by Jaz Johnson
“No. Not usually.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, writing again. “Well, they don’t seem to be worsening, just happening more often. You might start experiencing headaches with them if they keep happening so often,” he noted. She didn’t think that was the case, but she nodded anyway.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
“Yes.” Lie. She’d yet to take one pill in the three years.
“Do you need a refill?”
“No.”
“Alright. Be sure to let me know when you do,” she nodded. “Now then … Have you remembered anything, since the last time we’ve spoken?” he asked. She frowned, and shook her head. If she had, she would have been anxious to let him know, and hear his response, despite her opinion of him.
“I see. Can you tell me the night you do remember? About the night you met Miss Mousescawits?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. She sighed. She had been asked to repeat what she remembered in every visit, regardless of the doctor. She figured it was to see if the story would change at all. To see if she was lying. Or maybe to see if anything had been added, that she didn’t realize she remembered. Either way, it was a process that drained her. Because it didn’t matter what else she could remember about the night. It was before that night that she wanted to remember, if she was to remember anything. That night was unpleasant, aside from meeting Fran. And being made to constantly repeat it only worked on her nerves. If anything, she wanted desperately to forget that night.
“I woke up in a kitchen … Everything had been destroyed, but a counter top. A marble counter top. This man walked in when I woke up.”
“Do you know what he looked like?”
“No, but he had red hair.”
“Okay, continue.”
“He asked me if I knew who he was. I didn’t. And then he asked me if I knew who I was. And I said Saphora.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because he said it.”
“Did it feel right to assume your name was Saphora?” She nodded.
“Yes. I knew it was Saphora when he said it. Then he asked me, if I knew what I was.”
“What you were? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. That’s what he said. I told him I didn’t know, and he told me to go with him. But a woman told me not to.”
“A woman?” he repeated, leaning forward. She’d never mentioned the woman before. A voice, yes, but it being a woman, no. Dr. Lupin was intrigued. She slowly nodded. “You believe the voice that spoke to you was a woman?”
She nodded again, and he began writing in the binder again. “I see, I see. Go on. Did the woman sound young? Old?”
“She sounded like a woman.” He nodded, and continued to write, signaling her to go on.
“She told me to say what she said.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t remember. But when I said it, the man fell back into a wall. Then she told me to run. And I left the house, and ran down the hill to hide from him.”
He had stopped writing, and was now leaning on his desk, listening intently. She stared at him, having finished her story, and waited for a response. He looked on for a few more moments before pushing his glasses back up.
“You… You said when you said what the woman said, the man fell back?”
“Yes.”
“Into a wall.”
“Through three walls, and into the fourth.” His eyes widened a bit and his head slipped from his hand.
“Through three walls?” She nodded. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you hurt as well?” She shook her head.
“I fell back on the floor, but I wasn’t hurt.”
“How is that possible? Did you push him?”
She shook her head, but then hesitated. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember.
“I … don’t know. I don’t remember how it happened. Only that he flew back.”
“I see… Why don’t we take a look at your back now?” he said as he wrote a bit more. She nodded and stood, making her way over to the bench in another part of the room. Once he was done writing, he closed the binder, put it back in the drawer, and took out another one not as thick, before locking the drawer. He made his way over to his leather chair, carrying the binder and his mug. Both of which he placed on an end table beside the chair, before rolling up the sleeves of his button up collar shirt to his elbows.
“Alright, let’s see that back,” he huffed, walking over behind her. He was always doing that. Trying to fill in the looming silence with something. He often repeated himself in order to do so. Remembering that her hair was down, she quickly twisted it around and pulled it over one of her shoulders, holding it in place with one hand. She took in a deep breath as he pulled her shirt back so that he could see beneath it. He studied the intricate, oddly designed interlocking patterns that almost read as hieroglyphics – because they were. When she had first started coming to this man, the birthmark, as they called it, was only located on the back of her neck. Since then, it has spread to her right shoulder, and slightly down that side of her back. It was off white in colour, a few shades lighter than her skin tone, making it noticeable if it was being looked for, or at. It almost looked like a white-ink tattoo, which it was often mistaken as. They were on the verge of giving it another title. He stayed quiet as he studied the area, his bare hands gently grazing over certain areas that interested him.
She looked around the room as he took his mental notes. She looked at his desk, the photos, the plants, the chairs, the carpeting. Anything and everything that would keep her from feeling like a case study. It was the part of the session that she hated the most. Being made to feel like an object of observation was one of the few things that could anger her. Perhaps it was because that she secretly feared it. That by some chance, the constant observation would give way to discovering her ability to fly. And then just like that, she’d be hidden from the world. The rumored infamous Area 51 would burst into the room and take her to some quarantine to be analyzed and poked at. She feared that at any moment the doctor would find something alarming. Something odd that would draw attention to her. But as always, after a few more moments of minimal observation, Dr. Lupin released her shirt, allowing it to flatten against her back, and moved to sit on the chair in front of the sofa.
