When Worlds Collide

by Charles Blair

  Although Patrick has been the sounding board of abuse cases his entire life, it's something he'll never get used to hearing. Shaking his head, and remaining as strong as possible, Patrick replied, "Rebecca, I assure you, somehow, someway, he'll get what's coming to him."

  Moving onto the next conversation, Patrick asked, "So, tell me about that other picture, and how it makes you feel?"

  The other picture was of me, holding a baseball bat, posing for a team picture. The picture was several years old, maybe a little more recent than that of Elizabeth's. My mother looked at the picture, placing Elizabeth's under it, and said, with a smile, "Shawn was once happy."

  Patrick knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but it's always more therapeutic when coming out of the mouth of the one who's hurting. Rhetorically, Patrick asked, "And what was the turning point for Shawn? When was his happiness taken?"

  Preparing for more emotion to leak, tissue in hand, my mother expressed, "Same as Elizabeth, Shawn went downhill after his father cheated."

  "Can you elaborate?"

  "After the kid's father cheated, he became abusive to me and Shawn. Shawn got it bad, and the worse part is he started behaving just like his father, until the pool party."

  "What happened after the pool party?" Patrick asked, challenging my mother to work through her issues.

  Swiping a tear, and rearranging her crossed leg, my mother answered, simply, "He changed."

  "Can you explain his changes for me?"

  Swallowing nothing but dryness, my mother explained, "After the pool party, Shawn no longer acted like his father, he changed. Shawn began behaving just like his dead sister."

  "I know it sounds crazy, although I never physically met Elizabeth, I feel as if I know her all too well.” Patrick replied.

  With goose-bumps aligning my mother's arms, she asked, "Do you want to know the weird part of all this?"

  "Sure,” Patrick answered.

  "Ever since Shawn was brought back to life, I swear I've been haunted by Elizabeth. It's like she travels to see me sometimes."

  Understanding that my mother would never understand what he knew, Patrick said, before changing the subject one last time, "It is not weird Rebecca, everything happens for a reason. Although you may never know the reason, Elizabeth and Shawn will."

  Patrick didn't necessarily place my mother's sentiment at ease, but he did make her comfortable enough to keep talking. Patrick, ever so wishing to discuss the day Elizabeth died, certified my mother's bravery before steering her in that direction.

  Unpretentiously, Patrick expressed, "Rebecca, the way you're participating in treatment is phenomenal. Please, keep it up, you're doing great."

  In return, my mother accepted Patrick's compliment, "Thank you; I want to move forward, and patch things up with the best of my ability."

  "You're on your way." Patrick replied, inching my mother closer to her goal.

  *

  With the session well beyond the hour mark, Patrick got to the point. Patrick saw that my mother's physical and emotional energy was draining by the minute; therefore, he said, "Rebecca, the other day, Shawn gave me his account of the day Elizabeth passed away, and I would like you to do the same. Can you do this for me?"

  "Sure, it won't be easy, but I'll try my best." My mother confessed, preparing herself for fire and brimstone.

  If you remember correctly, when Patrick hypnotized me, or whatever the hell he did, he gave me an opportunity to lie. And I fell for it, hook line and sinker. As I'm telling you my mother's perspective of Elizabeth’s death, please understand, her version is correct, and mine was altered to throw you off. Patrick was ready to begin, and started the conversation, as my mother was fidgety.

  "Take me back to the morning of Elizabeth's death, and explain to me what happened."

  With a moderate shudder in her voice, my mother explained, "It was the morning of picture day, and Elizabeth was excited. She looked beautiful in her black dress, but she was growing impatient."

  Listening carefully, Patrick asked, “Why was Elizabeth impatient?"

  Following the horrific time-line with precision, my mother said, "Elizabeth was waiting outside by the car for ten to fifteen minutes, because I was inside trying to calm Shawn's tantrum."

  "Okay, what tantrum was Shawn having?" Patrick asked, silently comparing the two sides of the story thus far.

  My mother's quivering voice didn't get better, nor was she any less uptight, but she kept trucking forward. Answering Patrick, with detail, my mother responded, "Shawn was bitching about inequality, or some shit, saying he didn't have a nice shirt to wear, so he wrote his initials all over the walls in red pencil to claim his territory."

