Unnamed novel: chapter 1

CHAPTER 1



​I walked into the psychologist’s office for my first visit a little apprehensive, but I knew it was for the best. I was ready. Enough time had passed, but I still wasn’t healed.

​Chose this particular psychologist for a specific reason. Had read up on her and knew that she opened up her own private practice within the last ten years. Knew that she changed her area or practice, her focus, her study. Knew why.

​Dr. Sue Ramsey spoke first. “So, Ms. Harris--”

​“Please, call me Kerri,” I interrupted nervously. I hated Ms. Harris. Made me sound like an old lady and I was far from an old lady. I was twenty five. Though I probably looked closer to forty.

​“Okay. Kerri. Tell me what you hope to accomplish here? I mean, why did you need to see me?” Dr. Ramsey asked.

​“It is very complicated. I am not really sure that I am ready for this, but I have to be. I need to be. Do you understand?” I said.

​“Not really. Could you elaborate a little, please?”

​“I can…uh…why don’t I just start telling you everything from the beginning, if that is okay?”

​“I guess that would be okay, but I am not sure what that will accomplish if I don’t even know why you are here. If you don’t even really know why you are here.”

​“I know why I am here. I do. And trust me, once you hear my story, you will know why I am here, too,” I assured her. I could tell she wanted more, but I really did not know how to continue without just telling the whole story.

​“Okay, then let’s start at the beginning,” she said. She grabbed a notepad and a pen, started jotting some things down that I couldn’t see. She already had me pegged as a nut, I could tell. Most people did. She clicked record on a tape recorder and told me to start when I was ready.

​“Right. So it all started when I was thirteen,” I dove right in. I could not think of a segue. Just thought it was best to just jump in and tell the story, from beginning to end. Let it all out.

​“You were thirteen. And?” she said. I must have stopped talking since she asked me to continue like she did.

​“Sorry. I was thirteen and it was game night…



​…my father and I were playing Battleship, I remember because usually we played a game, the three of us. Me, my mom and dad. But that night was different, it was just me and my dad, Daniel. My mother, Judith, got a phone call from her sister and told us to just go on ahead and play without her, so we chose Battleship because it was one we could not play often, since it was two players.

​The game did not take long, maybe half an hour. Mom was still on the phone. She talked to her sister every once and a while, so they had things to catch up on. We were cleaning up the game when she came into the living room and saw us. She had a weird look on her face like she was wished she could have joined in, but we had finished playing.

​“I did not realize you guys were done. Oh well. I guess that fine. I did tell you guys to go ahead,” she said.

​“Sorry, Judith, we just finished. Kerri won, as usual,” my father said.

​It was true. I did have a knack for always winning whatever game we played, except maybe Monopoly, which was dad’s favorite. Think it was because he was an accountant and loved money, math, all of that, so when we played Monopoly he would always be the banker and always seemed to win. Maybe he cheated.

​“Don’t be sorry, Daniel, it was my own fault.” Then she yawned, covered her mouth with her hands. “Feeling a bit tired, I guess. I am going to go up and take a bath. Good night.”

​“Good night, dear,” my father answered.

​“Good night, mom,” I said without even looking up at her. I was busy putting the game away. That was how my mom and I were, anyway.

​My father was helping me, but he got up, went over to my mother and gave her a big hug and a peck on the cheek. “I will see you soon. It is getting late and I have a busy day tomorrow. I love you.”

​Giddy as she always was, almost blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush, she said, “I love you, too.” And I could see the love she had for him on her face. Her blue eyes would sparkle brighter when she was around him. Her smile would widen, brighten a sunny day. It was true love, what they shared. Deep passionate love that grew stronger with each day. She then went upstairs and I could hear the water running in the pipes as she prepared her bath. She loved her bubble baths, too.

​After we got done putting the game away, we were both about to go upstairs when a clap of thunder sounded. It was loud, but we were not scared. We loved storms. Loved to watch them roll in, the clouds engulf the sky, swallow the sun. I had a huge smile on my face, and I think my dad saw it too because he smiled back.

​Lightning hit a minute or so later. Could see my dad counting in his head. Then thunder sounded again.

​“Every second is a mile, you know,” he said.

​I did know, we did this every time a storm came in, but I never said anything, it was our special moment. I just smiled at him and pretended I did not know. “That right?” I said.

​“Yep. It’s getting late, though, sweetie. Time to get ready for bed, okay. I will be up in a minute.”

