For Rhuine Read online

  Copyright © 2014 AJ Summer

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please don’t participate in, or encourage piracy of copyrighted material in violation of the author’s rights. All the characters and storylines are the property of the author, and your support and respect is appreciated.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: SDJ – Wicked Inc. Creations

  Formatted and edited by: Megan Keith (Author of the AMAZING Eraser Series)

  LOVEBUG, this one is for you.

  Because LOVE is crazy ...

  Do not be afraid of the dark, for in the quiet, most shadowed corners of your mind, hide your most brilliant ideas. You just need to be brave enough to venture beyond the unknown.

  ~ DarkSanity

  Firstly, let me say how much fun Madi was to write. She has a mind of her own that is totally craz-E. And not just because most of her story plays off in a mental institution.

  She makes some insensitive jokes and refers to herself (and others) as a nutter, loony, and basket-case – a lot.

  I hope you enjoy Madi and Rhuine’s story, and see it as she sees it and not get offended. It was NEVER my intention to offend anyone. There are sensitive subjects discussed in For Rhuine, such as drug abuse, self-mutilation, anorexia and suicide. I do believe I handled those issues with respect. Please, if you feel that anything in this book is inappropriately handled feel free to chat to me about it. You can find my info on the last page.

  And last but definitely not least, if ever you feel that you are at the end of your rope and no one cares, please, PLEASE, tell someone about it. Not everybody out there is a selfish asshole. Someone will listen to you.

  Other than that all I can say is: Enjoy the book. For Rhuine is a paranormal short story. A first for me!

  Am I not insane,

  For craving a love without pain?

  Am I not wishful,

  For wanting you here, still?

  Am I not naïve,

  For believing that you are my reason to breathe?

  I can live my life without riches, finery and gold,

  But I cannot for one second, believe that your love has grown cold.

  Madness, chaos, broken dreams, I can watch my mind slip down that darkened slope,

  For in my heart, there’s a special feeling,

  A feeling called …

  HOPE.

  My name is Madeleine Saltz. Madi for short. I'm just a normal person. You wouldn't even look twice when you pass me on the street. On second thought, maybe you would. See, I'm crazy. And not just the woohoo-look-at-me-I’m-doing-the-chicken-dance, kind of crazy.

  The real crazy…

  I occupy the dainty little room, number 105, at Green Hill Mental institution.

  I have brown hair, blue eyes, and a splatter of freckles on my nose. Like I said, I'm normal, except for the crazy part.

  I was welcomed into this world in a storm of shooting stars. My Father use to tell me the story all the time when I was little. I use to cuddle up on his lap and he'd say: “Madi, it was so beautiful. The whole sky lit up with the shimmer of blazing light. And right there in the midst of it all, a tiny wail pierced the air and there you were. All pink and wrinkly, you were the prettiest little thing I ever saw.”

  And then there is, Rhuine.

  The boy with the black swirl tattoo's. Or my imaginary friend (as my psychologist likes to call him). The friggin’ love of my life.

  Whichever name he goes by, he is the other reason why I'm not quite as normal as I would like to believe.

  And here's why...

  “Urgh!” The groan of annoyance escapes my throat loudly and echoes around the small study hall. Nurse Theresa peeks up from her file where she is busy sorting out the medication roster. Her eyebrows raise in question.

  "It's just not working.” I huff my frustration, crumple another page and toss it into the small trash can next to my desk. It's already over flowing, and the excess twenty or so other pages that didn't work, littering the ugly plastic tile floor.

  “Maybe you should take a break. Take a walk or something,” Nurse Theresa chirps while she eyes me hopefully. Maybe she's tired of my constant whining.

  Damn this darn assignment and damn Dr-Pick-My-Brain for giving it to me. My psychologist, Dr Piqmabren, I know right, he's just begging for a tease, insisted on me doing this stupid assignment. I'm supposed to write down the events that led to my so called nervous breakdown a couple of months ago. I didn’t have a nervous breakdown. The only guy I ever loved disappeared! Just like that, without a trace or note. And then I woke up in a corn field three days later. I don't remember why Rhuine disappeared or why I woke up where I did. But no one believes me. And that led to the nervous breakdown I apparently had four days AFTER I was committed to Green Hill. They have their sequence of events all wrong.

  You’d think writing all that down would be easy, but it isn’t. I'm trying. I really am. But I'm not a writer and I just can't seem to get it quite right. No words will ever be able to describe Rhuine. Those words don't even exist yet. Some divine goddess of all things sexy and forbidden must create them first.

  I suck in a deep breath and grab my phone. Maybe I should go outside for a while. Get some air into my suffocating brain.

  “I'm going outside,” I call to Nurse Theresa, who jumps in her seat.

  I walk slowly across the room. I hate the squeaky sounds my sneakers make on the floor when I place my step wrong.

  “Sure,” Nurse Theresa calls after me. She doesn't sound so sure. She suggested I take a break, what's her problem now? But then she waves me along with an impatient flap of her hand like she can’t stand my freckled face for a second longer. And they say I have mood swings!

