by Sarah Biglow
Mom started up the first flight of stairs. "The fourth floor."
"Mom, I don't feel good. I think I’m going to be sick.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
She shook her head. "You're just nervous. You'll be fine. Stop stalling."
The climb to the fourth floor took an eternity. Each landing was eerily quiet, showing dimly lit hallways through firmly closed glass doors. Goose bumps broke out over my arms as the deserted hallways loomed in front of me. Every step sapped my energy a little more until I had to pull myself up the last few stairs by the bannister.
Mom stopped walking. "We're here."
Another long hallway stretched out in front of us. I scanned the name placards as we passed. Mostly doctors of one variety or another were on this floor. We stopped at the second to last door on the right. It read Dr. Priscilla Phillips, Child Psychologist.
Mom pushed the door open and let me go first into the small waiting area with half a dozen chairs lining two of the walls. The reception desk took up most of the remaining space, complete with a young woman typing fast on a computer.
I hung back as Mom approached the desk. "Excuse me."
The receptionist didn’t look away from the screen. "Can I help you?"
I craned my neck to see what was so fascinating but Mom blocked the view. "We have an appointment for Abbie Rollands."
The woman’s right hand moved to double-click the mouse. She nodded to herself and pointed her free hand at the chairs along the wall. "You can have a seat."
I settled in a hard plastic chair in the corner, Mom to my right, and stared around the empty room. The only sound came from the click clack of the receptionist typing away. For a doctor’s office it was a pretty drab place, not even outdated magazines to keep visitors occupied before appointments and I’m pretty sure the air conditioning was set on full blast because goose bumps had multiplied on my arms since we’d come in. The place was just creepy.
Finally, the woman swiveled out of her chair and disappeared down a short hallway. Half a minute later, she returned and fixed me with a big, sugary smile. "Dr. Phillips is ready for you. Please follow me."
I willed myself to stand and follow after her. Mom stood too but the receptionist held out a clipboard piled with paperwork. “You’ll need to fill this out.”
Mom took it but didn’t sit back down. “I was under the impression I’d be sitting in on the session.”
While having her in the room wouldn’t make me open up, a small part of me would have felt safer not being alone with the doctor. The receptionist continued to smile big. “Is your daughter over the age of thirteen?”
“Yes, but—”
“Dr. Phillips sees patients over age thirteen alone. I’m sure she’ll bring you in if she needs you for anything.” She turned her grin back to me. “Come on.”
I glanced over my shoulder but it was no use. I was stuck seeing the doctor alone. Mom sat back down and uncapped the pen attached to the clipboard. The receptionist led me down a short hallway and stopped at a room on the right. Instead of going in, I stared at the door at the very end of the hall. Despite it being ajar, I couldn’t see through the darkness and a shiver danced up my spine. I tamped down the uneasy feeling clutching at my heart and nearly ran into someone coming out of the room to my right. A tall man—at least six feet—emerged. “Excuse me, Miss.” He sidestepped me and for the briefest of moments our eyes met. There was no spark there begging me to set it ablaze, only piercing emeralds that threatened violence. Still, there was something familiar about them. I didn’t have time to put a name to the familiarity because the man strode away and the receptionist shoved me into the office. “In here.”
I stumbled into the room and the door clicked shut behind me. Trapped. The garish red and orange upholstery left me temporarily blind. I blinked through the retinal assault and saw a woman sitting behind a large desk with a nameplate that read Dr. Phillips. She smiled and stood up. “You must be Abigail.”
“Everybody calls me Abbie.” It slipped out on instinct before I could stop it. No one but Mom called me Abigail and she reserved that particular torture for when she was really pissed off.
“Well then, it’s very nice to meet you, Abbie. My name is Dr. Phillips.”
She offered me one of the chairs and I settled on the edge of one of the orange ones. I waited—I wasn’t sure what for—while she pulled out a notepad and dark red pen. So far this wasn’t going at all how I’d imagined. No big couches or inkblots. But it was not normal to have so much florescent furniture. The chance meeting with the mystery man still tried to distract me from the conversation at hand.
“So, can you tell me why you’re here?” Dr. Phillips leaned on the desk.
I couldn’t tell the truth—that Mom and the principal made me come—so I lied. “I don’t know.”
“Well, from what your mother told me it sounds like you’ve been having some trouble in school.”
I crossed my arms defensively over my chest. “I got suspended. But it wasn’t even my fault.”
“What happened?”
I was tired of talking about it but her posture with pen poised to scribble notes communicated clearly that I wasn’t getting out of it.
I blew out a breath. Better to get it over with as fast as possible. “I was in math class and this boy, Peter, went up to the board and instead of doing the problem he was assigned, he wrote a poem about a girl he liked. Everyone laughed but they blamed me. I got in trouble because he claimed I made him do it.”
“I see.” She made some notations.
Trying to read her upside-down scrawl proved fruitless. She was too far away to get a good look.
She looked up, pen hovering above the paper. “Does this happen often?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“In every class?”
