Dead Silence

by K. G. Reuss

  “Wow. I’m lucky if my mom throws me a package of Pop-Tarts,” Nina chuckled as she stood up. She helped me to my feet, and I hobbled along with a crutch under my good arm into the kitchen. My mom was a fantastic cook. It smelled like heaven in the kitchen, and despite my rotten night, I was eager to eat something.

  “Chocolate chip or blueberry?” she asked, placing a plate in front of me, a spatula in her hand.

  “Both,” I said, licking my lips. She chuckled and put one of each on my plate, then added some fresh fruit.

  “This looks amazing, Mrs. Torres,” Nina exclaimed, sitting down and pulling her plate toward her. My mom grinned widely and gave me a wink. The smile faltered on my face as the buzzing started in my ears again. I shook my head quickly hoping to silence it, but it grew more intense.

  And then the low hiss of the voices invaded my senses.

  “Ever, look at me. I’m right here.”

  “Tiny thing, isn’t she? Don’t know how she’s ever going to make it. . .”

  “He’ll come and take her. Then we’ll be doomed. She still doesn’t acknowledge us. Ever, look behind you. You stupid girl.”

  “Our world is in turmoil and she’s eating.”

  “WHY WON’T YOU NOTICE ME!”

  “Stop! STOP IT!” I shouted. My fork dropped to the floor with a loud clatter, as I pressed my hands to my ears, and shook my head frantically. “Stop! Please!”

  “Ever!” Mom stared at me horrified, frozen in place, her plate of pancakes clutched tightly in her hands. Nina looked frightened as she gaped open-mouthed at me.

  “Make them stop, Mamá. Please!” I begged, sobbing, my eyes pleading with her to make the voices go away.

  “Make what stop, baby?” she whispered, finally thawing from her horrified position and rushing over to me, wrapping her arms around me tightly after she placed the plate of pancakes on the table.

  “The voices. The-the people. . . the dead people. Make them go away!”

  “Ever?” Nina asked, climbing to her feet and backing away, as her eyes flicked cautiously around the room, no doubt looking for what I was talking about.

  “Sweetie, there’s nothing here,” Mom murmured, pushing my hair out of my face. “There’s nothing, Mija.”

  “There is,” I whispered in a trembling voice. My hands fell away from my ears. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Mrs. Torres?” Nina asked, her voice shaky as she peered around the room.

  “Nina, get my phone,” my mother’s voice was eerily calm. Her arms remained around me. “Fetch my purse as well. It’s hanging on the hook by the door.”

  Nina scurried off, knocking her chair over with a clatter in the process, and returned a few moments later with my mom’s phone and purse. My mom dug through it quickly and pulled out a bottle of pills and handed me one.

  “Take this,” she said evenly. I opened my mouth, eager for any relief since the voices had turned into a loud roar that was making me dizzy. I swallowed down the pill with a cool glass of water Nina handed me. “Nina, please, stay with Ever.”

  Nina nodded and knelt beside me as my mom took her phone and dialed someone. A moment later a man’s voice came on the line, his words indistinct. She cast a hasty look at me before she left the room. I could hear her hurried murmurings, but was unable to make out what she was saying. I chuckled bitterly as I thought about the irony of it—I could hear voices that no one else could, yet I couldn’t hear my own mother talking to someone one room over.

  “Ever,” Nina said softly, her warm hand rubbing my back. “It’s going to be OK.”

  “No, it’s not,” I whispered, my voice shaking as Shadow entered the room from the living room as if he’d just been hanging out the whole time. His red-eyed gaze focused on me. Something inside me lit up at his presence. Words from weeks ago as I lay dying on the cold, black pavement poured into my mind—everything was going to change, and I’d never be the same again.

  I stared at Shadow with wavering eyes as the voices continued screaming out at me. He took a silent step toward me, his red eyes burning in his black form. Silence followed him, and I breathed out slowly, voicing the words I knew in my heart to be true.

