The Wrath of Jeremy (5 page)

She nodded her head timidly, with the Kansas
sun shooting in through the red velvet curtains that dangled from
the soaring window near Jeremy’s seat, reflecting off Jeremy’s
tears and bouncing off of Doctor Callahan’s beauty, showing Jeremy
her frankness and that she was going to help him. “Yes, I can,
Jeremy. But first, what happened?”

He glanced out the window, not wanting the
doctor to scrutinize his terrified eyes, and replied, “It happened
again.”

“I read your files, Jeremy. Does that mean
you saw the statues moving again?”

He noticed some interest in her question,
rather than concern, but shrugged it off his shoulders. “Yes,
doctor…but this time it was different. This time, the—” He stopped
his words, congesting them in his mouth, started to cry again and
then finished with: “The statue of Jesus came out also.”

The doctor echoed her nails off of her wooden
chair, by tapping it hard, forcing Jeremy’s ears to hear only that,
and then her voice followed. “Jeremy, I don’t know a lot about your
situation. With Doctor Andrews passing, his work with you became
very important in finding a cure, or at least working toward one.
His files offered me some relevant knowledge about your sickness,
yet I don’t know a whole lot about it, like I said to your parents.
I know what might possibly help you, which I spoke to your parents
about, and they agreed, but what I’ll do right now is call them in
here, so they can explain to me when this all began, and what I can
do for you to help you. Okay?”

He nodded his head slightly, and the doctor
opened the door and his parents walked in. They sat on both sides
of him, holding onto both of his hands, and waiting for the doctor
to speak. They watched as she breathed, wondering which breath was
going to be the one with the inevitable words of relief that they
all waited for a long time to hear: a cure. She kept on breathing,
like she was teasing them with each inhalation she took, but
finally she started speaking with integrity, “Now, before we begin,
I would like to tell you that there are others out there with your
problem, Jeremy.”

A smile, like Heaven’s aura of light showing
itself for the first time to a child of angelic innocence, was
shining in Jeremy’s eyes of brown, frolicking around his confused
soul, and gliding toward his mind, that some hope would be possible
to change his eyes, his perception of what he saw when his
mysterious attacks occurred. The room seemed more comfortable now,
with his skin blocking out the bitter cold of the air-conditioning,
and the light from the window seemed more blissful to Jeremy,
waiting with a smile for the doctor to go on with her words of
importance.

Maybe she can help me…. Chanting those words
over and over again in his mind, Jeremy spoke to the doctor:
“Really?”

She smiled at Jeremy’s eyes, and replied,
“Yes, Jeremy, there are. But first, before I explain or begin, I
have to ask you some questions. These are for my own personal
references on your sickness. Okay, Jeremy?”

“Okay.”

The doctor pulled out a pen and scratch
paper, while Jeremy and his parents waited tolerantly, patiently,
his mother stopping her tears by wiping them away with a pink
tissue, while still holding onto Jeremy’s trembling hand, waiting
for the trembling to lessen so she could feel a bit better about
Jeremy’s own fear of what he saw, but the trembling only worsened.
It grew stronger at every breath he took, even though he felt a bit
better at the doctor saying there were others out there with the
same issues. He still was frightened of the mysterious illness that
he didn’t even know was an illness. His breath grew larger, wider,
expressing his nerves through his trembles, taunting his dread
through his sweat that glided off his face like water on ice.
Finally the doctor questioned, “First of all, Jeremy, how old are
you and when is your birthday?”

“I’m, ah, seventeen, and my birthday is
December twenty-fifth.”

“When did you start seeing these… statues
moving?”

“He started seeing them on his seventeenth
birthday. That was his first experience,” his mother interrupted,
showing her tears to them all again, and the anger in her voice for
the first time. She was angry toward the situation, her son, this
room, and her impatience was revealed through her tone.

“Mom, she was talking to me!” Jeremy screamed
with a roar of confusion and a twist of fear. His mother gawked at
him for a moment, not understanding the true confusion he felt, yet
acknowledging his subliminal cry for help, and going on with her
own words of tears.

