Chapter 4 #2
A taut silence enveloped the courtroom for a beat, heavy and charged.
“Your release is granted… effective immediately,” she declared, her voice sharp and final as she slammed the stamp down onto the file.
“For the next six months, you will report to Dr. Loomis’s office for psychiatric evaluations once a week.
Group therapy is mandatory. You’ll attend twice a month…
no exception. All prescribed medication will be tracked diligently.
Refills will be automatic for the time being but depending on your progress over these next six months, I may reassess that. ”
Her eyes narrowed, piercing past my beige suit as if she were searching my very soul.
“Miss Thibodeaux, let me leave you with this. You have spent a decade behind those walls… ten years this court cannot reclaim. So, I’d advise you to take this freedom very seriously, and ensure the rest of your life carries purpose, because the state doesn’t forgive repeat stories…
and neither do I. So, consider this your final pass.
If you fail to comply with the parameters I’ve set forth—if you so much as skip a pill, miss a session, come before me again for anything or even look like trouble—there won’t be any more hearings or halfway hope.
You’ll be remanded, medicated, and committed faster than you can pack a bag.
And next time I’ll make sure the doors close behind you for good. Are we clear?”
My breath hitched.
The judge’s words reverberated in my mind, but they weren’t alone. Insidious whispers crept through my thoughts.
She’s lying.
You’ll never make it out there.
We’ll help you kill her when you get out, then you won’t have to worry anymore.
The voices tangled together, hissing over one another until my pulse roared in my ears.
My hands trembled on the table, nerves threatening to unravel my composure.
“No!” The word burst out before I could stop it.
The courtroom froze, a collective intake of breath filling the air.
The judge’s brows lifted in surprise, while Dr. Loomis shot me a wary glance.
Realizing what I’d done, I recovered fast, shaking my head. “No! I mean… no worries, Your Honor! I completely understand!”
The judge studied me for a prolonged moment, her expression inscrutable.
I forced a tight smile, even as the voices whispered again.
They were softer that time, almost sweet.
Good save.
She doesn’t believe you.
Smile, baby… that’s what they like.
I struggled to hold the corners of my lips into a small, polite grin, lowering my gaze in desperation, hoping the voices would shut up long enough for me to walk out of that room a free woman.
“Good. You’re dismissed. Court adjourned.”
The gavel cracked down with the finality of a gunshot.
I jumped, but not from fear, from the voices.
She’s letting you go… for now.
Not for long.
We’ll finish what we started when you get out.
Then softly, almost drowned beneath the rest, came another one.
Breathe, Haelyn… just breathe. Don’t let them win today.
I exhaled.
The bailiff’s hand touched my arm, firm but not unkind, guiding her toward the exit, as the courtroom blurred behind me. But the voices? They followed.
***
The release process moved slower than syrup on a cold pancake.
It was paperwork hell—discharge forms, medication agreements, state supervision documents, my “promise-not-to-go-crazy-again” signature required on every single one.
By the tenth form, my wrist was begging for an ice pack and early retirement.
They updated my photo, because apparently, ten years in a psych ward does wonders for the complexion.
Then came the fingerprinting, again, as if my fingers had somehow changed identities while I was locked up.
By the time my final clearance was confirmed, the beige uniform I’d worn for ten years was stripped off and traded in for a plain gray sweatsuit and state-issued sneakers.
In the narrow hallway Dr. Loomis waited for me.
He smiled weakly. “Well… you did it.”
I gave a half-smile. “Yeah, I did.”
“These are your discharge papers,” he said, handing me a manila envelope. “Your instructions, next week’s appointments, and important phone numbers, including mine, are in there.”
I nodded, staring at the envelope, but not really.
Dr. Loomis hesitated, lowering his voice.
“Haelyn, listen to me carefully. You’ve come a long way, but this next part is the most crucial.
You’re reentering a world that hasn’t stopped moving while you were away.
People will test you. Some will whisper.