​“Awww. But dad, I want to watch the storm. Please?” I tried puppy dog eyes, but they never worked on my dad. He was too smart for that.

​“Not tonight, sweetie. Next time, okay.”

​“All right,” I replied. I didn’t like it, but I accepted it. Went upstairs and did the usual nighttime things, brush my teeth and everything. Got into bed, grabbed my favorite book, The Outsiders, by S. E. Hinton. Heard him come up the stairs and pretend to pass my room, like he did every night. I could almost hear him laugh, he was so quirky like that and I loved him dearly for those little moments we shared. The storms. This bedtime ritual we did.

​After a couple seconds, he poked his head around my door, a huge grin on his face, cheeks rough with the day’s growth. “I love you, honey,” he said.

​“I love you, too, daddy,” I responded with a resounding smile, then I laughed so hard the light blue ribbon I used to keep my blonde hair in a ponytail nearly came loose. After I stopped laughing, I blew him a kiss, which he caught in his hands and pulled to his heart.

​“Good night,” he said and I heard him walk down the hallway.

​I closed my book, turned out the light and rolled over into my habitual sleeping position, the fetal position. Don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember what happened after I did.

​Nightmares would have been welcomed that night after what I had endured. There was this sensation. Like when you dream about falling, only I was moving sideways. Suddenly, I stopped, or maybe the world around me stopped. Everything was pitch black. The darkness was a thick fog that enveloped everything. I could almost feel it. Along with the darkness was a deafening silence. I was scared. It seemed very real, but how could it be real? I was dreaming, yet I wasn’t.

​Bzzzt!

​From the darkness, a lamppost suddenly buzzed to life, giving me some light to see, casting an ambient glow upon the ground. I looked around, there was nothing. Nothing but this lamppost and the ground beneath it. Two roads seemed to intersect at that point, in the circle of light. One dead ended at the lamppost. The other ran perpendicular, running from my left to right, travelling into a dark void.

​“Where am I?” I asked nobody, since I was very alone. Only fear accompanied me. The question echoed, morphed into something else. A low drone. A humming. Sounded like it was coming from the right, so I turned my head that way, but there was nothing there. Then, way off in the distance, seemingly miles away, yet on top of me at the same time, two small pinpoints of light. Eyes, they looked like, staring at me.

​“I love you, honey,” a voice said. I recognized the voice, just heard it earlier. It was my father’s voice.

​I turned my head, looked for him. Looked for the reassurance of safety, of security. Nothing.

​“I love you, too, daddy,” I said anyway. Hoped he could hear me and come to me. Poke his head around my door.

​Another humming sound emerged, coming from what seemed like behind me. I shifted my head around and saw two more pinpoints of light.

​Boom! Thump! Boom! Thump!

​Bass from loud music vibrated in my chest, beating like a second heart. Both racing. My knees weakened, it was getting hard to stand, but I wasn’t really standing. I was hovering, floating, something, above the road. I couldn’t move, except to turn my head around.

​Laughter, jovial laughter, rang out. Somewhere someone was having fun, partying. I could almost see them. Teenagers in a car, laughing, singing, drinking. They threw the empty cans onto the roadway, they clanked on the pavement.

​“What is going on? Where am I?” I thought aloud.

​Something coiled through my body, a vibration with pain.

​“I love you, honey,” my father said, or at least his voice rang out.

​My legs shook, nearly forcing me to my knees. I swayed my head around, looked for answers. The pinpoints of light were larger, closer. The clanging sound of metal on pavement increased in both volume and resonance.

​I closed my eyes. All I saw were dark red pools on the road. When I opened them back up, another painful vibration curled through me. I screamed. The echoes boomed, so I covered my ears, but they bounced around inside my head.

​The scene before me developed more. The lights were now headlights as two cars approached the intersection from different directions. One car, the one to my right, was careful, methodical, paying attention to its surroundings. It was my dad’s car. The other, fast, swerving, not caring about anything or anyone.

​Boom! Thump! Boom! Thump!

​The bass beat louder, overlapping itself.

​Everything slowed to a crawl. A slow motion replay of an ending I had never seen. But I knew what was going to happen like a déjà vu. Beads of perspiration dotted my brow, but I was cold, shivering. I lost control of my bodily functions, wet my pajama pants. They stuck to my legs.

​The cars slowed, delaying the inevitable.