  The halls are empty but I can hear the other patients through some of the open doors. Most are laughing and talking, others are reading. We are pretty much free to do whatever we like on a Saturday night - except leave, of course, or start a riot. Imagine that, a bunch of loonies throwing their stuff around. I would love to see Nurse Theresa scurry around on her pudgy legs and overgrown bosom trying to calm us down.

  I freaked out a lot when I first came here, almost started a riot myself, mostly because no one would believe me when I said I didn't have a nervous breakdown. I didn't wander off into God knows where because I was feeling mental! I can't remember why I did it, but I'm sure it involved Rhuine. And as soon as I mentioned him, all hell broke loose. Because no one has ever seen Rhuine, and Rhuine wasn't there to back me up, so I must've lost my mind. They locked me up, and I made it worse by trying to kill myself. They wouldn't let me leave and I just wanted to find Rhuine!

  When you are labeled crazy, people tend not to believe you, even the people who are ten times more zonked out of their minds. I mean, hello! We are all crazy here. Believe me, damnit! Your story might even be worse, but at least I’ll try to believe you. You can tell me that you flew to the moon on a golden sea horse to visit the sandman, and I'm sure I’ll believe you. Does that make me naïve? No. I know how it feels to be called a liar. A crazy, imaginary friend creating, liar.

  A short blonde pulls on the front door and I pause to let her enter first. She gives me a hesitant smile, with just a flicker of eye contact, before she quickly slips past. I shake my head slightly. I have a reputation here, I'm the unpredictable girl. The one who tried to kill herself because of her imaginary friend. And then I had to go make it worse by adding - the one with the temper, to it.

  There’s this guy here, Joey. A meth head that robbed a toy store, w
ith a toy gun. Why? He has no idea. The day before Joey arrived, Green Hill was buzzing with talk. People here like to gossip just as much as everywhere else. They were all talking about the guy who tried to rob a toy store. He was harmless, armed with a toy gun, but the police didn’t know that. Joey was shot, he died in the ambulance, but somehow the EMT's brought him back. The judge sent Joey to Green Hill for an evaluation, to see if his memory of the robbery would return. So far it hasn’t happened yet. Joey is the reason for the addition to my long list of crazy names.

  I was having one of those days, when Joey arrived. The type of day where my brain couldn't process what was happening and I ended up trying to kill myself. At least I wasn’t running around with a pair scissors cutting up the first person I saw. That would’ve been really bad.

  As Luke and Nurse Theresa, along with some other emergency attendants, wheeled me off to the North Wing (that's where they keep the dangerous patients of Green Hill) I caught a glimpse of the new guy. Maybe it was just bad timing, or maybe the lack of blood to my brain made me see things again, but I was so sure Joey was Rhuine. Even though everything was different about him. His hair, his eyes, even his voice as he spoke to one of the other patients. There was no way he was Rhuine, but I had this draw to him that I couldn’t explain. The EMT’s forgot to strap me in, and I was off the gurney in a flash and at Joey’s side. His eyes went wide with fear and he watched me carefully. I must’ve made him feel really welcome at that moment, but poor Joey just stood there. Watching me, like I was the craziest and most interesting thing he’d ever seen. He had the most beautiful eyes, a dark amber, they looked almost liquid in the fluorescent lights. I should’ve realized then that he wasn’t Rhuine. Rhuine’s eyes were the color of a stormy sky, when they weren’t glowing, of course. Then they were the color of Tanzanite, shining with the sparkle of a million falling stars. That doesn’t sound possible right? Maybe even a little unreal? That’s because nothing about Rhuine or the things he could do, was ordinary, average or even human.

  When Luke tried to get me back on the gurney, I fought like a woman possessed. I wasn’t going to give up so easily, even if knew I was just having another episode of crazy, hopeful thinking. Nurse Theresa ended up getting three stitches to her thumb, apparently I pushed her and she fell…on top of a vase. Who falls on top of a vase? And that’s how I got the extra name - the girl with the temper and the uneasy looks I still get. The other patients even named an episode after me. They call it “Madi crazy”. Every time someone does something really stupid, they now call it: “She had a case of the Madi’s.” I’m pretty sure it was Joey who started that. But Joey and I are cool now. I’d go so far as to call us friends.

  Even before I came to Green Hill, I was always a little too much for my parents to handle. After the night of my twenty-first birthday, my mother had me committed. It seemed like such an easy choice for her to make. Oh, my daughter wandered off because of a guy I've never met? She must be crazy! Mom couldn’t handle that I was found in a field, after being missing for three days, and didn’t remember how it happened. So instead of administering some motherly love, she stuck me in a mental institution. No need for dear old Mom to get her hands dirty. Let the professionals help me. I'll get to socialize with other crazies, like the blonde who just passed me. She's a cutter. She turns to physical pain because it’s easier to handle than the emotional kind. I get that, emotional pain prolongs the suffering. It's a turmoil that no amount of medicine can ever truly take away. It's good that the blonde is at Green Hill, maybe she'll get better now. This is her chance at a different ending to her life. A better ending. One not involving her bleeding out on the bathroom floor. She deserves that. We all do.

