Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I wiped at my face and moved closer, my chest heaving from exertion and something else – the tight feeling that something was wrong. The yard showed no sign of them, but I heard her screams, the sound muffled by something other than rain. I looked right and left, hoping to see someone. An adult. I needed an adult.
I moved closer to the house. Picked my way over its stepping stones, one slick enough to put me in the grass, my hands skittering over the ground and coming up dirty as I pushed myself to my feet. I couldn’t hear her anymore and that scared me more than the screams. I hitched my backpack higher and wiped my hands on the front of my jeans.
The house in the yard had three steps, then a short porch. I climbed the steps and stepped onto the porch, leaving the rain behind. My clothes dripped everywhere, creating a puddle on the grimy brick floor.
I looked over my shoulder to the yard, then back to the house. There was the faint sound of something inside. I eased closer to the door and put my ear against the wood. It was a television playing, and a burst of canned laughter came through.
There was a loud noise from inside, and I bolted to the corner of the porch. Ducked into a ball, I hid behind a swing. I accidentally bumped it with my shoulder and it creaked into motion, giving away my position. I moved away from it, against the house, and soldier-crawled over to the window, which had a skinny opening between two blue curtains. I held my breath and then peered in.
There was the television, playing a black-and-white western. There was a rug. A few beer cans sitting on an end table. My gaze lifted to the room beyond the can, and I saw Sheila Anderson.
I won’t share the horrors of what I saw, on my knees, on that porch. I know I closed my eyes too late. I know my hands fisted on either side of my head as I tried to drown out the soft sounds of her screams. I now know why I hate the sound of rain. I now know why, that afternoon in August, my mind broke into smaller pieces and locked that afternoon into a place where I was never to find it.
Now, I struggle to stand, the image of Sheila in pain imprinted on my mind. I stumble to the door, frantic to escape the sound of rain. Opening the slider, I see Layana rise from her place on the couch, her eyes on me. “Did you remember?” she asks.
I nod, unable to say more, and open my arms as she steps forward and wraps me in a hug.
Chapter 82
Today is my second attempt to break up with Lee. We’ve spent three weeks preparing for it, and this time the doctor has agreed to stay quiet and behind the one-way glass in the adjoining room. Brant hates that decision and is still convinced that I’m in danger. He had the Brant-equivalent of a meltdown, which involved him slamming a fist onto the table and striding out of the room. It took him a half hour to cool off and then he reluctantly agreed with the plan, and now I'm back in the room with him, reciting the lines I’ve been coached through, the hypnosis protocol that will trigger Lee’s presence.
My initial breakup attempt had been done without clueing Lee into his condition. With the massive failure of that experiment, we regrouped and decided to share the condition in hopes for better results.
Two weeks ago, Dr. Terra told Lee about the DID diagnosis, and his role in Brant’s psyche. Lee refused to believe it, wanted to talk to Brant, then lost his temper when that option was refused. As he kicked his chair over and threw the trash can against the wall, Dr. Terra stayed calm and cited facts that laid the truth out in simple clear reasoning that Lee refused to listen to. He vocalized his hatred for Brant with every four-letter word known to man. It was disastrous. I fled the watching room halfway through the outburst, unable to watch his breakdown.
Since that day, Dr. Terra has met with him four more times, and Lee has grown more hostile and uncooperative with each session. The last meeting, he just laid on the couch with his eyes closed and cherry-picked the questions he felt like answering. Today, I’m hoping my presence will help. I need him to listen, to be open to what I say, and I pray he doesn't break my heart any further.
"Lucky." His eyes open and he sits up, glancing around the room before meeting my eyes. I am tense, his emergences sometimes volatile, but he only rubs his neck and shoots me a sad grin. “So, I'm still stuck in Crazytown, huh?"