I nod my head to Tobias. “I’ve applied and hopefully they’ll want me. What about you?”
“Stanford or UCLA.”
“What’s your major going to be?”
“Psychology.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“What does?”
“The way you’ve been with me. All the doctor talk. You want to be a psychologist.”
“Yeah. Hopefully.”
“Why? What makes you want to be a psychologist?”
Tobias chews, but I notice he’s slowing down, he must be thinking about his reply. “Our life isn’t always predetermined, and sometimes things happen that makes us re-evaluate it. When I was really small, I wanted to be a police officer. But life happens, and I changed my mind. I still want to help people, just in a different way. Because once trauma happens, there aren’t a lot of people there to help you pick up the pieces. I mean, it’s getting better. Mental health awareness is reducing the stigma, but it’s not nearly where it should be.”
“You want to be an advocate for mental health.”
“I’m an advocate for personal health. And being broken doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed.”
“That’s why you were pushing me in the hospital.” He stares down at his food and nods. “What happened to you, Tobias?”
“You promised me a week. Then I’ll tell you everything.” He stops eating and stares distantly at his food.
Ivy, he’s not going to tell you, my demon whispers cynically in my ear.
Not now, please go away.
Why has he decided to show up after weeks of remaining quiet?
“You done?” Tobias asks.
“Yeah, I am. Can you take me home?” I ask.
Tonight hasn’t gone the way I wanted it to. I wanted answers, but instead the monster showed himself. I feel myself being pushed further into isolation and hopelessness.
Darkness is waiting close by.
Nothing was resolved tonight, and my heart is teetering on the edge of breaking.
Chapter 19
Standing in the lake, I look down and wiggle my toes. My bare feet are in the water, and my white dress floats around me. The water rises rapidly, like I’m standing in a giant bath tub.
“Dad,” I scream. He waves to me from the shore as I flail my arms for him to come help me. “Help!”
He doesn’t come to help me, instead he waves to me.
I try and move my feet, but they’re so heavy and I can’t lift them. “Dad!” I yell again.
As he’s standing on the shore watching me, his entire body morphs into that of a little girl. Her dirty blonde hair hangs around her face as she clutches a stuffed toy to her chest. “Help,” I yell to her.
But she doesn’t move. She stands in the same spot watching me. “Mommy,” she calls and waves to me.
Who is this little girl? She called me ‘mommy.’ Am I her mother? “Help,” I try to call again, but the water is now lapping around my chin and I can barely keep my head above as it rapidly rises.
It’s a strange feeling. I’m drowning; I know it. But as the water briskly rises, it’s calm. The water is peacefully sweeping me under.
I lift my arm to wave to the little girl, but the weight of the water makes it too heavy to move.
“Mommy,” she screams. This time her voice is filled with fright.
I gurgle as the water starts filling my mouth. I spit it out, but more is ready to rush in.
Suddenly, I’m on the shore, kneeling down and looking at a woman who appears to be me. She’s sputtering and breathing shallowly. “Always listen to your daddy,” she says to me.
“Ivy, move!” Dad effortlessly lifts me and places me to my feet away from the body.
“Love her, forever,” the woman says to Dad. Her eyes glass over, and she stops breathing.
“Mrs. Richards!” I cry as I sit up in bed and gasp for breath.
The room is dark, and only the light of the stars shines in. A gentle breeze makes the tree branches tap on the window.
Puffing, I try and regulate my erratic heartbeat. My heart feels like it’s shivering inside my chest. Tremors rip through me from the frightful memory of Mrs. Richards’s eyes.
I get up out of bed and pace back and forth for a moment. I can’t see anything else but her eyes. The way they glazed over. Something is familiar about them, but also distant.
The branch lightly knocks on the window again, and this time it drags me away from the vision. Slowly, I make my way over to the window and sit on the seat beneath it.
The stars are calling me tonight; they want to talk to me. Or perhaps they’re wanting me to talk to them.
“Why Mrs. Richards?” I ask.
They twinkle with fervor, as if they’re desperate for me to know something.
But a tightness knots in my stomach at the same time. I know Azael is near, waiting to strike. I’m anticipating his appearance, but I’m hoping he stays hidden.
He’s lurking. Watching. Stalking.
The soft howl of the gentle wind snaps me back to the flickering stars.
“Will you tell me a secret?” I ask as I bring my knees up and wrap my arms around them, hugging them close to me.
They sparkle brighter. Yes, they whisper.
“Why did I see Mrs. Richards in my dream? Why were her eyes so memorable?”
I watch as they twinkle almost in a perfect dance. It brings a small smile to my lips as they continue their hypnotic choreography. They’re perfect in all their brightness.
Aren’t stars interesting things? Even when we can’t see them, they’re still there, guiding and telling us how tomorrow, life will go on, but we need to have faith in the right now.
“Do you watch out for me?” I ask them.
If there was someone standing at my door observing me, they’d think I’m completely mad. But talking to the stars calms me, and I suspect their tranquility gives other people hope too.
The moon is always majestic and cold, but the stars are loyal. They take a back seat to the moon, never upstaging it, but always enhancing it.
