1. BeginningA Chapter by Raelin
This was not how I’d have pictured spending my eighteenth birthday. As my eyes scanned the room, I could hear soft clicks of the nurse’s heels hitting the blush marble floor and the whirring of a fan. It was like a prison cell, the walls were bare and the color of slate. A single led light hung from the middle of the ceiling and in the corner of the room was a small, adjustable standing desk with a yellow file lying on top of it. Written across the cover in black marker was Olivia Cole, my name. Unlike my previous psychiatrists, this one hadn’t bothered with cute or fancy stickers. It was always easy to pick out the personality of my doctor before I’d met them by the way they decorated their office. Estimating from this one, I was having serious doubts. The nurse returned with a tight smile on her face, carrying a small tray with a needle and two vials. I could feel the color drain from my face as I pushed back my long, honey blonde hair. “You're going to take my blood?”
The nurse’s smile didn’t falter as she said “it’s to see how your body is reacting to the medicine. Don’t worry, this will be the last one this month.”
I calculated inside my head how many days of this month had left. Seventeen. And that should make me feel any better?
Voices echoed down the hall and I craned my neck, trying to peek past the nurse but she stepped into my view. “Doctor Grimm will be here shortly. Don’t worry dear, he’s our best. I think you’ll like him.”
My face must have betrayed my thoughts. I sunk back in my seat, fiddling with my fingers as the nurse tore open the pack with the syringe inside.
“Which arm do you prefer?” she asked, looking at me.
“I get to pick?” I tried to joke, but my voice sounded like a muffled choking sound.
She reached for my right arm and rubbed it in a comforting gesture. “No need to be so nervous. The clinic isn’t as posh as it might be back in…where was it you moved from?”
“California,” I supplied.
“Ah, yes. No wonder you seem so frightened. They have big, fancy offices over there, don’t they?”
“Something like that.” I turned my head away as the nurse lowered the hand with the syringe. I could feel a prick as she stabbed me with it, pulling my face. Hundreds of needles later and I’d never get used to it.
“How do you like Devil’s Crest, dear?”
This nurse was too chirpy. I wondered how much she knew about me, or if like the previous doctors, the deep, depressing stuff was withheld for the higher positions only. I considered telling her I hated it. I wanted to ask her how she would feel about a place, knowing it had taken someone she had loved from her. The town with its foreboding name hid between sea and forest, overgrown with plant life and inhabitant to various wildlife. Worn-out buildings and houses older than dirt poked out here and there between all the greenery. Mom had said that the houses were Queen-Anne styled. They were the most beautiful among Victorian homes, she’d say. To me, they looked like something straight out of a horror movie. If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’d say that the moment I’d turn eighteen I’d flee this place as fast as my feet would carry me. Today? How I was feeling at the moment? I might never leave now, the place where my twin, Robyn, had blown out her last, living breath.
Pain climbed my chest, up to my throat. I swallowed, telling myself not to cry. Not now. I didn’t want to start my first session with how I’d felt waking up in a hospital bed, informed my sister had not made it. I lifted my hand as the nurse stepped away, running my fingers along the long scar that stretched across my jaw. The stitches had been removed a week prior, but it still felt like it might tear open and bleed at any moment. I dropped my hand when the half-opened door moved and a tall, pale man stepped in. The nurse swiftly gathered everything she’d worked with on top of the tray, grinned at the man and hurried out. The man turned, closing the door behind him.
“Miss Cole? Olivia Cole?” Crinkles formed on either side of his icy blue eyes, kind eyes I thought, as he smiled at me. The tenseness I’d been feeling eased a little and I nodded.
A long strand of raven hair had escaped from the low pony tied at his neck, falling into his face as he held out a pale, bony hand to me. “I am Doctor Grimm. Ian Grimm, but you may call me Ian.”
To my surprise, his hand was warm as I shook it. The doctor, or Ian as he preferred to be called, sunk down into a seat by the standing desk and flung open my file. “I’ve already read your file, Olivia, but I’d like to ask you a few questions first according to the notes written in them. These are from your previous doctor, Mrs. Mills, correct?”
