Don't Slay the Dragon (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 1) (12 page)

“I guess I’d better call and make an appointment with Dr. Ross.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I sat across the desk from Dr.
Ross and signed the waiver in silence.  I had read through the document and insisted on a few changes.  If the case were used in any publication or documentary my face and identity would be protected.  The last thing I wanted was any kind of notoriety or publicity from my friendship with Lisbeth.  The other thing I insisted on adding was that Dr. Ross couldn’t dictate what we discussed during my visits.  I was free to talk with Lisbeth about anything I wanted to as long as it didn’t put either one of us in danger.  That might be interesting to try to do.

The last thing I insisted on was that if anything was said during my visit to prove her innocence, I could use the taped footage to take to the court to help with her case. 

Dr. Ross agreed willingly and even offered to contact Mark Jacobs and postpone her plea hearing.  Just as I thought, Dr. Ross had been manipulating the situation.  I had a feeling her lawyer had just naively gone along with the highly educated doctor.

After I slid the signed paper back across the desk towards the doctor, I tried to shake the feeling that I had just given my soul to the devil.  He happily took it, filed it away in a drawer of his massive desk, and led me from the office and down the hall to what I was starting to think of as the “observation room”.  I was glad he didn’t expect any pleasant chatter from me, because he just might get a rude reply in return.

The room was empty when I entered.  It didn’t look any different from the last time I was here.  Same furniture, same landscapes on the walls.  I knew for certain that we’d be watched and filmed this time.  Dr. Ross had even volunteered that there would be several medical school students and residents observing the session.  I was never very comfortable being in the spotlight.  And this was even worse.  The only way I could get through this was to pretend they weren’t there.  Easier said than done.

The door opened and Lisbeth walked in.  I was amazed by the difference in her.  Her eyes were clear and bright, her hair combed and even slightly styled into a soft curl around her face.  The sweater she wore looked almost new and was a deep forest green that really brought out her eyes. 
It was overly large and almost went to her knees, the sleeves stretched to her fingertips. But it looked comfortable.  The jeans looked a bit worn but had no holes.  Her feet were still shoeless, but her socks were a matching green and looked thick and warm. 

Her face lit up when she saw me and she hurried across the room to give me a hug.

“You came!”  She stepped back and grinned at me.  The smell of cigarettes was still there but more faint and covered up by a flowery body spray.  “I missed you so much.  Things have been much better since you were here last, except that I missed you.”

We sat down together on the couch each facing the other.  The cameras had a good view this time, I realized, but I tried not to care.

“They’ve taken me off all my medication. Everything!  The only thing I have to take every day is a vitamin and they even let me open the bottle and the seal to prove that’s what it really is.”  She chatted like an excited child.  It had been a long time since I’d seen her so animated.  “It feels so good to be able to think clearly again, Caitlyn.  I can draw all the time if I want.  They’ve given me my own private room and let me decorate it any way I want.  I have so many pictures I’ve been working on. I’ve almost got one whole wall covered.  Dr. Ross has even given me some art supplies to use as long as it’s in the big room and one of the staff is watching.  He says it’s more to make sure no one steals my stuff than because he doesn’t trust me.”

She barely took the time for a deep breath before she continued.

“He’s says that I’m doing really well.  I’m proving to him how safe and well-adjusted I am.  He says that the longer I can be this healthy the better chance I’ll have of being able to testify if we go to court.  I can prove my innocence if they just let me.  That’s all I’ve ever wanted, just to be able to speak for myself and tell them all that I’m innocent. If I can just get up on that stand, I can prove to them that I didn’t kill my mom.”

She was off medication but in a manic phase, I knew
.  It was something I had to be very careful with.  She could swing back and forth from an excited frenzy to a near-suicidal depression in the blink of an eye.  It was sometimes like dealing with a very powerful, very sensitive nuclear device.

“I’m so glad you’re doing better, Lisbeth.”  I smiled reassuringly when she finally gave me a chance to speak.  “I’ve missed you too.”

