Chapter Three: The Past Still Hurts
Copyright © by J. Faith Kenney
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission.
Three days have passed in a blur since the note arrived. My patients have noticed I’ve been off lately with something else on my mind. My nightmares of an owner bring on the worst situation every single night. The memories that pop up are terrifying and make me scream every time I go into one. At all times, even when I am sleeping, it feels like someone is watching, judging my every move I make.
Beep, beep. Looking down to my pager, then to my watch. Crap. I am late for Ash’s appointment. Not even bothering to pick up his chart before going into his room to see if he is recovering nicely. He sits up with a hospital food tray in front of him, playing cards with his parents. I knock softly on the doorframe, and they all look up to me with smiles.
Ash’s hazelnut skin is back, and his face filled with a smile. His hazel green eyes gleam with no sign of fear as he looks up to me. He looks a lot better than before his surgery, and he is recovering well with all of the built up energy he has.
“Hi, buddy, you look really well,” I say, my voice light and properly sweet. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Yes, but my stitches are itchy,” he says, trying not to scratch them but scratching them anyway.
“That’s normal, but try not to scratch them, okay?” He nods, placing his hands under his butt. “Today, I am going to clean them to make sure they don’t get infected, and then we are going to do a few tests, is that alright?”
He nods and I get right to work. He passes every test with flying colors, and his stitches are right on track where they should be. When I am about to leave, Ash’s parents ask to talk with me, and I nod yes. We go out to the hall, closing the door behind us.
“Caretender Thela, we just want to thank you,” says Ash’s mother.
“Without you making sure we got the surgery, our boy would have been gone, if it wasn’t for you,” adds his father. “Me and my wife are over the moon appreciative of everything you have done.”
“You’re welcome, and I am still here for the recovery process. By the way things are going, he is going to recover just fine like it never happened.”
They both smile wider, and Ash’s mother has tears of joy in her eyes. Ash’s father embraces her before they both embrace me, making me a little uncomfortable, but I don’t push them away.
“Thank you again, Caretender Thela,” breathes his mother, and they both turn to go back inside the room.
I head to the assessment board to mark down Ash’s progress. In my slot is a new patient profile that says not to open it until 12:45 p.m. This usually happens when the patient is being transferred from another facility or is being brought in.
Looking down to my watch: 10:40 a.m. To kill some time, I go to the Caretender tent to make myself a cup of tea for some caffeine. I take an apple and seat at the oval table, but fall asleep before I can even take one bite.
🧠
The day is cold, wet, and rainy. A television is on with the news channel showing. In the background, there is the clanging of pots and pans and the smell of roasting chicken with vegetables. The memory focuses on the fear I had as a little girl watching the news.
This is my memory of being the age of eight at the orphanage. The orphanage is a big house with the whole upstairs filled with rooms. At the front of the house is the kitchen with the large, rectangle dinner table. On the other side of the wall is the living room filled with toys. Down the hall is Mrs. Abby’s room, the woman sharing her home with all the orphan kids. Straight down is the washroom, one side for girls and the other side for the boys.
The younger me sits on the couch, reading a book and barely paying attention to the news, while other kids play around me. My attention and the younger me's attention perks up when the newscaster says the word Neuroner.
“Today we found two Neuroners trying to hide who they really are. Tom Groover and Stacy Note were both found in an abandoned building.”
Mrs. Abby comes out of the kitchen, swinging the towel over her shoulder to watch as well.
“Tom will be placed under an owner at a facility to run tests on him,” continues the newscaster. “He is a dangerous one, and we need to understand them to control them. As for the other, she is useless and has run away from her owner, Mary Star, the famous Techtender. Stacy will be killed in order to, hopefully, help control the Neuroner population. That is all for now. Remember if you find a Neuroner, call it in.”
The television goes blank and then switched over to a new channel. The younger me’s heart hammers in my chest, and I can’t control my breathing. The feeling of being so helpless sitting on that couch when I was eight is the same feeling years later.
Stacy Note’s and Tom Groover’s experiences were the first time I actually saw what happens to Neuroners. Stacy Note is the one I remember, her perfectly clear face filled with horror. She had long, bright, red hair, amber eyes, and porcelain white skin with freckles dotting her cheeks. Her eyes screamed fear, and she was nothing else but skin and bones. Every feature in her body was scared and hiding what she really was. She opened my eyes to how much I needed to stay to myself and live a low profile life to never get caught.
The note flashes through my mind. I am dead. They already know. Everything around me blurs, and nothing is in focus for even a second. My breaths become heavier, and I am unable to regain control. I feel so sick to my stomach, like I am already slowly dying. Like they already have me.
