They blame you

Chapter 3 - They blame you

 

I’m standing on a gray slab sidewalk, glaring into the opened door of the burgundy townhouse. I can see a window inside, revealing shadows of people moving around. I can’t tell who they are from where I stand, but I know I must not go inside of the house.

Soon, a man in a navy coat appears. He’s wheeling something behind him �" a gurney. My heart is in my mouth as I step forward. I don’t want it to be true. It’s so hard, but I’m walking toward the man. He’s being helped down the three steps in front of my old home. The man at the end of the bed, picking it up over the stairs, is in a matching navy coat. I see their arm patches, ERS.

They are fanning me off. But, I don’t listen. I move passed them. I briefly glance at the blood soaked white sheets. They don’t stop me. I’m on the steps as the next man appears, stirring the next bed. I cut passed them before the bed is in the door way. I’m glaring at this bloodied sheet; beneath it is the obvious torso of a human being. I’m bothered, but wanting to confirm it. I begin to lift the sheet…

I’m shaken from my nightmare. I’m gritting my teeth still. He’s staring at me, with a new expression, kindness on his features. It quickly transitions into something else, anger again, and he’s forcing a spoon of food for me.

“Why do you feed me if you hate me so much?” I yawn, leaning upwards. He follows me with the spoon full of food. I take it, graciously.

He shrugs. I don’t know what to make of that. It isn’t a real answer. “The old man, from last night,” I’m speaking with a full mouth, “He would be better at this.” I remember our conversation, though it was emotional, I could tell how thoughtful this man was. I remember his expression, after he broke my window; he pitied me.

The boy was still one without words. I glance passed him, seeing the body guard there. His shirt, I noticed, was much too small for him. It revealed a mess of hair around his belly button. I wanted to gag, but I forced more food down instead.

“I’m sorry,” I try saying with minimal emotion. This made his eyes soften towards me. I feel warm for seconds.

“I didn’t want to risk the safety of others.” He says, feeding me my third bite. I’m chewing what tastes like carrots and beef. I’m not too sure, having my taste buds burnt to a crisp previously.

“Because I’m some monster, I forgot.” I’m not angry, but I do say it in such a tone. He doesn’t flinch. I remind myself to be nice to this boy. “I never killed anyone.” I say in one breath, after swallowing the food. He still is unchanged. I take another bite.

I couldn’t possibly think of a better thing to say. I apologized and I told him what he needed to know. I’m almost to the point where I wanted to plead. I wanted him to accept me so badly. His mother’s face was in my mind’s eye.

“I didn’t think you did.” He scoffed.

“Your mother was a beautiful woman.” I added, forcing a smile.

“I know.” He spoke quietly.

We both sit soundlessly as I chew another bite. He’s not looking at me, but I can see his soft, tan eyes searching the ground. I know he’s processing something, so I don’t interrupt him. He’s unreadable.

“If you didn’t think I was such a danger, why am I restrained and tied up?” I ask, after minutes of silence between us. He’s still in deep thought. I’m chewing my last bite. He shrugged.  

He’s blaming us for his mother.

“Is it, that you think I’m somehow responsible for this?” I ask. He’s staring at me now. I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

“That was the last time I saw her.” He whispered.

My heart felt so heavy with guilt. I wanted to cry, but I forced back tears. He’s mad because I ruined this last, treasured moment with his mother. He’s punishing me for it, I feel. He doesn’t meet my gaze, though I’m searching for his. He’s holding another bite out for me, but I disregard it. I want to claim that it isn’t my fault - which it’s hers, but I can’t do it. She is me…

Seconds pass, then the door opens behind him. I can’t see who it is; the light behind him is bright shadowing them. I hear metal against concrete and then something that sounds like Velcro. I clench my jaw, imagining more chains or diapers so I don’t urinate on myself.

“Thanks Eve,” it was the boy who spoke. He had dropped the spoon back into the bowl and was already halfway to the door. The door shut then.

I see the objects in the dim light. It’s a bucket of suds and a duffel bag. He walks towards me, but stops before he is in range of me. The broad man followed him, making me nervous. My palms began to sweat. I could hear my heart in my throat. Was this it? We’re they going to do me off then clean up the mess?

