Dark Corners

by Liz Schulte

Night was always the worst for me. Alone in the dark house that already made me feel like an intruder was not ideal, but what choice did I have. Every small noise seemed huge, rattling my already frail subconscious. Every shadow seized my mind and filled me with inexplicable terror. A scream sat locked and ready in my throat. I spent the night drifting in and out of a light sleep, waking up every few minutes with a new fear. By sunrise the tension started to ease from my muscles and stomach. Finally, I was able to drift to sleep until I heard what sounded like the front door slam.

  It left me even more edgy—something I wouldn’t have believed to be possible just the day before. I couldn’t hide here forever so I forced myself out of bed and walked around the house. Nothing was out of place. Nothing ever was. The front door was securely shut and locked. My reflection in the mirror on the wall caught my attention; who I saw was hardly recognizable. My hair was a mess from too many rough nights and not enough brushing. My skin was starting to look stretched across my face making my cheek bones jut out. Large black circles nearly encased my eyes. I smiled a little bit, but it didn’t help. No wonder everyone was so scared of me, I looked like the monster they thought me to be. I believe haggard was the appropriate word.

  Eventually I shrugged off my image and walked away from the mirror. Who did I have to impress? The only people I saw were Detective Troy—and I doubted he cared what I looked like—and Dr. Livingston. I certainly wasn’t interested in impressing him.

  I started going to see Dr. Livingston over a year ago and almost immediately he had become the bane of my existence. I knew my dislike for him was completely irrational, but that didn’t stop his mere existence from offending me. I hated the days I had to visit him more than my normal days, which was quite an accomplishment on his part. However, he held the keys to the medicine cabinet and I needed refills, thus him by association. Dr. Livingston was a stickler on not missing appointments and being on time.

  I showered, dressed and brushed my hair, though still didn’t bother with makeup. I called a cab then scrounged for something that didn’t have alcohol in it that could pass for breakfast. Unfortunately, nothing fitting those very specific requirements was present. What I had fit no requirements whatsoever. A block of cheese that had more green than the grass in my front yard, a completely spoiled half gallon of milk that I was willing to bet would be as lumpy as it was pungent, and something else that was entirely unrecognizable—bon appétit! Given my lack of culinary choices, I would have to grab something on the way to Dr. Livingston’s. I opened the door, deciding to wait for the cab on the porch—and was surprised by the sight of Doug was walking away from the house.

  “Hey,” I called out to him.

  He turned around, looking surprised “I’ve been knocking on your door for ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  He started back towards me. “I’d given up. I was about to head back to tell Susan you weren’t home.”

  “I could’ve been in the shower,” I said but felt uneasy. How had I not heard the knock? “What’s going on?” I asked, curious as to why they were suddenly bugging me again. It was one thing for Susan to show up, but Doug wasn’t the type to reach out. It was strange Susan sent him to check on me.

  “Susan is … concerned. Since she dropped you off the other night, she’s done nothing but worry, has hardly even slept”

  “You don’t look like you’ve had much sleep either,” I said with as much sympathy as I could muster, which admittedly wasn’t much.

  “Well, when Susan doesn’t sleep, no one does,” he said dryly.

  I almost laughed. “Yeah, why don’t I find that surprising?”

  “So is everything okay?”

  “I’m really tired of people asking me that, but yes, it’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” I said a little snappier than I had intended.

  “Just asking …” Doug looked like he wanted to escape. He kept glancing back behind him like he was looking for an excuse. “You know Susan misses you …we both do. You should come around more. Danny wouldn’t have wanted you to close yourself off.”

  I smiled tightly. “I’m sorry, but you knew Danny for what, two seconds? I don’t think you have any idea what he would or would not have wanted for me. You know nothing about him… or me.” My cab pulled up saving both of us from our own awkwardness. “I have to go.” In the cab I breathed a sigh of relief and gave the cabbie the address, although I was certain he already knew it. There were only so many drivers in a town this size and I never went anywhere else. I beat myself up again for not having my license. I’d just never gotten around to it—I was a city girl born and raised. Chicago was my home and after all of this was over I was going back. That is how I justified it at least. Really though, I just didn't have the will to learn. Danny said he would teach me, but we didn't make the time in our short life together. We didn’t make the time for a lot of things. Now even thinking about someone else teaching me to drive made me lonely.

  Dr. Livingston’s office was in its normal state. I sat in the waiting room thumbing through the same boring magazines that were there week after week. Dr. Livingston’s receptionist—the picture of ineptitude—was giggling on the phone with a friend rather than answering other calls. She was very image of a cliché secretary and I loathed her. Her ear piercing laughter echoing through the office and making my ears want to bleed may be what irritated me so much, hard to say. Perhaps I was projecting my anger and animosity for Dr. Livingston on her, since he was the one who forced me to wait for my ridiculous appointments each week. No matter what time I arrived, I always had to wait at least five minutes. Today was no exception. I often wondered if he played these mind games with all of his patients or if I was singled out.

