Beautifully Broken (25 page)

“Am I?” I stiffened, anger bubbling in my gut. “I’ve
always
been melodramatic. What can I say? It’s a flaw.”

“Everyone has flaws,” he said softly.

I stood and glowered at him. “Gee, I’m still kinda fuzzy on exactly what yours is. Oh, yeah, it has something to do with you being pig-headed The thing that pisses me off the most is that I tried to talk to you about the house and you always got upset—like you didn’t believe it. But I think you lied about that too.”

Trent sighed. “Everybody lies, Shiloh.”

“That’s comforting.” I hedged toward the doorway.

 
“What’s wrong now?” Trent’s voice sounded ragged and torn. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Well, news flash—I don’t.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “This is getting us nowhere.”

My head throbbed and I backed away from them. At the doorway, I paused and opened my mouth to say something else, but Madison stood as if propelled by an explosive force and rushed past me. Upstairs a door slammed.

I knew it was time to tell him about his mother. Drawing a deep breath, I steadied my voice, “Trent, I need to show you something I just discovered. I’ll be right back.”

I ran upstairs and back into the attic, I flung open the chest containing Claire’s letters. I would show it to him and we would uncover the truth. Discover why his father was paying Madison’s bills…unless.

Jillian and Maxwell Donovan?

I mentally slapped myself on the forehead. Of course. I’d been so caught up in my own drama I hadn’t realized the obvious. Madison was my half-sister and Trent’s.
Can my life get any more bizarre?

Yet I paused in the doorway floundering in indecision and weighing the consequences.

Will Trent hate his father even more? Will I destroy any chance they have at mending their relationship? Or worse, will he hate me for showing him the letters? Will this tear our families apart?

Clutching the letters to my chest, I ran downstairs and toward the center rotunda. As I started down the stairs, someone moved out of the pocket of darkness and pushed me. Hard. For a second, I teetered off balance. “Help!” I wobbled, my arms frantically reaching for the banister.

My answer was two hands and a swift shove. I tumbled in a rolling heap down the stairs. Waves of pain crashed over me, holding me under in a sea of agony. All the way down, down, down. Until my head collided with the hardwood floor.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A throbbing in my head made me reluctant to open my eyes. My vision blurry. I took deep breaths until the waves of dizziness lessened and I was strong enough to raise my head. I leaned on one elbow. My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth.

A door opened, admitting a nurse at least six feet tall with short fiery-red hair, wearing scrubs and clogs. “You’re awake? I’m Nurse Gwen. Let me fetch the doctor.” She whipped around and closed the door.

Collapsing on the thin mattress, I surveyed my foreign surroundings. Stark white walls, a metal-framed bed, and a nightstand. Solitary window with security wiring. Somewhere a loudspeaker called out codes and someone howled loudly. Fluorescent light glared down from the ceiling. Whiffs of bleach wafted from the bedding and the antiseptic scent gave me nausea.

I had no memory of how I’d gotten there.

No shadows danced on the walls. Eventually they would come for me. I had no protection here. I was weak. Defenseless. Vulnerable.

I yanked off the crisp sheets, and swung my legs over the cold metal bed. Someone had dressed me in a scratchy hospital gown and had wrapped my right wrist in an elastic Ace bandage. I had scrapes and bruises on my arms and legs. My arm had a puncture wound where someone must have inserted a needle. I raised one hand to touch the gauze at my temple and noticed a white band on my left wrist:
 
Valley Grove Psychiatric Hospital: Ravenwolf, Shiloh

Holy crap! I’m in the nut house…

The door opened and this time a forty-something-year-old man with salt and pepper hair and a moustache,
 
wearing a lab coat, entered the room. He was short, probably five-foot seven, with a stout frame and large hands. Hairy knuckles too. He approached the bed, laying a hand on my arm. “Hello. I am Doctor Matheson, one of the doctors here.”

My muscles went rigid beneath his fingers.
Ha! More like a prison.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions.” He glanced at his clipboard.

“Actually—I do.” I folded my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling. “Why am I here?”

“You don’t have any recollection of the events before your admittance?”

“No. I mean, yes—but I’m not crazy!”

