Imaginary

A short thriller.

Tiffany and I had been friends from the very moment we had met. She had just moved to Pullman, Washington with her parents and older sister. I lived in the house next door. I remember being so excited to see her hop out of the moving truck. I bolted out the front door and ran over to introduce myself.

“Hi! I’m Ashlyn. I live in the house next door. What’s your name?”

She peered at me with giant green eyes that were partially hidden behind a few strands of her thick orange hair.

“Tiffany.”

That was all she said. She seemed shy and unsure of my enthusiasm, but little did either of us know that would be the beginning of a friendship stronger than steel.

 

            The next day at school, Mrs. Smith announced that we would have a new student joining our 4^th grade class. It was Tiffany. She gave a small smile and took her seat at the desk next to mine.

“You’ll really like Mrs. Smith. She’s super nice and we never have homework.” That was how I greeted her. She responded with a smile.

“You can eat lunch with me. I can tell you who everyone is and show you around if you want?”

“Okay.”

She clearly wasn’t big on words.

            When lunch finally came around I took her to the table at the very back of the multipurpose room and sat in the far corner away from the other kids.

“Don’t you have friends to sit with?”

I looked at her in shock. She can form full sentences!

“No, I don’t really talk to any of them and they don’t ever try to talk to me.”

“Why?” She was puzzled.

“I’m not sure. I keep to myself mostly.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll talk to you,” She smiled. It wasn’t the shy smile from before, but an understanding one. “People were mean to me at my old school, too.”

            We were inseparable after that. Always with each other, joined at the hip. We walked to and from school together. I learned that her older sister is 17 and that she was mean to Tiffany. I learned that Tiffany didn’t have any old friends from her old town and that I was her first ever friend, aside from her mom. When I would go over to her house after school, we would spend all our time in her room. Her parents never talked to me, even though she introduced me multiple times. They would just stare at me for a minute and go back to whatever they were doing before Tiffany inconvenienced them. I never saw them pay much attention to her, unless it was to tell her how she had done something wrong…or if it were time to eat.

            It became routine. I’d wake up and meet her outside so we could walk to school together. We’d get through the school day, just the two of us and then walk home together. The evenings after school were the best because we got to hang out at her house for a couple hours before her parents got home from their jobs.

It went on like that for a few years. Up until we reached middle school. Everything changed in middle school.

The summer before middle school Tiffany said she was going on a trip to go visit her grandma. She asked her parents if I could come with them, but they had said no. She came to me in tears claiming that she didn’t want to go without me and that she was going to find a way to bring me with them or she wouldn’t go.

            It was impossible of course, but telling her that would have made her more hysterical. If there was one thing I had learned about Tiffany over the last 3 years, it was that she is incredibly sensitive. We spent that night in her front yard, staring at the stars and talking about everything except the upcoming trip. If we didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t happen.

            I don’t remember falling asleep in her lawn, but we must have because I woke up to hear Tiffany screaming and the engine of their SUV starting up. You would have thought that she was being murdered with the way she was howling. I tried to run over and console her. Tell her that it was going to be okay and that I’ll still be here when she comes back.

I didn’t get to. She was shoved into the back seat, the door closed and the SUV backed out of the driveway before I could even get to my feet. I swear I could hear her screaming even when they were out of site.

3 months. It would be 3 months before I would see her again.

 

 

 

            I expected at least one phone call. Just one, but I got nothing. For 2 months, I hadn’t heard from her. I convinced myself that she’s forgotten me. Made new friends in whatever little town she had gone to and I didn’t matter anymore.

“This is going to be the longest summer of my life.” I told myself.

            I walked over to the couch to watch TV and take my mind off my impending boredom and the continuous voice telling me that I wouldn’t have my friend when she returned home. I flopped down on the couch, “Darn it,” I don’t have the remote. I get up and turn the TV on and much to my distaste it’s on the news. Nothing I’m interested in.

“Ugh, where is the remote?” I began my search. Half listening to the lady reading the teleprompter talking about one horrible event after another. I was about to flip the couch over when I heard it.