Some will provoke you. You can’t afford any slip-ups. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“No, Haelyn,” his voice hardened slightly, “you need to live like you understand. No fights, no drama, no anger. You so much as blink wrong at the wrong person, and they’ll use it as proof you were never well.”
“I’m not that girl anymore,” I reassured quickly, trying to convince myself more so than him. “I’ve learned to think before I react. I’ve changed.”
My thoughts, of course, weren’t buying it.
Changed? one of them laughed. Girl, you just fantasized about throwing a chair at the judge four hours ago.
She said she thinks now, another chimed in mockingly. She thinks about how she’d do it differently next time… cleaner, smarter, and no witnesses.
Dr. Loomis studied my face like he was searching for a truth I was selling.
“You keep telling yourself that, maybe one day you’ll believe it,” he finally responded.
My jaw tightened. “I already do.”
He nodded slowly, softening again. “Alright, then prove it to yourself and not just to me.”
Dr. Loomis patted my shoulder, his hand lingering a second longer than comfort allowed.
“You have a chance most people don’t get, Haelyn… don’t waste it.”
I smiled faintly, but my eyes betrayed the exhaustion underneath.
“I won’t. I’m just ready to start over.”
“Starting over isn’t the same as forgetting. You’ll learn that out there.”
“You really think I can do that? Live normal?”
He chuckled softly. “I think you can try; that’s all any of us can do.”
I didn’t reply.
Outside, the air was crisp, and the sky held that soft, overcast gray that only fall could pull off. Leaves crunched beneath my shoes as I stepped out of the facility, the faded orange and burnt-red trees lining the walk like quiet witnesses to my release.
“So, what now? You’re gonna drop me at a bus stop with a pat on the head?” I chuckled lightly.
Dr. Loomis reached inside his pocket and handed me a set of keys.
“There’s an apartment waiting for you. It’s not in your name, but it’s yours for the next six months.”
I blinked erratically. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Consider it a transition gift. The apartment’s in the city, near Canal.
It’s a quiet neighborhood, near the bus line, fully furnished.
You’ll find a prepaid card for groceries and basic expenses…
all courtesy of me. You’ll get money loaded to it each month…
granted that you stay out of trouble and attend your regularly therapy sessions and psychiatric evaluations.
Haelyn, you’re not technically my responsibility anymore,” he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his coat, “but I still feel like you are… in a sense.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I wanted to. So please don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you.”
I forced a small smile. “I won’t.”
He glanced down at his phone. “Well… your Uber just arrived.”
I frowned slightly. “I have an apartment, but no car?”
“Baby steps,” he smirked.
I held up my hands. “I’m just kidding. I’m grateful for the little things.”
He nodded. “I don’t predict you’ll be going too many places, anyway.
Most of what you’ll need is within walking distance of the apartment.
But if you do need to get somewhere farther, there’s money on the card.
Use it wisely and keep the receipts. If you run out before the month is out, just give me a call.
There’s also a center downtown that works with reintegration cases like yours.
They’re hiring for part-time… stable hours.
I think it could help you find your footing before you branch out on your own.
But we’ll talk more about that next week during your check-in. ”
I nodded, twirling the key around my finger. “Sounds good.”
“Well, I’ll let you go. The driver will take you to the apartment. And remember, Haelyn, don’t just survive out there, try to live,” he concluded.
I smiled faintly. “I’ll try. Thanks again for everything, Dr. Loomis.”
He offered a short nod; the kind people give when they’re not sure if they’re helping or making a mistake, but they do it anyway.
I walked up to the car, nerves flickering low in my stomach.
The driver leaned his head out the window. “Haelyn?”
“Yup,” I confirmed, then opened the door and slipped into the backseat.
As the door shut, I looked out the window.
Freedom felt strange; it was light but heavy at the same time.
Dr. Loomis’s warning replayed in my head.
You can’t afford any trouble.
I don’t plan on trouble, but trouble always seems to plan for me.