Resurrecting Gavin (A Dismantling Evan Companion Novelette)

by Venessa Kimball

  Resurrecting

  Gavin

  An Evan Series Novelette

  Venessa Kimball

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Copyright © 2014 by Venessa Kimball

  Edited Carmilla Voiez

  Cover by SK Whiteside

  Though some of the places are real this is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and situations in this work are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead, or situations are merely a coincidence.

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any form, other than a brief quote in a review or article without the written permission of the author.

  Published by

  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.

  March 15

  “What?”

  Andy is not me! He is my roommate and friend. She is confused or playing a joke.

  “Andy is Andy. I am me!” I say flatly.

  “I know you believe that Gavin, I do, but he is someone you created in your head,” Dr. Larson states. All her calm voice does is make me more anxious and angry; she is trying to talk me out of believing what I know is true.

  “It is called Dissociative Identity Dis...”

  I interrupt her.“No! Andy is a patient here! You know him!”

  Nurse Cindy shifts in her seat uncomfortably. “We know of him,” she mumbles.

  “You know him!” I yell at her and she shifts away from me in fear.

  Calm down and count Gavin.

  I don’t want to. I know what I know and she is trying to make me look like a fool!

  I look between Nurse Cindy and Dr. Larson and I yell. “You are both liars!”

  Seeing my animated anger, Nurse Cindy calls out, “Hank! We need you in here!”

  I know what that means. They are going to give me more of that medicine that makes me feel sick. It's like a dust pile has been stirred in the room. Dr. Larson comes around the front of her desk toward me and Nurse Cindy starts to rise from her chair with her hand reaching into her white coat pocket; the one where she keeps the syringe.

  I move away from them toward the door, just as Mr. Hank comes in, blocking my path.

  “Gavin, it is okay, son. Please just try and calm down.” Hank holds his hands up toward me so I can see they are empty.

  The wetness in my eyes blurs Mr. Hank’s face and hands, so I pinch them closed and clench my fists.

  “No, not until you tell me you are lying,” I growl through gritted teeth.

  “We have to sedate him. We don’t want him seizing,” says Nurse Cindy.

  I can’t let them do that to me again. I jump into action, charging towards Mr. Hank and the open doorway. I’m not going to let them sedate me again.

  Mr. Hank takes hold of my arm. I thrash and try to pull away. “No!”

  “Garret!” Mr. Hank calls out.

  I know if Mr. Garret comes in, I will never break away.

  “Wait, don’t sedate him! Just wait please,” Dr. Larson yells over my groaning struggle to break free of Mr. Hank’s hold and Nurse Cindy’s attempts to jab me with a needle full of medicine.

  They aren’t going to listen to her.

  I wiggle and flap my arms, hoping that will loosen their grip, but they hold tighter.

  What can I do to get out of this?

  I start screaming at the top of my lungs. They loosen their hands just long enough so I can push away from them and stumble into the hallway. As I turn to look in the direction I am trying to run, I smack straight into Mr. Garret, losing my footing and falling flat on my back. The sound of Dr. Larson, Mr. Hank, and Nurse Cindy yelling, and their shoes squeaking on the tile floor around me, gets me moving again, but all too soon I am pinned down by strong hands, squealing helplessly. I hope it will trick them again, but it doesn’t. I scream and yell until my throat burns.

  “Hold him still,” Nurse Cindy says breathlessly as she kneels down to poke me with that needle.

  “No! Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!” I cry over and over.

  My chain of words is broken by Dr. Larson. “Stop! Don’t you dare give him that injection, Cindy!” With my eyes focused on the long needle inches from my arm, I glance between its shiny steel tip, Nurse Cindy, Mr. Hank, Mr. Garret, and Dr. Larson. All of us are motionless; frozen by the doctor’s reaction.

  Keeping a furrowed brow and scowl untypical of Dr. Larson, she barks, “Cindy, you can go back to your station. Hank, Garret, take him to his room, please.”

  Mr. Hank tries to argue, “But Dr. Larson...”

  “You and Garret will be stationed outside of his door while Mr. Ferguson and I talk.”

  Talk? She is lying to me and keeping my mom and Brody away. Does she really think I want to talk after all this?

  I glance from Dr. Larson to Nurse Cindy and her syringe as she rises from her knees, then puts the cap back on the needle. Standing next to Dr. Larson, Nurse Cindy turns to her and says, “I hope you know what you are doing, Doctor.”

  Dr. Larson looks at me on the ground, pinned by the two orderlies as Nurse Cindy walks away. Some of the patients have clustered in the hall and I notice the boy that rocks.

  “Everything will be all right,” Nurse Cindy calls out as she takes hold of the boy gently by the shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the sofa, Henry.”

  So the rocker’s name is Henry.

  Henry the Rocker.

  “Take him back to his room, please,” Dr. Larson says gruffly, which moves Mr. Hank and Mr. Garret into motion as they lift me to my feet.

  Upright now, I notice Mary Kate and Sam, standing farther down the hall, watching me as I’m pulled away.

