The lights in the waiting room flickered and zapped, but the teenager couldn't decide if it was just her imagination. Seated in the corridor, she felt hot breaths on the back of her neck. Though she knew no one could fit into the space between the waiting chair in which she sat and the white wall behind her but she turned in her seat regardless and glanced back.
Goosebumps appeared on her skin and she shuddered, but she knew it wasn't because of the air conditioner. She bounced her leg impatiently and looked up at the clock on the wall in front of her. It was half past ten, which seemed like it didn't budge since the last time she'd checked.
Finally, the door opened, and Ms. Sylvia, her therapist, stepped out.
"Josette Andrews, it's nice to see you again," she had a warm smile. "Come in."
Josie stood up and followed her inside.
The office was small, yet uncluttered, with an artwork of splashes of different paints hanging on the wall and a shelf, piled with books stood in the corner. A small table sat in the corner with a few potted plants. On her desk was a big box of tissue and files. A brown mug sat on the desk too, its content let out steam that whirled at the top. The only window looked out to the tall buildings and also gave a distant view of the busy roads below. Josie could see the remains of the rain that had stopped falling half an hour ago sliding down the glass. The air was warm and smelled faintly of lavender and coffee. She breathed in deeply, settling on a long couch.
Sylvia sat down in a chair across from her and stuffed her brunette hair behind her ears. There was a pad and a pen in her hands and she looked up at Josie, who had her eyes on her.
With her legs crossed, Sylvia smiled and asked, "How have you been doing since our last session?"
Josie hesitated, unsure of how to answer.
"I've been okay," she said finally, even though she hadn't been.
Her eyes drifted to the tiny digital clock on the desk behind Sylvia and was almost convinced that someone had held onto the time and didn't want to let it move further. It was her second month of therapy, but to her; it felt like a year as each session seemed to drag on for eternity.
Sylvia had started asking basic questions and taking down notes as the girl answered.
"You're sure that all these things you hear aren't somewhat just your imagination?" She asked in a gentle voice, the one mothers use to sing lullabies for their infants.
Josie paused, her gaze shifting away from her therapist.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Most times, I can't understand what they're saying. They're like… whispers, but I can't make out the words."
"Your family thinks you're losing your mind, don't they?" Sylvia asked.
She nodded, her lips tight. "Everyone thinks so… even you." Her voice cracked with emotions as she struggled to speak. Eyes as blue as sapphire glistened with tears. "Do you think... I'm possessed?"
Sylvia leaned back in her chair and cut out a roll of tissue that sat at her desk. "I don't think you're possessed," she said. "I think you're dealing with something that's very difficult and confusing, and I want to help you figure it out." She handed it to Josie and paused, as if waiting for her to let out the tears and dab her face dry. "What do you really mean when you say that you hear things? Is it hallucinations or voices in your head, or something else? Can you describe your experiences to me?"
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, avoiding Sylvia's gaze. She fidgeted with her hands, her heart racing as she tried to find the words to explain what she was going through.
"It's... I can't describe it," she said. "They don't want me to."
"Who, Josette?" Sylvia asked, but Josie remained silent. She suddenly realized all the dirt in her nail and picked.
"I know you're a special person, Josie, and I want to do everything I can to help you. I'm going to give you some suggestions, and I hope you'll consider trying them. First, I know you're only fifteen, and I want to remind you that you're not mentally mature to watch horror movies or play violent video games."
"I'm tired of everyone talking about this like I brought it upon myself! Now you think I'm watching horror movies and playing violent video games?" Josie scoffed and rolled her eyes almost simultaneously. "I'm fifteen, not an idiot. I know stuffs that can mess with your mind, and I'm not interested in messing with mine—" She crossed her arms and looked up at Sylvia. "Well, at least not more than it already is." Josie sighed. "I grew up with this messed up, broken mind and a voice inside my head. I feel the agony, the terror, the loneliness."
Sylvia sat quietly in her seat, her eyes darted the food calendar right above Josie's head.
