Overcomer - The Journey by Judy Colella (novels to improve english .txt) 📖

her eyes, she stood up and left the office. Josiah didn’t follow, although he did hope she wasn’t going to do anything upsetting, like quit. A few minutes later, however, she was back, and the look on her face made him hope he wasn’t the source of what he saw there.

“I just spoke to Cian.”

He relaxed. “About the tape?”

“Yes. About the tape. When I told him you and I had listened to some of it, I thought he was going to lose it. But I had to know exactly what happened, so after I promised him he’d never have to hear that abominable filth again, I asked him how often and for how long he’d been forced to listen to it.” She took a deep breath and sat.

“Do you need a glass of water?”

“No. I need a stiff drink, Josiah. A real stiff drink. He said he’d had to hear that thing nearly every day for the past two years. He – I don’t know where he got the courage to even tell me this – he said the first time she made him listen, she’d made him sit on that mattress. He said she’d tied his hands in front of him, looped the rope around an open jar of sulfuric acid she’d put on the window sill, and tied the other end to the window crank.” She stopped, scowling.

Something told him not to push her, to wait, and a minute later she continued.

“That woman made him sit like that for nearly three whole days, Josiah – told him that if he moved, he’d knock the jar down and that acid would fall on him and eat away his… well, you know what sulfuric acid does.”

“And he had to listen to the tape the whole time?”

“He did. Apparently she had it on a loop so it kept repeating. He says his foster brother and sister made tapes, too, and he had to listen to them from time to time as well.” She uttered an ugly phrase Josiah would never have expected her to use.

“All right, look. I’m going make an appointment at the clinic for him to have a check-up today. I’ll see if I can get him in within the hour and take him myself. Have him ready in about fifteen minutes. You’re welcome to come with us.”

“No, I’ll stay here, if it’s all the same.” Miss Markwood sat back, closing her eyes for a few moments, then got up. “Come by my office when you’re ready to leave. I’ll explain to him what’s going to happen, and make arrangements for housing for the night.” She turned back at the door. “Thanks, Josiah. This was a good save.”

“I’m just glad we found him in time.”

She smiled and went out, and Josiah picked up the phone.

 

*******

 

“Are you ready to go, Cian?”

He got up and followed Mr. Bell out of the office, overwhelmed yet again. For six years, his entire world had existed within a house with dirty windows and no mirrors. The basement, backyard, and when cleaning or repairs were needed, the upper floors. Nothing else. Nowhere else. Now, in a single day, he’d been in a car, a restaurant, out on a busy city street, in an office. And Mr. Bell was taking him somewhere else.

Felicity had told him the clinic was only a couple of doors down, so he and Mr. Bell would be walking. So… more new things to see. He’d seen his reflection. Sufficient for him. Not enough for them – he needed to see a doctor, too. Why? Miss Markwood had said something about why, but weariness had deafened his comprehension.

As they left the office building, Cian stuttered and stammered at Mr. Bell to say that he had only seen one other doctor, that he had been a kind man.

“I’m relieved to hear that, Cian. The last thing I want is to take you somewhere that will upset you.”

Getting to the clinic took only a few minutes, but Cian, embraced by fresh air, was reluctant to go inside. The day was soft, warm, fragrant. The perfect accompaniment to spring’s pastels and new leaves, trees surrounded by flowers, the city’s tidy landscaping. He was reluctant, but had learned obedience.

White-walled and cool, the clinic’s interior was pleasant enough. They had entered a room with soft, powder blue carpet, white wicker chairs and sofas with blue-and-rose-patterned chintz cushions, recessed lighting and white shutters on the windows. A sad memory intruded: a house, decorated in similar, luxurious comfort, owned by two wonderful... he shut the memory out with a quick shake of his head, unable to think about that right then.

Mr. Bell had gone to a counter on the other side of the room behind which sat a woman in light blue. He spoke with her for a few moments. When he was heading back, Cian stared at her, curious, but she gasped, causing him to look away in alarm. His first thought was his default - that he was ugly, and the poor woman was horrified. As Mr. Bell sat beside him, Cian ducked his head and buried his gaze in the floor.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Bell murmured out of the side of his mouth.

“She – I-I-I’m upsetting her...”

“Who? The receptionist? You don’t get it, do you. She’s looking at you like that because quite frankly, kid, you’re what they call ‘drop-dead gorgeous.’ In a masculine way, of course.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to think about the “drop dead” part, but it hadn’t sounded like a bad thing the way Mr. Bell said it. He looked up again, but wouldn’t meet the woman’s continued stare. “Th-this is, um, embar-barassing,” he whispered.

“You’d better learn to deal with it, son. It’ll be happening a lot.”

Cian closed his eyes, muttered a word in the language he’d brought with him from that other place, the long ago place in dreams that weren’t dreams. Memories. Too many memories.

“What did you say?”

“I said... oh. S-sorry. That w-was Ga-Gaelic. It meant s-som- something like ‘d-damn’ in this lan-language.”

“How on earth have you remembered your native tongue after all these years?”

“You know w-where I’m fr-fr-from?”

