I just left from visiting my brother Kenny for the first time in sixty days. He’s been involuntarily committed for the past two months after having some kind of screaming fit at the bank he works…or worked at. When a guard came over to calm him down, Kenny supposedly attacked him and then ran out into the street where he was struck by a car. Luckily he only came away with a broken ankle and some road rash, but that’s about where his good fortune stopped. He got arrested for assault and then sent for what was supposed to be a 72-hour observation period to make sure he was no longer a danger to himself or others. Two months later, he’s still at the Wakeview Hospital in their psychiatric wing and I wasn’t allowed to talk to him until today.
My hands are shaking as I write this out. I’m still in the parking lot of this place—a drab, grey slab of a building that makes me sad just looking at it. I went in there full of fire and righteous indignation, ready to promise Kenny I had him a good lawyer and that he’d be out of there within a week because I knew it was a misunderstanding or a mistake.
Now? Now I don’t know what I know anymore.
I recorded my conversation with him. My idea was I could use it to convince the lawyer that my brother really was okay and that then he could use it to get him out. I’m thinking now that isn’t a good idea. Maybe I shouldn’t write it down here either, but my hope is that by putting it to paper I’ll have a better understanding of it myself. Of what he told me.
And what I saw.
Ken, you awake?
Uh, yeah. Yeah, just resting my head…Sorry, I’d get up, but the restraints…they want me to stay at my table and you in your chair I guess. I…Hey, Margo. It’s good to see you.
It’s…God, it’s good to see you too. Are you okay? I mean, are they treating you okay in here?
Sure, yeah. I mean, it kinda sucks. Being stuck in here, and the people…no one has been too bad, but it’s the yelling, man. It seems like somebody is screaming their head off most of the time. The stuff they give me, it knocks me out for part of the day, which I’m kinda grateful for. How long have I been in here?
Um, it’s been two months. I would have come to see you sooner, but they didn’t allow visitors for the first sixty days of…um, you being committed.
No, I get it. They told me that I think. I just didn’t know it had been that long. Shit. I…I’m sorry I’m putting you through this, Margo.
Me? No, I’m worried about you. I can’t get straight answers from anyone about what actually happened. I got a copy of the incident report, but it doesn’t say anything except what the guard and the other tellers saw. And when I saw you at the jail, you were still upset and wouldn’t tell me what really happened, remember? I just…I want to know how you’re doing and what you can tell me about the thing at the bank. I’ve got you a lawyer—I should have him his retainer next week and…
It didn’t start at the bank.
What?
It didn’t start at the bank. It started the week before. I was at a doctor’s office. A cancer doctor.
Ken, are you saying that…
No…No, not me. Bailey. She had a lump biopsied back right after we started dating, and it showed signs of cancerous cells, but the oncologist thought they got it all. This was her six month check-up. I went along for moral support, just sitting out in the waiting room while she was in the back. I was nervous—places like that…they don’t feel like normal doctor’s offices. They’re quieter. Kind of…solemn. Sitting out there playing on my phone, I tried to ignore it, but I kept feeling like I was in a funeral home instead of an oncologist’s waiting room. That’s when the old woman spoke to me.
She was the only other person there, and at first I thought she was just talking to me because she felt that same sad loneliness too. That, or she just wanted to pass the time talking while she had a captive audience. Either way, I was grateful for the distraction. She’d initially asked if I was there for an appointment or waiting for someone, and after I told her I was just waiting on my girlfriend, she smiled and introduced herself. Said her name was Pricilla and that she was pleased to make my acquaintance.
The way she said that—“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” I found it charming somehow. She was old, but not that old. Not so old that I’d expect her to say something that old-fashioned, like she was back in the 1800s or something. It felt like an affectation, but not in a bad way. Just a quirky old lady who wanted to add a little flair to a random encounter with a stranger.
We started talking. She asked a few questions about Bailey and then began asking me about myself. It was weird. I’m used to talking to old people. I do it all the time at the bank. Usually they want to talk about themselves, or something they saw on the news, or their grandkids or something. Like maybe they’re more interested in being heard by someone than having a real conversation. I don’t mind—everyone wants to be heard. But not Pricilla. She was almost entirely focused on me at first. Half an hour went by quick, and in that time, I probably told her more about myself than I have anybody since meeting Bailey.
