24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
Margaret felt rather foolish for being frightened of the dark, for she didn’t truly know what darkness was—that was until she walked into the asylum.
The facility was like a cave, a cave of misery.
Inside were eerie sounds of moans and cries as they passed each door.
Margaret followed the nurse as she walked through the dim hallways, her heart pounding with a mix of determination and fear.
She walked between her father and Graydon, but neither of them could calm her.
Experiencing the asylum for herself was worse than anything she could ever imagine. Thinking about Roger being there broke her soul. He didn’t belong in this place. If only she hadn’t gotten him mixed up in the Nicholson family. The name was a curse, always coming with trouble.
A few moments later, the nurse slowly unlocked one room.
Margaret’s heart throbbed uncontrollably as she waited anxiously to see the man she loved.
She wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him what she longed to—how much she loved him.
Then she’d never let him go. As Margaret entered the room, the sight that greeted her was chilling.
Her breath hitched as her stomach churned.
Guilt engulfed her, like a stone plummeting off a ledge, pressing her down with its weight.
Even though she loved Roger, she now wished they’d never met; that way, she wouldn’t be the cause of him being here.
Roger sat in the corner of the room, curled into a ball. Margaret approached him cautiously as his gaze met hers. A flicker of distrust and fear crossed his eyes.
He winced, breathing heavily in staggered breaths. “No, please.”
Roger’s once-familiar face was distorted by a look of wildness and fear, rendering him nearly unrecognizable.
His eyes, once warm and inviting, now reflected a chaotic storm of emotions.
The whites of his eyes were now bright red, and the creases were puffy and pink.
A haunting vacancy lingered in his stare, as if the essence of who he used to be had been consumed by the shadows within the asylum.
His face was pale—a corpse-like hue of gray.
Margaret sat beside him. “Roger, it’s me, Margaret,” she whispered in a sweet voice, trying to hold back her tears. She reached out to him with a comforting touch. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”
Roger shook his head. “There’s no escaping. I-I can’t go. Y-You’re not r-real.”
Margaret traced gentle circles around his arm. “You are free now. They are letting you go.”
He shook his head. “No.”
A tear rolled down Margaret’s cheek. This wasn’t the Roger she knew. The old Roger had been ripped to shreds, only being left with darkness. But this time, it had fully consumed him.
Margaret put out her hand. “Come with me. Remember how you wanted to return to the countryside? I can take you there.”
Roger met her gaze. “I-Is this real?”
A salty tear touched her upper lip. “Yes.”
Roger carefully observed his surroundings. He then lifted his hand to place it in Margaret’s, but he stopped. He tried again then paused.
“It’s all right, Roger,” Margaret whispered. “Take your time.”
His hand trembled as he reached for Margaret. He gave her an acute nod, placed his hand in hers, and took a grip.
Margaret smiled. “That’s it. We’re going home.”
Graydon and Margaret’s father appeared at her side. They stood behind Roger, grabbing his forearms, and helping him stand. Roger looked at both of them. “T-Thank you.”
“What are friends for?” Graydon said with a smile on his face.
Roger was too weak to walk, so he was mostly carried out. When they arrived at the automobile, the men carefully laid him in the backseat. Margaret’s father closed the door.
“Are you coming with us?” Margaret asked Graydon.
Graydon shook his head. “As much as I would love to, I plan to stay here. I need to be on call if anything happens with the case.”
“Thank you,” Margaret said, her heart exploding from gratitude. “Thank you for all that you have done for him.”
“He’s my best friend,” Graydon said. “I’ve known him all my life, and I know he’d do the same for me.
” Graydon smiled. “I wish I could come along, but I trust you will take good care of him. I see how he is with you, and it amazes me how much has changed. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him, you know. ”
Margaret’s cheeks heated. She scratched the back of her neck. “You’re overthinking it.”
“It’s true,” Graydon assured. He then shook Daddy’s hand. “Take care, sir.”
Graydon walked to his vehicle parked beside them in front of the large brick facility among the beautiful colonial homes of Williamsburg. The arrangement was almost ironic, a house of horrors among a serene area.
“We need to get going,” Daddy said. “We’ve overstayed our welcome in the city.”
“You can say that again,” Margaret agreed, moving to the other side of the vehicle.
When she opened the car door, she glanced back at Roger, asleep in the back.
He looked so peaceful as he slept, but she knew it wasn’t true.
After seeing him the way he was in the asylum, she realized how much more he’d have to overcome.
“You can sit back there with him,” Daddy said, seated in the driver’s seat.
“Are you sure?” Margaret asked.
Her father nodded. “He needs you more than I do.”
Margaret shut the door and opened the back one.
She lightly rearranged Roger’s body, so she could sit next to him.
He winced for a moment then adjusted himself, laying his head in her lap.
Margaret froze for a moment, thinking how improper the position was, but seeing how comfortable he was, she didn’t want to wake him.
As the automobile took off, Margaret kept her gaze down, not because she had a fear of the road, but because she had something better to look at.
Roger blinked twice, convinced he was dreaming.
Sunlight streamed through his window, illuminating the room, and then he saw something he thought he’d never witness—Margaret Nicholson, standing there as she opened the curtains of the grand bedroom.
Her back was towards him, but he could recognize that woman anywhere.
However, something was different about her.
Her hair, which she always pinned up for outings, flowed freely down her back, unstyled for the first time.
Roger marveled at its beauty; her deep black hair—almost raven—fell in soft waves, neither fully straight nor curly.
Margaret peered out the window towards the Blue Ridge Mountains, and Roger felt a swell of joy at seeing Virginia’s countryside for the first time in three years.
