Buried in Sunshine

by Matthew Fish

  “I imagine that it will take some time for this adjustment to set in,” Dr. Riley says as she places her hand upon Emma’s knee in attempt to keep her focus on the conversation. “The main thing that I hope comes from this, is that the old you—the positive parts of the old you. That girl who went to college for art and design, the one you described as pretty and cheerful; I hope that those aspects of you help you overcome your anxiety and depression.”

  “But what about the person that I have been for two years—what happens to her?”

  “You are still you,” Dr. Riley says as she squeezes Emma’s knee. “You will always be you—just perhaps you will be able to do more. A life with less fear is a life that is free. Once you can start overcoming what you used to believe impossible you can do whatever you want. You already made a step by leaving the house at night. That is a big step.”

  “It was because he… Aaron,” Emma says,, the name sounds so familiar—yet alien to her. She knew that she loved him. However, there was such a sense of detachment that she could not quite comprehend the idea of him. “…was killed at night?”

  “That’s what I believe, yes.”

  “How many doctors have I seen before you?” Emma asks as she rubs her temple with her palm as though the thoughts are giving her a mild headache. “That memory is such a blur.”

  “I believe six.”

  “Why so many doctors…” Emma asked as she buried her eyes in the palms of her smooth open hands. “Why was I eventually allowed to believe that I had a sister?”

  “You would only stop hurting yourself when people would agree…” Dr. Riley replied as she frowned and sat back in her chair. She let out a heavy sigh as she fingered the brass railing of her leather chair. “It wasn’t an easy thing to do—your mother did not want to see you committed. Even with all of your issues and anxieties, you were calmest when you believed that you were someone else. As to why so many… A lot of psychologists that you were seeing would eventually try to get you to face the truth and you would simply stop going.”

  “So my mother, and you—stopped trying?”

  “We just…” Dr. Riley says as she hesitates as though deeply regretful. “It is not a decision we came to lightly. We just wanted the best help for you. I honestly believed that eventually you would come to realize the past. I figured it was best to treat your issues and hope that everything worked out.”

  “I know that she tried to tell me…”

  “She wanted you to be happy again. That is all that she ever wanted for you. She came to see me once a week—she had so many hopes and so much love for you. She constantly questioned if this was right or wrong, just like I have. I just want you to know that the decisions and actions that we have made were not decided flippantly.”

  “I understand,” Emma whispers as she looks to Julie. Emma manages a half smile and nods. “Whenever I think about people trying to tell me who I really was—all I can remember is screaming, throwing things. It’s all a hot ember red blur.”

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you both laugh and smile in a session—“

  “Is this a session?”

  “More of a conversation about a success I’d say.”

  Emma thinks to mention seeing herself—that sister version of herself that forced her into the doorway. It is also on the tip of her tongue to mention the strange warning about the seven days until the sun comes for her. However, she keeps these two secrets tucked away as they only make her feel more insane. She remembers the ‘evaluation’ periods she has spent in the hospitals and although they are part of that life that remains a blur she has no pleasant feelings towards them. “So what do you recommend I do now?”

  “I would sleep on it,” Dr. Riley says as she pauses. This is unusual for her as she is usually quick to come up with solutions and advice. “I would see how you feel about everything in the morning and just go from there—try something you are afraid of. Maybe go out. Do you remember anything about what you used to enjoy?”

  “I still feel kind of depressed so—not much?”

  “I guess then my advice would be for you to find things that you do enjoy. Try new things—go for walks, listen to music, try running. Maybe visit some friends.”

  “Do I have any friends?”

  “Whenever you described your sister, she did.”

  “I remember… I think I pushed them all away.”

  “Then make new friends,” Julie quickly replied. “Or try and contact some of the old ones. I’d like to say that, from experience, they would come back… that they would understand what you’ve gone through and accept you. However, the truth often is that friends do have a tendency to scatter when things get too serious. Especially those who have never had an anxiety attack or suffered any kind of mental duress.”

  “Make new friends…”

  “I know it sounds hard,” Julie says as she gets up from her chair. “If you need anything, anything at all—feel free to give me a call. I do not care if it is four a.m. No matter what you need, you just call okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “One last thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “Go out and get yourself a cell phone…,” Julie says with a reassuring smile.

  “Sure,” Emma says as she nods mindlessly. She had reasons for not having one, however, they no longer seemed to either exist or matter. “I can do that.”

  *

  As Emma exits the office building she pauses and stares up to the night sky—something she has not done in years. The atreous canvas of night is spread out before her in its oft overlooked silent beauty. Tiny stars softly fill in pinholes of light in the palette of shades of deep blue and blacks. The moon appears as nothing more than a sliver. The view fills her with a comforting sense of calmness. As Emma is on the verge of tears, she begins to realize—she has not seen the stars for two years. She has no memory of nighttime for the last two years. It was almost as if when the sun set, so did her consciousness.

