Scorched Grounds (Normal, Alabama) by Debbie Herbert

Author:Debbie Herbert [Herbert, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542005869
Published: 2020-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

THE CORRECTOR

I missed the woman who’d suffered from ancraophobia—a fear of the wind. I’d kept Ellie Ingram the longest of anyone—twenty-six days. Every night I’d unlock her basement cell door below the abandoned tuberculosis ward and take her for a walk outside. The windier the better. If there was no wind, I’d tie her up in a chair by an open window, causing a mild anxiety prelude in Ellie before taking her to a deserted restroom and shoving her face under the blast of a hand dryer. In a pinch, even a breeze from fans or overhead air vents served to ramp up her fear.

After Ellie’s death so many years ago, I’d ceased administering corrective treatments, discouraged over my inability to cure their weaknesses. I’d pushed Ellie over and over until she’d died from not taking her insulin correctly. That death was on her, not me. I’d provided her nutritious meals and the correct diabetic medicine. It had been her choice to stop taking the medicine and lie to me that she had.

I shook my head as I recalled opening her cell and discovering her body lying on the concrete, out cold from a diabetic coma. She had died less than an hour later. The woman was so mentally fucked up she’d committed suicide rather than undergo more correction to face her fears and become strong.

What was wrong with people these days?

I’d endured years of corrective treatment, and look how strong I’d become as a result. How powerful.

Nonnie had corrected me almost daily as a child. And it hadn’t stopped during puberty either. There’d been no peace until at last I’d taken measures into my own hands at age fifteen. One snowy afternoon, she’d scolded me for leaving a spot of grease on the stove after I’d cleaned up after our lunch.

“If you don’t take care with the little things, how can you expect to ever conquer the important tasks of life?” she asked that fateful day, grabbing my arm with bony, arthritic hands that could still dig deep into my flesh or pack a wallop upside my head. Like a chastised puppy, I offered no resistance as she guided me to the dark closet to be locked in darkness. I willingly shuffled my way into the cramped area that smelled of urine no matter how many times I’d scrubbed it down after being forced to relieve myself because Nonnie wouldn’t let me out to use the bathroom.

And just like that, in a powerful surge of understanding, I realized that submitting to this frail old lady was a form of weakness on my part. Hadn’t she tried to teach me to be bold—assertive? Electric energy crackled through my body, sparking neurons in my brain, lighting up every cell until I swore my very fingertips glowed from the charge. It was as though I’d lain dormant until a switch flipped on.

The door began to shut behind me. I swirled around, placing a hand on its battered wooden surface to stop it swinging completely shut, blocking my encroaching doom.

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