Authors: Amy Cross
“Stupid,” I whisper. “So goddamn stupid.”
Alice - Twenty years ago
“What if you don't come back tomorrow?” Father asks as I drop the used syringe into a plastic bag. “What if they just decide to lock you up for killing that boy? Will I be left here to rot?”
“It's a review hearing,” I reply, feeling a flutter of fear in my chest. “Their job is to make a recommendation based on -”
“So they're the ones who'll tell the cops to arrest you for murder?”
I flinch as soon as I hear that word.
“Or whatever they call it,” he continues. “Manslaughter? Is that how they describe gross incompetence these days? I don't suppose it matters much, the poor little boy's dead anyway. And all because you couldn't be bothered to give him the right pills.”
“The review hearing will -”
“They'll throw the book at you,” he sneers, “and rightly so. I hope you
don't
come back, I hope they take you away in chains.” He sniffs as he tries to sit up, although he quickly lets out a gasp of pain. “You're a terrible nurse. You don't have the mind for it. You're too floaty and easily distracted. I knew it right from the start, right from the day you said you were going to train for it, but your brother persuaded me to let you try. I shouldn't have listened to him, but I suppose I wanted to do the right thing. I knew you were too dumb.”
Taking the bag around the bed, I drop it into the bin.
“When he takes over this house,” he mutters, “it'll be a proper place again. With a family.”
“When he...” I pause for a moment, trying to make sense of what I just heard. “I thought Malcolm -”
“I'm leaving the house to him,” he continues. “What'd be the point in letting
you
stay here, anyway? It's not you'll ever have a family of your own. What man would want
you
?”
“But I thought -”
“You've lived here rent-free for long enough,” he adds. “I told Malcolm the other day when he came to visit. It's not right, him and his family being in that little apartment when there's this old place needing a family. Maybe he'll rent the apartment to you, if you're lucky.”
“He never said anything about taking over the house,” I stammer. “He said -”
“That's why you're looking after me, isn't it?” he sneers. “I finally worked out why you're pretending to give a crap about me. You figured you'd wipe my arse for a few months until I keel over, and then I'd give you the house out of sheer gratitude. Well bugger that for a laugh, my girl, because it's not happening. Anyway, it's not like you'll need the place. Pretty soon you'll be rotting in jail for murder or manslaughter.”
“I should get you something to eat,” I whisper, turning and hurrying to the door, only to stop as soon as I see the little boy watching me from the landing. “I...”
His gaze is darker than ever. It's almost as if he knows my future.
“You've brought shame to the family,” Father continues. “Well? What are you doing standing there like that for? I thought you were going to get me some soup!”
I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I can only stare at the boy, watching his dark, dead eyes. He seems to be waiting for me, perhaps even challenging me, and I can't quite bring myself to go to the doorway.
“Do you see him?” I ask. “Right in front of me...”
“What's wrong with you?” Father snaps. “You might not be much of a nurse, but I thought you could at least still fetch and carry things!”
“Of course,” I stammer, before stepping forward, hoping that the boy will disappear. When I get to the doorway, however, he's still staring up at me. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, with tears in my eyes. “I was only trying to help you...”
“Who are you talking to?” Father asks. “Have you lost your bloody mind? Or is it the boy again? Is he staring at you?”
Slipping past the boy, I step back against the wall and watch as he keeps his eyes fixed on me.
“It's tomorrow,” I tell him. “Tomorrow they'll...”
My voice trails off as I see the hatred in his eyes. I take another step back, but my knees feel weak and finally I have to sit down. I watch in horror as the boy steps closer, and now he's towering above me. For the first time, I can see the broken blood vessels all around the edges of his eyes, caused by the bout of intense retching and vomiting that struck him as he was dying. His lips, dry and chapped, are trembling slightly, as if he's on the verge of speaking, but something seems to be holding him back.
“I know it's my fault,” I whimper, with tears streaming down my face. “I know it, and they know it too. Please, what do you want from me?”
“You know what I want,” he replies, his voice dry and harsh. “Why are you delaying? Tonight's your last chance. I'll never let you go until you pay the price.”
“What's going on out there?” Father yells as I let out a series of gulping sobs. “What the hell's wrong with you now, woman? Are you talking to that goddamn ghost again?”
Rachel - Today
“So you were talking to someone earlier.”
Taking care not to stumble as I reach the top of the stairs, with Mum holding my arm, I briefly consider not answering at all. Then again, I know she'll just keep nagging until I admit the truth.
“He seemed nice,” she continues.
“He's just a neighbor.”
“From the house next door?”
“I believe that's what the word
neighbor
means,” I mutter, reaching out to steady myself against the wall. “Relax, I'm not going to get into trouble. I think the odds of me getting into trouble with a hot local guy are pretty low.”
“True.”
I flinch as soon as she says that word. I mean, I know she's right, but I'd still like a little encouragement from my own mother. She could tell me that I'll find the right guy some day, that beauty is more than skin deep, all that crap that people usually come out with. Instead, however, she's being her usual incredibly blunt self.
“I don't think you should talk to him again,” she adds after a moment. “There's no way it could possibly end well.”
“And how do you think it
should
end?” I ask.
“I just think you're setting yourself up for a fall.”
“Speaking of falls,” I reply, “why
exactly
do you keep some old man's cane next to your bed?”
I wait for her to reply, but as I shuffle toward my bedroom door, I can't help wondering whether I made a mistake. After all, now she's going to realize that I went into her room.
“I told you,” she says finally, “the house came fully-furnished.”
“With a cane?”
“It was there when we moved in. Anyway, you have a baseball bat next to
your
bed.”
“That's slightly different,” I point out. “That's for braining zombies or burglars, and I actually put it there myself. Whereas that cane...”
