Descendant

by LJ Amodeo

  “So what did you think of Dr. Bates?” She asked breaking the silence.

  “Why?” I blurted out.

  “He seems nice, no?”

  “I guess.” I replied looking out at the trees that lined the sides of the road.

  Moments later we arrived home. As expected, Prince was waiting patiently behind the bay window. When I entered the house, he knew well enough not to jump up on me. Gently, Prince nudged my arm up onto his head and rubbed his face against my thigh. I was too exhausted and upset to play with him, so I excused myself and staggered up to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Prince sat patiently outside my bedroom door.

  I pressed the power button on my laptop and waited for it to turn on, biting my lip until I pierced it with my teeth. I could taste the iron in the small amount of warm blood that trickled on to my tongue. Beads of sweat trickled down my temples. I didn’t want to confirm what I already knew. My grandmother called it a gift, but according to medical doctors, they believed I had a mental illness.

  I typed in the word:Schizophrenia. My heart pounded as I began reading what I already suspected was wrong with me, but have always denied:

  Hearing voices can be associated with some psychiatric disorders or medical conditions. Psychiatric conditions associated with hearing voices include bipolar disorder, psychotic depression, demonic possession, schizoid and schizotypal personality disorders, and schizophrenia. Some may also experience mental disturbances or personality changes.

  Nauseous and sick to my stomach, I though back to when my father’s behavior grew more unusual, when I believed he had lost his mind. He’d write symbols and notes to himself, illegible scribbles that made no sense, muttering about the coming of the malevolent one. The evil one.What evil? We were safe.So I thought.

  My eyes fluttered in wide disbelief as the realization settled in my heart. Deep down I knew what I was. I researched it further on the internet, reading about different cases of mental illness. I didn’t want to believe it. But listening to Dr. Miller’s diagnosis confirmed what I had always known. I reread;mental and personality changes, disturbances, possession.It was suddenly clear why my mother called for Father Ed at the hospital. Did she fear I was possessed? Perhaps something more happened the night I was rushed to the hospital.Would that explain my fractured rib?I thought. Every muscle in my body ached, as I heaved, running into the bathroom. My lungs burned, making it impossible to take deep, even breaths. Tears drenched my paled face.I can’t be crazy! I know what I see and hear is real! I screamed the words in my head.

  I’d spent the next several days in my room, staring into the mirror at the lifeless image that stared back at me. I had no desire to go to school, go out, or even talk to my best friend, Freddie. I’d stay alone, crying, beating myself up about my illness. Wondering why it had to be me. For hours I’d lock myself in my father’s study, playing the most dreadfully depressing sonatas on the piano. I was losing it. I wondered what I had done in my short lifetime to piss off God. Did he hate me? I laid in bed. My body and mind felt detached from this earth, as if I had drifted away somewhere unknown. I felt cold. Abandoned. Lifeless. My heartbeat ripped through my chest as I lay there, in my personal hell while voices called out to me. All sorts of voices. One voice in particular dominated my head while less clear ones backed him up. His visual manifestation was grotesque. Swathed in a black robe, he threatened me with graphic and violent images. Raping me with his words and gestures,youbelong to me. You, princess, belong at my side, in Hell,he’d hiss loudly in my head. I couldn’t do much to fight this demon except to cry. Crying had become a ritual for me in the past couple of days. All I wanted to do was sleep and cry, so I would cry myself to sleep.

  Chapter 5: Confession

  Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.

