The Forsaken

Chapter Twelve - Living Without

“I am not crazy.” Gwen explains in a flat tone to the grey-haired, horn-rimmed-glasses-wearing psychiatrist sitting patiently in the leather armchair across from her.

“No one’s saying that, we’re just trying to discover the root of this delusion you have that you’re not human,” Doctor Monroe replies as he scribbles a quick note in his ledger.

“I’m not. It’s no delusion, it’s a fact.” Gwen sighs in exasperation, trying to keep her hands folded calmly in her lap and sit erect on the green-plaid loveseat, ordained as the psychiatrists’ couch.

Mrs. Shoemaker from child services has brought Gwen from New York City to Scranton, Pennsylvania--a flourishing city with an old-world charm about it, nestled at the foot of the Poconos Mountains. Her escort had dropped her off here at the group home, handing her over to the care of Deanna Fairbanks, Social Worker.

After a quick interview with Miss Fairbanks, Gwen had been shown to a spare solitary room in the home to spend the night. This morning she was shown to the cafeteria and allowed to eat breakfast with the other children, all the while under the watchful eye of an attendant. Gwen did not enjoy her breakfast, since eating in loud public places reminds her of St. Paul’s. She instantly lost her appetite. She received several curious and hostile glances from the other delinquent children, but thankfully, no one approached her.

After breakfast, the attendant (or, as she prefers to think of him, the prison guard), a tall bulky Samoan named Tuapo, escorts her here to Dr. Gregory Monroe’s office for her psychiatric analysis. So far, the interview with the Doctor is not going well. She has already lost her temper twice, raising her voice and shooting indignantly to her feet upon hearing the remarks the police officers back in New York had written in their report in regards to her. Both times the Doctor threatens to have Tuapo, who waits just outside the door, come in and restrain her if she doesn’t settle down and behave herself. So now Gwen forces herself to stay calm and behave like a good little girl, just to get through this ridiculous appointment.

“And when did you first start believing you were a Witch?” Gwen tries not to sneer at him and his emphases on the word “believe.” He’s just a Doctor after all. People like him don’t believe in the supernatural or the unexplained, Gwen reminds herself.

“I’ve pretty much always known that I was different but I found out for sure I was Wiccan back in New York a couple years ago.”

“I see, and what happened at that time to make you certain of this?” the Doctor’s condescending tone sends a jolt of lighting up Gwen’s spine, but she holds back the urge to smack his dorky glasses right off his face.

“Raven and I were attacked by a family of Witches.”

“A whole family… of Witches? Really?” He makes a priceless little expression as he looks down his nose at his notes and writes his thoughts. “Why do you assume they were Witches?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe it was the fact that they said they were, or the balls of fire they shot from their hands, or maybe the appearing out of thin air that what did it,” Gwen answers sarcastically.

“Don’t talk to me that way, young lady,” Dr. Monroe chastises, making yet another note in his book.

“Sorry,” Gwen says flatly.

“If these people were in fact Witches and attacked you with fire balls”--the Doctor raises his eyebrows at this--“then how did you and this Adam escape them?” 

“You mean Raven,” Gwen corrects.

“Adam Mathews is the young man that took you away from the Orphanage. I have no record of a Raven.”