My dad referred to what happened as “the incident.” Much nicer than saying “when your mom went crazy and tried to kill you.” When the police arrived in response to my 911 call, the incident became too big for us to take back. My dad couldn’t make it go away by saying it was a minor family dispute, although he tried doing just that. The cops might have been able to ignore my mother’s wild-eyed look, our disheveled kitchen, and the yowling of the cat, but the sight of me holding a dishtowel to my bloody neck was a game changer.
One of the cops called for two ambulances. He actually said, “We’re going to need two buses,” just the way they do on the police shows on TV. After that, they separated the three of us for questioning. My dad gave me a begging look as they led me away and I knew he wanted me to come up with a story that would get Mom off the hook. He was always holding things together. I didn’t want to be the one to get my mom in trouble and break up the family, but it was too late. I’d already told the 911 operator about my mom wielding the knife and the blood gushing out of the side of my neck sort of backed up that version of events. In the end, I couldn’t lie. I told them everything that had happened from the time I’d woken up to find my mother on top of me, determined to get the devil out of me, until they arrived.
At the same time as I was telling them my version, I heard her in the next room frantically trying to convince them that I was possessed by a demon. “That is not my daughter, Nadia! I saw it take over her body. If you were there you’d know I’m telling the truth. Whatever is in there is trying to fool us, but I saw right past it. I was trying to save my daughter, my baby girl!” I hadn’t heard her call me her baby girl in a long time and it made my heart hurt to hear it now. I heard the lady cop talking quietly and trying to get Mom to calm down but that only made her more agitated. “How do you explain her face healing like that?” Mom yelled. “I say it’s the devil’s work!” Another officer was asking my dad to get the vial of my mom’s pills to bring to the hospital to give the doctors.
Listening to my mom, I felt bad. Some of what she was saying was true. She had seen my spirit leave my body and then watched it reenter when I’d returned. And she was right in saying I had been different lately. My father missed a lot of details around the house, but she didn’t miss a thing. The most obvious change, my face, was noticed by both of them, but my dad thought it was due to the ointment he’d given me. Mom saw beyond that. Now that I didn’t look hideous, living in my body became a whole lot easier. I found myself stopping in front of the very mirrors I used to avoid. I no longer felt repugnant and that influenced how I moved and the clothes I wore. I’d retired the hoodie and started wearing the tank tops and tees that before had just been layering pieces. And the biggest change? I was in love with Russ, and that changed everything.
When the paramedics arrived, they set to work evaluating me, putting pressure on my wound, and monitoring my vitals. They checked my blood pressure and took my temperature, both of which were fine. The cut had nearly stopped bleeding by then, but still they had me lie down on the stretcher and wheeled me to the back of the ambulance where they put an oxygen thing in my nose. Once I felt the vehicle start to move, it all went by in a blur.
My dad had decided to drive our car and meet us at the hospital, but not before assuring my mom that he’d bring her purse. I guess she didn’t realize that when you were committed to a mental health ward you couldn’t keep your personal belongings with you.
The whole thing was surreal, like it was happening to someone else’s family. My mother had always been extreme, but never so bad that we couldn’t handle it ourselves. My dad thought of her as moody and quirky. He’d tell me when to leave her alone because she had some things to “work out.” He never told me what her medication was for and I never saw the vial of pills. They kept it hidden somewhere in their bedroom—off-limits for me. My dad always kept her on an even keel. He steered the ship, I followed his lead, and generally everything was okay. But now, my astral projecting had steered us off course and put her over the edge. Her increased insanity and my father’s sorrow all sourced right back to me. My family was a mess and it was my fault.
At the hospital that night I got eight stitches. The doctor who did it frowned as he worked. “I’m afraid this will leave a slight scar. Your folks might want to consult with a plastic surgeon. I can give you a referral if you’d like.”
Just to be polite, I nodded. I took the piece of paper with the referral even knowing I would never visit a plastic surgeon. I didn’t need plastic surgery; I had Russ. If he could heal my burn scars, which were several years old, this incision should be easy for him to fix. I imagined his hands hovering over my neck before finding their way to either side of my face. I loved his touch and the intensity of our eyes meeting right before he leaned in to kiss me. He looked at me like I was a miracle: the sun rising after the end of the world, rain after a long, harsh drought. Looking through his eyes I saw myself the same way.
They sent me home with my father while Mom stayed behind to be evaluated. Once we were in the car in the parking lot, he gripped the wheel and looked up at the lit hospital windows. “I hope they treat her well,” he said with a tired sigh before starting the engine.
That night I fell into a deep sleep. Before I drifted off, I tried to astral project to Russ, but I couldn’t make it work. I couldn’t get my head in the right place and my body wouldn’t relax enough to make it happen. Astral projecting had caused the problem and now I couldn’t even do it. Totally ironic.
The staff in the ER filed paperwork saying my mother was a threat to herself and others, the others being me, I guess. Dad said they were going to keep her for seventy-two hours for observation, but he was going to try to get them to release her sooner. “She doesn’t belong there,” he said, as we drove back the next day. “Last night I heard one of the patients screaming at the top of his lungs that he was going to kill everyone. Hearing that gave me chills. I can only imagine being stuck there and having to listen to it all night. I’m sick that they wouldn’t let her go, but there was nothing I could do about it.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “This is such a disaster.”