“I like you,” I say to them.
They wink at me, and it makes my smiler grow wider.
Taking a breath, I glimpse away from them for a moment, and when I return my gaze, I ask them the same question. “Why were her eyes so familiar?”
A pall falls over them, like they don’t want to tell me the truth.
“It’s okay. One day I’ll figure it out.”
I imagine they give me a noble nod, happy that I’ve accepted their silence for now.
Sitting in the seat, I bring my knees up, wrap my arms around my calves, and lean my head on my knees. I watch as they continue to dance. It’s hypnotic and reassuring. They’re beautiful, and so reliable.
Slowly, my eyes close as I watch them.
A deep calmness envelops me. The stars are my safe place. My happiness.
But Mrs. Richards’s eyes… I know they’re familiar, but I wish I knew why.
One day soon, I’m sure I’ll figure it out.
Dad?” I ask as I make a coffee for him.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He turns on the tablet and flicks through something.
“I had another dream last night.”
“What kind of dream?” he asks without looking up at me. Placing the coffee cup on the table, I sit opposite him and wait until he’s lowered the tablet. He picks his coffee up and takes a sip. After a few mouthfuls of coffee, he notices my silence. I haven’t responded to him. “Sorry, I was reading the news. Tell me about this dream.”
“It’s kind of like the others I’ve had. But this time it was a bit different. I was in the water calling to a little girl on the shore line, who was waving to me as if she knew me. She called me ‘Mommy.’ Then a woman in a white dress, all wet, was lying on the shore, and I became the little girl. You picked me up and moved me. The woman didn’t look like Mrs. Richards, but I can’t remember what she looked like either. She’s foggy and hazy. She told me to be a g
ood girl, and she told you to love me forever. Then I woke up.”
Dad’s eyes have widened and his mouth is in a perfect O shape. “Sweetheart,” he croaks.
“What is it, Dad?” I can see how he’s struggling to tell me something. “Dad…” I push. “What is it?”
“Do you still have the name and number of that psychologist?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Please, we need to make an appointment with her. These dreams are worrying me.”
“I’m not crazy,” I shoot back at him. The hairs on my arms stand to attention as my anger climbs to scorching level within a few seconds.
“I’m not saying you’re crazy. Why have you got it in your head that you’re crazy? You’re not! Jesus, Ivy.” He stands from the table and takes his mug over to the sink. He swigs back the scolding hot coffee as if it’s nothing but cold water. “If you don’t make that appointment, I’m going to. And you’re going.” His anger tells me he’s hiding something.
Every time I’ve had a drowning dream, his reactions were peculiar.
“Dad,” I say as I stand and head toward him. “I don’t need a psychologist, I just need some time.”
“Really? You think you don’t need help? Maybe you don’t.” He stretches out his arms on the kitchen counter and arches his back.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not the only one who’s having to work through things, Ivy. I can’t stand what happened, and I’m absolutely petrified that every time you step outside this house, I’m never going to see you again. Or worse still…” his voice trails smaller.
“What?” I ask.
Dad lets out a pained rumble which travels from deep inside his chest. “Don’t you get it?” Turning his head, I see the tears forming in his eyes.
His vulnerability wrecks me. I’ve never seen my Dad cry other than when Mom died. He’s such a strong man. He walks with his head held high, and his chest puffed out. He’s the proudest man I’ve ever known. Proud of himself. And definitely proud of me.
“With what happened, and what you did to yourself… I’m afraid,” he admits to me in a voice that cracks.
The words are raw. They cut sharper than any blade I’ve used on myself.
“Dad,” I whisper as I step closer to him. He straightens and I can’t help but throw myself into his arms. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say as I hug him tightly. He’s afraid that one day he’ll find his daughter dead. I get it.
“Please, Ivy. Make that appointment. I need this as much as you do. I’m barely hanging on, and I can’t keep living a life where I’m afraid all the time.”
“I will,” I promise him.
I can’t keep hurting Dad. I can’t. He’s my rock. He’s the man I know will always have my back, regardless of what I go through. He’s the first person by my side the moment I need him. I can’t put him through living in fear anymore.
It’s not fair to him.
And now that I know how much pain I’m causing him, I can’t continue.
“I promise,” I say again.
“Thank you.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“With all my heart,” Dad whispers. I’ve never doubted Dad’s love for me, but this, it feels different. It means so much more than it ever has before.
Chapter 20
I did make an appointment with the psychologist, and today’s our first appointment. Dad’s coming with me, because the appointment I made is our initial consultation. Dad wants to get counseling too.
It’s been a week since he broke down. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but Dad shuts down and won’t say much about the situation. I suspect his quiet demeanor today has a lot to do with the fact that we’re heading to the psychologist’s office. The woman’s name is Elizabeth, and gauging by what I’ve read about her online, she specializes in trauma and comes highly recommended.
I’m nervous.
What if she can see through me, and knows I’m a cutter?
I haven’t cut since the day of the shooting, but it doesn’t mean Azael is never going to return and try to mess with me again. He’s already tried it. But I was strong and fought him off. I suppose if everything in my life was smooth sailing, then my demon would have no reason to return.