He opened the bag, kneeling down, as his body guard watched me defensively. I wanted to scream. My inner woman choked… gasping, she pleads for me to fight this time. I can’t. I’m restrained. This man could entangle me in seconds shattering my spine. I’m almost to tears when he pulls from the bag clothes. I can see tan capris and a grey tank top. He holds them out for me. I take them, bewildered, and hold them to my chest. I wait for my ears to cool off before I toss them onto the bed.

He’s smiling! To my disbelief, he’s smiling at me, and I’m standing still shocked. His humor was short lived, he tossed fresh undies and a bra at me, “Here’s some clean clothes,” he nodded to undergarments, “And, some water for you to clean off with.” He began down for the bucket on the floor. My inner goddess is laughing an awfully loud laugh.

I look down at the undergarments. They’re a matching set, not hospital brand, but the real-deal Victoria Secret kind. The garments are pink and lacey and small. They were going to be tight fitted. That would be a change. My breasts usually fly free; the hospital didn’t permit bras because they could be a safety hazard to the mentally impaired. And, hell, we were all bat s**t crazy there.

He sets the bucket beside me. This was the closest he has been to me since our engagement so many days prior. I could smell him. He smelt like mint. It was pleasant. I could see the sweat on his bottom lip; reminding me that it was indeed hot in here. He stepped back as quickly as he stepped forward. He still looked somewhat amused, like it was some private joke, clearing his throat, the body guard furiously stepped my way. I wasn’t sure if I should shield my face or my clothes. Instead, he gripped my ankle and unlocked me in one swift movement.

I was free.

Then he removed the straight jacket, completely freeing me. I’m amazed. “We’ve decided to give you a chance.” He said, glaring at me, “But, as soon as you f**k up, it’s over.” I couldn’t tell the seriousness in his tone.

His expression was growing stern in the dim light. His body guard had retreated back to the door. His hands were folded in front of him, playing the part. His eyes were on the boy, not looking at me this time. It was a change.

I retell myself of the crazy in my cranium. I can’t exactly promise my sanity, but that wasn’t what he was asking. He was stating that I keep my condition under control. I have to somehow ignore the irrational woman in my head; easier said than done. She’s a bigger part of me than life it’s self sometimes, and then I’m reminded of the zombified human that attempted to attain my cell. I push these thoughts away as quick as they come, forcing a smile so I don’t look disturbed. The woman inside my head is pressing her lips together.

You did that. Not me.

I almost want to roll my eyes at her, but then I remember that is indeed unwise. I have to appear as normal as possible. I had done that before, right? I can’t remember an instance. I do remember life before the sanitarium. I was sheltered by my family. I would like to think they knew I was crazy. I wasn’t sure. I remember my grandmother unrolled me from formal school, then ordinary school altogether. She said those places weren’t fit to service such a wise and delightful girl as I. But, I thought differently then, and I know differently now. But, thoughts beyond the clinic are unhealthy for me, I remind myself. They take me to my dark and unpleasant place.

The boy is staring at me. I can’t read his expression. I know he is no longer amused with my sudden quietness or drastic change of expression. I’m frowning with my eyebrows pulled together; he must sense I’m having some sort of mental disposition.

Stop.

I do as she suggests and I’m smiling a completely forced smile. He’s not buying it. He’s backing away from me, seeing as I’m free now; I could just lace my tiny fingers around his neck and hope for success…

Stop!

She’s screaming at me now. I let my eyes fall down to my fingers. The air around them feels so light and creamy.

The boy has retreated back to the door. He is completely out of my range. I don’t stare too hard; instead, I part my eyes to the broad, burly man glaring at me now. He never has looked pleasant once. He reminds me of unhappiness and strangulation. I disregard him again, turning to my clothes, which are tossed around my small bed. Where they going to watch I change?

“Can I have some privacy?” I suggest, not looking to the two. They leave as I say it. They were expecting me to say something, maybe, hoping I would just disrobe in front of them.

It becomes silent in my small chamber once again. The small light from the candle on the floor catches my eye. What if we just burn it down? No �" no, I’m fighting with myself now. I know she encourages it. I toss my hair to the side, and squat. I reach my hand inside the bucket. The suds enveloping my hand, I notice how warm the water was. It’s new to me once again. I haven’t had a hot shower in ages. Well this wasn’t a shower, but the warm water was a plus.

