When Through Deep Waters Read online

  “You don’t believe that.”

  Alicen stood, anger seeping out through her pores. “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you?”

  “Of course not! I wanted to see you. You’re my daughter.”

  “Then act like it. Allen is a total jerk!”

  “Allen is a good man, Alicen.”

  Alicen could feel her mother’s temper growing, but hers was fully lit. “No, Betty, he’s a rich man. That doesn’t automatically make him good!”

  “He gave you everything and is the only reason you ever had that sweet girl.”

  “And the second she was gone, he abandoned me,” Alicen spat.

  “You were supposed to be watching her!” Betty yelled. She might as well have shot Alicen with an arrow.

  Alicen sucked in a painfully sharp breath, tears blurring her vision and a tremor starting in her fingers. “You think I don’t know that?”

  “Alicen—” Betty started, her expression plagued with guilt.

  “You think I don’t feel that every moment of every day?”

  “Honey, I—” Betty tried.

  “Did you come all this way to remind me that this is my fault?” Hot tears streamed down Alicen’s cheeks. “To make sure I didn’t forget that Jane is dead because of me?”

  A sob choked out Alicen’s words, and she covered her mouth with her hand. She turned away from Betty, even now trying to hide her weakness, and stared out the bookstore window. And there, across the street, Alicen saw them.

  Four children, standing shoulder to shoulder, across the road on the sidewalk, staring back at her. One with red hair, one with pigtails, and a set of twins. Their faces expressionless and haunting.

  Not now, she thought, Not while she was here. A truck drove by, blocking them from view, and when the street was clear once more, the four were gone. Alicen let out the mouthful of air she’d been holding, and another sob escaped with it. She swallowed and tried to regain control.

  Steps echoed across the ground, and Alicen could feel Betty approaching.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” Betty said.

  “But you did,” Alicen retorted. “Because you believe it.”

  “No, I was just angry,” Betty said, reaching her hand out to touch Alicen’s arm.

  Alicen yanked away, turning to face her mother. “Don’t,” Alicen said. “You should believe it. It’s the truth.”

  Betty dropped her hand, and there was a short pause. “Just come home, and everything will be fine.”

  “Everything is not fine. I am not fine,” Alicen whispered.

  Fear washed over Betty’s expression. “Honey, don’t say things like that.”

  Alicen saw genuine concern in her mother’s face. The woman wasn’t a monster. She hadn’t been dealt the most favorable hand in life, and Alicen supposed Betty had simply done the best she could with what she had been given.

  “Allen said he would take you back, baby. You can make this right,” Betty said.

  Alicen clenched her jaw as a wave of heat rushed to her cheeks, followed by a tinge of hope. Was Betty right? What if the only way to survive this was to go back to the scene of the crime and beg forgiveness for her sins? Could her old life give her redemption? If she tried hard enough, could she be free?

  Alicen.

  She glanced over her shoulder out the window and saw the four children had returned. If she left, would the demons she’d acquired here follow? Alicen didn’t know the answer. What she did know was that going back meant facing the demons she’d left there. And as quickly as the ounce of hope had surfaced, it was drowned out by the reality that those demons would never let her be free.

  “For now, I need to be here,” Alicen said, looking directly at her mother to make sure the woman received the message clearly. “But you are free to leave whenever you’d like.” Alicen let the words hang in the air, watching Betty’s face twitch slightly, then walked back to where she had been working, not bothering to glance over her shoulder once.

  Alicen stood on the large boulder and surveyed the forest around her. Grandma Joe was there, as always, standing in the sun and singing one of her songs. Alicen knew all the words by heart, even if they were funny and strange. It was one of Grandma Joe’s favorites. The familiar tune filled Alicen’s brain as Grandma Joe’s soft, warm voice sang the words.

  “‘When through the deep waters I call thee to go, the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow. For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.’”