  “Everything will never be OK again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  My mom swept me off to the doctor after breakfast, which I didn’t even bother to finish eating. Nina tried to stay with us, but I assured her that I was fine and that I’d call her once we got home. She relented, complaining the whole time like I figured she would. I didn’t want her to be a part of whatever was happening to me. I didn’t want her to see me that way. And we were off.

  “Everly, honey, we’re going to meet with Dr. Brighton. Dr. Sanders recommended him,” Mom said, wheeling the car into a parking space in a large, empty parking lot.

  “He practices on Sundays?” I asked skeptically as I gazed up at the plain, brown brick building in front of us.

  “When I spoke to him earlier, he was more than willing to see you immediately.” She gave me a forced smile, the fear very real in her brown eyes as she turned to look at me.

  “Mom? Do you think I’m crazy?” I whispered, my eyes not meeting hers, my voice hoarse. I played with a piece of lint on my pants waiting for her to answer.

  “No, sweetheart. I don’t think you’re crazy. You endured a very traumatic experience. I think you might need some help sorting through some things. You had a brain injury as well. Perhaps something isn’t healing the way it should or-or maybe something was damaged that we didn’t see on the scans. We’re going to figure it out, and then everything will be fine. I promise.” She gave me a watery smile. “Dr. Sanders has put in the order for more scans tomorrow. Dr. Brighton comes highly recommended by Dr. Sanders. He’s going to talk to you to see if there’s something he can do to help until we get more answers.”

  “OK,” I answered, swallowing hard as the buzzing started in my ears again. They were like angry little gnats, with their incessant demands to be heard overpowering everything around me. I managed to weakly get out of the car, then followed my mom into the building.

  Despite the drab exterior of the building, the inside was immaculate. The smell of chlorine greeted us at the door. A working fountain splashed in the center of the lobby. The floors were polished marble, the kind that were so shiny that I could almost see my reflection in them. The lush green foliage added just the perfect touch to the interior. I gaped in awe at it all.

  We didn’t bother to stop and look at the directory on the wall. Mom seemed to know where she was going, so I followed her wordlessly to the elevator. She pushed the large number two, and we ascended to the second floor where Dr. Brighton’s office apparently was.

  The voices were dull, in the distance almost. I drew in a shaky breath as we entered the third door on the right and was surprised to find the doctor waiting for us at the entrance to the waiting room.

  “Ms. Torres, Everly, I’m Dr. Brighton.” He gave me a warm smile as he opened the door revealing the hall that must have went to his office. He was middle-aged and in good shape. I suppose one might even go as far as calling him handsome with his dark hair and gray eyes. A goatee peppered with a smattering of gray adorned his chin.

  “Dr. Brighton,” my mom shook his hand and gave him a wobbly smile. “Please, call me Elena.”

  “And call me Ever,” I said softly. He gave me a kind smile before turning to my mom.

  “Elena,” he smiled warmly at her and shook her hand. “If you have anything you need to do in town, feel free to do so. I’ve received Ever’s file from Dr. Sanders, and I’d like to take some time to speak to Ever privately if you don’t mind. Perhaps we can get something underway for her today.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Mom gave me a watery smile, her hand touching her chest. “She’s been through so much.”

  “I understand,” he answered, his stormy eyes finding mine before giving me a reassuring smile. “Please, Ever, step this way. Elena, we’ll be about an hour.
That’s usually what my sessions run. You can wait out here or run some errands. The choice is yours.”

  “I do need to get a few things at the grocery store,” Mom said as she looked at me worriedly.

  “Don’t worry,” Dr. Brighton assured her. “She’ll be just fine here.”

  “Ever, do you want me to stay?” my mom asked, her face pinched with worry.

  “Mom, it’s fine. Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” I gave her the best smile I could muster, and she relented, backing away.