But he’s there.
I know he is.
He’s like a professional boxer, staying back, ready for the moment when I’m at my weakest to strike. God, I hate him so much.
Dad drives in silence, but he nods his head from time to time like he’s having a conversation with himself. His hard-forward stare warns me not to ask him anything. I suppose I’ll find out why he’s so uptight when we get to the psychologist’s office.
We pull up outside a very ordinary, well-maintained house. The lawns are manicured, and the house looks unassuming. There’s no big flashing sign proclaiming what goes on here.
“You okay?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I answer, but he’s distracted and I don’t think he heard my response.
Strangely, even though I’m nervous, I’m calm. Maybe even relieved. This isn’t as bad as I was expecting.
But seriously, what was I expecting? Men standing outside the door waiting for me with special white coats?
“Are you okay?” I ask Dad.
He stares ahead at the house as we walk toward it together. He doesn’t respond.
There’s a small plaque on the wall by the front door that lists three names, and under each person’s name is the acronym indicating their qualifications. None of it makes sense to me.
We open the door, and we’re immediately greeted by a young woman sitting behind the reception desk.
“Hello.” She smiles and looks to me, then Dad.
Dad gives her all our details, and she asks us to fill in some paperwork.
Normal stuff, age, occupation, insurance plan, all the things I’d expect they need to know. When we finish the paperwork, I stand and give it to the woman then go to sit next to Dad.
His shoulders are tight, and his left leg is bouncing. He’s worse than I am, and that surprises me.
The waiting room is empty of other people. And this gives me an opportunity to look around. In the corner, there’s a basket with toys, and behind it there’s a small bookshelf with a variety of books for different reading levels but all aimed toward kids. The walls are hung with generic, though calming, prints of flowers and trees.
As I’m looking around, a woman with wild, curly hair and a long blue dress stands in front of me. She’s maybe in her fifties, the gray streaks and wrinkles all giveaways of her age and experience.
“Hello. Ivy and Stephen?” she asks with a genuinely warm smile.
“Hello.” I stand, and Dad follows.
“Hello.” Dad holds his hand out to shake hers. He looks uncomfortable.
“Would you both like to come into my office?” she speaks softly, but confidently. Elizabeth turns and we both follow her.
She gestures us into a room, where she waits until we’re inside before she closes the door. The room is cozy. The walls are painted a pale yellow, and the furniture is clean and inviting.
“Please, take a seat,” she gestures toward the oversized chairs on the other side of an office chair and desk. Dad fidgets, and her eyes go directly to him. “Stephen, are you nervous?” she asks.
Dad runs his hands down the front of his jeans. His jaw stiffens as he looks at her, then gives me a quick sideways glance. “You have no idea,” he finally responds to her question.
“Tell me, Ivy, how are you?” Her question catches me off guard. For some reason, I thought we were going to start with Dad. But Elizabeth has turned her attention to me.
“I’m okay.”
Elizabeth smiles. “What are you only okay about?”
Instantly, my mind starts trying to make up something, but she’s caught me unaware, again. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hide anything from her. Pursing my lips together, I try to
formulate a tangible response. But the longer I take, the more it looks like I’m lying to her. “I’m only okay about a few things.”
Elizabeth leans over and takes a note pad from her desk, and a pen. “Then tell me what you’re more than okay with?”
“You want me to tell you about myself?”
“I want you to tell me what you want to tell me.”
I crack a smile. That’s a load of shit and we both know it. “Ivy was in the class where that boy came in and shot his teacher,” Dad spills before I can say anything.
Elizabeth looks at me, her face remains calm. “Tell me about it,” she says, directing her question to me.
I swallow the lump that’s collected at the base of my throat. “What do you want to know? Didn’t you read about it?” My question comes out snappy, but it’s not how I meant it. “I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize.
“Yes, I did read about it. But reading about it, and hearing about it from a person who was there, are two totally different things.”
“Why are they different?”
“Because stories can become blurred when passed from one person to the next, and they can be misinterpreted once the press gets involved. So, I want to hear from you.”
Cold chills run down my spine, causing me to shiver. Being forced to relive that day isn’t something I was expecting so early on. I thought we might get to this in a few weeks. Not in the first session.
But if we can talk about this, then maybe I can avoid telling her about my demon. I know she’ll know I’m lying when we get to that part. And I don’t want Dad in the room for that. Hell, I don’t want him anywhere near here when she figures it out.
“I was in class. Tyler came in and killed Mrs. Richards and himself. There’s not much else.”
She looks to me, her eyes silently questioning me. “Not much else?” I shake my head. “Stephen, tell me how you heard about what happened.”
“I was at work…” Dad starts, and I sit back into my chair, just listening to Dad’s recollection. “One of the guys at work heard something on the radio about a shooting at the high school and called me over to hear what was happening.” I turn to Dad. I never thought to ask him how he heard about the shooting. “I dropped everything I was doing, and listened to the radio. The whole factory stopped. No one said anything. It was like a ghost town; you could hear a pin drop.”
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