Bleed Through

by Arrington, Adriana

  “Turn on your recording app again.” He pointed to her mobile.

  Like she expected her phone to start oozing black, poisonous liquid, she picked it up and held it at a distance. “I don’t understand what’s happening with this app.” She turned the device over in her hands.

  Liam worked his jaw. His cheek smarted from the slap. “It’s Joshua. He’s messing with our interview.”

  Her hands went still. “Who’s Joshua?”

  “You could call him an imaginary friend. Occasionally he reaches across the lines of reality.” He peered around the room theatrically, praying he didn’t overdo this bit. “He doesn’t want Isaac to come home.”

  “Why not?” Her voice, low and quiet, cracked.

  He crooked his pointer finger and beckoned her closer. After a heartbeat, she leaned her head toward his.

  “Because he likes having Mom and Tasha all to ourselves. Isaac takes up too much space,” he whispered.

  Camila chewed on her fingernail, ruining her perfect manicure. “Do you want Isaac to come home?”

  “I need him to come home. He’s what makes this family work. Without him, we’ll be a mess. My sister needs her father.”

  “What about your mother?”

  He leaned back. “She’s harmless. But it’s hard for her to deal with me long term. Few people can.” The words stung more than he thought they would, but the truth didn’t care about his feelings.

  Joshua wrenched Camila’s phone out of her fingers and reared his hand back to toss the device across the room. “You stupid sonuvabitch! You can’t do anything right! Now I’ve gotta fix your mistake like I always do.”

  Freed now from his prison, RP barreled through the hallway and collided against Joshua a snarling mess of fur. Camila lifted her feet to her chest and away from the hissing cat, unaware of Joshua’s howling. The phone clanked on the floor as he evaporated.

  RP swished his tail irritably and circled the dining room table. Satisfied he’d scared away his prey, he hopped onto Liam’s lap and settled down like a sphinx watching guard.

  Camila’s heels clattered against the oak chair. “What just happened?”

  “Joshua.” Liam shook his head with a practiced resignation.

  Wary of the unpredictable animal, the caseworker climbed down from her perch and retrieved her phone. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she stood. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Murphy.”

  He tried not to smile. “Are you okay, Camila?”

  Although kind of a douchey move, unnerving her had been an important aspect of his strategy. She needed to know what it felt like to be around him, what Isaac had to deal with every day. While he’d gambled that Joshua could touch the real world, his plan couldn’t have turned out better. Liam still hated Alexandra, but ultimately she deserved credit for his idea. He’d theorized she wasn’t his only hallucination now able to cross over into reality. Turned out his theory had been correct. Liam-1. World-9, 581, 361.

  She said, “I’m fine.” Her pitch rose higher than usual.

  “Then may I ask you a question before you leave?”

  “Okay.” She straightened invisible wrinkles in her skirt with a shaking hand.

  “You’ve spent about fifteen minutes with me. How do you think you’d do for an entire day? How about a week? Or even six months?”

  She swallowed.

  Liam scratched RP under his chin. “Clear Isaac. We’re safer with him.”

  Allison emerged from the hall. Though she had to have heard his plea for Isaac to return home, she trained her face blank as she escorted Camila, and all of her burdens, to the door.

  Joshua would make Liam pay for his betrayal. But if Isaac came home, the pain would be worth it.

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24th

  iam paced the halls of Isaac’s house, trailing his hands along the wall. His fingernail caught on a peeling piece of paint, and he ripped it off. The layer below looked exactly the same. White flakes fluttered to the floor and settled on his bare feet as he continued to dig. What secrets hid within these walls? Would he unleash them upon his mind if he delved deep enough?

  “Liam,” said Allison. She stood in her room, watching him create a hole in the wall. “The rain’s letting up a bit. Why don’t you take a walk?”

  “I’ve got a project. I’m gonna discover how many families have lived in this house before us. The paint won’t lie. Each layer equals a move.”

  More paint chips tumbled to the ground.