-x-

Light invades my dreams, which were, surprisingly, happy and alright this time. I wasn’t at my former residence, but a child at an amusement park joined by a familiar face. It was one I couldn’t quiet place, but we were happy together. We were holding hands and running about. She was older than me, but not by much.

My eyelids were aflame. I couldn’t keep them shut, though I was still grasping for more sleep. It felt like I wasn’t getting enough of it, though, in reality, I have had an abundance of. With my eyes open, I stretch my free arms upward, mimicking my inner woman, I work my fingers to life.

“Ready to join society,” I could taste the sarcasm, it was Oscar. He was standing in my room, shaven and pleasant. He looked at me almost admiringly. I could be wrong though. He doesn’t wait for me to rise before he proceeds out of my room. I’m quick to follow.

The light blinds me at first. My sense of smell is interrupted by something utmost unpleasant. I feel someone take my hand. I follow unquestioningly. My sense of sight is slowing coming back. I can see shadows of walls and doors… and possibly people. I do hear murmurs, though. I can’t make out what they are saying.

I see the boy now. He is standing to my left. He isn’t the one holding my hand. I let my eyes fall onto the one who is, which is, Oscar. His opposite arm is attached to the hand that is holding a long barrel shot gun. He wouldn’t have much luck with that now, unless he wanted to take out the boy, I thought.

My vision clears; we’re walking into another room. I recognize my surroundings, finally. We are indeed still in the facility. We are walking into one of the nurse’s rooms - the nurses that lived at the infirmary. They were treated to large, fully furnished rooms and they’re own showers. They had couches and beds; many of the luxuries that we, crazy folk, only dreamed of.

“This hospital is such a nice place, don’t you agree?” I scoff. I feel like the new kid in school that no one really likes just by looking at them. I’m the face of “don’t judge a book by its cover”.  I’m the loser in the midst of winners. I feel low.

“It’s the only place that we can reach safely.” It wasn’t a voice I’ve heard before, it was female and small. My eyes stopped on a blonde who was smoking a cigarette. She had her legs folded as she was sitting on a bed next to the broad fellow who was used as a body guard all except this time. What had changed?

I nod, making an acknowledging murmur inside of my throat. She looks mighty uncomfortable. It was me �" the crazy. I wanted so much to explain myself, to give reason to my irrationality. It would all be for nothing amongst the crowd, though. I didn’t want to risk them thinking that I was crazier than the boy suggested. Though, he did call me a monster that could be hard to top. I let it pass.

“It’s been nine days,” she added, like that was supposed to mean something significant to me. I furrow my brows, trying to pinch something together and figure in what she meant. It’s been nine days that she’s been here? That she’s been smoking nasty, disgusting cigarettes? What?

“She means,” it was Oscar talking this time, “That you have been locked in that cell for days without anyone caring outside for you.” His words shocked me. My heart picked up several paces. I was alone for some time. “It’s been nine days in total, yesterday.” He continued. “We all came here in search of relatives or friends.” I’m reminded of the boy’s mother once more, with a guilt stricken heart. I’m panicking.

They all blame you.

My inner woman rears her ugly head. I try my best to push her aside. I’m too panicked and guilt stricken to calm myself. I feel the darkness in my head swell up. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. I’m chanting to my idiot. She’s smiling her devilish grin. My hands are shaking. My breathing is becoming unsteady. I can feel my face burn.

“You were the only alive person we found.” The boy spoke pointedly at me. This wasn’t helping me steady myself. I think of the cafeteria woman and my doctor and that poor boys sick mother.

I instantly crunch down. I’m squatting. My hands on my head, I feel the people around me move backwards in all directions. I’m scaring them. I know it. I work for words, “Please, I need a…” I inhale, “moment.” No one speaks. No one moves. I’m the center of attention as I grasp for reality. My inner woman is talking to me, but I tune her out. I’m pushing as hard as I ever had against her immortal grip on my mind. I have my hands over my ears, I notice. Reality is close, almost in grasp. Then, she subdues and I’m whole again. She leaves me with a look like “This isn’t over.”

