A Sad Soul Can Kill You

by Catherine Flowers

  He put one hand on the stair banister while he kept staring at the door. He thought about the pamphlet and the referral for treatment he’d accepted at the hospital before he’d been discharged. He walked back to the hallway and picked up the pamphlet.

  It was a faith-based treatment center that offered a one-year recovery and deliverance program for men and women. Several testimonies were printed on the cover from those who, through the power of Jesus Christ, had been set free from their addiction.

  Lorenzo knew something needed to change—he knew he needed to change. That’s why he had accepted the information, and an appointment had already been scheduled for him.

  “Lord, give me strength,” he whispered as he turned around and slowly headed upstairs to Serenity’s bedroom. He knocked softly on her door, and then opened it slowly. She was lying on her bed with her earplugs in her ears. “Hey,” he said.

  She looked at him and did not speak.

  He wiped his moist hands on the side of his blue jeans, then signaled with his fingers for her to remove the earplugs.

  She reluctantly took one of them out of her ear.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said.

  “I already told you,” she said defiantly, “I wasn’t looking for boys.”

  “That’s not what I want to talk to you about,” Lorenzo said as he sat down on the edge of her bed. “At least not now. Right now, I want to know how you’re feeling about everything.”

  Serenity hunched her shoulders, and then let them relax.

  Lorenzo stared at the pink Hello Kitty poster on her wall. The mouthless feline stared back at him. “What does that mean, Serenity?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  He continued to sit on the edge of the bed.

  It’s your fault, Serenity thought as she put the earplug back in her ear.

  A few seconds passed before he spoke. “Listen,” he said, “I’m sorry about what happened, and I’m glad you’re okay.” Then he stood up and walked out of her bedroom.

  She rolled her eyes. It’s still your fault, she thought. Then she turned on her iPod.

  Chapter Forty-three

  One week after being discharged from the hospital, Lorenzo walked into the Christian-based outpatient treatment center. After checking in at the receptionist desk, he pulled two chairs close together and distributed his weight evenly between the two. A piece of brown thread hung loosely from one of the seat cushions he sat on, and he nervously began twisting and untwisting the thread around his finger. He surveyed the lobby as he waited to be assessed by one of the AODA counselors.

  A painting of a lilac against a white backdrop hung on the gray wall behind the receptionist. The recessed lighting in the ceiling, along with the wall-mounted water fountain, created a welcoming, serene effect.

  Lorenzo gazed at the gentle stream of water trickling down from the fountain as his mind began to replay everything that had happened to him prior to the fall. He remembered the woman on the television screen telling him that suicide was not the answer. He could still hear her whispered invitation to ask Jesus into his heart, and he remembered calling out to Him for help.

  But the thing that really stayed with him was what she’d said about Jesus being able to do for him what those pills he’d been taking couldn’t do. That was the last thing he remembered before everything went dark.

  When he’d woken up he was in a hospital bed. His head ached, and there’d been a tube down his throat and an IV needle stuck in his arm. When Tia had come to see him, he couldn’t even bear to look at her.

  He remembered her embrace and how badly he’d wanted to just dissolve into her arms, but he’d been unable to diminish his angry façade. It had become his defense mechanism, and he’d needed it then more than ever to hide the shame he’d felt. Why had he let himself get to this point?

  The next day the hospital social worker came to talk to him. She’d brought several pamphlets pertaining to alcohol and drug treatment centers with her. After introducing herself and asking him a few questions, she’d given Lorenzo a short questionnaire to fill out. Based on his answers, she’d asked him if he’d like a referral to one of the treatment facilities, and he’d said yes.

  The door opened and a fair-skinned man with dark freckles scattered across his face appeared. “Lorenzo,” he called out as he scanned the small group of people in the lobby.

  Lorenzo recognized the face, but it was too late now. There was nothing he could do. He stood up, smoothed out his shirt, and walked toward the man. “Hey, Tony,” he said to his neighbor at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  “Hey, man,” Tony said to Lorenzo after he closed the door to his office. “I understand if this feels a little uncomfortable to you, but I want to let you know three things: First, I want you to know that I’m glad your daughter is okay.”

  “Thank you,” Lorenzo said.

  “Second, I won’t be your counselor. I’m just doing the intake. All right?”

  Lorenzo nodded his head.

  “Third, there’s something called HIPAA privacy rules. I’m going to have you read over it and sign it in a few minutes. But what it means is that your privacy is protected. Everything that goes on here remains strictly confidential. None of us can discuss you, your business,” he pointed his long finger at him, “or anything else that pertains to you outside of this facility or with anybody who’s not directly involved in your care.”

  Lorenzo ran his fingers along the kinky curls of hair on the side of his face. “Does that include my wife?”

  Tony nodded. “That includes your wife. We won’t discuss your situation with her at all unless you sign a release form giving us permission to do so.”

  Lorenzo was relieved. He was not ready to divulge everything to Tia, and although Tony seemed like a decent person, Lorenzo wasn’t sure if he’d be comfortable sharing his personal business with a member of the church he used to attend. Not to mention that he was his neighbor and both their wives were friends. It was all too close for comfort.

