Phoenix Rising (Maggie Henning & The Realm Book 1)

by Lisa Morgan

  I waited a few minutes, holding my breath. I knew she was still outside. This is what she did. Finally, the softer, gentler Mom showed up.

  “Maggie? I’m sorry,” she offered.

  I didn’t answer her. She was always sorry. Sorry about dad. Sorry we couldn’t move. Sorry about the kids at school stuffing me in lockers. I was sick of sorry.

  “Maggie,” once more her voice came softly through my door. “I’m gonna grab a sandwich and a quick shower before we head out to see Dad. I’m … I wish it was different.” I heard her try the doorknob a final time before her footsteps made their way toward her bedroom.

  Carefully, I slipped off my bed and pressed an ear to the door. I heard her open a dresser drawer, and then another. Finally, I heard the bathroom door close and the sound of the water spraying in the shower.

  I unlocked my door and slowly opened it, peeking out to make sure Mom was, in fact, in the shower. I could see the light on from under the door. I heard the curtain rings skim across the shower rod and knew it was safe to come out.

  I made my way back down the stairs, tiptoeing lightly to avoid any possible creaking that might let her know I’d ended my tantrum and she could come out raving.

  I noticed a small mess on the floor in the foyer. It looked like someone had knocked over an ashtray, but my mother didn’t smoke and I didn’t think we even kept one in the house. I stepped over the pile, figuring it would serve my mother right, cleaning up whatever it was. Opening the front door, I stepped outside. I sat on the steps and propped my chin in my hands.

  Where had everything gone wrong? I wondered. Probably when Dad flaked out and I received my Daughter of a Crazy Killer Girl Scout badge.

  My husky, Treader, jogged up the walk, her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth with the same dopey expression she always had. She jumped up the steps and rested her head in my lap.

  “Hey you,” I said, scrubbing behind the ears of my precocious dog. “Any adventures today?” Treader licked my face and let out a low howl before sitting beside me on the porch.

  “Good answer. Adventures can be so overrated,” I agreed to the animal.

  I had no idea how old Treader was. My mother’s dad had given her to me shortly after my father had been committed. I guess he thought I would need a friend. He’d been right.

  I hadn’t seen my grandfather since then, either. Mom said it got to be too much, all the publicity in the aftermath of the “church incident”, as she termed it, for my grandfather to visit. I had begged to go stay with him several times, with no luck. I received birthday cards from him every year, a phone call now and then.

  Treader seemed to understand how I was feeling, and she laid her head in my lap, giving me a little whine.

  “Yup,” I remarked to the dog. “It sucks, doesn’t it?” A small bark was all I got for an answer.

  I stood, patting my hip to call Treader to come with me. The dog gingerly padded inside after I opened the door.

  That same strange sensation fell over me; the same one I’d felt at the mall before going into the music store. A feeling like I was being watched. I turned, glancing at the homes that surrounded ours. No one was outside or gawking out their windows. I continued my quick scan and saw a dark shape leaning against an overgrown maple a few houses down the street.

  I took the steps down, almost tripping on a cracked step. I muttered a curse before I looked back up to the maple tree.

  Whatever had been there was gone now.

  Five

  The drive to Sunnybrook was taken mainly in silence. Mom hadn’t said anything about me skipping school or my disagreement with Stephanie, and I chose not to offer anything, either. More importantly, she didn’t ask about Michel. It was odd, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say.

  She occasionally asked me pointless questions about school. How was Biology going? Had I thought about that part time job at her realty firm? By the time we pulled into the parking lot, the sun was setting, bathing the concrete building in hues of orange.

  Sunnybrook Psychiatric Hospital looked like a bland high school from the outside. There was a small basketball court surrounded by a high fence and topped with razor wire. The windows, evenly spaced apart on the second floor, were made of chicken wire infused glass and painted to look like they had curtains to shade the light.

  However, I knew there were no real curtains. A person could hang themselves with curtains.

