and talk to ghosts, Fred. Turn the juice up a little more!
Amos walked off to take a stroll around the grounds on the off chance that Sonya might be able to see him. It wouldn’t go over very well if she just started freaking out.
It felt like I was visiting someone at a hotel instead of a hospital. I checked in with a professionally dressed receptionist, not someone in hospital garb. The sharply dressed black woman, in her mid-thirties, who escorted me to see Sonya, had a name tag that identified her as Ellen Forrester, RN. Her title was Visit Facilitator. She had a kind, motherly face coupled with a friendly demeanor.
Yup this place had the lingo down pat. It even dulled my natural apprehension toward the mental health community.
“Now, Mr. Ross,” Ellen began, “before you go in and speak with Mrs. Hodges, I wanted a few minutes of your time to ask you about the topics you wish to speak with her about.”
Internally, I went to “yellow alert” and contemplated “raising shields.”
“I wanted to see how she’s doing and talk to her about my time in Iraq with her husband.” I repeated the same lie that I’d used with Heather. “He was my best friend.”
Ellen hesitated. “Sonya’s in a difficult place. When she first came here, she claimed that she’d been talking to his ghost and that he was answering her. For her sake, please be respectful when broaching the subject with her. We don’t intrude on our patient’s privacy, but we will be watching from a distance if she becomes agitated and upset. This has happened on a few occasions when Sonya was visited by her parents and her brother.”
“I understand.” Honestly, I was surprised Sonya had family. She’d never once mentioned them, but that was Cassandra’s influence. For the umpteenth time, I was forced to separate the two women in my mind. The reality was that Sonya Hodges is a familiar looking woman, who I’ve never really met and only heard stories about.
Entering the parlor, I almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was back to its natural brown color and had been straightened. The clothes were very conservative and the makeup wasn’t applied with a paintbrush to withstand dancing under a spotlight. All things considered, she looked like a regular woman.
She stood and reached out her hand. “Mike Ross, I almost didn’t believe them when they said you were coming to see me.”
I took the hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I was out this way with a friend. We’re heading further west in a few days and it seemed like the right thing to do. Heather told me to say hello and that she’d try to get up here in a few weeks.”
Sonya smiled and looked away. “She’s a good friend. Better than I deserve. We never really got along, did we, Mike?” It was one part question and the other part statement. She sounded like she barely knew me.
“No, I suppose we didn’t, but that’s not really that important. How about we sit down and talk about some of the good times? How are you getting along?” I took a seat on the chair across from the small couch she was using. There was a table, with a couple of magazines on it, between us.
As much as I wanted to just cut to the chase and start asking her a bunch of questions about Cassandra, I needed to take this nice and slow.
“I’m better … I think,” she said slowly.
“How’d you end up in a place like this?” I asked making a show of looking around. “It must cost a fortune.”
“My parents,” she looked away, probably embarrassed. “They’re hoping I’m serious about getting help, this time. So am I.”
“Oh, I never remember you talking about your parents,” I said this for show, because Skinwalkers have a habit of making a clean break, and taking anything of value with them.
“They’re pretty well off. Dad’s a real estate developer up in Tulsa. I’m trying to earn back their trust. Right now, all I have is their pity.”
“You’re probably making a good start.
Amos walked off to take a stroll around the grounds on the off chance that Sonya might be able to see him. It wouldn’t go over very well if she just started freaking out.
It felt like I was visiting someone at a hotel instead of a hospital. I checked in with a professionally dressed receptionist, not someone in hospital garb. The sharply dressed black woman, in her mid-thirties, who escorted me to see Sonya, had a name tag that identified her as Ellen Forrester, RN. Her title was Visit Facilitator. She had a kind, motherly face coupled with a friendly demeanor.
Yup this place had the lingo down pat. It even dulled my natural apprehension toward the mental health community.
“Now, Mr. Ross,” Ellen began, “before you go in and speak with Mrs. Hodges, I wanted a few minutes of your time to ask you about the topics you wish to speak with her about.”
Internally, I went to “yellow alert” and contemplated “raising shields.”
“I wanted to see how she’s doing and talk to her about my time in Iraq with her husband.” I repeated the same lie that I’d used with Heather. “He was my best friend.”
Ellen hesitated. “Sonya’s in a difficult place. When she first came here, she claimed that she’d been talking to his ghost and that he was answering her. For her sake, please be respectful when broaching the subject with her. We don’t intrude on our patient’s privacy, but we will be watching from a distance if she becomes agitated and upset. This has happened on a few occasions when Sonya was visited by her parents and her brother.”
“I understand.” Honestly, I was surprised Sonya had family. She’d never once mentioned them, but that was Cassandra’s influence. For the umpteenth time, I was forced to separate the two women in my mind. The reality was that Sonya Hodges is a familiar looking woman, who I’ve never really met and only heard stories about.
Entering the parlor, I almost didn’t recognize her. Her hair was back to its natural brown color and had been straightened. The clothes were very conservative and the makeup wasn’t applied with a paintbrush to withstand dancing under a spotlight. All things considered, she looked like a regular woman.
She stood and reached out her hand. “Mike Ross, I almost didn’t believe them when they said you were coming to see me.”
I took the hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I was out this way with a friend. We’re heading further west in a few days and it seemed like the right thing to do. Heather told me to say hello and that she’d try to get up here in a few weeks.”
Sonya smiled and looked away. “She’s a good friend. Better than I deserve. We never really got along, did we, Mike?” It was one part question and the other part statement. She sounded like she barely knew me.
“No, I suppose we didn’t, but that’s not really that important. How about we sit down and talk about some of the good times? How are you getting along?” I took a seat on the chair across from the small couch she was using. There was a table, with a couple of magazines on it, between us.
As much as I wanted to just cut to the chase and start asking her a bunch of questions about Cassandra, I needed to take this nice and slow.
“I’m better … I think,” she said slowly.
“How’d you end up in a place like this?” I asked making a show of looking around. “It must cost a fortune.”
“My parents,” she looked away, probably embarrassed. “They’re hoping I’m serious about getting help, this time. So am I.”
“Oh, I never remember you talking about your parents,” I said this for show, because Skinwalkers have a habit of making a clean break, and taking anything of value with them.
“They’re pretty well off. Dad’s a real estate developer up in Tulsa. I’m trying to earn back their trust. Right now, all I have is their pity.”
“You’re probably making a good start.
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