(Shoutout to LaurenLove18x for being the first person to shelve my book before I accidentally unpublished it. Plus, that is close to how I imagine Austin looking.)
Before I was committed to Rosegrave, I went through all the emotions; denial of what happened, anger that it did happen, replaying the what if's over in my head, before I was consumed by depression, at least for a while. It got to the point where for almost a month I didn't leave my bed except to use the washroom.
Once I allowed myself to accept what had happened to my mom, I felt a burst of something.That something was determination. Determination to find out what happened to my mother on the night of July 19, 2013.
Personally, I think this sudden burst of determination was my mom's way of telling me to get off my butt because she didn't raise me to just sit around when things got tough. She raised me to become a strong independent woman.
I had always had my suspicions of what happened. Police had said she was killed by someone who knew her so when they arrested my uncle, it shouldn't have been such a surprise. But, it didn't make sense. I couldn't see any reason why uncle Brian would've killed my mom. He had been the one who set my parents up. He had no reason to want to split them up like the police have suggested.
My mother had been strangled which police say infers there was a relationship between victim and killer. They said this gave them more of a reason to believe my uncle did it. She was killed between 11:45 PM and 12:30 when my uncle was still at the house. At least just before midnight.
For the longest time, I'd tried to muster up the courage to visit him. I needed to know why. But, I never got the chance. He's been sitting in jail for the past 3 ½ years and I could never find the strength to visit him. He'd written many letters, none of which I've read. I stored them in a little box that now sat in the corner of my hospital room. I would only open them when I could bring myself to reopen that door in my life. I love him, he's my uncle, but it's so hard and confusing. Some people are saying things that I'd never think of when thinking of Uncle Brian. It's hard to have people you know and don't know telling you things about some you grew up around. It's enough to confuse anyone, right?
At times like those, it's hard to know if you ever really knew someone at all. I couldn't help but feel responsible for having my uncle arrested. I mean if he did it, then why do I still feel guilty? I mean I did cause the cops to look at him even when I knew the cops still thought he took my sister. If I hadn't told Officer Cosgrove that he was there that night, he might not be in jail right now. He could have watched his kids grow up. However, I still have the feeling it might have made him look worse if I didn't mention he'd been visiting. They would have thought he murdered my mom and skipped town. That probably the conclusion they reached anyway.
My mother always told me to follow my instincts. She'd say, 'If something seems too good to be true, you're probably right. Follow your gut, always.'
I did exactly as she told me. I began keeping a detailed journal of details from the case. I even had files from the LAPD, with whatever information they'd obtained. But, I only had the records they'd given me before I was institutionalized. After that, I was unable to receive anything concerning the case, mostly because my father prohibited it. He thought if I continued to receive those files, my mental state would continue to deteriorate. At least that's what I was told. After that, I had to be very careful with the files I was able to keep.
Nurses often saw me writing in a journal. They probably thought it was a diary.
One time, one of the nurses tried to take my journal and I freaked out. I couldn't lose all the information I'd gathered to bring justice to my mother. Sure it was still in my head, but it gave me peace of mind to have it carefully laid out. It had many different sections; suspects, timeline, evidence, etc. Things were even highlighted by specific colours. After I freaked out on that one nurse, no one has since tried to take journal from me, in fear I'd get irritable and lash out.
I would've done the same for my sister's case but we were only 11 when she disappeared. We were the best of friends, probably due to the fact that we were twins that liked a lot of the same things. Usually, the twins we know are polar opposites. For example, our dad is flamboyant with his fancy suits and shoes while Uncle Brian is more laid back and casual. My sister, Alessandra, was the best sibling I could ever ask for. Growing up she was the more popular sibling, but she didn't hold it over my head, she always tried to include me with her group of friends. I'd always had trouble making friends as a kid and it didn't seem to go away as I got older. All I was known as was "The missing girl's twin sister."