The mother cried, “He also started to get
like this on his seventeenth birthday. He never used to talk to me
like this before, never!”

Jeremy stared subtly toward a holy cross of
wood that hung on the wall by the doctor. As he stared, the doctor
spoke. “Have these statues or objects ever physically touched you
before?” Jeremy didn’t answer back, still gawking at the cross, she
questioned, “Jeremy? Are you alright?”

The cross fell from the wall it hung so
gracefully upon and soared to the ground, with Jeremy shooting up
from his seated position and fiercely running toward the door of
the office, screaming, “You see, it’s happening again!”

The doctor rushed and picked up the cross,
holding it in her palms carefully, and said, “Jeremy, Jeremy, it’s
alright—it was just a truck that passed outside. It always
happens.” She grabbed Jeremy lightly and tenderly by his cold arms
and guided him delicately back to where he was sitting, adding,
“It’s alright, don’t worry.”

“So it was a truck, right?” After Jeremy’s
question, he noticed her smiling, knowing he could trust her.
Jeremy knew that every time a cross fell it usually meant it only
fell in his sight, not in reality, but since they saw it as well,
he knew everything was fine.

After the doctor sat down again, she smiled
once more and said, “Yes, it was only a truck. Alright, Jeremy, I
think it’s time to tell you about the other people who have the
same problem you’re suffering from.”

“How many are there?” Jeremy asked.

“So far there are two others. You see, I run
a mental institution in San Francisco. And a boy, whose name is
Michael Netter, developed this problem about a month ago. He also
has a brother named Gabriel, who also has the problem. But his
situation isn’t as severe as Michael’s,” the doctor explained
before the mother got up and ran out of the room, with the aroma of
pure suffering left in her wake. Her sadness and melancholy toward
her own son were too grand and large in mass to handle in this
small, freezing cold room of sunshine.

Jeremy’s eyes brightened with glee, a
prosperous spin of faith in him, as he said with enthusiasm, “Wait
a second, so that means that I’m not a schizophrenic?”

The doctor nodded her head again with a
smile. “Correct, Jeremy, you don’t have that particular sickness. I
know that Doctor Andrews told your parents that he was almost
positive you did, but it’s not true. I don’t even know why he told
you that.”

The father sighed in happiness, hugged Jeremy
and asked, “So what does he have?”

The mother returned to the room, sneaking her
way in through the crack of the door, and felt the coldness of the
room again flushing against her shallow, wrinkled skin of sadness.
She heard her husband’s question, and asked herself, “What does who
have?”

The mother, with such a beautiful name,
Grace, sat down next to Jeremy again, and listened to the doctor
say, “We don’t know exactly, but the institution, called Grewsal,
will help.”

Jeremy was scared once again, knowing that an
institution for crazy people would be his new home. Jeremy mumbled,
“But isn’t a mental institution for people who are nuts,
doctor?”

“No, Jeremy, don’t worry, you’ll love it
there.”

Jeremy gazed out the window again, toward the
cotton-like clouds, while listening to them judge his fate. He was
too afraid to say that he didn’t want to go, but knowing that he
had to. His father smiled a bit, and said, “When does Jeremy
leave?”

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Daven, if you want, I
could take him with me today. I was going to stay here for another
two days, but I got an emergency call a little while ago. Since the
institution is in San Francisco, we really should leave as soon as
possible. With the tests they run on Jeremy there, and with prayer,
he hopefully will be back here soon. Do you mind?”

The mother and father shook their heads, with
Grace replying, “No, not at all.”

The father shook his head as well, while
Jeremy still gazed out the window in anger, craving to defend his
rights to stay here, but waiting for his father to answer the
doctor’s question as well. The father spoke: “No, not at all.”

Jeremy abruptly turned and faced them all,
shouting with rage, “Wait just a darn second! I have school and
friends here. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go to
a mental institution in the beginning of the school year!”

“Fred, talk to him,” Grace said to his
father, her husband. He took Jeremy by the arm and pulled him to
the other end of the room, and began speaking man-to-man with him.
He looked at Jeremy with puppy-like eyes that showed the sadness
and fatigue that weighed on his mind, the sadness that the father
had never shown before, and the thoughts that Jeremy had
himself.