I nodded, folding my hands in my lap, trying to resist the urge to tap my foot incessantly. I did that when I felt restless or nervous.
“I see,” he breathed. The way he had pulled his face he didn’t approve of my answer and I wondered if he knew her. He turned with his chair, facing me with the file on his lap and a pen in his hand. “How are you doing, Olivia?”
I swallowed, thinking for a moment before answering. “I’m dealing,” I lied, looking him straight in the eyes.
He sighed, crossing his legs. “You were close to your sister.”
Darn it. Mom must have told him. “That’s not in the file,” I said flatly. “It’s not why I am here.”
“Then why are you here, Olivia?” When I didn’t answer, he said “your current state of mind affects your condition and your actions. There is nothing wrong with acknowledging grief. Bottling it away will only worsen it, but I think you already know that.”
I bit down on my bottom lip and took a shaky breath “it’s hard.”
He gave a nod, encouraging me to go further. I hated it when they did that.
I told him how lost I felt without her. I told him how it felt like my heart had been torn open and left to bleed. I told him how I resented myself, how I could have saved my sister but didn’t. My voice shook as I told him how I’d wished at times it was me instead. I wasn’t done, but my voice was, my throat sore from suppressing the hot tears now rolling down my cheeks. He didn’t take any notes, I realized, and wondered if he had a mini tape recorder hidden somewhere. Some of them did that.
“Tell me about the nightmares,” he pressed, glancing down into my file. “You have recurring ones. What happens in them?”
My arm itched where the nurse had jabbed me with the syringe. I gave it a quick scratch, looking anywhere but Ian. “ Monsters,” I breathed. “They are filled with monsters.”
“What kind of monsters?”
“Dead. Corpses, walking.”
“Like zombies?” he asked.
“No,” I scoffed “They are different. Bigger, intelligent. They don’t eat brains or people. They kill for sport, for the rush that comes with it.”
“Interesting, how you choose to phrase them.”
I looked at him. “Well, it’s what they are.”
He nodded. “Do they chase you in these nightmares?”
“No, they don’t acknowledge me. Sometimes, I think it’s because I’m one of them, but I don’t look like them” I frowned. “They are everywhere. They used to be people, but they were killed and turned into these…things.”
This was the first time Ian wrote something down. “You mentioned to your previous doctor that you get chased by something. What was it?”
I never knew what the creature was called that chased me in my nightmares for years, not until I’d watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was the closest thing I’ve come to give it a name. Embarrassed by my admission, I answered “a gargoyle.”
Ian gave me an unreadable look. “Tell me, Olivia, your mother said you see things, things no one can see. What is it?”
I didn’t hold back. I never did. I wanted nothing more than these things to stop, for the nightmares to stop. When they had first told me I was schizophrenic, I had laughed at them, almost delirious with disbelief. How could these things, that appeared so vivid and lifelike, be a fraction of my mad imagination? I went through phases. From disbelief to confused then to acceptance. Now I just wanted it cured. I wanted the monsters to go away. I wanted to be able to grieve my sister’s death in peace, work through it, as painful as it was. I wanted to go to college like a normal person and get a job, live a life. Only it can’t be cured if they had my diagnosis right. They said it was manageable, that I could live a normal life given the proper treatment and medication. I’d been diagnosed when I was nine. All the treatment and meds hadn’t worked, except made me feel even more sick, more out of tune with reality. Mom didn’t know this, nor did my doctors, but I’d stop taking the meds over a year ago. What was the point of taking something that didn’t work and only made me feel nauseous, with a continuous drugged out feeling?
“I see dead people.” The way I had said it was almost laughable. I sounded so much like that little boy from that movie, The Sixth Sense, only this wasn’t a movie. I wasn’t a kid anymore. This was my life. “Ghosts.”