"When did you first remember it happen?" She asked, her gaze now settled on her.
"When I was eight, maybe," Josie answered. "But I didn't understand how bad it was till I was eleven."
"And you never told your parents?" Sylvia asked with wide eyes. "You've been living with this for so long?"
Josie's eyes drifted to the digital clock again, and they widened, filled with life. She stood up as if it just dawned on her she'd been sitting on a smoldering coal. Her expression, which was once solemn, turned into a smile as bright as the sun. "Our time's up, Ms. Sylvia. My dad's waiting in the lobby. I should better hurry. Thanks," She said over her shoulder as she walked out the door, leaving Sylvia to wander in her thoughts and questions.
"I'll see you here again the day after tomorrow," Ms Sylvia said as she threw her hands back to her desk and picked up her cup of tea.
"You'll have to choke on that tea first," Josie said, barely audible as she opened the door and walked out. The door closed behind her with a quiet click, and Sylvia took another sip of her tea, walking back to her desk. She set the mug down and picked up a file.
There was a door at the end of the small corridor and after she was out, walked down the bright hallway, her footsteps loud on the tiled floor. Cold air whipped her skin. She walked briskly toward the elevator, went in, and pressed the button for the ground floor. The door closed with a quiet hiss, and the elevator descended. Josie thought there was something wrong with her; something she couldn't explain.
She had a finely arched brow. Her nose had a slightly crooked bridge and a pointed tip. She had a full plump lips with a well-defined cupid's bow. A curled sunset auburn hair framed the beauty of her face.
A beep came from the elevator and the door spread. She stepped out into the lobby and her eyes immediately landed on a man. He sat on a couch wearing a pinstripe suit, his head bowed slightly, with his both elbows resting on his knees and a book in hand. Malcolm Andrews, her father, seemed engrossed in the book that he didn't notice her coming until she stood in front of him.
He looked up at her and saw the worry in her eyes.
"Josie, my dear," he set down the book down and stood up, his brawny frame towering over her. "What's wrong? You look so troubled. Is something bothering you?"
"I don't want to come back here, dad. It is only getting worse—the more I talk about it." Josie breathed, trying to keep her emotions in check. She let out a shaky breathe and walked past her dad and headed for the exit.
Malcolm released a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned towards his daughter.
Malcolm Andrews was a little past fifty years but still had his strong, masculine facial features—his sharp jawline, prominent cheekbones and chiseled angular features. His eyes, deep-set, was an emerald green and his hair, brown had gray stripes which he wore in a tousled pompadour.
He had once been the General there in West Hills where the military rules the city. When the new general took power ten years ago, however, Malcolm then decided he should retire. Josie had heard tales about how her father had once been a proud and confident man but all those she never witnessed. The father she knew lived like a shadow of himself, afraid of everything no matter how little.
The engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the garage. They pulled out onto the busy and noisy street. Josie sat still, her face as pale as a ghost, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Malcolm stole a glance at her, his heart breaking at her sad countenance.
"What's on your mind, love?" He asked. "Have you been struggling with having Ms. Sylvia as your therapist? If you're not satisfied with her, I can find someone else for you. There's no need to stick with her if she's not working out."
Josie's eyes met his. Her face was inscrutable. "No, she's not the problem," she said, her voice quiet. "It's just... I can't bring myself to open up deeply to her… or even anyone about this. They'll come for me if I try." Her voice caught on the last words, and she bit her lip to keep herself from breaking down.
Malcolm forced himself to look straight ahead, his jaw clenched, and he swallowed hard. No doubt, he knew who 'they' were, but he didn't know why they'd come for his daughter instead of him.
"Do you think I'm... Broken?" she asked.
"No, sweetheart, you're not," Malcolm said. "Just a few more weeks of therapy and you'll be right as rain, you'll see." He forced a smile, which only made her more agitated.
"I said I can't keep talking about this to anyone!" Josie cried, her voice rising in frustration. "I don't want to; it only gets worse! I don't want to keep reliving it over and over again just so I can make progress that I can't even see!"
