Phantom Limb: A Gripping Psychological Thriller

by Lucinda Berry

  “You do not go into my bedroom. Ever,” she said. “Do you understand me? If you do, I’ll put you back in your room and never let you out again.”

  We nodded our heads.

  “When you’re out here, you’re quiet. If anyone hears the two of you, I’ll use the belt again. I mean it. Do you understand me?” She smacked me on the side of my head.

  “Yes, I get it, Mother. I do. Be quiet,” I said.

  She grabbed Emily’s face in her hands and peered into her eyes, “How about you, little miss thing? You gonna be quiet if I let you out?”

  Emily nodded her head and looked at me. She grabbed my hand. Mother jerked her away from me.

  “Speak up, look at me. I’m your mother. What are you looking at her for? You can talk too, or are you the dumb one? They always say there’s a smart twin and a dumb twin. I guess you’re the dumb one.”

  Emily started to cry.

  “Shut up! Stop crying. God, you always cry. That’s one thing you could learn from your sister. She never cries. She knows how to be strong. You’re just pathetic. You know what? Get back in your room. Both of you.”

  We scurried back to our room as quickly as we could. I held Emily while she sobbed without making a sound because loud crying angered Mother more. We thought our chance to be let out was over, but it wasn’t long until Mother brought us out again and gave us the same instructions a second time. That time we passed her test and she started to let us out of our bedroom occasionally when she left. She introduced us to the TV and it was the same routine every time.

  “Don’t turn this off. You leave it on while I’m gone. If anyone comes to the door to knock, you don’t answer it. No matter what. I don’t care what they say or who they say it is. You shut up and stay where you are. You do not lift the shades of the windows.” She walked over to the window in the living room and pointed at the blinds. “These stay closed at all times. Period. If I find out either of you have broken my rules, I’ll beat the shit out of both of you.”

  And then she’d leave. Sometimes for hours. Other times for days. We never knew how long she’d stay gone. We were fascinated with the TV because there were new voices and faces, so many things we’d never seen and didn’t know existed. There were people who had skin that wasn’t peach like ours. They’d been painted with a different color. We sat on the floor in front of it, mesmerized and enthralled. We never knew when Mother was going to set us free from the bedroom, but knowing another world existed made the time we were locked up more bearable and gave us new things to play with each other.

  It wasn’t long before we met our first person from the outside world. When he came through the door with Mother, Emily and I stared at him as if he’d walked out of our TV set. He wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt with words we didn’t know how to read sprawled across the center. He had short blond hair and big glasses framing his squinty eyes. His stomach protruded over his waist and it shook while he laughed with Mother, rolling up and down as if there was something inside it. He smelled like Mother—the same putrid smell of rotten cheese.

  “Girls, stand up and come meet the special friend I was telling you about this morning.” She’d never told us about anyone, but we did as we were told and stood up. “Come here. Come closer. Don’t be shy.” We took a few steps in their direction. “I told you they were adorable.” She looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at us, licking his lips with a half sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  He stuck out his hand. We stood with our hands by our sides.

  “Girls, don’t be impolite. Shake his hand.” Mother’s syrupy sweet voice was one I’d never heard before but would grow to know well over time. I stuck out my hand, and the special friend took hold of it and shook. Emily followed suit. He reached into his back pocket and took out two sticks that held round circles on the top covered in colorful paper and twisted at the bottom.

  “I brought you a treat. I thought you might like it,” he said. His voice was low. He sounded like he had a mouthful of marbles that he had to speak around.

  “Go ahead, girls. Take it. Don’t be rude.”

  We took the object from his hand. We didn’t have a clue what to do with it, but we dared not move or ask any questions.

  “They’re nice and clean. I gave them a bath this morning. I even used my special lotion.” He nodded his head in approval, still smiling his strange smile. Mother pointed to her bedroom. “You can take them in there. Just like we discussed.” She walked to her bedroom door and turned the knob, revealing a bedroom like the ones we’d seen on TV. There was a beautiful bed in the center of the room shrouded in white wisps of material that looked like clouds. Unlike the rest of the apartment, which was covered in dingy white walls, her bedroom was a soft pink bordered with vibrant flowers and a plush pink-and-white rug on the floor. He hungrily took in the bedroom in the same manner we were.

  “They’re all yours,” she said.

  He walked through the door. We stayed glued to our spots. Mother turned to look at us with a look we knew well.

  “Go on, girls.” Her eyes carried the threat of punishment if we didn’t. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Robotically, we followed him into the bedroom and she shut the door behind us. I heard her ice cubes clink in the glass that she used to drink her dark liquid. The sound of the TV went from its normal volume to blasting, and rock music filled my ears. The special friend took Emily’s hand and led her to the bed. I rushed to the bed and sat down next to her, gripping her hand in mine.

  “We’re going to play a special game,” he said, taking off his black T-shirt.

