He scoops me up in a kiss and Max gets jealous, nudging us apart. I walk to the kitchen to make lunch as the boys play in the living room. I slap together some sandwiches and grab some chips, bringing everything to the living room. Max gobbles up his lunch quickly while Coby and I watch a movie on the couch.
“Why are your muscles so tense?” Coby asks as he wraps an arm around me and I lean over onto him.
“I had a bad morning, maybe slept wrong. I’m not too sure,” I say.
He pats my back so that I sit up and places his legs on either side of mine so we’re now back to chest. His hands rub my shoulders and neck as the movie plays. I melt into his touch. “You seriously have magic hands,” I murmur.
He chuckles and continues to massage me. I am a big pile of goo by the time the movie ends. “I don’t wanna move.”
“Well, I have to get up for a minute or two so I can put on another movie. You just lay there and look happy,” he says as he gets up and picks from my collection.
The afternoon passes by quickly as Coby and I cuddle on my couch watching movies. To thank Coby for the best massage of my life, I make spicy chicken pasta for dinner. Coby loves my cooking. And I love cooking for him.
“I could eat your food every day for the rest of my life,” he whispers to me.
My face burns and I smile at him. “I’d love to have someone to cook for besides Max.”
At the mention of his name, Max bounds into the room and nuzzles our legs under the dinner table. We laugh and clear the table, finally moving back into the living room. We pet Max and make sure he feels loved enough to lay beside the couch and not between us. We spend a few minutes talking before Coby looks at his watch.
“This is the only part I hate about Sundays: leaving you. I have an early appointment tomorrow to meet with the construction crew for the house on Flowing Road. I think it’s going to be the biggest renovation I’ve ever done. The house really needs a lot of work and nothing has been replaced in it since the sixties.” He rolls his eyes and sighs before standing up and stretching. We walk to the door and hold each other for a long moment. “If you need anything, give me a shout. Are we still on for dinner Tuesday?” he asks.
“Of course,” I reply. “I look forward to it. And good luck tomorrow.”
He kisses my temple then walks to his car. The sunset over the rooftops and trees is a beautiful sight and leaves me smiling. Then the thought of night creeps into my mind and sends a chill up my spine. I shut the door quickly after watching Coby leave. I turn around and begin checking all the lights in my house. A few bulbs are dangerously close to the end of their life and I groan at the thought of having to change them. The bulbs I use in the house turn dim and flicker, before they finally burn out. I always have a warning this way.
I grab the pack of bulbs from my pantry and walk to the hallway leading to my front door. I take the stool I keep beneath the entryway table and place it under the light fixture. It is the first bulb to be changed. As I stand on the stool and stretch my arms to reach the fixture, the faint sound of creepy giggles reaches my ears.
“Max!”
He comes bounding into the hallway with me and I feel a sense of relief with him at my side. I reach up again and begin loosening the fixture once more. I grab the bulb with a glove and quickly twist it from the socket.
As soon as the light goes out, I pull the bulb down and stick the new one in its place. Max begins to growl and his stance shifts. I turn the bulb as quickly as I can, but it won’t line up right in the socket. Why didn’t I wait until daylight to change this bulb?
The hair on the back of my neck stands and I hear light tapping. Max’s growls grow louder and panic begins to set in. In one smooth motion, I put the bulb in place and turn it vigorously. The bright light stings my eyes and I look away as I tighten the bulb into its socket.
The noises die away instantly and Max stops growling. I look down at him and pet his head with blue, green, and black spots filling my vision. “What the hell was that?”
He looks up at me and whines. “It’s okay. Maybe it was the blinds hitting the wall because the A/C came on. That’s possible, right?”
He sneezes. Yep. Totally plausible. “Well, that’s enough excitement for one night. I’ll leave the other bulbs for the morning. You know, when there’s natural lighting and I won’t freak out about a noise.”
I step down from the stool and put everything away with shaking hands. “There is nothing in my house. There is a reasonable explanation for the sounds I heard and Max was reacting to me being scared. You’re not crazy, Janet. Just hearing things.”
