4 The Ugly Truth (1/2)
The official diagnosis for mom's condition was Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) caused by the sudden loss of a loved one. Her doctors declared her mentally unfit and recommended we place her in psychiatric care to help her recover from the ordeal. Although I was initially against leaving mom behind in St. Lucy's psychiatric ward, I was smart enough to understand that neither aunt Lena nor I were equipped to help her in any meaningful way. Since the doctors promised they would do their best to help mom heal mentally, I relented. What else could I do?
That same night aunt Lena brought me home to the empty house and told me she would live with me for as long as my mom was in the hospital. She would rent out her apartment for a while and use the guest bedroom in the house's second floor which was conveniently right next to my room. It was a comfort to hear her decide this without having to ask her to stay. I couldn't even imagine living here all alone with nothing but the recent tragic memories for company.
Meanwhile, the hunt for Luca lasted a mere two months. Having found no significant clues to his whereabouts, the police ended their search and chalked it up to just another mysterious and unsolved missing person's case.
It wasn't like they were incompetent—although I remember calling the detective that to his face when he informed me and aunt Lena of the Police Department's decision—it was just that there were so many missing people in Starlight City that Luca's incident didn't seem so abnormal. Sure, once in a while a well-known family like ours would lose a kid and get attention from the authorities, but we were in the minority. Most missing person's cases didn't even make the news. It was just generally accepted as a hazard of living in Starlight City. Yes, missing teenagers was tragic, but the city was prosperous despite it. Businesses rarely went under, outbreaks of diseases rarely happened, and money flowed into all sectors of life. Starlight City thrived, and in a world where problems like famine, disease, and war cropped up everywhere, the citizens of Starlight were content to live here despite the odd sacrifice or two.
After the detective left that afternoon with a promise to call us if any news regarding Luca turned up, I stormed out of my house not knowing where I was headed. My feet led me along the familiar path to the nearest bus stop, and from there I rode the short ride from the suburbs into midtown. I got off at 5th Avenue ten minutes later and walked along the bustling streets packed with people on their way home from work. My subconscious was obviously taking me somewhere. I only discovered where after I found myself standing in front of the entrance to St. Lucy's.
As dusk approached, the hospital's entrance sign lit up like a neon beacon in the growing darkness. To me, it seemed like a proverbial go sign welcoming me in, and so I did.
Mom's room was on the fourth floor of the hospital's second tower. But because hesitation slowed my steps, by the time I made it to her floor, night had completely fallen. The LED lights above me were glaringly bright as I made my way through the white hallway of the Psychiatric Ward. I passed an open door to my right and heard the angry shouts coming out of it.
”The fairies—the fairies are calling me, I tell you! They won't let me rest!” a man's low baritone voice screamed.
”Mr. Azuma, please calm down,” another man answered. ”Nurse, we will have to sedate him… give him a dose of Lorazepam.”
”No! Don't put me to sleep! Don't send me back there!” Azuma screamed.
Two burly orderlies in white scrubs passed me by before they charged into the room to help secure the rampaging patient. Soon afterward, scuffling sounds emanated from that room, as if the patient inside refused to be restrained.
I moved along, not waiting to see which side would win. I had my own battle to fight.
Mom's door was on the left, near the end of the long hallway, and far enough from the rampaging man's room. I stood before it undecided if I should enter. Five minutes passed, and I still didn't have the nerve to turn the door handle.
Why was I being such a wuss about this? Because I was looking for hope and I knew deep down that I wouldn't find it here. After visiting mom nearly every day, I knew only hopelessness lay beyond the door.
”Get it together, Dean,” I whispered.
However, before I could get it together, the door actually swung open on its own and a young woman in a white lab coat appeared on the other side of it.
Long golden hair fell across her shoulders in wavy curls. Her eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, were the striking blue of a clear azure sky. Her nose was long and extended more at the tip. Her skin was the alabaster white of a goddess statue that had suddenly come to life. The surprise showing on her oval face at seeing me standing there mirrored my own, although I doubt her jaw was dropping like mine must have been. No, her small mouth with their pale pink lips reformed in a smile just before she inquired about why I was there.
My brain felt frozen, stuck on loading to the point where I couldn't utter more than a dumb, ”um,” in front of the gorgeous woman who I assumed was a doctor. She was wearing a doctor's signature white lab coat after all.
The doctor giggled. It was a wonderful, playful sound.
”You must be Dean,” she said.
Her voice, although high, wasn't the grating kind. It was the sound of honey being poured into my ears.
”Are you here to visit your mother?” she asked.
I nodded dumbly.
The doctor walked through the open doorway and stepped aside for me.
”Please go ahead,” she held the door open. ”Lora's feeling much better tonight.”
There was something wrong in her statement—like she actually believed my mom was better. Nevertheless, I could do nothing but follow her suggestion. I entered the room, but when I turned around a second later to thank her—or more likely, ask for her number—the doctor was nowhere in sight. The corridor was empty.
”That's… weird,” I said, confused.
”Hi, Dean,” a female voice said.
Just hearing her greet me in such a calm manner sent my heart pounding madly as I hadn't heard mom sounding so normal since the night I found her on the couch. Only, was it possible for someone who had PTSD to get better suddenly?
Fear and hope gripped me in equal measure as I turned around to face her.
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Mom was sitting on the cushioned bench by the window staring out at a view of the night sky where the full moon was out in all its glory. Moonlight drifted down from the sky to illuminate the darkened room, and it was only then that I realized the lights were out in here.
”Mom?” I called, hesitantly.
She turned to look at me. There was a warm smile on her face, the kind you probably wouldn't find on a catatonic patient's face.
Mom gestured me over to sit beside her, but I hesitated.
”I won't bite, Dean. Come over here and give me a hug,” she insisted with a laugh. It was the same one dad used to gush about.
That clinched it. It really was mom. She was okay.
At that moment, I forgot all my problems and went over to embrace her. I didn't even notice the waterworks flowing down my cheeks until she brushed them away.
”When did you turn into a crybaby?” she asked.
I rubbed my eyes while my face turned red from embarrassment.
”I'm not… I've just got something in my eyes,” I lied.
After I blinked the tears away—something that took a longer time to accomplish than I initially imagined—I saw mom's face turn grave. Her mood changed instantly. The atmosphere turned serious.
”Listen to me now, Dean… We have little time,” she said.
”What's wrong, mom?” I asked.
”There's so much to tell…” She grasped both my hands in hers. Our fingers intertwined. ”I'm so sorry… Everything that's happened to you and Luca is our fault… Mine and your father's…”
I stiffened. What did she mean by this confession? And how was dad involved?