Today Dr. Weiss brings Celia to where it all started: the church she had defaced a week earlier. Unlike that turbulent day, her thoughts are in sequence like rosary beads\u2026 or so he presumes. As she stands in the garden a few feet away from the massive double doors, she tells the doctor, \u201cI remember a dark room.\u201d
\n\u201cYou mean the cell,\u201d says the doctor.
\n\u201cI signed a paper…\u201d Celia pauses, \u201cOr maybe not.\u201d
\nIn a soft voice, the doctor tells her, \u201cIt was your confession.\u201d
\n\u201cBut I only confess on Sundays with Father Luciano.\u201d
\n\u201cNo, Celia. I meant your misdemeanor confession at the precinct.\u201d
\n\u201cDid Father Luciano confess, too?\u201d She asks, scowling.<\/p>\n
On the day of the incident, Dr. Weiss, one of the forensic psychiatrists working for the local police department, was called to examine Celia. She had awoken in a poorly lit dank cell. The markings on the wall were 3-D smudges preying on her: THIS IS HELL – Fuck me! <\/i>Dr. Weiss had observed the interrogation through a one-way mirror. Celia sat at an aluminum table with two matching chairs in the narrow windowless room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou destroyed antique sconces and ripped the hinges off the confessional doors,\u201d the arresting officer had stated.
\n\u201cI DID WHAT?\u201d Celia yelled. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t me!\u201d She started fidgeting with the buttons on her over-sized black cardigan.
\n\u201cAh, but that\u2019s not all,\u201d the officer continued. \u201cYou attacked the sacristan, the only staff member on duty that day.\u201d
\n\u201cFather Luciano was there, too!\u201d<\/p>\n
With arms to his back, the officer circled the table. Celia started massaging her left temple as the thump of his steps bounced in her head. He furrowed his forehead as he said: \u201cDrugs. You were so high that it took three officers to subdue you.\u201d Her mouth opened as if to protest and nothing came out. Celia began to hyperventilate, her hands flailing at her face as if swatting flies.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re lying! You\u2019re lying!\u201d She said between short breaths.
\nSlamming the table with his hand, the officer hissed: \u201cEnough!\u201d
\nShe covered her ears, closed her eyes and shook her head repeatedly. \u201cYou\u2019re one of them!\u201d<\/p>\n
Seeing her agitated state, Dr. Weiss had come into the room and gestured for the officer to leave. He sat a distance from her and in a silky voice asked Celia, \u201cWho\u2019s them<\/i>?\u201d Celia\u2019s stare turned as cold as the holding cell.
\n\u201cThey made me do it! They whisper in my ear all the time.\u201d
\nAfter observing her behavior for an hour, the doctor suggested to the Lieutenant that Celia showed signs of schizophrenia.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s hard to tell without a medical history.\u201d Have you called her family?\u201d
\n\u201cShe had no ID on her but a metro pass, a gold chain with a crucifix, and a bag of almonds in her pocket,\u201d the Lieutenant answered. He scratched his head: \u201cBut somebody must know her at the church.\u201d
\nWith a quizzical look on his face, the doctor started to say, \u201cBut how\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cWe also found this on her,\u201d said the Lieutenant, pushing a crumpled schedule of weekly masses into Dr. Weiss\u2019 hand.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Standing outside the entrance of the church, Dr. Weiss continues to watch Celia\u2019s every move as she makes her way toward the double doors.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re lucky. Father Luciano dropped the charges.\u201d
\nShe hesitates and turns back. Her right hand reaches in for her gold chain, takes it out from underneath her crew-neck tee shirt; she starts rubbing the crucifix. The doctor then signals her to come.
\n\u201cAre they here now, Celia?\u201d He asks.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says, her body stiffening.
\n\u201cWhere do they usually hide?\u201d
\nWithout looking, she points up with her index finger; its chewed nail is jagged. The doctor\u2019s gaze meets the jeering gargoyles perched atop the front towers. Celia shuffles over to the front lawn and slides down against the tree. She covers her eyes. Slowly, she fans out her fingers as if playing peek-a-boo with the grotesque creatures.
