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(Please critique!) From the Ashes
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(Please critique!) From the Ashes |
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Pearls_Of_Wisdom Member
since 2000-09-02
Posts 175 |
"See you later," Richard called over his shoulder, hurrying to get out of the office. Just have to drop Nelly off and then I can relax and start my weekend early for a change, he thought. "Whadya mean? Where are you going?" his friend asked. "I've got the afternoon off," he said, sounding defensive. As he spoke, he kept walking backwards toward the elevator. "Oh, is that so? If only all of us were dating the boss, maybe we could all have a three-day weekend," he said. Richard looked around quickly, but everyone appeared to be going about his or her daily routine undisturbed. "Give me a break, Mark," he said, lowering his voice. "I'm late. I've got to pick up Nell. It's a P.A. Day." His explanation didn't seem to satisfy his friend, who muttered something under his breath and went back into his office. Richard, a small man in a big coat, got into his new black Mercedes and headed toward the daycare centre. It will be nice to see Nelly during the day for a change, he thought, smiling at the ribbon-covered box in the passenger's seat. He felt a little guilty that Rosemary, the woman who ran the daycare, saw more of Nell than her own father, but that couldn't be helped for now. He was doing the best he could raising her on his own since… But he didn't want to think about that now. He was in too good a mood to worry about what was in the past, safely behind him. He clicked on the radio and whistled along to The Eagles' "Hotel California," occasionally picking up snatches of the verse. "We are all just prisoners here… of our own device… You can check out anytime you like but you can… never leave…" he sang in a falsetto imitation of Don Henley, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. Pulling up to Meadowvale Private Daycare Centre, Richard recognized Nelly in a small cluster of children, talking and laughing with them. He thought how precious his daughter was, yet so innocent and fragile. Looking at her now, if he had been a stranger, he wouldn't have seen any difference between her and the two other children. Maybe there was hope for the two of them after all. Midsentence, Nell glanced over, saw her father, and waved a mittened hand. As Richard parked and got out of the car, she explained to Tim and Claire that her daddy was here and that she had to go. With a big smile on her face, she ran to him, the pom-pom on her hat bouncing. "Hiya, sweetie!" Richard cried, scooping his six-year-old into his arms. "Are you ready to party?" "Yeah!" she squealed, hugging his neck with her small arms. Soon they arrived at the Reynolds' house and, as Nell passed by the driver's side of the car, Richard handed her the present she had carefully wrapped the night before. "Have fun!" he called after Nell, who was already running to the front door. She's full of beans, just like her-- Stop it, he ordered himself. You have to forget about that, for Nell's sake as much as yours. Home at last, Richard turned off the car and got out, unbuttoning his jacket and beginning to whistle "Hotel California" again as he walked to his front door. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside. He breathed in deeply and let the air out with a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the large, lavish house, which was decorated mainly in white and pine. I've got the place all to myself. I could even take a nap without being disturbed. Maybe I'll make some camomile tea first, though. That'll help relax me a bit. He felt slightly tense but couldn't think of why that would be. It had been a long week filled with many patients to attend to, but he could rest now. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the uneasiness. He guessed it was understandable, considering what he'd been through in the past year. Before he could push it away, a flash of memory lit up in his mind like a lightbulb turned on in a dark room. His eyes clouded with the mixed pain and relief he had felt on that day as he witnessed a scene that had been rerunning in his brain like a pathetic mental t.v. series. Full custody will hereby be awarded to Dr. Richard Galloway. It is the decision of this court that Mrs.Galloway not be allowed to visit her daughter on the grounds that she is mentally unstable. If, and only if, she is released from the Psychiatric Centre with a bill of complete recovery will she be able to appeal this ruling. Thank God you did not succeed in what you tried to do. I would not have been so lenient if you had. He flinched at the brutal noise of the gavel being struck. Worse than the audio of the scene, though, was