“You have to tell me what you’re doing with your life now.  Every time we talk it’s all about me.  Me, me, me, me, me.  You must think I’m so self-absorbed. I’m really not. I really want to know how you’re doing.  I’m trying to remember what you told me the other times you visited me. You divorced that jerk, Lewis, right?”  She continued before I could reply.  “If only you’d listened to me.  I could see right through him the first time I met him. He was always so arrogant, the way he kept bragging about how important his job was and how he was going to be the vice-president of the company someday. Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re rid of him now.  You deserve better.  He was never good enough for you anyway.  So, did I hear right?  Are you back in school?”

“Yes,” I smiled at her rapid
-fire words.  I was never going to get anywhere with her being this manic.  “I’m back in school.  I’ll have my associate’s degree in the spring.”

“That’s great!”  She smiled then couldn’t seem to sit still.  She stood up and circled the couch I still sat on, sometimes
talking to me, sometimes to the room at large.  “I really need to get back into school and finish my degree too.  Once I get this trial out of the way I want to go back to school and major in commercial art.  I think I might do a minor in Literature too. I always loved writing. At one time I’d wanted to go into psychology.  I could show these shrinks around here a thing or two, believe me!  But I’m getting too old now, and medical school would take so long at this point.  There’s this great art school in Seattle that I always thought sounded interesting.  I know it rains a lot up there, but it’s supposed to be one of the best in the country.  I guess I could put up with a little rain if the school was good enough.”

I was trying not to get dizzy as I followed her laps around the couch.  Between that and her hyper-conversation I was struggling not to get a headache. 

“There’s another great school in San Francisco.  I’ve heard they have this really cool art community that’s really supportive and they help you a lot when you’re just getting started. They have good weather there, if you don’t mind the fog.  Some people think fog is depressing, but I’ve always liked it.  I’ve always thought it was mysterious and haunting, like you could see the ghosts of the past coming to-“

She stopped mid-sentence and I looked to see what had stopped her.  She stood a few feet away, staring at my purse.   It took me a moment to realize that she was staring at the note tucked halfway into the
front pocket of my purse.  It was the last letter she sent me.  I had brought it along to see if she would tell me whose handwriting was on the second page.

“You got my letter.”  She smiled then her expression seemed to change.  She looked a little puzzled and confused.  The manic phase seemed to be draining out of her.  I had to be very careful how I approached
this. 

“Do you remember writing me the letter?”  I gently asked.  Instead of rambling, she just nodded.  I pulled out the letter and handed her the first page.  She read through the short message, recognition in her eyes.  I held out the second page. 
Confusion.  “Do you know who wrote this page?”

She shook her head back and forth, a look of helpless fear coming over her features.  I didn’t want to lose Lisbeth.  She was always the one most open and honest with me.  I put the letter away for now and looked directly into her eyes.

“It’s ok, Lisbeth,” I reassured her as I would a child, “don’t be afraid.  How about we talk about something else, ok? Can we talk about your mother?  Is it ok if we talk about Barbara?”

She nodded and gave me a slightly relieved look.  Fortunately, Barbara was a safe topic for the moment.  I decided to do a little research on Barbara and to let Lizbeth help me.

“Great.  Why don’t you tell me what you know about your mother’s childhood and her family.”  I began. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lisbeth was remarkably clear-headed and lucid as we talked. 
Between her memories and a few things I had picked up over the years, a clearer picture of Barbara’s background began taking shape.

Barbara had been born in a small mid-western town in Iowa.  Her father
, Henry, had worked at a local flour mill and also worked their small farm.  Her mother, Ida, drove the school bus for the local public schools.  Barbara was the youngest of five children and the only girl.  Her brothers were big and beefy, good Iowa stock with more brawn than brains.  They enjoyed having a frail, thin little sister to tease and bully.

