Judith by M Teresa Clayton: Chapter Twenty-Five

JUDITH by M Teresa Clayton

Chapter Twenty-Five 

The mirror never sees itself. The reflection never is itself.

And since you know you cannot see yourself,

so well as by reflection, I, your glass,

will modestly discover to yourself,

that of yourself which you yet know not of.

-William Shakespeare 

“Miss Burton? This is Doctor Reynolds, he will be taking over your care now.” The nurse was new and I hadn’t paid much attention to her badge to get her name.

“How long has she been this way?” He asked.

“It’s been twelve years, Doctor.” She reported.

“Has she ever spoken or given any indication she understands?” He continued.

“Nothing, except the hairbrush, sir” She answered. “She becomes uncontrollably violent if someone touches the hairbrush.”

“Why is that? Does anyone know?” He stepped to the side of the bed and lifted my wrist to take my pulse.

“The reports stated that the apartment was a mess.” the nurse explained. “Two men in the kitchen were found dead and mutilated. The woman was covered in blood and the boyfriend had her blanket around him, tucked at his chin, holding a stuffed bunny.”

“What does that have to do with the hairbrush?” the doctor asked again.

“Miss Burton was covered in her own mother’s blood and from the looks of it – was responsible for her death. It was hard to tell for sure. The mother had cuts all over her hands and Miss Burton, here – well, she almost severed her own hand in the process. They found her singing some lullaby and brushing her mother’s matted hair. She wouldn’t let go of it when the paramedics got there and it has stayed with her all these years. Seems to be important to her; she is very protective of it.”

“She never confessed? Did the boyfriend give a statement?”

“No sir. I believe his name was Ross Truxton if memory serves me right. It was in all the papers. They say he died a week or so after… heart-attack or something.”

“And, they never found out what really happened?” The doctor placed his clipboard in it’s holder on the far wall.

He reached over as if he were going to pick up the brush and stopped short. Instead, he walked over without saying a word and knelt down so we were face to face.

He was handsome. Not your underwear model kind of handsome – but a clean-cut good ‘ol boy kind of good looking.

“Lily, my name is Dr. Reynolds, but I want you to call me Dr. George – okay? We can be friends.”

Shhh. Don’t say a word. Close your eyes and we’ll make him go away.

“I can help you if you’ll let me,” He continued.

You can help yourself to a hand-job Dock-tor! Jacking off is the safest bet; won’t cost you a thing, least of all your life.

“Yes, Doctor George. I’d like to be your friend.” My hushed voice seemed so detached. After so many years of silence, it feels strange to speak for the first time since that horrible night.

“I’ll do my best to help you Lily.” He smiled a beautiful smile and winked. “Would you like for me to brush your hair?”

“Please. And, if you don’t mind… would you please bring me a mirror?”

If I make the lashes dark

And the eyes more bright

And the lips more scarlet,

Or ask if all be right

From mirror after mirror,

No vanity’s displayed:

I’m looking for the face I had

Before the world was made.

-W.B. Yeats