“Baby,” she called, pushing sweaty hair strands of hair away from my forehead and caressing my cheeks as I opened my eyes. It was a struggle to keep them open for long. Scratches on her face were bleeding. The skeletons must have hurt her. Still, I was so relieved to see her alive.
“Mum…” I whispered, too tired to vocalize anything else.
“Killian, are you all right? Can you hear me?”
“Is that really you?” I lifted my arm and flattened my palm on her cheek as she nodded. “I had a terrible dream, Mommy.” I wanted to beg her to never leave my side again. If she left me behind in this world, it would be a fate worse than death, but I didn’t have the energy.
“Everything is going to be okay.” Her reassurance was like a balm to a wound that had been growing since we’d ended up in that house.
Her forehead rested on my shoulder while her arms held me up. I tried to hug as much of her as possible, but my arms fell from her body. I’d never felt so tired and weak. With every breath, my chest burned in pain. I couldn’t breathe deep. In her arms, I dared to dream that she was telling me we would leave soon. It was the only way I could let go of all the tension, stress, and agony.Maybe Da isn’t dead after all.As I fell asleep, I pictured the big ship that would take us around the world. She rocked me while soothing me by humming a song.
Mum said I had a very violent hallucination. I had been uncontrollable and had kicked, screamed, cried, and scratched both their faces. No one other than the two of them had been in the room according to them. Although it didn’t make sense to me after, at the time, it had been completely real to me. For two weeks, they put me through machines, collected my bloodand pee. Finally, on the fifteenth day, after a million annoying questions, the three doctors gathered Mum and me in an office.
“It appears your son is very tired.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. Despite all my efforts, my giggling burst out. Even I knew there was no way all this was happening because of exhaustion. “I don’t think you understand the severity of what we saw,” she said to them.
What a bunch of idiots.
Well, we fooled them.
Good news, little man, we’re not going to a nuthouse.
I burst out laughing again.
A nuthouse would have been better than our present home.
“Killian, for God’s sake, stop laughing. What’s so funny anyway?”
“Sorry, Mum.”
“The scans are showing exhaustion, lack of sleep. Insomnia can lead to hallucinations, violence, and all kinds of disturbing behavior.” I sat there listening to him talk about how important rest was.
“So, what do we do?” she asked.
“This prescription should help with sleep. If that doesn’t work, we’ll talk again.”
The letter of the day isH.His for heaven.
Withthemedicinethedoctors prescribed, I slept too deep for the voices to keep me awake but as soon I’d open my eyes, they would start blabbering.
After being dropped off too early by the chauffeur, I always sat on the stone banisters below the gargoyles of the Gothic structure that was our fancy international school. I didn’t mind being alone for a couple of hours because it gave me time to sit outside, trying to hear the breeze, birds, anything natural, but it was all muffled. In that time, I was at peace, far and safe from the big bad wolf.
Why haven’t you killed him yet? You need to kill him. Kill him.
Stab him in his sleep.
I pictured stabbing him in the eye. What would Mum do? Would she grieve for him? Or would she get over his death as fast as she did Da? Nah... If I stabbed his eye he might survive and then he’d surely kill me or lock me in a nuthouse for the rest of my life.
You know you want to. Kill him. Burn the house down with him in it.
Make it look like an accident.
One by one, the other students slowly showed up. I wouldn’t move until the teachers opened the doors to the building for everyone to walk in.
Kill him. Tonight. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.
That’s where I was when I first saw her—Magdalena Michaelson.