  Dr. Larson leads and Mr. Hank and Mr. Garret hold my arms. She opens the door to my room and backs away, allowing us to pass. Mr. Hank and Mr. Garret both let go of me once I am in the middle of my small room. Dr. Larson closes the door and walks over to us with her arms crossed.

  “Where is your bed Gavin?” she asks, steadily.

  I’m confused. I know she isn’t blind and she can see the furniture in this room. Still, I answer her.

  “There.”

  I point to my crumpled bedding.

  “Where is Andy’s bed, Gavin?” she asks, stiffly.

  I look beyond her, expecting to see Andy’s bed, but I only see a wall. The room seems smaller too, which isn’t right.

  “Andy’s bed is your bed Gavin,” she says.

  Wait, this might not be my room!

  I look back at my crumpled bed again.

  Those are my sheets.

  I search for my camera on the night stand.

  It's there.

  I see my calendar on the wall next to my bed and the stack of pictures on the small desk.

  They must have moved Andy’s bed.

  “Hank, Garret, can you wait outside of the room?” Dr. Larson asks.

  Neither of them move as I try and figure out how they had time to remove Andy’s bed.

  “Gavin.”

  A voice tries to interrupt my thoughts.

  They took it away to make it look like I am crazy. Was it Hank or Garret or both of them?

  “Gavin.” Dr. Larson’s voice is small.

  They didn't have enough time though.

  “I am not crazy.” My throat is get
ting that weird tightness in it again.

  “Gavin!” Dr. Larson calls to me once more and I look at her this time.

  She moves closer to me as she says, calmly, “If Hank and Garret wait outside, will you promise to not do anything?”

  Why is she asking that? Do anything?

  “What?”

  She stops walking.

  “Do you promise not to hurt anyone?” she asks.

  I feel sick to my stomach. She fears me.

  I hold my breath and close my eyes as tears drip down my face.

  A warm hand touches my arm then gentle words follow. “I don’t think you will hurt anyone, Gavin, but Hank and Garret are worried. That is why they won’t leave. I need you to tell them you won’t hurt anyone. Okay?”

  Oh, they were worried. Not her?

  I release the air I'm holding tightly in my lungs and open my eyes to meet hers.

  I shake my head slowly. “I could never hurt you.” I look at Mr. Hank and Mr. Garret. “Or anyone.”

  “Including yourself, right?” Dr. Larson adds.

  I look from her to both of the orderlies again. “No, I won’t hurt myself.”

  Mr. Garret and Mr. Hank slowly back away, keeping their cautious eyes aimed on me as they leave the room. It makes me sad the way they look at me now, like I am a bad guy.

  I sink down on the bed.

  Feels like my bed.

  I’m still not certain it is my room though.

  Dr. Larson takes the wooden chair from under my desk, turns it to face my bed, then sits.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what Gavin?” Dr. Larson seems confused.

  “For keeping Nurse Cindy from giving me that medicine.”

  She nods. “Your agitation, struggling, the medicine... they all could have contributed to another seizure, making things worse.”

  “I thought I was getting better.”

  I notice her body relax into the chair and the hardened look she had earlier has withered away to the softened one I trust. Her voice lifts gently through the dimly lit room. “It takes time, Gavin.”

  March 16

  After Dr. Larson left my room last night, I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to write, didn’t want to do anything except lie in my bed.

  Nurse Cindy brought my night medicine with a cup of water. She asked if I was hungry. I took my medicine, shook my head and lay back down.

  Dr. Larson told me I have Dissociative Identity Disorder. That Andy was someone I made up in my head after all the trauma in my life - the bullying at school; learning about my father; the shooting in the auditorium; being at Pembroke Psychiatric Center; being separated from my family and friends. All of those things hurt me so badly that I needed to find a way to deal with it. Then poof, Andy.

  I didn’t believe her at first. I asked her to explain away Andy having the seizure and the doctors and nurses coming in to take him. She said I was the one that had the seizure. I was the one they carried away. I had disconnected myself from the real me and saw Andy instead. I fought her on it though. I remembered our discussion about Andy and I, sitting at lunch together, taking photos outside in the courtyard. I reminded her that she told me that Evan was going to develop our pictures. She said that was when she realized Andy was a symptom of my disorder, someone I created in my mind. She said she didn’t want cause more trauma by telling me. It would have caused me more stress and made my healing even more difficult.

  She said that some symptoms of this disorder were bad, but my having Andy wasn’t one of them. He was a comforting and healing fragment of myself.

  I asked her if it was my mind compromising a certain truth.

  I think she was surprised I remembered that from our sessions together. She nodded and said that was exactly what my mind was doing.

  I got defensive. I asked why Andy went away. If I didn’t need him, why was he gone now?

  She said she thought it was a sign that my mind was trying to heal.

  She said trying. To me that means not succeeding, yet.

  I hadn't asked her before, too much was going through my head with her saying I was having seizures again, Andy wasn't real, and keeping me from Mom and Brody. I needed to know if I was really going crazy.