  “I’m sure that’s true. But it’s also true we’re going to have to pay a hefty fee if you destroy the hallway.” She raised both arms and tightened her ponytail.

  “Sorry. I’ve got some pent-up energy.” He stopped picking at the wall. “I’ve been confined indoors for three weeks now.”

  “I know. A little exercise will do you wonders. No more excuses. Go take a walk.” She did her best impression of a Miss America wave.

  “Right. How about a few dollars so I can swing by the shoppette?”

  She made a show of pulling a five-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  The cash, water-stained and ancient, threatened to disintegrate under his grip. He mumbled, “Later,” and headed out the back door.

  A fine mist of rain tickled his face. Sandburs clung to his shoes and lower legs as he walked through the backyard. He avoided looking at the tree he’d climbed the night he almost killed Tasha. Its twisted limbs still called to him, proving he couldn’t trust his desires. They harmed him and the people he loved.

  He skirted over to the road winding down to both the shoppette and yacht club. Lead-colored clouds gathered in the sky above and promised to turn the sprinkling rain into a deluge. He picked up his pace. While he didn’t care whether he got drenched, it would concern his mother.

  Upon reaching the shoppette, he clambered up its wooden steps and opened the door. Pop music filtered down from overhead speakers. He shook his head like a wet dog and picked his way toward the candy and drink aisle, where a mother and her two little sons crowded the chocolate bars. The smaller boy, no older than two or three, put his grimy little paws on every piece of candy he could reach.

  Cheese puffs it was.

  He hemmed and hawed over his chemical-orange options―curls, balls, or puffs?―and in the end went with the classic selection of cheese curls. He snagged a soda from the refrigerator and brought his treats to the checkout counter. When the cashier didn’t give his ID a second glance, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he held.

  “Have a pleasant day,” the cashier said.

  “Thanks. I think I will.”

  Junk food clutched to his chest, he leaned against the exit door and pushed it open. Fat raindrops splattered on his head. He raised the cheese curls like an umbrella and trucked forward, unaware of the two men walking up the steps toward him until he crashed into them.

  “Watch where you’re going, man!” a familiar voice said.

  Liam’s stomach dropped. He lowered the junk food bag and fought to keep his lips from trembling when his eyes confirmed what his ears knew. Clad in a tight, olive-green T-shirt, Cull glared at him, snub nose flaring with contempt. A very much alive Stuart Laughlin stood next to him, shuffling his feet and darting furtive glances at the shoppette entrance.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged outta the psychiatric ward,” Cull said. “Just who I wanted to talk to.”

  Liam tried to back up the stairs, but Cull grabbed his arm. “Let go of me,” he said.

  Cull snickered. “You’re the one giving orders now, is that it? I don’t think you understand your position here.”

  The mother and two sons still inside the shoppette would walk out at any moment. They couldn’t slobber over the candy bars forever. He rolled his soda in his hands. “I understand fine. You think you can blackmail me.”

  “Be careful what you say to me, boy.” Cull lowered his voice. “I’m not blackmailing you. I’m merely asking for my dues. You owe me.�
� His fingers pressed hard against Liam’s skin.

  Teeth bared in a shameful imitation of a smile, Liam stood his ground. “I don’t owe you anything. You’ll be in jail soon enough for killing Stuart.”

  With a great guffaw, Cull gestured at Stuart, who pantomimed choking to death. “You mean the guy standing behind me? Or is he a ghost? Those rumors about you being crazy don’t even begin to scratch the surface, do they?”

  Liam’s face flushed with humiliation, and he jerked away his arm. “I don’t have your drugs, and I don’t have your money. Leave me alone.”

  Cull rubbed his finger and thumb together. “Crazy or not, the only way I’ll leave you alone is if you give me what I’m owed. And what you owe me is $200. You’ve got until Friday at 1800 hours. Meet me here with the money. Otherwise, there’ll be consequences.”

