Chapter 3
Elisabeth~
Now, while most of my patients attended therapy in one of the common rooms that were assigned to each therapist, I had a couple that didn’t like to leave their rooms, and so I went to them when it was time for their sessions, and Luther Daxton was one of those patients.He was most comfortable in his own surroundings, and I was okay with that.Most of the patients at St.Dymphna’s were never going to leave this place, and so my job was to help them through the rough days, not to necessarily ‘cure’ them.
I also had something in common with the patients at St.Dymphna’s, and that was that I was also Catholic, having converted when I had turned eighteen.While my parents had been extremely disappointed, they hadn’t stood in my way of being true to myself, something that I was extremely grateful for.Though I hadn’t been able to explain it in a way that they’d comprehend or in a way that hadn’t made me sound crazy, I had begged my parents to understand that something else had called to me, and it’d been a real identity crisis when I’d been raised so devoutly to my parents’ teachings.Still, they hadn’t crucified me for my decision to convert, and to this day, I appreciated their sacrifice.
Now, whether by chance or design, my name had meaning, and I had spent quite a bit of my childhood wondering if there’d been some deeper meaning to what my parents had named me.According to the internet and scriptures, Elisabeth meant God’s promise, and Batya meant daughter of God.Granted, none of us had control of our last names, but I’d always wondered if God’s promised daughter had been tied to the nightmares that I’d had as a child.Only, they hadn’t felt like nightmares, even though that’s exactly what they’d been.
At any rate, I had also discovered that Elisheva was the Hebrew version of Elizabeth, and though I only heard that name during those nightmares, it’d been hard to believe that there hadn’t been some deeper meaning behind it, but since I hadn’t had a nightmare in years, I guess it no longer mattered.The only thing that mattered was the right here, and I did my best not to live in the past or lose myself to memories that faded with time anyway.
“Hello, Luther,” I greeted as I knocked on the doorway before entering his room.While most of our patients weren’t allowed to roam around freely, we had a few that could.“How are you feeling this morning?I heard that you had a rough night.”
He quickly sat up on his bed, crossing his legs, his arms resting on his elbows.Looking at him, Luther appeared average, a passing stranger that you wouldn’t look at twice.He was five-foot-ten, had dirty-blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and was a little on the slim side, but not in an unhealthy way.He was also only twenty-seven, making him one of our youngest residents here.
“God came to me last night,” he said, confirming what the night-shift nurses had reported.“He came to me.”
Luther was here because he insisted that God spoke to him, and his parents were wealthy enough to house him here.Now, while he didn’t seem a danger to himself or others, his insistence that God spoke to him was concerning enough.If he would just give up that claim, he’d be able to live a regular life and be at home with his family.However, Luther was adamant that God spoke to him, and so far, no one had been able to convince him otherwise.
“And what did He say?”I asked, my tape recorder and notepad in hand as always.
“He said that you were going to need soldiers soon, and that I needed to be ready,” he answered, his blue gaze bright.“He said that I have to be ready to fight alongside you.”
While Luther speaking with God was a common therapy subject, this was new.Never had Luther ever mentioned me during one of his conversations with God, and while it wasn’t necessarily a conflict of interest at this point, bringing me up specifically might pose a problem in the future.No matter what, I couldn’t have a patient becoming fixated on me.
“Did He say why I needed help?”I asked carefully.
“He didn’t say that you needed help,” he clarified.“You won’t ever need help.He said that you were going to need soldiers to fight alongside you, and I’m one of those soldiers.”
“Well, we all need help sometimes, Luther.”
He shook his head rapidly, his shaggy blonde hair whipping around his face.“Not you.Never you.At least, not for this.”
“And what is this?”
“You already know,” he replied, his brows knitted in disapproval.“He said that you already know what’s coming.”
I ignored that part since this had nothing to do with me.“What else did God tell you?”
“That you don’t need help, but you do need to connect,” he answered.“You can’t do it if you don’t connect.”
“Connect with God?”I asked, my pen flying across the notepad as he spoke.
Luther shook his head.“No, not God.”
“Then who or what am I supposed to connect with?”
“You already know,” he repeated, beginning to sound agitated with me.“He said that you already know everything.”
Needing to pull him away from his emotions, I asked, “What else did He say about you being a soldier?Did He give you any specific direction on what is needed of you?”