  Grandma Joe turned and caught Alicen’s eye. Now aware of an audience, Grandma Joe’s eyes grew with delight as she raised her volume and began to dance. “‘When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,’” she sang with a spin, “‘my grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.’” She held out the last note, raising her arms into the air and curling them over her head to strike her ending pose.

  Alicen giggled and began to tap her little feet as Grandma Joe continued to hum and dance over the forest floor. In one wide turn, she was at the rock, taking Alicen’s hand in her own and spinning her around. Alicen laughed against the warm air, her entire body filling with pure joy. These moments with her grandmother were why their love was so strong. Grandma Joe made Alicen feel like she could fly if she just jumped high enough.

  Grandma Joe’s song came to an end, and she let out a soft laugh. Alicen heaved, out of breath from spinning and laughter, dropped to her seat, and rested atop the rock. Her grandmother plopped down next to her and wrapped her fingers inside Alicen’s.

  “Do you know why that song is one of my favorites?” Grandma Joe asked.

  “I don’t even know what that song means,” Alicen admitted with a giggle.

  “What do you think it means?”

  Alicen thought about the familiar but confusing lyrics and bit the inside of her lip as she searched her mind for meaning. Nothing. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just told me?”

  Grandma Joe chuckled and gave Alicen’s side a loving pinch that caused the girl to laugh and squirm. “And since when have you ever done things the easy way?”

  “I think I’ll start today,” Alicen said.

  Grandma Joe gave Alicen a sweet smile. “I love that song because it reminds me of the greatest truth there is. ‘My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply.’”

  “What does ‘all-sufficient’ mean?”

  “I like to think of it as ever-present, or simply all there is. It’s easy to get caught up in the illusion of the rest of the world, Alicen. The idea that what lies before you is more powerful than what lies within you. It’s easy to get stuck believing we are trapped by the troubles of what lies ahead of us and forget the grace given to us from what lies beyond us.”

  Grandma Joe turned her face to the sky, losing herself in the warmth of the sun. Alicen watched as a moment of silence passed, and then a wide smile stretched Grandma Joe’s lips. She was hearing them—the voices. It was a look Alicen knew well. It scared some people, but never her. Because she knew more than most people.

  “Grace, sweet Alicen, is your greatest gift. And remembering that grace and the name given to you by the Father of grace is your most important journey.”

  Alicen mulled Grandma Joe’s words over. She wanted to believe everything her grandmother said was true, but the world gave her questions that sometimes took control.

  “You have your thinking face on,” Grandma Joe said.

  Alicen shrugged her shoulders. “How do you know for sure that you’re right?” She looked up at Grandma Joe as she waited for an answer.

  There was a pause, and then the old woman smiled. “I wasn’t always so sure. Many times I questioned and turned away from the truth that was always within me. But for me, servants were sent to help remind my spirit of what it already knew.”

  Grandma Joe looked back out across the treetops. “‘Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it.�
�” Grandma Joe gave a small huff of laughter. “I always thought that was an odd verse until I was saved by it.”

  “Angels?” Alicen questioned.

  “Ministering spirits, helpers, sent to show me what my eyes alone could not see. I have no doubts now of the truth. My spirit and mind are in line with the truth of grace, the truth of Jesus, and I will never be the same.” Grandma Joe closed her eyes, her face still turned toward the sun, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye and down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry,” Alicen said, concern lacing her tone.

  Grandma Joe turned her gaze back to her granddaughter. “It’s okay, honey; I’m only swept up in the beauty, is all.”

  Alicen shook her little head. “Crying because you’re happy is a weird adult thing I’ll never understand.”

  Grandma Joe burst out laughing and pulled Alicen close. “There are many weird adult things I could do without. It’s much better to be like a child.”

  “Well, then I hope to never become an adult.”

  “Your body will grow; there’s no stopping that, but your mind and heart can stay childlike, full of belief in who you really are. That is what is important.”

  Alicen thought about this and then laid her head against her grandmother’s shoulder. “Is your mind childlike?”

