Voices (Novella - Psychological Thriller/Horror)

11.

Everyone was glad to see me back in group. I suffered good-naturedly through all the greetings, hugs, and well-wishes before taking my usual chair. Even though I’d only known Liz a short time, her absence haunted me.

Forest shadows follow you everywhere you go.

There’s no hole you can hide in…Master will find you.

They’re serving black maggots for lunch today…

The demons were back, in full force and by nine a.m., I had a full-blown headache. Still at a manageable level, I sat quietly through our session, nodding once or twice when someone looked at me expectantly. I made a couple of side glances at Dr. Miller, and noticed the tight line of her lips as she assessed my behavior.

She’d locked me in solitary for how long? I wasn’t in the mood to be her bff right now, she’d just have to deal with it.

“They whisper all night,” a young man I’d never met before complained, and I swung my head to study him.

Something in his voice tugged my heartstrings. He sounded obsessed; a feeling I understood all too well.

“Who does?” Dr. Miller asked, turning her attention to him. “Thomas, who whispers to you all night?”

Thomas tucked his chin and lowered his eyes to stare at the floor. I didn’t understand his sudden reluctance to continue speaking until I realized that he’d been fine when everyone else had been ignoring him. But once he was the center of attention, he shut down.

After a few moments of absolute silence – and everyone pretty much lost interest in Thomas – Dr. Miller called our session to an end. The other patients bottlenecked toward the door leading back to patient rooms, each intent on retreating to any other place but here. Although St. Landry’s was renowned for their upscale patient treatment and comfortable common areas, group therapy always managed to put everyone on edge. I normally sought refuge in my room immediately after session. The only word I can think of, that would adequately describe how I felt after being in the same room, under a microscope, with all the others was “polluted.”

Don’t get me wrong, I know mental health issues aren’t contagious. That’s simply ridiculous. But it’s like a black cloud gathers over the top of us as we all sit and whine about our problems and once the session is over, that fog saturates me, following me around the rest of the day. I literally felt it now, an oily coat of ick wiggling across my arms. Ignoring the urge to lunge from my chair and flee the room, I turned my attention back to our little circle of abandoned chairs.

Thomas, Dr. Miller, and I remained in our seats.

Dr. Miller raised her eyebrows at me in question, and I debated on whether to give her the cold shoulder or not. She knew me pretty well and probably already understood my reluctance to leave. After the way she’d treated me, I resented the hell out of her and decided that I’d no longer make her job so easy.

She knew what I was doing. I knew she knew what I was doing. She could kiss my ass, and I tried my best to convey that sentiment with my face. After a pretty intense stare-down, she merely smiled and gave a curt nod – allowing me this sweet taste of victory.

“Thomas.” She swiveled her folded legs in his direction and opened her arms wide enough to encompass both of us like we were her little family. “This is Penny, maybe you’d like to talk to her about your nightly incidents?” The good doctor flashed a smile in my direction before turning back to him. “She’s had a few of her own and I think it would be good for you to talk to someone who’s potentially experienced something similar.”

She’d essentially snatched the proverbial rug out from underneath my feet. She’d also blown any delicate approach I’d planned. Thomas slowly turned to look at me, his face a mask of distrust and fear. He didn’t know me anymore than I knew him. I couldn’t even say how long he’d been a patient here.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He shook his head and turned to glare at Dr. Miller. “How is that even considered legitimate treatment? You can’t recommend that patients treat each other, what kind of therapist are you?” he demanded and rose from his chair, stalking from the room as if his feet were on fire.

He’s hiding something…

He isn’t one of ours…

Kill him with kindness, then kill him for realsies…

“He’s right,” Dr. Miller agreed. “I can’t recommend you share experiences as a form of treatment, but it might help you both if you do talk.”

I sighed. I’d been thinking the exact same thing, but I’d be a monkey’s uncle if I let her know that I agreed with her.

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