Then suddenly it came. It was the sweet melody of her voice. It carried a tune, a tune similar to the one I had heard in the blue forest. I was so close, and yet I was too far to make out the words of the new song. I gathered my strength, summoned my joy, and marched onward, faster this time, faster toward my ultimate goal, faster toward her, faster toward Erika.
The mountain leveled to a nearly flat area that would allow me to speed my journey. My heart beat with excitement, and at last I felt my well-earned freedom was near. I was overwhelmed with anticipation, anxiety, and a yearning for happiness. I was halfway up the mountain, and I raced around a long bend toward her sweet song.
My feet flew as if I were racing for my life. Strange thoughts exited my mouth, and I spewed nonsense. Her song grew louder and louder, and I felt inexorably drawn to it like iron to a magnet. I might have even been able to understand the words of the song if not for the mountain breeze buzzing by me. My legs were driving my body forward at an almost inhuman rate of speed. I slowed now as I knew I was reaching my destination. My upper body pushed forward as my feet put on the brakes. My lower half stopped abruptly, and I almost fell face forward onto the jagged rocks. I caught myself just in time. Around the corner and slightly upward was the origin of the song. I turned the narrow corner and sprinted up the slope. The sound was evident, and the words now were clear.
The insects creep and crawl
This will surely be the end of it all
On now to bigger and better things
When I no longer pull your tormented strings
So tragically will I let you go
Maybe here and now finally you will know
I continued up the slanted incline and saw her for the first time in reality since our meeting in the blue forest. She looked even more beautiful than I remembered. She was wearing her bright green dress that flowed to her knees. Her lips were adorned with the same glossy green lipstick, and her eyelids were painted a similar shade. She giggled and twirled her shoulder-length green hair with her fingers as was her custom.
“Hello,” she said still twirling her green hair. “You found me at last. Tell me now—was it worth the trip? Was it worth all the hardships to find Erika, your Green Maiden?”
“Indeed it was, if only to look upon you one last time,” I said breathlessly.
“I wanted you to meet me here, here at our special place,” she said, but her voice had assumed a cruel, mocking tone.
“Our special place? I don’t understand.”
She turned her head and nodded to her left, only a few feet up the slope from where she stood.
“What is that?” I said in horror as my smile turned aimlessly upside down.
“It is you, silly, The Spitting Post,” she said, giggling viciously.
Before her stood a six-foot tall wooden statue of a man who quite resembled me. The dark oaken figure was kneeling and staring at Erika as if pleading for some last shred of human dignity. The Spitting Post was me.
I turned to her and dropped to my knees as if mimicking the carving. She laughed hysterically. Then she turned to The Spitting Post and opened her mouth wide. There was a deep silence before, without warning, a large quantity of green ooze shot from her mouth and pelted the carving. The Spitting Post was immersed in the putrid slime. The jade-colored mucus dribbled from her lips, and she began to laugh ever so wildly again.
I could not take the horrid insanity any longer, and I began to feel faint. The horrible sight began to spin before me. I tried to tune out her loud, cruel laughter, and I wondered if it were to be the last sound I would ever hear. I could feel the cold blackness coming, and after the long, arduous journey, I welcomed it. I then fell onto the jagged rocks and into a deep oblivion far away.
Chapter Sixteen
Moving On
Suddenly, I jumped up in a panic. I had awakened in a frightful state of utter terror, awakened from the blackness of unconsciousness. I was uncertain of my surroundings and suffered a horrid feeling of immense confusion. There were machines around me, some blinking red and some green. They were mocking me. They were all laughing in dismal and indecent colors. I screamed loudly as my body trembled in terror. “Where am I? I need to know! Tell me! I am in a strange place, and I want out!” My thoughts were many, but my answers were none. My ideas were frantic, muddled, and rooted in utter disarray.
I found myself disgruntled and lying on a narrow bed with metal railings on both sides. The sheets and pillow were made of a coarse white cloth. There were no windows. I was trapped. The room was plain with a single door on the opposite end from where I was frantically seated. It was a scary place in which to awaken not knowing why, how, or what I was doing there. I screamed again as I sat up in my stark bed. I screamed loudly for anyone to hear.
Suddenly, the door violently flung open and in rushed a baffled woman wearing light blue pants and a similar colored shirt. She ran toward me with a dire sense of urgency. This frightened me even more, and I let out another bloodcurdling scream. The sound was deafening.
“It’s all right,” she insisted while placing her palms on my shoulders and pressing me softly back onto the bed. “You’re okay. You’re in a hospital. You are going to be just fine.”
“H-H-Hospital?” I muttered, not sure why I needed a hospital.
“Oh, dear, I do believe it’s time for your medicine,” she said, ignoring my last question. Or was it an observation?
She withdrew a silver vile and a long, thick syringe from her shirt pocket, aiming the sharp instrument in my general direction. I screamed and again shot straight up in my bed.