  The first time we played the game was the hardest because we didn’t know how to play any special games. We’d never played games with anyone else besides each other, so we didn’t know how other people played. I went first. I didn’t like his game. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t fun and it hurt, but he didn’t care that it hurt. He had a special toy he used in the game. It was attached to his body and I couldn’t breathe when he put it in my mouth. It choked me and made tears stream down my cheeks.

  I had super powers and used them to float into the ceiling tiles to watch myself. I waited to come down from the tiles until the game was over. When it was Emily’s turn, I helped her through it because I didn’t know if she had the same powers I did and wanted to help her get to the end of the game. She looked at me while she played the game and I was glad we knew how to talk to each other without words so I could keep telling her it was going to be okay.

  We met many special friends over the years and played the game more times than I could count. Emily liked the ones who brought us candy. She always took it, but I never did. The candy meant we were going to have to play the game and I hated playing the game. There were times when the special friend left, and Mother hugged us and told us she was proud of us. Those times she’d let us stay out of the bedroom for a few days as a reward. Then, there were the other times when she became furious after the special friend left and beat us with the wire hanger or the belt before throwing us into the bedroom.

  Our rescue quickly became a media sensation. Our story was in every magazine and on every news station at the time. Shortly after we turned seven, we’d started a fire in the apartment while Mother was gone.

  I’d finally gotten up the courage to start exploring the kitchen. Mother might have beaten us to death if she came home and found us in the kitchen, but Emily listened carefully at the door while I rummaged through the cupboards and drawers. We lived in the upper back unit of an apartment complex. There were creaky wooden stairs leading up to our door, and Mother couldn’t walk up without making noise. Once she got to the top, she had to jiggle the key around in the lock and put her shoulder into the door to get it open. It was thirty seconds from the time we heard her footsteps on the stairs until she opened the door, which gave us plenty of time to scurry to our usual spots in front of the TV.

  I discovered a package of no
odles in the cupboard.

  “Em, look,” I said, showing her the package.

  “What is it?” She jumped on the counter next to me, taking the package from my hand and turning it around.

  “It’s noodles. Just like Mother made.” I recognized the red package and small sticks inside. I’d seen Mother make them before. She didn’t cook very often and when she did, she never shared. She’d scarf it down in front of us, never offering a bite. She only cooked when she had that funny, sweet smell and sometimes she forgot she was doing it. “She’ll think she cooked them. She won’t even know.”

  I was convinced I could make the pasta even though Emily wasn’t so sure. We figured out how to turn the burner on, but I didn’t know anything about stoves and tossed a towel onto the burner after it was lit. It ignited quickly and the smoke alarm started wailing.

  “Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Bethy! Bethy!” Emily screamed as loud as the alarm. “She’s gonna kill us! Make it stop!”

  The kitchen was filthy because Mother never cleaned. There were leftover pizza boxes next to the stove, and as quickly as the towel started to burn, the pizza boxes were next. I stood there watching the fire as if I was in a trance. Smoke began to fill the kitchen. The cupboards above the pizza boxes caught the flames next. Emily was pulling on my arm.

  “Do something! Ohmigod! Do something!”

  I grabbed her arm and ran back into our room as fast as I could, slamming and locking the door behind us. We huddled in our crib, clutching each other. Emily buried her head against me and sobbed. It wasn’t long until we heard the sounds of sirens from a distance and listened as they grew closer and closer to us.

  “Fire department,” we heard a male voice yell.

  And then the crashing started. The sounds of wood breaking. Male voices called out to each other. We jumped out of our crib and hid in the closet. Both of us were shaking. It seemed like we were in the closet for hours. We heard the sound of heavy footsteps moving throughout the apartment. We braced ourselves as a giant man dressed all in blue opened the closet door.

  “Oh my God.” The giant let out his breath slowly, peering down at us as we looked up at him in terror. “Get back here, John. There are kids in here.”

  I couldn’t remember much of what happened next. The only thing I recalled was panic at the flurry of activity and the strangers’ faces flashing in front of us. Emily and I held on to each other, refusing to let go and unable to answer any of their questions. We didn’t speak, not even to utter our names. We let ourselves be poked and prodded by the doctors and stared blankly at all the characters who pressed in on us, wanting to know who we were, but most importantly, where our mother was.

  They couldn’t locate Mother and we didn’t have any information to help them. She didn’t come back to the apartment for three days and there was yellow tape on the front door when she did. We stayed in the hospital for a week. She never visited or called. Child Protective Services wasn’t about to let us go. We went directly from the hospital into foster care with the Rooths.

  Every media headline included a picture from our bedroom and Mother’s bedroom followed by some version of the question: How did they survive? The truth was simple—we had each other. I didn’t know how we’d done it, but we had. We were still doing it and I didn’t know how to bring someone else into our world. Even though we’d lived with the Rooths until we graduated from high school, they’d never been able to make their way into our inner world. I wanted Thomas to be different.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d considered telling Emily about our relationship. I’d worked up enough courage before, but then she’d plunged into one of her dark episodes. It wasn’t fair to tell her in her destroyed state. Not when brushing her teeth brought her to tears. So I waited for any sign that she was getting better.