When she suddenly closed her eyes and leaned back, I thought she was tired, or maybe just tired of talking. I felt embarrassed that maybe I’d been rambling too much when the old lady was just trying to make polite small talk for a few minutes. But then she started to talk again.
”When I was little, we lived in the middle of a big field.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “I would run and play in that field all the time, even on Sundays when I had on my best dresses. I was careful then—if I got them dirty, Daddy would give me a whupping—but I still came home covered in little burrs. Sandspurs, we always called them.” Pricilla gave me a small smile. “They would stick to me sure as anything, and it was hard to get rid of them. Painful. Momma would give me fits when I got home covered over in them, but that was always better than trying to get rid of them all myself.”
I didn’t know where she was going with any of this, but I was already feeling more comfortable. This was the meandering kind of reminiscing I was more used to. And after talking her ear off for so long, I was happy to oblige listening to her for awhile.
”I was sensitive, even back then. Heck, half the reason I wanted to play in the field was because of all the things I could see out there. Things other people couldn’t. I learned early on to keep that to myself, of course. When I was little, people thought it was play-pretend. As I got older, the smiles turned to strange looks and I knew to leave off. But I could still see the things. And in time, the things started to notice.”
”At first, it was kind of scary. I was a teenager by then, more interested in boys and acting grown-up than I was in being noticed by the secret unseen world I’d grown accustomed to as a little girl. And it was jarring to turn and see one of them staring at me—they had so many different shapes and sizes and faces, but you could always tell when they were looking at you once it started. For awhile, I just tried to ignore it. But then they started whispering to me too.”
”I…maybe I shouldn’t have ever started talking back, even in my head. But I didn’t know, and it’s a natural response, isn’t it? Someone, or something, wants to be heard, and you want to respond to that need. And they didn’t talk all the time. Just a little bit, and they were satisfied, at least until the next one came.”
”Because they kept coming, and more than that, they started sticking around. Clinging to me like sandspurs I couldn’t get rid off. By the time I was thirty, I had half a dozen that were with me all the time—sitting in the corner of the room or whispering something in my ear. By then I’d learned to be careful what I spoke to, but that only worked most of the time. Some of them can be quite insistent, and others…well a few attach themselves whether you respond to them or not.”
At this point, I was confused and a bit frustrated—not because I minded talking to a dotty old lady, but because she hadn’t seemed that way. Even when she was talking about seeing and talking to things other people couldn’t see, she didn’t seem crazy or senile. Somehow not being able to immediately write her off as squirrelly made me really uncomfortable, and I could hear a bit of sarcasm and anger in my voice when I asked her if she was talking about ghosts or angels or something. She laughed a little at that.
”No, I don’t think so. Other things. The way I explained it to my late husband was like going up to the edge of a big, deep pond. He could see the surface of the water. I could see all the way through, down to the dark and the mud. He had seen enough to believe me that far, I think. It was when I started talking about what the things in the dark whispered to me that he got up and left the room. After that, I knew not to talk about it again.”
Her expression grew distant and a little sad. “It’s a funny thing. I have so much more company than most people, but it still feels a little lonely most of the time. You’re never fully in either world, you see. And it gets so you resent the things pulling you to be more in this one or that.” She shrugged. “Not that I can complain too much. My special friends have told me so many things. Some of them have even helped me from time to time. And I’ve certainly lived a long time thanks to them, though I suppose that’s for their benefit as much as mine.”
Pricilla turned to look at me again, her face dark and drawn. “But even they can only do so much. I’ve got late-stage, they tell me. A few months left, and most of that painful.” Her smile was thin and unhappy now. “I don’t mind dying. I’m ready for it. What worries me is how long I’ll stay alive. They…they can be very selfish, you see. And I fear they may stretch it out for more months, or even years, even if it leaves their dear old friend in agony.”