"You need to if you're going to get better. Keep trying!"
Josie's eyes widened at her father's outburst, tears beginning to well up in them. She wished she could stand at the top of a cliff and scream—a loud scream that'll scare the birds away; punch a wall till the flesh on her knuckles peels. She closed her eyes, forcing the tears to stay in.
When they finally arrived home, Josie walked in, and her mother, Gwen, greeted her.
"How was therapy today, sweetie?" She asked, and after noticing her daughter's unsettling countenance, she said, "Oh, honey, you look upset. Do you want to talk about it?"
Josie shook her head as she marched up the stairs to her room.
"Take a shower. Lunch will be ready soon. Your tutor will be here in an hour!" Gwen called out.
Josie rolled her eyes as she proceeded further up the stairs to her room. Once she was in, she slammed the door behind her, flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow. A sob rose from within her chest, and she let out a muffled, frustrated wail.
"What's wrong with her?" Downstairs, Gwen asked Malcolm, who shrugged and went over to a couch.
As Josie laid in her bed and tried not to cry, the gentle breeze carried a voice into her window, causing her to sit upright and listen to be sure it was real and not one of those 'voices' his her head.
"Josie!" came the distant call again.
She raced to the window, throwing the curtains aside. A gust of cold air rushed in, but she barely noticed, her eyes fixed on the figure in front of her.
"Maggie!" she called, almost too excitedly.
Maggie stood in the opposite building, sticking her head out her window and resting her hands on the windowsill, a wide grin plastered on her face. She was nearly a year older than Josie. She lived with her both parents and older brother. The girls had been friends since they were seven—when they first met through their bedroom windows. Because of the strictness of Josie's parents, neither she nor her sibling could go out or let anyone in. Maggie and Josie would often chat and laugh together from their respective windows. It wasn't the same as hanging out in person, but it was the best thing for Josie.
"Sorry I didn't come to the window earlier," Maggie apologized. "I returned late from school today."
"It's okay," Josie smiled and nodded. "I just got back from therapy myself."
"I thought you didn't want to go anymore?" Maggie asked.
Josie sighed. "I don't, but my dad insists I do. He won't listen to me."
"Why is your dad making you go to therapy in the first place?" Maggie asked. "What's wrong with you?"
Josie hesitated.
"I... I can't tell you, sorry." She grimaced.
"I get it," Maggie nodded in understanding. "My parents make me keep family secrets too, and it can be really heavy on me sometimes."
Josie shook her head with a sigh. "My life's miserable. It's almost like being in a cage, with the bars closing in around you. Like I'm trapped, and I don't know how to escape."
Maggie's shoulder fell as she stared at her friend. With a sigh, she asked. "What do you want to do?"
Josie stared blankly forward, as she pictured a world beyond her window view. "I want to go to school," she said wistfully. "I want to meet people and learn new things. I want to hang out with you, not just from our windows. I want to have a normal life, like any other teenager."
Maggie nodded, a sad smile on her face. "You deserve all of that and more," she said.
"But how do you think I can convince my dad to let me out of this... Prison?" Josie asked.
"Sometimes, words don't work best alone. Drastic measure's a good company for it."
Josie's brow furrowed, trying to understand what Maggie meant. Suddenly, she heard the whispers drifting past her earlobes, faint but gradually getting louder; whispers from multiple voices.
"Josie, are you okay?"
Ignoring Maggie, she closed the window and drew the curtains.
Now she heard screams—shrill, piercing screams that sent chills through her bones.
Something yanked a fistful of her hair backwards. "No one can help you… You. Are. Mine." It breathed into her ear.
She threw her hands vigorously behind her, but grasped nothing. No one was there, but she could feel the hands and was almost sure she could smell its breath. She thought it was strange, as whatever haunted her had never touched her.
The force around her dispersed, and she fell hard to the tiled floor. She curled herself up so that her knees touched her jaw, hand pressed tight over her ears and she cried. Now that she realized it could touch her, she wondered what kind of torture it had in store for her.