I have never retaliated against her as so. She was going to get me back, I know it. I don’t let that scare me for now. I’m, instead, coming to my weak, feet again. Oscar places a hand on my shoulder, balancing me. I notice he hadn’t moved from my side like the others. He really thinks I’m harmless, eh? My inner woman begins to speak otherwise, but I direct my attention elsewhere.

There are six people in the room, seven if we’re including me. There was Oscar, the boy, the blonde, the burly man, and two unknowns. One was African, possibly younger than I. He looked more scared of me than anyone else. Then, beside him, was a young girl. She was fair, with red hair and brown eyes. She was beautiful. Her face, it was almost the face of the vixen that died in those dim-lit hall way days ago. It was my last memories beyond coming together to this group. I had studied her face enough to know that this girl was in some relation to this woman. It couldn’t be who she was looking for, because, well they said they hadn’t found anyone besides me. So, this girl might blame me for the vixen’s death. Like, I suppose, the others might. I don’t stare any longer as she begins to pull her brows together, like I was scolding her and she was about to do the same to me.

“That’s Ruth,” The boy offered. He came to sit beside her. His hand touching hers, as I look away; intimacy was a trying subject for me.

Oscar continued the introductions, “That’s Jamie,” The black guy, “And, that’s Eve,” The blonde. He pointed to the boy, “That’s Caleb,” he cleared his throat, “My son.” I connected the dots; his son’s mother was crazy, the crazy woman I enticed. 

“Almost forgot,” I could hear the smile, “The robust, killing machine is Edgar.” He was talking about the burly man, I know.

I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I look around instead. I see the bed that Eve, Edgar, Caleb and Ruth all sat on. It was near to the ground, probably from the weight, or maybe it was in poor condition. I further my inspection to the nightstand with a lamp without a lampshade. Its bulb has been removed, instead replaced with a candle. It wasn’t burning, considering the daylight pouring in from the two windows to my left. By the windows, is a bookshelf containing hundreds of books. I look further, seeing, what I assume to be, the bathroom door �" its shut. I notice the closet door �" open. It has an assortment of weapons inside. I see browns and titanium-gray, I’m no expert in weaponry, but I do know that they have enough to take down a small army inside.

They had commenced conversation, through my scrutiny, only the black man, Jamie, is analyzing me. I feel his dark eyes tear into me. He doesn’t want me here. I feel, but I don’t let it affect me further. I stare back, picking my chin up, and he wavers his stare. “She sure does look crazy.” He comments, slinking back into a chair I didn’t see until now.

Like his stare, I take no insult, but my eyes fall down onto the manila folder in front of him. It’s on a wooden table with three more adjoining chairs. There is another lamp on the table, missing a bulb which was replaced by a wax candle. The folder though, it reminds me of the one the doctors always had while examining me. They penciled in changes or interesting information or whatever it was they wanted from me. This one was thick; a veteran crazy owned that folder.

“The cafeteria was stocked.” I tune into the conversation; Oscar is speaking.

“Yeah, but it’s on the other side of the hospital.” Eve blew smoke from her nose, reminding me of a raging bull. Her tone played into this visage. “And, we are outnumbered.”

Where there really that many of them? I think of the zombies I saw eradicated in the hallway before I found the cafeteria myself. They were at least thirty bodies I had come across, and they were saying there was more. I wanted to sit, feeling weak in my knees again, but I don’t dare to move. Oscar still hasn’t let go of his shot gun.

“How can you say that?” Oscar sounded pointedly. “We came across their infirmary; which was stockpiled with weapons.” He pointed to the closet full of guns with his own shot gun. “We have the gun power, and I would like to think, the man power too.”

“Yeah, if we take Ruth and Caleb,” Edgar added kind of shyly.

I look at Caleb. He was no more than sixteen; I was eighteen. He still looked so much younger than I. “Absolutely not.” His father shot almost instantly. His tone made me shake. I take an unintentional step to the left, all of the eyes of the room snapping at me. I part my lips. “He has to stay here anyways, we can’t leave,” he pointed at me with the end of his shot gun now, “her, here alone,” I was still being babysat, imagine that.

Caleb only gave his father a disapproving look. Then, turning that same look onto me, “We know she isn’t dangerous now.” He spoke very carefully. “I can go �" dad, c’mon.” His tone turned pleadingly. “I’m a good shot.” He continued. “You said so yourself.”

