Elusive
Dolores Storey
When Riza Firabern goes through a horrific experience of the death of her wife and unborn child. She is haunted by the ordeal, in more ways then one. Trapped in her own memories, she’s desperate to escape, but no matter what happens or where she is, the darkness follows.
Prologue
“Can you tell me your name?”
“R…Riza.”
“And your last name?”
“Firabern.”
“Where are you Riza?”
“A mental hospital…”
“And can you tell me what you’re doing here Riza?”
“My baby…” A young woman grit her teeth, scabbed fingers clutched at her flat stomach. A psychologist flipped through a folder filled with papers. He sighed, stopping at a line. “You suffered a miscarriage and…” He turned the page, “Your wife had passed away?”
The woman froze, breath halting as bloodshot eyes peered up at the psychologist, “Catherine.”
“Catherine Sutcliff-Firabern? Tell me about her, Riza.”
Riza looked away from him, the name sounding gross on her ears. “No.” she muttered.
“Riza, do you want to go back home?”
Home? What even was home? Memories flashed in her heavy skull. A smiling redhead danced around in a small living room while the radio blared in the distance, “Riza, Riza!” she cried out in a singsong voice, “Riza, Riza, Riza, R-” She stopped, heavy breath paused in her lungs. Her shining grin twisted into a horrified scream.
“Oh God! What is that! Oh God, Riza run!”
Vision stirred and ran past the woman, stopping at the door to look back. “Catherine!”
“Riza?” The psychologist prodded his patient’s shoulder.
Riza snapped out of her thoughts and looked to the doctor. “Huh?”
“Would you like to go back home?”
Riza looked down at her hands, still gripping her stomach. “Yes.”
Chapter One: Memories
Three Months Later…
“Riza, dear?” the door slowly opened and a greying middle-aged woman came into a bright bedroom with a tray of food. “How are you feeling? Would you like some soup?”
Riza sat in a rocking chair at the window, looking out at the playground in the distance. She ran her fingers over a leather-bound notebook, totally unaware of the voice.
“I know your medicine doesn’t make you feel very hungry, love, but you should eat.” She gently tapped on Riza’s shoulder. The brunette jumped at the feeling before looking up at her mother. “W-what? Oh, soup. Okay.”
The elder, Marie leaned down before placing a kiss on the top of her daughter’s head. “How are the thoughts today?”
Thoughts. Is that what they called them? How simple, how vague. Riza thought on this a second, almost falling back into her memories. Catherine’s first kiss. Catherine’s tears and Catherine’s smiles. Catherine watching her walk down the aisle. Catherine dancing around the room. Catherine holding Riza’s belly. Catherine laughing. Catherine crying. Catherine’s blood all over the carpet…
“Riza?”
“They’re fine, mom.” Riza took the bowl from the tray, “can you come get the dish in a while?”
Her mother didn’t want to push her. With a soft nod and a sigh she left the room.
Riza sipped broth from the bowl and looked around the room. Her old bedroom, with all his posters plastering the walls. An ancient quilt made by her long-gone grandmother lay neatly over the bed. Then, pictures on the drawer set. Every time she looked upon it, her mind went quite for once. The first photo was of Riza, her parents, and her older brother at a young age in front of an aquarium. Next in a fancy frame was of Catherine and herself on their wedding day. Lastly, an ultrasound picture with an “It’s a boy!” sticker at its corner.
Riza sat the dish down on the floor and opened up the journal on her lap. Pages upon pages of cursive detailed every thought, every feeling, every hallucination she had experienced since the ordeal.
June 17th,
I saw it again in the night. I went to the bathroom and saw it in the crack of the door, watching me piss. I screamed for mom and it went away, but yelling doesn’t always help. The doctor came today. He told me they’re severe symptoms of post-traumatic stress syndrome. Apparently that’s medical talk for Catherine and Mathew’s death. He said that the hallucinations will fade. That the emptiness in my stomach will go away one day. I can’t imagine that. I’ve felt so bare for so long, I don’t care what the doctors say. I will always be haunted.
Elusive Page 1