​“Nooo! Daddy! Stop! Daaaaddyyyy!” He didn’t stop. He couldn’t hear me. Nobody could.

​Then I thought it was over because I saw myself sitting on the couch, playing Battleship with my father. A smiled formed on my freckled face.

​But it wasn’t over.

​The image flashed back. My heart wanted to stop. I tried to swallow, but nothing was in my mouth. My throat blocked and dry.

​“I love you, honey.” It sounded like he was whispering in my ear. It seemed real, but I knew better.

​“I love you, too, daddy,” I said, but I didn’t know why. Maybe just to ease my mind, quell my fear.

​A high pitched screech, its echoes echoing, pierced my ear. Everything sped up, fast-forwarded to the ending.

​With a thunderous explosion of noise, it happened. The car, the one behind me, barreled through the stop sign and straight into my father’s car. Glass shattered into a million pieces. A million bloody pieces.

​“Daaaaddyyyyy! Noooooooo!”

​Then everything stopped. The image froze. I looked around, checked out the surroundings. Felt like I was looking at photographs of a crime scene. My eyes went to my father, his pleading eyes. Then a bright light covered everything. All I saw was a sheer screen of blinding white light. My eyes stung, dried out. When the light dimmed, which seemed like an eternity, an eternity that I could not close my eyes, the entire scene, from beginning to end, played back, but not in one fluid motion. It was like a slide show. A slide show from Hell. Between each frame that blinding light pulsed in and out. And with each new image, my body twitched, my head swayed back and forth.

​...daddy, laughing, oozing blood, cars, daddy, the collision, my screams, daddy, dripping blood, beer cans, lamppost, screeching tires, the collision, pools of blood, thumping bass, cars, playing Battleship, daddy, collision, pools of blood, beer cans, screeching tires…

​Silence.

​Thought it was over until the image changed to the blinding light again. Blood dripped in thick rows down the surface of the light. Bone and flesh mixed in with the flow.

​“Daddy!” My last plea. In the pit of my stomach, I could feel the moment start to creep up, higher and higher. The acidic taste on my tongue. Vomit flew from my mouth, mixed with bile and a little blood. I spit, trying to remove the bitterness from my mouth. Then I screamed, loud, piercing, glass shattering, but it was already shattered and bloody. I looked down at the scene, mesmerized by it, wanting to look away. Glass was everywhere, tiny pieces scattered amongst the pavement and my father’s face. His face seemed alive still, yet unfamiliar. There was so much glass and blood on his face he was no longer my father, he was a zombie. Tried to reach out for him, to save him, but I knew I couldn’t. Thought about Battleship, about our nighttime ritual, about everything. My heart sank. I shook, violently. Keeled over like I was in pain, but I wasn’t. Bile shot from my mouth, splashing at me feet. Spit a couple of more times, but the taste was stained on my tongue. I fell to my knees, into the puddle of my own filth. Again I looked to my father, he pleaded with his eyes, he…

​…I was back in my room in the blink of an eye. Cross legged on my bed, my pajamas were soaked, cold, bloody with my father’s last drops of life. Thought about what I just witnessed. Wanted to puke again, but nothing was inside me, nothing but anguish. That pain in my stomach changed to a pain in my heart, ripping it from my chest. I wanted to scream, to yell out to him, but I had no voice. Closed my eyes, but I could still see the images: the blood; my father dying in the street; his pleading eyes. Opened my eyes. I wanted to cry. Brought my hands up to face. Saw it. My palms. Red with his blood.



​Next thing I remembered was waking up in my bed, my light blue comforter pulled up to my chin, feet sticking out the bottom. I was confused and scared. Every gory detail stayed in my brain, has been there ever since. I remember the blood. Everything.

​It seemed so real, I thought.

​Looked at my hands, the blood was gone, or never there. I did not know. My pajamas were dry, normal. No stains, blood, nothing. Got up out of bed. Ready to move on and pretend like nothing happened. Changed into my light blue one piece bathing suit. Put my gray sweat shorts over the bottoms. Ready to spend the day with Becky, my best friend in the whole world. As I started down the stairs, a thought consumed me. I froze. Thought of my father. Is he dead? No. It was just a dream. Seeing him would remove all doubt. I turned and went towards my parents’ bedroom, peeked my head in, but it was empty. No! Daddy! Stood paralyzed with fear for a while. Have no idea how long it was. A banging sound woke me from that paralysis. Shook my head and realized that he was downstairs already. My mom was probably making breakfast. That was the noise I heard, pots and pans. I nearly skipped across the hallway and down the stairs. When I got to the bottom, I walked in to the kitchen, but only my mom was in there and I stuttered to a stop in the middle of the room. My mother turned and saw me, she had a smile, but it turned to a look of concern when she saw me.

