Chapter 5: Past the Garden Shed and Straight Ahead (J2, NC-17)

[lucifersprize]

Fic title: Past the Garden Shed and Straight Ahead
Artist name: amberdreams
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: past domestic abuse, sexual language, non explicit sex, cussing, Chad

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Three turns, a set of traffic lights, a side road and then a left up a long, private drive - Jared knew every inch of the ride to Beechwood Psychiatric Hospital. He tapped his fingers to the radio and rehearsed words in his head that he knew he wouldn’t say.

Inside the air was cool and the hallways were bright. Medical staff walked purposefully, with the squeak of rubber soles on a shiny floor. Jared stopped by the door to the dayroom to look at Gemma Padalecki, serene in a high backed chair, knitting a blue square. It was worth it, he thought. Their lives weren’t perfect but there were compensations and high days. They made it work.

Her whole face brightened when she saw him, and she stood up, straight backed and proud. It was a good day, Jared could tell.

Shush, she mimed with a finger to her lips and pointed outside. He followed her to admire the color and smell of blooms in Beechwood’s small sensory garden. She squeezed a spearmint leaf between her fingers and breathed in the scent and he copied her, nodding his approval.

“We had peppermint in our garden at home,” she said, “It was a lovely garden. You played in it and they laughed and smiled and played with you. Your daddy didn’t come out there. It was a good place for us.” Jared nodded, he had colorful memories of it, and had heard many stories from his mother. He liked to forget his father, with his black moods and quick fists, and encouraged his mom to talk about sunshine and pretty things.

She lowered her voice to a whisper and glanced around for staff, but nobody had followed them. The suspicion that surrounded her husband’s sudden death had faded in time. There was no proof that she was a danger to anybody but herself and her delusions marked her as quaint rather than dangerous. “They don’t like me to use the f* word. They give me medicine and it makes my head hazy and my hands shake. I’m knitting a blanket you see. Blue like borage flowers, for the homeless hostel. They love borage flowers, you see. We could always find them in the borage patch when the sun shined.”

She seemed surprisingly lucid.

“Did they reduce your meds?”

“I think so. I talk about soap operas and knit my blankets.”

He saw an opportunity, “Mom, they can’t hear us in the garden. I need to know some things.”

“They can always hear us in the garden, dear.”

“I mean your nurses.”

“Oh.”

“The one who helped us, the one you promised me to, was she from the borage patch?”

“Nurse Anderson helps me,” his mom answered brightly.

“No, I mean the…” he whispered, barely audible, “...the faerie who helped us.”

“You’re very confusing, Jared.”

Jared sighed, “I know.”

His mom frowned, she reached up to chuck his chin, “When did you get so tall?”

“I grew up, mom.”

“You did. What are you 6’2”? And look at those muscles!”

“I’m 6’4”, mom,” he said, infinitely patient with his mother, who had taken his father’s blows for him, had starved to feed him. and finally, in despair, had betrothed him to a faerie, to release them from a man who would surely kill them in the end.

“I forget, you see, and I think some things I want to forget … but you…” she shrugged, “I never forget my Jared. I get mixed up. It’s the price of it all, you see. I asked a faerie to reveal herself and it makes a person crazy. We are not supposed to see them, Jared. We are not supposed to mix.” She ran thin, calloused hands through brunette hair that had grayed in thin stripes and she chewed her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, broken and heartfelt.

“I’m doing good, mom. We’ll go inside and I’ll tell you about my week and you can show me your blanket.”

“It’s blue you see, like borage flowers, for the homeless hostel,” she repeated.

He put his hand around her waist and guided her back to the day room.  “I remember,” she added, “Borage, such bright blue eyes.”

He drew breath at that and paused their steps but when he tried to eke more from her she only spoke about her blanket. They played Monopoly and he talked and talked until suppertime, about the good things in his week - the raspberry torte Chris had offered him, shimmering raindrops on  roses, Chad’s silly pranks - anything to make her smile, though it was quickly forgotten.

Supper at Beechwood always smelt of boiled cabbage and institutions. His mom didn’t seem to mind, she dwelt in the memory of their garden where the air smelt of thyme. Jared hugged her tight, kissed her cheek and told her he would be back. She gripped him like she never wanted to let go, kissed his forehead and asked him the question she always did, “But what if she comes for you?”

He answered the same way he always had, “I will tell her that I must visit my mother and she will not deny me,” but inside his optimism shriveled with each telling. When his faerie came for him, he would surely be gone and the life he had built, destroyed in an instant.

Just as he turned to go, she clicked her fingers and smiled, “I remember,” she said, “Lemon Verbena, such bright green eyes.”

Nurse Anderson gave Jared a sympathetic look. “It’s okay, I’ve got her,” she said, “You go on now.”

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