She looked at me with a virtually indecipherable expression and then she smiled and turned to talk to Girl Sibling #1. I ate my bread and the family kept talking around me.
Boy Sibling #2 looked at me. “You live in the old Black Magnolia plantation?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Did you hear about that girl out there?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“I think she lives in the house next to yours and she’s real sick. She may die. I know her folks. They go to church with us,” he said. “Anyhow, you might want to talk with her. They say she’s doing crazy stuff like talking in weird languages and cursing her parents. That’d be right up your alley, wouldn’t it?”
“Are you talking about the Dollars?” Boy Sibling #2 said.
“Yep,” Boy Sibling #1 answered.
“Now that’s a damn shame. That poor little girl. She’s hardly out of the cradle.”
The conversation continued and I tuned it out. I was tired and the food was barely tolerable. I really just wanted to go home. I was so worried about Jeremy, I could almost feel my hair turning gray. I had cured him and then left him with the wolves. After what seemed like an eternity, Aaron helped me out the door and to the car.
“So, what did you think of my family?” Aaron asked when we left.
“They are very nice,” I said honestly. His family was wonderful and I couldn’t have been more out of place with them.
“They really liked you,” he said. I didn’t believe that for a minute, but it was nice of him to say it, so I said thank you. He smiled and patted my leg and I smiled back. We were all teeth and gums. I couldn’t think of much else to say, so I looked out the window. As soon as Aaron left, I would cast the spell to save Jeremy.
“Would you be all right if I went out tonight?’ Aaron asked.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I know that,” he said. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m abandoning you, but it’s poker night.”
“Poker night?” I asked.
“Yeah. Some of the other docs and I get together and play poker.”
“Sure,” I said.
Aaron helped me into the house and got me situated upstairs with a beer and a book. I waited until he’d driven away before I ran down the stairs and started to grab the things I would need for the spell. The cast was beginning to really irritate me, so I took a kitchen knife and sawed the thing off my leg. I knew the spell I was going to cast. I wasn’t taking any chances. This spell had stuck out to me. I can’t entirely say why. Perhaps it was the idea of the Lady of the Lake. It seemed like a powerful spell to call on a goddess from legend.
As a little girl, I had been transfixed with Arthurian Legend and The Lady of the Lake was one of my favorite parts of the legend. I had seen The Lady of the Lake portrayed many ways in various interpretations of the legend, but one thing was always true. She was always the one who gave King Arthur his sword, Excalibur. Sometimes she turned evil and ensnared Merlin. Sometimes she stayed good, but she was always the one who gave Arthur his sword.
I found an old glass bottle, a red candle, some sunflower seeds, and paper. I went out into the woods with my bag of goodies. It didn’t take me long to get to the cabin. I was used to walking so fast, I was almost running. I got to the cabin and went straight to work.
On the paper, I wrote my desire three times. I wrote, “Free Jeremy and bring him happiness.” I lit the candle. I placed the paper in the glass bottle and then poured sunflower seeds in it. I screwed the cap on tight. While I went through these motions, I said my desire over and over again. Finally, I poured the blood red wax from the candle over the bottle. I did this slowly and thoroughly until the entire bottle was encased in wax. The candle burnt down and I took the bottle and left the way I had come.
I didn’t wait. I went straight to the car. I drove through the rolling hills of Southern Appalachia to where Dog Lake lay in the fog between two verdant green mountains. It was a quiet spot. A few fishermen sat on the banks of the lake and a lonely boat floated through the fog. I turned off the ignition and got out of the car. I walked until I found a quiet space and then I lifted up the skirts of my long dress and stepped into the water.
I raised my arms towards the lake and I called out. I called out for the Lady of the Lake. I summoned her and spoke in Latin. The spell was long. It was a chant. It was the longest spell I’d done. I was careful to say all the words as they were written in Latin. I said words I didn’t understand and then I threw the bottle into the water and said the words again. Like something out of a dream or a bad film, a hand emerged from the fog-covered water. It reached up, grabbed the bottle, and pulled it back under the black depths of the swampy waters of Dog Lake. I stood in utter awe.
“Well, God damn,” I said as I stared out into the distance.
“You okay, lady?” a fisherman asked. He was looking at me like I was eating the flesh from a newborn baby.
“I’m fine,” I said.
The wind blew, carrying the mist away and I could hear a faint voice on the wind. It was sweet and feminine. It was lovely, like a song. “Your wish is granted,” it said.
I pulled myself out of the muddy water. It took some doing. The lake bottom was muddy and my feet stuck in the mud. I lost my sandals in the muck. I walked back to the car barefoot and it started to rain. The rain didn’t faze the fishermen, who just kept on fishing. I leaned back and looked up at the sky. The rain washed the mud off my dress and cut through the Alabama heat like a knife. It was lovely and sweet and it smelled like fall. I smiled. Relief washed over me. All the anxiety I had about Jeremy and his terrible fate vanished. I had saved him. I had saved him.