“You heard what I said, boy.” Oscar’s tone was sharp and conversation-ending. I withdrew my attention from him, keeping my stare on the boy. His face turned three different emotions before eventually dropping his chocolate eyes onto the floor. I watch, catching his fingers entwined in Ruth’s.

“Ruth,” Oscar’s tone became neutral, “You’re eighteen. Legal-military age; it’s about time you learn how to shoot, girl.” He had some kind of half smile, with a cheerful pitch in his voice. The barrel of his gun on the floor, he shifted his weight onto his left foot. He leaned toward me. He smelled of smoke and sweat. I really want to walk away; possibly join them on the bed. It looked plush, but overran by weight.

Ruth, seemed expressionless, spoke quietly, “I guess now is better than ever.” She shrugged.

“Great,” Oscar, still with his newfound exuberance, prompted her to stand up waving a hand. She, along with Eve, Edgar, and Jamie all come to their feet. Where they really about to leave us alone? I’m not even cuffed.

Each of them took turns taking guns from the closet. I watched from my spot in front of the door, by the wall without a window. I’m taken aback by the dimension of the closet and how many guns really were inside. Oscar waited patiently beside me. He was tapping his foot on the linoleum, making me a little nervous. “Why don’t you take a load off?” He spoke, this time to me, with an expression I have never heard of.

“I’m sorry?” I inquire. He clasps my arm and drags me next to the bed. I go without strain.

“Sit,” he insists, patting the blanket. I notice now that it’s a blue comforter with matching blue pillows. The comforter has several creases and stitch work. The boy began scooting as far away as possible without falling off the bed, which was the outcome if someone were to push him, just barely. I let the thought fade; thinking of my inner conscious plotting to get me back somehow. She was sometimes a tricky lady.

He pats the bed again, before I do, indeed sit. The cushion comforts my bottom instantly. It was no competition to my padded cell or fold out bed in whatever shed they had me in. It was much too comfortable. “Keep my boy company,” he adds, before stepping backward. Eve was standing there, watching me with steady blue eyes. She had a small hand gun. in the other. Jamie was standing next to her; he wasn’t holding anything that I could see. His eyes were on me as well, his stare continuing to make me uncomfortable. But, I refuse to let him ignite me.

Oscar takes a key from his pocket, unlocking the bolted door and then twisting the door know lock. The door opens with an eerie creak. Orange light streams in; it was the emergency lights from the hallway. They were still going.

They begin out the door. Edgar first, then Eve, Jamie, Ruth departs, blowing a kiss to Caleb and finally, Oscar stands in the door way. He gives a meaningful look towards his son, I notice and then nods to him. I feel the tenderness lurking around me, so I shy away. “Be good you two.” His words sound more playful than threatening. I still don’t bother looking at him.

The door shuts. We’re alone. Caleb sniffles. Was he crying? I don’t dare look at him. I feel pressure lift from the bed as he comes to his feet. He paces behind me somewhere. I hear the lock on the door snap into place. We’re locked in and alone now.

I have my hands folded onto my lap. My thumb is stroking my other thumb. It’s been so long that I was able to do this so freely. I admire the feeling for seconds, and then I hear a crash behind me. I jump up into some kind of defensive position. My hands out in front of me with my legs spread apart. I see Caleb has kicked over a chair.

He’s just as mad as you.

My inner woman chuckles, but I’m quick to shake my head - no. This was just misplaced anger, something my doctor said I had a lot of. I was encouraged to do recreational activities with the group. But, something about volleyball with a bunch of crazies never appealed to me. I doubt saying any of this would help him, so I say nothing.

“He should have took you with him,” and then his anger turns to me, “and used you as bait.” His hands were in fists as he toppled over another chair. “Or, better yet, a human shield.”

I force away images of myself being eaten. “You don’t mean that.” Why am I the voice of reason right now? I try to sound as calm as I could, yet, that was becoming completely untrue. “You’re just mad.” I searched for anything else to say. “Because you’re father loves you.” It was the most truthful thing I could dig up.

Caleb spat on the floor, his face twisted with disgust, “Yeah, he left me here with the loon.” He stepped over the chair he had just hurtled for the floor, “Because he loves me so much.” I wasn’t sure what he was implying.