Her parents were strict Christians with prayers said at morning, at night and at every meal in-between.  The Good Book was read
before bed every night and church was attended at the small Baptist church in town like clockwork.  Barbara didn’t mind the religious fervor so much until she began getting older and realized that her father held a double standard where she and her brothers were concerned.  It was acceptable for her brothers to have a little fun, to sow some wild oats.  Boys will be boys.  But a girl, his only daughter, she had to be pure, chaste, virginal and untouched. 

She wasn’t allowed to date like the other girls her age did, and as she grew older, her father seemed to grow even stricter in his rules for her. 
He would drink more and more and his temper flared frequently.  Both she and her mother soon became afraid of him.

She was made to wear dresses with long skirts and long sleeves, even in the summer.  She wasn’t allowed to cut her red-brown hair
, it was a sign of her purity, he said.  After a while, the more fanatical her father became about her chastity, the more curious she became about boys. 

Ironically, it was a boy she met at Vacation Bible School that drew her attention.  Finally, there was a boy
, Bobby Marshall, who looked past her unfashionable, high-necked dresses and hair so long she often sat on it, and seemed to be interested in her.  It only took one time in the pastor’s storage closet to change Barbara’s life.

She hid the pregnancy as long as she could, afraid and worried about what to do.  Back then
, and in a small town, it was a real disgrace to be an unwed mother. 

When her mother finally saw the signs and realized Barbara was pregnant, she went into a complete panic.  Fearing God would never sanction a wedding under such circumstances and
fearing her husband even more, Ida secretly met Barbara and Bobby at the local courthouse and agreed to sign the paperwork for the license and the brief ceremony. 

Henry refused to speak to his daughter
after that and disowned her for her disobedience and impurity.  Her mother, always submissive to her husband, followed suit.

Barbara’s
new husband was a virtual stranger to her and she would soon learn he had big ideas of his own.  He had heard there were good jobs out west at the steel mills and they were paying well for hard workers.  Before long, she found that instead of graduating high school she was moving off to Utah to live in a small suburb, in a tiny apartment, while Bobby worked at Geneva Steel. 

The newlyweds didn’t know each other well and didn’t really get along.  Bobby didn’t like the hard, dirty work
at the mill and had little patience for a young, lonely wife left home alone all day.  Barbara should have been going to high school, socializing with her friends, helping out on her family’s farm. Instead, she was in a strange place, hundreds of miles from her nearest family, and expecting a baby she didn’t know how to take care of.

As her due date drew nearer, Bobby’s temper flared more frequently.
The day after she came home from the hospital with her new daughter, Elizabeth, Bobby had left for parts unknown and she had a child to raise on her own.  Too proud to return to her family and not wanting to go back to her father’s temper, Barbara did what she thought was best and made a life for her and her daughter.

As far as Lisbeth knew, Barbara never did try to contact her family again.  She had received divorce papers from Bobby a few years later from a town in New Mexico.  Barbara had signed them and sent them back, not pressing for child support because she didn’t want Bobby to have visitations with their daughter.

Barbara was an eccentric person who seemed to revel in her freedom from religious restrictions.  She gravitated towards New Age ideas, fantasy and magic.  She didn’t have grand ideas of big houses and fancy cars but was content with her small trailer and her minimum wage job at the book store.  Her daughter became her whole life and she fluctuated frequently between being a parental figure and trying to be her daughter’s best friend.

We sat for a few enjoyable minutes, reminiscing about Barbara and some of our childhood memories.  Lisbeth was finally relaxed and calm, and for the first time in a long time, she was more like the young girl I was such close friends with.

“Do you remember when she used to tell all the kids in the neighborhood that she was a real witch?”  I smiled.

“And she would burn black candles and she had that stick she cut from the aspen tree down by the river that she called her wand?”  She laughed.  “I used to have friends come to me and ask me to get magical spells
and potions from her for getting revenge on their boyfriends.”

“Where did she even find black candles anyway?”