My outburst made him restrain a smile. “We don’t use that term in here.”

“Who…put me in here?”

“You were admitted yesterday by your mother.”

Soul-bruising betrayal squeezed me like a vice clamping my heart. Everyone I loved had abandoned me. Locked me away. And I couldn’t bury the pain of betrayal.

“There’s been some sort of a mistake.” My breathing rapid and irregular, I clenched my hands. My voice sounded gruff and strange to my ears. “Someone pushed me down a flight of stairs. I belong in a regular hospital—not in the psych ward!” I knew I shouldn’t direct my anger at him, but I couldn’t help it.

I wished I knew who or
what
had tried to kill me. Again. It could’ve been anyone.
Esael? Claire? Jillian? Trent? Madison?

 
“I need you to remain calm, Miss Ravenwolf, so we can help you.” Doctor Matheson raised his bushy brows. “Are you saying you don’t remember attempting to commit suicide by throwing yourself down a flight of stairs?”

“Aren’t you listening?
Hel-lo.
I just told you—I was pushed. P. U. S. H. E. D.”

“Just relax,” he suggested, his eyes studying me and appraising the situation. “Your mother informed us of the
special
circumstances.”

All the fire left my belly and I slouched, misery etching across my face. “What? I’m so confused.”

“Apparently, you had a psychotic episode at Maxwell Donovan’s home. You harmed yourself by leaping from the upstairs rotunda. When your mother brought you in, you were unconscious, bleeding from a head injury, and had sprained your wrist. You were lucky your injuries weren’t worse, young lady.” He gestured toward my bandages. “Since your physical injuries weren’t great but you’d made a suicide attempt, we’re required to monitor you.”

I hunched my shoulders with a scowl. “You can’t keep me here against my will. I need to call my dad. He’ll straighten this out.”

Doctor Matheson yanked at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yes. We can. You made a suicide attempt. Under California code section 5150, we can hold you up to seventy-two hours without your consent to make sure you don’t attempt suicide again. Longer if we feel you need care.”

 
“Can I use the phone? I wanna call my dad.”

Matheson pursed his lips and tightened his cheeks. “Not right now, but probably later.”

“So what happens next?”

“You’ll be on antipsychotics and attend therapy sessions daily until we deem you’re stable. That may take a few days, or even a few weeks.”

My stomach lurched. A few weeks? I can’t stay here a few weeks. More teens could be sucked dry!

I stared at the floor, at my bare feet that needed a serious pedicure. Coldness filled my body.

“Why did you harm yourself?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I raised my head and kept my gaze fixed on the door.

“Fine. I can see you’re upset. I’ll give you a chance to rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” He walked to the door.

The latch rotated and my muscles tensed. My feet touched the cold tiles. My heart beat faster and faster. I scooted to the edge of the mattress, my eyes fixed on the door. The shrink clutched the handle and when he had the door open—I sprang into action.

I practically leapt from the bed, shoving him aside and shot like a cannon out into the corridor. I didn’t know which way to turn.

“Nurse! Nurse!” Matheson shouted.

To my right, two men in white uniforms looked up from a chart. Turning in the opposite direction, I sprinted along the corridor, flying past the nurse’s station. I slid to a stop at the elevator and pushed the button; simultaneously, the double doors opened to let a doctor out. I dashed inside and punched the lobby button on the panel just as the two men were almost on top of me. Bending over to catch my breath, I glanced up, and caught a glimpse of my distorted reflection in the mirror-like walls. I didn’t recognize myself. Like staring at my evil twin. Hair short—
short!
—and wild and tangled. A massive lump under the bloody bandage near my temple. Skin pallid and eyes hollowed out. The thin gown short and baggy. At least I wore underwear.

Breathing fast and hard, I watched the elevator’s glowing number panel: 13…12…11…10…9…

The elevator lurched to a stop, throwing me off balance. I whimpered at the ache in my injured arm as I hit the floor. My eyes found the video camera attached to the ceiling. Piercing scream of the building’s alarm system spurned me into action. I pushed myself up. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I sucked in a breath.
Damn!
I was trapped. Stuck between floors.