“Oh, dear, I was afraid this would happen again.” She sighed, and then she frowned. She placed her hand on the rectangular remote attached to my bed and pressed a red button. This signaled an alarm. I jumped off the bed and sprinted for the door. It was then I stopped dead in my tracks and realized I was not wearing normal clothes, or should I say, they were not street clothes. I was wearing white pants and a hideous matching shirt. They made a plain and dull uniform, and I hated it.
The woman in blue ran quickly toward the door in an attempt to corral me as if I were a piece of livestock and needed to be herded back into my stall. But this animal was on a stampede to freedom. I aimed to liberate myself from these walls.
“I want out!” I screamed. “Let me out!”
“I told you, you are in a hospital; everything is going to be okay. We are here to help you,” she said reassuringly with her hands outstretched, the needle still in her sinister grip. But I knew deep down she could not be trusted. I mean, just look at this place. There were no windows! I am not okay, I thought, and I want out of here now!
I ran, but before I could reach the doorway, a tall man in a long white coat subdued me and dragged me back into the room of uncertain horror.
“Let me go!” I screamed as if this statement would actually secure my release.
“Not until you are better,” said the man in the long white coat as he pushed me down onto the course white bed.
The mean woman dressed in blue wielding the pointy instrument came toward me. I struggled and twisted and turned to free myself from the man’s tight grasp, but it was no use. He was much stronger than I. Then I felt a sharp jab and realized the horrible woman had stuck me with her evil syringe. I struggled even more, then not at all. I fell into a deep sleep once more, and I could only imagine the woman in blue and the man in white were all too glad of it.
When I awoke, it was to an empty room. I was still in the same horrible place and in the same ugly white bed. But unlike the last time, I felt much calmer and carefree. Maybe, just maybe, the medicine had taken effect. I laid there in bed trying to remember what had happened to me. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind and relax. My head filled with disturbing images. I remembered a crash and then waking up in a strange land of vivid nightmares. There I had encountered various convoluted fantasies. I supposed these were manifestations of my psyche while I was out of logical consci
ousness. Maybe it was my mind dealing with the accident and the events that had occurred prior to the crash. Or maybe it was just a hallucination, a side effect of my medicine. But one thing was for certain; I was glad to be far away from that horrid place called The Spitting Post.
My thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open. The woman in blue walked in, but this time she didn’t look as mean as before, maybe because she was carrying a food tray.
“Good morning. And how are we feeling today? Better, I hope?” she said in a pleasant and relaxed tone.
“I am feeling much better, thank you.”
“Good. I am glad to hear it,” she said smiling. “I believed you would be waking soon, so I brought your morning meal.”
She placed the plastic tray on my lap. I stared at it and lost my appetite immediately. There was a glass of water, a stale slice of wheat bread, some wilted fruit, and a slab of putrid meat.
“Eat up,” she said as she headed for the door. “After you’re through, Dr. Brancher would like to meet with you.”
Dr. Brancher? I wondered what he might want. To pressure me into submission, perhaps?
I looked down at the food tray again. Despite its unappealing look, I decided to eat. I was sure to need the strength. I wanted to get better soon so I could leave this dreadful place and get on with my life. I wolfed the food as quickly as possible to avoid having to endure its horrible taste. I had just finished washing everything down with the glass of water when the door creaked open once again. In walked the man in the long white coat, the same man who had previously forced me down while I was inoculated against my will. But this time he appeared more hospitable.
“And how is my patient doing this morning? Much better it seems,” he said while jotting notes on a clipboard.
“I am better, thanks. And you are?”
“I am Dr. Brancher, your attending physician,” the man said while lowering the clipboard and peering over his glasses. “Well, your mood seems much improved since we last met. I will tell the nurse to let you attend the activities.”
“When can I leave? I’m anxious to get out of here and on with my life.”
“Not until you’re better. When you are well enough to be released, we will advise you,” he said. Then he smiled and walked toward the door. “Until then, just focus on your recovery.”
“Okay,” I replied with an intense feeling of disappointment.
I was more than ready to go home and tend to my personal matters. I wanted to talk things over with Erika, and maybe we could put the past behind us and start anew. I wondered if she had come to visit me. But one thing was for sure; I was not going to get her back if I was trapped in here.
My thoughts were again interrupted by the sound of the door moaning as it opened. The woman in blue walked in smiling from ear to ear.
“Dr. Brancher believes you are well enough to have some time in the rec room,” she said as she pointed toward the door. I looked at the door as if I were not sure I was ready. The thought of going back into the world again was daunting.
“Well, come on,” she said reassuringly.
I gathered my courage, removed myself from the bed, and walked toward the door. As I walked into the hall, I noticed a number above the door handle—122. I decided I should try to remember this new piece of information in case I got lost.
We walked down a series of long halls passing many rooms much like mine, their inhabitants awaiting a speeding recovery so they might go back to their lives outside these walls. We stopped at the end of one of the halls that opened into a much larger room than mine, and this room had no doors, but there was a sign near the entrance that read, “Recreation Room.”
“This way,” the woman in blue said. “No need to be shy.”
