Suicide // Haylor AU

Chapter 25

MONDAY, APRIL 1
6 days left

When school gets out, I call the number Jacob left for me on the voice mail. I called it once on Sunday after I dropped off Harry, but no one picked up and I couldn't muster the courage to leave a message.
I curl up in the front seat of my car and press the phone to my ear. It rings a couple of times and then a glassy voice answers. "Saint Anne's Behavioral Health Hospital, this is Tara. How may I help you?"
I swallow. "Uh, hi, Tara. My name is Taylor Swift. I'm Connor Swift's daughter. I was told he was transferred from McGreavy Correctional Facility to Saint Anne's and . . ." The words are tumbling out of my mouth quicker than I mean them to, but I'm scared that if I don't spit out everything, she's going to hang up and I'll lose my chance of ever finding my dad.
"I see." Her voice is clipped. "Are you a minor?"
"What?"
"Are you under nineteen years old?"
I contemplate lying. "Why does it matter?"
"I'm not authorized to give any information regarding patients to minors. I'm also not authorized to give out any sensitive information over the phone."
"But . . ." I bite down on my lower lip. "What am I supposed to do? I really want to see my dad."
I hear her sigh. "If your father is a patient here, which I'm legally not allowed to confirm, you would need to have your guardian call us to set up a visit. Depending on the state of the patient, a visit may or may not be possible."
"You can't give me any more information than that? Not even a hint that my dad's there?"
"I think it would be a good idea to talk with your mother about arranging a visit here." Another sigh. "This is the number she should call."
A small smile creeps across my face. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Have a good day." The phone clicks off.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and push my car seat down so I can lie flat on my back. The sun is peeking out from behind the clouds and it splashes against my face. I need to talk to Mom about Dad.
I imagine visiting him. I wonder if he'll be in white scrubs. Or worse, in chains. I squint and try to picture his face, but all I can see is the man I remember. The man who would never have beaten a boy to death with a baseball bat. Maybe we all have darkness inside of us and some of us are better at dealing with it than others.
What my dad did was wrong, awful, inexcusable, but maybe there's still hope for him. Maybe if he can get the help he needs, they'll be able to resurrect the man who taught me about Bach's toccata and slept in the chair in my room when I was afraid of the dark.
And if there's still hope for my dad, there has to still be hope for me. Maybe it's true that he and I have the same black slug inside of us, but it's up to me to conquer it. I owe that to my dad. I owe that to myself.
I adjust the car seat back to its normal position and put the key in the ignition. I need to talk to Mom. As I pull out of the school parking lot, I make a promise to myself: I will be stronger than my sadness.

I will do my best to become the girl from  Harry's drawing. The girl with the bright eyes. The girl with hope.