Henry Franks A Novel - By Peter Adam Salomon Page 0,37
have blanketed Glynn County with the sketch of a woman who appears to be in her late 40’s or early 50’s with cloth bandages covering her hair. A Caucasian female with partially healed scratches on her face, wearing ratty clothes; she is estimated to weigh about 130 pounds.
According to Suarez, she didn’t say a word as she clubbed him with her fists and a length of pipe, and police have been advised that she appears to be highly dangerous but unarmed.
“She spit at me, no tongue or something; couldn’t understand a word she said,” Suarez said through an intermediary from his room at Memorial Hospital.
“At this time, despite the injuries sustained by Mr. Suarez, we are still unable to tie this particular attack to any of the previous incidents that have happened here in Glynn County over the past few months,” said Major Johnson. “We are dedicating all of our resources into locating the alleged suspect and resolving this matter.”
Margaret Saville, PhD
St. Simons Island, Glynn County, GA
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Patient: Henry Franks
(DOB: November 19, 1992)
“How’s school?” Dr. Saville asked, her pen tapping against the pad.
Henry looked out the window trying to follow the path to its end. Behind a scruffy palm tree, a brief glimpse of ocean. Heat warped the air, distorting his vision.
“Henry?”
“Studying Shakespeare,” he said without looking at her.
“Poems or plays?”
“‘To sleep, perchance to dream.’”
“Hamlet. Is that it?”
He closed his eyes and turned toward her, “No,” he said. “Nothing.”
“Justine?”
He blinked, once, twice.
“You’re smiling, Henry, and blushing. Justine?”
“I had another dream,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
The pen stopped tapping. “Justine?” she asked again.
Against the fabric of the seat, his fingers flexed, stretching out and back, before he pushed himself off the couch. Two steps brought him across the room and the doctor shrank back between the high arms of her chair as his shadow fell over her, blocking the light from the window.
“Henry, please sit back down and let’s talk.”
“I had a dream.”
“About Justine?”
“No,” he said, staring at the white path in the garden leading nowhere.
“Have you been practicing your breathing exercises?”
He shrugged. “I breathe. Does that count?”
“Will you be standing there long, Henry?”
He rested his forehead on the glass, absorbing the heat through the window. His hands rested on the smooth surface, fingers pressing down. He counted to ten in silence, then shrugged again.
“Where does the path go?”
“The path?” she asked, rising to stand beside him.
He pointed, his discolored finger tracing the route against the glass. “It goes nowhere.”
“Does that bother you?”
With a sigh, he turned to face her. She held the legal pad between them, the pen clutched in her fingers.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t remember if I like gardens.”
“Process.”
“I know,” he said, then walked away and collapsed back onto the couch. “I don’t think I want to remember any more.”
“Why?” she asked, leaning back against the windowsill.
He closed his eyes and the silence stretched out with his breathing.
“Henry?”
“I kissed her.” He smiled.
“Justine?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She kissed me back.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” Dr. Saville asked.
Henry looked at her, his smile fading away, and then his head dropped down to his chest and he hid behind his hair again.
“I don’t want to die,” he said.
She looked up at him, her breath catching on a cough. “Excuse me?”
“I had a dream.”
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t find her. Elizabeth, she was gone and I couldn’t find her.” He wiped his eyes then rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “Then, I remembered the last dream, where I killed her and I realized I’d never see her again. She’s dead.”
“You’re not Victor.” Dr. Saville crossed the room and knelt down next to him.
“She’s never coming back. In my dream, I had nothing more to live for.”
“Henry?”
“I killed my daughter.”
“Just a dream,” she said.
“I killed her mother.”
“Henry, look at me.” Dr. Saville took his hands in hers, her fingers ice cold. “Henry.”
“I don’t want to die. I kept saying that but no one would listen.”
“Who wouldn’t listen?”
“Elizabeth. She couldn’t hear me. No one heard me.” He pulled away from her, rubbing his fists into his eyes. A single drop of blood snaked down from his nose, leaving a red trail around his lips. Dr. Saville grabbed a tissue off the desk and handed it to him. “No one ever hears me.”
“It’s all right, Henry.”
“I killed myself,” he said.
“In your dream?”
“After killing Elizabeth.” He shuddered and closed his eyes. He took a single breath and held it long past a count of ten.
“Breathe, Henry.”
He gasped, sucking in air. Stars danced in the corners of