  To prove his point, he body checked Liam, hitting him so hard his feet lifted off the landing. He tumbled down the stairs. The bag of cheese curls padded his head as it hit the concrete parking lot, popping like a gun upon impact. The soda skittered under a parked car.

  “There’s no hope for you, is there? You’re one pathetic bastard.” He clucked and turned his back on Liam. A soft ding sounded as he opened the shoppette door. Stuart sent him a sideways gaze and hesitated before following Cull.

  Liam groaned and closed his eyes. He attempted to sort through the maze of lies his mind had created. What was real? The murder had to be a hallucination since Stuart was alive and sneering at him. But what about the rest of it? If Cull and Stuart were real, were the drugs also? The money he owed?

  The shoppette door burst open, and Liam cringed, anticipating more threats from Cull. Instead, the woman and her squealing children emerged from the store. Dark-brown smears of chocolate covered both boys’ faces. They skipped down the stairs, consumed with the bliss of sugar.

  He sat up and leaned against the aged wooden railing.

  The woman blinked at him. She said, “May I help you with something, sir?”

  “I wish you could, but thanks for the offer.”

  The woman frowned and eyed him before ordering her children into their car.

  He abandoned his crushed cheese curls on the pavement, fought his way to his feet, and followed the red taillights of her vehicle driving up the small hill parallel to Isaac’s house. Hallucinations or not, he had no desire to talk with Cull and Stuart again.

  Rain soaked his clothes and shoes as he slogged home. The pit in the bottom of his stomach grew with each step. No way could he summon up $200. He had to find the drugs and return them. Cull might not be happy about it, but the little bag of cocaine would have to be enough.

  At step 512, he strode through the back door and headed to his room, heedless of the puddles he made. The cocaine had to still be there. He must’ve misplaced it. He pulled out the drawers of his dresser and dumped them upside down. Rumpled clothing cascaded to the floor. He threw the empty drawers to the side and waded through his clothes. He checked pockets, turned pants inside out, snapped shirts taut.

  The packet of cocaine wasn’t there.

  He could think of only two possible explanations. He’d lost the drugs and was in a world of trouble with Cull, or he’d imagined the entire situation.

  Either way, Liam was fucked. That much he knew was true.

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 25th

  iam pointed at the framed print hanging above Dr. Jen’s desk, no bland wall covering as he’d previously thought. Baby loggerhead turtles that marched toward gruesome deaths in the ocean didn’t soothe anyone. Not even him. “That’s some menacing shit you’ve got on your wall there,” he said.

  “What upsets you about this painting?” asked Dr. Jen.

  “The turtles are going to die. They think it’s safe in the water, but it’s not. All kinds of creatures will devour them.”

  Sunlight streamed through the small window above her desk and revealed dust motes floating in the air. “Did Tasha think the ocean was safe, too?”

  “No. I did. Alexandra told me she’d be safe there. She lied to me.”

  Dr. Jen adjusted her glasses. “Liam, I suggest you stop thinking of the commands the voices in your mind give you as straightforward. Instead, think of them as ways your brain is indirectly communicating with you. Let’s take Alexandra, for example.”

  A pearl of blood dripped from his thumb after he picked too hard at his fingernail.

  “Alexandra is your protector. She takes care of incidents and people who scare you. Instead of acting out her commands, think about the deeper reason why you’re afraid of these people or circumstances. The neighbor across the street, for example. What, exactly, makes you uncomfortable about her?”

  Other than the fact that she was a replica intent on killing him and his family?

  “She’s rigid, bound by her schedule.”

  “Are you nervous you’ll end up the same way? Do you fear your delusions will keep you captive and prevent you from acting in a free manner?”

  He rubbed his ear and chewed his lip.

  She placed her pen on her desk and rested her palms upward on her lap. “I know you don’t want to discuss what happened with Tasha, but you need to work through it. Why did you really want to bring her out of the house and into the ocean? What’s so scary about your home?”

  “Me.” He shifted in his chair. “I don’t want her held back because of my issues. I want to free her.”