With every ounce of strength left in my body, and even with the throbbing in my wrist, I struggled to pull those two doors apart. The opening was about twenty inches wide. Jumping to grab the ledge, I hoisted myself up, scraping my knee. I got my head and shoulders out, but my bottom half was stuck. I squirmed and transferred my weight, finally squeezing through the gap. Without warning, the doors began to jerk shut, like the hungry steel jaws of a shark attempting to sever a leg, and I hauled my legs clear just as the doors closed.

“There she is!” An orderly pointed at me.

Scrambling to my feet, I bumped into a startled nurse carrying a tray of pills, and the meds flew into the air, scattering across the floor. I spotted double doors on the right, and thrusting them open, I burst into a recreation room filled with patients. I squatted behind a sofa. Two orderlies scanned the room from the entrance. I waited until they moved away. Then I crept, crouching down along the row of windows.

Damn! Safety glass on these too.

Gazing at the ground below, I knew I was only making matters worse.

From out of nowhere, I was tackled from behind and thrown to the floor. I fell on my side, the breath rushing from my lungs. Two attendants struggled to hold me down, but I fought back—hard. Struggling and thrashing, I raked my nails down the side of the orderly’s face who held my left wrist and he yelped. The other man wrestled me to the ground, straddling me, and I bit into his shoulder. He cried out and clutched the wound. With both hands, I shoved him off and jumped to my feet. I spit the guy’s own blood into his face.

Standing with my feet apart and fists up, I faced the two scrub-clad orderlies. One guy was a short Caucasian and the other a tall African-American. They eyed me uneasily, their fingers tensing. I caught a glimpse of Nurse Gwen moving stealthily behind them
holding a big needle, and
I chose that moment to strike first.

Energy crackled around me, raising my hair like static electricity. Magick pulsated on my skin. It gave me strength and power. Most of all, courage. I called out, “Magick, come to me, make me strong. And set me free!”

I lifted a knee and hit the guy closest to me in the groin. He blanched, doubled over, and fell to the ground. The other man lunged at me, so I leaned forward and headbutted him in the face. He pitched backward, dark arms flailing, and smacked into the wall behind him. In the same motion, I pounced onto the fallen man, ramming a fist full of magick into his chin. I didn’t pause to savor my triumph; as soon as his head rebounded from the hard floor, I was moving again, twisting away from the dazed orderlies as Nurse Gwen swooped in.

“Damn it!”
she barked. “Hold her down! She’s in a psychotic break. Someone get me some Haldol!”

The two men stood and dusted themselves off. I jumped to my feet. Magick thrummed in my veins. They closed in, angry faces and auras thunderous.

Without realizing what was happening, I found myself flat on my back, sucking in deep breaths of air that seemed devoid of oxygen. I’d been slammed violently against the linoleum floor from the side. The ensuing tunnel vision that threatened to take away my sight cleared in time for me to glimpse the dark head of my unseen attacker. He put his two meaty hands on my shoulders and pinned me to the cold floor. One of the other men seized my ankles. Before I could kick him in the face, a hypodermic needle was plunged into my butt.

I screamed in protest until the sedative slipped through my veins. I stopped squirming. My limbs were drugged and submissive. Whirling blackness came again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up, my brain was foggy. I was back in my hospital room, prone on the lumpy bed. The door opened and Matheson poked his head in. “Hello, Miss Ravenwolf. Feeling better?”

No! This isn’t fair. Please let me go home.

Somehow, I had to convince them I wasn’t a nutcase. But I was pretty sure yesterday’s escape attempt wasn’t going to help my defense. If I didn’t behave, things were going to get worse. I’d be in this sterile room for the rest of my life, recoiling from shadows.

But who can blame me for trying to escape? Once freedom is taken away, most of us would die fighting for it rather than be locked in a cage.

“Everything’s still sorta confusing.” Tears spilled forth and my stomach slid into my feet. “Is this,” I said, sitting up and gesturing with my head at the locked door, “really necessary?”

 
“Yes. But if you can behave yourself,” Matheson said from the doorway, “I can have Nurse Gwen bring you something to eat and drink.”