  “I hope so. The more time I spend listening to the voices of truth and letting go of the world around me, the more my mind remembers its childlike nature. Your mother and others like her think I’m ill. I’ve wondered about it myself at times, to be honest. Surely some people who hear voices no one else can hear are ill. But me? No, I don’t think so. I think I’m lucky. And I think you’re lucky too. You know why?”

  “Because of grace?” Alicen said. She thought maybe she was starting to understand.

  Grandma Joe kissed Alicen’s forehead. “Yes, my sweet girl, because of grace.”

  12

  Dr. Wells was waiting for Alicen in his office when she arrived. The drive to Clover Mountain Retreat Center had taken her twice as long as it should have because she’d pulled over twice. Both times to throw up. Due to a mixture of nerves, anger, fear, exhaustion, and probably more dysfunctional emotions that Alicen just couldn’t identify.

  She hadn’t eaten much yesterday, and nothing today, so vomiting had been painful. Like her mother not speaking to her since their fight was painful. Like the idea of sharing her secrets with Dr. Wells was painful. Like not being able to sleep for fear she might stumble into the woods again was painful. Once she’d arrived, it had taken her several long minutes to climb out of the car and cross the campus to the big house. But at this point Alicen was out of options.

  And terrified.

  She tried to get comfortable in one of the plush office chairs, even though she knew it was no use. Comfort was something she’d known once but had all but forgotten.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Alicen said.

  Dr. Wells smiled. “As cliché as it sounds, my door is always open.”

  A moment of silence passed. Alicen crossed her legs and tucked her hands between her thighs. She wasn’t sure how to start.

  “Tell me about Jane,” Dr. Wells said.

  Her name sounded so sweet echoing in the room. “Jane?” Alicen questioned.

  Dr. Wells nodded. “I never had the pleasure. What was she like?”

  Alicen was used to people purposefully not asking about Jane, for fear of being insensitive, so to have Dr. Wells so boldly ask was alarming. But also refreshing. She smiled in spite of herself, an image of her sweet girl dancing through her mind.

  “She was funny,” Alicen started, “and I don’t know where she got it from because I’m not funny at all, but she could get a room of adults rolling.”

  “So she loved to entertain?”

  Alicen laughed. “If she really loved a food, she’d make up a song about it on the spot and sing it for anyone who would listen. And they were good, or at least I always thought they were. She called them her ‘Happy Meals’ songs because they were all about the meals that made her happy enough to sing. Once, with complete serious intention, she asked me if I thought McDonald’s would sue her if she made an album and it went platinum.”

  Dr. Wells chuckled, and Alicen shook her head.

  “She was pretty dramatic; she got that from my mother. Everything was either the greatest thing to happen to her or the worst. And she was good with words. Always telling stories. She started talking young, reading young, the more adventure the better.”

  Alicen lovingly rolled her eyes. “Agh, that girl could be a handful. She would get lost in her imagination. And stubborn as they come. That she definitely got from me. It could be like pulling teeth to get her out of her own imagination sometimes. She’d lock herself in her room with Evie—” Alicen’s words rammed to a halt and her heart leapt into her throat.

  Evie. The air around her skull thinned and her vision hazed over. She felt like she might pass out, and she grabbed the plush chair’s armrest to steady herself.

  “Alicen?” Dr. Wells asked. “Are you all right?”

  She lifted her eyes to him, tears dotting the world in her view. She shook her head, losing control of the raging emotions she was trying to keep at bay.

  “Who’s Evie?” Dr. Wells asked.

  Alicen swallowed and licked her dried bottom lip. She cleared the shakiness from her voice and spoke. “Jane’s imaginary friend.”

  “And why does that conjure up such a strong emotion?”

  Again Alicen looked away from Dr. Wells’s gaze. There was no turning back now. She let out an uncomfortable noise that was half laugh, half shriek, and pressed her palms to either side of her head. “Because I’m losing my mind.”

  Dr. Wells waited patiently, his expression warm, without judgment or concern. Just present and attentive.