  Edgar Allan Poe

  Days later, the pain and fatigue remained constant. Unable to run because of my fractured rib, I’d pass the time playing the piano, hoping to shed the unwanted sounds from my dismal mind. Seated at the piano, all my fingers would strum were the anguished melodies of Bach’sAirand Hurst’sSparrow.I played until I felt numb, like an empty shell that spiraled into depression. My mother tried tirelessly to pry me out of bed, to shower and eat. She even had Father Ed come speak to me. I didn’t care to listen, though. Prince would stare at me for hours, never leaving my bedside. Freddie came by several times, but I had shut him out too. At night, I’d pray to my father, hoping he’d listen to my words or my music. I closed my eyes tightly, begging him to channel through somehow. To find a way, like the others had, to communicate with me and help me through this. If there was one voice I desperately needed to hear, it was his. It was half past eleven one night, when it happened. My father appeared, faintly at first, then completely. As clear as the day, he held out his arms. I reached out to him . . .

  He touched his hand to mine. “I thought I’d never see you again.” My voice echoed to him. He did not speak, but lead me into a dimly lit room furnished only with an antique writing table, two ornate chairs, and an old-world iron clad lantern. Placed onto the desk was an old leather-bound manuscript inscribed with the letters, OHT with the symbol of the trinity. The same interlocking nodes pressed on the cover of my journal. He carefully opened the ancient book and traced his finger down a list of names. He stopped—tapped on ancient names and continued down to another name that confounded me. He looked into my eyes, “Do you understand now, my sweet child? I never left, I was only protecting you from . . . ” his voice faded, as did he . . .

  “Beth, Honey?” I felt my mother touching my shoulder gently this time to awaken me.

  “What!” I opened my eyes already irritated.

  “We have an appointment with Dr. Miller today. Remember? He wants to review your recent scans, and give you a note so that you can return to school on Monday.” She spoke gently.

  “Ugh! Please, Mom! I don’t feel like going. Just tell him I’m out of town!” I grumbled, clearly annoyed. Mom walked over to my window and parted my curtains. The sun was blinding.

  “Shit, Mom! Shut them!” I shouted.

  “Elizabeth Anne, watch your mouth!” She hollered sternly. “You get yourself out of bed, dressed and downstairs in fifteen minutes. Enough of this self-pity nonsense! If you want to get through this, then you are going to have to toughen up and fight it! So start by getting yourself out of that bed, or so help me!” she yelled angrily, placing her hands on her hips before taking a seat at my bedside.

  “Elizabeth, you’ve already missed one week of school. I will not allow you to spend another day in bed or you’ll risk losing everything you’ve worked so hard to earn. If you start falling behind, you will lose your scholarship. Look, I know the news of your father was a shock to you and me both, and now dealing with your headaches and . . .” She stopped speaking. Her shoulders slumped forward as her eyes closed, and her hands trembled. “There is nothing wrong with you, Beth. We are not going to listen to those doctors and their ridiculous notion that you are suffering from– it doesn’t matter what they think, wewillget through this. You are all I have Elizabeth. You are all I have left. And I needyou to keep me strong.”

  She grabbed my hands to stop me from twisting the edge of my tee shirt. I thought about my dream and wondered if the vision of my father was a message, a warning from him. Mom was right. We needed to get through this together.

  I took a deep breath and pulled off the covers.

  “Sorry, Mom.” I hugged her frail body. “We’ll fight this demon together. I don’t want you worrying about me, anymore.” I said, fighting back tears.

  “I’ll never stop worrying, Beth. It’s my job. It’s what parents do.” She reassured me, hugging me tightly.

  It was 9:30 A.M. when I finally sauntered into the kitchen. Breakfast was already set on the table, but nothing seemed appetizing enough to eat. “Would you prefer tea this morning?” Mom whispered in her softer voice.

  “No, I
could use a cup of coffee.” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “I feel drained lately. I need the caffeine.”

  Getting through breakfast was not as bad as I thought it would be. Mom made light conversations about herlittle monstersat work. “Are you looking forward to returning to school, Beth? You have a lot of work to catch up on, you know.” She said, stirring her tea.

  “I realize that.” I stared into my coffee mug thinking about my dream and the trinity.

  “I haven’t had the chance to ask you about school. How are your classes this year? Do you like them?”

  “Did I ever like my classes, Mom?” I answered straight-faced.

