Finding Alice by Melody Carlson Read Free Book Online Page A

“binding and loosing” talk. This time she’s praying simply, as if she’s really talking to God. I am a bit stunned by this kind of prayer. She sounds earnest and childlike.
    “I don’t understand what’s going on with Alice,” she says quietly. “But I believe you have her in your hands, O Lord. I believe you will take care of her. Please show me what to do. Help us through this thing.”
    I sit up then and tell her that I’d like to try to eat again. “Maybe some juice,” I suggest.
    “There’s some apple juice.”
    I nod. “Yes, that might be good.”
    I drink most of the apple juice, and by morning I am able to eat a small bowl of thin cream of wheat, with milk. That is something.
    “I’ve called Dr. Thornton,” my mother announces as she clears the breakfast dishes.
    The name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. “Who’s that?”
    “He used to treat your grandmother—”
    “A psychiatrist?”
    “He’s an experienced doctor, Alice—”
    “He must be about a hundred and two by now.”
    “He’s probably close to retirement age.”
    “So you really think I’m crazy? I thought demons were my problem.”
    “I don’t know what to think anymore. But I’ve been praying about this, and it seems the right thing to do.”
    I sigh and slump down into the straight-backed kitchen chair. I’m not sure which is worse, having people thinking I’m demonized or crazy. Maybe I am both.
    “The appointment’s at ten.” She frowns at me now. “Do you think you could clean up a little? Take a shower? Wash your hair maybe?”
    I nod, then slowly trudge up to my old room. I am eager to check on my backpack and make sure that my journals haven’t been removed or tampered with. However, I can tell that someone has gone through my things. I suspect it’s Mrs. Knoll, probably searching for drugs. But fortunately my journals are still there. Of course, it occurs to me, they could’ve been copied or photographed by now.
    When my mother comes up to get me, I am still sitting on the floor. I haven’t showered, but I have layered on several items of clothing from my backpack.
    “Are you ready?”
    “I guess.”
    “Is that what you’re wearing?”
    I looked down and shrug. “Why not?”
    She shakes her head. “You look like some sort of refugee.”
    I slowly stand and look at her. “Yeah? Well, maybe that’s what I am.”
    My mother speaks in a forced calm voice as she drives her Taurus down a country road. It’s as if she’s afraid to say anything that might upset or disturb me. I realize that this is the exact same tone she used to use around her mother. But I am getting seriously aggravated byit, and even more and more nervous and agitated. It’s as if all my nerve endings are exposed on the surface of my skin now, raw and sensitive. Most of all I feel really frightened. And when my mother turns into the same gated road that we always took when we went to visit my grandma, I seriously begin to freak. The sign above the gate reads Forest Hills.
    “You’re taking me to the nut house!” I scream and grab for the door handle. “The same place you brought Grandma. Why are you bringing me here?”
    “It’s just for an evaluation, Alice.”
    “No!” I shriek, trying to open the door only to find that it’s locked. “You’re going to leave me here!”
    She stops the car now and turns to look at me. “I promise you, Alice, I am not going to leave you here. Not unless you decide you want to stay, that is. I swear to you, this is just an evaluation. Dr. Thornton’s office is here. Have I ever lied to you about anything?”
    I shake my head, but I am not completely certain. “You can trust me, Alice. I’m your mother. I would never do anything to hurt you. I love you.”
    I want to believe her. I want to believe somebody . But somehow I know this is all just a trick. Part of the big plan to get my journals, to silence and ultimately destroy me. As she drives down the blacktop road