I licked my cracked lips. My tongue felt like sandpaper. Never been so thirsty in my life. “Yes, please,” I rasped. Thinking about food made my stomach grumble.

He nodded and ducked from the room. Moments later, Nurse Gwen and a male orderly entered. Without uttering a word, she replaced the bloody gauze on my forehead with a fresh, square bandage.

Ah, I like her.

She aimed her stern face at the attendant and said, “Michael, make sure you watch her closely—this one’s a real hellcat. She’s trouble.” She bustled from the room.

Hmm, maybe not.

Michael folded his arms above his bulging middle. Nurse Gwen returned carrying a tray laden with oatmeal, milk, and an apple, and put it on my lap
.

After I’d devoured everything, I weakly smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“The psychiatrist would like to have a session today. If you can conduct yourself properly.”

“Alright…whatever.”

“Good. Then please follow me,” Nurse Gwen said.

I pulled the sheet back, swung my legs off the bed and followed her from the room into the barren hallway. We walked several corridors until we were buzzed into another wing of the hospital. Nurse Gwen led me into a fluorescent-lit room that contained a table and two chairs. I sat in a chair that faced a mirrored wall. Matheson stepped into the room a minute later, shutting the door behind him before taking a seat across from mine. He placed a folder stamped CONFIDENTIAL, a notebook, and a pen on the table. He propped up his elbows and templed his hands beneath his chin.

“Shiloh Ravenwolf, reporting for sanity check.” My smile faded when I realized he wasn’t going to return it. “I promise to play along. Even stare at your ink blots if you let me go home.”

“I’m glad you’ve agreed to cooperate.”

“Yep, that’s me. Eager to oblige.” I traced a circle with my finger on the table.

 
“Splendid. Shall we begin with your latest suicide attempt?”

With my eyes downcast, I said, “That’s a super long story. Not terribly interesting.”

“I don’t mind. Bore me.” He relaxed, folding his arms. “You don’t mind if I call you by your first name, do you, Shiloh?”

“Actually, I do.” I refused to turn my head, staring at the table instead.

“If you want to go home, this isn’t the way to go about it.”

I looked at him and stiffened under his withering glare. “Fine. Whatever. I’m
so
over it. Decided to move on. All better. I promise.”

“I need more to go on than that. Talk to me. Sooner you do, the sooner you can go home.”

Squirming in my seat, I exhaled noisily. “Fine. Had a fight with my boyfriend…we were gonna break up, but it went badly. Real bad. I had this drama queen meltdown and…” I faltered, suddenly finding it hard to speak.

 
“It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” He scanned his notes. “Now, I’d like to discuss the paranoid delusions you’ve been suffering from. Have you ever heard something no one else seems to hear? Maybe someone calling your name? Definitely heard it but no one else did?”

I chewed on my lower lip. Not sure how to respond without someone putting a straightjacket on me. Over his shoulder, I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror.

Oh. My. God.

 
All my hair had been unevenly chopped off to a mere six to seven inches. It barely touched my shoulders. Matted and dirty. My eyes sunken and hollow. My face pale like a zombie.

My long hair. Someone cut off all my effing hair!

The instant my fingers touched it, I whimpered. Tears flooded my eyes. It would take years to grow back. All the breath left me like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

He noticed my horrified expression and shuffled his papers. “Not sure what happened, but that’s how you arrived. Vanity is not a concern here. Getting you well is.”

“My mother.” Tears came to my eyes, amplifying and distorting the image in the glass into a hazy blur. “She must’ve chopped off my hair as punishment. Her way of breaking a spirited horse.”

“Are you a spirited horse?”

“Well, I’m not a horse—you
moron!
” I screamed, touching the tuft of hair on my head. “I’m a girl. With feelings and a heart—two things you obviously don’t possess!”

Matheson wore an oily smile. Not the most successful look for a psychiatrist for teens. “Whatever you’ve been going through, we can help. We treated your aunt at this facility many years ago. Many mental illnesses are hereditary: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia. We need to figure out what’s causing the psychotic episodes. These breaks in reality.”

“It’s not what you think.” I moaned and kept gaping over his shoulder at the frightened stranger in the mirror staring back at me.