Max stays by my side and I can’t decide on what to do next.
“I have to do something. Do I read, watch a movie, or go to sleep?” I ask Max. He just looks up at me with a blank expression. “A lot of help you are,” I mumble.
My muscles are still pleasantly loose from Coby’s amazing massage. Max follows me to the room and I change into nightclothes. Walking out of the bathroom, I scratch Max’s head then jump into bed. The pillows seem too firm and the covers too hot. I toss and turn until I fall into a fitful sleep. The chilling sounds of tapping from the hallway follow me into sleep and I dream of the children, again.
The next morning I wake up to my alarm blaring in my ears. I blindly reach to turn it off and bump my hand against something solid and cold. I shrink back and peek, seeing The Leader at the side of my bed staring down at me. I scream and dive to the other side of my mattress, turning to look over my shoulder. Nothing is there.
I shake my hands and jump around. “Max?”
His big head appears in the doorway and I look at him closely. “Why weren’t you in here with me?”
Max trots over and jumps on the bed to look me in the eye. His cold nose nudges my cheek and I hug him to me. “All right, I forgive you.”
Trembling from bone-deep coldness, I sit down on my bed and Max stands vigil while I compose myself. My hand is numb and red where it touched The Leader. What the hell? I rub it and his face flashes in my mind. I close my eyes and wrap my arms around myself. I need to get warm. Standing up, I walk to the bathroom and wait for the water to heat.
I shower in steaming hot water to wash away the cold feeling in my body. The smell of rose and lilac evaporates my fear and puts a small smile on my face. A tiny coldness in my bones remains, but at least the outside of me is warm. I wash slowly, taking my time and soaking in the delicious smells of my soap. When my phone alarm goes off, I reluctantly turn off the spray.
A big, plush towel is waiting to wrap me up in its soft embrace and I am all too ready for it. I dry myself and pick the lotion that matches my body wash, smoothing it over my skin. After I finish, I walk over to the closet and choose a cream blouse with a crimson tank, and a tan pencil skirt. I slip into the ensemble and move to the vanity to do my makeup and hair.
Twenty minutes later, I stride out of my room and put Max’s breakfast in his bowl. My coffee pot is already made and waiting for me. I pour my first cup and accompany it with a bagel for breakfast. After we scarf our food down, I let Max out into the backyard while I prepare my to-go cup and clean.
I fill his water bowl and call him in while I gather my stuff for work. My briefcase holds all the file folders I need for the day and my coffee mug is full. I am all set for work.
“Okay, Max. I’ll see you soon. Water bowl is full and the back door is unlocked.”
Max walks to the back door and stands on his back legs to press the door handle down, opening the back door to reassure it is, indeed unlocked. He then grabs the small rope tied to the handle to pull the door closed and turns to look at me. I smile and kiss his head.
“Good boy. I’ll be back later.”
I emerge from the front door and lock it behind me. As I step onto the stone pathway, my feet begin to hurt. I look down and notice I don’t have any shoes on.
“I am losing my mind. Get it together, Janet.” I unlock my door and walk straight to my closet. �
��Don’t ask,” I tell Max over my shoulder. He stays on the couch as I slip on my short tan heels and exit back out of the front door.
I lock the door and look around to make sure I have everything. Briefcase, check. Coffee, check. Mind, maybe. My neighbor to the right is leaving his house for work as well and we wave to each other as we get into our cars. Traffic is light this time of the morning and I zoom to my office. The parking garage is connected to the three-story building by covered walkways and I park in my designated spot.
A few people are heading to their offices and I greet them with a smile and a wave as we walk from the garage to the building. The elevator is jam packed with the same people I see every morning. I wait patiently for the door to open to the second floor and gently push my way out.
Turning to the left, I stride to the door leading to my office. My assistant is already seated at her desk, typing away. Stacy Lewis is a small woman, in height as well as weight. She stands five feet two in heels and is one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Her heart is what makes that woman a giant amongst others.