“Well, it doesn’t look like it has spread anymore since last month,” he concluded. She nodded, letting go of her hair, letting it stay on her shoulder until her movements caused it to fall back.
“Does it hurt at all?” he asked, making his way to his seat and sitting down, crossing one ankle over the other, his hands folding over his stomach. She shook her head no.
“Good,” he mumbled, taking the binder into his lap and opening it up to take notes.
“Alright. Let’s talk about your dreams now. Have you had any other ones? Anything strange?” he asked. She gave him a look. As if her only memory of her existence wasn’t strange. He cleared his throat, nodding as he caught his mistake. “Right, I mean. Well, any other ones that you haven’t mentioned?” She hesitated before answering, which made him curious and eager to press her on.
“Well?”
She shook her head no.
“Are you sure?” She nodded.
“They just haven’t been happening as often I guess.”
“Oh. Well is that a bad thing?” he asked, jotting the note down. She shrugged.
“I guess not?”
“Well I should hope not. Less nightmares are always a good thing, right?” he asked with a smile, his glasses inching up over his eyes. She stared at him - at the faux compassion, and nodded, generating a smile of her own.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Walking out of the building, Saphora reached into her back pocket for her phone, wanting to call Fran and tell her about the session. She always called after each session. Not only because it was Fran’s request, but because she wanted someone other than herself to
keep track of what happened in the sessions, in case she forgot. She did a lot of things like that – to keep track of memory. She was somewhat paranoid of losing it, knowing that she had before. She was conscious of the fact that it could be taken from her again at any moment.
“Hi, honey.” Fran greeted, picking up on the second ring.
“Hey, Fran.”
She didn’t call her mom. She never had, and she doubt she ever would. It wasn’t that she was trying to disrespect Fran, or anything. But she knew that she was not her mother. And therefore just didn’t feel that she should be called that. She was grateful for everything that she had done for her. But calling her mom just seemed foolish. And Fran didn’t seem to mind it. The relationship did just fine without the title.
“How was the session today?” she asked, as she always did. Saphora shrugged, turning right and heading down the street towards home.
“Same as always. But I think I remembered something else, though it doesn’t seem-“
“Something else? What, what?! Tell me!” she urged excitedly. Saphora had to move the phone away from her ear, the volume her voice had reached was so high.
“It’s nothing, really. Just this woman’s voice.”
“A woman? A woman was there with you that night? And she let you face that monster all by your-“
“Fran! She wasn’t there.” Saphora groaned, rolling her eyes as she walked down the semi-busy street of the small town outside of her own.
There were flower shops, bakeries, antique shops, pawn shops, a small record store, an even smaller library, and a café shop. But that was just on this strip. There were some more shops along with some more places to eat down the road and on various other streets. Fran was silent for a moment on the phone and was drowned out by the talking of the people that Saphora passed. Talking about the weather, their sons’ baseball games, their friends who were being scandalous, and everything else that Saphora could never seem to take interest in. But then Fran finally spoke up.
“What do you mean she wasn’t there, honey? You said you heard her.”
“I did. I heard a woman speak to me. But she wasn’t there. At least … I don’t remember her being there,” she explained, her walking slowing as she entered her subconscious.
Was there a woman there? Saphora wasn’t sure. She didn’t remember a woman being there. She just recalled being instructed to say words, and that’s what she did. But maybe she was there. After all, how could she hear something that wasn’t there? She wasn’t crazy, was she?
“Of course she must have been there, Saphora. Don’t be ridiculous. The nerve of that woman. Leaving you with that horrid man,” Fran huffed. Saphora knew she had her fist on her hip in frustration, and she laughed.
“Well I’m alright now, aren’t I? But yeah, I guess she was there. She helped me, you know. You shouldn’t be so harsh on her.”
“Helped you? Helped you by doing what?”
“She … I don’t know, she told me how to get away.”
“Hmph. Well … I guess so. At any rate, I’m glad you remembered something, honey.”
Saphora scoffed. “Yeah, it’s only been three years.”
“That man has done nothing but help you, Saphora. You mind your manners.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. That man has nothing but clean out your wallet, she thought. “So what’s new at the zoo? Find any lost species of sea horses?” Saphora joked, walking past the corner record store and making a right.
“Very funny. No, we haven’t. But there is something new, apparently. They won’t tell us what it is, though.”
“A surprise at a zoo? That’s never good.”
“That’s what I said. But they’re promising it’s going to be the biggest attraction since the lions.”
“The lions. That’s promising a lot.”
“I know. I can’t wait to find out what it is! What are you up to? Are you heading home?” Fran asked. Saphora could hear the rustling of papers mixed with the sound of a fax machine in the background. She knew she was busy at work. She always felt bad, calling Fran when she had work to do. But Fran always insisted, so what could she do but comply? It always seemed to brighten her day, even if she was swamped with work.
“Not yet. I’m going to head to the woods to blow off some steam,” Saphora admitted, even though she knew that Fran wouldn’t approve.
“To do you know what?”
“Yeah. Just a little bit. And then home. I promise.”
