Forsaken Dreamscape (Nevermor) (2 page)

Wren
was put into her own individual space.  Though it was merely a small cell, she
was glad for the solitude.  She was allowed to take walks outside with the
others in an attractive courtyard surrounded by high walls.  An aviary was
added within the ward, where the songs of cheerful birds could uplift her.  The
condition of the hospital was much improved.

Still,
she avoided association with the other women there.  Some of them were
wrongfully accused, just as she was, but the last group she had told innocent
stories to had wound up dead because of her.  She could not let it happen
again.

I
will not let anyone else be ruined because of me.

As
Wren rested there on her bed in the cramped cell, the night gradually turned
into a dismal, gray morning.  Wren listened to the noises in the deep, echoing
halls around her as the asylum came to life.

The
birds in the aviary were chirping with the morning light, at peace with their
lives of captivity.  Doors were opening and nurses were talking, wheeling in
squeaky carts of breakfast and medicine.  Other inmates awoke in their cells,
some louder than others, meeting the day with scattered emotions.  Still, Wren
saw no need to stir.  She was tired and weak, but still a long way from rest.

She
lay there until her usual nurse, Mary, brought in her breakfast on a dingy
plate.

“Alright
now; sit up and eat up,” the woman said, wheeling the cart toward the bed.

Mary
was a plump woman of around thirty, who looked much older around the eyes.  She
was always the same – her hair tightly wound, dressed in her uniform of a long
black dress and white apron, topped with the typical white hat common to those
sharing her profession.  Wren did not think poorly of her, but felt that the
woman had an oddly shaped shadow.

Wren
had seen Mary every day for months, yet there was never much warmth between the
two of them.  They never engaged in small talk or even shared much eye
contact.  For Mary, it was strictly business, and Wren didn’t have much reason
to converse.  She was unfit to talk to.

She
was a murderess, after all.

Wren
often toyed with asking Mary what she thought of her, but feared the answer. 
The nurses were all certain they knew the truth about her story, and Wren
understood there was nothing left but for her to do as they said – to be a good
patient and pray for deliverance.

Forgiveness
waits beyond the confession of sins.  That is what they would have me believe.

Once
she'd swallowed the food down like Mary expected, the nurse helped her dress in
a clean gown she’d brought in, which was plain and very similar to what the
rest of the inmates wore.  Mary maneuvered her as if she was a doll instead of
a girl, but Wren could not protest.  She had as much of a life as a doll had.

When
Mary was done and had wheeled the tray out to leave her alone again, Wren sat
on the end of the bed for a long time, staring absently at her shadow that was
cast against the far wall.  She'd often wondered about it – whether it was a
shadow as she had once thought, or if her
mimic
had returned with her
here, but she never saw it move out of sync, and so she had no proof either
way.

Where
are you, Rifter?  Why did you leave me here?  Haven’t I suffered long enough?

She
remembered the last time she had seen him, when he’d looked into her eyes –
when he’d made her so many promises. 
I could never forget you
, he'd
said.  Of all the things he'd sworn to remember, Wren had not suspected that
she would be the thing that would disappear.  Hadn't the other boys –
Sly,
Finn, Toss
– remembered her?  Why hadn't they reminded Rifter that he
needed to go after her?

Maybe
I will die before I have answers.  I will waste away here.

It
was at that moment that the cell door squealed as it opened once again, and
Mary leaned her head inside.

“Come
on now, Wren,” she said with firm insistence.  “It’s time.”

2

In
the drab office, a pair of large windows let in the gray light of the outside
world.  The buildings of London stretched out in the distance, each doing its
part to block out the sun.  The city served as an endless barrier to keep Wren
from the world of her dreams, gradually closing in, reminding her that she had
no world at all to belong to now.

Wren
sat before Doctor Everett Witherspoon, his half-moon glasses turned downward
toward the journal on his desk.  Wren didn’t think he was a bad man, but she couldn’t
say that she enjoyed spending time with him.  He was always judging her like
the rest.  She didn’t want to be judged.  She wanted to be left alone.

“You
haven’t written much lately,” he commented, no doubt noticing the sentence she
had begun last night, only to leave off without the desire to finish the
thought.

Wren
did not respond.  She watched Witherspoon open her casebook with steady
fingers.  The leather was worn around the edges from being opened and shut so
many times.  He must have known every word of it by now, having put most of the
entries there himself, but she kept silent as he looked over the pages.

Her
eyes drifted over his shoulder, watching his shadow against the wall behind
him, reflected by the light of day.  It was faint and still – clearly not a
secret imp.  When Witherspoon finally lifted his brown eyes to hers, she knew
what he would say before he opened his mouth.

“I
want to start at the beginning,” he said.  Wren wasn’t surprised.  He often
liked to start at the beginning.  “Can we do that?”

She
nodded.  Wren had been through this so many times that the sessions no longer
fazed her.  Some of those memories had been difficult at first – some still
were – but she knew that being agreeable with the doctor was better than trying
to oppose him.  She would comply.

“When
you were thirteen, something happened at home,” he reminded her as if she might
have forgotten.  “What was that?"

Wren
knew the answers to these questions as well as she knew her name.  She always
gave him the same replies, and though he might have been waiting for the day
that she would slip, she would not.  She knew her own story.  It was all that
had been looping through her head for years.

“My
father had an affair,” she stated in the factual tone of the shameless.

“How
did that affect your family?”