  “Come on, Ever,” Dr. Brighton motioned for me to follow him. We entered a room that looked comfortable, but generic. It was the stereotypical shrink’s office right down to the tan leather sofa and chair in the center. There was a desk in the back of the room with all his degrees hanging on the wall behind it. Various serene photos lined the walls, and there were vases filled with colorful flowers throughout the space.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to the couch. I sat down on it nervously, the leather making a creaking noise beneath my weight. His eyes focused on me as he sank into the leather chair. “So… Your mom tells me you’ve been having auditory hallucinations since your accident.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “I-I just didn’t sleep well the night before—”

  “Ever.” He sat forward and fixed me with a steely look. “There’s no need to hide it. These things can happen after a traumatic event—in your case, a brain injury.”

  “So, let’s say I did hear something,” I said delicately after a moment, my eyebrow raised as I picked absently at bits of fuzz on my sweater. “What would happen to me?”

  “Well,” he answered thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingertips in a contemplative manner. “I think it depends on a few factors. Perhaps we could help you by prescribing some medicines that can help with that sort of thing. We need to find the root cause first, though. Dr. Sanders seems to think everything looked good on your most recent scans. He wouldn’t have released you if they weren’t. So that begs us to address another possible issue. So… Tell me about it. I want to help you, Ever.”

  “And no one will know? It’s just between me and you?”

  “Absolutely. I only share with your mother what you want me to share,” his voice was firm and reassuring.

  “OK.” I swallowed hard, fidgeting nervously in my seat. “May I have some water?”

  “Of course.” He got to his feet and came back with a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. I picked it up and drank down half of it before wiping my mouth and taking a deep breath.

  “It started when I was three,” I said softly. Dr. Brighton raised his eyebrows at me, but didn’t say anything so I continued, “There was this shadow. A small one. Like my size. He never left. Like, I mean he did, but he always came back. He seemed to grow with me. As I got older, bigger, so did he. He never spoke to me. He’d just appear in my bedroom and watch me.”

  Dr. Brighton jotted things on his yellow legal pad the whole time I spoke. He paused and looked up at me.

  “And do you still see this shadow?” Dr. Brighton asked, scribbling on his pad of paper.

  “Yes,” I answered hoarsely. “I stopped seeing it for a few years. I learned to block it all out. Before I learned to do that, these-these people would stand over me at night and ask me for things—help, my soul, lots of things. I was so scared growing up.”

  “And your father? Where was he?”

  “It’s not a daddy issue,” I muttered, bitterly giving him a dirty look.

  “That’s not what I’m suggesting here, Ever.”

  “He was there until I was twelve. Then he left.”

  “How was your relationship with him?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “Turbulent. Abusive. He hit me and my mom. He used to tie me up and put me in a dark closet while screaming incoherently. He was an alcoholic.”

  “I see,” Dr. Brighton scribbled more on his pad of paper. “Did you stop seeing things after he left?”

  I frowned. I’d never thought about it before.

  “Uh, actually, yes,” I answered, still frowning.

  “And then after your accident, they’ve come back?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” I muttered. “They’re worse now. I did see the shadow before the accident, though.”

  “I see. And these voices, what are they saying to you? Do they tell you to hurt yourself?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “They ask me to see them, to let them in, to listen to them.”

  “Have you seen them this time around? Or is it just auditory?”

  “I-I’ve seen them,” I answered softly, shivering as I recalled the creatures from my closet and under my bed. “I’m afraid.”

  “Tell me, Ever,” Dr. Brighton leaned closer, his voice low. “Do you think they’re real?”

  “I…No.” I shook my head before sighing and looking him in the eyes, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes.”

  “And therein lies the problem.” He gave me a small smile. “That’s where the line between reality and psychosis is. It’s the belief.”

  “So, I’m crazy?” I asked lamely, choking on the words.

  “No.” He shook his head at me. “I don’t think that at all. There are perfectly sane people walking around in the world who believe in things like ghosts. And even some who have captured them on record.”