  Definitely, not on the outside, but on the inside, Patrick was smiling. However, in response, Patrick replied, playfully, "Literally; I can see Shawn doing that."

  Although my mother was in emotional agony, she appreciated Patrick's sense of humor, and with wit, she said, "It sounds like you're really getting to know him."

  Patrick nodded his head, and replied, "Better than you could ever imagine."

  After the playful banter subsided, Patrick negated the brief moment of distraction, and refocused. Reiterating, making sure he had everything correct, Patrick said, "Okay, we have Elizabeth in her black dress, waiting by the car, while you're yelling at Shawn for writing his initials the walls."

  "Yes,” my mother replied, confirming Patrick's review.

  "Alright, keep going."

  With her emotions building up, my mother took a breath, and explained, "After I yelled at Shawn, we walked out of the front door, and got into the car."

  "Good, can you tell me who sat where?" Patrick asked, already knowing the answer.

  "I was driving, Elizabeth was next to me in the front seat, and Shawn jumped in the back."

  "You're doing great Rebecca; the rest of this is going to be difficult, but I'm here for you." Patrick replied, providing comfort to my mother.

  With both hands covering her face, my mother took another deep breath. After exhaling, she uncovered her face, and said, with an unpleasant sensation throughout her body, "We drove for a few miles, and Elizabeth had the sun visor down, looking into the mirror, when...."

  Quickly, Patrick intervened when my mother paused, "Rebecca, you can do this, you're almost finished."

  Trying again, my mother said, "We drove for a few miles, when Elizabeth's entire body contorted, and was thrown into a seizure. And, it wasn't long until blood poured out of her eyes, mouth, and nose."

  Typically, Patrick never touches a patient, but he placed his hand on top of my mother' wrist to provide more comfort. Just when my mother couldn't say anymore, she forced out another detail, "What made it even worse, Elizabeth...."

  Promptly, Patrick intervened, "Rebecca, you don't have to go any further."

  Motivated to say everything on her mind, my mother expressed what she needed, "What made it even worse, Elizabeth watched herself die in the mirror's reflection."

  *

  Between my account and my mother's version of Elizabeth's death, I'm sure you are aware of the secret that I'm hiding. If you don't, you'll know in a minute. Nevertheless, Patrick saw behind my mask. After my mother left the hospital, around ten thirty at night, Patrick came to my bedroom. Opening the door, and turning on the light, Patrick woke me up from a dream. Half weary eyed, and unaware of what the heck was going on, I heard Patrick say, "We need to talk."

  Looking at Patrick's face, I realized what he wanted to discuss. Patrick scared the ever-lasting shit out of me, but in the same breath, I prayed for someone to understand my situation. And there it was my resurrection had come. Hesitant to rise from the dead, I quietly got out of bed, and stood with my head down, not once acknowledging Patrick. Staring at the floor, I softly walked directly passed him and into the hallway.

  As I walked down the hallway away from Patrick, I whistled my favorite song by Simply Red. The hallway, not too terribly long, had six
bright lights dangling from the ceiling. Head towards the floor, I walked down the hallway, and each one of those bright lights blew out when I was underneath, except for the last one.

  At the opposite end of the hallway, Patrick stood in the dark. With my back toward him, Patrick saw me front and center, standing under the only light, shining on me like a ball of fire. Providing you with an alternate perception of me, Patrick identified who I was.

  Finally, addressing me appropriately, Patrick shouted, "Elizabeth!"

  Slowly turning my head around to see Patrick, I gave him a smile, because for the first time, someone looked past my deceased exterior, and saw who's living inside the body of Shawn Walters.

  Chapter 24

  ENJOY YOUR TRAVELS

  Ten months later...

  December 2nd, 2012

  Hello, my name is Shawn Walters, and I am fourteen years old. Within the hour, I will be discharged from Mountain Springs Psychiatric Hospital, finally getting; no let's try that again, finally earning my second chance at life. Much like the beginning of the story, I don't care for the name Shawn, because it doesn't suit me very well. However, since the pool party incident, and with the help of Patrick Lucid, I've learned to pick my battles. Using your altered perception, you should understand who I am, as I guide you through this chapter, explaining my life without the mask of a coward. Like I said, my name is Shawn Walters, and I look like Shawn Walters, but that's not who I am.