Leaning forward, she touched my hand. “But I still love them. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it, I do. They’ve been with me for so long, and they’ll be so lonely when I’m gone. They’ll need someone to look after them—some sensitive soul that will see them and hear them. Maybe even learn to talk back.” Her grip was firm as she gave my hand a squeeze. “You seem like a good and sensitive soul to me, Kendall. And they agree.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, and the next thing I knew, she was up and heading out of the office. I almost followed her, but decided there was no point. Creepy as our conversation had become, it was just an addled person dealing with cancer in her own weird way. It wasn’t until I was driving Bailey home that I saw it. A firetruck and ambulance clustered near the smoking wreckage of a car that had rammed headfirst into a concrete power pole. They were still getting Pricilla out of the car as we passed, but I could see enough to know she was dead.
Jesus. Ken, I…that…why didn’t you tell me any of this before?
At the time, it upset me, but I was more worried about Bailey. The doctor didn’t like some of her bloodwork and wanted to do follow-up tests. Have you ever heard how that went?
I’m sorry. I’ve tried calling and texting her several times, but she doesn’t answer. She’s still on social media, so I guess she’s doing all right.
Well, that’s okay. Yeah, that’s better. She’s a sweet girl. I hope she’s okay. She doesn’t need to mess with me anymore anyway.
But what…I don’t get what any of this has to do with what happened at the bank. I mean I’m sure it was traumatic, but they say you attacked that guard and…
I wasn’t attacking the guard. I…I was trying to get him away from me. Pricilla was right. These things…they’re all around. And some of them aren’t nice. You can feel the bad coming off of them, and sometimes you can tell when they’re trying to hurt someone. Feeding on people.
But I was stupid. I started seeing them a couple of days after meeting Pricilla, and by that next week, I was exhausted and half-crazy from it. Because I had to be crazy, right? I was just trying to not jump at every shadow or shape that wasn’t supposed to be there. Ignore the whispers I was starting to hear even when I closed my eyes. That man…that guard…his name is Bernard, and he’s a good guy. The thing I saw hovering over him…it wasn’t a good thing. Not at all. It…It freaked me out and I screamed. When he came closer, I panicked. All I could think was that I didn’t want it to look me. That I had to keep Bernie away before that damned thing curling around his neck noticed me instead.
What was that?
What was what?
I…I thought I saw something in the corner. Shit, you’ve got me jumpy now.
Sorry, sis. You know, I’ve thought about that a lot while I’ve been in here. About you.
What about me?
Well, you’ve always been the sensitive one. I know we used to joke about how you go with your gut and have good intuition, but it’s more than that. I remember when we were little, you used to have imaginary friends.
So? Everybody does, don’t they?
Maybe, but not like you did. You really believed they were real, and I remember being scared of it for awhile. Not because I thought you were crazy, but because sometimes I almost thought I could see them too.
It makes me wonder. If Pricilla had met you instead of me, passed this on to you instead of me, maybe you could handle it better than I have.
I just…Are the lights acting weird, or what is that in the corner?
I don’t want to burden you with this either. But Pricilla said it wasn’t all bad. You might even like it.
Ken, I think I need to go.
Before you do, come over to my side. I can’t get up, but I bet I can still give you a hug if you lean in real close.
Sorry…I…I have to…
The next few minutes are just me frantically walking back out of the building and getting into my car. I don’t know what to think about any of this, and listening back to the recording, transcribing it here, has not done anything to set my mind at ease. If anything, it’s just confirmed my memory of what happened and reminded me of the terror I felt at the things sliding up the wall behind Ken.
I love my brother very much, but I don’t know that I trust him. Not because he’s insane, but because he may not be. And if he’s not, he’s standing at the threshold of a world I don’t want to see.
That I don’t want to see me.
I’ll still help Ken with a lawyer, and if he calls, I’ll answer. But I don’t know when I’ll be back to visit him. I feel guilt at the idea of leaving him alone in there, but it’s tempered by the thought that makes my heart race and my stomach clench. A thought that sticks to me despite my best efforts to pluck it free.
Ken’s never really alone.
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