It was a long drive through the hills back home. I parked the car and showered. As I stood there, I couldn’t help but think about Ellie’s offer. I could help more people if I had an outpatient practice. In the hospital, I could only help those who were teetering on the edge of absolute madness. In an outpatient practice, I could help everyone who asked for help. It seemed selfish to confine this power to one small population when I could help the entire town. God knew the town needed helping. There had never been much money in Dismal, but the last economic recession had carried everything away like a flood. Everyone was poor and everyone was hurting. I could fix that.
I got out of the shower and pulled on some old sweats. I grabbed a book and curled up for a night of rest when the phone rang. I saw a name on the caller ID I didn’t think I’d ever see again. John Forest. Johnny Boy. My ex-husband was calling me.
“Hello,” I said reluctantly.
“Hello, Phae?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You sound different,” he said.
“It’s been over a year. I probably am different. What do you want?”
“I want to make amends,” he said.
I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I didn’t.
“I know I was terrible to you. Oh, hell, let’s just say it, I was a fucking asshole. I cheated on you and I made you hate yourself. I yelled all the time. I was an asshole and I’m sorry.”
I was floored. I didn’t believe people ever said they were sorry. I thought an asshole was an asshole and they never knew they were assholes.
“Are you in AA or something?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m just starting and I’ve got a long way to go, but I’m trying to clean myself up.”
“Shit fire,” I said.
“I want you to know that all the things I said about you, I didn’t mean. You were never fat or lazy or stupid or ugly. That was the scotch talking. You are a beautiful woman and I was lucky to have you. I really loved you, Phae.”
“Could have fooled me,” I said.
“I know. I’m going to the sex addicts group now too and I’ve been sober and abstinent for five months.”
“Amazing,” I said.
“I’m sorry you had to leave Chicago and go back t
o that place. I’m sorry you had to run back to your father. Is he being okay to you now?”
“He’s dead,” I said.
“Why didn’t you call me? I would have come to be with you at the funeral,” he said.
“I hate you,” I answered.
“We were married for ten years,” he said.
“That’s why I hate you.”
“I went on the cemetery walk in Graceland yesterday. It reminded me of you. Every time I go to a cemetery, I think of you.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I answered.
“Do you remember Père Lachaise?”
How could I forget? He took me to Paris and we made love in the cemetery beneath the stone angels. That had been my idea. I had always loved cemeteries and so had John. John and I had a lot in common. We both loved old things and dark history. We had seemed so perfect for each other. I had loved him so much, my chest ached from the memory of the emotion, but he had broken me. All his infidelities and cruel words had broken me. He was everything Aaron wasn’t. He had hated football and poker and all the things men were supposed to love. He had collected Chagall’s and art with death themes. He had been passionate and cruel. I missed him.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Seeing Morrison’s tomb was amazing.” He knew I hated Morrison.
He laughed. “You’ve kept your sense of humor.”
“And most of your money,” I added. “I’ve wasted it on all kinds of bullshit you would have hated.” That was a lie. He would have loved The Black Magnolia.
“Good,” he said. “I hope you’re enjoying it.”
“What do you want?” I asked again.
“Just to say I’m sorry and to let you know that I still love you.”
The word hung in the air. Love. That was the second time I had heard those words in a week. Love was such a strange concept to me. John was the first person to ever say he loved me. My father had hated me and he had made his hate absolutely clear. My stepmother couldn’t even bare to look at me. Now, this week, two people claimed to love me. I laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“You’re the second man to say that this week.” I laughed.
“Really?” He sounded so shocked.
“I’m not so unlovable that you’re the only man that can love me, John, you shit,” I said.
“I know your clients fall in love with you,” he said bitterly.
“Fuck you,” I said. “It wasn’t a client that said he loved me this week. I’m seeing someone now.”
“Really?” Again, he was surprised. Asshole.
“You must really think I’m a cow to be that surprised,” I said.
“No! No. It’s just that you are … strange. A lot of men would avoid that. But you are beautiful.”
I laughed again. “I’m a freak now? This apology is going swimmingly.”
“No. You aren’t a freak. I didn’t say that. You’re just different. Don’t you know that? You’re not like all the others. That’s a good thing. That’s why I love you.”
“Okay. Whatever. I’m glad you are sorry,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re happy. Are you happy with this new man?” he asked.
“I think so. He’s good in bed,” I answered
John laughed again. I had missed his laughter. I had missed him and I had never wanted to admit it. I could still see him in my mind’s eye. My beloved. I remembered him reading me poetry as I fell asleep and the way he would lay me down and touch me and kiss me all over. He would leave me wanting, desperate for him. It was a game and he would come to me only when I was so desperate, I couldn’t take it any longer. He left strange objects for me at the house when he had to work late. One time he left me an old key with a rose in it, and another time he left me the head of a gargoyle with a love note in its mouth. He had been strange. He had been mine, but only for a moment. There were too many pretty girls.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in therapy, good sex is not happiness,” he said.
