The Wishing Well

Chapter 7

Honestly, what is going on? the voice said again. Asylums?

Olivia crumbled to the ground, thinking about the coffee she no longer dared to make.

I hate coffee, the voice protested weakly.

“Make it go away,” she whispered to the cupboard under the sink, as if it would work. She opened the nearest drawer and found some of Mom's old magazines, then sifted through outdated celebrity gossip. There was just no way to relax, though—the voice in her head continued.

“I thought,” he whispered, smiling ironically, “that it would be the answer to all my problems.”

Olivia may as well go along with the voice, since ignoring it did no good. “What is the answer to all my problems?” she asked aloud. “I don't want to die. Not really.” Then she waited almost patiently for its next words.

The voice ignored her completely. “In the end, it saved neither my family, nor my life.”

“I don't have a family,” Olivia protested, feeling oddly at peace now that she was interacting with the voice. “Unless a mom who's always absent counts as family. Gone when I really need her.”

“For I am still alive, yes, but so much of me is dead.”

“I haven't reached that point yet.”

Who's there?

The sudden change of subject was disconcerting, as the voice addressed her directly. Olivia didn't reply, since there was no point. A voice in your head had no need for your name. The most it could do, anyway, was torment you.

What's going on? Who are you?

She remained silent. The voice began its narration once more, and Olivia listened nervously to the story it told.

His breath came out in ragged gasps. Olivia realized she was also breathing in ragged gasps. “My soul is gone—but is it? Can a being with no soul feel this sorrow that is a weight on my heart?”

“I haven't lost my soul yet,” she said, closing the magazine. “Not that I know of.”

Who are you?

“I'm not telling.”

What's wrong with me? It sounded frustrated again, and Olivia smiled triumphantly. At least it was finally uncomfortable. “Why is it talking as if I were a guy, though?” she asked aloud, finding welcome distraction in this. “Voices in my head ought to be smart enough to know what I am.”

Voices in my head?

“Yes. You're the voice in my head.”

I'm the voice in my head?

“No, my head.” Olivia stood up again, running a hand through her matted hair. “Because I'm going nuts.”

Why do I keep talking about voices in my head? it asked. It's almost as if something else were speaking inside of me.

The truth in this sentence surprised her. Olivia had trouble deciding if it was the voice or herself, because that was exactly how she felt. Ultimately the voice was not hers; she couldn't think of what it was, but definitely not her. “No...inside of me.”

Olivia opened the fridge for orange juice. If she couldn't have hot coffee, there was at least this. “Tell me, are you going to leave anytime soon?” she decided to ask, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. The silence lasted so long, Olivia actually paused in mid-pour. “Hello?” She felt silly asking this, but also hopeful—if there was no reply, the thing was gone.