Most of Richmond was either flat or bumpy from the many hills; hardly could one call it striking beauty.
Roger’s head throbbed, just as it did when he awoke in the hospital. But this situation was different. He could move his legs. He wasn’t restrained. He was free, and it almost didn’t seem real. Neither did Margaret. She felt like a figment of his imagination.
Perhaps the doctor was right.
He was crazy.
“M-Margaret,” Roger murmured weakly.
She turned from the window, her face sparkling in the sunlight. Her eyes beamed, and a soft smile spread across her face.
“Roger!” She immediately came to his side. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
Roger glanced around, struggling to remember and grasp reality after the powerful medications he had been given. Time felt distorted; sometimes he couldn’t distinguish one day from another, and it seemed as if he had spent years in that place instead of a week.
“Am . . . am I dreaming?”
Margaret sat on his bed, holding his hand, and they felt just as they had before his arrest—soft and warm.
“It’s me,” Margaret answered.
Roger observed the area, but his head throbbed like a migraine. “Where am I?”
“You’re in Charlottesville.”
Roger winced, gritting his teeth as another pain shot through him.
“Do you remember?”
Roger shook his head. “I’ve been having trouble with that since I arrived at the looney bin.”
Margaret drew soft circles on his hand. “We had you discharged and brought you here last night. It’s the evening now.”
Roger turned his gaze to the window as the sun began to set, casting a beautiful orange glow that nearly brought tears to his eyes.
He had thought he’d never witness a sunset again.
Then he looked at Margaret—sweet Margaret, with the face of an angel.
She deserved so much more than he could offer.
She had been his guiding light, helping him find the strength to move on, but now she would have to continue without him.
Margaret deserved more than a broken man. The asylum helped him accept he was nothing more than that. Roger had no purpose, no life outside the walls of the place. But now that he was out, he had never felt any worse. He belonged in the asylum. It was the first place he felt at home since the war.
“Whatever you need, I’m here for you, Roger.”
Those words were the ones Roger didn’t need to hear. Margaret didn’t owe him anything. However, he was too weak to prevent her. The door creaked open, and Mr. Nicholson’s face appeared. He closed the door behind him, and Margaret stood from the bed.
“Good evening, Daddy,” Margaret said with a smile, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“Good evening, Blossom.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of Mr. Nicholson’s mouth as he looked at Roger. “Nice to see you are awake, Mr. McKinley. How are you feeling?”
Roger cleared his throat. “A little drowsy.”
“I imagine so. They had you on some strong medications. It’ll be another day or so before your system is rid of them.”
Mr. Nicholson wasn’t wrong. The medical professionals had forcefully shoved pills down his throat as if he were an animal and jabbed him repeatedly with needles.
While the pain wasn’t unbearable, the treatments had stripped away everything that made him feel human.
Roger had come back to the surface with Margaret’s help before he was arrested, but the days in the asylum had flushed them out.
Those medications had made him weaker, barely able to fight back.
Thoughts of Margaret and getting back to her motivated him to escape, but after a couple of doses, they faded, replaced by darkness.
They had erased her from his memory, every ounce of warmth and light.
But now that they were returning, he wanted to push them away—to forget her sweet and gentle self, to give her the freedom she needed to move on.
“Margaret, dear, why don't you make Mr. McKinley some tea? I need to speak to him about some matters.”
Margaret nodded. “Of course.” She flashed Roger a smile. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
“Thanks,” Roger whispered hoarsely.
When Margaret left, Mr. Nicholson’s expression turned serious. “I suppose you are wondering how you’re here and not there.”
“That question has been on my mind since I awoke.”
Mr. Nicholson huffed. “Well, it seems the whole report is deemed fraud since the men who filed charges against you are wanted in Washington. They aren’t reliable, and sending you to an asylum without a diagnosis, other than that you were a veteran suffering from shell shock, didn’t seem quite right.
I have my suspicions about how, but it is up to your lawyer and the judge to decide what is right.
Mr. Marshall is in Richmond sorting everything out. ”
The explanation took weight off Roger’s shoulders, but it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t feel worthy to be in everyone’s grace. He had done awful things in his life, and he didn’t deserve kindness.
“There was also an issue with my father’s will. I am not an heir, so what becomes of the business is up to the state. I won’t know anything for a few months, and I also need a new lawyer. I’m afraid you’re out of a job, too.”
Great. Just great. To think things couldn’t get any worse, another door had closed on Roger.
He had a good-paying job that kept him busy and his mind off his troubles, and now it was gone—leaving him idle on bed rest. He wanted to punch the wall and scream, but he didn’t have the energy.
He was still groggy, and this world he was in seemed imaginary.
“I’m sorry, Mr. McKinley, and I understand this is difficult for you, but I have a share in our bank here, and I can refer you to get another position. I know it won’t be as good as an executive accountant, but—”
“No,” Roger snapped. “That won’t be necessary.”
Mr. Nicholson nodded slowly. “I understand. You have just awoken, and you have a lot of time to recover—”
“No,” Roger repeated.
“Why not?” Mr. Nicholson pressed.
“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t deserve to be handed anything . . . even from you.”
Mr. Nicholson sucked in a breath and rubbed his face. “All right,” he exhaled, his voice carrying a weariness. “When you realize it’s time to take responsibility in your life . . . come see me.”
Mr. Nicholson left the room. Roger hated disappointing the man who had shown him nothing but kindness, but he needed to draw a line. After a few days, he would leave this place. Then, no one would owe him anything, and he wouldn’t owe anything to anyone, either.