  “How about friends? Anyone new at school?” She hesitated.

  “Mom, you never thought anyone was good enough to be my friend after dad left, remember? Why would it be any different now?” I griped almost accusingly.

  “I know. I apologize for being so overbearing about who you make friends with. I–I only want to protect you, Sweetie.”

  “From who? Mrs. Anderson’s daughter or Mr. Campbell’s son. Mom I’ve known them my entire life. And they still weren’t good enough for you. Do you have any idea how that messed me up? Now, there isn’t a kid on campus who’d even bother with me except for Freddie.” My mother remained silent. Her head hung low between her thin shoulders. Maybe,

  my words would make her change her ways.

  We headed east to Granger to Dr. Miller’s office in silence. There were several people waiting to be seen by the doctor. Finally, a voice called out my name from behind the French door. “Ms. Morgan? The doctor will see you now.” Mom stood up immediately. I sensed the tension in her body as she hovered over me. I pushed myself off the seat and straggled behind her into Dr. Miller’s stuffy office. The walls were packed with medical books and degrees from Johns Hopkins and Columbia Universities. Dr. Miller reviewed my hospital records as we sat patiently in the chairs opposite his. He flipped through most of the pages he considered as insignificant information. Every turn of the page crackled loudly through the silent tension that was present in the cramped office.

  He scanned my blood results and CT-scans, as a look of concern stretched across his tired face. He looked up at my mother creasing his eyebrows downward. My stomach churned nervously, as moisture surfaced in my sweaty palms, anxiously waiting for my test results.

  “Mrs. Morgan . . .” He hesitated. “After some observations and consulting with Dr. Bates, we agreed that we must treat your daughter’s headaches a bit more aggressively. Some of our findings are conclusive with history of BPD.” he said, staring at the reports.

  “ What is that Dr. Miller?” My mother asked twisting at her handkerchief, a habit I picked up from her.

  “Is there or has there ever been anyone in your family diagnosed with borderline personality disorder or schizophrenia?” he asked.

  My mother stared blankly at the doctor, who then turned to look at me. I remained with my mouth open as I breathed deeply, “My father may have...” I began to say when my mother quickly dismissed the idea. “No one in our family has ever had any mental illness, Dr. Miller,” she said, glaring at me.

  “However, I’m not pleased with her blood levels, so we will test her every couple of weeks and we’ll continue treating the headaches with anticonvulsant and anti-inflammatory drugs. She may experience seizures, so I am also prescribing Zovirax to help with that.”

  The doctor scribbled the drugs’ names onto his pad and an absence note for school, tearing them off and handing them to my mom.

  “Will this ever go away?” I asked the doctor.

  “Elizabeth, you are a fighter and you will see through this. Stay positive. Have faith,” he said with sincerity. I laughed.Faith?I thought to myself. God no longer existed in my world. I had no God and no loyalty to anyone but myself and my mom.After saying our goodbyes, we walked to the car.Stay positive. I thought.Ha! What a joke!

  Monday morning I dressed for school. Mom sat quietly sipping on her chai tea with Prince whimpering at her feet. I took a seat opposite her, wondering what was on her mind.

  “Mom, is everything okay?” I gave her a questioning glance.

  “Sure, I’m proud of you, that’s all. You’ve made me proud.” She replied absentmindedly, stirring her tea.

  Several months ago, I participated in a nationwideUp-and-Coming Young Composers event to compete for the Tchaikovsky Music Scholarship. I came in first place and was the first female pianist in the last fifteen years to receive the award. The second place winner, I was told, was a boy from Quebec. Shortly thereafter, I had received numerous letters of interest from the University of Rochester. Although proud of getting this prestigious scholarship, I had my heart set on the Juilliard School in Manhattan. Mom was happy regardless of which college I decided on. She supported me wholeheartedly, never derailing my dreams or my direction when it came to music. Although, I hadn’t made up my mind, I applied to audition for Juilliard come early spring. Deep down, however, I knew my mother wanted me to accept the full scholarship to Rochester. Juilliard would only grant me a partial scholarship with the added expense of renting an apartment in the very pricey New York City. Mom struggled to raise me as a single parent on a moderate teacher’s pay and going to school in Manhattan would be a financial burden on her. However, knowing the kind of woman Mom was, she’d sacrifice what little money she had to support my dream. Despite the fact that I could be stubborn and indifferent most of the time, I was lucky to have her as my rock.