  “You think I’m seeing ghosts?” I yelped. Of course. I knew that’s what they had to be if I wasn’t crazy, but hearing him address it so casually made it that much more terrifying. I think I’d rather be crazy.

  “It’s one of a million possibilities, Ever. I’m openminded about most things in the world.” He laid his pad and pen on his lap, before leaning forward to continue, “It could very well be related to your brain injury. But because you’ve always seen things, I’m more inclined to say it’s something more than just your body going through a traumatic event. I’m going to recommend that you come see me twice a week. And I’m going to prescribe you some medication to help you sleep at night, plus something to take the edge off. I’m also going to say this to you—I wouldn’t be so afraid of this shadow you’ve seen or think you’ve seen. If he hasn’t harmed you in all these years, I don’t think he will.” He winked at me, a small smile on his lips and went back to scribbling on different pad of paper that he withdrew from his pocket.

  He acted like this was no big deal, and maybe it wasn’t. He probably dealt with way crazier people than me. My case was probably a walk in the park.

  He handed me slips of paper with prescriptions scrawled on them and a card with his number on it.

  “My cell number is on the back. If you need anything, just call me anytime day or night. I’ll be there to help you.”

  “So, you’re like a really involved shrink?” I frowned looking down at his number scrawled on the back.

  “Something like that,” he chuckled softly.

  We both got to our feet, and he ushered me out the door. He seemed somber. Tense.

  Who knew. Maybe I was imagining that, too. I mean, I was seeing things that no one else could see. Imagining his feelings wasn’t too far out of the ballpark.

  Chapter Twelve

  Immediately after getting my prescriptions filled, I took them and within the hour I felt ridiculously mellow and tired—my mind muddled and fuzzy feeling.

  When we got home, I lay on the couch and zonked out. And that’s how the next few weeks went, I lived in a pharmaceutical fog and the voices faded to distant whispers. I’d been going to my appointments with Dr. Brighton and had even done more brain scans on Dr. Sanders’s orders—all those were normal. Dr. Brighton continued to grill me about my past, as well as the things I was seeing and hearing. But because I was so doped up, I didn’t have much to report to him except I still heard the voices in the distance. It struck me as odd that he seemed almost delighted by my accounts, as he rushed to write everything down on his pad of paper.

&nbs
p; It was well into summer break before I was able to move around without my crutches and grimaces of pain. Nina came over after my latest session with Dr. Brighton, and we went out to get ice cream. When we got back, she’d wanted to come inside, but I was exhausted and told her I was just going to nap. We said our goodbyes, and I went into the house. I limped to the couch and flopped down, falling into a deep sleep.

  When I woke up, it was late in the evening. I got up and rubbed my eyes, my head still feeling weird.

  “Mom? Mamá?” I called out. “¿Dónde estás?”

  I hobbled through the downstairs, frowning when she didn’t answer. I called out loudly to her three more times, receiving no response. She wouldn’t just leave me, and I knew she didn’t have to work.

  It took forever, but I managed to make it up the stairs. I knocked on her bedroom door before cracking it open and going inside.

  “Mamá?” Silence greeted me. I stepped up to her bed where she had a box of old photos opened. Scooping up a handful, I smiled down at the pictures of me and her together at the park, at Christmas, with grandma. And then there was one with me and my dad. He was grinning widely, his green eyes—the same color as mine—alight with humor, his dark hair a mess on his head, as he sat in his favorite chair with his arm around me. I must have been about three years old. We both looked so happy. So normal.

  My lips parted as I peered more closely at the photo. In the background, surrounding us, were dozens of creatures—maybe humans. Possibly the dead. Some looked like they were screaming in pain, others in anguish, and some were just watching. How anyone could miss seeing them was beyond me.

  My hands trembled as I held the photo. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t crazy!

  A loud crash pulled me from my thoughts, and my head snapped up to see a vase of flowers had smashed to the floor. I took a step back, the photo still clutched in my hands.

  “Everrr, come child,” a voice beckoned.