  There’d been brief glimpses of the old Emily that kept my hope alive, like the nights when I came home and found the apartment cleaned spotless or got off work late to find she’d cooked an elaborate dinner for us, complete with the table set for two. She was thoughtful during her flashes of normalcy; the dinner she made was always the meal I’d mentioned craving the day before, or the housecleaning would happen on a particularly stressful day at work. However, my hope was always short-lived. The next day or the day after she would retreat to the sanctity of our bed, draw the shades, and pull the covers around her. She didn’t move or shower. She barely spoke.

  I searched my memory trying to pinpoint the exact moment when she gave up trying to live a normal life and gave in to the suffering. I was obsessed with trying to figure out when she gave up because if I could find the moment where she quit trying, I might be able to fix it and get her to fight again. I’d been through the routine many times before and each time my search had come up empty.

  I tried to talk her into meeting with our old therapist, Lisa. We’d liked therapy with Lisa because she was the only person who treated us like we weren’t fragile. She talked to us in a normal voice. Everyone else, including Bob and Dalila, talked to us in soft, quiet voices as if they thought we might break if they spoke too loud. I needed someone strong to help Emily because I couldn’t do it by myself anymore. My suggestions to meet with Lisa were always met with rejection.

  “No. I won’t do it. I hated talking to her when we were kids and I would hate it even more now,” she’d huff, crossing her arms across her chest.

  “But, Em, it wasn’t that bad. She helped us. Really, she did. You just don’t remember. All you can see and remember is the negative stuff right now. Your brain is clouded with it.”

  She didn’t remember the fun games Lisa played with us as kids or how she helped us talk to Bob and Dalila about what we were feeling. She’d also forgotten how much she helped her depression when she was a teenager.

  I’d put my hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to soften to the idea. “Please. I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.”

  “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess. You’d be so much better off without having to worry about me. You really would.”

  “Don’t talk like that. You know I hate it when you talk like that. It’s just stupid.”

  “Seriously. I’m never gonna be anything except a huge burden on you. I’m worthless. My life is pointless.”

  Her self-pity would drone on until I was suffocating in it. Eventually, I’d drop the conversation because I wasn’t going to be able to convince her to see Lisa. I’d considered going to see Lisa by myself but never did.

  As I dialed my next unsuspecting potential customer, I decided to make an appointment to see her as soon as I could. Maybe I could convince her to come to the apartment to work with Emily. She used to come to Bob and Dalila’s to visit, and I didn’t see why she couldn’t come to our place too. Emily would have to talk to her if I brought her to the apartment, but even if Lisa couldn’t come to the apartment, she’d help me figure out a way to help Emily. She’d always been able to point out ways I could be there for Emily without losing myself, and I needed her guidance now in the same way.

  I Googled Lisa as soon as my call ended. She was at the same office. I put my customer line on hold, looked around to make sure nobody was watching, and punched in the number on my cell phone.

  Her receptionist answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment for Lisa as soon as I can get in,” I said, looking around to make sure none of my supervisors were walking by.

  “You’re in luck,” she said. “She has a cancelation for tomorrow at nine thirty. Any chance you could make it in then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great. Have you been here before? Who do I say it’s for?”

  “Yes, but it was a long time ago. I was a kid.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth. Elizabeth Rooth.” I tapped my fingers on my desk as I waited.

  “I don’t see your name … I wonder if—”

  “Look, can you just put me in a
s a new patient, then?”

  “Okay.” I listened as she tapped on her computer. I was afraid I was going to get caught. I’d never been in trouble at work before. I hated getting into trouble anywhere. “Do you know if your insurance will cover it?”

  “I’ll pay cash. I don’t care.”

  “All right, Elizabeth. We’ll see you tomorrow at nine thirty. Be sure to bring your insurance card with you since we don’t have you on file.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Bye.” I quickly hung up before I got caught.

  I didn’t tell Thomas about my appointment when I said good-bye to him at the end of our shift and didn’t tell Emily about it when I got home. She didn’t stir when I walked in the door. She stared at the TV as if she was looking through it. It reinforced what I was about to do. I couldn’t live this way anymore. I needed help.

  3

  I was surprised Lisa didn’t look different. I half-expected her to have a pile of white hair and round old-lady glasses perched on her nose because it seemed like a lifetime ago since I’d sat in her office. Instead, she looked exactly how I remembered her. She had the same straight black hair, except it used to be long and now it was in a cute bob framing her narrow face. She still had kind blue eyes and perfectly straight teeth, the kind that were only possible from years of braces. We’d spent countless hours in her office and for a while, I thought she’d adopted us along with the Rooths because of the amount of time we spent together.

  Bob and Dalila were devastated again and again as they tried to conceive. Bob wanted a child as much as Dalila and after many heartbreaking tries with IVF, they’d turned to adoption. For Bob, adopting a child simply meant being given the opportunity to be a parent, but for Dalila, it was something more. She took all the pain she’d experienced from not being able to conceive and channeled it into finding a child she could save. She didn’t want just to adopt a baby—she wanted to rescue one.