  She shook her head and said that I wasn’t, but my mind might take longer to heal than she originally thought. She said the medications, along with our therapy sessions, would mend the compromise I had to make with my mind. With Andy gone, it was a sign that I was feeling connected with myself again. She said that was a good thing.

  It irked me that she smiled and told me this while, all the time, my heart felt vacant with Andy gone.

  GF

  March 16

  After Nurse Cindy gave me medication, Mr. Hank came to my room to tell me Dr. Larson would be letting me see Brody and Mom!

  Write later.

  GF

  March 16

  Mr. Hank and Mr. Garret walk on either side of me. We pass the nurses’ station on the way to Dr. Larson’s office. Nurse Cindy turns in her chair, looks at us briefly, then turns back to her work.

  I hear my mother’s and Brody’s voices just before Mr. Hank knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” Dr. Larson says.

  Mom is sitting across from Dr. Larson, facing the door, wiping her nose with a tissue. I worry that she has been crying again. She coughs then clears her throat. She doesn’t sound great today. Why can’t she get rid of that cough?

  Brody leans forward in his chair, his hands on his knees the way people do when they are getting ready to stand. The rims of his eyes are blotchy and red. I look away from him, tuck my hand into my pocket nervously, then focus back on Mom. Her eyes aren’t as red and blotchy and I think I can handle looking at her more than Brody right now.

  I guess they have both been crying because of what Dr. Larson has told them about Andy and how I made him up in my mind and all.

  Brody walks over and hugs me. I don’t feel like hugging because I feel bad, so I only half hug.

  Mom hugs me next then, as she backs away, I notice her face; it is so thin. Her face is usually fuller, rounder, and with pink on her cheeks. Now, it's more oval and long, and her cheekbones press outward under her eyes. Her cheeks have no color at all. I have been taller than Mom for at least a year now, but she seems even smaller, tinier, as she stands in front of me. She quickly hugs me again then sobs. I am careful when I hug her back, worried I might break her fragile body.

  “You are so small, Mom,” I say softly as I look up at Brody, standing behind us.

  “What do you mean honey?” she says and pulls away.

  “Are you still sick?” I didn’t mean to ask so bluntly, but I have a habit of doing that sometimes.

  Mom moves back to her seat, first looking at Brody, then Dr. Larson. “I was. Just having a hard time getting over this cough,” she says just before clearing her throat.

  Standing by the open door, Mr. Garret asks, “Will that be all Dr. Larson?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she replies.

  “We were just talking about your recent symptoms.”

  I look away from Dr. Larson as heated shame covers me from the top of my head down to my feet.

  “Hey,” Brody says gently, nudging me with his elbow.

  I look up at him.

  “We aren’t upset, buddy. We just want to know what is going on. Okay?”

  Mom adds, “We love you sweetheart. We could never be angry with you. We just didn’t know what was happening. Why we couldn’t see you.”

  I nod, but remain silent.

  “Gavin?”

  My eyes meet Dr. Larson’s as she continues. “I knew you needed to see them. Your family is everything to you. I hope you know that we are all here to learn how to help you heal; no judgment.”

  She knows I am ashamed. I see that familiar look of worry mixed with protectiveness in Mom and Brody’s eyes now. I guess they can sense my shame too.

  “We love you, buddy,” Brody says,
gently.

  Dr. Larson clears her throat. “I believe Gavin is experiencing symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder.”

  “You believe?” Brody asks.

  “Yes,” she says, nodding with confidence.

  “You don’t know for sure?” Mom questions.

  “We will know once we run tests on him,” Dr. Larson adds.

  What kind of tests were they wanting to run on me?

  I imagine probes and needles coming at my face as I lie on a cold, metal table.

  “This dissociative disorder, is it like multiple personalities or something?” Brody asks.

  “Dissociative Identity used to be referred to as Multiple Personality, but Gavin’s case is unique and doesn’t quite fall under that umbrella alone. Since Gavin has an underlying seizure disorder, possibly epileptic, I think there is a correlation between the disassociation and the stress he has endured. Both psychiatric evaluation and MRI and EEG will...”

  Epilepsy? I thought I didn’t have epilepsy.

  “But we have had MRIs and EEGs before.” Mom looks from her to Brody, then back at her again.

  Dr. Larson looks down at my file, flipping a page. “Yes, but that was when he was an infant, then again when he was five. His brain has changed, developed. We need to see what changes have occurred in his brain since.”

  I look at Dr. Larson, accusingly. “You said I didn’t have epilepsy and I didn’t have seizures when I was a baby.”

  “I said possible epileptic seizures Gavin and I said possible epilepsy,” Dr. Larson adds.

  I’m about to comment on Andy being the one that had seizures since he was a baby, but I know that is a bad idea since I am Andy, so I hold my words. My heart pumps faster as I remember Andy and I talking about seizures. He remembered things differently.

  Mom interrupts my thoughts. “You had an MRI when you were a baby for the seizures honey...” A raspy and wheezing dry cough takes over and she covers her mouth with a napkin. The cough persists, keeping her explanation on hold.