The Detox Journals of Exodus, A.E Michael [classic books to read txt] 📗

just begun to rise as a blood curdling scream rang through the unit. My eyes shot open and I jumped from my bed, running out to the hall. The other patients in my unit were already peering around their doorjambs, down the hall at Mrs. Richards who stood before Bridget’s room.
She turned her head down the hall as if to acknowledge how loud she had screamed. Noticing the spectacle she had caused, she now stood tall and spoke sharply.
“Everyone in your room! Now!”
I returned to my room, not wanting to further the trouble I was already in.
Greeted by my roommates, they asked me what had happened.
“I dunno,” I said almost coyly, with a shrug of my shoulders.
I sat by my window and watched the sun rise through the metal gate. I was being honest, I didn’t know what had happened, although as I sat, my brain wouldn’t stop racing through the worst case scenarios.
After a few minutes had passed, I saw from my window, an ambulance approach my unit, speeding steadily across the fall colored campus. It pulled directly in front. EMTs rushed out of the van and into the building.
Watching the van as though a ticking bomb were inside, it felt like hours before anyone came back out of the building. Eventually the EMTs appeared, rolling a stretcher with a body on top. The body was covered head to toe by a white sheet except for one section at the end, where a foot, covered by a slipper, stuck out, displaying one, embroidered rose.
I gasped, covering my mouth. At that same moment a knock sounded at my door. Looking around, all my roommates had fallen back asleep. I walked over and opened it. ` Standing in front of me was one of the Residential Advisors, a young girl pursuing an internship through Boston University.
“Mrs. Richards needs to see you immediately,” she said in a self sufficient tone.
I followed her down to the Nurse’s station that was attached to Mrs. Richards’ office. The RA knocked on her door.
“Come in,” I could hear Mrs. Richards’ voice shout through the door.
The RA opened it, signaling me to enter. As the room consumed me, I first noticed Old Africa sitting in the corner, his sleep deprived eyes staring blankly into space.
I turned my attention to Mrs. Richards, sitting at her desk, on the phone, with a confused look on her face.
“She had no emergency contact? What about family?” She bit her bottom lip before responding, “None listed?” Looking up at me, she spoke into the receiver. “Okay, listen, something just came up, I’ll call you back.”
She hung up the head set and looked up at me curiously.
Mrs. Richards was squirrelly, with brown curly hair and a high jaw line. She also wore funky colored, plastic rimmed glasses, probably picked out on the rack of reading frames at her local drug store.
“Please, sit down Asher,” she said, motioning to the open chair across from her.
I obliged. After watching me carefully she took a deep breath and started to speak.
“So, it would seem that we had a little incident last night.”
“Mrs. Richards I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry you’re not in trouble. Unfortunately, Mrs. Gilmore, the lady you were serenading, passed in her sleep last night,” she said before adding as if she had almost forgotten, “of inconclusive reasons.”
“I don’t know anyth…”
“How do you feel, are the medications helping you?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, thanks for asking,” I said quietly, not sure if she were luring me into some sort of trap. I looked down at my feet.
We sat in silence as Mrs. Richards continued to look me over, as if trying to unravel a deeply riddled philosophy.
“Anyway, it seems as though Mrs. Gilmore left a note,” she said while opening a folder on her desk and lifting a folded piece of paper, waving it in the air as she spoke.
“Now, normally these things are confidential, but the second half seems to be written… to you.”
I looked up from my feet and felt my head spin.
“Me?” I asked
“That’s what is says.”
Without hesitation, Mrs. Richards walked around from her desk and handed me the letter.
“Here you go, now get some rest sweetie, you look awful.”
I stuck the letter in my pocket and returned to my room. Stepping back through the door I felt as though the past night had been a surreal dream. I sighed, sitting quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping patients. I stuck my hand in my pocket, and pulled out Mrs. Gilmore’s letter. As I did so, the crumpled photograph of her son came out with it and fell to the floor. I hadn’t even realized, until now, that I had never returned it. I picked it up off the floor and placed it next to me on the bed.
I unfolded the letter, and read.
Asher,
When Jacob, son of Isaac, was lying on his death bed, he blessed each one of his twelve sons, and Asher’s went as such.
“From Asher shall come the richest foods; he shall provide the king's delights”
Genesis 49:20
I always knew I would see you again.
Imprint

Text: All text and image cover by A.E Michael and is had copyright ownership.
Publication Date: 03-29-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To Darby. Who gave his life and memory to this story.