“Mostly. The teachers all hate me as much as the kids. Well, not Mr. McManus but everyone else probably did a dance of victory when I got suspended.”
“How long has this been happening?”
I turned away and picked at a cuticle. “I guess it started near the end of last year. Maybe a little earlier.”
She nodded. “Can you tell me what happens?”
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try.”
Liam’s chat message flashed before my eyes. I sighed. “I sometimes see this like … spark in some people and I just have to be near them and then they act out. I wish I knew what made me do it.” I stopped short of admitting how much I wanted it to stop or how deep my emotional scars ran from all the times it happened.
“That’s all right. I believe you.”
I let out a snort. “Yeah, right.”
She nodded. “Has it ever happened to this boy before?”
I tried to think; had Peter ever acted out before? “Probably. I can’t remember. I don’t exactly keep track.”
“Are there any students that it doesn’t affect?” Dr. Phillips waited for a response, her gaze boring into my brain.
Liam came to mind but there was no way I was bringing him up. “Well, like I said it isn’t everyone. I can’t tell if someone is going to trigger it or not.”
Dr. Phillips jotted something down on her notepad and looked up. “Does it happen in some classes more than others?”
I shifted my weight in the chair. The interrogation grew tiresome. “Algebra a lot. And sometimes in science and history.”
“Would you say there’s one class where it happens the least?”
“American lit. I mean it happens sometimes but Mr. McManus—that’s my teacher—acts like it’s just people being creative. He encourages that.”
“You sound like you enjoy his class.”
I smiled without meaning to. “He treats me like a person. Not a disruption like everyone else.”
“Is there a consistent reason you are getting in trouble?”
”My mom says it’s because I hum. But I’ve always hummed and it’s never bothered people b
efore.”
“Do you hum a lot?”
“Yeah. It keeps me calm and helps me concentrate.”
“Do you think maybe you hum as a way to get attention?”
Pressing my shoulders back into the chair, I sat straight and tried not to snap at her. “No. Why would I want more attention? I’m practically drowning in it. I don’t need more.”
She held her hands up, palms out. “It was just a question.”
Her line of questioning was now bordering on anger-inducing. I was not an attention whore. I hated being in the spotlight.
Dr. Phillips looked ready to ask another question; a soft knock on the door stopped her. “Come in.”
I craned my neck to see who was interrupting us. Mom stood in the doorway, car keys visible. “Honey, I have a work emergency. I’ve called your dad to take you home when you’re finished.”
Alarm bells blared in my brain. She can’t leave me here with this stranger. “Can’t they handle it without you?” It came out as a whine.
She frowned. “I’m sorry but they can’t.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s just twenty more minutes. You’ll be fine.”
If that was all the time left, she should have been able to stay. But I wasn’t winning this argument. She gave a quick wave before backing out of the room and shutting the door. I remained facing away from the doctor for a few more seconds before finally facing her. She flipped the page over on her notepad and leaned forward. “I know we’ve been talking a lot about school and the things that happen there. But I get the feeling there are other things that you might benefit from talking about.”
I leaned back and I felt my brow knit together. “Like what?”
“Well, I notice your mom came with you today but your dad didn’t. Is there a reason why?”
My back went rigid. Why couldn’t people leave well enough alone about the damn divorce? “They divorced.”
“I see. When did they split up?”
Pressing my lips together in a firm line, I heeded Liam’s words and kept quiet. Just because she asked didn’t mean I had to answer.
Dr. Phillips’s smile turned down at the edges. “I can see that this topic makes you uncomfortable. And that wasn’t my intention. I only ask because it seems that the two might be related.” She wasn’t going to give up on this.
There was no way I could outlast the woman with silence and the way she sat forward in her chair, it almost seemed like she wanted to unburden me. To carry some of the anger of what happened. To free me of some of my loneliness. I blinked back tears. “They split last year. I don’t even know why. My mom came home one day and said that Dad was moving out. No explanation or anything. They didn’t even ask who I wanted to live with. Somehow she got custody and I only get to see my dad on weekends and holidays.”
“Did you try talking to your parents about what happened?”
I snorted. “No. Besides, they fight more now than when they were together, which makes no sense at all. They don’t have to see each other, but they just argue constantly.”
“Well, I’m very sorry that they can’t seem to get along, even for you.”
I failed to keep a bitter laugh from escaping. “You have no idea. I don’t really think they agreed on this.”
She didn’t react to my statement. She just made her notes and looked up again. “I am glad you were able to open up a little to me about your parents, Abbie. It’s not good to keep all that anger bottled up inside.”
I shrugged one shoulder in response. It didn’t matter what I said about Mom and Dad. This woman wasn’t a miracle worker and Mom and Dad getting along wouldn’t stop kids from acting out around me.
Dr. Phillips tapped her pen on the edge of the notepad. “I’d like to change topics if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’d like to discuss your school situation some more. You said that you hum. Why?”
“It helps me concentrate.”
“Did you ever think it might be distracting to other people?”
“I guess so. I don’t mean to do it. Sometimes I don’t even notice it’s happening until I’m getting kicked out of class.”