I'd only really had two friends; Micah Smith and Penny Goldbloom. Though we've lost touch since I've been in Rosegrave. I'm sure they're doing awesome things. Micah wanted to be a scientist so he could cure cancer and Penny wanted to be a female rights activist, to help close the barrier of gender inequality. If all this hadn't happened and I hadn't been institutionalized, I'd probably be working alongside her. That or a police officer working to solve cold cases, specifically with kidnappings. If my sister's case would never be solved, maybe I could be the person to help someone else find closure. But, now that I've met Austin, he's given me something to think about. Maybe my time could be better served helping people in need in foreign countries. I may have to look into a new career choice if I ever get out of this darn place.
I was brought back to reality as the door to my room opened. It was Nurse Jackie. She was really nice and the only nurse who I got along with. I hadn't gotten along with any of the other nurses until she came. Once the doctors realized this, they only sent her to check on me. She was a beautiful young woman, only 31 years old, making her the second youngest nurse here.
She had beautiful flaming red hair which often reminded me of burning embers and gorgeous green eyes. She was slightly shorter than my 5'11 stature, standing at 5'9 1/2, but it was hardly noticeable as she often wore heels. Overall, she was a very attractive young lady, even more so by her carefree demeanour.
We always joked about switching hair because we both loved each other's hair. I loved her curly, fiery red hair and she loved my curly dark brown hair.
She loved to make people laugh and she wasn't fake about anything. She would allow you to feel as though you could trust her with anything you told her. More often than not, when she's around, it sometimes makes me feel as though I'm not in a mental hospital, rather as if I'm out on a casual brunch with a good friend. She doesn't really treat people as if they're mentally ill, even if she knows they are. She acts more as a mother, daughter, sister, granddaughter to all she knows. These are some of the things I love about her and why we get along so well.
"Leticia, it's time for art. Would you like to join? We have some patients with visitors to join us today." She asked.
Here at Rosegrave, we had art twice a week; Tuesday and Thursday. I enjoyed it because drawing is one of my hobbies. Since I was a little girl I loved to paint and make handmade things. I would make a painting every year for Mother's Day since I was 7 and she'd collect them for her own personal collection. She said I could become the next Picasso or Da Vinci. With memories like those, it was hard to not have my mom around. We had been extremely close before she was killed.
I looked down at the journal in my hands. I never leave it alone in fear of someone reading it or the staff trying to take it without me noticing. I even sleep with it beside me, in case during the night someone tries to steal it.
"You can bring your journal with you." She understood how attached to my journal I was and never tried to take it from me.
I stood up, tucked my journal under my arm and walked towards her. She offered arm and I looped my free arm around hers. We walked down the hall to the day room where they held art. The room wasn't as crowded as I'd expected. Usually, the room is packed with people who just want to get out of their rooms for a little while.
I walked in and took a seat at an empty easel. Across the room, I could see Mrs. Marten. She was sitting with a young guy with long blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes. He must be her grandson or something. I've never seen him before, but I don't really leave my room. Not since 2 ½ years ago.
That's the last time my father visited me in here. It was also the time he chose to tell me he'd been remarried. It had only been 1 ½ years since my mother's murder.
How could he just forget about my mom like that?
The worst part is, my new "stepmother" works here at Rosegrave. Her name is Melanie. She has blonde hair that I'm fairly certain is dyed, not very tall, only 5'6, with hazel eyes.
In the beginning, she tried to build a relationship with me, but I always denied seeing her. She came out of nowhere and changed so much in such a short amount of time. I could never fully forgive my father for marrying her, especially so soon after my mom was killed. It seemed as though he wanted to erase mom's entire existence. Whenever I would bring her up, he would change the subject. He showed me pictures of the house and I noticed he'd gotten rid of all of mom's things. He said it was too painful to look at and disrespectful to his new wife.
At first, I dismissed it as he was too upset at the mere mention of her name, but that went out the window when I found out he'd been remarried. He'd even gotten married on July 19th, the day my mom died. He insisted the day was Melanie's idea and I'm sure it was but he still went along with it. He didn't want that day to forever be associated with something sad that happened in his life. The fact that he just 'went along with it' makes it just as wrong for him as it does her. I haven't seen my dad since. He'd try to schedule visits but I'd either pretend to be sleeping or flat out deny wanting to see him.
