The Calling | The House of Voices #1

Twenty Two - Empty

Empty

Parish:

Parish silently hoped that Darren wouldn’t notice how he kept periodically shooting glances at the foot of his bed.

He was aware of how much trouble they could both get into if anyone found out that they could communicate with each other, but he couldn’t help it. He knew without utmost certainty that October could hear everything that he and Darren were discussing. It unnerved him.

He and October had never really been that close – he got on her nerves, she got on his. The only times they hadn’t just stared at each other and walked away were when he’d caught her self-harming and now, in solitary confinement; and even then they’d been snappy with each other. Basically, the only times they could be even remotely civil towards each other were when one – or both- of them was in trouble.

Their current tolerance for each other notwithstanding, Parish still didn’t want October to hear any part of his session with Darren. These were personal thoughts and feelings that he hadn’t even discovered until the good doctor had begun to purge them out of some deep dark corner of his soul. How was he supposed to feel comfortable about her being able to hear them all now?

“Parish?” The boy was pulled out of his own muddled thought when the doctor waved his hands in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

“Err, no.” Parish shook his head. “What did you say?”

“I asked you to continue your story from where we left off.” He explained, and Parish noticed the curious way the doctor was looking at him.

“Oh.” Parish nodded, mentally cringing. This was definitely a story he didn’t want the girl to hear. “Where was I?”

“The morning after your father’s outburst.” He answered, nodding his head for Parish to continue.

“Right. Well, I woke up late the next day and—”

“Had you taken the pills?” Darren interrupted. “You didn’t mention.”

“No.” Parish shook his head. “For some reason, I decided against taking them. I listened to music to fall asleep that night.”

“Good. Continue.”

“It took a long time for me to fall asleep that night. Even two floors above them, I could still hear my parents fighting. A large part of me wanted to go down and stop them somehow; to yell or try to reason with them – but I didn’t. I just locked myself in my room, plugged me ear buds in and closed my eyes, praying that I’d fall asleep soon. When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t even remember what had happened until after I’d showered and dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

“I could tell something was wrong the instant I stepped into the kitchen. On a normal day, the windows would be open and there would be a pitcher of juice sitting on the table, and the smell of cinnamon or vanilla would be wafting in the air. That day, he only thing I could smell was whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Darren repeated with a confused look.

Parish merely nodded. “I found my father sitting on the kitchen floor, propped up against the island, nursing a glass of whiskey. His eyes were red and swollen, and the floor was covered in glass and liquid. I never learned the story, but from what I could tell, he’d polished off most of the liquor and had gotten so drunk that he’d accidentally knocked over the bottle.”

Parish could feel his hands start to shake as he recalled the memory. It was something he’d forced himself to forget; a memory he’d locked up in a little box in his head and thrown away the key to. Opening that box now, was bringing out pain and anger that he’d convinced himself he didn’t feel anymore. It was clenching his gut, twisting his heart and clouding his mind – it was hurting him and he wanted it to stop.