“There’s no telling.  Probably from that bookstore she used to work at.”  It was good to see a genuine smile on her face for a change.  “Do you remember that one Halloween when she made the voodoo dolls and had the landlord at the trailer court convinced she was a voodoo high priestess?”

I laughed at the memory.  It was a long time before he bothered her about paying her rent on time after that. 

“Then there was that one Halloween where she decided to have a séance and we dressed in black and she brought out that Ouija board….”

Her voice trailed off and her expression seemed frozen. 

“I wasn’t there that year, remember?”  I tried to bring her out of the stupor she had fallen into.  “My parents made me take Zac to a Halloween party.”

Still, she sat frozen.  This wasn’t a good sign.

“The Dragon.”  The voice was deep and whispery.  I wasn’t even sure I heard her right.

“What did you say?”  I asked.

“The Dragon was born that night.”  Again, the same low voice.  It wasn’t Vesper, it wasn’t Mick or Chad.  I’d never heard this voice before.  Her eyes took on a glazed look, and her face visibly paled, as though she was no longer in control of her own body.  Involuntarily, I leaned back away from her, not knowing who I might be dealing with. 

“Who are you?”  My shaking voice asked.

“Slayer.”  The one word reply sent a chill to my bones.  I couldn’t help glancing toward the double mirror, hoping the doctors were watching and on standby in case I needed them. 

“You said the Dragon was born that night?  What did you mean?” I tried to keep my voice steady.  So far, her body was completely still, she had made no physical actions to show me how dangerous Slayer might be.  Just the voice was eerie enough for me. 

“That’s when I saw the Dragon for the first time.  The Dragon is deadly.  The Dragon is a threat.  The Dragon did it.  Find the Black Dragon with the glowing red eyes.  That’s where she hides.  Then you’ll know the truth.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she
blinked her eyes and let out a deep sigh.  I released my breath and watched her face transform.  Her face looked more pointed, chin sharper.  Her eyes seemed to slant as she gave me a measured look.

“You have to get us out of here, Caitlyn,” Jade said in her demanding voice.  She was careful to keep it low enough so the doctors in the other room didn’t hear too much. 
“We’ve had enough of this stinking hell-hole.  Get us out of here.”

Jade wasn’t easy to deal with but it was still preferable to Vesper or some of the others.

“Do you know about Slayer, Jade?”  I had to ask.

“Who in the hell is Slayer?”  Her eyes narrowed and I knew she was telling the truth.  The truth as she knew it, at least. 

“Let me speak with Lisbeth,” I pleaded.

“What do you think this is?”  She sneered.   “Do you think you can just snap your fingers and change us back and forth, like using a remote to change the channel on TV?”

“Please, Jade, I need to talk to her,” I insisted.

“Well, I’m not going to…”  Her voice trailed off again.  There seemed to be some kind of internal struggle
.  I watched several emotions flicker across her face before she finally squeezed her eyes shut and brought her fingers up to pinch the bridge of her nose, as though fighting off an on-coming headache. 

“Caitlyn, I’m really tired.”  It was Lisbeth’s exhausted voice whispering to me.  “Would you mind if we cut our visit short?  I want to go back to my room and rest.”

“Ok,” I readily agreed, knowing how much the transition sapped the energy from her sometimes, “but could you tell me one thing before you go?”  She had stood up and was walking towards the door with almost a shuffle.  She turned back with a puzzled look.

“Do you know who Slayer is?” 

She gave me a blank, confused look, shrugging her shoulders.

“Never heard of a Slayer before.
  Who is it?  Some character in a video game or a book?”

“No,” I shook my head.  “Don’t worry about it.  We’ll talk more during our next visit.”

“Ok,” she gave a relieved smile and walked out the door.  “Just don’t make it so long before your next visit.”  Her voice trailed after her down the hall.

Before I could gather my purse and head for the door, Dr.
Ross was blocking the way, wanting a debriefing.  It was the last thing I was in the mood for at that moment.