  Mom turned the car off and we sat in silence. We both stared straight ahead at the small concrete breezeway that welcomed visitors and staff alike, the hospital name arched over the awning. I’d never actually seen another person enter or leave the facility while I visited. I could believe it. I would do just about anything to avoid going inside myself.

  “I can wait here,” I offered, knowing my mother wouldn’t go for it, but it wasn’t a trip to see Dad without my usual bartering to not go through with it.

  “Maggie,” Mom said softly. I could hear the regret in her words. She didn’t want me to have to come here anymore than I wanted to be here. “It’s once a month. Your father always does so well after seeing you. You know that. The doctors—”

  “The doctors are full of crap!” I muttered angrily. “Dad just sits there with some random underpaid nurse wiping his drool.” My mother stared at me. My words were honest, but that didn’t keep them from wounding her. I could see tears glistening in her eyes, and I swallowed down my own.

  “This is hard for you,” Mom reassured, patting my leg. “I know it is. I’m sorry you have to do this.” Mom’s voice caught in her throat and she turned her head away, looking out the window, but I knew she was trying to hide her tears from me.

  “Let’s just go in, okay?” I exhaled softly, trying to offer her some hope. I couldn’t remain angry at her when she turned on the tears. “Maybe Dad will be aware today. Better yet,” I joked, “maybe that weirdo Liam will let us eat some of his checkers? He never does want to share.” My mom shot me a quick, almost frightened glance, but then laughed at me.

  “I had a sandwich,” she jested back, breaking the tension and smiling. “Feel free to eat my share of the red pieces.”

  We both managed strained laughter at that. Mom took the keys out of the ignition and unbuckled her seatbelt. Reaching into the backseat, she grabbed what we had always called our “Dad Bag”.

  Because of the restrictions on what could and could not be brought into the hospital, Mom always packed a bag—the “Dad Bag”—and kept it in the car so we didn’t need to worry about forgetting something when we arrived.

  She handed me a pair of the flip flops, setting the second pair next to her on the seat. We removed our sneakers and threw them in the back. I slipped on my flip flops while Mom continued removing items from the bag.

  She took out a small lock box, the key inside the latch. She removed her watch and earrings, as well as a bracelet she always wore. Last was always her wedding ring. Every time she took it off, I could see shadows cross her face.

  I felt over my own body, checking for any jewelry other than my class ring. Finding none, I took off the ring and deposited it in the box. Shutting the lid and twisting the key, Mom put the box under her seat. She dropped the key inside her purse. Mom wouldn’t need to leave that behind. The outer visitor’s checkin area had a place to stow belongings such as purses and coats.

  With a resigned sigh, my mother opened her door and stepped out. That was my cue. I put on my best fake happy face and got out, following behind as she made her way to the main entrance. We reached the door, the sensor detecting us and sliding open the automated entry. With a whoosh of chilly air blowing at us, we entered the lobby of Sunnybrook Psychiatric Hospital

  It was all very aesthetic, like any other hospital with its bleach white walls and odor of disinfectant. There was a large horseshoe desk with two women sitting behind it dressed in casual business attire. One shuffled papers while the other typed on her computer. I could see the g
low of the outside lot’s security monitors reflecting in the older of the pair’s glasses.

  “Evening,” Mom offered with a grin. The woman with glasses looked up, not bothering to return the smile.

  “Who for?” the woman asked without emotion.

  “John Henning,” Mom replied, leaning on the tabletop of the desk.

  “One moment,” the woman grunted in reply, shuffling through the visitor list. Finding our names, I watched as she made a checkmark twice next to my father’s name and recorded the time. “You’ll need to sign this, and we’ll need your identification,” she instructed, slipping a piece of paper over the counter to my mother.

  Mom signed the paper and pulled out her wallet. I had my non-driver ID at the ready, handing it to the receptionist for her approval. She looked at it and recorded my name into the visitor log.

  As she rifled through her purse, my mother complained, “I must have left mine in the car. I’ll just run out and grab it.” Before I had time to offer, she’d spun around and headed back outside. I could hardly see her through the tinted glass of the entryway.