I pause as I shuffle through the doorway.
“I mean, don't you find it creepy?”
“Why would I?”
“You don't know who it belonged to. Is there any other stuff like that around this place? Hell, are some old dude's clothes still in the drawers and closets?”
“Now you're being facetious.”
“Deliberately so.”
She sighs. “Rachel, things are already hard enough, and I need your support rather than -”
“I can make it to the bed from here,” I tell her, slipping free of her grip and shuffling forward. I'm not entirely sure where I am in the room now, but a moment later I feel my legs bumping against the bed and I sit down. “What time is it?”
“Rachel -”
“Aren't you going to be late for work?” I continue. “Don't worry, I'll be fine alone here overnight again. You go have fun, or whatever you actually get up to when you claim you're cleaning office blocks.”
I wait for a reply, but now all I hear is silence. I'm pretty damn sure she's staring at me from the doorway, and I can well imagine the tired, annoyed expression on her face.
“I work to support us,” she says finally. “It's not easy, Rachel.”
“I know.”
“I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong address last night, but that was an honest mistake.”
“Fine.” I'm not sure I believe her.
“And I know I'm not the best mother. I know I do things wrong, and I can't always give you what you want, but I'm trying.”
I nod. I know I've been unfair again, but deep down I'm scared of spending another night alone here in the house. I can't admit that, of course, and I have to act all tough and self-sufficient, but I keep thinking back to the face I felt last night, or at least the face I
thought
I felt. I know now that I imagined the whole thing, that I allowed my imagination to go into overdrive, but that's not much of a help when I'm facing the exact same situation again. I can tell myself all I want that these things only exist in my head, but they're still going to feel real at the time. What if I can't stop myself going nuts?
“I can call in sick,” Mum says after a moment, as if she's sensing my fear. “Rachel -”
“Don't be silly,” I reply, even though I'd love it if she stayed home. I've been alone every night since we moved in. “Go to work. I'll be totally cool here.”
She sighs.
“Night, day, it's all the same to me now,” I point out. “You could tell me it's the middle of the afternoon and the sun is shining, and I'd have to believe you.”
I pause, before hearing footsteps coming toward the bed. A moment later, she kisses my forehead.
“I love you, Rachel,” she tells me.
“I love you too.”
“You're the perfect daughter.”
I frown. That seems like a weird thing to say. “Um... Okay...”
“And I'll be back at the usual time,” she adds, before turning and heading out of the room. “I've added the number of the building to your phone, it's the first number on speed-dial, so if you need to call me for any reason -”
“I won't.”
“But if you do, you won't have any trouble getting through this time. I promise.”
As she heads downstairs, I sit alone on the edge of the bed for a moment, and then finally I reach up and very gently remove my sunglasses. I can't even begin to imagine how awful my damaged eyes look, and I'm quite sure that the scars are never going to heal. Aidan probably caught at least a glimpse of the ugliness, despite the sunglasses, and he probably felt grossed out. I want to touch the scars, but at the last moment I change my mind. I know they're hideous, so why feel them again?
Downstairs, the front door opens and then shuts again, and I realize I'm alone in the house once more. And then, as if on cue, I hear a faint bumping sound from the room directly beneath my bed.
“It's all in my head,” I say out loud, hoping to persuade myself. “Stay sane, Rachel. Stay sane. There's no such thing as ghosts.”
Alice - Twenty years ago
Sitting at the kitchen table, I stare at the bowl of pills. There's more than enough here to do the job. All I have to do is swallow them all and wait.
It'll hurt, of course, but that's no more than I deserve.
I should feel the pain
he
felt.
He's sitting opposite, barely visible in the shadows, waiting for me to do it.
“Are you scared?” he asks.
Still staring at the pills, I shake my head.
“You
should
be,” he continues. “You'll feel as if someone is ripping through your gut with razors. No matter how much you think it's going to hurt, it'll be a thousand times worse.”
“I know,” I whisper, as a fresh tear rolls down my cheek. “But I... I caused you to suffer, so it's only right that I go through it myself. And I can't... I can't face the review board tomorrow. I can't sit in that room and listen while they tell everyone that I killed you. I just can't...”
“Then there's only one way out. You know what to do.”
Reaching out, I pick up a handful of pills. They feel so light, it's hard to believe they could do so much damage, but I know full well that they'll cause a slow and agonizing death. I remember seeing people at the ER ward who'd taken overdoses, and some of them were screaming. Now that's going to be me, except I'll make damn sure that I don't make it as far as a hospital.
“Take them,” Anthony whispers, with a hint of anticipation in his voice. “All of them.”
Suddenly there's a bumping sound from upstairs, and I realize Father wants something. I hesitate for a moment, before setting the pills down again.
“Do it!” Anthony hisses.
“I have to attend to Father first.”
“No, you have to take the pills! Stop making excuses!”
Getting to my feet, I feel a shudder of fear in my chest.
“I can't abandon him,” I explain, even though my voice is trembling with fear. “It's my duty to look after him.”
“That's just an excuse. He hates you, you don't owe him anything. You're just too scared to feel the same pain I felt when you killed me.”
“Alice!” Father shouts. “I've been sick again! Alice!”
“I have to go up there,” I whisper, before hurrying over to the doorway.
“Coward,” Anthony says firmly.
I hesitate for a moment, and then I turn to look at the table again. Anthony has disappeared, but the pills are still there, waiting for me. If I could only find the courage to take them, my life would be over in just a few short minutes. The pain would be excruciating, but at least the misery would end.
“Alice!” Father yells. “Where are you? I've been sick!”
“Tomorrow,” I whisper, still watching the pills for a moment, before turning and hurrying up the stairs. I can't abandon Father. After the awful thing that I did to Anthony, Father is my penance now.