I worked at a mental health hospital as a nurse for many years, fourteen. I could tell a lot of stories, good and bad. Mostly bad. But I’m here tell you the story that most sticks out to me.
At this hospital, we accepted people with past criminal histories with the goal to rehabilitate. So, naturally, I was surprised to see a little twelve year old boy sitting alone at the cafeteria. I struck up a conversation with him mostly out of curiosity. He said his name was James, but he didn’t state anything about why he was in here. I didn’t ask, because that isn’t the sort of thing you ask in a psychiatric hospital,especially a twelve year old.
He was maturer than most of our patients, very respectful and generally happy. He slowly became my little buddy. He had jet black hair, pond green eyes, and freckles dusted across his nose. Just like a regular twelve year old.
After the weeks I’ve talked with James, he’s never mentioned his family, or the reason he resides here. Which isn’t odd, I should say. It’s just… interesting.
As I’ve said before, I have been a nurse for fourteen years here, and some patients slowly erase themselves for my memory, but I’ll never forget this interaction. At lunch one day, he mentioned he wanted permission to leave the hospital with an escort.
“Where are you going to go?” I ask. Maybe to visit family? I wanted to know.
“To my parents graves,” he said sadly. “I never go to say goodbye to them, because I was put in here.”
My heart hurt. I felt for James, as I lost one parent at a young age. What a horrific thing to deal with so young. I wished him luck with getting permission.
A couple of days later, after he had gotten permission to leave, and had went, I asked him how it was, and was going to offer my story of how I dealt with my father’s passing at fifteen.
“Oh it was terrible,” James said with a steady voice. His eyes narrowed a bit and he leaned close, out of character for him. I felt a shiver down my spine.
“I almost wish I hadn’t killed them.”
My smile dropped. I wanted to run away, but I sat frozen. I wanted to vomit.
“Sometimes I can still hear them screaming .”
That night I got home and I cried. Big blubbering tears. Usually I was strong but this one broke me. I hugged my husband. I felt like I couldn’t sleep, I kept seeing his haunting green eyes . He would’ve been like every other twelve year old if I hadn’t have known. For one terrible moment, I wondered how he had done it. An axe? Poison? A knife to their throat?This hurt my soul, and I didn’t want to go back to James. I don’t want to see him ever again.
When I finally fell asleep on the couch, with the TV blaring. I thought was safe. But I had dreams. Bad ones. That I still have to this day.
Where I am the one screaming.
James never showed up to lunch again, but I still see him sometimes. In a dark corner, in the children crossing the street, everywhere.
I believe that he will show up one day, and he’ll come for me. With his jet black hair, now as dark as his eyes.