Give Me You (42 page)
“Can you tell us about the night they brought her in? What her mental state appeared to be?”
Aleatha Rose swallows and nods. “Y-yes, Your Honor.” She pauses and turns her face to where I sit. I mean to smile at her but I’m not sure that I do. The corners of her mouth lift but there is sadness in her eyes. “She was eight years old. Small for her age. She had been checked for wounds and was still covered in dried blood. We bathed her and tried to get her to eat.”
“And did she?”
“N-no sir, she did not. It was eleven days before we were able to get her to eat anything substantial.”
My eyes have made their way back to Aleatha Rose’s tiny hands. They’re trembling again.
Her uneasiness is contagious. My entire life I’ve carefully measured everything I do. Everything I think and feel. Most of the time it seems I’m even making sure my heartbeats are careful. Not too fast. Not too loud.
Same goes for my breathing. Measured. Careful. And as close to silent as I can manage.
Because I don’t want them to find me. And they will find me if I make too much noise or any sudden movements.
If I let myself get worked up they will catch me. I’ll get caught in the whirring thoughts and emotions, like a wayward leaf in a windstorm.
So I am still. And I don’t let the behaviors of others affect me. Until now.
Aleatha Rose’s voice is quiet but firm, an intoxicating melody as she fills the men in on the mysterious and turbulent path that led to my ten-year stay at the St. Maria Goretti Center.
“She is always still, like now, Your Honor,” she says. “We were able to make some progress with art—she likes mosaics very much. And with signals. She can nod and blink and smile.”
The frail woman turns to me again. Inhale. Blink. Smile.
I measure the time for each. One second and then two.
Exhale.
When I look away from Aleatha Rose, my breath catches in my throat. Everyone, and I mean everyone, in the room is watching me.
But then I blink, and most of the other people aren’t paying any attention to me at all. Just Aleatha Rose, the judge, and Mr. Dawes.
I’ve tried so hard to hide. To go unnoticed. But they see me.
My eyes find the only familiar ones in the room. She tilts her head and I don’t know what it means.
Is Aleatha Rose sad? She looks like an oil painting of sadness.
She turns to address the judge again. “Your Honor, notification of the hospital closing was sent to all living relatives of current patients. Merritt doesn’t have any. But we received a letter this morning. My Director, Dr. Hudson Amos, sent me here to deliver the this before it was too late.” She holds up a white rectangle that I know from my classes to be an envelope.
Too late for what?
“Mrs. Goodwin, can you bring that to the bench please?” The judge puts on a pair of small silver-framed glasses and places them on his face.
Twenty-six seconds. That’s how long it takes him to unfold the piece of paper contained inside the envelope and scan his eyes up and down it. When he’s finished, he clears his throat. His steady gaze lands on Mr. Dawes first.
“You’re aware of the contents of this letter, I presume?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I believe this is the best available option for Miss Carson. Mr. Lennox has been contacted and the information has been confirmed.”
The judge’s dark eyebrows dip, causing even more wrinkles in his weathered face. He turns to Aleatha Rose next.
“Mrs. Goodwin, as far as your experience over the last ten years with Miss Carson, what is your response to this letter?”
“Well sir, in my honest opinion—”
The judge begins to cough and holds up a hand as if she should wait for him to finish. The harsh choking sound continues until he takes a small sip of water from the glass in front of him.
“’Scuse me. Allow me to clarify, Mrs. Goodwin. What I meant was, in your professional opinion, is Miss Carson capable of living on her own? Would she be able to care for herself as needed? Last thing I need is someone blaming the court for negligence if something happens to her.”
Her hands grip the gate, turning her once blackish-purple knuckles white. “Your Honor, Miss Carson is one of the kindest, most gentle souls I’ve ever known. If her relative passed away during her stay at St. Maria’s then that explains why she never had visitors. But this letter states that not only does she own a home, but it’s a carriage house on a property in a small community in Mississippi, where I presume other people will be present. I’d like to believe those people would look out for her. I’m going to do everything I can to contact them and let them know—”
“No.”
The voice is soft and yet high-pitched. Timid and raspy. Nothing like how I imagine I sound in my head.