“I’m not dangerous. He knows it.” I say to my defense.

“Yeah,” he turned away from me, “We all do.” With that being said, he hurtles something towards me and soon pages flutter to the floor. It was the manila folder; my manila folder.

I snatch for pieces of the paper as the flutter around me. I catch one which read out a bunch of meaningless gibberish. It was all doctors-speak. I couldn’t process it. I drop to the ground where the pages now rest. I bunch all the papers together, making a somewhat even stack. I pick them all up and sit on the bed. The next page read the same. I discarded it onto the floor. The following page made some sense. It said that I was mentally unstable in crowds; there was some truth in that. I let that page fall to the floor. In this time I felt pressure return to the bed, Caleb sat beside me quietly.

“Give them to me,” he insisted, taking the papers from me with some aggression. I slump back onto the bed. “Here, see, you hallucinate and-“he stopped. “Um, you’re mildly unbalanced at times.” The words were rushed. He leaned down snatching up the manila folder. He put the papers back inside. “Better yet, you have never killed anyone.” He added, uncaringly. He put the folder between us on the bed.

Tell him what you are.

My inner woman reminded me of the man, once man, in my cell that I mutilated. I grimace. I, on the other hand, know that it untrue. This man was already dead. Plus, I had come by dozens of dead here. I wasn’t the only murderer amongst survivors. I let the memories disperse.

“Quit doing that,” he punched me. I jumped. It didn’t hurt so much as to being startled by it. He leans back onto his elbows. I’m at a loss to what he’s saying. Stop what? “You stare off into space like a loon.” Was he convinced otherwise, now?

“Well if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck,” I smile, thinking of an expression I had seen on some daytime comedy show “then it’s probably a duck.” He laughs. I made this boy laugh. I rub my shoulder, feeling the soreness arrive from his punch. I admire his chocolate eyes briefly, before returning my gaze to the linoleum.

Quietness soon consumes us. I can hear his slow breathing. I hear nothing else. There isn’t a clock ticking or an air conditioner cutting on and off. It’s dead silent. I think of napping or possibly asking Caleb for food. My stomach was soon to rubble. Maybe I should reveal my hungriness before it reveals itself. But, they might be out of food, having to travel to the cafeteria to restock.

“I should be with them.” Caleb mutters, more to himself than to me. But, it was perfectly clear in the stillness.

I press my lips together, not sure what to say. His father is only doing what I father should �" protecting his boy. I couldn’t imagine arguing against that. Then, my subconscious peaks up, smiling her dazzling, evil smile.

We should win over this boy’s trust.

I look at the locked door. It’s dead bolted.

Pick-it

My inner woman shows me with bobby pins inside of the dead bolt. I have a determined expression on my face. Caleb is standing behind me �" beaming. I’m almost there when I’m reminded how quickly that could escalate into something awful.

“What is it?” Caleb inquired. He was on his feet now. He was pacing. With his hands on his hips, he stood, looking at me, with arched brows. I couldn’t explain to him the possible engagement I was in at the moment without taking him on a ride on the crazy train. I shake my head instead, letting my head drop into my open palms. Maybe I should sleep.

He huffs in disappointment or frustration, I’m not sure. He continues pacing. With my eyes closed, I imagine my inner woman sleeping, though I know it isn’t so. She’s still enticing me to pick the lock and let the boy free to do whatever it is he planned to do.

No.

“They will be back in no time.” I say into my hands. I’m not sure if that’s true or not.

“That isn’t the point.” He states. He stops pacing. I can imagine him boring into my back. “I’m not a child, anymore.” Caleb pauses, “I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

I think of his dead mother. “Maybe your father doesn’t want anyone else to die around him that he loves.” I pick my head up, meeting his furious gaze. That’s when I notice how comfortable I feel. It was unnatural to me. Looking at him like this would normally set of a string of anxiety attacks or whatever it was my inner woman set off inside me. But, now, glaring back at him, I’m speaking as truthfully and clearly as I have in a long time.

Caleb shies away from my glare. It’s like a flipped an off switch. He folds his arms and walks to the table where my folder once sat. He picks up the final chair he tossed and sits in it. Maybe he was realizing how right I really was or he was just too mad to speak to me. I wasn’t sure.