  Shawn Walters was murdered on June 6th, 2011, by an angry and desperate spirit in the astral plane. Granted, Shawn's body was revived. But, the livid spirit who stole Shawn's life was also responsible for snatching his body, and that disheveled spirit is yours truly, Elizabeth Walters. For ever more, the world will see me as Shawn Walters, but deep down, I know who I am. And now, so do you. Without further ado, please allow me to introduce myself as Elizabeth Walters.

  Chapter two, when I returned home from the hospital because the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with my new body, is when I began my half of this dual narrated story. Unlike my inception, before I walk out of the locked doors of Mountain Springs, I won't start this chapter with my inability to adapt, and on the verge of suicide. I plan to journey back in time, before life spun out of control, when I was once happy. I'll be sharing my fall from grace along with my resurrection, with intentions of explaining the fragility of life, and the despairing and hopeless behaviors in-which we engage in order to receive a second chance, because honestly, in the end, you may be faced with similar circumstances.

  *

  My family dynamic consisted of my younger brother, Shawn, my older brother, Adam, my father, Jeremy, and my mother, Rebecca. And of course there was me, Elizabeth, the middle and successful child. Early on, we functioned about as normal as most families. We had our issues, but realistically, we had a sense of togetherness. My siblings and I argued about chores, expectations, and what not. However, before the day turned to night, we settled our conflicts. Parentally, my mom and dad tussled over finances, and of course us children, but they as well were capable of working through their disagreements. All-in-all, life was pretty good, and I was happy.

  My brother Adam, the eldest of us three, was sort-of a rebel, and always several years older than his actual age. Adam's rebellious behavior wasn't anything criminal, except for his marijuana use. Although he hid his stash from mom and dad, they knew he was a doper. Looking back, my parents should have structured and disciplined Adam much tougher, but they themselves were pot-heads when they were his age. I guess not wanting to be a hypocrite was a good thing, but my parents didn't send a positive message, because Adam continues to roll joints to this day. Nevertheless, Adam is somewhat successful, attending a community college, where he is scraping by the skin of his teeth.

  Jeremy, my father, back in the day, was a decent parent. And by decent, I mean, he took care of our basic needs, but nothing more. He worked hard as a construction worker, and raked in about twenty dollars an hour. My father's major flaw, he lacked what most people do, which is self-worth. He had tremendous insecurities that manifested in compensation, and specifically I'm referring to infidelity. My father was sleeping around for years, but he was only caught once. That one time was enough, because it immediately changed our happy home. Because my father was cheating on my mother regularly, he was consistently on-edge. The optimum way of explaining my father's projection, sometimes your best defense is an offense. If you don't already know, with the Sholvin incident, I despise cheaters. Maybe I should forgive my father, maybe not? But Karma is a bitch. So whatever comes my father's way, he deserves. And unfortunately for him, he'll never gather enough clarity or strength to recognize or negate the wrath of, what goes around comes around.

  My mother, whom I love dearly, always had her share of issues that created tension within our family. Her heart, the size of Mount Olympus, sometimes, didn't outshine her brain, the size of a marble. And as I'm poking fun at the size of her brain, I'm referencing my mother's extreme level of avoidance, another word for distraction. My mother survived her life by creating things to do, staying busy, and ignoring the negative thoughts that burned inside. Like many, my mother had a rough childhood. And instead of facing her negative thoughts, my mother turned her back, and pretended everything was alright. My mother's distraction was especially noticed by Shawn. Shawn, out of the three children, had the worst relationship with my mother. Don't get me wrong, my mother loved him, but the connection wasn't that strong. Shawn was the type of child who needed affection via time spent, but was never the recipient, due to my mother's spin-cycle behaviors. Therefore, he internalized what he saw, and took it upon himself, perceiving he wasn't good enough. Adam, whose relationship wasn't much better, also hurt. However, Adam's behaviors manifested differently, hence the wacky grass numbing his emotion.