“A carjacking in Olympia last night left 2 people dead….” The rest faded. I got instant chills down my spine and it took everything I had to turn and look at the TV. Somehow, I just knew it was them. The screen showed a helicopter view of an SUV, with the driver side door open and Tiffany’s dad hanging half out of the vehicle. I could feel my face drain of any color it once contained, “.…being cared for at Capital Medical Center and will probably be released tomorrow.” She continues in the back ground.  

            I have to get there. I must get to her. Is it even her? It has to be her. She can’t be dead. My mind is unescapable. I leave the house and head for the bus station. I will get to her.

It’s a 6 ½ hour bus ride from Pullman to Olympia, but it’s the only way a 13-year-old girl can get travel without a parent present. It is the longest 6 hours of my life, but finally the bus arrives in Olympia. Now I have to make my way to the hospital. Can I catch a cab? Will they pick me up? Is she dead?

Thankfully there are plenty of maps of the town at the bus station. I can make my way and try to catch a cab while I head in that direction.

I’m walking at a brisk pace and I see my first cab. I stop and begin to wave my arms frantically, hoping he’ll notice me and pick me up. He doesn’t. He didn’t even glance in my direction. I go back to my quick pace and I see another cab, but once again I’m ignored. 3 more times and it’s the same thing. I panic. I start to sprint in the direction of the hospital, not even sure I’m going the correct way anymore. My mind is racing almost as fast as my feet and my heart is going even faster.

“Please be okay.” I wish out loud to no one.

“Please be okay.” Winded this time and starting to choke on the swelling emotion.

“Please be okay.” Crying this time.

I can see it now. The big white letters that welcome you to the hospital. I burst through the doors and run to the counter. “Where is Tiffany!?” No one answers me.

The lady behind the desk doesn’t even act like she heard me. Instead she gets up and walks away to do some chart work.

“WHERE IS TIFFANY!!” I scream it this time. At anyone who will hear me. Still no one acknowledges my presence.

Why isn’t anyone listening to me?

 

 

 

 

            If no one is going to help me then I am going to have to navigate my way to her by myself. The directory above tells me that the ICU is down the hall to my left. It seems like an accurate place to start. I begin my journey down the hallway. It’s dark and I have tunnel vision, yet I know there are plenty of bright white lights everywhere. The smell of bleach is over powering and its getting stronger as I get closer to the ICU. I’m still running and I know I shouldn’t be, but no one has tried to stop me. I come around a corner and see the lobby of the ICU. It’s filled with the worried faces of people who also have someone they care about here. None of those faces belong to Tiffany. Where is she?! I am screaming inside.

            Before I can realize what I’m doing I find myself inspecting every room in the ICU. Analyzing every face in every bed; desperately clinging to the hope that one of them will belong to her. Willing the next bed to reveal a pair of giant green eyes. Bed after bed and I can feel myself losing hope.

Only 4 beds left.

I come around the corner of the second to last one and I freeze. She’s there. Asleep on the little chair next to the bed that is occupied by an older version of her. Her mother. Almost as quickly as I am relieved that Tiffany is alive, I am hit with the realization that her father and sister are not. What am I going to say to her? I contemplate leaving, but before I have the chance she wakes up.

“Ashlyn?”

“Hey,” any comforting response leaves my head.

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw your car on the news. They said 2 people were dead…I got on a bus and came here. I was worried it was you�"I’m so sorry Tiff.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She wants to respond but I can tell she doesn’t have any words. Hell, she probably hasn’t even fully processed what happened. She opens her mouth to say something and all that comes out are sobs.

I wrap my arms around her, “Shhh, it’s going to be alright. I’ll be here to help you get through this.”

She cried herself back to sleep in my arms.

 

            A few hours had passed and she woke up. “Do you want to go get something to eat?”

I wasn’t hungry. “Sure.” I’ll go with her.

We sat in the hospital cafeteria in silence for no less than 20 minutes before she said anything.

“My mom said that after the funerals, we’re going to go to therapy.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“Maybe.” She furrows her brow at the prepackaged tuna sandwich she bought, “I don’t see how reliving what just happened is going to help me get over it.”

“It might.” I’m not sure what to tell her.

“We should have never taken this stupid trip.” She raises her voice this time. “Everything would have been fine if we’d have just stayed home.”

She’s sobbing again.

I don’t know how to help her, so I shift the topic.

“Is your mom going to be okay?”

