Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 80 - Avery

There it is. The rundown, little old cottage of my childhood memories. I haven't been here in years and now I've visited twice in one week. This will be the last time, though. The last time ever.

Everything is silent. The trees whipped by the breeze are pushing its force onto me, causing my hair to fly across my face, obscuring my vision. The wind doesn't speak to me, like it usually does. It isn't warning me to stay away, it isn't warning me to stay home. It just caresses my face with its icy hand and the fair hairs on my cheeks stand up, attracted to it like an iron nail to a magnet.

The house sulks. Its cracked lips and droopy eyes weep, hurt by its abandonment. It hasn't forgiven me for leaving it, for leaving it all alone. Its only company being the rodents that have invaded its rotting foundations.

I walk around its perimeter, trying to follow the stepping stone pathway. Although, it isn't easy, since the stones are disguised by the weeds and flowers that have overcome them.

As I reach the back, I see the wooden gate leading into the garden. Without it even crossing my mind, I lift the latch, kick the door up with my foot and hurl it open. I may not have been through this gate since I was a teenager, but my muscles still remember its quirks.

I'm startled by the sudden pressure I feel on my head. Then another jolt of pressure. I touch my hair and feeling its dampness, I cover it with my hands as the droplets begin to fall faster and heavier, hurrying to the back door on my tiptoes.

Yanking the handle upwards, I throw my shoulder into the door and I hear a crack as its frame gives and I stumble into the dust and the cobwebs.

Shaking myself off, I take a step forward and cringe as I hear the squelching of my soaked shoe.

I shriek and my entire body shivers as I suddenly catch sight of an eight-legged arachnid creeping up my shoulder.

I fucking hate spiders.

I don't bother looking around the house for them – I know where they'll be.

A slideshow of memories shoots across my vision as I walk through the kitchen, through the dining room.

I stop and stare at the oak table. Amongst all the carnage I have walked through, this has managed to sustain itself. It doesn't look much different from the last time I sat at it.

"Ave, you've got to take a break at some point," Mum insisted. Come on, let's go shopping. My treat."

I firmly shook my head. "Nope, I still have three units of chemistry to study."

She sighed. "Okay, let me help you then." She picked up the revision sheet I had just written and began shooting questions at me. "What's the cathode?"

"It's the negative electrode used to separate compounds in electrolysis," I instantly replied, my mind on auto-pilot.

"What state does the compound have to be in to work? Why?"

"A liquid state because the ions have to be free to move."

"Last question...what happens when you apply the process to aluminium oxide?"

"Um..." I suddenly had a mental blank. "Aluminium goes to positive electrode and oxygen to the negative – then aluminium settles at the bottom?"

Mum scrunched up her face. "Sorry, Ave, aluminium goes to the negative and oxygen to the positive."

I threw my pen across the table. "Dammit."

Mum put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, honey. You'll get it. Of course you'll get it."

The corners of my lips turn up slightly at the memory. As I stroll through the corridor, I run my fingertips along the dust-stained walls, feeling every ridge and uneven texture. My hand stops over a circular indent in the wall. That's where Dad hit the hockey ball into the wall. It was raining nonstop that day. I was seven, and hanging around indoors all day didn't sound like fun at all. So, Dad brought the outdoor games inside.

"Ready, Ave? Remember, eyes on the ball," he said as he lifted the hockey stick above his head, brought it down and the ball went flying. Right into the wall.

We both stared at the hockey ball shaped hole with contorted faces. He hurried towards me with a silly grin on his face, put his finger to his mouth and whispered, "Shhh, don't tell Mum."

Dad and I always had our little secrets. We'd always giggle at the dinner table at our silly inside jokes and at Mum getting frustrated that she wasn't 'in the loop'. Mum used to act annoyed, but I think she was only pretending – she secretly loved how close we used to be.

I enter the lounge and as I walk through it, I admire the soft leather couch and breathe in its addictive scent. I modelled my own living room on this room. The one thing my mother always had is good taste. Must be where I got it from.

When I hear a shuffling behind me, I quickly spin round.

There, lurking in the shadow of the doorway, is the person who has been lurking in my shadow all this time.

As they step forward, the sun's light that has sneaked past the moon illuminates their face. Their eyes reflect the light and their grimace glows.

"Hello, Avery."