​“What is it, Kerri? Is everything all right?” she asked me.

​“Uh, what? Yeah, I mean. Yeah. Everything is fine. I’m okay,” I replied. Looked around again. My mom was staring at me. “Where’s dad?”

​“At work. It’s nearly nine in the morning. He’s been gone for a couple of hours.”

​Right, I knew that. Duh.

​“Oh, right,” I said. I was trying to recover from the initial shock of not seeing him and thinking that he had died in some horrible automobile accident. Put on a half-smile. Walked to the kitchen table and sat down. Better.

​“You sure everything is fine? You seem all out of sort this morning.”

​“Yep, I’m good.” Not even close. “Just hungry, I guess. Whatcha cookin’?”

​“What do you want?”

​Whew.

​“How about some dippin’ eggs and wheat toast, glass of o-jay. Yum.” That was my favorite breakfast as a girl and my mom made it the best. She was a wonderful cook, always making what my dad and I requested. Veal Parmagiana, Chicken fajitas, those were the best of the best. Aside from her dipping eggs. She made them so that the when the yolk would break, it would ooze across the plate. Not too runny, just the right amount to stick to the toast and not drip over the edges.

​“No problem.” She then turned and went to the fridge. Opened it up and grabbed two eggs. Cracked them to a sizzle on the skillet. Wheat bread was right next to the toaster. My mom grabbed two slices, put them in the toaster and then pushed the lever down.

​I just sat there. Took deep breaths while her back was turned. It helped. Tried to forget about everything last night, but it was right there. Like I was still watching it. Must have sat there for a while because my mom placed my breakfast in front of me what seemed like seconds later.

​“There you are. Eggs over easy and wheat toast, lightly buttered. Glass of orange juice. Anything else?” She sounded like a waitress.

​“Nope. This is great. Thanks.”

​“Don’t mention it.”

​I ate in silence. My mother left the kitchen without a word spoken. When I finished eating, I was ready to head out for the day. Called out to my mother and told her I was going to Becky’s. Heard no reply, but I was sure she knew. It was what I did nearly every day in the summer. Ran outside, it was already hot. Summers in Halverton, Ohio were quite warm. Air stuck to you like flies on dog shit. Becky lived three houses away and I would always cut through the backyards to get to her house. No one cared. Did it every day. When I got to her house, it was usual Becky. Yellow two-piece adorned her slender, yet athletic body. Cut off jean shorts covered the bottoms, threads tickling her thighs. She was wringing her left hand with her right. One foot flat on the ground, the other cockeyed and slightly rocking. One giant toothy grin across her face. Fishing pole tucked under her left arm. The sun gave a shimmer to her long brown hair. I loved her. She was the sister I never had. Did not need one either because I had Becky. She felt the same way. Always did. We have been best friends since diapers. She was three months younger than me, but it wasn’t a contest, so neither of us cared who was older. All the boys thought she was pretty. And she was. I always thought she was prettier than me. She had a playfully round face and a small curved chin. Long flowing dark brown hair waved its way down to her shoulders. She hated ponytails, unlike myself, so her thick hair would curl around her face and touch her chin. Sometimes she chewed on the ends. And her eyes. Her eyes were like emeralds that shone brighter knowing they were hers. She had a small straight nose with a round end. But I think it was the dimples that the boys liked the best about her, though. Or maybe it was her personality.

​“Hey, Kare. What took ya so long?” she said as she saw me coming.

​I just smiled at her. Typical Becky. “Funny,” I said. “Always the jokester, aren’t you Beck?”

​“You know it.” Her smile widened and she laughed while her head rolled back in amusement. After she gave me a hug she said, “Ready?”

​“Always, girl. Bring it.” Then we both started to run in the woods behind her house. There was a trail back there that we found a few years ago, when we were nine or ten years old. We were both curious where it went, so we had to go and check it out. After a few wrong turns into weed covered dead ends, we discovered this magical place. There was an opening in the woods, not huge, about the size of two football fields side by side. On the side nearest the woods was this grassy beach which opened up into a blue-green egg-shaped lake. Beautiful. We had gone there almost every day since. It was our spot.