  Back in her car, as she drove through city, she slowed outside of a bar near a stop sign. Of course, she has neither desire nor courage to venture indoors, however, she hears the sounds of human life—conversation, laughter, raised voices over the rhythmic tones of music. She smells the familiar air of cigarette smoke. For a moment, part of her—the part of her that she thought long dead, longs for society. A longing that she would not believe could even exist within her just a day earlier.

  Emma laughs as she clears away another queue of stray tears that escape from her azuline blue eyes. She feels good, in a sense, to feel sad. The thought does not make any sense to her, at least not completely. She imagines that it is like enjoying a sad movie—or a sad song. It is depressing, slightly soul crushing at times, however, it makes you feel. It then dawns on her that she is feeling. The essence of human nature that she has unknowingly neglected to acknowledge for three years—she feels, she wants, she needs, more than what meager scraps of life she has entertained herself with.

  As she exits the city and heads back towards her house—she does not fear the darkness that surrounds her past the car headlights. In the rearview mirror the orange glow of the city looms on the horizon. It does not feel like a difficult distance anymore. Before she knows it, she is home. She pulls into the driveway, illuminating the tall pine trees in her front yard. A raccoon scurries away from the trashcans near the house.

  Inside the house, it feels as though a heavy weight has lifted from the air. Although she is its only inhabitant—the house seems to welcome her back home. The lights shine a little brighter than she remembers. The walls appear a little cleaner—as she ascends the spiral staircase to the second floor she stops. Out of habit she thinks to continue to the top—to sleep in her familiar attic room. However, this is not her room, not really. It is time that she reclaimed her own bed. She enters the old room, turning on the dim lamp on the dresser. She heads to the bed and takes the top cover and takes it out into the hallway. With determined hands she beats it a
gainst the stairwell allowing dust to fall down to the bottom floor. The mess, she figures will just need to be cleaned in the morning. Content that the blanket is as dust free as she is capable of making it, she returns to the bedroom. She strips down to just her panties and digs through a drawer, finding a long shirt. She slips the shirt over her head, covering her tanned naked chest and looks around the room—things do not feel as awkward here as she thought it would be. As she climbs into bed, she reaches over to the nightstand and turns on the radio. She scans through various channels, mostly music, searching for something to listen to. She finally settles on a talk radio station and turns the volume down low so the voices sound faint. It reminds her of the atmosphere outside of the bar and does not make her feel so lonely.

  She leaves the light on as she allows herself to get some much deserved sleep.

  Her dreams, however, are not so kind.

  Day 1

  Chapter 2: Reconstruction

  Emma reaches out in the shifting inky blackness that surrounds her. She lets out a short scream as a hand in the darkness grasps her wrist and squeezes it tightly. She digs her nails into the arm, pulling them towards her in an attempt to free herself from capture. A squealing, inhumane, noise responds as the hand recoils back into the darkness. Emma begins to run blindly, hands outstretched. She comes into contact with a soft, sickeningly wet warm wall. She places her hands upon it despite the apprehension she feels with the contact of her skin against the sickly, sticky surface. Her frantic fingers fumble upon what she believes is some kind of light switch. She flips it, everything turns to brilliant white. All around her the hallway is illuminated—disfigured, soot black, human forms struggle to free themselves from the dark blood-stained walls of the hallway. Half of a head screams out in agony, glowing embers can be seen beneath its blackened flesh. Hands reach out towards her; she begins to run, dodging hands and eager fingers. Screaming faces come face to face with her as she passes each corner. She finally reaches a long stretch of hallway that contains no human terror or blood stained blackness. She sees a light at the end, although it seems miles and miles away. Having no choice, Emma runs towards this light. The screaming grows quieter as her feet carry her closer and closer to the dim light. Emma pauses to catch her breath, she feels heavy—almost as though she is carrying a great weight upon her back. A terrible, twisting, screeching of metal on metal comes from behind her. She looks back and sees a great light—a blinding, painful, burning light. She begins to run as the hallway erupts into flames. She heads towards the open end of the hallway as fast as her feet can carry her. Just as she feels as though she has covered a great distance and has placed a safe amount of space between her and the chasing light, she comes face to face with a familiar figure—her sister, or…herself. Knife in hand, the short, blond haired, blue eyed girl lunges at Emma and plunges the knife into her stomach.

  “Why..?” Emma whispers as collapse against the wall.

  Blood begins to stream down from the silver blade. The figure simply walks away without response or remorse. The walls around Emma begin to turn black. The light is growing closer and closer and the sound is all that Emma can hear. The twisting, sickening noise fills her ears. It feels as though her eardrums will explode. Emma places both hands upon the silver knife in her stomach and pulls out with all of her remaining strength. Engraved in the knife blade is the single word ‘SOL.’ Her blood pours out black as she begins to lose her sight. All that remains is the pain and the warmth. Soon, she can feel herself set ablaze. The pain is unbearable.