  This is my chance at a better ending too. I'm finishing my treatment, doing my time and doing absolutely average at it. I'm a average kind of person, with average goals, like finishing school, get a job, be able to afford a car one day. And getting out of this place. Maybe get a place of my own, stuff like that. Average expectations. At least I'm not fooling myself into believing I can be a rocket scientist. I'm depressed not high.

  The minute I step outside, that mangy cat, Ranga, is rubbing up and down on my legs. I think he's a boy because he’s always flirting with me. I never see him rub against anybody else though. He is damn picky with his affections, for a stray. And a big attention whore.

  “Heya, Ranga,” I coo as I bend down to scratch behind his ear.

  The stupid orange cat hisses at me and I push him away with my foot. Damn thing probably has rabies. At the very least, he has a major attitude problem. Ranga trots off like he wasn't just the biggest cat asshole to roam the earth. Probably the bloody oldest cat asshole as well. Ranga showed up a few weeks after my dad moved to another town for work. My mom kept yelling at me to stop feeding him and he'll go away. My mom didn't allow pets. She didn't like their mess and me being a seven year old at the time, well, I wasn't looking for that kind of commitment either. So instead I threw a few pieces of bread through my bedroom window every night. Ranga, the orange cat, kept coming back. I had a friend in Ranga, I was happy. But Ranga was the he-can-touch-but-I-can't-feel type. He would rub himself against my legs but as soon as I would try to touch him, he would hiss at me. Crazy cat. Our friendship is very one sided. One involving me giving and him taking.

  I didn't bring Ranga with me to Green Hill. But after a couple of nights, there he was, just purring on my window sill. I don't know how he found me, but I guess like me, Ranga makes his home wherever he’s allowed. Not that I want to be at Green Hill, but it’s what’s best for me right now. I want to get better. I want to remember what happened the night of my twenty-first birthday. The night Rhuine disappeared.

  The breeze is chilly outside and I huddle deeper into my oversized black coat. I'm not sure where I'm going, but as soon as I lay eyes on the bench across the narrow drive that leads off the grounds from Green Hill, I know. That bench is my destination.

  I plonk myself down and watch the lonely blue car drive slowly down the driveway. The sun is just kissing the skyline goodbye when the car finally disappears through the big, ivy covered, iron gate. Well, that's enough people or object watching for one day I'd say. Another one of Dr-Pick-My-Brain's brilliant pieces of advice at getting this assignment done. Watch more people, see how they interact. You might learn something for your writing. I haven't learnt anything. Besides, I think the only reason he wants me to watch other people is so I can see how they act. Maybe it’s his messed up way of telling me I need an attitude adjustment. I don’t need an attitude adjustment. I like myself just the way I am, thank you very much. Well, at least most of the time anyway. I rub my hands vigorously against each other. My fingertips have gone pink from the cold.

  I retrieve my phone from my pocket and open the digital copy of the little document I was fiddling with inside.

  WHEN I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you,” the boy on the top rafter of my bedroom ceiling called.

  I stuck my tongue out at him and pulled an ugly face. I don't like the boy with the funny paint on his face. He looks like the Indian's with their scary faces on the TV before they cut people's hair off. Daddy said it’s called scalping. The boy should wash his dirty face and not tell me what to do. And his eyes scare me. They’re a funny color. I don't like him looking at me.

  I continued pulling my little brother’s truck apart, hiding his wheels under my mattress. My little brother makes me angry, too. He is always sitting by Mommy. He gets all the hugs now that Daddy is working far away. Mommy doesn't get time to play with me anymore.

  TEN YEARS OLD

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you,” the boy on the top rafter of my bedroom ceiling called.

  “Shhhhh!”

  “What?” Melody, my best friend, and Suzy, the quiet girl from my class, said together.

  Melody stopped coloring in Suzy’s blonde hair and looked at me like I’m being silly. I glared from her to the boy. Melody look
ed up at the boy and back at me.

  “What’s wrong Madi?” she asked.

  “Didn't you hear him?”

  “Who?” she asked, looking back to the little boy again. She was looking right at him. His black painted face was laughing at me.

  “Him.” I stabbed a pointy finger at the boy.

  “That's not funny. There's no one there,” Suzy said, standing up and clutching her green and pink colored hair. Her mommy is going to be so angry with her. She didn’t want to do it, but Mel and I made her. We told her she’d look pretty.

  “He’s right there!” I shouted, stomping my foot and pointing my finger in his direction again and again.

  He laughed louder. He liked to laugh at me. I didn't think it was funny.

  “You're scaring me. I want to go home,” Suzy cried. Her bottom lip trembled and she ran to my bedroom door. Melody looked at Suzy and then to the little boy who was still laughing. She pulled her shoulders up.