The Vanishing of Hall Abrams

Chapter 4 - The Fourth Piece

CHAPTER 4

THE FOURTH PIECE

"It's Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mrs. Rose." The psychiatrist says to me. "Don't worry, it's quite normal for teens who have gone tremendous stress and trauma."

As he finishes his diagnosis, I look at my mother. She's gaunt; everything that was once youthful about her has disappeared. Even though she's just barely in her forties, she looks like she could pass for sixty. She looks weary, her wrinkles are evident, and the shine in her eyes gone.

I feel sad for her, but I know I look just about the same. I don't even bother to think about what I look like now. All I know is that I'm a mess, and Hall is alive. I don't care what Dr. Fig says. He says that it's normal for my brain to find a way to relieve the trauma, but I know better. And I feel better now that Noah knows that Hall's still alive.

"Marian, I want you to have complete trust in Jude," he says, addressing my mother, "he's quite a remarkable teen, his academics are phenomenal. I have no doubt that he'll recover in no time at all."

My mother turns to look at me, but I avoid her gaze. My eyes scan the room, and I almost vomit. The room is decorated in baby blue, with accents of white. The whole motif screams medical. Besides that, almost everything is metal, giving the room it's cold vibe. It's not meant for me to feel comfortable, no. It's meant for me to feel anxious.

Dr. Fig turns to me. "Jude, how do you feel about taking medication?"

His question catches me by surprise. "What?" I ask, even though I heard him right.

He leans toward me, and tries to take my hand. I pull it back as fast as I can, but he doesn't let my rejection faze him. "Well, we have some drugs that I could prescribe to you," he says, looking back and forth between my mom and I. "But I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter."

This is a trap. If I say no, my mother will be all over me for not "trying" to be better. If I say yes, my mother will think I have no confidence at recovering.

Dr. Fig smiles at me, but it's cold and clinical. It's a carefully practiced smile, but I can see through his facade. I grit my teeth, and give my answer. "Well, I think it would be okay."

As expected, my mother looks at me worriedly, but I avoid her gaze. Instead, I focus on things that are completely useless, like the uncomfortable leather seat I'm in. I focus on how her glasses sit unevenly on the bridge off her nose, making you look twice. I focus instead on Dr. Fig, who grins at me like the Cheshire cat.

"Wonderful." She says.

**

As my mother pushes open the front door, I give myself a moment to let myself know that I'm in deep shit. I didn't want to be the "troubled teen". I had enough on my plate as it is. Still, I won't let my PTSD take me down. Dr. Fig said that I didn't have to take meds yet, but that depends on whether or not my symptoms worsen. I blanked out after that, and my mom had to actually shake me to bring me out of my funk.

My mom walks briskly over to our car, which is a bright red sedan. Why she chose that horrid color, I'll never know. Still, it takes me a moment to catch up to her. She climbs inside hastily, and waits for me to do the same. Instead of climbing inside though, I take another moment to observe my surroundings.

Rainer's Peak is a dreary town. I know this much. It's somewhat larger than Harrisfield, but not by much. If Harrisfield is abundant in lakes, Rainer's Peak is surrounded by mini mountains. The town has a whole retro vibe to it, which I dislike. The townsfolk even more so. I don't like coming out here all that much, even if we used to back in high school. This town is boring.