The Crying Rose: The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 1)
THE CRYING ROSE
B. A. BEERS
The Crying Rose
Copyright © 2000 by B.A. Beers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher.
First Edition/ Writer’s Showcase Press / November 2000
Second Edition/ July 2012
ISBN: 13: 978-1478281405
ISBN: 10: 1478281405
Dear Reader:
This book was originally published in 2000 and has been re-edited for readying it as an e-book. Although the text has received many layers of editing, typos and/or errors may still exist. Help me rid this book of these reader irritants by sending me your "finds". Contact me at: babeers@babeers.com
Future readers of this book will be forever grateful, as am I.
Yours in reading,
B.A Beers
July 2011
DEDICATION
To My Father
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My eternal love and gratitude to my mother, Margery, and sister, Patricia, for their dedication and endless hours spent assisting this author to breathe life into this novel. Also, my sincere, heartfelt thanks to Aunt Betty, Carmen, Joanne, and Kay for their advice and support.
ONE
Turning her head out of the spraying water she listened closely. Was that the phone? she wondered. She waited a second or two for a repeat of the sound, but all she could hear was the water rushing over her. Just as she re-entered the spraying water, she vaguely heard the ringing again. Oh great, the door bell, she concluded. She shut off the water flow, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself.
Irritating interruptions – why do they always seem to happen when one is busy? With no one in the house but herself, she knew it would be up to her to answer the door. Swearing to herself, she vowed to give the intruder a piece of her mind. Exiting the bathroom, she heard the repeated knocking on the door.
“I’m coming,” she yelled out to the unknown intruder.
To her satisfaction the annoying knocking stopped. With water-drenched hair and only a towel wrapped around her, she made her way to the door and forcefully grabbed the door handle as she readied herself to do battle. Unlocking the door and opening it wide, she stepped into the doorway not caring about the sight she would present to the intruder. She inwardly hoped that it would make the vile person, whoever they may be, feel guilty for interrupting her bath.
Her angry words died in her throat as she opened the door, for the doorway held no intruder. There was no one there on whom she could vent her frustration and anger. “Great,” she said outwardly to no one, “all that anger spent for naught.”
In the few moments it took for her to reach the door, the intruder had vanished into thin air. She scolded herself for yelling out moments earlier, thinking that this was the cause for the quick departure. She knew now that she would end up wondering, for the rest of the day, who was at the door. What was so important to this person that they would ring the bell at least three times, knock so persistently for so long and then vanish?
Her active imagination took over. Thinking all sorts of intriguing scenarios, she forgot that she was still standing there with only a bath towel around her and the door wide open. While lost in thought, a droplet of water hit her foot and her focus returned to the empty but open doorway. Immediately a blush reddened her cheeks, and she glanced in all directions to reassure herself that no one had witnessed her display. Satisfied that all was clear, she backed up into the room, reaching for the doorknob with her free hand. As the door was closing, she caught a glimpse of something on the steps outside the doorframe. Something was right in the middle of the step, just inches from her toes seconds ago – a package wrapped in brown mailing paper about the size of a shoebox. She stared at the address label and immediately, her body went numb with fear.
With eyes glued to the package--IT, she felt herself slowly, but deliberately retreating backwards into the room, subconsciously placing distance between IT and herself. The back of her leg hit the arm of the couch, and she gingerly sat down on it, placing her right hand next to her leg to keep from falling. She was thankful for the support it now provided to her shaking legs. Roughly six feet separated her and the package now, but in her mind, it was just inches away, growing larger and larger. Taunting her, laughing at her, it consumed her thoughts, appearing to fill the doorway.
***
A loud scream penetrated her thoughts. She suddenly realized that the scream was coming from her. As she struggled to regain her composure, she reached out with her right leg and caught the edge of the door with her toes. This action allowed her to nudge the door so that it slowly closed and hide the shoebox - sized package from her sight. With IT on the other side of the door, she took a deep breath. Pain filled her senses. She looked at her hands – the left one still gripped the towel around her, and the other was on the arm of the couch. Both were void of color. She slowly released the grip of her right hand, and the intense needle and pin sensation of the returning blood supply made her cry out again. Glancing at the arm of the couch, she knew that the impression from her right hand was now permanent.
Consciousness came back to her as quickly as being drenched in cold water. Water, she thought, she should be wet from her shower, but she was dry from head to toe. Even her long, brown hair was now dry to the touch with only some dampness at the roots. How long have I been sitting here? It had been over four years since her last experience of time lost. Two years of extensive therapy and untold amounts of money had cured her of this problem, or so she thought. Now, just the sight of one, plain, brown-wrapped package had caused her to relapse. All that effort, down the drain, she thought.
