Alora Funk- The Deliverance: Book 1 Read online

  Chapter 2

  The Crisis Nursery-

  I first remember feeling fear while I was being shoved in the backseat of a black van. The stuffy people had whisked me out of the hospital-not even trying to be compassionate about it- and forced me into the small space. An overwhelming terror flashed inside. Reacting to my fright, I resisted with flaring arms, swinging at everyone around me, but they forced me down while someone draped the seatbelt around me and snapped it closed.

  I was trapped. I wanted it off, but I didn’t know how to use a seat belt. Yanking on it, my panic level rose, nausea stirring in my stomach, my sides cramping up. Feeling ambushed, I shrilled at the top of my lungs still thrashing about. Heat filled me, burning me up. A man sat with me in the back while another crawled into the front and pulled away from the curb.

  The drive was short, ending up at a brick office building. I was escorted inside where they rushed me to a large conference room. The smell was stale and unpleasant, causing me to hold my breath. In the middle, a long brown table stood. There were even more people around it. One man –who I ended up calling Mr. Scary- dragged me down into a chair then pushed it to the table. The chair was hard and uncomfortable, grinding into my thin backside. A coloring book was plopped in front of me. Someone opened a box of crayons and spread them around the book. I had no idea what they were. I didn’t want to be there, but I didn’t fight.

  They resumed talking about me.

  “I think we need to bring a psychologist in and do our own evaluation,” a bearded man said.

  “Why would we waste precious money doing that? The hospital evaluated her, and I am going to go by their report,” a skinny lady replied.

  “You know their report means squat. Let’s bring a psychologist in to do a more thorough evaluation on her.”

  The skinny woman’s face turned red, her voice lowered. “And what would that prove?” she demanded as she slammed her fist against the table. The bump startled me. “Once she is in placement, they can run tests on her. We don’t want to be stuck with her too long. She needs to be integrated. She needs a routine.” Her aura was red.

  Mr. Scary replied, “Integrated? Routine? The child can’t even speak. What kind of routine are you talking about? I agree with Pete, she needs to be tested and treated first.” His color was orange.

  “You think you always have all the right answers. This child needs a home and stability. Once placed in home, then we will poke and prod her if you like,” the skinny lady shrilled.

  They argued loudly. Soon others welled and took sides. The noise level mounted. No one stopped to see my reaction to this. Not liking it, I could feel thick animosity in the room. I didn’t know how I was to react to the discomfort I felt from their display of hostility. Scared, I slid under the table and hid my ears in my hands. Anger generated around them, settling like humidity, clinging to everyone there, especially me. The emotion pulsated in me. A strong glow of orange and red intermixed from the group and encompassed around them. They all seemed to have similar auras.

  Still under the long table, I glanced at my arm and noticed a gray band around my fair skin. Auras interested me, distracting me from the unsureness I felt. I stopped listening to the strangers and focused my attention on everyone’s light bands of energy.

  Finally, the meeting ended. Mr. Scary grabbed my arm and dragged me to his car where he strapped the seatbelt over me. I tried to resist, once again screaming and yelling. He looked around then quickly bopped me on the top of the head, leaving behind a throbbing in my skull. It had generated the effect he had hoped for, because I stopped fighting. The color around him was red for a moment, then it returned to dark orange. He climbed into the front and drove off. The meeting had wiped me out. Depleted, I fell asleep.

  …

  It took a bit to pull out of my sleep. About the time I really woke, pajamas were being draped over my head, soft ones decorated in pink swirls. I was in a foreign home with a strange woman. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten inside. The lady was not one of the stuffy people from before. She was someone new with a presence unlike any of the people from the conference room. She looked me in the eye when she talked, even brushing her fingers against my arm and skin. It tickled and felt warm at the same time. I liked her concerned gaze, making me feel safe. Her caring nature reminded me of London. Her energy color was violet.

  “Oh, you poor dear, look at how skinny you are,” she said as she zipped the front of my pajamas. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a giant hug. The embrace seemed to radiate positive feelings into me, surging around my body. It almost felt like we exchanged energy. I liked it.

  “My name is Theresa.” She had brownish-orange hair and was plastered in freckles on every inch of her skin. I smelled her lovely aroma, not overpowering like the stuffy people.

  From a kneeling position, Theresa stood and grabbed my hand. Her touch soothed me, creating cheerful feelings in my chest.

  We were on the top level of a large house. Once she had steadied herself on her feet, she led me around the upper floor into multiple rooms for a tour. Some of the rooms were littered with toys. Others were full of beds. All the walls had bright images of animals on them.

  “You will sleep in this room tonight. I sure wish there were some kids around here for you to play with,” she said. “You never know about this place. Sometimes there are tons of kids, and other times there are none.” Theresa flashed me a smile, showing her crooked teeth. After she completed the tour of the upper level, we went down a steep set of stairs, a green carpet ran their length. She took me around the ground level, showing me the kitchen, a TV room, and another huge playroom.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  I stared at her.