I didn’t say anything, just kept my eyes on the road ahead. I felt my eyes well up with tears and my nose start to run and I sniffed to hold it all back. Fumbling, I reached into the glove compartment to grab the tissues we usually kept there, but there was nothing but a wad of paper napkins from a fast food place. The napkins were scratchy but I used them anyway.
“Don’t worry, Nadia. We’ll get it sorted out,” he said kindly.
“It’s all my fault,” I said, my voice choked with emotion. I blew my nose and swallowed.
“It’s no one’s fault, honey. Things just happen sometimes. Just when you think you’ve got everything figured out, life throws something else at you. I’ve seen it happen time and time again.”
We went back every day after that, today the doctor wanted to talk to Dad alone, so I was directed to the waiting room, a square area lined on three sides with faux-leather furniture and end tables that were actually shelves attached to the walls. One of the fluorescent lights flickered and I finally got up and turned off one of the light switches so only half the room was lit.
When Dad finally returned to the waiting room, he sat down next to me and didn’t say a word.
“Did you get to see Mom?” I asked.
He nodded, “Briefly, but she can’t come home just yet. She’s taking her medication and no longer says you’re possessed, but they still want to keep her because they’re concerned about your safety. She can come home on Friday. They asked if there was a relative or friend you could stay with for a week or two, but I told them no, we really don’t have anywhere you can go.” He put his arm around my shoulder to console me, not knowing that what he said had given me an idea. I was suddenly filled with hope. He said, “It’s okay, Nadia. I told them I’d assume responsibility for your safety. We’ll be fine. We’ll get through this.”
“I could go away for a while though, if it would help Mom,” I said slowly, being careful not to let my enthusiasm show. “Remember how I was chosen to go to Washington D.C. with the National High School Student Initiative?”
His nose wrinkled as he thought back. “The two men that came over that day?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t cost anything. The whole trip is covered by them and it would look great on my college application. Plus, they give scholarships. Mallory went and she’s there right now. You know Mallory, right? I’m sure I could still join the group. I still have the card they gave me.” Despite wanting to play it cool, all the words came out in a rush. When I was through, I waited for him to say that it would be too complicated to arrange things at the last minute, or that he wanted me home to help with Mom, but he didn’t say either of those things. He just looked at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“But isn’t it half over already?”
“That’s okay,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “They said a shortened visit is fine. And I’d make it in time to go to the Black Tie Bash.”
“Wouldn’t that be something? My baby girl at the Presidential Black Tie Bash,” Dad put his arm around my shoulder. He sighed. “Seems like someone in this family should be having fun.”
“So I can go?”
“That might be best for now,” he said finally. “If you can arrange it, I’ll sign the paperwork and do whatever else needs doing. Maybe by the time you get back, things will be better with your mom.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Russ
I shuffled through the rest of the comic books looking for Superheroes of the Twenty-First Century Part II, but it wasn’t there. Presumably Mr. Specter and Kevin never got around to making a sequel or it would have been included in the bunch.
When I heard a key card unlock the hotel door and Mallory and Jameson laughingly entering the room, I glanced up to see them sort of tumbling in, almost tripping over each other and their multiple shopping bags. At that moment, I’d been reading the comic book again for the third time. I was sure Kevin had deliberately given it to me so that I could prevent the outcome of the story and I wanted to have all the details committed to memory.
“Hey Russ,” Mallory said enthusiastically. “Guess what?” She had a large plastic cup in one hand and she took a loud, slurpy sip from the straw.
“He’ll never guess.” Jameson dumped his purchases out onto the bed and they fell in a scattered heap. Clothing, packaged food, books, and an assortment of other items fell onto the bed. “Never in a million years.”
“Let me tell him,” Mallory said, turning to tell me the big news. “Get this—everything in PGDC is free.”
“Free,” I said.
“Absolutely free, as in no money. Nada. The food vendors, the clothing stores, the grocery, none of them even have cash registers. If you want something, it’s completely free. They do have signs asking that you not take advantage of the system, but no one enforces it or anything.”
“Huh. Interesting.” I closed the comic book.
Jameson said, “I got all this stuff and I never even got my wallet out of my pocket. This place is freakin’ awesome. And you missed out, old buddy. Sitting here like a lump while we were out claiming our territory.”
Sitting like a lump? “While you two were out acting like you’re on vacation, I was reading this.” I held the comic book up. Since neither of them looked in my direction, I knew that I hadn’t quite emphasized its importance. “It’s a comic book from Kevin Adams. He and Mr. Specter made it when they were teenagers and it’s about us.”
“What do you mean it’s about us?” Mallory said, putting down her drink and taking the comic book from my hands. She sat on the edge of Jameson’s bed and examined the cover.
“I mean, we’re in it. The characters are us and they’re in Washington D.C. just like we are now.”
“Mr. Specter and Kevin made this?” She flipped through the pages.