  Looking back, it was hard to believe how quickly time had passed. I was in my senior year of high school and beginning a new chapter in my life.

  I reached for my book bag, my keys, and headed toward the door. I turned to Mom, hoping she’d say something more to me before I left for school. She remained quiet with her eyes lowered on her cup of tea. Our relationship seemed different after I returned home from the hospital somehow, and I wasn’t sure why. I walked out.

  To my surprise, after being home for a week, some students were glad to see me back, except for Sophie, who smirked at me and flicked me the finger while Jordan laughed pointing the same finger he did years ago. Freddie, of course, came running toward me with his arms wide open and both middle fingers up, pointing in the direction of the two arrogant assholes. He embraced me until I almost lost consciousness from the pain.

  “Beth, I’m so glad you’re back. Man, you had me worried! I came to your house six—no, eight times—and you wouldn’t even look at me or talk to me! You just blew me off.”

  I tried to pry him off of me but didn’t have the strength yet.

  “Ouch Freddie, my rib. You are suffocating me.” I struggled through his strong grip.

  “Ooh, sorry! Did I hurt you? Do you need to sit down? Should I take you to the nurse?”

  He managed to say in one breath.

  “No! Please, no more nurses or doctors! I’m just glad to be back at school, believe it or not.” I muttered, wrapping my arm through his strong one.

  “So what have I missed, besides you working out and stirring trouble on campus?” I smiled at my friend, pinching his bicep.

  “You missed a great game that’s for sure. Highlanders creamed Devon Academy with a 7-2 victory. I must admit, lucky for my boys, I scored the first, last, and every goal in between.” He gestured with a high-five.

  “Wow, Freddie, that’s awesome! The soccer team’s lucky to have you. I’m sure the cheerleaders were begging to get a piece of you after that play, huh?” I laughed.

  “You know it! The ladies were all over me like diamonds on bling, except the Blonde Barbie of course. I kind of tripped her on the field,” he chuckled.

  “No way! I would have paid lots to see Sophie fall on her face!” I laughed.

  “Yep! Don’t wanna sound all full of myself, but Iam hot stuff around here.” He tugged on his purple-and-gold team jersey.

  “You sure are!” I mocked him in his same voice.

  “So, anything new? How’s it
going with, what’s her name . . . in Spanish class?” I asked inattentively.

  “Mandy. I told you last week that her family moved back to Montana. Remember? Oh, wait! Of course you wouldn’t remember that because you were busy throwing me out of your room.”

  “Sorry about that, Freddie. I was out of it.”

  “Out of it, babe, is an understatement. Oh, before I forget, there’s this new kid in school. He registered last week while you were sulking at home. He’s cool. Told him all about you, doll face. He may be trying out for the team next week. Says he played soccer for a school in Quebec.”

  I pretended to be interested in Freddie’s stories about his teammates and newfound friend, but my mind was preoccupied wallowing in self-pity. “That’s cool. I’m sure he’ll fit right in with the team.”

  “How about you, Beth? How you feeling?”

  “Like I just got back from hell,” I replied.

  “So not funny! Seriously, how you feeling?”

  “Like shit!” I replied.

  “That’s too bad. Wish I could take away your pain,” Freddie said sympathetically, kissing my head and pulling me closer into his chest.

  “Unless you’re God, you can’t!” I smirked. “Come on, Freddie. Let’s get to class before I change my mind and ditch this place!” I teased.