​We couldn’t run the whole way there, though, it was maybe a mile into the woods and there were a few obstacles along the way, like large branches that had fallen, or downed trees. Always started out like we were racing, but really we were just in a hurry and wanted to get there as quickly as possible. There was never a winner. Never was with us.

​Not even half way there, we both tired and slowed to a walk. A hummingbird hovered about a branch and Becky pointed in awe. “Look, Kare. Look how it just floats. It’s like magic or somethin’.” She had a fascination with hummingbirds, always had. Something about them put her in awe, like they were some mystical being from a far off land.

​After a few seconds of admiring the hummingbird, Becky took off running again. I chased behind her and when we got there, we both collapsed on the beach and lay there, getting the air back into our lungs, waiting for our hearts to stop pumping so fast. Relaxing.

​“What a great day,” she said while we were still on our backs.

​“You betcha,” I said. “Couldn’t ask for a better one.”

​“Just think. In a week we will be in school.”

​Couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad about that. We both liked school, but we both loved summer vacation better.

​“Yeah. I know. Excited?” I asked.

​“What? No. I was just--”

​“I know you better than that, Beck. You can’t wait to see Tommy again, can you?”

​She had no response other than to smack me on the shoulder and laugh. And laugh she did. She had a loud laugh, but not obnoxious. It was what I would imagine a rose would sound like if a rose could laugh. Soft, sweet and innocent. And it was contagious, too. Every time she laughed, I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

​When we finished laughing, we both just looked at each other. Stared into each other’s eyes. We did not even have to say anything. We both knew what we wanted to do. Throwing our shorts where we were, we both ran towards the lake. The water was always warm in the late summer, so we jumped right in. Splashed each other, laughed. It was a great day. Always was. I never had a bad time hanging with Becky.

​On our way home we stopped off at Mrs. Stepnagle’s house, which was directly across the street from mine, so it wasn’t really on the way home, but we were hungry from a long day and she made the best cookies. We knocked on her screen door and she must have known it was us from our knock and yelled for us to come in.

​“Hey, Mrs. S,” Becky said. Becky and I always called her Mrs. S, it was easier. Her name was Lenore, which we never called her. Nobody did. Even the adults called her Mrs. S. She was an elderly woman, but not old, maybe in her early sixties. No one really knew how old she was and no one dare ask. She had short curly gray hair and very welcoming gray eyes. Her face was like a marshmallow, round and soft. She always had on an apron, the mid-section covered in flour. Mrs. Butterworth to a tee. The aroma when you walked in her was heavenly. Today it was chocolate chip, and they were fresh from the oven. Always were. Chips were still gooey.

​“These cookies are the best, Mrs. S,” I said putting another bite in my mouth.

​“Mmm hmm,” was all Becky could get out as shoved the whole cookie into her mouth and was still chewing.

​“Glad you girls like them,” Mrs. Stepnagle said, smiling. “Do you like them as much as Tommy Sullivan, Becky?”

​Becky almost spit out her cookie, a couple of crumbs dribbled onto her chin, her face reddened. She took a couple big swallows. Sucked the rest of the cookie down. Washed it down with a big sip of milk. “How…how…do you know about? Wait. Kerri?”

​“What. Like it’s some big secret,” I said while shrugging my shoulders and extending my arms out with my palms up. “Everybody knows.” That got her good. Her cheeks reddened and her forehead dampened. She glared at me, though it was far from an angry look.

​“Everybody?” she said with a shaky voice.

​“Well, not everybody,” Mrs. Stepnagle assured her. “I know, Kerri knows and you know.”

​“Yeah. Everybody,” I said. Grinned at her and Becky laughed. We all did.

​“Well, Mrs. S. It is getting close to dinner, so we really should go home before our parents get mad at us. Thanks for the great cookies,” I said.

​“Yeah. Thanks. Really. There are the best chocolate chip cookies I have ever had. Ever.”

​“Don’t mention it, girls. It was a pleasure as usual. You take care now.” And she escorted us to the door. The chocolaty aroma lingered in the foyer.

​It was a really great day, so good that never once did I think about the images from the night before. Becky kept me laughing most of the day, so much so that by the time I was ready to go to sleep, my stomach hurt. Becky was the best.

​That did not keep the vision, or nightmare, from happening again. That night I had it again and everything exactly the same right down to the bloody palms.



"Unnamed novel: chapter 2"