Stacy is the most patient woman I have ever met. She makes the children who come to the office smile easily. The parents say nothing but good things about her, and the children seem more at ease when she is here to greet them. She also helps me sort through the more difficult patients by listening to my concerns and giving her valuable opinions. I don’t know what I would do without her.
“Good morning, Dr. Janet. You have a few messages, but one is urgent.”
“Good morning, Stacy. Urgent message?” I gather the messages from her and place my coffee cup on the counter, sifting through them quickly.
“Mr. and Mrs. Frost called a few times early this morning. They are requesting an emergency session as soon as possible,” Stacy replies. Her fingers are tearing a piece of paper nervously.
“What’s wrong?”
Stacy has been working for me for almost three years. Nervous behavior is not a common thing for her. My brows knit together as I step closer. Her eyes are bloodshot and the tip of her nose is red. How did I not notice her appearance before now?
“Mrs. Frost informed me this morning that Emily tried to hang herself,” she whispers.
The messages fall from my hands as my mouth drops open. “Emily did what?” My heart plummets to my feet and my knees weaken. Thankfully, I remain standing. My mind whirls, quickly skimming through all our sessions and trying to pinpoint any indication of self-harm.
“You don’t have any appointments until ten, so I told them to get here as soon as they can. I knew you would want to see her immediately.”
I nod and pick up the messages from the floor. My mind still spinning and scanning through mental notes, I can’t think of anything to say that would comfort her. I’ve never been this flustered and caught up in myself to not know what to say. This is what I do for a living! I just need time to process it all before they get here. “Let me know as soon as they arrive. Show them right in. Don’t worry, we’ll help Emily,” I say as I walk to my office.
“Yes, Dr. Janet.”
I see her slump over in her chair. I feel like doing the exact thing. Emily is such a sweet girl. Why on earth would she attempt to harm herself? I feel inadequate as a psychologist for not seeing this coming. Usually young children never think of such things. I should’ve been paying more attention.
I set my briefcase by my desk and pull out the files, placing them on my desk. I find Emily’s and jot down the news from this morning. My mind travels to my dad talking to a child psychologist about me as I sit there and listen. He tells the doctor that I make up these children that play in my room and that it is my fault my mom is becoming depressed. My desk phone rings, chasing the thoughts away, and I press the speakerphone button.
“Ye—” I choke. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes?”
“Dr. Janet, the Frosts are here.” Stacy’s voice echoes through my office.
“Show them in. Thank you.”
I quickly check my face in the small mirror I keep in my purse to calm my features. I take a deep breath to center myself and blow out all the memories threatening to break the sanity I worked so hard to keep. I gather my files and put my briefcase away as the door opens.
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Frost,” I say as I come around the desk. My hand extends out to cover theirs individually. This seems like every other time I see them, even though my heart is tight in my chest. “Emily, would you like to go play in the therapy room while I talk to your parents?” I gently usher her away while squeezing her shoulder, carefully avoiding the small ringlet of bruises around her neck.
Emily nods and takes off through the door to the therapy room where she can play with toys. She will be far enough removed to not overhear us, but close enough to get to her quickly if necessary. I motion to the chairs in front of my desk and wait until they are comfortable before speaking.
“Mr. and Mrs. Frost, I’d like you to tell me what happened with Emily,” I say as I sit down.
They look at one another and Mr. Frost takes Mrs. Frost’s hand. In their shared look, I see love and sadness pass between them. My heart physically hurts with the emotions welling up inside. A flashback of my dad holding my mom and yelling at me to stop making up lies briefly rises, but I push it back down. Why won’t these memories stay buried where they belong?
Mrs. Frost clears her throat and looks at me. “Emily had been crying a lot this weekend and we tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t let us. We took her to the library, the beach, the aquarium. Nothing worked. She looked as if she wasn’t sleeping at all and I offered to sleep in her room with her.” She chokes on the last word and has to take a moment before continuing.