“Thirty years ago. Mr. Specter came up with the story. Kevin did the illustrations.”
Jameson sat next to Mallory so they were elbow to elbow. They silently read it together. Mallory took charge turning the pages, waiting until Jameson nudged her before flipping to the next one. I watched their faces and knew exactly when Jameson had spotted Mover!’s entrance on the page because he got a big grin on his face. He’d made the connection that it was supposed to be him.
I was dying inside for them to finish it. I wanted someone else to experience it with so we could discuss it, note the similarities, and strategize. We could talk about what Sam Specter had in mind when he wrote the text, and what Kevin Adams expected us to do with the knowledge. As impatient as I was, it felt like it took them forever to finish, giving me only their facial expressions to go on. When they reached the end, they looked pleased, but neither one said a word.
“What do you think?” I asked.
Jameson gave me an amused grin. “I think that Mover! is one cool dude. The best one in the bunch, clearly.”
“Okay, if you can’t be serious for one minute—”
Jameson held up his hand. “Chill, Russ. I can be serious and still think Mover! is the best character in the story.” He rubbed his forehead. “Pretty trippy that Specter came up with this so long ago. I wonder if he saw the future exactly like this, or if he just got glimpses and filled in the rest of the story with guesswork?”
“Does this worry either of you at all?” I stood up and took the book back. “It doesn’t end well for Nadia.”
“I’m wondering why Kevin gave it just to you and not to me and Jameson.” Mallory sounded slightly irritated at being left out.
“Neither of you got a copy of this?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I know I didn’t.”
“I haven’t even looked at mine yet,” Jameson said, getting up to pull his carry-on out of the closet. He knelt down to unzip the side pouch. Once he’d pulled out the stack of comic books, he didn’t waste any time leafing through them. “Nope, I didn’t get it either. You’d think that if it was a warning, he’d have specifically mentioned it and given us each a copy.”
“Okay,” Mallory said, “Let’s talk this through.” And suddenly I was reminded of the old Mallory, the one I’d first noticed in Science class sophomore year. Pretty and smart. The one with her hand raised because she thought she knew the answer and wasn’t afraid to be wrong. “Mr. Specter wrote the book. Kevin did the illustrations. Is it possible Kevin hasn’t looked at it recently and didn’t realize the similarities between us and the characters?”
“No.” Jameson shook his head. “He has to know. What would you do if a friend died and you came across something like this, a project you worked on together? You’d read it, right? You’d pour yourself a drink and read it in memory of your friend.”
“Unless it’s too painful to read,” Mallory suggested.
“No,” Jameson shot back. “Too painful, that’s a chick thing to say. A guy would read it, right Russ?”
I had to give it to him. When Jameson was right, he was really right. I said, “Kevin would have read it before he gave it to me. Without a doubt.”
“So he read it,” Mallory said. “Without a doubt.” She gave me an amused smile. “Did he give it to you as a warning or just for fun?”
I pulled the sticky note off the pillow. “I thought you might like it,” I read.
“Fairly generic sentiment,” Jameson said. “So that doesn’t help. But let’s assume he did want to issue a warning and to Russ only. Is that because he thinks we’re inconsequential? Weak links? Or, does he think we can’t be trusted?”
“I don’t think Kevin is that deep of a thinker,” Mallory said. “He probably just figured Russ would share it with us.”
Jameson nodded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. I said, “But how did he know I would even read it? I could have gone the whole time and never even looked at it.”
“He knew you would,” Mallory said. “Be
cause you’re that kind of guy.”
Sadly, she was right. I was the kind of guy who would read the comic book. If I’d thought about it, I would have read it on the flight over. “In the story, the commander turns out to be a woman dressed as a man,” I said. “And the Nadia character dies. Mover! levitates the missile out of the way.” Jameson smiled at the reference. “And there are explosions and bedlam and the villain escapes. It ends badly.”
“I’d say it ends well,” Jameson said. “At the end, the president and the president’s daughter are safe and they figure out the identity of the leader of the Associates. All of our objectives are covered.”
“I’m sure the part where they give Persuasa and Mover! awards for heroism is covered in the next book in the series,” Mallory said. She and Jameson high-fived each other.
“I think you’re missing the point,” I said. “Ideally we don’t want to have to save anyone. Ideally there shouldn’t even be an explosion. We have an opportunity to prevent all this from happening.”
“You’re assuming things will happen the way they do in the story,” Jameson pointed out. “But they couldn’t possibly. For one, Nadia never leaves her house. Secondly, the PG and the Secret Service are anticipating problems, so there’s no way a missile could be smuggled into the Bash.”
“And believe me, I’d never wear a green dress like that,” Mallory said, shuddering at the thought of actually wearing her comic book character’s gown. “It’s the color of cat vomit.”
“I bet you could make it work,” Jameson said to her. “You’d look good in anything.”
“Thanks.”
“So what do we do with this?” I held the comic book up in the air, like I was a 1920s newsboy. “I’m thinking we should give it to one of the Praetorian Guard officials.” I liked the idea of getting the higher ups involved. Let them tighten the rein on security. We had enough to do.
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 70