In the Midst of Monsters

Chapter 6: From Shadows to Light

      The high-pitched squeal of sneakers on polished hardwood filled the gymnasium. Volleyballs rocketed over the net with ruthless precision, but Lisa was nowhere near the game. Her body went through the motions, the mandatory uniform clinging to her like a second skin, while her mind lingered on the story she had just read.

Her thoughts were clouded with memories: joyful glimpses of her own carefree youth clashing against the dismal backdrop of Jack's life. The joy of sunny park days, the sounds of carefree laughter, stood in stark contrast to the silent screams emanating from the pages she'd consumed. Doubt gnawed at her: could these chilling tales be authentic? Or was this merely a fiction born of a twisted imagination? Her stomach tightened as the thought curled itself around her like a question with no easy answer.

"Lisa!" The shrill call of the coach, Mrs. Donovan, snapped her back to the present. The volleyball had rolled to her feet, forgotten and ignored. Lisa clutched her stomach, the motion instinctual.

"I... I don't feel good," she stammered, the room spinning ever so slightly.

Mrs. Donovan eyed her skeptically, adjusting her whistle. "Do you need to see the school nurse?"

Lisa shook her head, glancing toward the locker room, the siren call of the journal beckoning her. "No, just the restroom. Please?"

With a dismissive wave, the teacher consents, and Lisa's heart jumps. The weight of the world momentarily lifted; Lisa nearly floated into the locker room. The metallic tang of cold steel, sweat, and disinfectant greeted her. With a quick glance around to confirm she was alone, she darted to her locker, fingers scrambling to retrieve the journal, its pages beckoning her into its depths.

She darted into a stall, slamming the door shut. Seated on the cold porcelain, the world outside melted away. With trembling hands, she opened the journal and dove back into the abyss, chasing the shadows of Jack's tortured existence.

The line hooked Lisa before she even knew what hit her: "My next memory of a smile was the day I was kicked out of hell."

Lisa gripped the journal's edge tightly, each word hitting like an arrow, its point digging deeper. It was a puzzling sentiment, one where freedom from torment seemed involuntary, yet its essence was salvation. The thought of Jack smiling, after everything, left her with an oddly comforting warmth.

Her surroundings blurred, the locker room's oppressive air giving way to the vivid imagery Jack painted with words. It wasn't an escape from reality but a shift, stepping into a moment both raw and charged with possibility. She was no longer in the present, transported instead to an airport alive with noise and movement. There stood an eleven-year-old Jack, his senses heightened to every sound and movement, scanning the world around him with unwavering vigilance

"Jack," the commanding voice of his mother demands his focus.

There's a moment etched in ink where Jack watches his mother, her face a crumpled map of exhaustion, every crease and shadow marking a route through years of bitterness. His four-year-old sister clings to her leg, a pint-sized barnacle with wide, sleepy eyes and a mess of curly hair, wobbling on unsteady legs as though the air itself presses her down, too."

"Yes, ma'am," I dutifully respond.

"You know why we're here?" she questions, a hint of weariness in her voice.

"Each word she spoke felt like a setup. Every answer, a potential trap. The sight of a plane climbing into the sky drew my attention, my mind spiraled. Maybe she's had enough. Maybe she'll throw me off that plane. At just eleven, the scope of her cruelty was limitless in my eyes."