She knew IT was there. Like a living, breathing being, IT dominated her awareness. She sat there awhile trying to regain her composure, and finally with still-tingly hands, she managed to solidly secure the towel around herself. She rose slowly to a standing position, and found her legs rubbery causing her to place a hand on the wall to steady herself. As soon as her legs could support her, she walked further into the room away from the door and IT. She knew what she had to do.
***
TWO
Sami went directly to the phone, picked up the receiver and began to dial. She did not have to search for the number. Even after all these years, the number still was embedded into her soul. She mentally counted the rings. On the fourth ring, the line was answered.
“Five Point, Mrs. Mills,” the voice said.
She exhaled, not even knowing that she had been holding her breath. She smiled inwardly, just a little bit, relieved to hear a familiar voice answer. “Jan?” she anguished. “This is Sami Carter.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper. She silently prayed that Jan would also remember her.
“Sami, is that you? I can hardly hear you,” Jan responded, quietly, immediately adapting to the quiet tones she was receiving.
“Yes,” Sami choked, a little louder than before. “I need to talk to Jon.”
“Oh, Sami, Dr. Peterson retired eight months ago,” Jan’s voice was calm, but laced with concern.
It took a second or two for Jan’s words to penetrate Sami’s mind. Sami dropped in the chair next to the phone. A sinking feeling welded up inside her that was compelling her to draw into herself, shutting off the world.
Jan sensed what was happening on the other side of the line, and hurried on quickly. “Sami?” she asked softly. There was no response.
Jan’s twenty years of experience in answering the phone at the clinic had taught her how to handle these types of calls. “Sami, list
en to me. I know you are there. When Dr. Peterson retired, he turned over his patient's charts to Dr. Stevens. Dr. Stevens is a wonderful doctor who has had amazing results. Dr. Peterson personally handpicked him to care for his patients. Dr. Stevens is a great deal like Dr. Peterson, as they both share the same type of background. Sami, I know you will be comfortable with Dr. Stevens.”
Deliberately keeping her tone soft as she spoke, Jan searched the database for Sami’s file. Her search, however, yielded no records. Well, she thought; the file must have been archived. She would have to search the old paper files in the basement. Thanking her lucky stars for the Caller ID that had recently been installed, she quickly wrote down Sami’s number. Jan wondered if she should forward this call directly to Dr. Stevens now, but glancing at her watch, she knew he would be with his patient for at least five more minutes. She decided not to interrupt him, but yet she knew that she had to get Sami to actively respond before she could move on. She tried again.
“Sami?” Jan asked a little more forcefully, using what her own children called her ‘mother’ voice. There was still no response. Sami reacted only by pulling her feet up under her, staring blankly out into space.
Thinking back to the time Sami had been with the clinic, Jan conjured up a mental picture of her. She recalled that Sami was a beauty with long, brown hair and large, brown eyes; she could have been a model, for her tall frame was proportioned for that profession. Smiling, Jan remembered Sami had such a pleasing personality. She could always bring out the best of people that she encountered. Jan had been envious of Sami’s ability to make people love her. Sami had been the rainbow that had colored the clinic for quite a time. Jan knew it had been quite awhile since she had seen Sami, yet she would never forget Sami’s final day at the clinic.
Sami had been, what Jan remembered, a ‘three-dayer’, meaning she had three scheduled appointments a week. On her last day, Sami had played out a scene that she had never, in all her years here, witnessed before or since. Sami boldly stood before Dr. Peterson, and with imaginary scissors, made a quick snip of the air between them, signifying to all that were present, that she had literally cut the ties between herself and Dr. Peterson. She remembered the outburst of laughter and applause from all that witnessed that act. Remembering the scene made her more determined than ever to reach Sami. She knew that she had to find some task to occupy Sami’s time while she tried to locate the chart and talk to Dr. Stevens.
“Sami, I want you to do something for me,” Jan began. “I want you to get up and go make a cup of tea for yourself.” This seemed to be the most logical task for her to perform. Hearing a heavy sigh through the phone, she continued. “Good, Sami. Now, while you make your tea, I will go chat with Dr. Stevens. I have your number and will call you back as soon as I am done. Will you do this for me?” She was rewarded with a weak “yes” in response. Jan pushed a little harder. “Did you hear me?” The “yes” response this time was more focused and louder. “Okay.” she smiled. “I will call you back soon. So, hang up the phone and go get that tea, but come directly back to the phone when you are done.” As Jan spoke the last word, the line went dead.