  Finally the insipid airhead said that I could go into the office, a large and spacious room with a minimalist’s décor and two low and not so comfortable sofas. His desk had nothing on it except a lamp, not even a post-it note. Dr Livingston was seated on the edge of one of the sofas with a note pad. He was a small weasely looking man with short brown hair and small wire rimmed glasses. I sat on the other sofa as far away from him as possible and tried to be hostile.

  “Not feeling social today, Ella?”

  “I’m feeling perfectly social,” I said in a completely monotone voice

  “Hmmm.”

  I smiled and lifted my eyebrows slightly. It was a challenge to Dr. Livingston to make the first move in this game of chess. I normally gave in first because otherwise the hour lasted forever, but I liked to make him work for it. After a few minutes of silence and Dr. Livingston watching me expectantly, I broke.

  “Why am I here?”

  “That’s an interesting question.”

  “I don’t get anything out of these ‘sessions’ except for my anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sleeping pills ... I do like those.”

  “Do you think you need them?”

  “They make life easier. And if I didn’t need them, would you be prescribing them?”

  “Is this life?”

  “What do you mean?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Is this life, Ella?” he gestured wildly with his hands. “Do you have any other interaction during the week besides with me? Have you established or maintained any relationships? Are you just going through the motions?”

  “I don’t think it’s any of your business who I interact with. This town has nothing for me. No one has helped me. No one has stood by me. Why should I reach out to them?”

  “Because you’re human. People need other people. It’s in our genetic makeup. You need people. No one is perfect, Ella. No one can stand up to the impossible standards you set for them, yourself included. Your friends lost Daniel too—you make no allowances for their pain.”

  “They’re not my friends. Friends would have stood by me when everything was falling apart. I don’t need them nor do I want them in my life.”

  “Then why stay?”

  “I can’t leave until it is over,” I mu
mbled, no longer feeling like talking to him. He wouldn’t understand if I explained it to him. No one would.

  “What’s over?”

  “Danny’s case.”

  “What if the killer is never caught?”

  “Then I’ll stay forever.”

  “Don’t you think Danny would want you to be happy, would want you to move on with your life?”

  I laughed bitterly. “I’m sure he would—just like I want him to be alive. Looks like neither of us are getting what we want. I’m willing to compromise, but God hasn’t responded to my proposal yet—See there, doc, make a note. Check ‘bargaining’ off that chart of yours. I’m almost through all the phases now.”

  Dr. Livingston ignored my rant. “You still believe a ghost did it?”

  “I never said it was a ghost.”

  “What was it?”

  “Why do I constantly have to justify myself? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Other people have been there. What do they say? You aren’t the only person to have lived in that house—why does no one else see what you see?”

  “Are you feeling hostile today?”

  “Why? Do you feel as if I am attacking you? You said you don’t feel like you’re getting anything out of this—”

  I nodded.

  “Well then you need to talk to me. Even if you’re not ‘crazy’ you will soon be if you keep holding everything inside.” Dr. Livingston is totally an air quotes type of person who watches too much Dr. Phil.

  I closed my eyes and strained to maintain patience. “I don’t care what other people think or feel. I felt this from the moment I stepped into that house two years ago—something there is evil.”

  “It’s just a house.”

  “I’m at its mercy.”

  “Weren’t you at its mercy before Daniel died?”

  “No, it’s gotten worse. Now things are happening every day, every night. I never have a break. When Danny was around it was less frequent; the situation is escalating.”

  “Ella, have you reconsidered a stay in the hospital. Just for a while, give yourself time to work out some of your grief and anger.”

  “A hospital will not help me anymore than those antipsychotics you put me on did, because I’m not crazy. I’m telling the truth, but you aren’t listening.”

  “I think we need to increase the frequency with which we meet.”

  “No. I don’t want to come any more than I already do. You cannot help me. I’m not fixated. This is not a delusional break. I simply have to figure it out on my own.”

  Dr. Livingston’s egg timer went off in his head. He looked up at me. “We’ll discuss this further next week.” He tore my prescriptions off from his note pad and handed them to me. “And please consider upping your sessions to twice a week. I think we’ve started to make some progress today. You spoke more this afternoon than you have in your last three appointments.”

  Outside his office I felt myself being pulled away into another memory. These memories were like land mines in my imagination. If I wasn’t careful, I’d drift away into the past and never come back. Sometimes I lost hours when that happened.

  It was too late to stop this one, however.

  Chapter Five