Whispering Minds (24 page)

Fell turned on Angel. “Impossible. Gemi doesn’t do anything without me knowing. She doesn’t exist without me and neither do you.”

Angel closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer.
Please, God. She didn’t mean it. Forgive her. Forgiveherforgiveherforgiveme. Please forgive me.

The door to the yellow room slammed shut, but Angel didn’t dare pause her prayer long enough to see who slipped away. She only hoped that just this once, Gemi would break free of Fell’s hold and remember.

Chapter 30

I awoke at three in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. I snuck past Clarence’s closed door and headed to Medville. Despite the certainty that all the answers to my lost childhood were somewhere in Granny’s house, the drive did nothing to clarify what I was searching for. I channeled my energy on pulling out hidden memories, yet they didn’t come easily. If ever I needed my conscious and subconscious to work together, it was now.

I stood in Granny’s house, wondering where to begin. Starting from the past seemed futile, so I worked from the present backwards. Clarence and I drinking hot chocolate after my dad assaulted Mom at Granny’s. In the hospital, the social worker questioning the incident before releasing me to Clarence.

She’d said something about remembering her. I dug deeper to another time. Clarence in his office, telling me I’d known him forever. And Travis admitting he’d known Granny. Forever. That she’d always been in his life.

Forever and Always.

The words written like a mantra.

The papers from the now-empty hope chest.

But where had they gone?

I pressed my fingers to my temples and willed the pulsing in my head to go away. To give me a clear memory of an event that happened less than a day ago. Even in my constant state of forgetfulness, I wouldn’t have left the papers out for my dad to find. I’d have stashed them somewhere safe. Somewhere only I knew about.

I ran to my old bedroom, yanked back the covers and exposed the hidden latch. When I pulled it, the side panel of the headboard swung open. To my relief, everything was there. I pulled the papers out and stacked them together on the floor. I couldn’t stop the progression of memories any more than I could stop the train that ran through the yellow room. Jimmy’s room.

One set of papers was thick. Child in Need of Protection or Services covered the top page in bold, black letters.

THE STATE V. DAN BAKER

Court file: CP-17-293-12

Gemini Francine Baker

Prepared by Sarah Stemple.

Images of that same thin social worker asking the same thin questions flooded my mind.

I skimmed through the pages, trying to understand the technical terms and the accusations that were more fairytale than truth.

Dan Baker alleges sexual misconduct between the siblings, Gemini Baker and her older brother James. At the time of this report, neither child has confirmed that Gemini initiated inappropriate physical contact as reported by their father. However, a Child’s Voice interview with Gemini indicates the possibility of sexual abuse perpetrated on her by her brother, James.

Their mother refutes any idea of sexual abuse between the children, claiming her husband made up the story to punish her for her past infidelity. She also believes it is a ploy for him to get custody of James while pushing her and Gemini out of the house.

Tears burned my eyes. When he found out he wasn’t really my dad, he was done with both me and Mom. Only Jimmy was important to him.

Compounding the issue is the parents’ heavy alcohol use and the resulting unstable home life, including domestic abuse and alleged physical abuse to Gemini. No findings have been made at this time, though investigations will continue into the matter.

I hadn’t known there was a name for what my dad put Mom through, nor did I realize how bad it had been. Memories spilled forth of Mom icing black eyes and tending to cut lips, of wearing makeup to cover the bruising. Other bruises played out in my mind. My injuries, quietly tended to and covered just the same. I hadn’t inherited my mother’s clumsiness. I’d inherited my dad’s abuse.

Furthermore, James has been aggressive and unpredictable due to his TBI. According to reports, Gemini appears afraid of him. When questioned, she stated, “He’s going to burn me on the railroad tracks.” Placement has been secured for James in a residential treatment facility to help him better cope with his behaviors.

I didn’t know what TBI was or how you caught it. And nowhere in my memories could I find Jimmy hurting me. This had to be another lie created to rip my family apart.

Dan Baker wishes to contest paternity of Gemini, despite a signed birth certificate stating him as her father and the fact that he raised her for the first six years as his child.

He’d thrown me away. To him, I was as worthless as the trash he dumped in the burn barrel. Leftovers from a past he no longer wanted a part in.

And finally, Sarah Stemple’s recommendations:

1. It is asked that the Court enforce the paternity of Dan Baker for his daughter Gemini per the provision of the law, thereby holding him responsible for her well-being.

2. Temporary custody of Gemini Baker shall be granted to her paternal grandmother, Sophia Baker, until the following provisions are completed to the satisfaction of the court.

3. Gemini Baker shall have no contact with her brother, James, pending the outcome of this investigation.

4. Dan Baker shall complete a chemical use assessment and abide by the treatment plan.

5. Dan Baker shall attend anger management classes and abide by the recommendations.

6. Dan Baker shall attend bi-weekly couples therapy and weekly family therapy to work on his personal relationships.

7. Dan Baker shall attend parenting classes to learn appropriate parenting strategies and to better understand the needs of his children.

Years of my life flashed by in those words.