the picture of his now ex-wife staring into his eyes. Morgan had not uttered a word, but hatred was covering her face like a mask. I'll get you back, you son of a [edit], he knew she was thinking at him. You just wait. Richard was jolted out of his flashback by a piercing, terrifying scream that made him practically jump to the ceiling. Panic rose up in him. Then he realized that it was not a scream he had heard; it was only the kettle, beginning to boil. Had he put it on already? He supposed he must have done it automatically. He sighed again, this time shakily. He got down a grey mug and tea bag from the cupboard. The warm tea helped soothe him. Sipping it, he sat down on a wooden stool inside the u-shaped island in the middle of the kitchen and turned on the t.v. The news was on and he turned it up to hear. "Our top story this afternoon: two prisoners have just escaped from The Toronto Women's Psychiatric Centre. A guard has been killed and his gun has been stolen. One of the patients was apprehended minutes ago, but the other has not been located. She is expected to be dangerous and mentally unstable. As yet, the name of the patient has not been released, but we'll have more details for you as soon as we get them." The words slowly sunk in. The Psychiatric Centre. One patient escaped. Mentally unstable. Oh God, it's Morgan, I know it. With terror, he realized what had made him uneasy when he came home: it was the faint scent of Poison, the perfume his wife used to wear. He tried desperately to think of a plan. His hand, acting independently of his brain, picked up the phone. It was useless. The phone was-- "It's dead," she said behind him. "Just like I wish you were." Morgan was crossing the kitchen as she spoke. He stiffened, picturing how close she was. Morgan was walking with deliberate slowness. She had him trapped, and she knew it. "What's the matter? You're too chicken to turn around? Aren't you happy to see me, dear?" Her voice was mocking, gloating. "Too bad your little whore isn't here to help you now. It wasn't enough to screw your boss on the side, you had to take my daughter away from me, too, huh? Answer me!" "Morgan, you're… you're ill. It's your illness talking. You know I never cheated on you, and I never wanted to keep you away from Nell. I swear to God, I didn't. Once you're better, we'll all-" "Better? Once I'm 'better,' we'll all what? Be one big happy family again? No, somehow I don't think so. I never would've been let out with you and all your shrink friends conspiring against me." Now she was a foot behind him, pointing a gun at his unmoving back. "Relax, Morgan. You're becoming agitated. Let's talk this over rationally." Richard's voice quivered only slightly. "By all means, keep talking. I'm sure you won't mind if I just happen to pull the trigger while you're doing it." The only thing he could focus on was surviving. For Nell. He had to live through this, somehow. There it was, his weapon, right there in front of him. Morgan couldn't see it. She was right behind him now. He heard a slow clicking noise that he recognized as the sound of a gun being loaded. It was his only chance. He had to do it now. He seized the hot handle of the tin kettle. As fast as he could, he whirled around and threw it at Morgan, his wife for ten years. With the force of his throw, the lid flew off and threw the steaming water at her. She screamed as her hands were showered with what felt like acid. She had dropped the gun and backed away instinctively. Richard flew forward, hands reaching out for the pistol, which was lying, as if dead, on the burgundy rug, close to Morgan's feet. He was sprawled along the floor and almost had it when Morgan kicked it away. The gun spun off to Richard's left and he half crawled, half stumbled after it. That was when Morgan kicked him, hard, in the ribs, knocking the breath out of him. Standing over his body, she smiled hideously. She was much bigger than Richard. He started to get onto his hands and knees and she kicked him again for his trouble. Then she picked up the gun and pointed it down at him. "Self-defence, Officer. He tried to kill me. Just look at the horrible burn he gave me." "You think they'll believe you? I don't think they'll quite trust the testimony of someone who's just escaped from the loony bin." Richard was too angry now to try to calm her down. Maybe if he could piss her off enough, she would make a mistake. Either that, or kill you, he thought. "Shut up," she commanded. "Just tell me where it is." "Where what is?" "Nell's journal. The one you gave to her. Where is it?" "It's gone," he replied without knowing why. She kicked him a third time, even harder. "You better be lying." He coughed and replied, "In the basement." "There now. I knew you could be a good boy. Get up. You're going to find it for me." Richard got