“I stayed until she fell asleep, and then went to my own room. This morning, I walked into her room to check on her and she wasn’t in her bed.” Mrs. Frost bursts into tears and Mr. Frost wraps her in his arms. “Why did I leave her alone in her room? I told her I would stay with her and I didn’t. This is my fault!”
A sob builds in my throat and I cough to cover it up. I walk around my desk and place my hand on her arm. “Mrs. Frost, this is not your fault. You cannot blame yourself for anything. You did everything a mother should do for her child in this situation.” I nod to Mr. Frost and he continues the story where Mrs. Frost left off as I hold onto her hand.
“When Helen came out of the room, we started searching the house for Emily. We couldn’t find her anywhere. I went to the garage to grab a flashlight so we could search outside and that’s when I saw her. I had lumber piled on my worktable in the garage to build a bench for the family. She had gotten the rope that banded the wood and used it to try to hang herself.” He pauses and swallows hard. I want to hug them both, but remain immobile. “She strung it through the beams of the garage and jumped from the work table. When I came in, she was lying on the floor with tears covering her face. Thank goodness the rope frayed at the end and came loose or we wouldn’t have our baby girl. As soon as I freed her neck, she started screaming, ‘Daddy, Daddy’.”
Mrs. Frost’s sobs quiet after a few moments and she turns to look at me. “We called your office on the way to her doctor. He asked that you would contact him after the visit today. We’ve done everything we could think of. But it wasn’t enough, was it?”
Her question makes a lump form in my throat. I struggle to swallow it down. “If you would’ve known this could happen, you would’ve done everything in your power to stop it. Emily didn’t kill herself. She’s still alive and you need to focus on that. You need to focus on your little girl and do everything you can to keep her here with you. Give her a reason to stay. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
They both nod and I hand them tissues to clean themselves. “Now, I am going to try to figure out why this happened. I’ll do my best, but I'll need both of you to be strong and comfort her when you leave here.”
“We will,” they respond in unison.
I nod and walk int
o the therapy room. My breath quickens and I try to calm myself. Images of me as a little girl flash in front of my face. Why does this keep happening? Focus, Janet. The couch I had placed in the room faces the play area. Numerous chairs are placed throughout the room to promote one on one time in different scenarios.
Emily sits across from me in the small chair playing with blocks. We meet twice a week for an hour and she has yet to tell me anything of her monsters. She plays with the blocks and tells me of her friends at school. Emily is very precocious and learned to read by the age of four. At five, she was reading chapter books. She is two months shy of turning eight and has been living with nightmares for over two years. Her parents think the books she reads are the roots of her nightmares, but I don’t believe that to be true.
We talk for a while about odds and ends, but she won’t touch on the nightmare subject. I’m still not sure how I should approach the attempt of taking her life, yet.
Finally, I try a different tactic. “Emily, did you know I had nightmares when I was young?”
She looks up from her blocks and gazes at me. I can see a tiny necklace of bruises on her fragile skin. “You had nightmares, Dr. Janet?” Her small voice shakes a little.
“Yes, ma’am, I did. They started when I was about four years old. Do you want to hear about them?” I ask. She is responding at last.
Her little head bobs, her eyes hold mine. I put my notepad on the small table and settle down in my chair. She waits patiently, leaving her blocks untouched. I have her full attention.
“The first nightmare I had started with my nightlight flickering in the corner. I was four years old and finally got the big girl bed I always wanted. My favorite doll was in my arms and I whispered to her to stay there. She was scared of the dark so I had to make sure she would be okay.” Emily smiles and reaches for her little doll she keeps with her. “I pushed the covers off my legs, but before I could get out of bed I heard someone running in my room.”
Emily squeezes her doll tightly to her chest. I'm not sure if I’m scaring her or if she’s locked in her nightmares. Her little face is focused on mine, so I continue. “I looked around and didn’t see anyone. The sound of running continued, so I didn’t get off my bed. I pulled the covers back over me and held my doll close. Little children started to appear all over my room, only they weren’t children. Their faces were different. And that was my first nightmare.”
Children of Darkness Page 3
