Styx (The Four Book 1)

by Layla Frost

  I’d given up.

  The sex swing disaster from a few days prior was the final straw on a very tired camel’s back. The universe was sending me a neon message.

  I wasn’t meant to date.

  And I was listening.

  No more coffee dates. No more nights out. No more meet cutes, across the room flirting, or app disasters.

  I was going to accept my fate as a happy couch potato.

  Decision made and app deleted, I turned on the TV and began flicking through channels before stopping on a rerun.

  “Oh gods, not this shit again.”

  My body went tense and my heart raced as fear lodged in my throat. I jumped up and frantically whipped around to see who was talking, fully expecting the Scream guy to be behind me with a machete.

  But no one was there.

  “They always talk so damn fast,” the warbled voice continued. “Gives me a headache.”

  Nearly hyperventilating, I felt in my hoodie pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there.

  “Go back to the show about the brothers. They might be broody and whiny, but at least they get some stuff right. Like angels being bastards.”

  Forcing myself from my stunned silence, I practically shouted, “Who’s there?”

  There was a moment of silence before a faint and echoey, “Test, test.”

  “Test what? Where are you?” I checked behind my curtains as though the sheer fabric would hide anything. I moved back to the couch and began throwing things around. Finally finding my cell under a throw pillow, I snatched it up. “Whoever you are, you’re about to find yourself in a world of pain. I know Krav Maga.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  I started dialing 9-1-1. “Okay, but I do know how to call the cops.”

  “You might not want to do that.”

  I connected the call, but nothing happened. “Why is that?”

  “Because no one is here.”

  “Then who are you?” I pushed.

  But there was no response. Heart pounding and legs trembling, I searched the entire place, top to bottom, but found it empty.

  No one was there.

  But I didn’t feel alone.

  Chapter Four

  Subconsciouses Hate Chunky Smoothies

  Denny

  “WHY DO YOU BOTHER making that smoothie?” the voice asked. It was low and deep. The voice of a man.

  Only there was no man.

  He wasn’t real.

  But that whole not-being-real thing didn’t seem to stop him from yammering incessantly for two days straight.

  At first, I’d been scared. No, I’d been terrified. I’d searched the house over and over, only to come up empty every time. Since he clearly wasn’t physically there, I’d begun searching the place for bugs—the secret spy kind, not the icky insect kind. The guy at the hardware store had looked at me like I was certifiable when I’d asked if they had anything that could find secret cameras and listening devices. I’d had to rely on Google to get any real help.

  One expensive as hell metal detector and one even more expensive radio frequency detector later, and still nothing.

  After two days of the voice butting in on all my decisions, I was scared and annoyed. That morning, as I prepared for an appointment I was dreading, I was worried, too.

  “Because it’s healthy,” I answered, shaking my head.

  “Yeah, but it’s green. And you’re just going to dump it out.”

  I pressed the pulse button on my blender. “Because I don’t like the chunks.”

  “You should get the bullet shaped machine. Or the Vita one.”

  “I’ll take your shopping recommendations into account,” I muttered, pouring my too thick smoothie into a glass. I drank what I could before dumping the rest.

  “Told you so,” the voice said into my ear, making me feel as though someone were right behind me.

  I whipped around, my chest tight. “No one likes a know-it-all.”

  “And no one wants to start the day with green goop. You should be having fine wine. Gourmet food. Decadent sweets.”

  “Since it’s eleven in the morning, that’s not an option.” I headed toward the stairs before coming to a halt. “I’m losing my mind. I get that. But, on the off chance you can see me, stay downstairs. I need to shower.”

  “Don’t worry, my little hellion. Just like when you make that adorable surprised face and accidentally turn on those special movies, I’ll give you privacy.”

  “I do that? You’ve seen that?” I shook my head. “I mean, of course you have. You’re me. Or some part of my quickly deteriorating psyche.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Sprinting up the stairs, I rushed through my shower. I was on edge and my shaking fingers kept dropping things, but my nerves had more to do with my plans than any fear he was watching. Somehow, I knew he wasn’t around.

  That I even vaguely considered him a separate entity was all the more reason why I needed my appointment, no matter how bad the outcome could be.

  I dressed in a pair of jeans and a tee that demanded someone ‘Talk Dr. Reid to me’. Considering where I was headed, it seemed like a fitting choice.

  “That’s a better TV pick for tonight,” the warbly voice said as I went downstairs. “The fast-talking girls give me a headache. I prefer the criminal hunters.”

  I ignored the voice as I continued out the door. He didn’t speak again on the drive.

  Maybe he stayed home.

  “What am I thinking? I’ve lost it,” I muttered to myself. I pulled into the parking lot, got out, and was halfway to the building before he spoke.

  “A shrink isn’t going to help,” he warned. “I’m not a voice in your head.”

  “That’s exactly what you are.”

  “Yeah, but not the kind you’re thinking.” He sighed. “This is a waste of time.”

  “That’s exactly what a voice in my head would say. You don’t want me to be cured because that means you’ll disappear.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause that’s my worry,” he deadpanned, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  Even the voices in my head are snarky.