After a couple of months, he gave up. I occasionally saw Melanie around but did everything to avoid her, even to this day. If I saw her, I'd walk in the other direction or completely ignore her until she went away. I never trusted her to be my doctor and I still don't. It may be because of how soon after mom's death she came into the picture, but I never trusted her from the moment I saw her. Something just wasn't right about her, and it still isn't. There's just something in me that refuses to trust her. I don't believe it has anything to do with me resenting her for trying to replace my mother either.
I snapped out of my thoughts, which I seemed to do a lot, and began painting. I decided to paint my favourite animal; a tiger. It was a tiger's head and it looked to be leaping off the canvas. I also put some splatter in the background for more colour and dimension.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see the young man who had been sitting with Mrs. Marten.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Sorry to bother you, but can my grandmother borrow some of your orange paint?" He asked.
"It's no bother. She can have the whole thing. I'm finished. I just have to sign my name. " I handed him the orange paint, before returning to my painting.
"Thank you. " He went to turn away.
"Your grandmother didn't really need the paint, did she?" He turned toward me, eyes slightly bulged, almost like a child who was caught stealing from the cookie jar.
"Uh. . . " He was frozen. He ran his hand through his shoulder length blonde hair and gazed at me with his beautiful blue eyes that reminded me of the ocean. At least what I remember the ocean looking like. I may not have been in here as long as others like Mrs. Marten, but some things you forget quite quickly. Besides I never really went to beaches, only really saw pictures of them.
"Don't worry. I saw her gesturing towards me before you came over here. "
"Um, yeah. Was it that obvious?"
"Kind of. "
"She said you were a very pretty and intelligent girl, who I might find common interests with. "
Mrs. Marten was a kind older lady with blonde greying hair and blue eyes. She was the first patient I met when I was brought here. She could see how nervous I was when I was brought here. It became her mission to make sure I was comfortable. We had rooms next to one another and we were free to visit each other whenever we felt too. She always told me, "You don't belong in a place like this. With a bunch of nutjobs like us. " That always puts a smile on my face. She loved to make people laugh.To this day I couldn't see how a lively and kind woman like her ended up in a place like this. I never bothered to ask, not wanting to intrude.
"I'm sure she's right," I told him. "I still didn't get your name. "
"Oh. It's Austin Marten." He held out his hand.
"Nice name." I shook his hand. "I'm Leticia Gonzalez. "
"That's a very beautiful name."
I blushed. "Thank you. I was named after my mother's favourite aunt." I looked over at Mrs. Marten to see her looking at us with a smile. "You don't think your grandmother's missing you right now?"
He looked back at her. "I don't think she'll mind us talking for a little while longer."
And talk we did. We talked and talked until visiting hours were over. He said he'd be visiting his grandmother a lot more often since he was able to work more from home. He was a businessman who ran his own non-profit organization.
They worked towards solving world issues, especially in third world countries. He told me that he couldn't understand how people could go about their daily lives when there are people starving out there, children nonetheless.
I could hear the passion in his voice as he told me about trips his organization had taken or planned. It was amazing to see some of the pictures he'd taken during his many trips, someone so young, who cared about so many others.
You just don't see much of that these days. He wants to find a way to include kids so they are aware of the world they're inheriting from previous generations. He wants to leave a better world for the kids of today and years to come.
He understands he cannot fully fix the problem, but he wants to give it the best he has. He wants the kids he's met and ones he hasn't to have a fighting chance in the world. It hard to believe he's 21, like me, and accomplished so much. It makes me want to get out of here that much more.
I felt bad that I'd taken Mrs. Marten's grandson away from her but she assured me it was alright. She told me she'd sent him over because he'd been looking at me and was curious as to who I was. He told her he thought he saw me before outside of here 4 months ago. That was completely impossible since I've been stuck here for three years.
When I fell asleep that night, all I could think of is when I would see Austin again. I can't wait to get to know him better. He seems like a really nice guy.