Threshold

by Sean Platt

  “Yes,” she said, then stopped.

  “Don’t tell them anything. They won’t understand,” Mom’s voice warned her.

  Hazel had no idea what to say. Carter came through the door and surveyed the room. He looked from Hudson to Hazel, over to their father, then back to Hudson as though he was responsible.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Hudson, voice cracking, said, “I have no idea. I was just asking her the same thing.”

  He gestured at Hazel. Dad made a grunting sound, still slumped against the wall. Hudson went over to him, dropped to his knees, and felt for a pulse.

  “Well?” Carter bored his eyes into Hazel.

  “I don’t know.” She shook off her sudden chill, then turned from Carter to Hudson. “Is he … dead?”

  “No. He’s still breathing. What did you do to him?”

  With Hudson and Carter staring at her accusingly, and Dad passed out, maybe seriously injured, Hazel felt the world crashing in around her.

  Carter repeated Hudson’s question. “What did you do?”

  Hazel’s heart was racing, her breaths shallow. She felt like she might pass out too.

  Hudson shouted, “Hazel! What did you do?”

  Despite Mom’s warning, she couldn’t hold back the truth. She told them everything.

  “I don’t know. Dad was … different. Madder than I’ve ever seen him. He was screaming at me, and kept saying that Mom told me she was going to leave and that I was still talking to her, and knew where she was and stuff. Then he was shaking me and was about to hit me. I felt like he might even kill me. He probably wouldn’t have, but I didn’t know.” Hazel sucked air through her teeth, screaming internally at herself.

  You better not cry!

  “Suddenly, a bunch of light came from my hands, and Dad flew back into the wall.”

  “What?” Hudson stood, eyebrows arched and head cocked as he approached her.

  Hazel looked at her brother: He clearly didn’t believe a word.

  “I’m not lying!”

  Carter’s eyes met hers.

  Some odd sort of recognition flashed in his eyes which said that he did.

  Carter went over to her father, looking him over. “He’s fine. Just passed out. We’ll get more of the story after he wakes up.” He turned to Hudson. “Please take your sister to her room. I’ll take care of your father.” He turned back to Hazel. “Tell no one what happened. Not even your father if he doesn’t remember. That goes for both of you, do you understand?”

  Carter’s eyes were so serious, Hazel could only nod.

  “What are you talking about?” Hudson said, sounding scared. “Did she really do what she said she did?”

  “Your sister is very special, Hudson. Just like your mother was. That’s all I can say right now. Your father will be waking, and my attention must remain focused on him. Can I trust you to get your sister somewhere safe in the meantime?”

  “Um … yeah.” Hudson nodded. “You can count on me.”

  “Good.”

  Hudson took Hazel’s hand and pulled her from the room.

  “Come on,” he said.

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  Scott had been waiting for Sandra Bryant in the library for more than an hour, at Carter’s insistence. She wasn’t late, but he couldn’t stand the fact that she was coming at all. This wasn’t their scheduled time. Carter had strongly suggested an emergency meeting because Scott had apparently lost his shit first thing in the morning. Not that he could remember any of it — at least, not too much.

  Scott felt an odd sense of guilt and shame, even though he couldn’t remember what the hell he’d done to be shameful about.

  How much did I drink?

  He hated that while he couldn’t remember anything that happened, clearly everyone else in the manor knew, and they were all walking on eggshells around him as if he might snap.

  He’d asked his kids, who seemed to be avoiding him now, and Carter a few times what he’d done, but the old man said it was best to wait for Sandra. He was pissed that his kids wouldn’t even tell him what the hell he’d done. How bad could it have been? He didn’t see any bruises on them. He was the one with the bump on his head and broken wall in his bedroom.

  He felt like the villain in a show he couldn’t see.

  His anger was back, bristling beneath his skin as he felt their judging eyes.

  Scott chewed on his anger while waiting, trying not to let it roll him from simmer to boil, and wanting to see things from their perspective despite his missing minutes. Sandra finally showed. Scott got the distinct feeling that she’d been in the manor a while, and had already talked with Carter and the children, getting their side of the story first.

  Of course it would be the only side she’d get, as he didn’t remember dick.

  “Are you ready?” She looked down at Scott, still sitting in his chair against the wall. She smiled, a warm contrast to the judgmental sideways glances he’d been getting since he woke up.

  “Do I get a choice?”

  “Everything in life is a choice, Mr. Dawson.”

  She smiled, and he smiled back, though he was certain that neither of them meant it. He followed Sandra from the library and back into the office where he’d sat so uncomfortably before, preparing himself for an even less pleasant follow-up.

  Sandra sat across from Scott. He held her eyes, trying without luck to stave off his embarrassment.

  What kind of man can’t remember scaring his daughter?

  “So, you blame yourself?”

  “Of course.” Scott saw no reason to lie.

  “What happened?”

  She stared at Scott, her legs crossed and gaze intense.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head, snared by embarrassment despite his desire to remember. “I don’t remember a thing.”