“It
ruined us,” she told him flatly as if the words were rehearsed.  “I never knew
her name – the other woman, I mean.  Father met her at the bank.  She was
married as well, and everyone was spreading the rumors.  My father lost his job
and couldn't find decent employment because of the scandal.  We ran out of
money.”

“And
what about your mother?  How did she react to the betrayal?”

Wren
remembered it all clearly, as though it had not been six years since she had
seen her birth parents.  When the ordeal had come to light, she remembered how
her mother had not said a word.  She had not tried to fight with Wren’s father
about the rumors.

She
just…went away.

“My
mother shut herself up.  She grew distant from us.”

“From
you and your brothers, even young Max,” Witherspoon confirmed.  “He was a mere
babe at the time, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“All
of those responsibilities fell to you then, didn't they?  You had to grow up
too soon.”

Wren
looked into his eyes as he watched her expectantly, awaiting her answer – her
admittance or her revelation; she couldn’t say which.

“I
suppose,” she replied finally, lowering her eyes, but she knew that he was
right in a sense.  She remembered how her life had been – hadn’t been given the
chance to forget.  Max had been an infant at the time.  She remembered the
sound of him crying upstairs – after they had lost their nanny – and their
mother simply hadn’t known what to do.  Wren hadn’t either, but she had learned
quickly, for she was the only one who would respond to the boy’s wailing cries.

Max,
my little boy, where are you now?  I hope you’re safe.  I know you must be
.  Wren often
wondered about him, but she knew where he had gone, and could only find comfort
in the thought that both of her brothers were in better places than she was
now.

“Let's
skip forward a bit, shall we?” Witherspoon said, interrupting her thoughts. 
“You said that your family ran out of money.  What happened then?”

“My
parents had to give us up.  They took us to Miss Nora's Home.”

“The
orphanage, correct?  What was life there like?”

She
had always been a bit torn about the Home before, but given the chance now, she
might have gone back to it with the promise to never stray again.

But
I can’t go back there
,
she thought. 
Not ever
.

“Most
of us were sent to work in factories during the day, but at least we had a
place to return at night.”

“That’s
what you told the others, isn’t it?  They looked up to you, didn’t they?”

Though
Wren had tried to keep her distance from the other orphans in her days after
returning from Nevermor, it was true that those children had always looked up
to her.  She had cooked meals for them and joined them in games.  She had
gathered them in the closet when there was a storm; told them stories.  She
still remembered the way many of their faces had looked as they’d smiled at her
gratefully.

They
had names.  Polly, Liam, Lewis
…  They had thought a lot of her.

“Yes,
they did,” she said, lowering her head.

“But
you wanted out, didn't you?” the doctor said, leading her on.  “You were
finally able to escape.  Where did you go?”

Wren
lifted her blue eyes.  This was, perhaps, the turning point.  It was the fork
in the path, often presented but never taken.  One direction might have brought
her out of the woods while the other led her deeper into the depths until she
was utterly lost in the dark tangles of her impossible reality.  Perhaps it was
true that if she’d only changed her story here, she might have been able to
alter her situation.  At the same time, it might have been the only difference
between the asylum and the noose.

Should
I speak the truth or a lie?  Should I deny or confess?
  Wren looked
toward her shadow as if it would give her some cue, but it did not move,
sitting as still as she was to gaze back at her.

“Wren?” 
Witherspoon drew her back with his voice, watching her carefully.  She blinked,
looked at his face, and then took a breath.

“I
didn’t go anywhere,” she said, and she saw his eyes widen a bit – but she
wasn’t finished.  “I was taken away – to Nevermor.”

His
shoulders slumped.  He had anticipated too strongly, but Wren could not change
her story now.  She’d told nothing but the truth.

“Nevermor,”
the doctor repeated, discouraged, but he humored her.  “As you describe it,
Nevermor is an island beyond the sea of dreams, full of fantasies.”

“Yes,”
she said quietly, as if the answer was going to turn around and bite her.

“There,
you made a new life,” Witherspoon said, getting back on track.  “You made a
life with a boy, I understand.”

“We
called him the Rifter,” Wren said lowly.  Sometimes it pained her to say his
name.

“This
Rifter
, who you have spoken so fondly of in the past – the two of you
had a relationship.  Would it be going too far to ask if it was
intimate
?” 
Wren’s eyes widened as she looked at him, and he paused a moment before probing
further.  “Was it of a
sexual
nature?”

Wren
tensed at that and felt her face grow hot.  As much as she believed she loved
Rifter – even still – their love had not been perfect, but she remembered the
way she had kissed him with her eyes shut so tightly.  She remembered the night
in the dark of a tent when she’d said she loved him.  He had wanted to have her,
but she had pushed him away.

I
wasn't ready.

“No,”
she answered finally, averting her eyes.

“Yet
it was very much like a marriage in your eyes, wasn't it?  Didn’t you say so
yourself once?  And like your parents’ marriage, it was ruined by the denial of
physical intimacy, isn't that right?  Wasn’t your mother depressed after
Maxwell was born?  Her relationship with your father was scarred.  He sought
love elsewhere.”

Wren
didn’t answer, clenching her fists against her legs.  This was an attack. 
Witherspoon had never done this to her before.  Had she told him these things? 
She had recounted the story so many times in the past that she sometimes wasn’t
sure of the exact details she’d given.

“You
told me once that there was an instance in which Rifter was unfaithful to you –
with some sort of savage, Tribal maiden, I believe.  Don't you think that event
mirrors exactly what you believe your father did to your mother?”