“You learned something from someone else? That’s a miracle,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You broke my heart so many times, I can’t count!” I yelled.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I was happy just hating you. Why are you doing this? Don’t remind me of the other emotions. The hate felt good,” I said.
“What can I do to make things better?” he asked.
“Just leave me alone,” I said and then I hung up the phone and took two hydrocodone.
* * *
I knew it would be bad news when I was called into a meeting with my boss. It didn’t take an oracle to know that. I put on baggy pants to hide my cast-less leg. I fumbled into Amy’s office and tried to look as injured as I possibly could. She smiled politely and pulled up a chair for me. I sat down and tried to smile, but it’s hard to smile when you know you’re going to lose your job.
“I hope you’re not in too much pain,” Amy said with some genuine concern.
“Not much,” I said. “It looks far worse than it is.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Amy said.
There was an uncomfortable silence and Amy shifted in her seat. You could tell this was not a part of her chosen career that she particularly relished.
“They’ve done an investigation of what happened two nights ago with Jeremy Little,” Amy began. “Little was surprisingly lucid at the time of the investigation. He explained that you said he was possessed by a demon and cast it out. He said the demon injured you.”
“Interesting story,” I said calmly.
“At first, the police believed that he had assaulted you and they were going to commit Little to North Alabama Regional, but last night other evidence came to light.”
“What evidence?” I asked.
“Apparently, one of the guards heard what happened in the room. The guard says you did do something to Little and told him he had a demon. Is this true?”
I closed my eyes for a minute. The Lady of the Lake had saved Little, but in doing so, had destroyed me. I smiled. I should have been more careful in my wording. I would remember that next time.
“Yes,” I said. “I believe that Little was possessed and I cast the demon out. He should be fine now.”
Amy looked at me the same way she looked at the patients. I could hear the clockwork in her mind spinning, diagnosing me, trying to decide what would be the best course of action to prevent me from hurting myself or others.
“You’re probably thinking I’m crazy,” I continued. “But I’m not and even if you could prove I was, I’m no danger to myself or anyone else, so there is nothing you can force me to do. I’m assuming you’re firing me?”
“Yes,” Amy said. “You are a very good therapist. You just make bad choices and frankly, even before all this, you treated the rest of the staff like they were obstacles to patient care rather than assets. You never acknowledged the hard work that we all put in to help every patient on this floor. You’ve always been hard on the staff, but after what you said to Millie and this incident this week, we just can’t keep you any longer. You’ve pushed the limits as far as they can go and the only reason we’ve kept you this long is because you are a damn good therapist. It is a shame you can’t behave, because all that talent will be wasted if you can’t learn to be civil to those you work with.”
“Do I get a severance packet?” I asked.
“Yes. You get three weeks paid leave and that’s it.”
I nodded and stood up. I let the crutches go and walked on the foot that should have been injured.
“I thought your leg was broken,” Amy said. “I saw that on the police report.”
“It was broken in four places,” I said. “But I used the same magic to fix it as I did to heal Little. I’m leaving now. Is there anything else?”
“If you ever need a psychiatrist, we will help you find one, of course,” she whispered.
I rolled my eyes and turned to wal
k away, but Amy put her hand on my shoulder. “You know this isn’t real, don’t you?” she asked with a genuine concern that made my animosity vanish.
I smiled at her. I couldn’t do this to her. As much as I wanted to kick her in the shins most of the time, she had her moments. “I know it isn’t real,” I said. “I just can’t believe anyone would believe that I would do those things. The guard is lying, Amy. He didn’t see anything. I just did my job in there and someone fell. That is all.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said. “I thought you were really crazy for a minute there.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just lost my temper.”
“Will you be okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied. I wasn’t okay. I had no job, no family, and no life. I couldn’t even hold my shitty job. I just reminded myself that I had saved a life. I had saved Jeremy. He would be okay now and I had done that. That is why I went into psychology, because I had wanted to save people and I had really saved someone. It didn’t matter. I would be okay. I told myself these things over and over again. We therapists called this kind of behavior positive self-talk, but sometimes it’s just self-delusion.
* * *
Aaron was working that day, but Diane was off and she met me for coffee at the Waffle Hut. Diane wasn’t much of a morning person. It was 11 a.m. Diane looked like someone had just raised her from the dead. She normally worked the 12 p.m. to 12 a.m. shift and that was how she liked it. She never really woke up until afternoon. She sat across me with an enormous cup of coffee and a lit cigarette.
“That really sucks,” Diane said. “That’s why being a
witch sucks. People hate us for what we do. They’ve always hated us. It’s best to keep it under your hat and only use the magic when you really have to.”
“That is so wrong,” I said. “We could change the world. We could make things better, but we have to hide it because people don’t believe in magic.”
“It’s more than that,” Diane said. “They hate magic. Haven’t you read the Bible? There was this one passage that haunted me when I was a kid. I knew I was going to Hell. It’s the one that says ‘You shouldn’t suffer a witch to live.’ They burn witches, Phae. You won’t be loved for your skills no matter how many good things you do with them.”
The Accidental Witch Page 10