Into the Void

by Amanda Frame

  The world came back into focus and I sat frozen, mouth agape.

  “Anna? Are you all right?” My dad looked concerned.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s just…” I debated telling him what had happened but decided against it, “It’s just a headache.” I released the table from my death grip and stood up. “I’m just going to lie down.”

  “Okay, just remember you have your follow-up appointment tomorrow at 3:30. Your mom will be here when you get home from school to take you.”

  I gave a noncommittal grunt and went to my room. I shut the door and sat on my bed, brushing some dirty clothes onto the floor. What the hell was happening to me? Was this all related to my concussion? I wanted to find out, to ask someone, but I was so afraid someone would think I was crazy. Not sure why I was afraid of that, I had a head injury, maybe this was normal. Should I tell my doctor tomorrow?

  Google might know. I opened my laptop and hit to power button to wake up the screen. I kicked my shoes off and sat with my back against my headboard.

  I typed “concussion symptoms” into the Google search bar. I’d probably finish reading and be convinced I had a brain tumor or something. Crap, maybe I did.

  According to WebMD, “A concussion is a type of traumatic brain injury that is caused by a blow to the head or body, a fall, or another injury that jars or shakes the brain inside the skull. Although there may be cuts or bruises on the head or face, there may be no other visible signs of a brain injury.”

  Okay…I scanned the page for symptoms. “Not thinking clearly, feeling slowed down, not being able to concentrate…” I mumbled out loud. “Headache, fuzzy or blurred vision, dizziness…” Nothing about hallucinating or any of the other weird things that happened to me today, except the headache.

  I slammed the laptop shut, frustrated and too scared to Google hallucinations. What was this? I wanted to tell someone, needed to tell someone. I needed to confide in someone, to cry or scream or punch something. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. Then why did it feel like I was?

  CHAPTER 5

  JOHN

  Clozapine. The doctor said side effects include hypotention, nausea, fatigue, ringing in the ears, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t know the meaning of and couldn’t remember anyway. My dad was silent in the driver’s seat. The only sound was my mother’s soft exhale as she blew cigarette smoke out the window. My hands sat limply in my lap, eyes unfocused, wishing I was at home with David and Shannon, probably playing video games and eating junk food. At nineteen and twenty-one, my brother and sister could basically do whatever they wanted. Not me, though. I was…different.

  I remembered the first time it happened very clearly. It was four years ago, David’s fifteenth birthday. He had gotten Super Mario Bros 2 and had been playing nonstop for an hour already, sliding it into the Nintendo console about five minutes after he ripped open the shiny blue wrapping paper dotted with little yellow balloons.

  The game had just come out a few months before and my brother squealed like a little girl as soon as he saw the box. David didn’t even notice the pleased looks on our parents’ faces, he was too busy trying to tear open the box with nothing but his fingernails. I ran after him as he darted into the living room, knowing I wouldn’t get the chance to play until after he had enough, which would probably be hours later.

  As I had sat on the couch next to Shannon, watching David sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the TV set, I tapped my foot impatiently. I had asked him when I could have a turn and he didn’t even hear me, the jingle of one-up mushrooms much more worthy of listening to. I was just his annoying little twelve-year-old brother and he ignored me most of the time.

  The smell of chocolate had wafted from the kitchen, temporarily distracting me from the television. I heard the oven door squeak open and the scrape of glass on metal as Mom pulled out the cake. A sudden yelp from my mom was followed an instant later by a high-pitched clatter as the casserole dish shattered. It had slipped out of her hands hit the corner of the metal breakfast table.

  That’s when it had happened.

  The room flickered. The rich smell of chocolate and the voices of my family faded like a wisp of smoke on a windy day. The floral wallpaper faded and peeled off the walls like sunburned skin. The screen of the TV was cracked and dull. The air felt heavy, pressing on my skin. I could still hear the piercing echo of shattering glass. As it slowly faded, so did the bizarre parallel of my living room. Mario was gradually becoming visible on the television, the fractals on the glass merging back together. I could hear my dad’s voice, tinny at first, until the deep timbre of his speech tickled my ears. David faded back into existence, a pale shadow solidifying into a real human being.