  “Yeah,” Tony said, interrupting Lorenzo’s thoughts. “I don’t want anything to get in the way of your deliverance, man.” He looked at him. “Nothing,” he repeated.

  “Thanks, man,” Lorenzo said. He rubbed his beard again, then put his finger on his chin and frowned. “I notice you used the word deliverance instead of recovery.”

  Tony smiled. The door has just been opened. This was the part of his job he loved the most. “That’s right, man,” he said, “because that’s what it boils down to. At the end of the day, do you want to complete your treatment and keep on telling everybody you’re in recovery? Or do you want to be delivered, healed,” he placed his hand over his heart, “permanently set free?”

  Tony smiled again and Lorenzo noticed how vibrant his appearance had become since he’d started talking about being set free and delivered.

  “There’s a difference between the two,” Tony said. “And I can tell you right off the bat,” he spread out his arms and held up his hands. “I’m a witness because I’ve been delivered.”

  Lorenzo remained silent as he continued to study Tony’s glowing face.

  “Praise the Lord,” Tony said still smiling.

  After the intake assessment was completed, Tony went over a few final pieces of information before Lorenzo left his office.

  “Once you’ve seen the doctor, our clinical team will use the information from our assessment to create a care plan for you. There’ll be a treatment plan that addresses your particular addiction. We’ll have you set some goals for getting clean and staying clean,” he smiled, “aka delivered. And, of course, we’ll have to address your lifestyle and what led you down this path to begin with.”

  Lorenzo rubbed his forehead. His anxiety was returning. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

  “It is. But nothing worth having is easy,” Tony said reassuringly. “And just so you understand, I’m saying we, but I won’t be a part of the team. I just want to make sure you understand that
.”

  “I understand,” Lorenzo said.

  “And also understand that I may not be your counselor, but I do support you because I know what you’re going through.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it,” Lorenzo said looking at the floor. “Let me ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “You said something about a difference between recovery and deliverance.”

  Tony nodded his head slowly.

  “What did you mean by that?”

  “I mean what the Word means,” he said. “The Bible says, when Jesus sets you free, you’re free indeed! Ain’t no going back unless you choose to. And some people do. The Bible talks about that too.”

  Tony opened his drawer and pulled out a miniature orange leather Bible. He flipped through its pages. “Here it is,” he said. “Proverbs 26, verse 11, ‘As a dog returns to its vomit,’” Tony read, “‘so fools repeat their folly.’” He turned the Bible around and pointed to the scripture so Lorenzo could see it for himself.

  “That’s deep,” Lorenzo said.

  “It is,” Tony agreed. “We’ll talk some more if you want to.” He got up to take Lorenzo back out to the lobby. “Off the record,” he added.

  “Cool,” Lorenzo said.

  “You’ll be seeing the doctor for a health screening next,” Tony explained as he escorted Lorenzo through the door.

  Lorenzo took a seat once more. He tried to ignore the anxiety he was feeling. He wanted to believe that he could be set free from the emotional bondage he’d been living with all his life. He dug his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Maybe he could be, he thought as he watched the ribbons of water flowing freely from the fountain on the wall.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Shari sat in front of the television set listening to the World Wide News anchorman. Although the city of Chicago had experienced their fair share of snow and below freezing temperatures, it was incomparable to the unprecedented snow and ice storms affecting the southern part of the country.

  According to the anchorman, one of the largest airline carriers in the country had to cancel over 2,000 flights because of the storm. There had been twenty-two weather-related deaths, and over a million homes and businesses were now without power. According to reports from the utility company, more than 500,000 customers were still in the dark.

  Shari looked at the $700 utility bill she was holding in her hand. Even though she and Tony still didn’t have the money to pay the bill, and the moratorium would be ending in six weeks, her concern about her own family ending up in a cold, dark house seemed trivial in comparison to what she was hearing on TV.

  A preview from the six o’clock news appeared on the screen, and Shari’s jaw dropped. She picked up her cell phone and called Tia.

  “Hey,” Tia answered.

  “Tia,” Shari said urgently. “Turn to Channel Six. Hurry up. The news is about to come on.”

  “Why?” Tia asked as she pressed the down arrow on the remote control until she got to the channel.

  “It’s about our neighbor. I just saw the preview.”

  The theme song for the six o’clock news began playing as Tia turned up the volume. She sat glued to her seat as the words Breaking News Update spread big and bold across the screen. Then the female reporter began talking.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she began. “We’ve just received an update on the arrest of a man in his early fifties who had been posing as a teenager online in order to lure young girls to undisclosed locations.”

  A picture of the man who’d been arrested appeared on the screen, his frozen stare drew attention to his hazel eyes, and Tia cringed. She hated that she’d ever been drawn to them in the first place.

  “Homer Woodard,” the anchorwoman continued, “the man who is accused of allegedly kidnapping his neighbor’s daughter, is now also being charged with child enticement and using a computer to facilitate a child sex crime. The charges were issued against the suspect after police combed through his laptop and discovered multiple online conversations he’d had with several underage girls.