  Dad always said my smart mouth would come back to bite me in the ass.

  “Oh, that bar looks interesting,” the voice said. “Let’s go there instead. Or, since you seem to be against day drinking, there are plenty of stores to pass the time in.”

  “Tempting me won’t work.”

  “I’m not the temptress here,” he practically purred in my ear.

  I growled my frustration, earning me plenty of cautious stares and intentional eye contact avoidances from passersby.

  Giving an awkward smile, I lowered my head and hurried into Doctor Malik’s office to find him already waiting.

  Mid-fifties or so, the doc had exactly the look and personality one would expect from a shrink. His face was friendly in a bland kind of way and his voice was soft yet prodding. Every time I saw him, he wore a sweater vest and tortoise shell-rimmed glasses.

  “Haden, it’s wonderful to see you,” he greeted, stepping aside so I could enter his office.

  “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.” I took a seat on one of the comfy chairs around the coffee table.

  “Happy to.” He grabbed a big notepad before sitting across from me. “Though I have to say, I was surprised when you called. What brings you in?”

  I drummed on the armrests but forced myself to stop when I saw his eyes drop to take in the action. My stopping was likely more telling than the nervous habit had been, and that flustered me further.

  “Umm.” I shook my head before forcing the words out. “I’m hearing voices.”

  His expression remained neutral. “Voices?”

  “Well, more like a voice. A man’s.” I thought about his nosy input and added, “An annoying one.”

  Jotting something down, he asked, “Is he talking now?” When I shook my head, he continued his questions. “How long has he been speaking? And
what kinds of things does he say?”

  “He only started a couple days ago. He asks me to put something better on TV or makes fun of me for drinking my smoothie.”

  His brow raised. “Does he offer an alternate suggestion?”

  “Fine wine, gourmet food, and decadent desserts.” I rubbed my palms up and down my thighs for a moment. “Am I nuts? Are you going to call in the big men with the Hannibal Lecter gear and a comically large tranq needle? Should they start prepping my padded room?”

  Chuckling, Doctor Malik shook his head. “Not unless this voice is telling you to hurt yourself or others?” There was a weighty pause until I shook my head. “Then no, none of that.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing. You’re a young woman who has been through a tremendous amount in her short life.” He tapped his pen as he flipped through the notebook. “You first came to see me after losing your grandmother. Then your father passed away suddenly a couple months after her. From your comments, I know you loved your grandmother despite very rarely seeing her, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your feelings toward your father were not as warm, but because of his manipulations, you spent a tremendous amount of time with him. Still correct?”

  I gave a small smile. “Your notes are spot on, Doc.”

  “Within a short amount of time, you lost two people who were a big part of your life. Now you’re having to face being on your own for the first time ever. That’s a difficult transition for anyone.” He flipped another page. “But given what you’ve told me about your dad and what he said about—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know,” I interrupted hastily.

  It was irrational. He was a part of me, so he already knew everything I did, but I didn’t want the voice in my head to hear those quotes.

  Luckily, Doctor Malik seemed to attribute my outburst as me not wanting to rehash the dirty details. He moved on, saying, “Coping with loss is difficult, as is heading out into the world. You’re doing both. More than that, though, I’d guess your father’s words weigh heavily on your mind. He may be gone, but his disapproval likely lives on with every decision you make. Am I right?”

  I gave him a quick nod.

  “Your father’s unexpected death happened before you could find any closure with him. That unresolved tension has made it just as easy for him to control you in death as he did in life.”

  “The voice isn’t his,” I insisted, fighting a shudder and a wave of nausea. “I may be a little messed up, but that would be heading into Freudian territory.”

  Doctor Malik shook his head, smiling. “No, it’s not him. Based on what the voice has said, I’d say the voice is… you. That part of you who wants to be young and have fun now that you’re finally out from under your father’s thumb.”

  “Then why do I sound like a hot guy?”

  “Well,” he paused, looking up from his notebook. “Have you been… dating?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’ve tried, but each one is worse than the last.”

  “Then I’m guessing that’s where the male factors in.” He closed the book. “I know you didn’t feel as though our sessions were needed before, but I’d like to start seeing you again. Even just once a month.”

  “Yeah, okay, maybe,” I evaded. Talking about myself didn’t come easily, and the sessions had felt more torturous than therapeutic.

  Ignoring my non-answer, he continued. “In the meantime, get out with a group or on dates. Have fun—the safe kind, of course. Ignore the voice of your dad, and listen more to the other one. Unless he starts telling you to do dangerous things, in which case, come back and see me immediately.”

  The weight dropped from my shoulders. I hated that I still let my dad control my life, but I preferred that to losing my mind.

  Standing, I nodded. “I feel better.”

  “You should. Give yourself time.” Doctor Malik stood, too, and walked me to the door. “Call whenever you need, Haden.”

  “I will. Thank you again.” With a little wave but a deep breath, I made my way back to my car.

  Driving home, I was contemplating a stop for sushi when the voice spoke again. “What did the shrink say? Heavy therapy and heavier drugs? You know that couch jumping guy said those are bad, but I don’t agree. There’s always side effects, and sometimes they seem worse than the problem, so make sure you consult your physician to see what’s right for you.”