“Are they real ghosts, Olivia?” Ian gave me that look that said my next answer would confirm whether I’ve officially gone off the deep end, or that if there was still hope. If I said I knew they weren’t real, but they just seemed real, I would acknowledge that I was crazy and that was the first step into getting better. Acceptance was key, my old doctor always told me. Problem was, I couldn’t acknowledge it. They were real. They talked to me. I had visited some of their graves, I had found them in old records. They had existed. The old doctor had told Mom when I lost grip of my reality I would check up these people and think I was talking to them. I’d see them, there, deep in my own, mad mind. At some point, I thought I was a medium, like a psychic, but crossed out that thought quickly because it didn’t go well with the other crazy things I could see. Yep, I thought, I had tumbled over the edge at light speed and had hit the dark place where madness lurked a long, long time ago.
“Yes,” I answered.
Ian scribbled something again, his facial expression not giving anything away. Ian lifted his head, about to ask me another question when a soft rap sounded against the door. He gave me an apologetic look as he got up, opened the door to a crack and peered out. I couldn’t hear much, but I didn’t miss the nurse’s voice saying “it’s urgent.”
Ian sighed as he turned back to me, but doesn’t close the door. “I am sorry, Olivia, but we’d have to cut our appointment short. Would it be possible for you to come in again tomorrow morning?”
He looked on edge, nervous. It was an odd sight for a man that looked so calm and confident only moments before.
To be honest, I was relieved to have it cut short. All the nerves I had built up this morning was getting to me and I was tired. “Okay,” I said.
“I’ll have to check my schedule for tomorrow, but I’ll contact you with an exact time before tonight.”
There were three men standing by the front desk when we stepped out of Ian’s office, dressed from head to toe in black with their backs turned to us. The nurse who had drawn my blood earlier marched past me, carrying a dripping wet mop with a scowl on her face. The tallest man, with long, chocolate dreadlocks tied to the back of his head turned first, grinning at the nurse. He was beautiful, his eyes a sage green, skin of mocha. It was hard to pinpoint his exact age, but I guessed him to be about three or four years older than me. Though he wore a large, oversized coat, it was obvious he packed massive muscle. So did the other men who stood beside him.
The nurse clucked her tongue, looking up at him. “Third time this week,” she barked. “Ren, could you at least have half the decency and clean your bloody damn boots before entering the clinic!”
One of the other men, a blonde, turned. “Helga, looking lovely as always.”
She waved the mop at him. “You too, Vladimir. I’ve had it with you three!”
Ian placed a hand on my shoulder. I noticed his lips drew tight as if he was fighting off a smile. “Would you like me to phone your mother and let her know that you are done?”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. It’s almost three. I can wait for fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” he nodded, dropping his hand from my shoulder. He crossed the entrance, placed my file on top of the front desk and turned to the dreadlock guy, the one named Ren. “I need to change. Give me a moment.”
There was an odd moment, where Ian turned his eyes toward me, then back at Ren. Ren looked briefly at me, back at Ian, his eyes widened, then swiveled back toward me. I glared at him. What? Never seen a crazy person before?
He turned away, nudging the other guy, the one who with short, messy raven hair that still had his large back turned to me. Ian frantically shook his head and for a moment it almost looked like he was trying to get the raven-haired guy to not turn around. I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath of how unprofessional it was of Ian poking and pointing. I stuffed both my hands into my black hoodie’s pockets and sunk down into one of the waiting chairs. I stretched my jean-clad legs, eyeing my black, lace-up moto boots. The blonde man, who the nurse referred to as Vladimir, glanced between me and Ian. “What?” he asked.
Ian nudged him, shaking his head for a second time. I breathed out a slow, heavy sigh, fighting against the urge to snap at them for being rude.
The nurse threw a slew of curses, before marching past me again with the dirty mop, red-faced. Vladimir crossed the room, toward the soda machine, right over where the nurse had just cleaned the mud-smeared floor, to only mark it with fresh muddy boot prints. “Anyone wants some something to drink?” he called over his shoulder as he punched buttons on the machine. The raven-haired guy turned, dark lashes fanned his eyes as he focused on the cellphone in his hand. When he looked up, his electric blue eyes locked with mine.
© 2019 RaelinAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews Added on July 7, 2019 Last Updated on July 11, 2019 Tags: Paranormal, Witch, Undead, Magic, Young Adult, YA Author |
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