Casually, things become clear again, but my breaths are still heavy. I am no longer at the orphanage but in the dark smelly house in Zac’s memory. My vision clears, and standing in front of me is Zac’s father with the bottle of alcohol.
He takes his drink and throws it at me.
“STOP!” I yell, losing my breath while covering my face.
It doesn’t hit me, and for a few seconds I listen to my heartbeat hammer against my ribs. Sluggishly, with confusion, I move my hands down away from my face. Everything around me is frozen, like time has stopped and I am the only thing moving. The bottle of alcohol is frozen in midair so close to hitting me. Zac’s father’s face stuck in rage, showing all his imperfections.
Taking a step back, looking at everything that was once moving. Nothing, only me. What did I do?
Before my mind can fully comprehend it, my body shakes. I fall to the ground, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
🧠
My eyes open and my head hurts from the impact with the floor. I slowly pick my head up off the table, while rubbing my forehead to rub out the pain.
What happened in that memory? I never could stop the actions or switch places with another person’s memory. My head is pounding, creating a headache. What just happened?
Taking a deep breath, hoping it will help, but the pain and confusion is still there. Looking at my watch:12:41 p.m. New patient at 12:45. Looking at the tea, then the apple, knowing the tea is no longer warm. I place the apple back and pour the tea down the drain before heading to the hospital.
It’s 12:44 p.m. when I reach the assessment board, and I wait patiently, still trying to wrap my head around what happened in that memory. Beep, beep. My pager goes off right at 12:45 p.m. for my reminder, pulling me from my thoughts. I open the chart to read the data on the patient.
Name: Adam Taylor
Age: 51
Birth: June 6
Status: Transfer from PK hospital, liver diseases, no family
Position: N/A (was a Caretender for 2 years, then didn’t have a position. Not sure what happened)
I look at the name again. Taylor. Zac’s last name is Taylor, maybe there is no connection. I look at the age. He is old enough to be Zac’s father. A sinking feeling fills my stomach as I close the chart and head to his given room number. He can’t be Zac’s father, because Zac’s father is dead anyways. The sick sinking feeling doesn’t go away.
A few feet away from his room in the back of the hospital, I stop to take a few deep breaths. It can’t be. Not believing that myself. I knock on the doorframe before stepping into the doorway to get sight of Adam Taylor.
All my hope of him not being Zac’s father vanishes when I see the same but older man from Zac’s memory. There is no denying it; he is Zac’s biological father. They have the same nose, mouth, and cheekbones.
Pressing my lips together, holding in my scream and holding back the fear in my eyes. All my blood feels like it is rushing out of me, and the temperature in the room has increased by one hundred degrees. My throat closes to stop any words. I can’t even comprehend if this is real or not.
Adam Taylor smiles warmly at me with his face light, but wrinkly and too tan to be his own natural color. Zac got his mother’s light honey skin.
“So, um, Mr. Taylor, right now I am going to check your pulse, and um,” gulping down what I really want to say. “your tonsils and things like that,” I finish, trying to put a smile on my face but giving a weak one.
“That is fine, sweetie. I know the drill by now,” Adam says really sweetly.
It takes me by surprise how sweet he is, how he is not rude at all. Hesitantly, I walk over to his bedside to start the little examination to get it done and over with as fast as I can. I don’t like being in the same room as you.
“What is your name, so I know who to call for my Caretender?” he asks me.
“Caretender Thela,” I say calmly, but die inside.
“Okay, Caretender Thela.” I hate my name in your mouth. He smiles and turns his head to face straight as I begin to take his pulse.
The rest of the exam goes on in silence and is done within five minutes. As I am leaving, I realize I forgot an important question that I already know the answer to, but still need to ask. Slowly, I turn back around, hesitating before I ask my question.
“Mr. Taylor, were you ever a heavy drinker?”
“You mean an alcoholic,” he asks, annoyed.
I nod and he lets out a big sigh before responding.
“Yes, I was. That is the time in my life I am not very proud of. I promise you, though, I have changed. I have become a better person,” he states sympathetically for himself.
“Okay, just asking because you have been tested for liver disease and that is usually from drinking, a lot.” I say casually, trying to hide my nerves.
Adam nods and I nod back to him with a forced smile on my face before turning to walk out of the room. I don’t necessarily agree with you that you have changed, because once an alcoholic always an alcoholic.
I make my way to the assessment board, and then it hits me. Crap, I have to tell Zac. How am I going to tell Zac that his abusive father that he probably hasn’t seen in over seventeen years is one of my patients? Oh wait, I am not supposed to know how he went to the orphanage or that his father did those things to him. Why out of every Caretender in this hospital did it have to be me? Anyone else in this whole place could have gotten Adam as a patient. Why did it have to be me?
“Thela,” calls a cheerful voice.
