The Wailing Woman

1. Cursed Voices

I wanted to scream so loud the ground beneath me would tremble—maybe even collapse too. Preferably, somewhere alone in the dark. No people, no animals. Somewhere nobody would hurt except for me. Though I do wish someone could hear me one day, and if by some miracle they don't die then they would realize I too, crave the silence.

The same silence that allows you to hear a thousand feathers dropped on sand, soft and soundless. A disguised bliss. But from my twenty-two years of experience in this world, I've discovered that the way to guarantee such tranquility is to die. Everyone is bound for it—even monsters.

One day will be my day. One day.

"Are you even listening to me?" A sharp voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I blinked a couple of times before I focused on the woman sitting in front of me.

My therapist, Dr. Fernanda Navarro, was dressed in her uniform white coat with her usual brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and gold-rimmed glasses. I forgot she was here. My therapist was my least favorite person to see, and I don't see that many people. Each time she walked into my room, I would feel the air suddenly become thick and suffocating. My muscles would spasm like something wanted to get out. But it was her unnecessary poking that made me uncomfortable. Her questions were absurd and annoying. Sometimes I felt like she was trying to tell me something.

But I didn't care. I wouldn't bother with her nonsense.

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you hearing them right now? Are they speaking to you?" Dr. Navarro has asked this question once too many times for my liking.

I swallowed my irritation and answered. "No."

She scrutinized her gaze as if it would help her detect a lie. It almost made me smile. Over the past four years, I've been here at St. Agnes Hospital, I've perfected my lying skills and successfully executed them on Dr. Navarro. It hasn't been easy, but it was safer. Fewer people hurt less while I'm here.

But I didn't want to be stuck here forever. I've been doing well. I've been handling it better. The voices in my head have been manageable. They've been calm and quiet. I think I'm doing fine. I think I'm ready to leave.

Dr. Navarro sighed and rolled her chair over to the edge of the bed frame. "Well, you've made outstanding progress these past months and your evaluations are good. I believe we can get you discharged by this afternoon." I nodded my head as she shifted through the paperwork. "But I do just have two more questions for you." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I know I wasn't her favorite patient to see either.

She always walked in with a look that said what am I going to do with you? Doesn't she see I'm helping her get rid of myself? I should've been discharged in the morning. I couldn't blame her entirely; I was partially to blame for being admitted here in the first place.

I uttered. "Go ahead. Ask away."

Dr. Navarro neatly stacked my file on her lap and pushed her glasses upward. "The day your mother died..." I bite the inside of my cheek. "Do you still not remember what happened? Do you remember anything at all?" she asked the last question out of breath, sounding desperate.

I fucking hated these questions.

Ever since Dr. Navarro found out I was with my mother on the night she died, I admitted I had no recollection of what happened, and she has been persistent in trying to get me to talk and think about that night as if I were missing something. But each session we had; she would fail. Today would be no different. I might not remember the night my mother died, but I know what happened to her. There was nothing special about it. My mother accidentally left the stove on and lit the house on fire, and I almost would've died too if it wasn't for my grandmother who saved me.