  Once reality had bled back into my surroundings, I realized every muscle in my body was tensed to the point of pain, fists clenched around the corduroy of the couch, my breathing shallow and rapid. Shannon’s green eyes, so blessedly bright and real, had stared at my face, eyebrows slightly furrowed in concern. I didn’t recall what happened after that or for the next week, or maybe month. I didn’t remember because it didn’t matter. But I did remember the next time it happened, and the countless times after that.

  I leaned back onto the headrest of the car and blinked back the tears that threatened to slide down my cheeks.

  CHAPTER 6

  ANNA

  I spent the whole car ride to the doctor’s office debating on whether to tell him about my hallucinations. Why wouldn’t I? It was a symptom, right? It should be addressed. But I had this nagging feeling that I should keep it to myself.

  We walked into the office of my primary care doctor, Dr. William McCormick. I sat down in the waiting room while my mom checked in with the receptionist. I tapped my foot against the ugly green carpet and wondered how to ask the doctor about my hallucinations without seeming like a whack-job. So I was just hoping that you can reassure me that I’m not crazy because I saw a guy turn into a walking skeleton while my school decayed around me. Yeah, not good.

  “Anna Flores?” I looked up at the sound of my name. My mom looked up too. I hadn’t even noticed she had sat down next to me. A woman in blue scrubs had called my name from over near the receptionist’s desk.

  “We are going to start you off with some x-rays,” Blue Scrubs said. I got up and my mom started to follow. “Mrs. Flores, do you mind staying out here while we take the x-rays?”

  “Of course.” My mom sat back down.

  They took a bunch of x-rays of my arm and my ribs and then the technician walked me into an exam room. “I’ll go get your mom.”

  “Wait! Can I talk to the doctor alone?” I asked hesitantly.

  She chewed on her lip and looked at my chart. “Well, you are almost eighteen so that should be fine. He’ll be in soon,” she said, stepping out and shutting the door.

  I looked around for something to occupy myself with. Fingering through the magazine rack, there was a Highlights magazine, the one for kids. It gave me weird déjà vu. I was playing Sudoku on my phone when the doctor came in.

  “Hello, Anna,” he said jovially. “So it looks like your arm and ribs are healing very nicely. The fractures were pretty minor to begin with, so I think we can go ahead and get rid of your sling. But you still need to take it easy, no P.E. or heavy lifting.” He looked at me from under his bushy white eyebrows expectantly, but I wasn’t sure what kind of response he was expecting.

  “…That’s good,” I said, wringing my hands. “So are you going to check my concussion, too?”

  “Of course,” he answered, rolling he stool over to me. He shined a light in my eyes and had me touch my finger to my nose with my eyes closed a few times.

  “Your pupils are dilating fine, no loss of coordination,” he said, rolling away slightly, “Any headaches?”

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  “Those should be gone by now, but it’s not too unusual for them to stick around a while,” he said, scribbling something in a notebook. “Looks like you are
doing well.”

  “So that’s it?” I asked, “You don’t like… do a scan or something?”

  “No, that’s it, you’re doing great,” he said with a smile.

  “Yeah, but you said having headaches for this long isn’t normal, so maybe there’s…other stuff. That’s not normal, I mean,” I said, biting my lip.

  “It’s not very common to have headaches this long, but it’s still normal,” he said, trying to be reassuring. “Are you having any other symptoms?”

  “Well, it’s just that, I mean… are there any other symptoms that maybe aren’t common but still normal? Like, um—” I paused, trying to put some words together “—hallucinating, or…or something,” I asked, trying to sound just curious, not worried. But it didn’t seem like he was buying it.

  “Are you hallucinating?” he asked slowly.