Turning to look down the hall at the voice I know so well. I, of course, see Zac. Great. Before Zac can come any closer, I cross my arms, hoping it will hide my panic, and finish the last few steps.
“You really shouldn’t be back here.” I say with an unusually high voice, which I try to hide.
“Thela, it’s cool. They allow me.”
“Um, but they really shouldn’t, um, because patients need their privacy.”
“I am not looking inside their rooms. I am just here at the center. Are you okay, Thela? You’re acting a little weird.”
“Yeah, um, I will just go clock out, and then we will go, okay?”
Zac nods. I turn back to the assessment board, and he follows. Adam Taylor is back here. His room is so close to the assessment board. One more step before turning my body around and putting up my hands for Zac to stop. He runs right into me, not really paying attention before looking down to me with confusion. Smiling to him, I pat his ribs right under his chest. My hands are still there, and have been there for too long, feeling his tight toned muscles under his shirt. A nervous laugh escapes me as I take a little step back.
“How about you stay here at the main desk? It won’t take me that long, I promise,” I say, faster than I should.
Zac eyes me for a few seconds, making it seem like the temperature has increased. “Are you sure you are alright?”
“Uh-huh. Be right back.” I turn and walk away quickly before he even has the chance to follow me again.
Within a few seconds, I am back and Zac and I walk out of the hospital. Instead of getting into Zac’s car, we walk to The Helping Care Shelter park a few blocks away from the hospital. Zac does most of the talking with me adding in small comments when needed, not really paying attention to him as he talks.
We find a beat-up park bench under the streetlight, which isn’t lit up now. Rows of lights about every five feet alternate between sides of the sidewalk with a trash can attached to every fifth one. Laughter and screams of pure joy fill the playground next to the walking park. I sit on the bench, looking down to the ground as Zac stands beside me.
Get it done and over with. Just tell him his father is still alive and is one of my patients. Maybe I don’t have to tell him, but could let him find it out on his own. I look up at Zac, who is looking out to the open field of grass and wildflowers. No, that wouldn’t be cool of me. Just say it!
“Zac.” He turns to me with a smile, making it so much harder to tell him. I turn my eyes to the cement, unable to look him in the eyes. “Your, um, your father is alive.” Stating it way too fast.
Zac’s smile falls and I look back up to him but not directly into his eyes. “That’s not possible,” his voice died with no life in it at all. He takes a seat next to me, looking to the ground at a loss.
“I am sorry,” I whisper to him, debating whether or not to reach out to touch his hand. I don’t.
“How do you know? How do you know he is alive?” Zac asks before placing his head in his hands, covering up his scar.
“He is a patient of mine. I got him today.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, turning to me, his voice fearful.
Nodding, I look him in the eyes. “He looks-” stopping myself before finishing that sentence. “He is your biological father. We took DNA tests.” A lie to cover up the fact that I actually know it is his father from going into his memory.
Silence fills the gap between us. Zac places his head in his hands again, absorbing the information. Minute after minute ticks by with kids playing in the background and birds chirping to each other.
“I was three when I went to the orphanage, and it was the last time I saw my dad.” Zac leans back and looks at me.
He’s telling me how he went to the orphanage. “What all happened?” I ask but already know.
“My mother died when I was three, and somehow I remember her clearly. But at the same time I have no clue what she looks like, but I still hear her soft voice sometimes. When she died, my father—Adam—said everything would be fine and I believed him.” His eyes far away, like they are reliving it. “He was so angry that night, and for months after her death, he went to the bar to get blackout drunk. When he came home every night, he showed me how he really felt by beating me- usually with the bottle of alcohol in his hands.
“He would look at me with such disgust and pure hatred for his own son, and that face still scares me today, because I’ll never forget it. When he beat me, I just hoped my cries weren’t that loud. When they were, he would beat me even harder. This lasted for months, every single day, and every single night.”
Zac pauses, his voice becoming thin as he holds back his tears. I reach out to grab his hand, and Zac gives it a squeeze before he continues. “One night he threw the bottle too hard, making the glass shatter against my skull. I went screaming out of the house for help. He caught up to me, but the whole neighborhood saw my blood and saw him smack me across my face, pushing me down to the ground. Later on in the night, a Protecttender came and took me away to the hospital first. That Protecttender was, is, my hero because he saved my life.”
“Is that why you always wanted to be a Protecttender?”
Zac nods, turning to face me, not letting go of my hand. “How were you placed in the orphanage, Thela?”
“Well-” My voice gives out, but it is only fair for me to share my story. “My parents left me in the woods one day. We went there as a family for a walk and a picnic for fun. I was so excited to be in the woods with my family that I just ran out of the car when it parked, but that is not when they left me. They left me when we were deep enough in the woods to make sure I wouldn’t be able to find my way out.”