  “While it’s healthy to explore your fears, don’t let Alexandra dictate how you resolve them. Also, recognize you’re not a burden to your family. You can play an active role in Tasha’s life and have a positive influence on her.”

  Try selling that line to Isaac.

  She continued, “Since Tasha now lives with your grandparents, do you feel safer at home?”

  “Yes.” He did feel calmer. But not because of Tasha’s absence. RP had become akin to a parasite and followed him wherever he went, keeping away his demons. His to-do list for the day, however, did not include telling Dr. Jen his cat possessed paranormal abilities.

  “What about your other visions? Have they disappeared?”

  He paused. “No.”

  The projections had become so intense he struggled at times to discern them from reality. Dr. Jen’s had hovered in the air next to her for the entire session. The projection flickered on occasion but otherwise looked as solid as his psychologist. He’d done his best to ignore it.

  She cupped her chin with her left hand. “Were these visions present during your stay in the hospital?”

  “Not in the beginning. Then I only saw the same type of hallucination I’ve had for years. But when I started to get better, they came back.”

  “Usually patients don’t present new symptoms while improving in most other areas.”

  He held his hand out in the air. “I’m not your typical guy, or so they tell me.”

  A glimmer of amusement danced across her face, but she buried it under a serious expression before her next question. “You believe these ‘projections’ to be some sort of memory or idea that burdens the people to whom they’re attached?”

  “They have to be.”

  “And you think you see these projections due to your medication?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” He focused on the popcorn ceiling and ordered his eyes to stop flicking at Dr. Jen’s ghost-like companion. “I stopped having them once I went off my meds. They only came back once the prescription established again in my blood stream.”

  “Why do you feel these projections are worse than your historical hallucinations?”

  She could never understand what it felt like to watch his mother grieve him and fantasize about the days when he’d been “normal.”

  “They make me uncomfortable.” He tugged at the frayed edge of his khaki shorts.

  “Let’s explore the idea of these projections being another conduit to your mind. Why do you think you’d see other people’s pain?”

  Liam set his lips i
n a tight line. Dr. Jen wanted a rational reason for his visions, but one didn’t exist.

  “Do you think you could be attempting to make connections with other people? Knowing everybody has pain, everybody carries burdens? Do you feel more secure having these commonalities?”

  The idea made sense, on a logical level. But it didn’t explain the librarian’s tryst or the murder he’d seen.

  “Maybe.”

  She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Let’s take the projection you saw next to me. The one of the woman with the infinity tattoo.”

  Adrenaline shot through his body. He’d hoped she had the decency to never mention this topic again. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  “You described my sister with remarkable precision. I must admit it unnerved me. The last time I saw her alive, she wore a pink and blue striped dress with her hair up in a bun. I often remember her that way.” The corners of her lips turned down.

  I know.

  “But you can’t see the inner workings of my mind, Liam.” She tapped her glasses against her lap. “You had to have searched the internet and found a picture of the two of us together.”

  He scuffed his heels on the floor. “Tell me about her tattoo.”

  She flinched. Her right hand touched the inside of her left wrist, where her sister’s tattoo had been, and she shook her head.

  “I understand. It’s hard to talk about those who have left us,” he said.

  In a rushed breath, like the words had to escape her mouth before her mind thought better of it, Dr. Jen spilled her secret. “She told me it represented our bond-how we’d always be tied together. We had a tough childhood and sort of raised each other.”

  A silent tension filled the room. She’d never before discussed her private life. Now that she had, they’d crossed some indefinable bridge. He didn’t know how to feel about it.

  Apparently, she didn’t either. She glanced at her clock and rubbed her cheek. Five minutes left in the session.

  She cleared her throat. “Have you heard from your stepfather?”

  He laced his fingers together and flipped them over. The knuckles on his hands dimpled as he flexed them. “No. He’s living in the barracks until the Family Advocacy case is settled. I’m not sure when he’ll get home.”