  Ignoring him, I made the turn toward sushi.

  I deserve it, dammit.

  “Well?” he prodded. “Shock therapy? Hypnosis? Daily sessions that he’ll gladly bill your insurance for? He’s likely a quack who’s out to get your money. There are lawyers who handle medical malpractice suits if you want to sue him.”

  He’s not going to drop this.

  Sighing, I admitted, “He said I should listen to you more.”

  “Oh… I like him. He’s obviously an accomplished, competent, and intelligent man. He has your best interests at heart. You should follow his orders.”

  “Uh huh. You’re the part of my subconscious who wants me to stop living for other people’s approval. I get it, so you can go away now.”

  “Well, that’s half-right.” He was quiet again for a moment. “I say we start now. Cupcakes for dinner, which you’ll eat while you’re—”

  “God, not only do I have a subconscious who speaks to me, but he’s clearly stemming from the sexually frustrated portion of my brain.”

  “I was just going to say you’ll eat them while you relax on the couch. Anywhere else your mind went is on you.”

  “Oh.” I pulled into a spot and put the car into park before dropping my head to the steering wheel. “Maybe Doctor Malik is wrong and I do deserve to be in a padded room. I still can’t believe I can hear you.”

  “Honestly, my little hellion… I can’t believe it either.”

  _______________

  Later that night, after a dinner of cupcakes and sushi, I closed myself off in the bathroom. I started the shower but sat on the cold tile under the open window as I called Lula.

  “Hey, I was just about to call you,” she said by way of greeting, momentarily throwing me.

  “Really? Why?”

  “You didn’t confirm you were coming for game night. I wanted to double check before I grocery shop.”

  I hit my forehead with my palm. “Tomorrow is Friday. I’m sorry, my days are all messed up. Yes, I’ll be there. Well, so long as you want me there after I tell you about my day.”

  “Oh man, I love when conversations start like this. If you say ‘Okay, so,’ I’ll be on the edge of my seat.”

  Laughing at my best friend, I said, “Okay, so.”

  “Yes!” She paused for a second before asking, “What is that noise? Are you in the bath? Oh, is this naked chat time?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Okay, so, I went to see Doctor Malik today.”

  “Really? I’m glad, I think you… Sorry, sorry. Why did you go?”

  I hesitated. Although I told Lula pretty much everything, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share about the voice.

  “Denny?”

  Forcing the words through the lump in my throat, I blurted, “I’m hearing voices. Well, a voice. Not in a ‘They’re coming to take me away, ha ha’ way, but I was worried. So I went and saw Doctor Malik.”

  “Whoa. How long has this been going on? What does it say? What did Malik say? Whoa.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. It’s only been a couple days, but… I’ve been feeling off for a while. The voice is annoying. Mostly, he judges my TV choices and encourages me to day drink and eat cupcakes for dinner.”

  “I like him already.”

  “Well, good, because Doctor Malik thinks I should listen to the voice more. He thinks it’s my subconscious wanting me to stop living to please my dad.”

  Her voice softened. “He has a point. You’ve always pushed against the box, but you still tend to stay within the perimeter of it.�
�

  “I know. And when I do step outside the box, Dad’s voice is in my head. Lecturing me. Making me doubt myself. I’m happy to rebel against him and flip the middle finger down toward hell, but I shouldn’t have his voice in my head all the time. Even when I’m not letting him control me, he still is, you know?”

  “I know. So Doctor Malik says to give into the voice?”

  “Yup. Hence the cupcake and sushi dinner.”

  “Nice,” Lula drawled. “I’m confused about the shower, though.”

  “He gives me bathroom privacy.”

  “Doctor Malik?”

  “No, the voice.” I shook my head, fidgeting with the hanging hand towels. “I don’t know how to describe it. But I don’t feel or hear him in the bathroom.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she murmured, trying to lie even though she knew she’d never get away with it.

  “Spill it.”

  “I think Doctor Malik is wrong.”

  My eyes widened, and my stomach dropped. “You think I’m nutty?”

  “Yes, absolutely. But not about this.”

  “Then what?”

  She paused again. “I don’t think the voice is your subconscious.”

  “Right.” I snorted. “It’s not my subconscious, it’s a gh…” I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. “You think it’s a ghost.”

  “Hear me out,” she said indignantly. “Remember during the summer before eleventh grade when your dad had to travel for work? He left you with your grandma, and I stayed over with you?”

  “All I remember was him coming back early and flipping out because we went on the witch tours. He thought I was a bad influence on you.”

  It was her turn to give a soft snort. “Yeah, because you’re the bad influence. But yes. Remember the stories your grandma told?”

  “All the witch lore? Of course.”

  “It was more than the Salem stuff. She talked about how the town was a beacon to the paranormal and so a lot of the houses were haunted.”

  “Tallulah, if you’re gullible enough to think I’ve got a poltergeist problem, maybe you should see Doctor Malik… after I sell you a bridge.”

  “Think about it. Your subconscious wouldn’t care if you were in the shower. You wouldn’t feel it.”