  “Well, no,” I responded quickly, “I mean, things sometimes…” Crap, I needed to get out of this. Asking was a mistake. I felt my insides twist with anxiety. What should I say? “Sometimes, things look…blurry.” I cringed inwardly. That sounded so lame. And totally not believable.

  “Sometimes bad headaches can cause blurry vision,” he said, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. “I can give you some medication for…”

  “Nope, that’s okay.” I stood up quickly, wanting to get the hell out of there. Oh my God, it’s not the concussion. I’m going crazy. “So, I’m good to go? I’m fine, right?”

  “Yes,” he said, a bit taken aback. “Do you want me to talk to your mom?”

  “No, no. I’ll tell her everything you said. Thanks.” I lifted my sling over my head, threw it on the exam table, grabbed my purse, and booked it the hell out of there.

  I rushed out into the lobby, my mom leaned against the wall, squinting at her watch. “Anna! What took so long? Did you have to wait in line for the x-rays or something?”

  “No, I saw the doctor already, he told me everything is fine and healing,” I said, trying to seem nonchalant.

  “You talked to him without me?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

  “They said because I’m almost eighteen, I can talk to him alone.”

  “You are almost eighteen. Almost. You’re still a minor.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

  “Yeah, but everything is fine, so not a big deal right?”

  She sighed, clearly tired. Hopefully too tired to care very much.

  “Okay, let’s just get out of here,” she said. I couldn’t agree more.

  CHAPTER 7

  ANNA

  On the way home from the doctor, I decided I was going to have to figure this thing out myself. But how? I thought about talking to Becca. She would believe me, but I couldn’t see how she could possibly help. Maybe I needed to stop being such a coward and figure out what these hallucinations were. Or just wait it out. Maybe the few times it happened were just isolated incidents.

  A blank page of spiral notebook lay patiently on my desk. I tapped my pen against the side of my face and stared at the empty paper. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to write down. Should I keep a record of these…visions? I guessed that would be a correct term. The tip of my pen rested on the paper and wrote a brief description of each time something had happened. My surroundings turning dull and feeling…empty was weird but not nearly as concerning as Brian wasting away and my school aging a hundred years before my eyes.

  An exasperated groan escaped my lips and I hung my head in my hands. I didn’t know how writing it down would help and if one of my parents stumbled across it, they would for sure think I had gone insane. And maybe they’d be right. I should probably just march back into Dr. McCormick’s office, tell him I was crazy, and ask him to lock me away with all the other nut cases.

  There was one more terrifying possibility.

  Maybe it was real.

  ~

  It was Sunday. Sleep had been difficult, plagued by nightmares. Thinking about Brian too much was certainly why. I just couldn’t get his image out of my head.

  I was still trying to come up with some kind of an idea on what to do, who to tell, if anyone. I was lying in bed, arms at my sides, staring at the ceiling. With a groan, I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed my phone to check the time. 7:04 am. I set it back down with a thud and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. There was no use trying to go back to sleep.

  A run would be soothing. My doctor had told me not to participate in P.E., cross country, or do any kind of contact sport, but a slow jog would probably be fine. My parents were both still asleep.

  I rolled out of bed, threw on some running shorts and a tank top. It was April, and April in Florida was already hot. I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and tie my hair back in a messy bun. A definite plus of being an only child was having my own bathroom. Palms resting against the cool porcelain of the sink, I leaned towards my reflection and squinted. It felt like I shouldn’t look normal. With all the crazy surrounding me, it should somehow be visible.

  It wasn’t. I suddenly felt unbearably alone, and a knot of anxiety twisted my stomach. I sat on the edge of the tub and rested my face in my palms. I had to deal with this. Whatever was happening to me either needed to stop, or I needed to understand it. Maybe if I could figure out how to control it, I could figure out how to stop it. But right then, I just needed to run.

  I tiptoed down the stairs and left a note on the kitchen table letting my parents know where I was going and slipped out the front door, shutting it quietly behind me. Then I started jogging, slowly at first. I turned right down Elm Street, not really having a destination in mind. I started running faster. Faster. Faster.