  I turned to make a little small talk to the woman behind the desk … and knocked over a vase of flowers.

  There was no woman behind the desk. Instead, there was a monster, wearing the same casual outfit the woman had been, but her face was changed. She looked like a piece of road kill. Her features were mangled and twisted. In spots, I could see clear to her skull.

  I rubbed my eyes with fury to clear my vision, and a few rapid blinks later, I looked back. She appeared completely normal, if a bit irate, standing there holding paper towels and the garbage can in her hands.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her tone more kind than the one she’d had when Mom and I arrived.

  “Ah … yes,” I replied with a pause, shaking the vision from my head. “Sorry. I … I missed an eye appointment and sometimes I see stuff that isn’t really there.”

  The woman looked at me thoughtfully. “You’d better get that checked out, honey.” When she smiled at me, her teeth were pointed and jagged in her mouth, sharp razor blades that gleamed under the artificial lobby light. I rubbed my eyes again and when my vision returned, the smile was as perfect as a dental commercial.

  “Yeah,” I agreed as my mom returned. “Yeah, I will.”

  Mom handed the woman her ID and she grinned as she spoke, “Sorry about that. I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached.”

  “Well then, Mrs. Henning,” the woman replied icily, “it’s a good thing you keep it attached.” My mother returned a weary smile, and putting her hand on my back, gave me a gentle nudge toward the visiting room.

  I glanced back over my shoulder as we made our way to the locked door of the visiting room. Pausing as the receptionist smiled at me, I watched as she pushed the desk button to release the lock and let us enter.

  I could have sworn the pointed teeth had returned.

  Six

  The temperature in the visitor’s room was always too cold to really relax, and tonight was no exception. Following my mom to a small table bolted to the floor in a corner, I found myself hugging my arms, seeking warmth.

  The concrete walls were in serious need of a fresh coat of paint, the steel grey flaking in the corners. The room stank of mildew and antiseptic, a pungent offense to the nose that always gave me a headache if we visited too long. Over our heads, one light blinked rapidly and hummed as it tried to stay alight. The two-way mirror that allowed staff to view the ongoing visits was the only area ever spotless. The room was empty of other visitors, and I was aware of how my breathing seemed to echo off the walls.

  “No Liam tonight,” I spoke to my mother.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait a little longer to eat,” she said in reference to our joke in the car, only this time, she rubbed my elbow and didn’t smile.

  The familiar bellow of the door alarm sounded from behind us, and although it’s the same sound we’ve heard many times, we jumped, surprised by the noise that cut through the otherwise silent room. In a room so quiet, the alarm seemed as loud as gunfire.

  An orderly came in the room first, making a quick sweep of the tables and ensuring that no paraphernalia had been left behind be a previous visitor; nothing that could be used to harm anyone, including us. With a curt nod toward the two mirror, the door alarm signaled again.

  A man in a grimy white jumpsuit, his feet shackled together and cuffs secured on his wrists, was shuffled inside by another orderly. His thick red curls were knotted into a nest of human hair and his eyes were set on the beige tiled floor as he moved closer. In measured steps, the orderly escorted my father, leading him to our table by the elbow.

  John Henning. Killer. Now reduced to a sniveling waste of bones and skin; his face pale like death from lack of sunlight and an odor from his body that was so rank, I couldn’t help but gag.

  “What the hell? What have you done to him?” my mother lashed out at the orderly, rising to stand as she peered at the hospital staffer who had brought my father in.

  “Ma’am, he refuses to bathe,” the orderly stated, unfazed by her ire.

  “You can’t force him? Maybe put him in some room somewhere and use a fire hose?” she asked, visibly disgusted by my father’s condition.

  I was taken aback by my mother’s words. This is the woman who’d forced me to have these visits, with all of her talk of love and knowing how beneficial it was to him to have me visit. My mother had grown teary-eyed while persuading me to come. Now, she seemed repulsed to be in the same room for even a minute.