“Now, listen, Jeremy, don’t you want to get
better? If you stay here, the sickness is only going to get worse
and you know that. Ever since—,” said the father before a tear fell
from his left eye. He stopped his words and wiped it away quickly,
knowing that he never showed Jeremy, his son, his own tears before,
not desiring Jeremy to think he was weak. Jeremy saw his father’s
tears, trying to study them, being that this was his first glimpse
of them. The father then continued. “Ever since you turned
seventeen, this sickness has been getting worse every day…. Now,
this nice doctor is offering a chance for you to get healed.”

Jeremy then began crying, watched his mother
from a distance, gazed at the doctor for an instant, and then,
looking directly into his father’s eyes, he said, “I know, Dad, but
I don’t want to go to a mental institution. I want to stay here in
Viewpoint with you and Mom.” Jeremy showed his words were that of
pleading, but his father gave him a tight hug, one to say
“goodbye,” an embrace that’s meaning was known even in silence.

“Jeremy—I want my old son back—is that a lot
to ask?” Jeremy pulled away from the hug of deep meaning, confusing
his own meaning of staying with the feeling of not wanting to go to
the institution. He didn’t know if it was because he was afraid to
leave his family, or he was afraid to see that place with the
frightening name of “Grewsal”. Maybe it was both, but some instinct
in him told Jeremy that it was something more that wasn’t exactly
clear to him, and he would have to go to Grewsal to discover
it.

Jeremy turned his head toward his mother and
then the doctor. He tried to figure out if he could trust this
doctor again, and then she smiled toward him. Her smile shone from
her face, with trust glistening through it. He turned his face
toward his father again and said, “Alright, Dad, I’ll go, but only
for a month.”

Fred grasped onto Jeremy again, hugging him
tight, his embrace showing to Jeremy that he was trying to say
“thank you”. It was a different hug this time, not a hug of
“goodbye” anymore, but a hug of love and trust, hope and faith, and
that made Jeremy give a small smile of liberation from his
panic.

Later on that day, before Jeremy went home
with his parents to pack his belongings, the doctor went for a walk
with him near a park. The doctor told his parents she would drive
him home after their walk, a stroll to open up more of Jeremy’s
trust toward her and get to know Jeremy more. So they went for a
slow stroll in the beautiful weather and the angelic park of
nature, yet it was a dragging walk to Jeremy, due to the fact he
really didn’t want to go at all to San Francisco with the doctor
and sought only to forget about his sickness; but he knew that was
impossible. As they walked through the park, with grass of green
and sky of blue, Jeremy explained his life story slowly, leaving
out some details, but still explaining it.

“So, do you have any siblings, Jeremy?”

Jeremy replied, “No, ma’am, I’m an only
child.” They both sat down on a park bench and gazed out into the
distance.

This is happening so fast…. As he thought
those words, the silence became deafening and uncomfortable,
waiting for the doctor to speak again. Should I trust her…?

He stared at her beautiful face for a second,
with her saying, “Listen, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am,’ my
name is Mary—Mary Callahan.”

“Alright, Mary.”

Jeremy showed a smile, but still was a little
hesitant toward her kind character, a character who showed true
friendliness and caring; a character trait that a person would show
only if they sought something.

Mary glanced down at Jeremy’s wrists and saw
a single scar on each of them, with a bit of make-up trying to
cover them up, as if he placed make-up over them before and it was
now coming off slowly. “So, Jeremy, do you want to tell me about
your scars?”

Jeremy’s mood automatically changed to fear,
stress, a sudden bit of terror, knowing the scars were a passageway
to some secret he had hidden in him for years, and thought the
make-up that he has been wearing to cover them would have been
enough to do just that. But he looked down and saw them showing,
one scar on each of his wrists looking like a dot, as if someone,
or himself, jammed a pencil into them, only to leave behind the
reminiscences, memories of that experience by this dot of burnt
red. So he looked up slowly and answered, “Oh, you mean my bicycle
accident. Yeah, I cover it up so people won’t think I jammed a
pencil into my wrists.”