  I sprinted down Elm Street, eating up distance with the soles of my shoes. My breathing was ragged and my ribs and right arm ached but I barely felt it. Desperation filled me and spurred me on.

  I needed to get away. From what, I wasn’t sure, but I could feel the need like a physical presence, breathing down my neck, raking scaly fingertips down my arms, vibrating through my body. Miles disappeared behind me, my legs pumping, face red, sweat stinging my eyes. The landscape whizzed by; I barely knew where I was. I was fleeing from something. From myself. No matter how fast I ran, I would never get away. It was like trying to run from my shadow. Impossible.

  The blind panic faded and my legs began to slow. I stopped, hands on my knees, head hung forward, panting. I could feel beads of sweat rolling down my face like hot tears. After a few minutes of trying to catch my breath, I looked around. I didn’t know where I was. I wandered around till I saw a street sign, Redmount Way. Holy crap, I was almost six miles from home. My phone told me it was 8:27. I wasn’t sure exactly when I left the house but it was barely more than hour ago.

  I began a slow walk back home, trying to clear my mind of all thought. My ribs hurt. My arm hurt. I had a headache and was probably dehydrated. After what felt like forever and a half, I found myself in front of Becca’s house. I stopped with my arms by my sides and stared at the front door. I had promised Becca we would hang out this weekend and so far I had done nothing but space out for the last two days.

  Sighing, I walked through the spongy grass to the door. The brass door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head was tacky. I knocked a few times and waited. I saw the peephole go dark and then “Rebecca!” shouted by Mrs. Marsters. It sounded dull and watery from the other side of the door.

  The door opened and Becca stood in front of me, eyebrows raised. She was still in her pajamas. “What are you doing here?” she asked quizzically. Then, “I mean, it’s great you’re here, it’s just early and…unexpected.” Her perplexed frown dissolved into a smile. “Come in, weirdo,” she said, taking in my sweaty, disheveled appearance with a single raised eyebrow. I walked past her into her kitchen and helped myself to a bottle of water. I paused before I turned the cap.

  “Uh, can I have some water?” It was the first thing I had said.

  “Yeah, of course. Clearly you just ran a marathon, or fled a pack of wolves. Are you okay?” I w
as starting to become all too familiar with the note of concern in her voice. She raked her fingers through her tangled red curls.

  “Yeah, I just woke up early so I decided to go for a run. You know, not being able to run for the cross country team and all.” I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. I probably looked like…well, like I had fled a pack of wolves, and I was pretty sure I didn’t smell so great either. “I figured I would stop by on my way home. I guess I should have showered first,” I said, pulling at the hem of my tank top and staring at the floor.

  “I’m going to the grocery store, Rebecca. Do you need anything? Connor’s coming with me,” I heard Mrs. Marsters call from the foyer.

  “Uh, no, Mom, I’m good. Or actually, some tortilla chips!” Becca called back. She turned to look at me with concerned eyes, and I felt guilt bubble into my chest. The front door slammed shut and I could feel it resonate through me like an earthquake.

  My throat tightened and my eyes started to burn. No, no, don’t cry! I leaned back against the cabinets and started to sink down to the floor. The tile was cold under my bare legs. I buried my face in my hands and felt myself giving up, needing to get this huge weight off my chest. I cried, I sobbed. Salty tears pooled in my hands and I could feel Becca wrap me in a tight hug. My forehead rested on her shoulder and I could felt her soft curls brush my cheek. She held me. She didn’t ask what was wrong, she didn’t try to tell me everything was okay and I didn’t need to cry. She just let me break down.

  My arms hung limp by my sides, pulled tight against my body by Becca’s embrace. Her t-shirt was damp with my tears and sweat, but she didn’t let go. She didn’t know what was wrong but she knew that right now I just needed her to hold me as I fell apart. It was at that moment that I decided to trust her. “Becca…” I hiccupped between sniffles. And I told her.

  Everything.