  “Police aren’t providing any information pertaining to the nature of the conversations,” the anchorwoman said, “but the suspect is believed to have met with several of the girls he met online. Currently, he is being held in the county jail on a $5,000 bail. We aren’t releasing any of the victims’ names due to their ages.”

  Tia remained speechless. To think Serenity had been held hostage by this monster! Her stomach began to feel queasy as she thought about how she had allowed herself to be intimate with Homer.

  “In addition,” the anchorwoman continued, “the suspect’s mother is believed to have passed away in his home just days prior to the kidnapping incident.”

  “Mother?” Shari and Tia said at the same time.

  “I didn’t even know his mother lived with him,” Shari said. “I never saw her.”

  Tia moved the phone to her other ear. She didn’t bother to tell Shari that she had taken care of Homer’s mother in the hospital, and how surprised she’d been when he’d shown up to take her home. She just wanted to put the memory of him and everything else that had to do with him behind her.

  “I wonder when she died,” Shari said. “I never saw any ambulance or anything.”

  “Well, obviously it happened while we weren’t at home,” Tia said. “Otherwise, I’m sure we would have seen or heard something.”

  “Lord have mercy. You just never know who’s living next door to you, do you?”

  “No,” Tia said sadly, “you don’t.”

  “I feel sorry for those other girls and their families, but let’s thank God Serenity was able to escape!”

  “Oh, I have,” Tia said assuredly. “Believe me. I have.”

  “How is she doing anyway?”

  Tia turned off the television set, thankful that the focus was shifting away from Homer. “All things considered, she’s doing okay, I guess.”

  “How long are you going to keep dropping her off at school?”

  “I’m just trying to give her some time to recuperate before I start letting her stand outside and wait for the school bus again. I just want her to feel safe.”

  “You probably need some time to feel the same way, huh?” Shari asked.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Thanks for dropping Cookie off too.”

  “Well, they go to the same school so it only makes sense. And Lorenzo is finally making himself useful now by watching for the school bus when they come home.”

  “That’s good,” Shari said. “It’s a start, don’t you think?”

  “I guess.” A wave of sadness came over Tia as she recalled the conversation she’d had with Serenity the night she’d escaped from Homer’s basement.

  “Serenity thinks I don’t care about her.”

  “Oh, no,” Shari said pressing the mute button on the remote control, “that’s just her adolescence talking. She knows you love her.”

  Tia looked outside at the frozen stillness. She would be so happy when they got past this cold front. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’re not as close as we could be . . . should be. But I’m going to start spending more time with her.”

  “You haven’t forgotten that all things are possible with God, right?”

  “Right,” Tia said. But how could she expect God to make everything right when she had done so much wrong?

  Chapter Forty-five

  It had been four weeks since Lorenzo had begun attending group therapy sessions. He had finally found the courage to break his own vow, and had decided once again, to divulge what had happened to him as a boy. It hadn’t been quite as hard as it had been when he’d told his parents; mainly because several of the men and women in the group of twelve had also been molested when they were younger. Lorenzo was finding out that his situation was not as isolated as he’d thought it to be for so long.

  Lorenzo sat in his group therapy session listening to a female client talk. “Once you f
orgive your perpetrator,” the woman said, directing her comments toward him, “God will take care of the rest.”

  She had just finished talking about her own childhood experience but Lorenzo could tell by the creases in her forehead and the way her jaw clenched while she spoke that she still had some forgiving of her own to do.

  He tensed up. “You know this is supposed to be a group of transparency and truth, right?” he said.

  She blinked and turned her head slightly. “What does that mean?”

  Lorenzo leaned forward on his elbows. “That’s what the counselor said.” He hunched his shoulders. “I’m just saying.”

  “Saying what?” she asked defensively.

  Lorenzo looked at the woman briefly, and then glanced around the room. “Well, you got your face all torn up like you’re still mad. I’m just saying, are you sure you don’t have some more forgiving to do?”

  “Maybe I do. But what about you?”

  A short man sitting next to Lorenzo turned to face him. “You know, man, the Lord can help you with your anger,” he said. “But you gonna need to forgive the man who abused you just like God is willing to forgive you.”

  Lorenzo looked at him like he was crazy.

  “He’s partially right,” Evan, the counselor who was facilitating the group, said. “God can help you with your anger.” He scooted to the end of his seat. “You see, right now, you’re being held hostage by your own dark emotions. You got this pent-up anger inside that you’re walking around with every day, and,” he leaned forward, “you got to deal with an unforgiving spirit on top of that.”

  “I bet the man who molested you probably don’t even think he did anything wrong,” another man in the group said. “He might not even have enough sense to ask for your forgiveness.”

  Lorenzo stood up, outraged by the comment. “What do you mean, he didn’t do anything wrong?”

  “Sit back down,” Evan said calmly, “and listen. That’s not what he said. He said the man probably doesn’t think he did anything wrong.”