  Emma jolts awake, her breathing is heavy and her body is covered in sweat. The sun hovers above her through the familiar attic window. The sun has streaked a red swath across her stomach; it is painful and feels warm to the touch. Naked and confused, Emma searches the sun faded couch for her clothing. She cannot remember how she got here. Her last memory, aside from the terrible dream, was going to sleep back in her old room. Had she been sleepwalking?

  “Do you not enjoy it as much as you used to?” A soft voice whispers in the quiet morning air.

  Emma jumps back, covering her naked body as best as she can with her hands. Sitting on her bed is a familiar and unsettling sight, her sister—or is her? Either way, it is someone that should no longer exist. “What… who are you? What do you want from me?”

  The form of her sister, covered in the short white, almost transparent, dress, gets up from Emma’s old bed and tosses a worn grey gym shirt her way.

  “Do you not know who I am?”

  Emma covers herself up and gets to her feet. “You’re not real.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” The form says as her eyes narrow and her lips frown. “It’s not terribly polite to go around telling someone that their existence is not real.”

  “If you’re real then why do you look just like me?”

  “Why do you look like you?”

  “Because it is how I have always looked?” Emma speaks as she reaches out and attempts to touch the form standing by the bed.

  “You sound unsure,” The form says as she does not recoil or flinch as Emma approaches her. “For three years you looked in the mirror and saw eyes that were not yours, you didn’t see what you truly looked like.”

  As her fingers come into contact with the bare skin of the form’s arm, Emma can feel the warmth of flesh. She is not a ghost—perhaps a hallucination? Emma places a hand to the figure’s face, it feels smooth. Her face feels familiar—it is an odd experience, almost like reaching into a mirror and being able to interact with your reflection.

  “Are you me?” Emma finally asks, dumbfounded.

  “Perhaps,” the familiar form replies as she begins to pace back and forth around the short length of the bed. “Maybe I’m just someone that looks like you?”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Do you?” The girl asks as she crosses her arms.

  “Of course,” Emma replies. “It’s Emma…”

  “Elizabeth then…”

  “Why Elizabeth…?”

  “Why do you call yourself Emma?” Elizabeth asks as she stops pacing and faces Emma.

  “Because it’s my name…” Emma replies. She had expected the form to call herself Alexis—that would have made more sense, not that any part of this entire situation makes any sense…but that would have at least made a little sense. She has not known any Elizabeths in her lifetime, at least as far as she remembers. There might have been students in the same school, however, no one that she was close to.

  “Elizabeth is my name.”

  “Well then, Elizabeth…” Emma begins, finally accepting the strange name that her mirror image has chosen. After all, if she remembers correctly there is a much more pertinent matter at hand that needs to be addressed. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m not certain—I just kind of showed up today. I figured that there has to be a purpose.” Elizabeth says as she begins to pace back and forth once more. “I suppose I am here to help you in these last days—I was sent, after all. Although I don’t know really why, I guess I’m just a messenger? Perhaps…?”

  “Who were you sent by?”

  “The sun of course,” Elizabeth says calmly as she stops and points out to the brilliant warm light that floods in from the large window. “Although, I’m not sure why it sent me, I’ve tried asking it—it doesn’t answer back. I also don’t know where I go at night.”

  “I…” Emma begins as she attempts to collect her thoughts as though they have been spilt out of a jar and strewn upon the wooden floor. So many questions fill her mind—however, one terrifies her the most; this idea that the sun is coming for her. “I don’t want the sun to come for me. I don’t understand—you said you wanted me to live again, like I used to. You said you are here to help me. To what end? I mean… because I used to wish to be part of it? I don’t want that anymore.”

  “I do want all that for you,” Elizabeth replies as she swiftly closes the distance between the two of them and gives Emma
a tight hug. She then whispers into Emma’s ear. “Do you remember when you tried to hang yourself?”

  “A little…” Emma whispers. She is put off by the closeness between her and Elizabeth. There is something strange, something unsettling, about their embrace. She thinks back to the moment she attempted to kill herself, she only remembers fragments.

  “When you placed the cord around your neck and kicked your feet off the edge of the bathtub, there was no stopping what would happen next.”

  “I fell, the bar did not hold.”

  “It was your fate to survive. However, once you made that leap—there was no turning back.” Elizabeth whispers as she releases her embrace. “It is just like that.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Right now, you have to come with me—after that, breakfast.”

  “Where are we headed?”

  “If I told you,” Elizabeth says as she takes Emma by the hand. “You wouldn’t want to go.”

  Emma felt herself being pulled down the staircase. Just as it was when she entered her old room—she had no choice. This being, Elizabeth, is much stronger than her. Her will much more dominating. Emma stumbles on the last step and lets out a short cry as she felt herself falling to the ground. Her hand slips away from Elizabeth’s.

  “Stop…” Elizabeth whispers.

  Emma froze in midair; her face was a few inches from striking against the hardwood floor. She cautiously places her hands against the wooden floor and steadies herself. She got to her knees as Elizabeth held out a hand to help her up. “How did you…?”