“She’s being released tomorrow and we’re heading back home. I guess my grandma is coming with us to help keep an eye on me while we get everything arranged for the funeral.” She looked up at me, tears still pouring down her face. “Will you ride home with me?”

“Of course! If you’re mom and grandma don’t mind.”

 

            It was a long and quite ride home. Tiffany said her grandma didn’t mind me riding with them, although I got the impression she did mind. She didn’t even so much as look in my direction the entire ride home. We stopped for gas once and Tiffany’s grandma brought back a gas station hotdog for Tiffany, but nothing for me.

“What about Ashlyn, grandma? I’m sure she’s hungry, too.”

Her grandma looked at Tiffany with sincere worry on her face and without looking at me said, “I think Ashlyn can wait.”

What did I do wrong?

“I’m sorry,” Tiffany mouthed to me.

I smiled. “No big deal,” I mouthed back. She doesn’t need to feel guilty about me. She’s been though a lot these past couple days. I should be the least of her concerns.

 

 

            The funerals were beautiful. I was there to support Tiffany. She clung to me more than ever before. I’m her rock right now, and that’s what a best friend is for. School was set to start up in a week and Tiffany said she was going to go back on time. I told her she should take time to grieve. I think she was afraid to be alone with her thoughts and have to face her feelings about what happened.

            School came and she was there. People use to avoid us before, but it seems that once word got around about her tragedy, they avoided her even more. She literally just had me and I neglected to try and make friends because I didn’t want Tiff to feel like I was abandoning her, too.

            We were walking home after being back in school for about a week when she told me. “I’m starting therapy tomorrow. Mom and I are going together.”

“Do you want me to come with you? I can wait in the lobby during your sessions.”

“Of course I want you to, but mom says I shouldn’t bring you.”

“Wow. I didn’t think your mom would ever acknowledge that I even existed.”

She shot me a scowl and lightly punched me in the shoulder. We both laughed a little.

“It’s okay. You can just tell me all about it when you get home.”

 

            I woke up early the next day in the hopes to catch Tiffany before she headed to therapy, but she was gone. It was about 2 hours after later that I began to feel sick to my stomach. I ran to the bathroom and lost whatever contents of my stomach may have been there. After it was done I rinsed my mouth out and splashed cold water on my face. I was patting my face dry when I noticed in the mirror how pale I had become. Abnormally pale, I could see every vessel that ran through my face. I rubbed my eyes. You’re seeing things. Then I noticed my hands looked the same. Translucent white with every vessel visible. I began to panic, what’s going on?  I felt my heart rate increase. It was pounding in my head. My breathing became rapid. I can’t slow it down. Everything got fuzzy and then it went black.

            I don’t know how long it had been before I came to, but it was dark outside. I was still in the bathroom. Maybe I can avoid looking in the mirror when I get up. It took some mental preparation, but I finally pulled myself up with some help from the counter. As much as I was trying to avoid it, I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I was still pale, but I couldn’t see my vessels anymore. Did I imagine that? Maybe it was the stress of caring for my grieving friend finally taking a toll on me. I walked out of the bathroom and over to the window that allowed me to see over to Tiffany’s house. Her mom’s silver Honda was there. They were back. Why didn’t she come over to tell me about her appointment? I decided that she had just had an overly emotional day and I would see her tomorrow.

            We met outside her house the next morning.

“Hey!” she greeted me, “let’s go for a walk!”

“Okay. Sure.” I could tell something was on her mind.

We walked for a good 15 minutes without either of us saying anything. The tension was becoming palpable. I couldn’t take it anymore, “How was your appointment?”

I could tell she didn’t want to answer that question.

“Tiffany, what happened?”

“I…I don’t really know how to explain it. Nothing really made sense. My mom and Dr. Becker were saying all this stuff…about…about how I don’t accept reality…or something like that.”

She seemed uncomfortable and confused, like she didn’t know what had happened.

“What do you mean? Like you don’t accept what happened to your dad and your sister?”

She was quiet. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, trying to solve some puzzle that she didn’t have all the pieces to yet.

“No. Not like that. But, uhm, Dr. Becker wants me to…he wants me to bring you to our session next week.”

“Me? Why?”

“He thinks it will help me to grasp reality if you’re there with me. Like it will help me to accept my reality or whatever.”