The room was more of a giant waste-of-space than a rec room. There was a big-screen TV mounted to the wall with two rows of folding chairs in front of it. There was a long couch, a ping-pong table, and many other patients like me.
“This way,” announced my guide.
She led me toward the corner of the room where a game table was located.
“Have a seat here with Alex,” she said as she pulled out a chair. “Maybe you two can play a few games of checkers.”
There was a game of checkers ready to go with the pieces in the appropriate places. I sat on the side of red.
“Would you like to play a game or two?” I asked Alex; there apparently wasn’t much else to do. The other patients were glued to a rerun of an infomercial I recalled seeing many times.
Alex didn’t say a thing. He just stared at me as if I had a huge animal attached to my face.
“Now you know, dear, Alex does not say much. In fact, Alex says nothing at all,” the woman in blue said. “Now I will leave you two to your game.”
The woman then turned and walked away, leaving me with Alex and the many conversations I was certain we would have together. I decided to attempt a game, and maybe Alex would follow. I moved one of my red pieces forward. Alex took one of the black pieces and put it to the side of the game board. Then he took another piece and placed it on top of it, then another and another. One by one, all of the black pieces were stacked into a tower. It was evident there would be no game of checkers—not today, or any other day, for that matter—at least as long as I was with Alex. I spent the remainder of my time in the rec room wondering if I would ever see Erika again. Oh, how I would love to see her at least one more time, but deep down I knew that once would never be enough. I must have passed many minutes thinking about what could have been, should have been, and would have been when my daydreaming was broken by the woman in blue.
“It is time to go back to your room, dear,” she said, holding out her hand. I followed. We sauntered back down the long hallways and passed the other patients’ rooms until we reached mine—Room 122.
“Dinner will be served shortly,” she said, and she shut the door behind her. She left me in that room with my mind and its own devices. I laid down on the bed and fell fast asleep. I entered my slumber before eating my evening meal. I was tired—tired of thinking, tired of wanting—tired of being tired.
Chapter Seventeen
Final Diagnosis
Within the long, twisting halls of the old hospital, the mysterious man in the white coat made his daily rounds. An intern accompanied him and studied him closely. Both men clenched tightly the patient charts in their brown manila folders. With the files in one hand and a clipboard and pen in the other, they walked the halls. Then they stopped in front of a room with a door but no windows—a room with a bed covered in course white sheets. It was Room 122.
“And whose room is this?” inquired the intern.
“This is a unique and complex patient,” Dr. Brancher said as he opened the door ever so gradually and quietly. The patient was fast asleep. “I suggest you take out your pen and paper for field notes on this case study.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This will make an excellent learning opportunity for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As I said, this case is extraordinary. She is, indeed, a textbook example of mental instability,” Dr. Brancher told the young intern.
“What is her diagnosis?”
“She suffers from manic hallucinations, severe personality disorder, and deep emotional paranoia, to name a few,” said the doctor as he peered over his glasses.
“What is the patient’s name?” inquired the intern as he rapidly jotted notes on his clipboard.
“Her name is Erika Carpenter.”
“I see, and how did she come to arrive at this facility?”
“Well, that is an interesting tale indeed. She was married to a Vincent Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter was a rather ordinary man with a rather ordinary nine-to-five job. After coming to terms with a failed attempt at a music career, he worked as an insurance adjuster at a medium-sized company. Mrs. Carpenter, Erika, worked as an accountant and part-time painter. She was a skilled artist, but with a macabre s
ense of style. Her paintings, both disturbing and unique, required a vivid imagination.”
“This is fascinating, Doctor, but how did she end up here?”
“During her marriage her mental state fluctuated from docile to hateful. Toward the end of the relationship, she began an extramarital affair with her former high school sweetheart, a Charles Stone. Charles had become a successful attorney, and his exciting new lifestyle appealed to her more than her routine marriage to Vincent. She began to loathe her husband, but for some reason unknown, she would not confront him for a divorce.”
“What happened next?” the resident asked as he scribbled his notes.
“Vincent secretly followed Erika and found her in one of her meetings with Charles. He had discovered the affair, but said nothing. The next day Vincent was laid off by the insurance company. That same day he gathered his nerve and decided to confront Erika about her infidelity. The overwhelming sensation of being caught enraged her to the breaking point. She left their home in a fit of anger. Vincent, believing Erika would run to Charles, went for a long drive. He was trying to get away, but little did he know Erika had followed him.”
“Go on,” begged the intrigued intern.
“That is where things took a tragic turn. She was so angry at and resentful of Vincent that her hatred manifested itself into action. Erika intentionally collided with Vincent’s passenger side front wheel, pushing his vehicle off the road and causing it to roll several times. She managed to maintain control of her car, which came to a halt about one hundred fifty feet down the highway.”
“What happened to Mr. Carpenter? Was he killed in the crash?”
“No, he survived. He went through some physical therapy, and even though he has a few permanent injuries, he came out of it much better than he might have. I even heard he has remarried.”
“And what will become of the ex Mrs. Carpenter?” inquired the intern.
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