  “Mom,” I urged, my hand on hers to try to stifle her tirade.

  The orderly, looking equally repulsed by my father’s condition, leaned forward and locked the shackles to the table as he continued, “We’ve medicated him to attempt to get his compliance, but nothing has worked to this point. We cannot give him additional medications without a doctor’s order.”

  “I want to speak to the doctor in charge. Right now,” my mother insisted, stepping determinedly to the door and pushing the call button by the frame. “If they think I’m going to sit here and visit with him like this, they are sorely mistaken.”

  It was the word ‘him’, spoken with such revulsion, that really shocked me. For the first time in many years, I found myself defending my father.

  “It’s okay, Mom. We don’t have that long to visit. Let’s just bear it tonight?” I offered, trying to calm her.

  “No way in hell!” she screeched, pushing the button repeatedly as if the staff would move quicker by the annoyance. “I will not sit here and be subjected to that stench!”

  The orderly watched us without expression on his face. Finally, assuming the worst of the exchange was at an end, he marched to the door, unlocked it with his security card, and my mother exited with the orderly right behind her.

  The door clicked as it shut and locked, leaving me alone in the visiting room with my father. The silence left behind by my mother’s departure weighed heavy on me. I could hear my father’s shallow, almost labored, breathing as it left his lungs and seemed to echo off the blank walls.

  I began with apprehension as I sat beside him, glancing at the spot where his shackles were fastened to the table. “Hey Dad. School’s going well.”

  The man I called Dad moved for the first time since he’d been seated. He rocked back and forth, his eyes staring blankly at his hands. I could hear the scratching of the thick shackles as his wrists skirted over the table top with his movements.

  “Okay,” I mumbled under my breath, trying to come up with something else to say. What did a sixteen-year-old girl talk about when she was essentially talking to herself? Hot guys and beauty tips?

  I was pulled from my thoughts by a soft, almost too quiet to hear sound. Two taps, so faint I wasn’t sure if I’d actually heard them or if my father’s insanity might be contagious. I looked around the room to see if someone had entered behind us without my noticing, but no one had. I looked back to
the table and two capsules lay there, coated with a wet sheen of saliva. I knew they hadn’t come from me, so it left only one option. It was with fear that I realized my father had been keeping them in his mouth.

  I had no clue what the pills were used for. Could they be something to keep him calm? Some sort of magic capsules that would prevent him from trying to kill me like he had those people in the church? As panic grew inside me with all the potential things that could happen by his lack of medication, I glanced over my shoulder, looking for an orderly to come in and help should my father attack.

  “Don’t look at the mirror,” warned a raspy voice. It was familiar, albeit strained and wounded. I remembered that voice from my childhood. My gaze shot back to my father.

  “Dad?” I struggled, a mix of both fear and excitement making my heart race behind my ribcage.

  He whispered to me, his voice cracking, sounding almost desperate, “How I’ve missed you, Magpie.”

  A feeling of excitement whipped through me, replacing every thread of fear that had been there. No one had heard him speak in ten years. Not even during the trial, and afterward, when I’d reached for my dad and begged him not to leave me, had he uttered a word.

  “Dad! Ohmygod! You’re talking! I’ll get the doctors—”

  “No!” he spoke in a demanding whisper, his palm reaching toward mine but stopped by his chains. “Say nothing, Maggie. Don’t react. Just listen. I don’t know when she’ll return.”

  “She? You mean Mom? She’ll be so excited to hear—” I began to rise, wanting to spread word that my father was speaking.

  “She’s not your mother,” I heard him say as his hand shot out from the shackles, his arm scraped and bleeding as he grabbed my wrist.

  “What? Dad, you’ve been out of it for years. I know you must be confused, but—”

  “I’m not confused.” He lifted his bowed head and turned to look into my eyes. I found clarity for the first time since he’d been admitted here. For ten years his eyes had been clouded over, greying more each time I saw him. Now that fog had been lifted and the sky blue color had returned. “I need you to listen to me, Maggie.”