“Abbie, I’m sensing some other emotions here. Is there anyone your own age you’ve talked to about this?”
I bit down hard on my tongue until I tasted blood. “Not really. I mean guess there might be one person I could tell but we haven’t known each other long. Just a couple months. But they actually aren’t horrible to me.”
“Well, I suppose one friend is a good start. You have to have people you can trust.”
I tugged at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt, not eager to contribute more to the conversation. All this talk of friends made me wonder why Liam had only recently expressed an interest in being friends. The confusion surrounding why he’d asked about the spark—even if he didn’t know that’s what he was asking about—gnawed at my gut.
“Abbie, did you hear me?”
I blinked and returned my attention to the shrink across the desk. “Uh, what?”
The doctor’s face creased with worry lines in her forehead. “I asked if there is a specific song you hum to help you focus or keep you calm.”
"No. I think it’s just a tune in my head.” I thought for a moment about the tune that eased my nerves. “I’m pretty sure it’s always the same though.”
"Could you hum it for me?"
Hesitation kept me from answering. This didn’t make any sense. Why would knowing the song I hummed make a damn bit of difference if I continued to get in trouble, if I couldn’t control the impulse to set that spark ablaze? Dr. Phillips stood, rounded the desk and perched in front of me. I had no choice but to give a demonstration. "I guess."
I caught her eye and waited, hoping for the first time that I caught the spark. There was something there, buried deep and I latched on to it. I focused as hard as I could and began to hum, my fingertips brushing against her knee. The spell took hold for a brief instant and Dr. Phillips smiled. Her shoulder, which had been carrying tension I hadn’t noticed, dropped as a weight lifted. The doctor moved out of reach and the moment ended.
“Thank you, Abbie.”
Reality snapped back harsh around me and the insanity of it all threatened to overtake me. The bright colors once again blinded me temporarily and I swore Dr. Phillips had a glow about her when she moved to a shelf with a water pitcher and empty glasses. It had to be a trick of the sunlight from the windows. She filled the glasses up and handed one to me. "You look thirsty."
"Thanks." I took the glass but didn’t drink. I wasn’t thirsty.
Dr. Phillips waited for me to take a drink, even tipping her own glass to encourage me. The silence grew awkward and finally I pressed the glass to my lips. Downing several swallows, I set the glass on the edge of the desk in front of me. Almost immediately the room grew warm and my head spun. Black spots popped before my eyes and my body grew heavy. The office dimmed around me and Dr. Phillips’s face blinked in and out of focus. “What’s … happening?” Panic set in, turning the heat to feverish chills. Trying to stand, my legs refused to bear my weight. My fingers turned thick and clumsy as I tried to push out of the chair toward the doorway. I only succeeded in falling out of the chair. The bright room blurred completely, my heart pounding in my ears before everything went silent and black.
7
Thoughts jumbled together and I fell through inky blackness. In the space between one breath and the next, my body slammed painfully onto something solid and horizontal. I opened my eyes and my heart jumped into my throat like I’d just woken up from one of those terrifying falling dreams.
Ugh!
Darkness still enveloped everything around me. Gradually, my eyes became accustomed to the gloom. I had no idea where I was, other than I was pretty sure I was no longer in Dr. Phillips’s office. My arms and legs fought me as I tried to sit up. They weighed me down like someone had swapped out my blood for lead. After a few tense minutes of pins a
nd needles jabbing angrily at my extremities, I regained enough movement in my legs to attempt sitting up again. In the semidarkness I could just make out something across the way, something lumpy. Panic spiked my heart rate when I remembered Dad was supposed to pick me up from the appointment. He would know something was wrong when I wasn’t there.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” My voice cracked on the last word.
No response. Struggling to my feet, I groped through the dark until my hands finally met the wall. It was smooth and room temperature so I assumed it wasn’t made of anything like concrete. My vision continued to adjust to the darkness until I could make out the crease that designated a corner. I was about to turn and trail the next segment when a bare bulb high overhead blazed to life, blinding me. Spots danced in my vision and I blinked rapidly trying to make them go away. When my vision cleared, I discovered the lumpy form was a person. A teenage girl about my age lay on a bed, curled up on her side. Long, brown hair fanned over the pillow and her olive-colored skin looked pale in the light.
“Who are you?” My voice came out stronger than before but my vocal cords still felt like sandpaper.
The other girl sat up slowly and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I am Rosa.” The girl’s accent was pronounced but I couldn’t place it.
“I’m Abbie.” I took a minute to survey our surroundings now that I could actually see in the light. The room was cramped with two other beds pressed up against two of the remaining walls. By the faint indentations on one of the beds, I guessed I’d come from that one. I turned back to Rosa. “Where are we?”
Rosa shook her head and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I do not know. But there is no way out.”
I couldn’t believe that. Studying the wall in front of me, there was no sign of a door. The entire wall was seamless. That didn’t keep me from moving closer and banging my fists as hard as possible. “Hey, let us out of here!”
“That will not work. No one responds.”