up slowly. It was difficult to breathe, but he managed to stand. With shame, he admitted that he had allowed her to abuse him before, although this was the first physical attack she'd made. Looking at her, he remembered how he had once fallen in love with her dark hair, her grey eyes. She had been so loving at first. Only after he married her did she gradually begin to control what he did and how he did it. Self-pity, which he now put on like an old costume, mingled with his fear. As he bent his legs to descend the creaking stairs, something poked him in the thigh. My cell phone! he thought. If I can just get to it… After a minute or two, he found the right box. "Open it and give the journal to me." Morgan was still aiming the gun at Richard's back. To distract her, he asked, "What are you planning to do with it, exactly?" Slowly, he reached for his phone. "I'm going to expose you for the lair you are. I'm going to mail it to the Toronto Star so everyone will know you're the crazy one, not me. You told them it was my fault, but you knew it wasn't. So did she. And when they read the truth, you can take my place at the 'hospital'. Then I'm going to take Nell away from you, just like you stole her away from me." In her delight over her plan, Morgan had tuned out her surroundings. At the same time, Richard pulled the phone out of his pocket, his heartbeat doubling. He dialled the hospital's emergency line and pressed send, then placed the phone in the bottom of the box. "All right. Here it is, Morgan," he said, praying someone would hear him and figure out what was happening. "You've got what you wanted." He turned around, holding the leather-bound book. It wasn't really a child's diary; it had been his, but he had never used it. "Now give it to me." "What are you hoping to find in here to incriminate me?" He tightened his grip on the book. "Just toss it to me, Dick." She spat out his name as if it tasted rotten. "Now's not the time to grow balls." "You'll never get Nell back." His voice was gaining confidence. Morgan's eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened together as if pulled by a hidden drawstring. "I should have stood up to you long ago," he went on, drawing strength from his words. "Now I'm going to. You want Nell? Fine. You'll just have to kill me first." A bullet whizzed by, missing his ear by mere inches. "Quit [edit] around. I missed you on purpose. I promise the next shot will be more accurate." Richard began to shake weakly. "Okay. You win. Take it." He did throw the book but aimed it at the gun. The heavy book struck Morgan's scalded hand, knocking her arm down. Did she still have hold of the gun? Where was it? Come on, come on, someone come soon, he cried in his head. No, she still had the gun, and now she was livid. "You little [edit]. I can't believe you thought that would work. You must have grown stupider since we parted company. You always were a coward." Richard's face grew pale and anxious. Oh no, maybe she'll decide to kill me on the spot instead of executing her more elaborate plan. What will happen to-- His thought was cut short by the splintering sound of breaking glass. Morgan spun around toward the noise. Richard hurled himself into her and knocked her to the ground, the gun skidding out of her hand and spinning harmlessly across the room. "No!" she cried desperately. "Don't move," the black nurse at the window told her, holding a tranquilizer gun. Three more orderlies came down the stairs holding syringes. "No. You can't take me back. You can't," she pleaded. "Richard, help me. Tell them not to take me back. Tell them I don't belong there. Richard, you know I don't belong there. Please don't…. do… this." A syringe had pierced her arm and the rest of her words died before they left her lips. Richard sat before a blazing fire in his living room, turning a black leather book over in his hands. He moved his fingers over the cover, feeling its smoothness. Again, he had the house to himself. It was Saturday and Nell was playing at Tim's house across the street. He thumbed his way through the book, looking for an entry on a specific date. Dates were pre-written on the tops of the pages and Nell had written in the book every day. There it was, January fourth. As he read, he became certain that this was what Morgan had been looking for. "Today I went to the hospitle," the big, purposeful writing said. "This morning I ate some pills that were dangerus. That's what Daddy said after. Daddy asked me why I did it. I just renembered Daddy saying that he gave that medisin to people who felt sad a lot and I felt sad a lot so I ate them. The doctors said if I had got to the hopspital any later, I mite have died. So I was glad that Daddy took me. Mommy came home after I got back and she was angery." Richard felt a wave of guilt wash over him. I had to