My voice gets caught in my throat as a single tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. Zac grabs both of my hands, and I look up to him. He nods for me to continue, and I do, releasing a short breath because I can’t believe I am about to say these words out loud.
“I have an, um, older sister, who was running beside me. I kept running, thinking I would win and get to choose the spot to eat. But when I turned my head, none of them were there. I stopped running, and waited, and called—cried for them, but nothing. What I did hear though, in response was a car engine roaring, echoing through the woods. Since the woods look the same everywhere I looked, I had no clue where I’d started or even where the noise was coming from.
“I cried their names for hours even after the car noises were long gone. I realized they’d left me on purpose with no food or water to die. They wanted me dead because—well, they didn’t want me.”
“You don’t know that, Thela.”
“Yes, I do,” I whisper, looking down to our laced hands, but not actually seeing them. “They thought I was going to harm them, that’s why they wanted me to die. But someone found me and asked if I had a family or had run away, after, I don’t know how many days later. I told them no, and they took me to the orphanage. I was so scared, and to be honest, I had no clue what was going to happen to me.”
Turning my full attention to Zac, with a small smile, and continuing on. “When I got there, a little boy a few months older than me who had no clue who I was, but was so nice to me anyway. Told me everything was going to be okay, that these are nice people.”
“I still remember that day, you know?” says Zac with a smile. “I didn’t want you to be scared anymore. You looked so scared and lost. I just wanted you to feel safe, and I still do.”
The smile stays on my face, and we look into each other’s eyes like we have been doing our whole lives. We share a smile that says things are going to be alright, a smile I rely heavily on to live. Leaning my head against Zac’s shoulder, taking in every breath he takes. We stay like this for a long time, watching the sky, not speaking—not feeling a need to speak.
Today, after fifteen years of knowing each other, we shared our stories of how we went to the orphanage. Maybe Zac is not that bad, and I should give him a chance. But if he knew the truth, he would wish I were dead in the woods.
A chill creeps into me, but not from the cold. It feels like someone is watching me, waiting for the right moment to tell the world what I am.
“I should be heading back to the hospital,” I say, getting up from the bench.
“Yeah, and I should be getting back to work as well. I’ll walk you back.”
I nod, feeling safer with Zac than walking by myself. We walk side by side back to the hospital.
“Do you live at the Shelter—I mean in the Caretender tent?” asks Zac.
“No,” thinking it over in my head. “Well yes, I guess I do. I don’t own a house or an apartment, and I sleep here every night. It is easier in case one of my patients needs me. Food, clothes, and hygiene, I get it at the Community Shelter Center or at the hospital.”
“Why don’t you stay at my place in the spare bedroom I have? You can live there for free.”
“Thanks but-”
“My house is your home, it always has been and always will be. And plus, I don’t live that far away from The Helping Care Shelter.”
“I guess I can try it for the night. How about you pick me up around eight after I am done with work?”
Zac smiles and nods his head. “See you later, Thela.” He gets inside his car and drives off as I go back to work.
...
Eight o’clock rolls around from the slow, good workday. Nobody had any malfunction or near to death experience today, thank my nerves cell. Zac pulls up to the front of the hospital, and I am already waiting outside. He gets out and opens the door for me, smiling before getting back in on the other side.
It takes around ten minutes to get to Zac’s apartment, which is just barely in town and barely out of The Helping Care Shelter limits. His apartment is on the third floor, and the last one on the left.
Right away there is a short hallway about two feet wide for shoes and coats, and a rack to hang up the keys. Down the hallway is an open floor with the kitchen on the right, and next to the windows is the living room. If I keep going straight, to the left is a barn sliding door that leads to Zac’s bedroom. The other bedroom is off the kitchen between it and the living room.
Mostly every bit of decor from the floor to the beams in the ceiling is made from wood of all types. It makes the apartment feel cozy with warm heat like I am getting a hug.
Zac notices I don’t have a change of clothes, or didn’t bring anything with me, as a matter of fact. He motions me to follow and opens the barn door. His bedroom has a big bed with two short tables near the head of the bed on both sides. Straight back is an old wooden dresser, which Zac goes to. Next to the dresser is a door that leads to the bathroom. To the right of me and right by the door is a massive window that almost covers the whole wall. Through the window I can see lights and other buildings in the city.
As Zac gets the change of clothes for me, I jump on his bed like a little kid. He turns to me laughing, before turning back to the dresser. The bed makes me feel like my body is sinking while my overworked limbs melt away. My eyes get heavier, making it harder to keep them open. Zac says something to me, but I can’t really hear it. My eyes shut completely, letting sleep take over my entire body.