  “Well, sure you do. Just look at how skinny you are.”

  Theresa sat me at an oval table then went into the kitchen. While she worked, I had a clear view of all she did.

  “I hope you like macaroni and cheese,” she said as she poured the dry noodles in a silver pot. Several drops of water splashed out.

  While the noodles cooked, she pulled out a green plastic chair and sat by me. I looked at all of the chairs around the table. Each one was a different design. Next to the table were several highchairs still covered in dried food.

  A bell jingled from across the house. I turned to see where the noise came from. A small lady had walked through the front door, lugging a baby on her hip. The lady was black and blue all over, her face battered with bruises.

  Theresa jumped up and ran to her. Without asking, she pulled the baby out of the lady’s arm.

  “What happened?” Theresa asked with wide eyes.

  The woman bawled as she said, “He beat me. He downright beat me. He promised he never would again, then he did.” The woman had an icy-blue band of light around her.

  Theresa held the baby with one arm, and with her other freckled arm, she wrapped it around the lady, trying to provide comfort.

  “Can I sleep here tonight?” the lady asked.

  Theresa gently responded, “This is the crisis nursery, but I can call the police for you, or I can direct you to the woman’s shelter.”

  The lady looked terror stricken. “I no want de po’lice involved. I’s in crisis; that’s why I’s here.” She snatched her baby back from Theresa. The lady talked different than anyone I had heard up to that point. She fascinated me with her dialect and the way she flung her arms everywhere.

  “I understand. Let me at least call the ambulance for you. We can keep your baby safe while you go get medical help?”

  “Yous don’t mind watching my baby?” Her fingers raked her brown, matted hair.

  “That is why we are here. And you are most certainly in a crisis. Let me get an ambulance over for you.”

  “I has no money,” she said as a bit of blood trickled out of her lip.

  “No problem.
We are a free service,” Theresa said.

  Theresa went to the phone while the woman loudly sobbed, the baby joining her in crying. I noticed before the lady started howling, the baby’s aura was yellow green, but when her mom cried, the baby’s aura matched the mother’s ice blue color. I found it interesting as the colors mimicked each other’s.

  Theresa succored the woman until the ambulance took the distressed lady away. Sighing, Theresa sat in a rocker with the upset baby. I could smell something burning, and looked to the kitchen. Smoke hovered over the stove. I wanted to tell Theresa about it, but at the same time, I wasn’t ready to use my words with her. She seemed oblivious to the smoky smell as she cared for the disturbed baby.

  Finally-after the smoke became real thick-Theresa spotted me in the kitchen. It was then she noticed the smoke.

  “Oh my,” she squalled as she jumped out of the rocking chair. With the screaming baby on her hip, she ran towards me. I was already there and had picked up the pan by its scolding handle, instantly burning me. The heat seared my flesh and I dropped the pan, letting out an eerie screech, badly hurting myself. A loud clang rang out as the pan hit the floor. The hot water splashed against my arms, and legs, while the noodles flew everywhere. I yelped out in more pain as the water singed my skin.

  “Oh no,” Theresa shrieked. After putting the baby in a crib, she grabbed and escorted me to the bathroom where she ran my hand under the faucet, keeping it submerged for a long time. The cold water was so intense it felt like it was burning me. My back cramped from the angle I was in, but I wasn’t ready to talk to her, so I endured the discomfort.

  As I stayed under the chilly water, she reached high and pulled a red bag from the top of a mirrored shelf. She didn’t have the best grip on it, because it slipped out of her hands and dropped hard onto my nose. A whimper escaped me as the impact jostled my nose. The throbbing radiated to my whole face.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” she said as patted my nose, making it hurt worse. By then, the bag had hit the floor and some of its contents had spilled out. She scooped everything back in and fished around until she found some cream and bandages. She squeezed the white ointment out and smeared it on my wet, boiled skin. It felt oily and cool, soothing my wounds. She covered what she could with gauze.

  While she dressed my burns, I closed the mirror and looked at myself. I was fairly young looking, preteen or teen, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I was tall or short for my age since I had no reference to what my age was. I did notice I was very skinny. My cheeks were sunken in as well as my eye sockets. I looked sickly. On top of my head was straight blond hair. It was dry and very long, down to my waist. I had fair skin, but at the time, it looked rather ashen. My eyes were blue, but they looked hollow, like something was missing from them. In all truth, I felt like I had the potential to be beautiful, but I looked too sick and frail at that moment.

  “I am so sorry you got burnt and hit in the nose,” Theresa said as she put her dressings away. We left the bathroom and returned to the dining table where she carried over a paper she had grabbed. On it were two pictures of a body, the front side and the back side. She marked areas on the diagram where I had gotten hurt.

  “This is an incident sheet. I have to record everywhere you got injured. I tried to make note of all you burns. Did I miss any?” she asked. I looked at the drawing of the bodies. I guess she had gotten them, but I didn’t answer her. “They are going to kill me,” she said as she finished up the paper. “I hope I don’t get fired for this.”