The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 47

Mother of Grace Psychiatric Center

The sun shimmered through the windows and inside the large, white recreation room of the third floor of the institution. Black men and women, young and old, either sat at various tables or aimlessly walked around in their white undershirts and white pajama pants. Most of the patients wore subdued glazes on their hopeless faces, while others spoke to themselves with their wide eyes glaring all around as though they were expecting the voices in their individual heads to speak back to them. Calm music was playing on the speakers above in the ceiling. The tune was settling enough not to upset even the most fragile soul.

In a far corner was one young lady who had her weary head lying down on a small, metal table that sat perfectly next to one of the caged windows. Her unspoiled undershirt and pants made her appear almost angelic with the sunlight beaming down upon her. While her scarred and swollen hands and face gave off the impression that her life, or what was left of it, had all but been discarded ages ago.

The woman rested her red scarf covered head on her left arm while listening to the other sounds carry on throughout the area. Her eyes were closed slightly to where she could only see a few rays of sunlight here and there. She was so relaxed that doing something as simple as lifting her head seemed laborious. The woman had no desire whatsoever to react to her surroundings. Her pale face and chapped lips made her look as if she had just awakened from a ten year coma.

"Okay, Lynnette, why don't we start all over again." A Jamaican speaking man said as he sat down at the opposite end of her table.

Lynnette remained in her usual position for at least a full minute before she finally looked up to see the middle-aged, balding and bearded doctor with glasses seated across from her. She wiped her face of any excess drool right before sluggishly resting her head on her right hand and twisting her lips in a half-hearted fashion.

"Now, yesterday when we met, we spoke more of dis Mr. Bushard. A man no one has even heard of. Today, I want to speak of de one person you seem to have de most difficulty discussing. Isaac." He patiently stated.

Lynnette's face never once seemed to budge, nor did it even become distressed. She just sat and idly stared at the man as though he were just another person in white.

The doctor, dressed in an all-white lab jacket, straightened his eyeglasses and handed Lynnette a sincere glare before saying, "Young lady, we really need to talk."

"But I've told you about Isaac before, Doctor Cornelius." Her tongue dragged.

believe dat dere is someting else more pressing about dis man dan what

told you what he

smirking, Cornelius replied, "My dear girl, your delusions of superstitions and fantasies are all but

pout on her face she sighed, "I know exactly what

"Is dat right?"

I tell you you're not gonna believe

"You must understand dat the matters dat you are trying to convince me of are of a fantastic

mention

"No, as a matter

time I thought he was out of his mind. Come to find

we need to uncover de real mystery concerning your

"My state of mind," she questioned with a belligerent sneer. "Negro, my state of mind is nowhere in this galaxy. Ever since I've been here I've told you all that went down with me. From my bathroom, to the Towers, to this shitty country. Do you know what it's like to see a person change from a

dat why you

Lynnette desperately pressed her

a barrier to a much deeper root dat you must deal with. Do you realize dat we once had a person in here who claimed she was Joan of Arc? She even attempted to set herself on fire just to prove

at a couple of ladies

no idea what I've been through, sir."

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