Screaming.
She was screaming.
My heart jolted in my chest when those screams first ripped into the air and I felt the misery seize up in my chest. Oh, God. It was happening again. I sprinted into the living room, following the screams all through our once peaceful home. Rounding the bend, I laid eyes on her. She had collapsed, her body convulsing violently on our newly carpeted floor, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. I sucked in a gasp, staggering backwards.
"Liz, I need you to calm down, sweetheart."
Dad kneeled over her, his fingertips gently brushing her cheeks.
"Make them stop, make them stop!" She cried.
"They're not real, remember they're not real," Dad begged her. "Addie! Get over here, hold her down."
I stumbled over and grabbed her left arm, pushing it down with all my might.
"Hold her, hold her!"
"I am holding her, Dad!"
"Please, Ed. They're so loud."
"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here. Hold on tight."
Tears spilled down his cheeks, the desperation burning in his eyes. He let his head fall back, murmuring a prayer, and in that moment of faith and weakness, my mother sensed an opening. She shot up out of our grip, launching herself at the kitchen bench. Then there was a blade, her long, graceful fingers wrapped tight around the handle, knuckles white.
"Get away from me!" She yelled.
"Mum?"
Billy's fourteen-year-old voice echoed from the doorway.
"Go Billy," I said, looking into his bloodshot eyes. "Everything will be fine."
"Liz, please, just put the knife down." Dad begged.
"They won't stop screaming," she wept, touching her temple softly. "They keep telling me to do things."
"I know, honey. I know."
"Mum, please," I said to her, taking a step closer.
She pointed the knife at me, her wild hair in disarray and her eyes full of fear.
"Step back, Adeline."
"No," I said. "You won't hurt me. I know you won't."
"I can't control them, Addie! They control me! And they want to hurt you."
"But you don't. Take control, Mum. Don't let them hurt me. Just give me the knife."
I believed in her then, believed in the strength that had once resided in her. No matter how bad she got, I always thought she would defeat this thing inside her – this sickness. She only needed a push. I took another step forward, with only one more to go before she was at arm's length. Tears streamed down my mother's face, smearing her mascara.
"Listen to her, Liz." Ed said, taking another step forward.
I glanced at him as he spoke, then Billy's young voice let out a piercing scream.
"ADDIE!"
He pointed at Mum and my head jerked in her direction. She held the knife above her head, her eyes filled with her sickness, and I felt so small under her – so powerless, so helpless. Then, with one mighty swoop, she brought down the blade.
My eyes snapped open.
I was back in the watchtower, the lavender skies painting the room in silhouettes. I shot up in bed, my sweat cooling to the morning air.
It was just a dream, I thought to myself. Just a dream. It's all over now.
Of course, it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. And every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was that knife, felt the pain as it slid into me. The way it had burned. Absentmindedly, I rubbed my arm, feeling the thick scar beneath. She hadn't meant to do it – not really. It was the sickness. I had to believe that.
I opened my eyes and looked around the room. Dad was asleep in his window chair, snoring, closed eyes looking out over the gaol. I looked to Billy, but his bed empty, cold. He hadn't come home. A tingle of fear and concern sparked in my belly, but I remembered that Billy was a young man – stupid and reckless and immature, but strong, both physically and mentally. He could take of himself, for one night at least, and with that I managed to pull back the covers and get ready for school.
***
Out in the early autumn sun, I watched my breath fog in front of me as I approached the bus stop. Burnington was always dead at this hour of the morning, with the rare rumble of a distant car or an old lady wandering out to her letterbox being the most eventful aspects of seven a.m. However, there was another face outside at that ungodly hour, and I found him sprawled across the bus stop bench, half a bottle of bourbon sitting on the cement beside him.
"Billy?"
I shook him awake, his bare shoulders cold to the touch. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes.
"Oh, good morning," he groaned, before wincing in pain. "Oh god, my head..."
"Bourbon?" I asked, picking up the bottle. "Really?"
"Sal tapped into his dad's liquor cabinet. He's a hard drinker."
"Is that where you've been all night?"
"Probably."
"You're freezing," I offered, helping him sit up.
"I don't feel it."
"Come here," I said, shrugging off my school jacket.
I draped it over his shoulders, though it was too small to make much difference. Billy burped, cracked his neck.
"So," he said. "Did Dad say anything last night?"
"He tried to apologise, explain. But I wasn't interested."
Billy smiled bitterly.
"Typical." He muttered. "How's his face?"
"I think you broke his nose, but aside from that, he's okay."
Billy chuckled to himself.
"I know he deserved it," I said. "But please, don't hit him again. The fights are bad enough without the violence."
Billy's smile faded, and he glanced at me sideways.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was just... so damn angry. I didn't mean to lose it."
I wanted to smile at him, to offer some reassurance, but couldn't bring myself to.
"I did find out something interesting, though." He said. "I was talking to Georgie, and he said that Susie used to go to our school."
"What?"
"Yeah, I know right. I just don't know who she used to hang out with. Nobody seemed to pay that much attention to her when she was alive, so nobody knew who her friends were – if she had any. She just... flew under the radar. I thought maybe you could ask around, see if anybody knew her."
My stomach twisted at the idea of having to talk to any of my peers, the anxiety already beginning to swell in my gut. I didn't like people, and most of them didn't like me.
"I can't," I said. "You'll have to."
"Come on, Ad."
"No, Billy. I don't know anybody and I don't want to talk to any of them. Why can't you do it?"
"Fine," he said. "Is Dad still asleep?"
"He was when I left."
"Okay. I'll head inside. Get ready for school. Meet you at the canteen at lunch?"
I nodded.
"Good. Here, hide this. I can't take it in with me."
Billy handed me what remained of the bourbon, and walked up the street towards the old Gaol.
© A.G. Travers 2018