It was no wonder my dad was a drunk who wrapped his car around a tree. Sarah Stemple had planned to strip him of the only child he loved, while forcing him to go to court over the bastard child he despised. For the first time, I fully understood the depth of my father’s hate for his own mom. He despised her for being the parent he couldn’t or wouldn’t be. He hated the intrusion into his life. And, he hated the very idea of me.

I’d lost years of my life to his uncontrolled anger. Years where I lived in a silent circle of my own making, pushing aside painful memories to cope with the trauma of losing my brother and my family. At six years old, I started over. I lived a happy life with Granny, completely oblivious to the turmoil that preceded it. I’d discarded my childhood—my brother—so I could live carefree.

But then what happened? The answers to my move back in with my parents were not found in Sarah Stemple’s report. Too many uneventful years had passed between kindergarten and eighth grade for Sarah to care.

I wondered what Travis thought when I returned from Medville a stranger to him four years ago after spending the first half of our lives as close friends. How could he even stomach looking at me, let alone befriending me? Or was I his pity project? Part of his journey to recovery after losing his own family to a drunken driver?

I pictured the spider web on the smooth skin of his shoulder and felt that it had something to do with me. Was I the spider, capturing those he loved? Spinning my sticky web over everything and pulling it away from him and into myself? Or was it he who sat at the center of his web, trying desperately to weave the threads together in a way that made sense?

I reached in the cubby hole for more papers. My hand closed around something soft, the dream catcher from Jimmy’s room. Its match hung from my window, and a third on Trav’s bedroom wall. I twined the silken cord of hair around my fingers, rediscovering Trav’s gift after all these years.

I shivered uncontrollably at the thought of how much I had lost.

With trembling fingers, I pulled open the silken envelope from Clarence’s office and fished out Granny’s letter. I bypassed the first page outlining my inheritance and read the familiar writing that slanted across the paper.

I have so much to tell you, yet there is no easy way to do so, not with my promise to your parents. I hope by now Clarence has returned Fluff Bunny and released the memories you have locked away. Our hope is that this will guide your path to recovery. If not, please talk to Clarence. He knows your past as much as I do and is not bound by a promise to your parents like I was.

By now I’m sure you are wondering why I have mentioned Clarence numerous times in this letter. He is my best friend, my love and my heart. Maybe someday you can understand those same feelings and forgive me for not sharing him with you sooner. He is a wonderful person. I hope you grow to love him the way I do.

I know your journey will be difficult, but remember I am only a prayer away.

Forever and always,

Granny

I read the letter. Read it a second time. It felt incomplete. As did the good-bye. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and did a little of both before I pulled myself together.

I dried my eyes and riffled once again through the papers from the cedar chest. Apparently, neither Mom nor I seemed to know or care that the other stashed information within the antique we had given away. It made me wonder who we were hiding them from. Though of course, we hid them from my dad and his temper, his anger at being robbed of his son, his alcoholic rages and his painfully sober depressions.

I moved on to the handmade cards and drawings.

Jimmy,

I miss you. Happy Birthday again.

Forever and Always,

Gemi

The years progressed and the cards turned to letters. The sadness of Jimmy’s loss turned to hurt and pain at being left alone to face the inconsistency of our parents.

Then something changed. The writing drifted from loopy letters to tight angry slashes and back again. They increased in frequency. Instead of a new letter being deposited every year for Jimmy’s birthday, the letters came at random times.

Jimmy,

I hate you for leaving me here. I want to die.

Luna

P.S. forever and always

I almost threw up.

It wasn’t possible.

I hadn’t met Luna until this year. Certainly Jimmy never had.

The pounding in my head escalated. It felt like JayJay’s freight train had a track in there.

Dear Jimmy,

Come home. Dad is mean. He hits Luna like he used to hit Mom. Brutus tries to keep her safe, but it is getting harder for him to protect her.

Forever and always,

JayJay

Fear is pain that death left behind

Pain is death caused by fear

And death is nothing more than fear of pain

Or is that life?

Forever- the poet

I shook my head to clear it. Nothing made sense anymore. My world had tipped upside down, turning everything I knew on its head. Currently, my dad had been arrested for breaking Mom’s ribs, she was fast on her way to a mental break down, and I was reading letters written to my brother who disappeared from my life without so much as a goodbye. Worse yet, the people who wrote them were strangers to me until two months ago.

I fingered another letter. Each page was different. Each writing was different. Each name a part of the Baker’s Dozen that I met during a psychology project for college.

I pulled out my messenger bag and my dream study notebook. The first section comprised a nightly dream journal. The second had been devoted to the study of lucid dreaming. The ability to interact within a dream and shape the outcome probably explained my ability to conjure up the Dozen in my mind.

The third section formed a directory of sorts for my dream partners. The Dozen. I turned to the tab, expecting to find a horrifying reality of lost sanity. Instead, I found a log of their reported dreams, including information on frequency, content and daily events that might have influenced them.

The Dozen were real. The proof was in my hands. I’d chatted with them and emailed them. Their dreams had been recorded via our online communication. Collin had passed along my info in the psych department to help me find unbiased participants. I’d screened the requests when they came in until I found twelve candidates. Something else would explain the link between the Dozen and these new-found letters.

A meticulously written note grabbed my attention. The words were so perfect and tight as to appear typed.