I could tell she was embarrassed to ask me to join her, but I am her best friend and if it will help her to get past whatever is going on, then who am I to stop her.

“Of course I’ll come Tiff.”

She let out a sigh of relief and we walked back home.

 

 

 

            Dr. Becker’s office was your typical psychologist’s office, complete with the couch for being asked how things make you feel. I sat next to Tiffany, her mother sat across the room. You could cut the tension between them with a knife.

I scanned the room and I noticed a tall structure in the corner. I couldn’t tell what it was since it was covered by a large blanket.

“What’s under that?” I asked Tiffany

“I don’t know, it wasn’t here last time.”

Her mother winced at the two of us talking. I will never understand what I did to make her dislike me so much. Or maybe I will after today.

            All 3 of us nearly jumped out of our skins when Dr. Becker entered the room. He was a tall man, with glasses and unruly blonde hair. He presented with a suit and a smile, both of which he wore very well.

“Hello Tiffany. Mrs. Hasting.” He didn’t address me. “Tiffany, I trust your friend is here.”

I didn’t even give her a chance to answer, “I’m sitting right in front of you.”

He continued to stare at her, expectantly waiting for her reply.

“She’s sitting right here,” pointing to me, “she literally just answered you, can’t you hear her?”

Tiffany’s mom began to cry.

What the hell is going on? I started to feel sick to my stomach again.

“Tiffany, I can’t see nor hear her. Do you have an idea as to why that might be?”

Is this a joke?

“I don’t know? Maybe you’re blind and deaf? Maybe you don’t want to believe me when I say she’s real!”

What? Of course, I’m real! My head started spinning.

“Tiffany, sweetheart,” her mom said through her tears, “Ashlyn isn’t a real person.”

“Yes, she is! I can see her, she’s sitting right next to me!”

“Tiff, what are they talking about? Why are they acting like they can’t see me?”

Dr. Becker walked over to Mrs. Hasting and escorted her from the room, “Give me a few minutes to talk to her.”

He came back and addressed Tiffany.

“Tiffany, when you were 9-years-old, you’re father and older sister were killed in an attempted carjacking. Do you remember that?”

Wait that was just a couple weeks ago.

“I remember it! I was there, but I’m 13 not 9. It happened last month!”

“No, Tiffany. It happened last month, 4 years ago. You were very young and your mind created a different story to help you cope.”

No. That doesn’t make sense. “Tiffany, what is he saying?”

She looked at me with terrified eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Tiffany, your father and sister died when you were 9. You created an imaginary friend that you called Ashlyn. You created her so that you had someone to help you get through the tragedy of your loss. Your mother and I thought it would be ok for a while, but you’re 13 now. Ashlyn should have worked her way out of your subconscious by now.”

She was hysterical now, “You’re lying! Why are you doing this to me?”

Am I real? Of course I’m real.

“I didn’t want to have to take such extreme measures to show you that she’s not real,” He walked over to the covered structure in the corner, “but if that’s what it takes to help you accept reality then we will take those measures.”

“What is that?” She’s sobbing now.

He pulled the blanket off to reveal a mirror.

A mirror? I’m too confused to speak. What is this going to prove?

He turned it to face Tiffany and I. In front of me I saw the both of us sitting on a couch staring with terrified expressions.

“Tiffany, what is he trying to show us?” she didn’t answer me. Instead she inhaled a sharp breath of air and stared into the mirror with complete shock.

“Tiffany?” my words sounded muffled. As though someone had put a pillow or their hand over my mouth.

“TIFFANY!” My vision was getting blurry. Everything was spinning. I fell to the ground and just before it all went black I heard her, “I can’t see her. She’s not real. She really doesn’t exist.”

Just like that she was gone and just like that, it will never be the same. I will never see her again. 

Author's Note

Please keep in mind that this is my first attempt in writing short stories. I am always looking for constructive criticism, it's the only way I'll improve. Tell me what you do and don't like!

Reviews

[Planet x]

I love your story , beautiful , it was really interesting

[sette]

wow, the an imaginary friend is one form of coping mechanism especially where grief is concerned. I like the climax of the story as I recall Freud's iceberg theory. kindly create more stories.

[Heather]

Thank you for your feed back :)