Again I’m struck by the feeling that everyone is watching me.
“Miss Carson?” the Judge responds first. “Is there something you would like to say to the court?”
I nod, feeling the burn begin inside of me. My hands tighten around the fabric of my pants that’s gathered in them.
“Could you stand for us please, Miss Carson?”
Inhale. Exhale. Blink. Smile. Nod.
I feel on fire and extinguished of all energy at once. I stand slowly, not trusting my legs to work.
Aleatha Rose’s already large round eyes are so wide I can almost imagine then popping from her skull. I can even hear the sound it would make.
A shudder runs through me as my heart begins to pound into my ears without permission.
“M-Mr. Dawes t-told me.” I take a deep breath. My throat is scratchy and my tongue is entirely too large for my mouth. “He told me what the letter says.”
The judge lowers the letter and clasps his hands. “Miss Carson, do you understand why you’re here today?”
I nod. The lady clicking on the machine casts a helpless glance at the judge.
“Miss Carson, it is my understanding that you do not speak on regular occasion. However, if you wish to participate in this hearing, I’m going to have to ask that you vocalize all answers.”
I nod again and then flush instantly when I realize my mistake. “Y-yes, Your Honor.”
I can see why everyone keeps saying it. It feels kind of nice in my mouth.
“Okay, then. You said no. Am I to take this to mean that you do not wish to live on the property that has been left you by your deceased relative?”
I shake my head and clench my hands so tightly I know there will be half-moon divots in the palms of them. “No, sir. I did not m-mean to say that. I meant to say that I do not w-wish for Aleatha Rose to contact anyone. I w-would like to go—”
My words come out slow. Measured like my breathing. But my heart is a wild panicked animal in my chest. One that will not slow no matter what I do.
I glance around at the occupants of the room.
The judge looks confused, as if I am a puzzle with incorrect pieces jammed where they do not belong. Aleatha Rose has tears streaming wet trails down her face, and Mr. Dawes is nodding for me to continue.
“I would like to g-go. To the home that has been left to me. I would like to go there without anyone calling anyone to t-tell them. What I am.”
Aleatha Rose nods, wiping her eyes. I can feel it. Her surprise. She doesn’t know that I practiced speaking in my room when I was alone. Practiced reading the books she brought me out loud. Well, not
out loud
exactly since technically I was whispering. She wants to rush over to me, wrap me up and hug me. But she doesn’t, and I’m thankful for her restraint.
After I’ve spoken, I sit back down and listen as Mr. Dawes and the judge discuss whether or not I am able to care for myself. I don’t know if I am, but I know that I can learn. And that more than anything, I want the opportunity to try.
It’s a mystery to me who my long lost and apparently long dead relative is that has left me a home. My mind knows that it should be grateful and appreciative that I have somewhere to go and will not be sent to the nearest state mental institution.
But my heart is afraid. Wary of something that seems good to everyone else. Sometimes things that appear pretty and shiny to everyone else look much different through my eyes.
If I am getting a new life, a new home, then I want to begin it on my own. With no one knowing who I am or where I’ve been. I don’t want them to know what I’ve been through. Or the deep dark secrets I know about myself.
Aleatha Rose called me a kind and gentle soul.
She’s wrong and I don’t want her telling anyone anything else about me. Because if they believe her, then they will only be even more dismayed when they find out what I already know to be true.
I’m not a kind and gentle soul.
I don’t have a soul.
And they’re about to set me free.
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Caisey Quinn lives in Nashville, Tennessee with her daughter. She is the bestselling author of the Neon Dreams series (Avon/William Morrow) and the forthcoming Nashville’s Finest series (Penguin/Random House) as well as several other New & Contemporary Adult Romance titles including Keep Me Still and the Kylie Ryans series. She can be found online at
www.caiseyquinnwrites.com
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www.facebook.com/AuthorCaiseyQuinn
, and on Twitter as
@CaiseyQuinn
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GIVE ME YOU
Copyright © 2016 by Caisey Quinn
All Rights Reserved.
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations
Interior design and formatting by:
Printed in the United States of America.
June 2016
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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