Episode 23: Voices- Saving Sally

Episode 23: Voices

Cop cars sped furiously by and skidded one block south. Sirens blared and lights spun and Grant knew Jenkins was dead. Muffled loudspeakers warbled in the distance and guns fired and screams erupted.

It’s all my fault.

Grant didn’t go to the scene. He didn’t want to get arrested and have to explain what the voices told him. It made sense at the time, but now the pieces of the puzzle seemed insane. He was legitimately crazy. How do you tell the police that you drugged an entire staff of nurses and orderlies, poisoned then saved your doctor from spider anaphylaxis, escaped a mental hospital with another patient who only spoke in song lyrics, stole a car, stalked your ex-wife’s house, got drunk, and let your crazed lunatic roommate escape to possibly kill and scar the life of some random family? It all seemed too impossible and the concept of voices was the most improbable piece.

How do I fix this?

Carol’s car turned into the driveway. Her headlights illuminated the house, the windows and Grant. She and Sally stayed in the car longer than expected before finally exiting and standing in front of the vehicle. Grant didn’t move.

I can’t fix this.

“What are you doing? How did you get here?” Her voice carried thirty feet to the stationary Grant.

“I can’t explain all that right now. I heard Smith is a dangerous man. I’m afraid for Sally.” Grant breathlessly spat out the words and searched for Smith. He wasn’t in the car; he saw no lights in the house.

“What? I broke up with him weeks ago. He had a violent streak, and I don’t date crazy, anymore. Grant, how did you get here?”

Grant stared past Carol and penetrated Sally’s eyes. She turned her face into her mommy’s skirt and gripped the cloth with her tiny hands. Her nails were finally growing. She must have stopped biting them when her Daddy left.

Sally didn’t want to see him; Grant was scaring her.

“I’m afraid for Sally.”

“So am I. Sweetheart, go in the house and wait for Mommy. I have to talk to Daddy alone.” Carol gingerly approached Grant with her palms facing up. “Why are you here, Grant?”

“They told me that Sally was in danger. I had a dream that Smith cut off her fingers and you didn’t notice. Susan came on my birthday and said he was violent. They told me how to escape and to stop Smith. The Voices said I had to save her. I had to SAVE her, Carol. Don’t you see?”

“Grant, you aren’t helping Sally. She’s finally getting better. She actually talks in class now. Her teacher saw her laugh. She smiles. She even stopped biting her nails. That pinky one is finally grown. Remember when she tore it off?”

Sally was a nervous little girl. She bit her fingers like her father. She tore off her pinky nail with her teeth the day he left for the hospital. She stood there fingers dripping red while they tied him down to the white gurney and wheeled him away. Grant always liked that they had some connection, but now, he realized her bleeding, nubby monkey-stubs were his fault.

It’s all my fault.

“It’s all my fault, isn’t it? She was nervous because of me. I ruined her life. I ruined your life. I ruin everything.” Grant broke down into tears. He sobbed uncontrollably on his porch as he had countless times before.

Carol sadly shook her head and held his shoulders sympathetically, “Grant, who gave you the alcohol? We need to get you back to the hospital. You need help. You’re a talented man, but you’re sick. The voices aren’t real. The voices are YOU.”

Could she be right? Am I just talking to myself?

“No Carol, you don’t understand.” He wiped his nose with the bottom corner of the orange polo, sniffed and peered into the picture window. Behind his reflection, Sally blankly stared through him.

Shame on you for doing this to her. I am fucking insane.

“All I know is that you broke out of the hospital and probably stole a car to get drunk and come over here; I’m not letting you see Sally this way. This self-pity gets you nowhere. Feeling sorry for your self fixes nothing, and your problems are a fuck load deeper than martyrdom.”

You know she’s right. I am you. We are you. We need medication. We need Dr. Jill.

“Can you give me a ride back to the hospital?”

“No, I have Sally inside and its bedtime, but I can pay for a cab. We’ll visit. I promise this time.”

Grant sat on the curb and cried listening to the sirens and mayhem that he caused in the distance. Jenkins was dead. He was crazy, and the home fires of “Horizon Dawn” beckoned and burned. He was going home.