“I want you to understand, Shiloh, we aren’t the enemy here. I hope we won’t have any more acts of defiance from you.”

I hung my head, tears trickling off my chin unto the table. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, let’s continue. Do you hear voices?”

“Hmm, define voices.”

He grunted. “Voices in your head. Have you seen anything anyone else didn’t see? Something you were certain was there, but no one else could see it?”

I bit my lip. My stomach pitching. “I…I’ve heard things in the shadows. Whispering. Seen
things
moving in the darkness.”

“During intake, your mother mentioned you’ve had an irrational fear of the dark since childhood. What do you think causes this fear? Does your house make strange noises at night? Do you watch too many horror movies?”

“I don’t watch scary movies. Real life is scary enough.”

“My point is, some people have vivid imaginations and can make the smallest things seem real and terrifying. Like a house settling at night can sound like someone breaking in. When you’re in bed, shadows on the walls can seem to move, but it’s only a passing car’s headlights reflecting in your room.” He rearranged his notes. “Would you like to know my opinion?”

No. I don’t give a crap what your dang opinion is.

“Sure. Illuminate me. Please.”

“You’re suffering from psychosis brought on by stress and sleep deprivation. Once that occurs, you can’t discern what is real and what is not. You manifest a response. For instance, people with suicidal tendencies in this condition will hurt themselves, because they believe what they dream is real. They believe someone is trying to kill them. Your self-inflicted wounds are consistent with this fantasy…and you did attempt suicide when you were younger.”

I slouched unto the metal chair. That memory vague and dim. I don’t even remember why I did it. A shadow had been there, coaxing and murmuring in an archaic language.
Esael?
I had blacked out and when I came to, blood covered the bathroom floor. A razorblade rested in my hand. I’d somehow managed to slit my left wrist. My only reminder, the jagged scar on my arm.

My mark…

His voice disrupted my internal babble. “Shiloh? Can you tell me what happened?”

I wiped my runny nose on the sleeve of my hideous cotton gown. “I know how this sounds—like I’m cracked in the head. But I didn’t mean to hurt myself. I swear! Not that time
or
this time. Someone tried to kill me…maybe a demon.”

Shut up, Shiloh! You wanna spend the rest of your life in here?

“A what?”

“I—I said…uh, maybe treason. Yeah. I trusted people. Well, certain people, and they betrayed me.”

“Uh-huh.” He jotted something on the pad.

“You know, I’m not the only one who had a freaky accident at Ravenhurst. There were others.” My fingers turned on themselves in my lap. “Teenagers murdered. Kids just vanishing. Those were way weird—
supernatural
.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “Ah, yes, I recall reading about those incidents in the paper. But surely you realize those were merely unfortunate mishaps and not supernatural acts.”

“How can you be sure?” He bobbed his head as if confirming something, and I rushed on. “There are respected paranormal investigators proving the existence of the supernatural every day. So why is it difficult to believe in something just because you can’t see or touch it? It’s like having faith in God, you can’t see Him or touch Him, but He’s
there
.”

The psychiatrist actually grinned. “Excellent point, Shiloh. However, what’s happening to you is manifested by an imbalance of brain chemistry. Hallucinations can enhance the ultimate escape from your dark reality.”

No way.
I knew what happened was real. Paranormals were real. Haunted houses were real. I didn’t care if this guy believed me or not. Because I was perfectly normal. Even though normal people don’t usually commune with the supernatural, still I was normal enough.

Except…you’re the girl who hears whispering in the shadows, sees ghosts and scary demons. You believe you have magical powers and your ancestors are witches. Ah, hell, that does sound psychotic.

Yep, Shiloh Ravenwolf, you’re certifiably insane.

I chewed my lip, trying not to snivel. “Right before I hit my head, I kinda freaked out. That’s it. I mean, everyone freaks out sometimes. Except I didn’t imagine someone pushing me. Someone, an actual
real
” —I made quotation marks in the air with my fingers— “person shoved me.”

“So you claim—”

“This is stupid! I’m fine and I wanna go home.” I pushed back the chair dramatically, placing my palms flat on the table to lean into his face. “I need to speak to my father. Lives could be in danger!”