  Then there was me. I was the golden child; I was smart, charismatic, charming, and pretty. I hate tooting my own horn, but I was the sunshine, the only sunshine. My radiant personality didn't go unnoticed, especially by my mother. I was her favorite child, and my mother, although she didn't try, couldn't hide the fact that I was. All the attention and love my brothers didn't get; I got, in surplus. When I refer to myself, back then, as sunshine, I'm not kidding. Because when I died, there was a total eclipse.

  *

  The titanic hit the iceberg when my mother and I walked in on my father banging our eighteen-year-old neighbor. The respect I had for him was flushed down the toilet like a massive turd, never to be seen again. And to be quite honest, I lost respect for my mother as well, because she didn't end their relationship. Instead of standing up for herself, my mother was spineless, blind, and stupid. It is extremely important for a child to observe their parents making a stand for what's right, even if the decision is difficult. My father's behavior was unacceptable, and because my mother didn't have any personal boundaries, I learned, as did my brothers, we could do wrong without receiving consequences. After my father hid his hoagie into a young girl who was searching for a father figure, my mother drifted into fairy-tale land, and thought, oh he wouldn't cheat on me again. Throughout the following months, life for my family was a joke, because my father continued his endeavors, my mother ran on her hamster wheel; Shawn was ignored, and Adam was hitting the hash pipe. Unsure how I did it; I channeled my emotions, and succeeded. Like I said, I was the sunshine for everyone. On the other hand, just when you think things can't get any worse; they do.

  *

  If my father's sex-capade was the titanic, then the day I died was Pearl Harbor. I remember picture day perfectly. Early morning, before school, I was standing in front of the mirror, wearing my black dress. Although I looked like a princess, maybe a dark princess because I was in black, I wasn't satisfied. Therefore, I applied lipstick, looking as close to the ideal I had in my mind. I was excited, and eager to arrive at school.

  Standing outside, next to my mother's vehicle, I became irritable, because my brother was misbehaving. Shawn was inside
pitching a fit, and writing his initials on the wall. His childish behavior required attention from my mother, which Shawn basked in, because he only received it when he did something bad. When they finally exited our home, I sat shot-gun, while my brother's negative attitude poisoned the backseat. My mother was driving, quietly, without the radio on, because she was still upset with Shawn. Shawn, who was pouting, was also silent.

  Using the sun visor's mirror, I was compulsively checking my make-up, because I wanted to look beautiful for picture day. However, to my surprise, the picture never happened. About five minutes into our trip, directly in the intersection, in nightmarish fashion, I convulsed and was sent into a seizure. During my seizure, my mother was yelling in hysterics, while Shawn did the same. In inexplicable physical pain, I couldn't take my eyes off the mirror. Through the reflection, I saw blood pouring out of my eyes, mouth, and nose. Oh my God, there was too much blood! By the time my mother feverishly spun the car around and drove to the hospital, I was already dead. Instead of a beautiful keep sake picture to reminisce someday, the next time I'd see my actual reflection would be the day I tried killing myself.

  *

  With my body dead and gone, my spirit was a bullet flying into the astral plane. When we die, our soul travels into the astral plane, sometimes it drifts further into the darkness, but mine didn't. I was in the astral plane, where I remained connected with my family, and hovered over them like a cloud. For some, while in the astral plane, their spirit attaches to other people, and not their family. However, for me, I stayed put. I remained in the astral plane for about six months. And what I saw from my family, made me angry enough to start killing.

  First off, my father’s transformation into a raging asshole was unbearable. His on-edge behavior went flying off in an aggressive and violent manner. My father began physically abusing both Shawn and my mother, graphically. I can't even begin to explain the amount of homicidal thoughts that formed in my head. And the only reason I didn't kill my father was, my mother developed a backbone, and kicked his ass to the curb. Although it shouldn't have taken my death to prompt reality for my mother, she freed herself and the rest of my family from my father. When he was gone, my mother's avoidance ballooned, and Shawn went to hell in a hand basket. Trying to help Shawn cope, my mother pretended I wasn't dead, and Shawn followed her lead. Soon thereafter, Shawn began treatment with Doctor Sholvin. And we all know how that turned out. Although I was observing Sholvin from the astral plane, I would’ve hated that bitch in the flesh anyway.