  “You must remember something.”

  Scott shrugged. “Sure. I remember something. But nothing that will matter to you.”

  “You might be surprised … what do you think your family is thinking?”

  “You mean Hudson and Hazel? Or are you allowed to talk to Holly, too?”

  Sandra stared at him, no reaction to his accusation.

  “Is that what you think, Mr. Dawson? That everyone is somehow conspiring against you? And that your wife is alive somewhere?”

  “No.” Scott wrestled his anger. “I mean, I don’t think I do. Hell, I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I did something to scare Hazel, and now everyone is looking at me like I’m some kind of monster. But I can’t apologize for something I can’t even remember, not when people refuse to tell me.”

  Scott choked, and for a moment was intent on silence. Then he swallowed and asked the question he’d been waiting to ask.

  “What did I do, Sandra?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “I remember Hazel coming into the bedroom. I was groggy, barely awake.”

  “Had you been drinking?” she asked.

  He assumed she already knew. “Yes, last night. Anyway, Hazel marched in, and I could tell she was upset. She started saying stuff about her mom, the same sort of stuff she’s been saying since before we came to the manor, but somehow worse because now it’s stronger. She’s more insistent, as if she believes in it more.”

  “Go on,” Sandra prompted, speaking softly into his pause.

  “I remember getting mad. Suddenly, I was certain that Hazel was hiding something. That she and her mother had planned this whole thing. I don’t know why I felt so certain. Obviously, Hazel has been missing her mother for some time. No way she could’ve kept a lie like that hidden from me. But in the moment, I was so damned certain.”

  Sandra stared at him.

  He continued, “I can’t really remember anything after that. I do know there’s a giant chunk of wall missing in my room, but my knuckles aren’t red, nor do I see anything indicating what happened. I asked Carter if I hurt them, and he said no, thou
gh he claims not to know what happened to the wall.” He swallowed. Then, staring into Sandra’s eyes, added, “What did the children tell you?”

  “The same thing. Except in their words.” She turned the question. “What do you think it means?”

  “Think what means? That I can’t remember?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dawson. That you can’t remember. Do you think that might be indicative of a larger problem?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shifting in his chair, feeling a cold sweat coating his back.

  “I think you have some deep issues that remain unresolved with your wife. There are things you must address.”

  Scott flinched, thinking of Karla, but didn’t want to mention her to Sandra.

  “Do you have any unresolved issues with your wife, Mr. Dawson?”

  Scott gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

  “Like what?” Sandra’s pleasant voice only served to fuel his rising rage.

  He wasn’t sure why he was angry, that someone was calling him on his secret, or that Sandra, who had already talked to Hazel, probably already knew all about Karla and was being coy in dragging it out of him.

  He hated when shrinks did this kind of shit. He could practically feel the condescension in the air.

  “I cheated on Holly. Is that what you want to hear?” He met her stare and held it until she looked away uncomfortably.

  “You cheated on your wife.” Sandra repeated his confession and slipped a dull blade between his ribs.

  “Yes. I cheated on her with a woman named Karla. I think that might be why Holly left, and maybe she told Hazel before going.”

  “So, then you do think this is all a scheme between your daughter and wife? That Hazel is in on it?”

  “I don’t know what I fucking think! And I don’t want to believe it, but it’s the only thing that makes sense — unless you believe my daughter is seeing ghosts or some shit.”

  Scott shifted in his seat again, wanting to get up and leave. But he forced himself to stay put. If there was a way for Sandra to help, he had to at least meet her partway, be a big boy and accept responsibility.

  “It’s all my fault, and I accept that. But I don’t understand why Holly has to punish me like this! It’s awful — knowing your wife won’t work things out with you. Yeah, I did something awful, but it was a long time ago, and it was the only mistake I made our entire time together, at least the only one big enough to matter. She claimed she was over it, and I thought we’d worked it out. But then she just up and left. Why? I understand if she can’t forgive me, but she should at least give me a chance to make things right. You don’t throw everything away over one mistake. Why play these games?”

  “And you’re certain that’s what’s happening?”

  “No,” Scott sighed. “I’m not certain of anything!”

  “Well,” Sandra said, almost sadly. “That doesn’t give us much to work with, Mr. Dawson, now does it?”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t. So, what do I do?”

  “The best that you can. You’ll need to figure out what it is you feel most guilty about, and leave that behind you. I believe that you’re manifesting fault onto your children, thereby turning their time here into a struggle, when it should be a time of hope for you all.” She paused, then added, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a difficult time receiving?”

  Scott smirked. “Advice, criticism, compliments, gifts; yeah, Holly said that all the time.”

  Sandra smiled. “Holly might have had a point.”

  They made small talk after that, with only one snide comment about Scott not yet starting Hazel on her medicine. The further they strayed from discussion of Galloway Manor, the family, or Scott’s children, the friendlier Sandra seemed to become. He found himself enjoying their banter, and almost sad as their hour ended, feeling his brush with comfort slipping away.

