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All is Jello pt. 2 by: Alyssa
“Dr. Turner?”
Geez, that woman is so wired. I mean, look at her. Hands dancing over the top of her desk like the glossy mahogany was as hot as dying embers.
“Dr. Turner?” I asked again, a little louder this time. She didn’t seem to hear me. She ran her index finger slowly across the edge of her desk, staring into space.
I was just about to give up and leave when she said,
“They shouldn’t let people do that. Especially not patients, of course not patients, that’s absurd…”
I turned around.
“Do what? What are you talking about?”
She smiled. Eerie, creepy smile- I didn’t like it at all. The smile in her eyes did not match the one on her lips- like the one a dead soldier has as he takes his last breath on the battlefield and tries to make one more weak attempt at humor because there’s nothing else to be done. Except more distant- and with a tiny spark dancing on the corner.
She picked up a file off her desk and handed it to me.
“I’m not a shrink, Dr. Turner, I dunno if I’m sposed to see this…”
She tapped me on the arm with it, the smile broadening. I began to get nervous. I grabbed the file and opened it up.
Name: Mansfield, Traci Michelle
Age: 10
Residence:
Family: Mother- Charlotte Dowell Mansfield, Father- Timothy Maverick Mansfield
I flip through the file. A few pictures, nothing upsetting.
“Yeah?” I said, handing it back to her.
She snatched it, narrowing her eyes.
“You’re in on this too, aren’t you? You’re on the security staff. You shouldn’t be letting people just waltz in and change their files! Did you think I wasn’t going to notice?”
Incredulously, I said,
“Ma’am, this file is accurate as far as I’m concerned. It matches all the things that little girl told you.”
“How do you know what the little girl told me?” she shrieked, jumping up. “You weren’t in here!!!!”
“I was in the corner, remember? They said the girl sometimes had violent tendencies. There never was a problem, though.”
She picked them up and ripped them neatly into shreds.
“WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL
I backed away, slowly, towards the door. Now she was picking up all the papers off her desk and shredding them, over and over and over, tossing them in the air like confetti, pushing the staplers to the ground, opening the paperclip box and scattering them around the room.
“SHE CAN’T BE SEAWEED
“Calm down, Dr. Turner!” I said frantically, fiddling with the doorknob, my sweaty hands slipping off over and over again.
She picked up the pencil jar her son had made her- out of clay, with LOV YOU MOMY painted on it in red. Then she threw the jar against the wall- it shattered. One by one she began throwing the pencils at the ceiling, as though to see if they would stick.
I finally yanked the door open and ran out.
I’ve never been so glad to get out of a room in all my life.
What was her problem? I remembered what had happened, and nothing Dr. Turner had said had even been remotely connected to it.
The little girl stares
innocently out of a fringe of soft black hair.
“Okay I’ve just gotta
ask you a few routine questions and then we can talk about whatever you want,
how does that sound?”
The
girl nods quietly. Dr. Turner doesn’t notice, instead making a note
and saying, “What’s your name? Um…full name please.”
She pauses, a little
shy. Then she says, “Traci Michelle
Mansfield.”
Dr.
Turner gives her a very odd look.
Then she asked, “What was that sweetie?”
“Traci Mansfield.”
“Come again…”
The girl was annoyed by now. “Traci Mansfield.”
Still looking confused, the
psychologist asks, “How old are you?”
“Ten and a half.”
Dr.
Turner shook her head. She looked
a little frightened now, but nodded and said, “Where do you live?”
“
Fighting to maintain her composure,
she asked, “How many people live in your house?”
“Just two,” she said.
Dr.
Turner jumped up and screamed, fear twisting her features. The girl touched her arm and asked,
“Are you okay?”
She jerked away and ran for the
door, yelling at me, “Lock her up!”
I honestly don’t know what got into her. It was as though she was hearing something that was not being said.
I heard the drapes snickering as I contemplated what to say. I can’t help it—I’m just a lamp!! What does she expect me to do???
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