  “I’ve been hearing and seeing things that aren’t there,” Alicen said.

  “What kind of things?”

  Alicen kept her eyes on the floor. “Whispers, laughter . . . I’ve been hearing voices.”

  “And seeing?”

  “Children,” she whispered. “I’ve been seeing children.”

  “Jane?”

  Alicen bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. “I see her in everything.” She paused, another painful image of her daughter flittering across her mind. “But this is different—I’m seeing other children as well. One of them calls herself Evie.”

  “They talk to you?”

  Alicen nodded. “I’m pretty sure the whispers and laughter I hear is them.” Alicen’s chin quivered as she tried to keep a sob contained in her throat. Several tears crossed over her bottom lids, and she reached up and brushed them away. “They’re haunting me, and I don’t know what to do.” She barely got the words out as sorrow threatened to engulf her.

  “It’s okay, Alicen. Try and take a couple of deep breaths,” Dr. Wells said.

  Alicen did as he asked, and he gave her time to collect herself before continuing.

  “When did this start?” he asked.

  “A couple weeks ago.”

  “Before coming to Red Lodge?”

  “No, not before. Does that mean something?”

  “Perhaps. I wish I could say there was always an exact science to every situation such as this, but there is still so much we are learning about the brain. It’s possible that your return to a familiar place, one already filled with memories, triggered this type of psychosis.”

  Psychosis. The word sounded dirty and made Alicen shrink farther into her chair.

  “There is also your family history to consider,” Dr. Wells said.

  There it was. A truth Alicen knew she wasn’t going to be able to escape. A thought that had been haunting her as long as the figment children. With the recent onslaught of memories of her grandmother, the similarities were impossible to ignore. Once again Alicen was at a loss for where to begin. Once again the room fell silent.

  Dr. Wells held the same blank folder he’d h
ad during their first session—one Alicen assumed contained a detailed history of her past, of her family’s skeletons, of the dark secrets she’d avoided for more than a decade. Alicen wasn’t ready to face that just yet. She was supposed to have PTSD. Depression. Not . . . She closed her mind off before another idea could fully surface.

  “Is this normal for PTSD?” Alicen asked, desperate to stray away from the steep edge of that reality.

  Dr. Wells played along. “Different minds react to tragedy differently. Many people with PTSD suffer from hallucinations triggered by certain sounds or images. Are your recent experiences with these children tied to any sort of memories? Or do you see a pattern to their appearances?”

  Alicen thought back through the times the children had visited her, then shook her head. “They just happen.” She felt like her chest was being pumped full of hot, suffocating air. She raised her trembling hands and laid her face softly into her palms.

  “It’s all right,” Dr. Wells said. “Take another deep breath.”

  “I’m afraid of my own mind,” she said in a whisper.

  “You don’t have to be. We can help.”

  Anger flashed through Alicen’s system. “Everybody keeps saying that to me,” she said harshly and raised her head. “How are you going to help? My daughter died!” Like a water line, her control broke, and a flood of emotions devoured the room. “I lost . . .” Raw sorrow choked her words, and angry tears filled her eyes. She took a short breath, tried to swallow her pain, but it was too large and hard to force down.

  “I lost everything,” Alicen said, the tone of her voice controlled by emotion. “Are you going to give that back to me?” She knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t rein in her madness now.

  Dr. Wells leaned back in his seat and let Alicen’s emotional explosion happen without hindrance.

  Alicen avoided making eye contact. She was struggling to breathe through the raging torment in her chest. “Louise, my mother, you: ‘We just want you to get better, Alicen; we’re here for you, Alicen; we’re trying to help, Alicen.’” Her words fell out with violent, sharp edges, like knives slicing at her lips. “Don’t I have to believe I can be helped for it to work? Isn’t that how these things are done? The only good thing that ever happened to me was taken. I let her be taken! I did this to myself.” Another batch of tears blurred her vision, and she blinked hard to chase them off.