“Well … Alright. Celebrate remembering. But then it’s straight home, okay?”
Saphora laughed.
“I should remember things more often.”
“Very funny. Home after, okay?”
“Yes, yes. Home after.”
Chapter 2
She ran to a nearby tree, climbing it. She pulled herself as high as she could to get to the branch that was furthest up, so that she could make a clean jump without being spotted. Seemingly jumping into the air, she rose herself up above what clouds there were. She made sure she was high enough to pass as a bird or an airplane from a glance. With a sigh of relief, she stretched, before taking off to head deeper into the woods. She wanted to think about this voice that she had remembered during the session. It seemed to her that she had always remembered, but had just forgotten to bring it up during the sessions. But hearing herself bring it up today made her think about it. What was that voice? And from whom did it come from? She wanted to remember if there had actually been a person there, or if she had in fact been hearing voices at the time. Because if she was, then that was an entirely new thing she had to take into consideration. That could put her whole opinion of the truth in jeopardy. After all, hearing voices was not a natural occurrence, right?
Right?
It was quite soothing, watching all the clouds pass her by. It was like running your hand through a dream, as she reached her hand out to touch them. They were a magnificent colour, with the help of the setting sun. She smiled, stretching her arms out and closing her eyes, letting her hair whip behind her and about her face. Although she very much feared falling, she had a mixed emotion about flying. On one hand there was the ‘what if’. But on the other hand, who wouldn’t love being able to run their fingers through a cloud and race with the birds? She took in a deep breath and counted her blessings for being able to experience such a feeling.
But that feeling was soon cut short.
She flinched upon hearing what sounded like a pain-riddled roar erupt in the skies. She wobbled in the air, her limbs flailing and struggling to keep her balance. Her heart skipped a few beats when the realization that she could fall from such a height quickly kicked in. Her eyes grew wide as her limbs continued to flail before she fully regained her stability. She quickly started to lower herself back to the ground when she realized that there was a chance of falling. And then again, the roar struck the sky, making her heart drop, and her balance waver again. And then, almost immediately after the roar, a bolt of pain struck the sides of her temples. A skull-splitting headache. With a clenching scream, she gripped the sides of her head and she fell the rest of the way, hitting three branches and then finally a tree. She hit the tree with a loud thud, her body curling around one of its thick branches. She coughed up some saliva and mumbled in pain, as she gripped the branch for dear life. Her shaking frame held onto the branch as she looked around with her now blurred vision. She could hear her own breathing blaring in her ears, as her heart pumped at about a mile a minute. It happened. It had actually happened. She had fallen. Because of a headache? No, that scream. What on earth was that scream?
The tree was pretty high up, and what she heard next made her heart stop for the third time in that minute. The trunk of the tree began to crack. It was going to snap – fall. She had hit the tree so hard, that it was going to fall. She moved herself into a squatting position on the branch as quickly as she could in her current amount of pain, and grumbled when gravity began to take over, causing the tree to tilt for
ward. She swore under her breath as the tree slowly began falling and jumped from it, landing in front of its path. She landed with a sliding thud on her feet and turned back to look at the falling tree, gaining in speed. She cringed as another bolt of pain struck and crippled her to the ground. The ear-shattering sound flooded her ears once again and she felt herself tearing up. She didn’t know at this point if it was from the pain of her worsening situation or not. She whimpered and held her hands to her temple, waiting for the pain to stop. When it did she sighed in relief, but immediately remembered her situation and looked up. Her mind raced as she thought of what to do, but coming up blank. She could have moved to the side and out of the way of the trunk, at least sparing herself that. But her mind was far too tattered to concentrate on such a simple action.
Not seeing any options, or enough time to move out of the way, she covered her head and ducked, waiting for the tree to fall, and prayed that it would somehow miss her by some miracle of millimeters. She cried, her chest heaving as she thought of Fran in what she thought to be her final moments. How she had always told her to be careful, not to go too high. She should have listened. Why didn’t I listen? she thought. But what happened only added to her astonishment. She heard the tree fall with a loud crack, and felt the ground shake beneath her as it did. Her eyes were closed tight as she waited for the onslaught of pain. But none came. There wasn’t even a hint of it. After a few moments went by, she dubbed it safe to open her eyes, and take a look at the damage that had been done. The tree had indeed fallen, corrupting the natural layout of the ground around it into a dent. But where she had been standing, the ground was at peace. In fact, a significant area around her was at peace, as if it had never been touched by the tree. Slowly, her hands returned to her sides as she looked up in curiosity. The tree had been bent upwards above her, almost like it had been snapped in half to protect her. She stared at it in shock as she took a few steps back from the destruction, trying to piece it all together in her mind. What had just happened? Had the tree split on its own? Had she done that? And if she had, how in the world… She kept looking, along the entire tree, looking for answers but finding none. She looked down at her hand, eyeing its shaking frame, now with slight horror. She shook her head and looked around to see if anyone had in fact seen what had happened. And indeed, there was one.