Before Mr. Bell could answer, someone called, “Cian MacDara? Please come this way.”

Standing beside the woman seated at the counter, a middle-aged woman pointed at a door to their left, not looking at them, but at something in her hands.

“Let’s go.” Mr. Bell stood, nodding for Cian to go first.

On the other side of the door, the woman asked how they were doing, but she was still staring down at what Cian recognized from the hospital as a chart. They had entered a narrow hallway with doors on either side. The woman stopped three quarters of the way down, opened a door on their left, and turned, looking up. Her eyes widened, her smile becoming a gape, and she blushed.

Why do they look at me like that? He slid past her, disconcerted, almost fearful.

Once they were in the room, the woman, who had followed them inside, continued to stare at Cian, silent.

Mr. Bell cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?”

“Huh?”

He shook his head and sat on the only chair in the room.

“Uh, uh, Mr. Uh – ˝ She looked down at the chart. “Mr. MacDara, is it? Um, please remove your, well, everything except your underwear - ” Her blush got deeper. “There’s a hospital robe on the table; it closes in the back.” She gave him a horrifying grin and went out, the squeak of her shoes describing a rapid dash down the hall.

“What w-w-was wrong w-w-with her?”

Mr. Bell shook his head, smiling. “If you ever figure out what you have… listen, it’s nothing you need to worry about right now, okay?’

He nodded. “Um, wh-why do I hav-ave to get un-undressed?”

“So the doctor can give you a physical examination. He’ll be checking your heartbeat, your lungs, ears, eyes, that sort of thing. Believe me, it’s completely normal – pretty much everyone does this at least once a year and many problems are caught early and cured because of it.”

“Oh.” Cian didn’t understand, but he accepted it and pulled off his T-shirt, turning away from Mr. Bell to pick up the robe draped across the end of the table.

 

********

 

Josiah was still trying to get over the reactions he’d been witnessing from both young girls and older women – that nurse who had just left couldn’t have been less than forty – so it took a few seconds for his mind acknowledge what his eyes were seeing.

Over the years, Josiah had seen many youngsters who had been physically abused – he’d witnessed deep bruising, bloody abrasions, cigarette burns – but nothing, absolutely nothing like what he found himself staring at in mounting horror. Cian’s back, sides and arms were a crisscrossing mass of long, red scars, some of which had had to have been deep. Others were fainter, either because they were much older or because they hadn’t been as deep. There wasn’t an inch of his back that hadn’t been damaged, not a single patch of untouched skin.

Underlying this grotesque tapestry, a series of roundish, fading black-and-blue marks, each the size of a large fist, were visible. Many of these had started to turn yellow and purple, indicating the boy had been struck at different times in the recent past.

Holding up the examination robe, Cian turned to face him, revealing more of the scabbed bruises all over his chest, arms, and abdomen. “H-how do I p-put th-th-this on?” he asked, staring at the shoulder snaps and strings, scowling.

Josiah raised his eyes from the boy’s torso. “How in the world did you survive?” he asked, thankful that Felicity wasn’t here to see this.

“I d-don’t underst-stand - ?”

Josiah felt gut-punched. “Here – let me help you with that.” He got up and covered the scars with the robe, pulling it shut and tying it for him in the back while trying not to look at what was under his hands. “Don’t forget to take off your jeans.”

Cian complied, pulling off his worn-out shoes and socks, too. Then he sat on the edge of the table, regarding the man through a frown. A few minutes later, he said, “Is-is it the-the scars? I’ve ne-ne-never s-s-s-een them mu-myself, of c-c-ourse, bu-but I’ve s-s-seen some of-of the ones on the b-backs of m-my arms and s-sides, and I ca-can guess, uh, wha-what my ba-back mu-must loo-look like.”

Josiah nodded, not trusting his voice. He’d never seen anything so awful, and felt himself close to tears. What strength the boy must have! And to get through it all without turning into some kind of psycho –

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” A round-faced man had come into the room. “I’m Dr. Wallace Overton.” He glanced down at a chart he was holding, looked up, and nodded at Mr. Bell with a smile. When he turned to Cian, the smile twitched. “I believe you’re the patient?”

Cian nodded.

“Good. Let’s see how healthy you are, shall we?” He placed the chart on the counter near the door and told Cian to sit up on the padded examination table. Unlooping the stethoscope from around his neck, he put the plugs into his ears and pressed it against the boy’s chest.

Cian flinched.

“Is it cold? Sorry about that. Okay – take a nice, deep breath, and release it slowly. Then repeat that about three times for me, okay?”

Everything went well until Dr. Overton said he wanted to listen to Cian’s lungs from the other side and untied the back of the robe. He took a quick step back from the table. “What in holy hell!!??”

“Didn’t my assistant give you his background?” asked Josiah, alarmed; the doctor’s loud reaction could have caused an even more violent reaction from his patient. Cian, however, sat quiet, head bowed.

“Y-yes, but she never said anything about this, or explained how extreme it was!”

“That’s because she didn’t know. In fact, I didn’t know either until a few minutes ago. Sorry.”

Overton shook his head and returned his attention to Cian. “We’re going to