Staying in Sanity {OpenNovellaContest2019}

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first chapter

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Howls of hungry hounds rang through the coppice and into the silent suburbs. The autumn gale had brushed the mist across the welkin, an obnoxious shroud of gray covering the starry tapestry.

Drowned in a quiet mess, the town of Hammilton had fallen asleep after what seemed like the biggest fest of the season. Kathleen had locked herself at home for the holiday, indulging with the utmost mediocrity in the four walls.

Across the room were blares of red and orange competing against each other. Leaping and dancing as they grew, the flames hissed like thunder in the fireplace. Despite the light illuminating every corner in the room, Kathleen had to look twice on the image held by her own hands.

It was an odd reading. The card shook between her trembling fingers as she carefully set it down on the table. Seven nights prior, she had drawn the same piece from the Tarot deck. Peculiar as it was, the Ten of Swords presented itself over and over again on the next few evenings.

Downfalls; Withdrawals; Disappointments -- it ran the same wavelength of grief and sadness.

One last glimpse and she could memorize the card like an imprint -- the man lying, face first on the ground, with blades of ten sticking from his rearward. It was calling her out of sanity. A part of her believed there was more to it than just the customed meaning.

With one scratch from her scalp, a heavy bout of sigh escaped from Kathleen's lungs. Not knowing how to solve this sooner, she closed her eyes as she willed herself to calm down. She knew all too well how the Tarot worked but for the first time in two years of practice, she did not know what to do.

Out of the blue, a whisper of bells susurrated from the side. It was one of those annoying tones that would clamor in the skull. Someone was calling her again. Kathleen moved closer, reaching for the phone in her purse at the far end of the sofa. What a good way it was for her to breathe from the suffocating thoughts.

Clutching the life out of her phone, "dad" read in big, bold letters. It had been a hot minute since his last call and it ended better than expected. Her father had set her whole life in ashes, completely burnt down like arson. College happened to be the escape Kathleen needed. Driving a hundred miles west, life away from the devil's den had just started. Hands tight on the device, she waited for a second before swiping up and easily pressing the screen against her ear.

"The night is not too young, Kathleen. Remember how you used to stay up late to see the moon?" Daryl spoke. "Your old man's doin' it right now."

Middle aged Daryl had not seemed to stop tobacco. The voice from the other line sounded too gritty for a fifty year old. No one was getting any younger and the lifestyle wasn't growing morrows for him. It made the daughter worry a little. In truth she may had been full of him but she could not bring herself to detest. She loved him too dearly.

"You do?" Kathleen shifted on her feet, gazing the sky through the windows. "I'm doing the same thing too, dad." There was something so warm and engaging that she liked about the call. No fighting. No shouting. No swearing. It must had been her dad's imminent aging.

A sharp cough splinted from the speaker, bringing Kathleen to jump up. It had meant one thing. Taking a deep breath, her head swung in disbelief.

"Your coughs are not going away. Have you not learned, Dad?" She cleared her throat, wanting to hint a warning. "The doctors did say you should stop smoking, didn't they? Why can you never heed from them?"

From the other line, Daryl rolled his eyes like a five year old. He could not believe it in his own ears -- his twenty two year old daughter reprimanding him like a parent. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"My airways are perfectly fine, Kath," Daryl replied with a reassuring tone. "Well if anything happens, we can always get a treatment in-"

"Dad!" Kathleen had cut him off, raising her eyebrows in annoyance. "I'm not gonna let you reach that point. Take care of yourself, dad."

Kathleen lingered on the window, waiting for a reply. She brushed her hands against the glass, feeling the cold from outside. Her words came out like a blurt but nonetheless, unapologetic. She felt the need to say this sooner before it was too late.

"We're the only ones left in the family," Kathleen nearly choked her words. "I don't want to lose you. Not when Mom and Gian's still fresh from my mind."

As if on cue, the whole room wrapped itself in a wistful mood. The bitter memory of her family's passing played vividly in her brain like a cinema. It had happened six years ago, when Kathleen was sixteen and a struggling self-image.

Friday afternoon, she remembered, when she had Chemistry class on the last period. A call from the principal had her suddenly be pulled out from the class, leaving her titration assignment to her lab partner, Danielle.

The floor tapped below her strides. Hands on the banister, Kathleen ran a flight of stairs before pushing her way though the doors of the office. She had gone breathless in sweat as she was welcomed by the coldness from the air condition. Still, it was unknown to her what had caused the call. But one thing was for sure; a trip to the office wasn't anything good.

Kathleen was clutching onto her skirt as she waited for someone to lose a word on her sitting. She scratched the fabric, fidgeting as she trailed along the detailed seams. On the other seat, Miss Bleu went through so much inner debate, clicking her tongue through the process. Each time she formed a sentence, she could not find herself to finish it, words falling into hums. Opening the conversation was hard and surprising the poor girl was the last thing on her agenda.

“Kathleen, dear—” Her voice dragged as her hands closed in a clasp. “Your mom and brother are gone.”

One sentence withdrew and took Kathleen in a whirlwind of emotions. The words echoed like stones skipping on water. She refused to believe as it was only earlier that she had seen them, alive and breathing.

Only when a single piece of photograph shown to her did she begin to face reality. The image of an eerily familiar Montero was flipped and squashed to pulp on the wet highway. It had been raining all day, leaving the car slipping and rolling on the hard pavement.  Little Gian was riding on the back seat, sleeping with a teddy until they reached home from the flower shop. He was only three, and a month away from his next birthday. In all her life, this was the greatest tug to her heartstrings.

Watching anyone's loved ones lie on the coffin was no sight worth seeing, and Kathleen's wasn't any different. She felt the whole world falling apart at each time she stared at their sleeping faces. It was not any longer after the funeral that Daryl started the ugly -- alcohol and cigars. Their deaths took a toll on him, turning his life to a three-sixty, hurting Kathleen deeply. The short moment of recollection had a breath came out from him, and briefly said, “Okay, dear. I'll get better.”

A glimpse of hope sparkled in Kathleen's eyes.

“Thanks, Dad.”

She beamed for the first time today. It was a relief hearing it from her father's own lips. With so much trust in himself, Daryl was keeping a word like a promise.