***
THREE
Jan replaced the receiver on the hook, and stared at it for a second or two, thinking of Sami. She was used to this type of call, one with no formal ending. Those always were the calls that stayed with her for awhile. Jan smiled knowing, from previous experiences with patients, that Sami was following her directions. Rising from her seat, she set off in the direction of the basement. She had to find that file. Subconsciously, she placed the note with Sami’s number in her pocket. She had maybe a good ten minutes on her mental timer to find Sami’s records, talk to Dr. Stevens and phone Sami.
The medical profession had what was called ‘the golden hour’. After a crisis situation has been identified, sixty minutes were set aside for each patient to assure that proper care was started. Jan knew that she did not have the luxury of that much time in this case. As those thoughts filled her mind, her feet took flight.
Heading to the basement to search the archives, her thoughts were consuming her, wondering what had happened, after all these years, to make Sami fall off the proverbial wagon. She remembered Sami so well. Of all the patients that had passed through the doors of the clinic, Sami was one that had made an impression not only on her, but the rest of the staff as well due to her unique personality.
Even Dr. Peterson had liked Sami, though he had never actually said anything directly to her regarding any patient. It was the non-verbal things that he had done before Sami’s sessions – regrouping the chairs to a more favorable setting or always having on hand her favorite brand of tea or soda. Sometimes they would go outside, walking as they talked or sitting in the garden’s gazebo. He had never, to her knowledge, done this with another patient.
Jan’s thoughts went back to the first day that Sami had walked through the clinic doors. Sami had been referred to Dr. Peterson for reasons unknown to Jan. But she knew, from the look in Sami’s eyes on that day, that Sami was right where she was supposed to be. Sami had looked like a lost little kitten--unkempt, meek, scared – a downright pathetic creature. Sami’s demeanor had reminded Jan of a lost soul in need of a tender hand and an open heart.
Jan remembered her mothering instincts had taken control of her moves, as she first approached this little kitten. Sensing that this kitten was ready to flee at any moment made her cautious. She had showed Sami directly into one of the empty side offices out of the normal hustle and bustle of the clinic, and watched as Sami curled up on one of the nearby chairs. Sami was trying her best to make herself as small as her mind was making her believe her size to be.
Jan remembered grabbing a nearby knitted afghan and carefully covered this obviously troubled soul. As she covered her, Jan watched as Sami began to subconsciously rock back and forth, with smooth, even motions, as if someone was holding her tenderly. Jan suddenly remembered that Sami had never looked at her at any time. Sami’s eyes had been glued on some far off place that only she could see. The memory softened Jan’s heart a bit more.
Descending the stairs, Jan reached the basement. Her thoughts returned to the archived file. She had organized these files, and had been down here numerous times, so she knew where the ‘C’s’ were located. On finding the correct box, she removed the lid and thumbed through the files. She had a feeling that Sami’s file would be huge and easy to find. As she read each name on the tabs, the patient’s face would appear in her mind: G. Capper – C. Carter – V. Cooper. What, she thought, where is S. Carter? Sami’s file was missing!
Jan’s thoughts went racing. Maybe it has been misfiled. Checking C. Carter’s file, thinking it may have been marked incorrectly, she found it was not Sami’s. She grabbed the next box and quickly scanned the tabs. No, it was not there either. She checked the boxes again, but in her heart, she knew that the file was missing.
Jan prided herself on her organization skills and knew that further search would reveal nothing. She checked her watch and saw that her time was half-spent. Knowing that timing was everything, she decided she needed to reach Dr. Stevens. Belittling herself as she headed for the stairs for not being able to find Sami’s file, she knew there would be hell to pay for losing it.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she veered right in the direction of Dr. Stevens’ private study. She was thankful that he was not only in-house, but that he was now alone. Out of breath and with blood pumping in her ears, she knocked on his door before entering.
Dr. Mark Stevens was startled at the knock and the abrupt entrance of Mrs. Mills into his private space. In the past eight months at the clinic, she had never acted in such a bold manner. Her performance had been a bonus that he had not expected, but respected. Immediately, he was on the alert. He observed her obviously rattled state and knew that something was definitely wrong for her to break her trend.
“Dr. Stevens,” she started breathlessly, “we have a problem.”
“What’s up?” Mark asked impatiently, his senses at full charge.
Jan took a huge gulp of air and stood up, now a little less stressed. “I received a call about…” she checked her watch, “seven minutes ago from a former patient of Dr. Peterson.”
Mark squared his shoulders wondering if this was the reason for the uneasy feeling he’d had all day. When he had first entered his office this morning, he had felt odd, believing that something was going to occur today, something that would change his life forever. He had always trusted his instincts, for experience had taught him that they were seldom wrong. He believed that this was the reason his former mentor, Dr. Peterson, had brought him here to take care of his patients.