\n\u201cThey know,\u201d she whispers. \u201cThey want to punish me.\u201d
\n\u201cThe gargoyles?\u201d The doctor says, squatting down next to her. \u201cPunish you for what?\u201d
\n\u201cShhh. They can hear you!\u201d
\n\u201cThey won\u2019t harm you, Celia. I’m here.\u201d
\nDrawing her knees to her chest, she begins to rock her small frame back and forth. She repeats her mantra as if it were a commandment: \u201cI\u2019m a rock of strength and nothing<\/i> can harm me.\u201d<\/p>\n
The doctor gets up and walks away from her. From his jacket he retrieves a hand-held digital recorder. He whispers into it: \u201cAnd the patient exhibits persecution complex typical of paranoid schizophrenia. Frequent hallucinations and memory lapses seem to be extreme.\u201d The doctor turns off the device and enters the church to look for Father Luciano. As he walks through the nave, he notes the unholy mess and realizes the seriousness of the damages reported by the police.<\/p>\n
\nCelia stays behind outside. Some squirrels are busy foraging and burying their findings close to where she\u2019s sitting. She flinches at their sight, stifling a shriek with her hand. She narrows her eyes and sighs.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s only squirrels!\u201d She points at the gargoyles, keeping her eyes on the cheeky fur balls. \u201cFor a moment I thought you were those evil things,\u201d she says. \u201cAre you hungry?\u201d
\nThe squirrels shriek and flick their bushy tails. She reaches for the bag of almonds in her cardigan pocket. As one of the squirrels approaches, Celia does a double take: the rodent is missing its right paw and part of its forearm.
\n\u201cDid they<\/i> do that to you?\u201d She asks, luring the squirrel with some almonds. \u201cLuciano is one of them,<\/i> too\u2026,\u201d she continues as the squirrel takes a nut from her hand. In spite of its disability the little creature uses its left hand to hold the nut and bring it to its mouth. With an edge in her voice she says: \u201cHe\u2019s evil<\/i>.\u201d Her face hardens. Her thoughts start swaying like a suspension bridge above a precipice. She notices how the disabled squirrel digs and buries the food with only one arm. A bigger squirrel sneaks behind to steal some nuts. The three-legged squirrel chases the intruder up a tree.
\n\u201cBrave little thing, aren\u2019t you?\u201d
\nThe bag of nuts is now empty. The squirrel runs to the other side of the garden, disappearing behind the bushes.
\n\u201cThey won\u2019t hurt you there,\u201d <\/i>Celia assures her new confidant.
\nShe studies her hands the way a palm reader does.
\n\u201cThey<\/i> control my hands. Luciano does too,\u201d she cries under her breath. \u201cThey make me sin.\u201dShe looks around and finds herself alone. I don’t want to look up<\/i>.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid I imagine it?\u201d Celia thinks out loud. She lifts her eyes… \u201cOh my God!\u201d She shouts. The gargoyles are not there! Had they been there at all?<\/i> Celia’s eyes open wide. And the doctor, I imagined it all?<\/i> She shakes her head from side to side repeatedly.
\n\u201cLeave me alone!\u201d Celia screams, covering her ears. \u201cI’m not listening to you anymore!\u201d
\nShe gets up and starts running in circles while continuing to rant, with her hands still on her ears. Celia throws herself on the grass, closes her eyes and curls up in a fetal position.
\n\u201cGo away or I’ll kill you!\u201d Celia yells, her hand combing the ground. She picks up a rock.<\/p>\n
The sun starts sinking behind the Gothic church. A pink glow emanates from the gargoyles perched atop the towers. They seem serene. Father Luciano appears from the side door leading to the sacristy next to the church. He finds Celia growling and pounding her right hand with the rock she\u2019s holding in her left.
\n\u201cDarling, the doctor wants you to come with me,\u201d he says, crouching and reaching for her shoulder. \u201cLet’s go inside.\u201d
\nAs quick as the wind, Celia throws a blow. The priest falls to the ground. Her hand has a mind of its own as she keeps hammering on the slumped body.
\n\u201cAahh! Ugh!\u201d
\nThe gurgling sounds emanating from father Luciano fuels Celia. Her flushed face is a network of veins pulsating in her temples and forehead.
\n\u201cNo MORE whispering!,\u201d she hisses.
\nBlood seeps from Father Luciano\u2019s disfigured face. Red droplets form on the blades of grass. Celia\u2019s warm arrhythmic breath blends with the cool afternoon wind. She looks up, resting her bloodstained index finger on her lips.
\n\u201cShhh. Don’t tell anyone.\u201d
\nThe gargoyles smile at her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Whispers Today Dr. Weiss brings Celia to where it all started: the church she had defaced a week earlier. Unlike that turbulent day, her thoughts are in sequence like rosary beads\u2026 or so he presumes. As she stands in the garden a few feet away from the massive double doors, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1361,"parent":148,"menu_order":3,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-586","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=586"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1449,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/586\/revisions\/1449"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/148"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1361"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue15\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=586"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}