  “Thank you, Mr. Dawson. If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Hazel again, alone.”

  “Fine.” Scott stood. Sure, Sandra said everyone had choices, but that probably only applied to people not living in Galloway Manor.

  * * * *

  HAZEL

  “Would you like to tell me what really happened?” Dr. Bryant asked, staring at Hazel.

  Hazel had managed to avoid telling the truth the first time Dr. Bryant had spoken to her. She wondered why the woman had asked to talk to her again. Did Dad remember and tell her something which didn’t agree with what Hazel had already said? Did Carter say something? He was the one who told them not to tell anyone what happened, so why would he tell Dr. Bryant?

  “I don’t really remember,” she said, repeating her lie.

  The office door opened and Carter stepped inside.

  He took a seat beside Hazel, then put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, dear, you can tell Sandra the truth.”

  Hazel looked at him, confused. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Sandra is a longtime friend of the family. She can be trusted.”

  “She can, but Dad can’t?”

  “It’s not like that. In time, we can tell your father. But right now, Sandra is here to help you.”

  Hazel met the woman’s kind face.

  Dr. Bryant nodded.

  Hazel told her everything that had happened, save for the things Mom said to keep secret — like the whole cellar thing. Mom had said not to tell anyone about that, and she wasn’t about to disobey.

  After Hazel told her everything, Dr. Bryant said, “What do you remember about your mother?”

  The question seemed vague.

  “What do you mean? I remember everything about her.”

  “Have you ever wondered what your mother was like when she was a girl? When she was your age?”

  “All the time.”

  “What if I told you that your mother was seen by someone like me when she was here?”

  “What do you mean, someone like you?” Hazel shifted in her seat. “You mean like a family counselor?”

  “Yes.” The woman smiled. “Something like that.”

  Hazel shrugged. “Did she? See someone like you?”

  Dr. Bryant nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because my mother saw her, and I’ve read her records.”

  Hazel leaned forward, hands on her lap.

  “What do you know about my mom?”

  “I know she was a lot like you.”

  “Of course, she was,” Hazel said, defensively. “She’s my mom.”

  “You know the things you’re feeling, Hazel?”

  Another vague question, but this time Hazel knew what she meant.

  She nodded.

  “You know the things you see, and hear?”

  Hazel continued to nod.

  “You know how you get mad because no one believes you?”

  She swallowed, still nodding.

  “Your mom got mad, too.”

  Hazel stopped nodding and listened.

  “The difference between you and your mother is that your mom learned to control her anger so it didn’t control her. Do you know who taught her how to do that, Hazel?”

  “Your mom?”

  “That’s right. Now I’d like to show you how you can do the same. Would you allow me to do that?”

  Hazel nodded and looked up at the counselor, waiting for direction. She stood, walked to the bookshelf, pulled what seemed like a random volume from a high shelf, then returned to her desk and set the book on top. It was a hardcover book called The Lost Princess of Oz, which depicted a blonde girl in a flowing white dress and crown, holding the arm of a large frog in a suit. It looked old, its dust jacket delicate.

  “Ah, a favorite of your mother’s,” Carter said.

  Dr. Bryant looked at Hazel.

  “I want to try something with you. Is that okay?”

  Hazel nodded.

  “I’d like you to move the book without touching it. Can you do that?”

  She remembered what Carter
had said about her mom moving stuff with her mind.

  Can I do it too?

  “How can I move it without touching it?”

  “Do you know how you expelled toward your father?”

  “Expelled?”

  “Yes, Hazel. That’s what it’s called when you send a blast at someone. Moving a book isn’t all that different.”

  “Except I wasn’t trying to blast my father! It just happened.”

  “Perhaps not consciously, you weren’t trying, but your instincts kicked in and you did it nonetheless. You have the ability, same as your mother. Maybe even stronger. Focus on the book. Imagine it moving.”

  Hazel tried, but the book stayed still.

  “It’s okay, let’s try something different. Instead of imagining it moving, picture yourself touching it. Imagine reaching out, your fingertips finding the cover. Think how it feels, the texture of the spine, imagine running your fingers along the pages. Is it cold to the touch? Consider its weight as you pick it up. Is it heavy or light?”

  “Not too heavy,” Hazel said. Though the book wasn’t moving yet.

  “Good. Now I’d like you to open the cover. Imagine placing your fingers at the corner. Do you open from the top corner or the bottom? Whichever it is, touch the corner and open the book.”

  She stared at the book, imagined it in her hands. Pictured herself touching the top right corner and trying to pull it open.

  Still nothing.

  “There’s a message inside the book. A special message just for you to read. But you have to open the book to see it, Hazel.”

  She stared at the book, hard, feeling her body begin to shake in frustration.

  “I can’t do it!”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m trying.”

  “I don’t think you are trying. I think you don’t believe you can do it. So you’re not letting yourself. I want you to focus again. But this time, I have something else to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “The message in the book is from your mother, and it will disappear if you can’t open the book in ten seconds.”

  “That’s not fair!”