Patient A-3

Chapter 2: Shadows

Avalyn

Then

 Stealing a quick peak around the corner, my eyes fixate on the sleek, black, grand piano positioned in the center of our entertainment room. I've never been allowed in here. Mom says it's for adults, and the massive bar lined with various alcohols is proof of that.

 I tip-toe towards the large bench, checking over my shoulder before plopping down on the smooth surface. With my hands poised above the keys, I pretend to play the familiar tune Nanny sings to me each night, humming along softly. I close my eyes and imagine I'm a talented musician playing beautifully for a crowd. Lost in the imaginary scene running through my mind, my fingers brush against the piano keys, pressing down just enough to send a loud, resonant note echoing through the room. I jump back, heart jolting, and snap my head over my shoulder, straining to listen for any signs that Mom might have heard. Thinking I'm in the clear, I rise to my feet and gracefully bow toward each corner of the room, thanking the audience for listening.

 "What are you doing in here?" My mother's plaguy voice echoes from the doorway. Her familiar anger is palpable, as it often was, but the intensity of her gaze makes me instinctively recoil and curl inward. I drop my arms and wrap them around my torso shielding myself from her oncoming words.

 "Did you touch it?" she accuses, diverting her gaze to the piano.

 "No Mom, I promise," I plead with widening eyes, hoping she can't see through the lie.

 She casts me an exasperated glance, scoffing to herself before making her way over to me. She bends down until she's eye level with the keys, inspecting each one very carefully.

 "You touched it! You actually dare lie to your Mother?" she spits, her tone laced with contempt.

 "It was on accident. I didn't mean to, Mommy," I murmur, holding back the tears in my eyes.

 Her fingers dig into my arm like claws, dragging me from the room with a force that stuns me. Before I can catch my breath, she shoves me into the hallway wall, the impact rattling through my body. A sharp, trembling finger jabs toward my face as she unleashes a storm of furious words, the kind I've long been forbidden to echo. In an instant, her hand moves to my cheeks, squeezing so tightly that my lips push out, the sharp pain of her acrylics making my eyes water.

 "How many times have I told you not to touch my piano?" she hisses.

 "'M sowwy, Mommy," I struggle to get out.

 Her hand falls, her glare unwavering, before abruptly rising and delivering a harsh slap across my face. She yanks on my jet-black tresses, pulling my head back until I'm looking directly into her eyes. I can see Dad in my peripheral, and I immediately know what's coming next.

 "You weren't made to dream, Avalyn. You remember that, okay?" Turning to my dad, she adds, "Take her to the basement."

*

Now

 With a gasp for air, I shoot upright, my hands instinctively flying to my throat. The sound of rain falling outside my window soothes my anxiety, but the memory of the past still lingers. Slightly panting, I fumble around until I find the chain to my bedside lamp, clicking it on. I check my phone, the number three glaring back at me— the witching hour.

 I haven't had a nightmare in years, but it makes sense with me being back in this house. My mind wanders to the basement— knowing it sits right below me leaves me feeling uneasy. I could never remember what happened down there, but Dr. Beth says the human brain represses traumatic events in order to keep you safe.