do it, he told himself. It was the only way to keep her away from Nell for good. He assured himself that retribution had nothing to do with it. After all, she did try to kill us both emotionally on a daily basis, and she swore she would kill me if I tried to leave her. On the floor in front of him lay a newspaper. He picked it up and read the lead story. "Morgan Michaels is safe behind jail bars today. But yesterday, the former Mrs. Galloway was armed with a gun from the security guard she killed during her escape from The Toronto Women's Psychiatric Centre. Facing a charge of murder plus a second charge of attempted murder, it is likely that she will soon reside in jail instead of returning to the psychiatric hospital where her ex-husband works. "Less than a year ago, Michaels tried to kill her then five-year-old daughter, Nell, by forcing her to swallow a bottle of anti-depressants for disobeying her. Michaels denied charges. Thankfully, her now estranged husband, esteemed psychiatrist Dr. Richard Galloway, was at home at the time and testified that he heard Michaels ordering Nell to take the pills and ran downstairs. Unfortunately, Nell had already ingested a harmful number of pills when he got to her." It was really over now. Richard felt as if a huge weight had been removed from his shoulders, one which he had been carrying around for many years. He threw the book into the fireplace and watched the pages burst into flame with a grim expression on his face. Soon the leather cover was curling, beginning to catch. By some trick of the light, his reading glasses reflected the climbing flames and it looked as if his pupils were filled with fire. He was thinking of a poem he had read in university that now struck home in a surreal way: Burn the pages of the book, Set the memory to flame; The words will fly to distant skies 'Til nothing of them remains. And from the ashes, find the jewel Hidden there, within; Though scorched and bleeding, it's still alive, Waiting for its life to begin. Parts of this story have been edited to remove profanity. - Christopher [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 02-21-2001).] |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Hello, Actually, I found this story quite gripping. I enjoyed the mental monologue and the tense feeling you managed to maintain throughout. As far as a critique, I only have two points of contention. One, is the section where he throws the pot at Morgan. You describe how it must feel to her (ie: acid). I think maybe you should change this, because throughout the rest of the telling, you focus soley on his mind, and from his viewpoint. That was the only place I noticed you stepping out of the narrative view point. Second, personally, I would like a little more justification for him lying to commit her. I realize that there was abuse, but not enough was told to stop me from feeling like he'd gotten away with something... "bad." Other than those two things, which are minor, I found this quite enjoyable! Christopher [This message has been edited by Christopher (edited 02-21-2001).] |
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Pearls_Of_Wisdom Member
since 2000-09-02
Posts 175 |
Christopher, Hi there. Thanks for responding! =) I wasn't expecting any replies so quickly! How exciting! I'm glad you were "gripped" by it... (he he). Yeah, I can see what you mean about the "acid" idea. In a way, it's good to cut it out, because I tried to follow Stephen King's advice that the second draft should be 10% shorter than the first. Anyway, I got it almost down to 2900 words, but every extra little bit helps. If you see anything else that could be omitted, let me know. I can also see what you're saying about whether or not Richard was justified in what he did. This was tricky, because I didn't want a big "I dd it because blah, blah, blah" boring monolouge, since most of the plot is told indirectly. So you're saying that he still seems somewhat guilty. I don't think that's entirely bad, do you? I kind of wanted to show that even the "good" character wasn't wholly perfect, and neither is the rational psychiatrist's judgment. So, the "crazy" or "cruel" member of the family isn't the only one with issues. How would you react to this? Also, did you find the story believeable, or are you saying that it's hard to imagine Richard doing what he did? The reason I specifically wanted feedback on this was that I got the idea for it from a non-fiction book by Stephen King called On Writing, in which he suggests this situation. He even said that if you used his idea, you could send him the story you came up with and he'd try to read / reply to it. I'm hoping to send mine - yikes! - but I wanted to make it the best I could beforehand. Thanks again for the feedback, Ashley |
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