he pulls his head in and rolls up the window, smoothing his hair back down by running his fingers through it.
“Can I just ask... why did you bash Officer Li's car?”
He glances at me. “My mom's been deteriorating. We've tried a few different drugs, and one of those made her hallucinate so bad she ended up out on Main Street.”
“You mean Wilkstone?”
“Yeah. She saw people chasing her and she got scared. The caregiver called Officer Li, even though she should have called me first, and Officer Li decided to just tackle my mother and haul her off in his car. She was terrified.”
I think of the day I saw her there, yelling, and the scream she let out when Officer Li grabbed her. Now I imagine it from her point of view. How could I just jaywalk away from that situation? The poor woman.
“She scratched his face and he had her declared a danger. We took her off that medication, but no one cares what I have to say because I'm just the messed up kid. I stopped his cruiser to try to talk to him but... talking's hard sometimes. Especially when the other person laughs. He called my mother a lunatic.”
I try to imagine being mocked like that. “That's awful. Guess it's good that all you used was a rock on his car.”
“Yeah. That was me showing real restraint.” He rolls his eyes.
“Well, I'm sorry that happened. Are they going to send you to prison for it?”
“My lawyer's gonna ask for community service.”
“Then I hope that's what you get.”
He gives me an unreadable look. “Thanks.”
I don't know what to say next, so I tap my nails against the back of my phone. A few minutes elapse. “Thanks for talking. I know you said it's hard.”
“Sometimes. Usually it just feels weird.”
“Like how?”
“Like... I dunno. Think of something you never do in front of other people, and then imagine doing it.”
“So it's like the nightmare when you're at school in your underwear?”
He laughs. “Not quite.”
“Are you dating LaDell?” The words are out before my brain can catch up, and blood rushes in my ears as soon as I hear them.
“No.”
“Sorry, none of my business... I... never mind.”
“I'm pretty sure all of them were told not to even think about it while I'm not baptized. Bishop Montrose thinks I'm confused enough.”
“Oh.”
Again, he shrugs. “I don't go to church for the cute girls.”
“Why do you go?”
He looks at me, amused. “Because I'm investigating. Checking it out.”
“You don't think the history is a little, um...”
“Crazy?”
“Yeah.”
He glances at me, then taps his thumb on the steering wheel a few times. “Honest answer?”
“Yeah?”
“I know crazy. I've seen crazy all my life. Joseph Smith wasn't crazy.”
“So you think he really did... everything they say he did?”
“Well, I dunno about that. It's still a lot to swallow. But crazy people, the kind who see stuff, they don't found major religious organizations, or any kinds of organizations. They're not organized, and the stuff they say isn't gonna change people's lives for hundreds of years. Their minds are broken. They talk about aliens in league with the White House to steal dog food from poodles who live in secret camps on the border of Canada and stuff like that.”
He gets halfway through this before I start to giggle, but I try to stifle it. I'm not sure it's the kind of thing I'm allowed to laugh at.
But he smirks at me. He doesn't mind.
“I shouldn't laugh.”
“It's okay.”
“I totally do not want to mock your mother.”
“I know. You're nice. To everyone.”
“No I'm not.”
“Fine. To most people then.”
Madison, I think, this is a pointless thing to argue about. “So... what's your mom's condition like? Schizophrenia. Isn't that the one where you have multiple personalities-”
“No. I don't know how everyone got that confused, but what you're talking about is called Dissociative Identity Disorder, and it may not even be a recognized disorder for much longer. The whole multiple personalities thing is really, really rare. A lot of psychiatrists don't believe it really exists. Schizophrenia's just a psychotic disorder.”
“Where a person sees stuff?”
“And hears it. Schizophrenics often have delusions.”
“What does that actually mean? Having a delusion? Is it like when people call you delusional as an insult?”
“That you live in an imaginary world, basically, yeah. People think they're private detectives or superstars, or aliens, or other ones that don't make much sense. Schizophrenics' minds are just... they don't work right. I'm not describing that real well.”
“So what caused it? Your dad dying?”
He shakes his head. “It's genetic, as best anyone can tell. She had it before he died, and one of her delusions is that he isn't dead. She still sees and talks to him.”
“Oh. And she sees people coming to get her-”
“If you scare her. Not usually.”
“So is schizophrenia hereditary?”
“Yeah. But it's pretty rare. My family only has this one case.”
“Well, obviously you don't have it. I didn't mean to say-”
“It doesn't show until a person's late teens or early twenties.”
“Oh.”
“So I'm probably safe, but I won't know for sure for about ten years.”
“That's gotta be hard, though. Wondering.”
He shrugs. “At least I have some warning. Coulda been like my mom, whose family didn't know what was going on. You could have it too, you know.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Just sayin'.”
“But if you're praying and stuff and investigating Mormonism...”
“Do I wonder if the answers I feel might be delusions? Sure. Guess that’s why religion works best as a group activity.”
“So that you can compare notes?”
“Something like that. You pay attention, you know? Is what you're going through making your mind clouded or clear? Is life better or worse? Is it easier or harder to interact with people?”
I think that over. “How is it so far?”
“Yeah. It's gone better than I expected. First time I went to church, I was sure they'd just throw me out. Tell me I wasn't welcome. I mean, those people are all the sheltered, suburban, casserole eating types. It's not like I was ever allowed to go over to their houses to play when I was a kid. But when I walked in, they were not just okay with me being there. They were happy about it. They wanted me there.”
“Well, that's cool.”
“It is, but it also means I really gotta think about stuff. Any religion worth having is one where you'd go even if everyone hated you, you know? It can't be about other people or superficial stuff.”
“So, not to be rude, but why did you go? I mean, I gave you that card and you cut-”
“I remember.”
“It's kind of funny, in hindsight.”
“Sure it is.” He rolls his eyes again.
I shrug.
“You remember what you said to me?”
“Don't be a jerk?”
“You told me I didn't have to be a jerk. And you were right. I did what I always do, which is push you away, try to freak you out so you don't even try to talk to me. Which doesn't work with you.”
“I left you alone.”
“After telling me off some more, and a week later you're mouthing off to me on Main Street in the middle of the night.”
“You threatened to chase me-”
“I know what I said.”
“You were a total jerk.”
“Yes I was. I'm used to shoving people away. I'm used to defending myself from people who think I belong in jail and my mom belongs in an institution.”
“You realize that just makes people-”
“Want to throw me in jail. Yeah, yeah, I know. I figured that out, okay? I mean, I guess I always knew, but I didn't care. Those times, I figured out that I'd missed two chances to just be nice to someone who's nice to everyone, and I wondered if I miss a lot of chances like that. Thing is, I didn't know what to do about it, and then I remembered the smiling girl on the card... and some other stuff happened... I figured I had nothing to lose.”
“My brother would be so proud of me.”
“Yes, I'm sure he would.”
“You know him?”
“I know about him. Come on, the big fight in front of Jacksons with your mom? Everyone knows.”
“Didn't know you paid attention to that kind of stuff.”
“Nah. I don't.”
I realize that I've cut off circulation in one of my legs and shift my weight. Pins and needles spread down to my foot, which I rub to get the sensation to go away.
“Listen,” says Alex, “if my mom makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to be around her. I understand.”
“Huh? No. I mean, fine if you want time alone with her, but I volunteered to come, you know?”
“I know she freaks people out.”
“Is there anything I need to be careful not to do? Besides threaten her?”
Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand Page 13